Transformers © HASBRO
Kidnapping Drag Strip was not exactly on Dead End's list of "1000 Things I Would Like To Experience Before I Dramatically Deactivate", but it had shot its way to the top of the list quickly.
Breakdown had been the first of them to notice Drag Strip's presence watching them during their trial — if one could justify calling how the prosecutor made a mockery of the three of them a "trial" —, a feeling he had quickly expressed to his two older brothers the moment they were released to return to the Ark on their own. Motormaster hadn't hesitated even for a second before he'd commanded them to pursue their errant brother, and to capture him by any means.
Luckily for them, Drag Strip was remarkably easy to find.
Now Drag Strip was strapped down inside Motormaster's trailer while Breakdown stared at him in his alternate mode and Dead End sat awkwardly behind Drag Strip's prone form. They traveled like this for hours until Motormaster reached the Ark.
The three Stunticons had shared little but the most banal of conversations on their return route. Motormaster didn't even respond when Dead End prodded him through their private comms to talk. The semi was morose and withdrawn, his mind clearly elsewhere as they drove. Dead End knew what was bothering his brother. Dead End himself was bothered greatly by the same, as he knew Breakdown was as well.
The trial — officially called United States vs. Stunticons — had been sprung on them out of the blue. Even Optimus had been surprised by the government's action against them, almost a month after Breakdown, Megatron and the Aerialbots had pulled Motormaster, Dead End and Swindle from G.H.O.S.T's control. Swindle and Megatron were rarely seen since Swindle had his coding repaired by Ratchet, First Aid and Hook, but Dead End knew both were still around the Ark and dabbling deep into research on G.H.O.S.T. Swindle and Megatron were some of the first to make their grievances against the sudden trial well known, for its timing and purpose. Dead End had found the action suspicious as well, which Ratchet and Red Alert had summarily agreed with.
The Stunticons and Autobots searched for evidence against G.H.O.S.T in the short week and a half they had before the trial, but it hadn't been enough time, clearly. The prosecutor's barbs had gotten to Breakdown and Motormaster alike, and now they looked like complicit murderers, willfully letting Menasor rampage without mercy.
Being deactivated in their fight against Superion would have been much, much easier to deal with.
Alas, they had found Drag Strip because of the trial, so there was some good to it.
Motormaster finally stopped outside the medical bay, his trailer ramp lowering as Ratchet and Optimus appeared at the trailer's opening. With help from the two Autobots, Dead End and Breakdown quickly had Drag Strip removed from Motormaster's trailer and on a medical berth, where Ratchet began fussing over the Pagani.
"No Wildrider?" Optimus asked as he watched Ratchet work from his position standing beside Dead End and his brothers.
"No, sir," Motormaster vented.
Dead End glanced towards the semi at the exhaustion that emanated off his brother's glossa. All three Stunticons had been on the hunt for their two missing brothers since they had been freed from G.H.O.S.T's control a month ago, but none more so than Motormaster. Motormaster had only stopped in his search when Optimus would order him to relent, for not even Dead End or Breakdown could convince their oldest to stop.
Motormaster had even snapped at Silverbolt the week before when the Concorde had confronted him about running himself ragged. Breakdown had run to Dead End, who hadn't been there to watch the semi yell at his own best friend, to explain everything immediately after. That argument only seemed to make Motormaster more reserved, and more defeated on whether they'd ever find Wildrider or Drag Strip again.
Not when Teletraan-1 could not track either Stunticon, nor could the Victory track their estranged brothers, which Megatron had returned to under a cautious truce with Soundwave. Both Stunticons had completely vanished, and it wasn't Breakdown who gave up first.
Shame filled Dead End's tank as he recalled how his own pessimism towards their brothers return to them had drug Motormaster and Breakdown down with him — though in vastly opposite ways. Breakdown went on fewer and fewer search parties and had begun hiding in their quarters on the Ark more than he ever interacted with any other Autobot, not even when the Constructicons went out of their way to visit and allow Scavenger time to try and talk to Breakdown about the newest project they'd all started.
Scavenger had pulled a single sentence from Breakdown before the white Stunticon shut down, and did not speak to any of them. Not until his turn on the stand during their trial, and then Breakdown's stammer had returned in full force. Even now, Breakdown's field was tucked tightly to his frame while he wrung his servos in a perpetual anxiety.
"Hey," Dead End whispered as he leaned in close to Breakdown, his left servo moving to catch Breakdown's servos and hold them reassuringly. Breakdown started, nearly leaping away from Dead End as his helm shot to stare at him, optics wide with emotion. "It's okay. He's okay."
Motormaster's servo met Breakdown's shoulder plate, the collective reassurance wading through Breakdown's anxiety — but only a little.
Dead End kept his field afloat where his pessimism fought to extinguish it. Seeing Drag Strip should have helped. Should have eradicated the thoughts of—
"You three should head to your quarters, you need rest." Optimus' soft voice barely breached Dead End's audials, but it was enough to make him look at the Autobot leader. "We will summon you once Ratchet clears the control coding from Drag Strip. Until that point, rest will most help yourselves and Drag Strip."
Breakdown was the first to relent, his helm falling as his shoulders hunched deeply into himself. Motormaster nodded to Optimus before he, with a firm but gentle push to the bond, urged his brothers to leave the medical bay. Dead End glanced towards Drag Strip, peacefully unaware of his surroundings in his stasis, then followed Motormaster and Breakdown out.
They walked in silence until they reached their quarters. A vent from Breakdown preceded a quiet, almost imperceptible whisper.
"Do you think they will deactivate Wildrider because we found Drag Strip?"
"We can't be certain, either way. Let's address the topic tomorrow, when Drag Strip is awake." Motormaster's response was not hard, or angry. Simply tired.
Dead End couldn't find it in himself to feel anything but the same. A nod of agreement was all he gave in support of his leader, but it seemed to be enough for Breakdown.
The small Lamborghini curled against them as the three Stunticons unceremoniously slumped to the ground, recharge claiming them as Dead End and Breakdown found themselves nestled against their oldest brother. Exactly where they belonged. Where Drag Strip would soon be able to join them.
Drag Strip was safe.
Uninjured.
He was home.
Drag Strip stared at the three Stunticons.
Recognition, shame and relief — and something else that Dead End couldn't place a name to — flickered across his red visor.
Ratchet had taken hours to properly realign Drag Strip's coding before he'd sent First Aid to wake the three resting Stunticons. Breakdown's anxiety had prickled along the gestalt bond at the medic's appearance, as if his thoughts were dwelling on the worst outcome for their brother, until First Aid's repeated reassurance to him that Drag Strip was "fine" finally forced Breakdown to relax. Though only partially.
Motormaster and Dead End had jerked to their pedes without a word but for their shared glances before they too followed First Aid. First Aid filled the three Stunticons in on Drag Strip's status during the walk to the medical bay, where he explained everything in full, exhaustive detail until all three were satisfied.
When they'd entered the medical bay, the Protectobot led them to their brother, who was alert and awake but staring at Hook — who was hunched over Ratchet's lab equipment, muttering to himself while he stared at Drag Strip's control chip — with his helm tilted. Drag Strip's "hey, guys" greeting had made Breakdown keen with a cry that made Drag Strip look away from them awkwardly.
Now they stood a short distance from the yellow Stunticon, all unsure of their approach as Drag Strip continued to stare. Dead End felt Motormaster access the bond first, a pressure of comfort only briefly brushing against Drag Strip's as they waited. Breakdown fidgeted next to Dead End as they all felt Drag Strip's processor work through his surroundings.
Dead End could feel his brother's bond awakening, slowly. There was the customary confusion which Dead End himself had experienced after the control virus had been flushed from his systems. A clearing of his processor that released the memories and emotions G.H.O.S.T had suppressed to control the Stunticons.
Dead End hated that part the most.
He was depressed, but he did not loaf about anymore. While captured by G.H.O.S.T, Dead End loafed.
Sat.
Stared at the ceiling.
Deigned to let the humans tell him to do whatever they wanted because he simply didn't care.
That wasn't who he was, not anymore.
But G.H.O.S.T didn't care. They'd brought that Dead End back to life, and he lingered deep down inside him. G.H.O.S.T couldn't win. Dead End wouldn't let them win.
"So…" Drag Strip coughed, his helm shifting to look towards Hook, then Ratchet, before he looked at his brothers again, "how long have you guys had that," Drag Strip gestured in Hook's direction with another nervous clearing of his intake, "out of your systems?"
"A month," Motormaster answered quietly.
Drag Strip frowned. He plucked at his right forearm plating with his left servo, then shrugged. "When we last combined into Menasor, right? That's when you both got that... thing… out of you? Must have been nice to have that out of your processor, huh?"
Dead End looked away from Drag Strip at the hint of accusation in the Pagani's tone. Did Drag Strip believe they wouldn't have looked for him?
No, he wouldn't. Not himself naturally.
G.H.O.S.T had brought Motormaster's violent temper back to the surface. Brought Breakdown's unrestrained anxiety to a debilitating point. Brought Dead End's apathy to his existence to itch dangerously under his plating. G.H.O.S.T's meddling must have torn at the scab that was Drag Strip's insecurity, for Dead End knew that Drag Strip — the Drag Strip he'd known for decades — knew his brothers loved him.
"Drag Strip," Motormaster's voice was edged with a warning that made Drag Strip shrink. Motormaster noticed the flinch, but did not back off. "We didn't stop looking for either you or Wildrider. I looked for you everyday—"
"Then how was it that I had to stumble on you three before you actually found me!?" Drag Strip snarled as he shot to his pedes.
Dead End felt his plating bristle instinctively as Drag Strip's servos twitched, his sharp, clawed digits flexing as if the Stunticon wished to attack them. Breakdown flinched to Dead End's side, his frame shifting to hide behind Dead End as Drag Strip shot them both glares that burned against the Porsche's plating.
Motormaster stepped forward, his expression tight but not with anger, until he was towering directly over Drag Strip. Drag Strip only bristled more, his servos shifting to a stance that would provide him an easy strike at their eldest brother.
"G.H.O.S.T shrouded your signature from us. They abandoned the base we were first taken to," Motormaster explained, that edge in his tone still present as he locked optics with Drag Strip, challenging the Pagani, "and we had no leads or clue where they moved to. If I could have found you sooner, I would have."
"Really?" Drag Strip sneered.
Shock rippled through Dead End as Drag Strip turned a cold look towards Breakdown and himself. There was hurt in his brother's visor, but the feeling he was purposefully expressing through his field and gestalt bond was jealousy.
"Breakdown got you and End out, but it took a month for me?" Drag Strip plowed on, the jealousy in his field even making Hook glance up from his work with an unimpressed, passive stare. "I know you prefer them, Motormaster, you always have—"
"That isn't fair!"
It wasn't a snarl from Motormaster, or a stern telling off from Dead End that interrupted Drag Strip, but a cold growl from Breakdown. A suddenly furious Breakdown who was standing in front of Dead End, his field sparking with affronted anger.
Drag Strip looked towards Breakdown, his mouth opening to protest but Breakdown did not allow their brother a word in edgewise. Instead, Breakdown stepped closer to Drag Strip and getured first to Motormaster and Dead End, then angrily to himself.
"I was sick with worry for you and Wildrider when the Aerialbots and I couldn't get both of you back. I blamed myself for weeks because I failed you. Motormaster looked for you every single day." Now Breakdown's voice rose, though Dead End could sense his brother was fighting back tears as he confronted Drag Strip. "Accusing Motormaster or I of favoritism makes light of the situation we all have had to escape from. Do you not think I would have swapped places with you and Wildrider if it saved more of our family? That Motormaster wouldn't have done the same?"
Drag Strip bristled, but worked at his jaw, before he crossed his arms over his chest, shot Motormaster a glare, then spat, "He punched me in the faceplate and broke my optics. How can I not—"
"Drag Strip."
Ratchet's cold, level growl cut off the rest of Drag Strip's sentence. Drag Strip deflated as Ratchet turned every ounce of his attention onto the Pagani. Dead End felt himself shrink at the reprimanding energy that surged off Ratchet's field, even more so when Ratchet lowered the datapad he had been looking over when they had entered and met Drag Strip's avoidant gaze icily.
"G.H.O.S.T is the only one to blame for your long capture. Your brothers and every Autobot here has searched extensively for you and Wildrider for the last month. Do not discredit our efforts because of what G.H.O.S.T did to you."
Drag Strip lowered his helm, his earlier shame spiking off his field as the Pagani let out a quiet "sorry" to no one in particular before he hunched into himself and turned his back on the Stunticons.
Motormaster let out a snarl of air from his vents before he stomped out of the medical bay, the warnings from his gestalt bond keeping Dead End far away from the semi's bond. Breakdown shuffled on his pedes, lowered his servos to his sides, then vented.
"I am sorry, Drag Strip."
Drag Strip didn't respond.
Breakdown fidgeted in place for a few more seconds before he shot Dead End an imploring look, then left.
Awkward tension flickered between Dead End and Drag Strip with their two brothers gone. Dead End swallowed, shifted on his pedes, then approached his brother slowly. As he advanced on Drag Strip, Dead End felt the gazes of the three medics tracking him, their watchful suspicion prompting that Dead End — the G.H.O.S.T Dead End — to claw at the exposed hurt in his spark.
Perhaps Drag Strip was right in being angry at them.
Had they truly done everything they could for their two estranged brothers?
Dead End had given up on finding them, after all.
Not that telling Drag Strip that would be wise in his brother's current state of mind.
"What." Drag Strip vented as Dead End stopped behind the Pagani, the lack of question in his tone eliciting an exhausted vent from Dead End in return.
"I am glad we have you back but, please, do not bite our helms off for this. We did everything we could." Dead End extended his right servo towards Drag Strip to place it on his brother's shoulder reassuringly, but paused. Drag Strip noticed the pause and shot him a glare that had Dead End retract his servo back to his side.
Silence stretched between the two Stunticons until Dead End stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Drag Strip. He knew Drag Strip well enough to recognize when his younger brother was pushing them away to try and protect himself. Drag Strip already felt betrayed enough, Dead End wasn't going to allow the Pagani to feel more estranged than he believed himself to be already.
Drag Strip's plating and vents flared at Dead End's hug, but he did not push him away. Small, quiet sobs cracked through Drag Strip's vocalizer as he finally sank into the hug, wrapped his arms around Dead End in return, and lowered his faceplate to burrow against Dead End's collar plating. Dead End activated his engine, letting its low purr soothe his brother.
A light, mirthless laugh escaped from Drag Strip as Dead End patted his brother's backstrut continually. "I'm not a newspark," the joke was half hearted, its volume barely above the quiet rumble of Dead End's engine, but he understood what Drag Strip was trying to express.
"I know," Dead End hummed, before he leaned his faceplate to press against the top of Drag Strip's helm.
He wasn't crying.
He wasn't.
"We will monitor Drag Strip for at least another cycle," First Aid explained as he looked between Dead End and his brothers in their temporary quarters — did it count as temporary any longer, now that the Stunticons had spent more time on the Ark then at their home in Montana? — where they sat, or stood in Motormaster's case, around the couch in their quarters. "His control chip affected his systems longer than it did with you three, and we would rather ensure it has fully cleared from him before Drag Strip is released to full duty."
"Is he any better than earlier today?" Breakdown asked, asking the same question that Dead End was contemplating.
He'd stayed with Drag Strip only for a few minutes more after their hug, but had left and hadn't returned in the hours that had passed. It was noon now, which Dead End could tell by the ruckus of noise that echoed through the Ark's walls. Every Autobot on patrol returned around noon for midday refueling, so the Ark was always far more crowded at noon than any other time.
It was Dead End's least favorite time of the day, and something he still wasn't accustomed to in the month they'd been living on the Ark. First Aid clearly knew about that dislike, for Breakdown loathed noon refueling even more than Dead End, and had come to their quarters with three cubes of energon filled to the brim and a pleasant smile.
Motormaster had merely vented when First Aid knocked on their door and offered him the energon cubes with a smile that even made Dead End chuff. Especially when Motormaster exaggerated an exasperated roll of his optics at First Aid's presence, then let him in with a smile and quiet greeting to the medic. Motormaster's mood always seemed bettered by the disarming smiles and kindness of Autobots.
"Drag Strip has improved since you last saw him, yes," First Aid nodded, his digits tapping lazily against his own energon cube as he met Breakdown's optics briefly. "Ratchet had a long discussion with him about our understanding of the control chips and the influence they have over your processors, emotions and reactions. I believe that Drag Strip's control chip brought out some insecurities of his that he wouldn't normally allow himself to express."
Breakdown nodded, relief filling the room as his field expanded outwards unconsciously at First Aid's response. "Does he want to see us?"
"No."
Dead End heard Motormaster wince at First Aid's immediate response, but he said nothing in conflict. Motormaster was tired, and Dead End had heard the semi snarling to himself in his room after he had returned from the medical bay earlier that day. All Breakdown had said in explanation was "he hit Drag Strip" but it was enough for Dead End to know the best practice was to give Motormaster space.
The semi was struggling.
Since their escape from G.H.O.S.T, Motormaster hadn't once gone to the therapy Ratchet had heavily implied was mandatory for the three Stunticons. He was consumed by guilt and self-hatred that bridled against the gestalt bond. Motormaster's unrelenting hunt for their missing brothers was the only thing that seemed to quell his thoughts. Dead End and Breakdown had tried to reassure Motormaster but the semi's receptiveness was icy.
Dead End understood why.
His own processor continued to struggle with understanding that he and his brothers had been used. That the entire world looked upon them as monsters because of G.H.O.S.T. Multiple customers of their business had quickly turned their backs on the Stunticons after the news broke of their role in destroying Philadelphia and Newberg.
Motormaster had not taken the news well.
A tiny vent from Breakdown preceded the smaller Stunticon leaning against Dead End. A vent of his own hissed from Dead End as he placed a servo against the Lamborghini's helm. Dead End scratched at his brother's helm absentmindedly as First Aid exited their quarters, leaving the quarters with a strong surge of tension.
Motormaster vented heavily as he moved to the side of the couch near his two brothers, then sat down. Breakdown released his grip on Dead End to nestle closer to Motormaster. Dead End moved his servo to rest across Breakdown's legs as the Lamborghini flopped across the couch and both his older brothers.
A few minutes later and Breakdown was in recharge, his engine snoring quietly. Motormaster's right servo rested over the Lamborghini's shoulder plate, a grounding gesture Dead End knew was for both of them.
Dead End allowed silence to pass between them both for a few more seconds before, with hesitation keeping his optics from meeting Motormaster's, he turned on his vocalizer. "How do we convince him that we meant what we said?"
Motormaster shifted on the couch, the squeak of metal against metal that was the signature of the semi pinching the bridge of his nose greeting Dead End's question first. "I don't know. You know how stubborn Drag Strip can be when he gets this way. He has the right to hate me—"
"No, he doesn't," Dead End spat, anger chafing off his field as he shot Motormaster a glare. "We have discussed this matter thoroughly. What Croft did to you isn't your fault."
Motormaster simply said nothing. Frustration bit at Dead End's field as Motormaster looked away from him, digits pressed to the bridge of his nose as he shook his helm. "If we're lucky, Drag Strip will listen to us and believe us. I didn't want to leave him for so long…"
"Motormaster," Dead End whispered, the soft brush against his brother's gestalt bond meeting his own with reluctant openness, "stop. This will solely hurt you if you continue this train of thought."
"Why does that even matter anymore?" Motormaster muttered, his gaze falling to where his servo rested over Breakdown. "You know we have no chance in this sham trial. The humans refuse to understand our side. Everything we say is used against us… I don't know what to do."
Dead End did not know what to say. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth at his brother's reticence. "Your pessimism is not without reason. I too share doubts about our chances, but we are not alone. The Autobots are our allies, we can't forget that. They're on our side."
"I guess," Motormaster grumbled. The curt bite off his glossa told Dead End the conversation was over. A happenstance far more common than not since they had both escaped G.H.O.S.T.
The semi was pushing Dead End and Breakdown away.
Dead End narrowed his optics at Motormaster, then gently smacked the semi upside the helm.
Motormaster startled at the hit, a sound akin to one of Breakdown's nervous squeaks snapping from him before he could stop it. The glare Motormaster shot him wasn't one of anger, but one of utterly flummoxed bewilderment. With blinking optics, Motormaster rubbed at the side of his helm Dead End had smacked with his servo, then gestured at Dead End with a servo and the added confused rev of his engine.
"What was that for?" Motormaster asked indignantly.
"I do apologize," Dead End said as he crossed his arms over his chest plate, then met the semi's bewildered violet optics. "Sometimes the only way you will listen when you are being stupid is for it to be pointed out to you in a way you can't ignore."
Motormaster rubbed at his helm a second time, then vented. A faint, near imperceptible quirk of his mouth was the first hint of the Motormaster they'd grown up with in a month. "Well, you have my attention. How am I being stupid?"
"You're trying to push us away. It feels like when we were on the Victory."
Breakdown's quiet response came unexpectedly, but his answer was the same as Dead End would have given. A glance towards Motormaster revealed a pained expression which had the semi's field contract close to his frame with guilt.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Motormaster crossed his arms over his chest plate, protecting himself as he stared a hole into the armrest of the couch. Anxiety, guilt and fear melted through the gestalt bond as the semi shrank into himself further.
Breakdown pushed himself up to a seated position beside Motormaster, his shoulder plate shoved against the semi's side with a comforting purr of the Lamborghini's engine. Dead End shuffled his frame closer to Motormaster and Breakdown both, a low rumble emanating from his engine as he leaned on Breakdown's side.
"We don't blame you for anything G.H.O.S.T did to us. Or what they made us do." Dead End was firm as he looked towards Motormaster, hoping to catch his brother's down turned optics.
Motormaster tapped at his knee strut for a drawn out moment before he finally raised his helm and looked at his brothers. Anger flickered in the depths of Motormaster's optics, a flare that was kept at bay by a doubt that made Dead End's plating lower with pessimism.
Sorrow rippled from Motormaster, which he attempted to dispel with a firm shake of his helm. "I know none of you blame me," he admitted, quietly, "but I do. I…"
Breakdown moved before Motormaster could finish, his arms wrapped around the semi's torso. Motormaster startled, but did not pull away. Dead End moved to step away, but was caught by the strong pull of Motormaster — through the gestalt bond and physically.
::. Stay. Please. .::
Dead End nodded.
::. Of course. .::
A vent from Motormaster drew the semi's chassis relaxed as he leaned into Breakdown's hug and held Dead End. A soothing thrum swallowed their fields whole as Breakdown nestled closer to his two brothers. Dead End ruffled a servo against Breakdown's helm as he pulsed a private thanks to Breakdown.
The Lamborghini returned his thanks with a tiny purr of his engine.
Dead End was nearly in recharge some time later when he felt Breakdown stir, suddenly.
"What if we combined?"
Motormaster stirred, slowly, a weary "what?" from the semi preceding Dead End blinking his optics online as he tried to wake himself up.
Breakdown was now standing, his optics wide as he looked between Dead End and Motormaster. "Drag Strip would have to share the gestalt bond without reservation if we become Menasor. We can't lie when combined. That's how we show our brother we meant what we told him."
"I don't know if that may be wise," Dead End offered, though carefully. He didn't want to upset Breakdown for an idea that, logically, would work. Not when his reservation came from the frank nervousness Dead End felt at the idea of them risking combining.
The last time they had, they had caused untold destruction, because of Croft's control virus.
Dead End often saw himself above the general pettiness of revenge, but not so with G.H.O.S.T. Anger and a deep seated rage at the affront Croft had manipulated the Stunticons into ate at his spark. Devoured it, even.
Croft and G.H.O.S.T would pay.
"We have to," Breakdown growled, "Drag Strip will continue to argue with us if we don't."
"What if we can't keep Menasor focused, Breakdown?" Motormaster finally asked.
Dead End shot his eldest brother a glance, aware that Motormaster was afraid of combining as much as he was. Breakdown hadn't been in Menasor the last time they'd combined. Hadn't felt the unrestrained destructive hate Menasor felt for everything around him — or the odd urge to buy stocks in a construction company based in Philadelphia. Thank you, Swindle —, or how easily Menasor followed whatever Croft's orders were.
Breakdown did not bristle, or show anger at his brothers' doubt. Breakdown seemed almost eager for their doubt.
"Menasor doesn't want to destroy everything without restraint. Croft did that to him — to us. He cares about us and will listen," Breakdown insisted, a surge of excitement that was so unlike himself making Dead End double take and stare at Breakdown.
"How can you be sure?" Dead End prompted as he shared another uncertain glance with Motormaster — how embarrassing was it to be afraid of their own combiner.
"He shut off his forcefield when I asked him too," Breakdown pressed, "I explained that his forcefield was overwhelming and he turned it off, even though he believed Superion was still a threat. We have to trust him. Menasor is our brother and I believe in him as I believe in all of you."
"I will have to clear it with Optimus first," Motormaster said, "and then Ratchet. We will need the Aerialbots in case we can't control him."
Dead End swallowed, and ducked his helm away from Breakdown's prying, pleading optics. Motormaster was convinced where he could not be. The Porsche didn't know what to say but for a quiet vent and, "If you believe it will work, then I am open to trying."
Breakdown beamed. "I will explain to Drag Strip!"
"Breakdown, wait—"
Before Motormaster could finish his sentence, Breakdown was gone, his excitement bubbling through the gestalt bond as Motormaster shot Dead End a surprised look. Dead End shrugged, a cool disinterest forced into his field for the semi's benefit — and his own, for he did not want Motormaster to notice his wariness over Breakdown's suggestion — as Motormaster stood up from the couch.
"Good luck," Dead End dismissed as he moved to grab the book he'd been reading most recently — A Princess of Mars — carefully opened the book to his reserved spot, then brought the tiny book to his optic level.
He only made it through a sentence when Motormaster took the book away from him, then used his free servo to hook under Dead End's arm before he lifted him to his pedes off the couch. The book was placed on the end table near Dead End's side of the couch with great care.
Dead End vented. He knew what Motormaster was asking of him.
Without complaint, Dead End followed Motormaster as they left their quarters. The semi kept a brisk pace as the both headed towards Optimus Prime's office. Dead End walked just behind his older brother, which permitted him the chance to observe the sudden strength in the set of his brother's shoulder plates and drive in his walk. Perhaps Breakdown's idea was good for more than just the Lamborghini's intended cause.
They were not yet to Optimus' office when Dead End spotted Skydive hurrying towards him, his wings aflutter as he raced to them on swift pedes. Motormaster slowed as the F-16 sped towards them, but had to dodge to the side so the Aerialbot did not collide with him.
"Good afternoon, Skydive," Dead End greeted, aware of the arched look Motormaster shot him behind Skydive's back at his friend's obliviousness. "How are you?"
"Quite excellent," Skydive's chipper tone had Dead End tilt his helm, optics narrowed slightly as he felt excitement bursting off the jet's field. "Have you finished A Princess of Mars yet? I just did and—"
"Skydive, where are the rest of your brothers?"
The F-16 squeaked, optics widening comically as he turned to face Motormaster. His wings faltered as the towering semi stared at him — awkwardly. Dead End could tell, though Motormaster's stare always looked sternly intimidating no matter the reason — then Skydive gave a nervous chuckle. "I didn't see you there, Motormaster. Sorry. Uh. My brothers are in their quarters, they just returned from refueling."
"Thank you," Motormaster said with a polite incline of his helm before he changed course and headed towards the Aerialbots' quarters.
Skydive gave Dead End a bewildered look, to which he shrugged, before he followed the semi.
Skydive kept pace with him, dead silent until he leaned close and whispered, "He didn't ask for Silverbolt specifically. What did we do that he wants all of my brothers?"
"You didn't do anything, he wants to ask a favor of you — and Superion," Dead End explained.
Understanding, as well as some notable surprise, flickered across Skydive's faceplate. He rubbed at his servos with sharp movements, before meeting Dead End's gaze firmly. "Superion has been worried about Menasor. If we can help in any way, I know we all will agree."
"Even Slingshot?" Dead End chuffed. "He's still smarting after Breakdown yelled at him for hurting Menasor's feelings."
That had been an all too shocking, but bemusing argument. If Dead End could call his youngest brother storming up to Slingshot, shoving him backwards with a servo to the chest plate, then yelling at him for being rude to Menasor until Slingshot looked terribly embarrassed, an argument. Slingshot had been surprisingly generous to the Stunticons since, dropping off energon or assisting them with their search patrols and other tasks without a beep fielded in complaint. The change was nice. Quiet.
"Yes," Skydive assured, the smile that quirked across his mouth making Dead End smile. "I can't say Slingshot didn't deserve it."
"Still mad about him crashing our discussion on the Lusitania, aren't you?"
Skydive nodded, the sound of his laugh easing some of the pessimism laying in between Dead End's fuel lines. Part of him wondered what his old Decepticon loyal self would think if he knew Dead End's best friend was one of their rivals. That they had bonded over a love for books and history (and were teased for it summarily by Drag Strip, Wildrider and Slingshot). Dead End couldn't imagine a time where Skydive wasn't his friend.
Skydive rambled beside him, unaware of the shift in Dead End's focus. Dead End hummed in answer, though his smile quickly waned when they reached the entrance to the Aerialbots' quarters.
Dead End was going to be forced to combine. To trust Menasor. Dissatisfaction rippled across the gestalt bond as Motormaster knocked on the Aerialbots' door, and announced the Stunticons presence.
Scrambling metal and a crash, followed by Slingshot's distinctive voice yelling in pain, had Dead End raise an eyebrow ridge, then stare at Skydive, unimpressed. Skydive blinked back, his expression bewildered and without explanation as the door opened to Silverbolt's truly towering frame.
"Motormaster, Dead End, come in," the Aerialbot leader greeted, his ever present pleasant smile disarming as always.
Dead End truly couldn't find a reason to smile as much as Silverbolt did. He suspected it had to do with the Aerialbot's closeness to Motormaster, much more than Silverbolt enjoying every Stunticons' presence.
An elbow to his side from Skydive, not Motormaster, made Dead End jerk a confused look towards his friend. "Silverbolt likes all of you. You accepted us faster than the Autobots did, and he has always been thankful for that."
"I see," the disbelieving response came out before Dead End could stop it, but it wasn't dishonest. His processor couldn't find the unwavering support of his brothers as easily since the control chip had been pulled from deep inside his systems.
Wildrider was missing, Drag Strip angry at them. Motormaster afraid of his own self as self-hate consumed him. Only Breakdown — their brave, brilliant brother — was the most like himself after G.H.O.S.T's control virus, but the Lamborghini's anxiety and paranoia ebbed through their gestalt bond. The therapy had helped some, but not enough. Not with two parts of their family gone.
"What do you need from us, Motormaster?" Silverbolt's tone was gentle but firm, his field reflecting the same.
Dead End shuffled closer to Silverbolt unconsciously, desperate to lap up the soothing energy of the Aerialbot's field.
Motormaster explained Breakdown's plan to Silverbolt and the remaining Aerialbots who peeked around their leader's immense frame, until he finished with a quiet, pleading question Dead End could barely hear.
"I need your help, please."
Silverbolt straightened, determination coming through his field so strongly that Dead End felt even himself perk up. "I would do anything to help. Let us speak to Optimus about this, Motormaster. I doubt he will refuse."
Motormaster turned to Dead End as Silverbolt moved past them out of the doorway, his tone commanding in a way that straightened Dead End's backstrut. "Find Breakdown, tell him to meet us at Optimus' office."
"Of course."
With a last look at Dead End and the Aerialbots, Motormaster and Silverbolt left towards Prime's office. Dead End looked towards Skydive, then gave him a mildly inviting gesture, "You four may as well walk with me."
The four Aerialbots shared a glance amongst themselves before they agreed and, with Slingshot conspicuously silent, headed towards the medical bay. First Aid was the only medic around as Dead End and the Aerialbots stepped through the medical bay doors. The Protectobot greeted each of them with a polite request for them to "keep the level of noise down" before First Aid returned to his work.
"Oh joy," Drag Strip's growl promptly ignored First Aid's request, "it's the airheads."
Dead End felt himself wince at Drag Strip's comment. He was fishing for a fight—
Breakdown snickered, the sound cutting off the reprimand waking inside Dead End's vocalizer. The Lamborghini pushed Drag Strip gently before he looked towards the Aerialbots and Dead End. "Drag Strip means hello."
"Hello to you too, Drag Strip," Fireflight's tone was warily amused as Drag Strip gave Breakdown an unimpressed look.
::. Traitor, .:: Drag Strip teased, a lightness to his words that cut off with a sudden glare he shot towards Dead End. The Pagani's bond shut Dead End away with almost scything intent.
Dead End stepped back, plating laying flat against his chassis as Drag Strip pointedly ignored him. A glance towards Breakdown had the Lamborghini shake his helm almost imperceptibly. A private message from Breakdown explained that Drag Strip had agreed, reluctantly, with the white Stunticon's plan. Emphasis on reluctantly.
A few minutes passed with Dead End awkwardly standing away from Drag Strip as his younger brother kept his optics firmly focused on the Aerialbots and nothing else. Thankfully, before the awkwardness prompted a desire for a most boring of deactivations took over Dead End, First Aid approached the three Stunticons and four Aerialbots, his servos occupied with a datapad he was reading.
"Optimus just messaged me and said that he wants all of you to meet him in the clearing near Wolf Creek," the ambulance noted as he looked up from his datapad. "Drag Strip, you are cleared to go with them as long as you promise to return here after."
Drag Strip rolled his helm exasperatedly, emphasizing the optic roll Dead End could hear from across the medical bay, but relented without much argument. Dead End turned out of the medical bay first, his pedes carrying him swiftly outside of the Ark. With a roar of his engine, Dead End raced away towards Kinzel Lake Road, where he knew it would lead him to the clearing. His brothers and the Aerialbots often sparred there, for it was far enough away from human habitation or campsites so as to keep them safe in case Menasor — always Menasor, never Superion — decided to throw a fit and wanted to destroy his surroundings, rather than fight Superion.
After a minute or two of his Porsche Spyder alt tearing across the dirt road, Dead End hooked a right and arrived at the bare stretch of volcanic rock, sparse trees and shrubs where Optimus, Motormaster and Silverbolt were waiting. Motormaster was pacing even as Dead End transformed out of his alt mode and approached the three. A single nod from the semi was all the acknowledgement Dead End was given by his brother, until Drag Strip, Breakdown and the remaining Aerialbots arrived moments later.
The Aerialbots lined up beside Silverbolt at a small gesture from their leader. Breakdown hurried close to Dead End where he stood and waited, optics tracking the still pacing Motormaster. Drag Strip, though… His bright yellow paint hovered away from the Stunticons, an angry edge to his bond that made Dead End vent.
This was going to be unnecessarily difficult.
"Stunticons," Optimus addressed, the shift of his gaze towards Dead End, Breakdown and Motormaster stiffening Dead End's backstrut and stopping Motormaster's pacing, "we will have you combine, while the Aerialbots will wait. Silverbolt, Motormaster and I all agree that we do not wish to have Superion's presence initially, in case Menasor takes him as a threat.
"Are you ready?"
"As if there's another choice," Drag Strip growled, but he stomped to Breakdown's side nonetheless.
Optimus looked between them all, the worry in his optics mirroring that which swamped Dead End. Motormaster's servo pressed against Dead End's shoulder plate for a brief, reassuring second, before the urge to combine drew Dead End's plating to a bristle and activated his vents—
Menasor's left leg ached.
He was—
Dead End slammed to the ground hard.
A spluttering cough expelled from the Porsche as his processor returned to himself. Volcanic rock chipped at his servos as Dead End staggered up, his servos and knee struts wavering underneath him as he tried to understand what had happened.
Weak coughs sounded to his side before he heard the Aerialbots and Optimus' worried voices calling his and his brothers' names. To his side, Drag Strip pulled himself to his pedes, the palm of his left servo pressed against his helm. Breakdown was laying on his back, blinking up at the sky as a confused rumble pulsed from his engine. Behind Dead End, Motormaster got to his pedes slowly with the help of Optimus, who was looking between the five of them.
"What happened?" The Prime asked as all four of the Stunticons finally gathered their wits about them and stood, in varying stages of bewildered confusion.
Dead End knew they'd successfully combined.
His processor had gone dormant, his every memory and feeling bared to Menasor and his brothers…
But the combination had… failed?
"I… don't know, Optimus," Motormaster implored, his voice weak as he kept his helm lowered and optics turned away from Optimus' searching gaze.
"We were Menasor," Dead End pitched in, both for Optimus and the Aerialbots but also for himself in the hope that speaking out loud what his processor said had happened to them would help him piece together whatever had caused them to decombine, and so violently. "The gestalt formed. I — we — were Menasor, but then—"
"Menasor decombined himself," Breakdown whispered, his frame hunched into itself as he hugged himself with one arm and bored a hole into the volcanic rock beneath his pedes with both optics. "He refused to stay combined."
Drag Strip shook himself, a throaty, anxious roar echoing from his engine. "I can't even sense Menasor in the bond."
Optimus Prime blinked. His helm turned so that he could look at each Stunticon individually, the care in his optics making Dead End squirm as he too stared away from Optimus' gaze.
"What do you mean he 'refused'?" Optimus asked slowly, as if he was working through his vague understanding of combiners and trying to piece together the fractured explanation from the Stunticons.
"I believe he was afraid, Optimus," Motormaster explained, though he did so hesitantly.
None of them had experienced something like this with Menasor.
Yes, Menasor was grumpy and prone to sudden, dramatic shifts in mood that none of them could ever punctually predict, but Menasor had never refused to combine. Not even with Croft. He had broken apart under G.H.O.S.T's testing of his tolerance for rearranged components and a foreign component addition in Swindle, but that had been from the combiner's stress.
This was Menasor refusing Motormaster's order for him to combine.
How was a refusal from a combiner even possible?
"I didn't know he could refuse," Motormaster answered, though not to Dead End's but Optimus' question.
Dead End couldn't help but be bothered by the fact that he, as a member of a gestalt and thus deeply, intimately knowledgeable of the way gestalts functioned in ways no normal Cybertronian could hope to understand, was just as lost as Optimus.
Silverbolt's voice rumbled to his side as Dead End tried to reconcile with himself that he didn't know as much about Menasor as he thought he did. The Aerialbots' fields all ranged with various strains of confusion, shock and bewilderment as they circled the Stunticons, every voice overlapping questions, comments and uncertainty — until Optimus cut them all off with a firm rumble of his engine.
"We must return to the Ark immediately. The Constructicons may be able to explain what happened," Optimus ordered, "and they are leaving the Ark shortly. We will need to catch them before they leave."
A chorus of "yes, sirs" preceded the nine gestalt members following the red and blue semi back to the Ark.
Dead End said nothing as they drove, even as he heard Drag Strip, Breakdown and Motormaster discussing Menasor's refusal through the gestalt bond. Drag Strip was utterly flummoxed, mildly embarrassed even, but he was talking to Motormaster as if his previous grievances had been forgotten all in the crash of the four Stunticons as their combiner threw himself apart. Dead End knew that was part of the explanation, but also that Drag Strip had seen and felt his brothers' convictions, emotions and their last month of hunting for him and Wildrider in the brief time they were combined.
It also had to help that Breakdown was driving directly beside Drag Strip the entire time, the Lamborghini refusing to let Drag Strip be alone with Breakdown's typical silent stubbornness.
A stubbornness that showed in the bond as Breakdown prodded and theorized with Drag Strip and Motormaster, silently leading the trio's discussion as the K100 and Pagani replied in turn.
Motormaster's side of the bond fluctuated with a tidal wave of emotions, but the semi kept them under control. How long would the purpose this now failed mission had imbued in Motormaster last, though?
Dead End chided himself harshly as he closed off his bond, shutting himself away from his brothers. How hadn't he ever theorized the possibility of a combiner not allowing itself to stay combined before it had happened to the Stunticons? He was bookish and well read, with a wealth of knowledge Dead End was vastly proud of, but he had never imagined this possibility.
What was the point of reading if his knowledge failed him when he needed it the most?
He was about to chide himself again, when a memory suddenly struck Dead End. Not one of his own, but one from Drag Strip.
The Pagani was parked in a garage, a gray Ferrari parked beside him—
Ferrari.
Wildrider.
::. Drag Strip, .:: Dead End opened the bond, his address to his younger brother interrupting whatever Motormaster had been saying, ::. You were with Wildrider. In a garage. Where were you, before we found you? .::
::. I worked for Croft and her brother. I was his daily driver, .:: Drag Strip explained immediately, though the jerk of his side mirrors told Dead End that Drag Strip was suddenly upset. ::. They both said I was the only Cybertronian who worked for them. I couldn't even remember Wildrider. I never thought twice of him… Primus. We have to get him out. .::
::. How? .:: Motormaster prompted, as they arrived at the Ark.
Drag Strip transformed out of his alternate mode first, his frame turned so that he walked backwards while his brothers followed him into the Ark. "I could return to their house, they might not know that I was released from their control chips—"
"Absolutely not," Optimus interjected, "no one goes on a mission alone, no matter the reason."
Anger flared off Drag Strip as he turned to glare at Optimus, but a raised servo from the Autobot leader stopped the Pagani in his tracks. "Motormaster filled me in on what you four were discussing about Wildrider. If we are to rescue him, we must do so wisely and with a plan. All four of you are enemies in the eyes of the humans, we can't risk anything going wrong, or your presence somewhere being misinterpreted as an attack against the humans, until this trial is over."
"The Aerialbots will travel with our Stunticon companions in their endeavor, Optimus," Silverbolt offered before Drag Strip could protest, or argue, against Optimus. "Whatever plan we come up with, we will fight by our friends' sides, to the end."
Optimus' response was solely a nod as he led both gestalt teams to his office. Each member piled into the large room, where they watched as Optimus made a private call to Megatron, then turned back to them. At Optimus' prompting, Drag Strip explained every detail he could remember — which their failed attempt at combining had stirred to the forefront of all of the Stunticons' thoughts — of Croft, Schloder and G.H.O.S.T.
He pointed out where Croft and Schloder lived — or had lived — and where they worked. Explained, in minute detail, everything he recalled about Wildrider. How the Ferrari never transformed. Never spoke. How his field and gestalt bond were entirely absent. The humans' control chips had done similar to Swindle, Dead End and Motormaster, as well as Drag Strip, the Pagani reassured, which Dead End knew meant tracking Wildrider would still be near impossible.
Optimus' office door swung open with a burst of steel gray, purple and yellow, and six green and purple Cybertronians. Megatron had arrived, with Swindle and the Constructicons in tow. Hook and Scrapper marched up to Motormaster, who they began prodding with questions about their attempt to combine, while Swindle followed Megatron, who approached Dead End, Drag Strip and Breakdown.
"Optimus," Megatron began as he stopped near the Stunticons, but not too near, "Swindle and I believe that we may be able to ask for assistance from the remaining Decepticons, should we need it. In our search for G.H.O.S.T's new base, we stumbled upon a dumping ground of deceased and mutilated Decepticons. If I still know Soundwave, he will not stand by this affront without direct action from his forces."
Swindle nodded in agreement, though Dead End noticed a clear hesitance in the Combaticon as Swindle stepped closer to Optimus. "I don't have any more information on G.H.O.S.T that could help us locate wherever their new base is. We checked every operation center I knew of, and all were deserted by the time we arrived. I wish I could have done more to help, after what I did to the Stunticons—"
"You did everything you could, Swindle," Optimus said, the tight knit of his brow one of both concern and thankfulness — all of which made Swindle look down, embarrassed. "What happened with the Stunticons is in the past, and you have worked to show a different side of yourself. What matters most of all to me is that you are no longer held by G.H.O.S.T and have returned to safe quarters with fellow Cybertronians."
Swindle muttered a "thanks" before he promptly moved to the furthest corner of the office, vanishing from sight amongst the shadows. Dead End watched Swindle for a moment longer, unsure if he could even feel anger at how Swindle had given up the Stunticons' names and location to G.H.O.S.T when he knew full well how effective G.H.O.S.T's influence was on his brothers and himself. Wildrider was still their captive and, judging from Drag Strip's description of him, in all but literal stasis.
They had to rescue their brother safely and without the knowledge of the Autobot and Stunticons deceit leaking to the humans. The Stunticons had been "barred" from missions or active duty since the humans had first sent in their injunction against them. Motormaster had ignored the terms completely as he continued to hunt for Wildrider and Drag Strip, but Breakdown and Dead End had followed the conditions to the letter, mostly.
(Mostly because Dead End had given up and Breakdown had followed his suit).
::. Trial? .:: Drag Strip suddenly whispered through the bond, before a sudden influx of shock hit the gestalt bond hard enough that Motormaster, still deep in conversation with the Constructicons, looked in the direction of his three brothers.
Dead End waved Motormaster's concern off with a I will take care of this through the gestalt bond that was returned with a nod and quiet thanks through the gestalt bond.
Drag Strip moved to the monitor in the office, his servos flying over the controls until he had pulled up video footage of the trial from the day prior. Dead End looked at Breakdown, who looked as uncertain as Dead End felt, then approached the monitor and Drag Strip. "What is it?"
"There was a human at the trial who met with Schloder and Croft at their house the day the trial date was announced to the public. He knew about G.H.O.S.T," Drag Strip began to explain as he sped through the footage until it got to where Motormaster was on the stand. Drag Strip made the footage crawl through, up to the point where the camera turned to focus on the prosecutor and the American government officials sitting just behind him in view of the screen.
Drag Strip paused the video feed as the camera took one more shift, then pointed to one of the government officials. "Him."
Dead End leaned closer, optics narrowed as he stared at the human—
"That's the Secretary of State," Swindle's voice, directly behind Dead End and his brothers, made Dead End jump, though he tried to contain it behind a posh clearing of his intake and controlled turn of his helm in Swindle's direction. To his relief, Swindle was oblivious, for all his focus was intently that of staring at the Secretary of State on the video feed.
"Exactly, and look at how the prosecutor looks to the Secretary for his input," Drag Strip noted as he made the video feed play once again. Dead End squinted now, his helm tilted to the side as Drag Strip played the video loop over and over until he caught what he meant.
The government official and the prosecutor were working together. The Secretary of the State was working with G.H.O.S.T?
Swindle shifted beside Dead End as Megatron and Optimus approached the four of them, the Combaticon's gaze turning to the monitor, then the two leaders. "Croft hates Cybertronians. Her whole goal is to eradicate our race or evict us off Earth. If she and the Secretary know each other, and are affiliated together…"
"Then we have stumbled upon a plot that we cannot best alone," Optimus vented. "We will need evidence of the complicity of the prosecutor, Secretary and G.H.O.S.T if we are to stand a chance with the Stunticons being lifted of the charges."
"The best way to find that evidence," Drag Strip growled, "is to find Wildrider."
Dead End looked down at Drag Strip's assertion.
Drag Strip was correct, of course, but how did he think they could accomplish that task if Dead End and his brothers had to have Drag Strip find them to find him?
A plan, was what Optimus had said.
They needed a plan, and the cooperation of the Autobots and Decepticons.
Dead End looked up towards Megatron, who was speaking rapidly to Scrapper, who'd left the rest of his Constructicons with Motormaster. The tiltrotor former Decepticon held faith and experience with the Decepticons that all five Stunticons greatly lacked. If Megatron believed Soundwave could help them against G.H.O.S.T, could his convictions be right?
For G.H.O.S.T wasn't simply the Stunticons and Autobots enemy, but an enemy to their entire race.
G.H.O.S.T had traumatized Menasor, for all intents and purposes. Had tortured Motormaster, and logically Wildrider and Drag Strip. Had turned Dead End and his brothers against every ounce of therapy, self restraint and work they had put into changing themselves, simply because of a hatred for the Stunticons' race.
Megatron had made the Stunticons as a means to an end in his war.
G.H.O.S.T intended to use them in the same manner, by turning the humans of Earth against the truce that had been created between the humans, Autobots and Decepticons in 2006.
Dead End shook off his pessimism, his denta bared as he flexed his servos and clenched his digits together. If the humans wanted to make the Cybertronians their enemy, Dead End knew he and his brothers would have to put every ounce of effort into proving themselves to all. All they needed was to find Wildrider.