The Cybertronian alphabet referenced here is that of the one created for the High Moon Transformers games.
Transformers © HASBRO
Silverbolt shifted in his chair and hummed. He looked up from the book he was browsing, then passed it over to Dead End. Dead End took the book carefully, his right thumb brushing the cover as the Concorde leaned back in his seat and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. Skydive peered over Dead End's shoulder at the gold embossed cover of the book on Egyptian mythology, before a sound from Silverbolt's vocalizer drew them both to the Concorde's large frame.
"Do you believe these gods could have existed?" Silverbolt questioned, his expression filled with wondrous curiosity as he peered closely at Dead End.
Dead End tapped at the cover of the book, an unconscious movement he had never been able to tame, then shrugged. "Who can say. The fact many ancient stories have similar characters or references — such as floods, or serpents — makes me believe there was something that led humans to believe so strongly in deities such as those described in this book."
"The reasoning is sound," Silverbolt concurred, his smile warm.
Dead End could not help but flush warmly at Silverbolt's positive attention. The book club between himself, Skydive and Silverbolt had become Dead End's place of quiet and peace after G.H.O.S.T. Even when Drag Strip had popped in on occasion for some of their meetings, Dead End felt a sense of pleased relief at having one of his brothers attend his book club. Sharing stories or simply reading in the same space as the two Aerialbots had helped him pick through his feelings about his capture by the humans, and the subsequent torture his brothers had endured. As well as his complacency that made it so G.H.O.S.T never had to raise a hand against him besides their control virus to make him follow them.
The book club had allowed the morose Porsche to pick through his feelings without judgment or the stress of the Autobot therapist listening to his every depressed rumbling. Skydive never questioned Dead End when his choice of book was one of such a dark nature as to allow Dead End to work through his own fatalistic feelings through the author's writing. Skydive simply sat closer to him, his servo always right above Dead End's own as they read their books together.
A touch that soon became starkly present as Skydive gently took his servo at Dead End's wandering mind. Dead End pulled himself back into reality in time to hear Skydive and Silverbolt's conversation.
"I heard the others speaking about some 'Primus' deity from Cybertron," Skydive mused, "I wonder what similarities our stories have to those from Earth?"
Silverbolt frowned contemplatively, blue optics sharpening their focus as he glanced towards Dead End. He was trying to include him. "Perhaps more than our species may realize. Jazz studies human cultures but he was not created from Earth, as our teams were. I have more experience with Earth and its culture than our own as Cybertronians."
Skydive snorted, a small laugh escaping from him as he nodded his agreement. "I haven't finished my research on Earth's history, how can I begin to approach the history of a planet we've never been to?"
"I can't say," Silverbolt shook his helm, gaze turning deeply conflicted as he spared Dead End another glance.
Dead End knew why.
He and his brothers were made entirely of Earth materials, besides their sparks and t-cogs. The Stunticons couldn't speak or read the Cybertronian language of glyphs. They used human lexicon and syntax where the Autobots used a modified version of Cybertronian fused with that of the humans. The Stunticons and Aerialbots had little loyalty to Cybertron, for they had never been created to it as every other Cybertronian on Earth had.
To Dead End, Cybertron was merely an unreachable destination, and one he held no ambition towards reaching. He was an Earth-sparked Cybertronian, and always would be.
Silverbolt turned to Skydive, who he loudly addressed another question to as the F-16 bounced in his seat, his excitement infectious to a degree it rubbed against Dead End's plating and made him scoot further from the two Aerialbots. A buzz through his private comms from Silverbolt suggested for him to take a break, before the Concorde purposely distracted Skydive so Dead End could readjust.
With an ache deep down in his core, Dead End stood up and paced until his processor cleared. The Porsche grounded himself on the voices of his two friends as he picked through the emotions that had emerged from his reserved core.
Anger prowled through his mind, creating frissons underneath his plating as its unfamiliar heat activated his fans. Dead End wasn't angry naturally. He could count on one servo the times in four decades that he'd felt anger at someone or something. Now anger had burrowed into his spark and left him off balance, for it was not a bleed over from Motormaster's gestalt bond, but wholly originating from within Dead End.
His anger pointed towards G.H.O.S.T and the humans who had, in his opinion, escaped far too easily from the punishment they deserved. Croft, the Secretary of State, Bishop and Schloder had been arrested and stripped of all of their benefits and power within the government and military, but the punishment felt small. The Stunticons had discussed the end of the trial late into the night after it was all over, all five of them trying to find a conclusion to what G.H.O.S.T had done to them. Wildrider was the one who was the most determined to move on, though he hadn't been able to hide his sense of loss from his brothers as they talked.
They had been used with no mind to the Stunticons' individuality. The five of them were a means to an end for Croft and the former Secretary of State. Even though the humans' goal of making the Cybertronian race, especially those of Decepticon origin or inclination, as threats to the safety of all of humanity, had technically failed due to the evidence the Autobots, Decepticons and Stunticons had compiled together, their actions had marred everything Dead End and his brothers had worked for.
Dead End had lost track of how much hate mail they had received through their work email and phone number after Philadelphia. He'd eventually resorted to deactivating their email and canceling their phone subscription, but the damage had been done.
Motormaster didn't want to return to their home anymore. Motormaster kept finding jobs and tasks around the Ark that Optimus supposedly "assigned" the semi to complete, but the Porsche knew Motormaster was lying.
Breakdown, smart, quiet Breakdown, was following Motormaster's lead in the same. Dead End had approached his youngest brother yesterday with a question about their shop in Montana, only for the Lamborghini to shut his question down by shutting Dead End away with a turned back, offline audials and a closed off bond.
Drag Strip was spending more time with the Constructicons, even to the point of volunteering on days he wasn't required to do disaster clean up in Philadelphia. Dead End had joined Drag Strip a few times outside his own shift, but he couldn't deny the combined effort to stay away from their home.
Wildrider was the only one who returned to Montana since he had been cleared from Ratchet's medical bay. The Ferrari was there, while his four brothers hid on the Ark. It shamed Dead End when he truly thought about Wildrider working alone in their shop, trying so hard to restore himself to their old life.
Dead End had to stiffen up and return to Montana.
What kind of second-in-command would he be if he didn't?
Finally, Dead End sat down, his energy gone as he slumped against his chair and tuned his audials back to Silverbolt and Skydive's conversation. Both were still discussing the Egyptian deities, though now Skydive was hastily scanning through a book that Dead End knew was of ancient Cybertronian origin.
"You can read Cybertronian?" Dead End mused as he gestured to the glyphs on the cover of Skydive's book.
He was surprised. His friend had never demonstrated fluency in Cybertronian in all the years of their book clubs. (Because Dead End had always suggested books written in English, never those from Cybertron itself).
"Not extensively," Skydive admitted, "I know a few words, but not enough."
Skydive turned the book so that Dead End could see the glyphs that ran across the page, before he gestured to one glyph, which looked like a jumble of scribbled lines to Dead End, then met Dead End's gaze. "This is the equivalent of 'e' from the Latin alphabet. I know the individual glyphs and have theorized what they spell when together."
Heat traveled across Skydive's faceplate, turning his beige faceplate ruddy as he stared down at the book. Dead End tilted his helm, confused by his friend's sudden shift in mood, then tapped Skydive with his left servo.
"Is something the matter?"
"No," Skydive was still flushed, his digits tapping erratically and swiftly on the page of the open book as his voice softened. "I wanted to be fluent before I told you that I had learned Cybertronian. I wanted to teach you how to read Cybertronian glyphs."
"Oh."
Now it was Dead End who felt his fans activate as his plating flared with heat.
No one, but for his brothers, ever took the effort to do something specifically with him in mind. Not that the Autobots were rude or disrespectful to him, they were anything but truthfully, most simply did not understand Dead End or his passions. Skydive understood Dead End but the F-16 was so often stuck in his own dreams and thoughts that Dead End would never have imagined that his friend would take such an effort for Dead End.
"Is that… okay with you?" Skydive's query was uncertain, his optics darting from his book to Dead End and then back to his book. Silverbolt placed a reassuring servo on Skydive's shoulder as Dead End tried to formulate a proper response for his choked vocalizer.
"Yes, of course," he finally managed to say. For a moment, Dead End found himself wishing that he shared a gestalt bond with Skydive, if only to allow his friend into his processor to understand the Porsche's emotions where he could not describe them himself.
Perhaps he could have Wildrider communicate such to Skydive through the bit of the Aerialbot gestalt bond his brother had acquired when he'd combined with Superion in Philadelphia.
The Ferrari had mentioned being able to sense the emotions of the Aerialbots before he'd left for Montana when Drag Strip took to complaining about the trace of Swindle's gestalt bond they could all still feel. Motormaster had simply raised an optic at Wildrider's explanation, while Drag Strip's good natured teasing about Wildrider's helm being filled with clouds by the five fliers had earned him a roll of Wildrider's optics and a soft laugh from the Ferrari.
A pleasant sound Dead End could not get enough of from his brother.
They were hurt and Dead End knew that he and Motormaster shared a current of anger towards G.H.O.S.T and humans they could not easily extinguish, but they were healing. Slowly, yes, but they were healing.
"Why not start with the Cybertronian alphabet?" Dead End suggested as he moved closer to his friend, right servo moving to be delicately placed on the book Skydive was holding.
Skydive's optics lit up. A smile lit across his faceplate as the F-16 excitedly shifted his chair closer to Dead End, leaving Silverbolt to almost fall over from where he'd had his servo on his brother's shoulder plate, and opened the book to them all.
Skydive walked Dead End and Silverbolt through the phonetic sound of the Cybertronian alphabet, small laughs and soft chuckles escaping from the F-16 whenever Dead End or Silverbolt flubbed the pronunciation. Silverbolt pushed Skydive as he teased the Concorde for failing to pronounce the Cybertronian "z" repeatedly.
"Slower, 'bolt," Skydive said, "imagine how much you'll impress him if you can ask him—"
A knock on the door cut Skydive off mid-sentence before Motormaster stuck his helm through the open door frame. His violet optics darted to Silverbolt then Skydive before they landed on Dead End. The shift in his brother's expression had Dead End straighten, the book and Cybertronian alphabet forgotten as Motormaster cleared his vocalizer stiffly.
"May I borrow my brother for a bit, please?"
Motormaster was upset.
Something was eating at him.
The draw of the semi's faceplate and scrunched nose ridge told Dead End nearly everything.
"Go ahead," Silverbolt said in the distance as Dead End stood up, focused intently on Motormaster. "If you need anything, simply call me, alright?"
Motormaster blinked at Silverbolt's offer, but nodded his thanks before he led Dead End out of the small room.
"What is troubling you?" Dead End cut to the chase, his right servo gently placed over Motormaster's arm as the semi led him away from the book club room.
"I spoke to Megatron."
Dead End recoiled.
Motormaster looked away from him, an uncomfortable surge of energy roiling as if generated by a storm from the semi's gestalt bond.
"You did what?"
Motormaster flinched at Dead End's unintended snarl, his arm pulling away from Dead End's servo as Motormaster rubbed at his freed arm anxiously. Dead End winced as his older brother slowed to a stop, the nervous energy rippling off his field turning Dead End to face Motormaster. The semi turned his helm away from Dead End as he approached Motormaster, his servos careful in their handling as he grabbed Motormaster's servos in his own.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap," Dead End whispered, an apology sent through the gestalt bond until Motormaster turned his helm to look him in the optics. "I was — am — worried. I know how you feel about Megatron. Did he force you to talk to him?"
"No!" Motormaster almost furiously shook his helm, a glint of affronted anger turning his violet optics dark.
Dead End met his brother's near glare calmly, the unwavering affection for the semi that he allowed to thread through the bond and off his field seeming enough to make Motormaster blink, shake himself and vent.
"No," he repeated, much quieter and with a hint of sorrow putting an edge to Motormaster's words, "he asked for my permission before we talked. He wanted to apologize for how he treated me when we were still with the Decepticons."
Dead End could not help but narrow his optics, his denta grinding as he tried to bite off the snarl of disbelief that his vocalizer insisted on generating. Megatron had changed, but enough to mean any apology to Motormaster for the abuse all of the Stunticons knew their eldest had endured for more than a year? If it was all a trick from the former Decepticon, Dead End could not imagine how poorly Motormaster would take it.
Motormaster loved Megatron.
Of all of the Stunticons, Motormaster was the one who desired a father figure the most.
If Megatron meant his apology and demonstrated it through actions towards Motormaster, Dead End knew his brother would struggle to not fall into the former Decepticon's charismatic words and gestures. If Megatron was playing games with Motormaster, the semi would never be able to fully recover from Megatron's betrayal.
Dead End would kill Megatron if he was tricking Motormaster.
"Do you believe Megatron means his apology?" Dead End asked. He tightened his grip on Motormaster's servos as the semi shifted on his large pedes, the swallow within his intake as loud as a claxon to Dead End's observant audials.
"I believe he meant what he said," Motormaster whispered.
Dead End wondered how much of Motormaster's belief was his desperation to have Megatron in his life once again, over Megatron's own honesty. The Decepticon Megatron was anything but honest, at least from what Dead End remembered of the tiltrotor. Megatron had helped Breakdown and was even gentle to him, which Breakdown had discussed with all of them in a nervous fluster of stammered words when they had recovered Wildrider and the Ferrari had finally woken to being himself again.
Dead End's pessimism and want for his brother's safety and comfort told him to be suspicious of Megatron. The Porsche wasn't going to not listen to his instincts, not until Megatron truly proved himself to them all.
"Dead End?" Motormaster's voice pulled Dead End from his thoughts, the strain within his brother's vocalizer making Dead End reassure Motormaster with a squeeze of his servos.
"I was thinking."
Motormaster tried to smile, but it faltered as the semi's optics darkened with fear. "You and I both. I want him to mean his apology. I—"
"You aren't obliged to forgive him," Dead End interrupted sharply. Motormaster startled at Dead End's snap for a moment, before embarrassment curled off his field and he pulled away from Dead End. The Porsche stopped Motormaster with a servo on his forearm before the semi could leave, tone firm as he shifted so that the semi had to meet his optics. "I wasn't finished."
A vent met Dead End's cold statement before Motormaster gestured to him and said a quiet, "Continue, then."
"I know how much you love Megatron, brother, which is why you need to know you aren't required to ever forgive him. Megatron may apologize, and may change his attitude, but that doesn't mean you owe him for his change afterwards. The only person who matters," Dead End jabbed Motormaster in the chest plate as he spoke, "is you. Not Megatron. He was the one who chose to hurt you, he has to put the effort in to change himself before you should ever give him the time of day or trust he is looking for what is best for you."
Motormaster looked away. He twisted his servos, removing them from Dead End's grasp before the semi turned his servos in and wrapped his arms around his chest plate defensively. Hurt and fear radiated off Motormaster as he made himself small, his shoulder plates tucked into his frame and helm hung.
"I told him I couldn't accept his apology," Motormaster admitted. "He hurt all of us, and I can't forgive him for that. I told him no but part of me wanted to let him hug me and comfort me. I don't know why I want to give him a chance to prove himself to me when he hurt us."
Anger blazed from Motormaster suddenly as the semi whipped a hardened, sharp glare to Dead End.
The Porsche straightened as Motormaster stepped towards Dead End, the semi's frame towering over Dead End as Motormaster smacked his own chest plate with one servo and let out a frustrated, broken snarl.
"If I can't forgive him, why do I want him back in my life? Look at what he did to us! He's why we ended up here in the first place. Megatron is why you four hated me! Why I hurt my own team! Why do I care about him? Why do I want him back in my life, when he almost killed all of you?" Motormaster's vocalizer cracked as the semi clenched his fists together, then wrapped his arms around his chest plate again. "What kind of brother am I?"
Rage, fear, anger and so much more waged across his faceplate as Motormaster rolled his optics, then glared up at the ceiling.
"Motormaster…" Dead End stepped towards Motormaster slightly, one servo raised hesitantly towards Motormaster's left arm.
Motormaster moved away from Dead End, evading his touch as the semi hunched into himself defensively. A soft whisper crawled across the Porsche's backstrut as Motormaster turned his helm to glance sideways at his brother. "You four are the soul of my spark. Why do I want to risk that for him?"
"Because he created us and you want that to mean something besides his abuse?" Dead End couldn't help himself from the emotionless retort. He knew Motormaster. Knew how the Kenworth thought and what went on inside the semi's processor.
The gestalt bond told all.
A sigh escaped from Motormaster as he turned his helm from Dead End with a puff of steam rushing from his vents. He didn't move when Dead End stepped closer a second time, his right servo brushing over Motormaster's lower arm. Only that touch pulled Motormaster away from his thoughts.
Slowly, almost painfully, Motormaster looked down at Dead End.
Sorrow. Hate. Exhaustion.
The semi's optics were dull violet.
Dead End winced at the semi's pained expression as Motormaster unwrapped his arms from his chest plate, then slammed a clenched servo against the nearest wall. Dead End couldn't help the instinctive way he flinched at Motormaster's burst of anger, a movement Motormaster did not miss.
Pained optics and a strained gasp escaped from Motormaster before he brushed past Dead End, his steps hurried as he left Dead End behind. Dead End stared after Motormaster. This wasn't what he wanted.
"Motormaster!" Dead End shouted as he ran after his brother, aware of the pounding hurt, sadness, regret, and an endless tirade of whispered stupid stupid stupid echoing through the bond from Motormaster.
::. You're not stupid, .:: Dead End tried to reassure the semi, only for Motormaster to shut him off from his bond.
Regret burned through Dead End as he searched the halls of the Ark for his brother. For such a large mech, Motormaster was fast and skilled at hiding when he wanted to. None of the Autobots had the same skill set — or, perhaps, dependency would be a better term — of hiding as the Stunticons did, a fact Dead End mused was the cause of sharing the same space as multiple Decepticons who would have not hesitated to attack them for walking down the same hallway when they'd lived on the Victory.
Though Motormaster had never been the one to hide on the Victory, Dead End knew that he would find his brother lurking somewhere that would keep him hidden from any passing Autobot. It took a few minutes of searching the corridors and hallways until Dead End found one of the Ark's hallways that had been needing maintenance for years. Soft sounds reverberated from the tunnel, which was boarded off with caution tape, large crates filled with maintenance supplies and a surprisingly large stash of energon.
That would need to be reported.
Dead End squeezed past the tape and crates carefully, picking where he would step with extreme caution. He didn't want to scare Motormaster off by knocking anything over before he could reassure the semi.
Finally, Dead End made it through the boarded off section, though he had to duck multiple exposed ducts and pipings as he approached the unmistakable purple glow of Motormaster's biolights. Another hazard he'd have to report to Jazz and the security team on the Ark.
The black semi had his knees tucked close to his chest plate, his gray arms wrapped around his lower legs while his helm was buried into the jumble of plating made from his tucked knees and crossed arms. It took a few moments for Dead End to realize that the sound which had alerted him first to the semi's presence was that of Motormaster crying. A core deep wince rattled through Dead End at the realization that his instinctive reaction to Motormaster's anger had caused his brother to cry.
"Hey," Dead End whisper-called to his brother before he sat down next to him.
Motormaster didn't acknowledge him.
The semi merely tucked his helm closer to his knees instead. It made Dead End's spark ache. Stars, he was dumb.
"I'm sorry. I'm not afraid of you. I didn't mean to flinch." Dead End felt almost silly speaking to his practically mute brother.
He knew Motormaster's mood swings and feelings well, and always from the perspective of another causing Motormaster to bristle out of his reserved control. Dead End never had to deal with Motormaster after Dead End had hurt his brother.
That was why Dead End was the second in command.
He was the polar ice to Motormaster's volcanic fury.
The lethargy to Motormaster's vitality.
The quiet that the semi would turn to when he needed a different processor to work through their situation before Motormaster snapped.
Dead End wasn't supposed to be the one stumbling in his interactions with Motormaster.
"You have good reason to be wary," Motormaster finally whispered, as he turned his helm to peer at Dead End long enough for Dead End to recognize the shimmer of windshield wiper fluid that streaked down Motormaster's faceplate.
He was such an idiot.
"I am terrified of hurting you four," Motormaster struggled to get the words out from his strangled vocalizer, "I'm sorry. I don't want to—"
Motormaster looked so small as he tucked his arms around his knees once again. His shoulder plates stayed narrow and hunched into his frame, shifting his silhouette to one that lacked Motormaster's usual strength, decorum or pride. Dead End hated seeing his brother in such a state.
"Motors…" Dead End trailed off at the sound of the semi's vocalizer catching on another sob.
Before Dead End could recognize it was himself moving, he shifted his frame to face Motormaster, placed his left servo on Motormaster's helm and his right on his brother's shoulder plate, then pulled Motormaster to rest against his chassis. Motormaster did not react as Dead End laid his faceplate against the top of Motormaster's helm cowling but for a quiet sob that shed wiper fluid over Dead End's chassis.
Dead End couldn't have cared less. He was not going to let him go. A deep inhalation of air cooled the Porsche's chassis as he began to rub soothing circles against the semi's shoulder plate.
Motormaster shook under his touch, but he never pulled away. He only tucked himself closer, until his arms wrapped around Dead End and held him in place.
"I know," Dead End whispered as he returned the hug with force, optics closing as he buried his faceplate against Motormaster's warm plating.
Motormaster's sobs faded as minutes passed them both by. He pulled away from the hug when his vocalizer stopped catching on each sob his chassis could no longer hold back. He'd stopped staring at his pedes, his optics clear of any wiper fluid as his tears faded. Dead End kept his servo close to his brother, just in case.
"I will support you through whatever choice you make about Megatron," Dead End whispered as he leaned against Motormaster. Dead End didn't agree with the idea, but he would never abandon Motormaster.
The Porsche was wary of Megatron, and deeply suspicious of the tiltrotor's ambitions relating to the semi. He couldn't help himself but to think the worst thanks to his pessimistic nature, but Motormaster needed more than just suspicion and pessimism. Dead End did not like the prospect of his older brother falling under Megatron's thrall unwittingly.
Motormaster needed support most of all in this endeavor.
Dead End vented. "We're not going to tell the others about this, are we?"
Motormaster shook his helm before he hugged himself closer. "Not yet. I don't want them to worry. I'll… figure out whether I can trust him or not, then I'll tell the rest of our brothers."
Dead End frowned, his servo giving an instinctive comforting squeeze against Motormaster's arm. "Remember, you owe him nothing. You are the one with the power to say no and turn him down."
"I know," Motormaster vented, his confidence a ploy Dead End could see through with ease.
Before Dead End could respond, Motormaster tucked his arms around his knees, buried his helm into that mass of plating and vented out a choked puff of air. Dead End could do little but lean close to his brother to comfort him.
They remained that way for some time, the quiet hallway their only companion. Dead End knew Silverbolt and Skydive would understand why he hadn't returned. They would be worried, though. Especially Silverbolt.
Especially about Motormaster.
A crack of a smile crossed Dead End's faceplate, before it faded as he moved his right servo to rub at Motormaster's backstrut.
"We need to go home."
Motormaster squinted up from where he'd buried his helm against his knees, expression guarded. "Aren't we home here?"
"No," Dead End placed his left servo on Motormaster's left arm, which elicited a shiver from the semi's plating that urged Dead End to hug his older brother. He didn't, though. Not yet. "I mean Montana. We can't keep hiding out on the Ark. We need to get our lives back to as we were running them before G.H.O.S.T, or we will never fully recover."
Motormaster looked down at the dark plating of his lower legs, then shook his helm, minutely. Fear gnawed at Dead End even as Motormaster tried to stifle his already nearly hidden field from the Porsche.
"Wildrider has the correct idea." Dead End pried at his brother's chin, forcing him to look him in the optic before Motormaster could protest. "Going home is our best option. We need to get out, face what we are all afraid of in Montana. That's our home. We will be safe there, if only we give ourselves the chance again."
Motormaster met Dead End's optics briefly.
Dead End met his brother's searching, desperately scared look with firmness. He knew he was right. Knew Wildrider was right.
The Stunticons couldn't keep hiding.
"Alright," Motormaster answered, "we will go home. Tomorrow. I… need time."
Dead End nodded but said nothing else. He wrapped his arms around Motormaster and hugged his brother.
They'd get through this — Megatron, the aftermath of G.H.O.S.T, everything else — together.
