(no subject)
AU drabble. Featuring OCs in some as yet unnamed 'verse. D-'bots and the D-'con mine. Heatseek is quidamling's.
"So."
The black Benz grunted from where he was sunning himself, acknowledging the presence of his sibling. Undeterred, Distractor plunked down beside his brother, sturdy silver limbs falling neatly into place.
"I hope you know what the frag you're doing," started the McLaren, earning himself a wary glance from the surly black SUV. One optic ridge arched, and Distractor made a vague gesture between them.
"Spark still tells."
"Figured as much," growled the once-Decepticon medic. A pair of passing Autobots on their way into the base threw casual salutes to Distractor, who returned them just as lazily. Neither of them so much acknowledged the other Benz. Dissever amiably ignored the cold shoulder, gears whirring as he shifted, stretching out his legs.
"Should get rid of that." A hand rapped on plating, over the subtle mark that was all sharp spearing angles and fox-like cunning. Dissever snorted, smacked away his brother's hand.
"Get slagged."
"You might want to be watching yourself, Dizzy, before you get slagged."
"I'm unarmed," he snapped, unable to stop the shudder. He lifted his left arm, the space left where the medic's saw used to lay clearly visible under clarity of a hot afternoon's sun. Red optics flashed as he turned his head, hunched forward, forearms on thighs. Distractor said nothing.
"And much as I wouldn't really trust the rest of them as far as a combiner could throw them, I'm trusting your Autobot code of honour," Dissever spat, bristling. "Hopefully I don't get a repeat of the past."
"And I thought I was bad at holding grudges... Dizz, it's a new era, as some would say. Nothing like the days of old. Besides, hasn't your parole officer knocked as much sense into you?"
"Bastard," muttered the Benz, half grinning. "I almost died. At the hands of someone we knew, trusted, loved. Someone we grew up with. I'm never going to forget that. You never forget when you melt down that last bridge."
"With your dumb roundabout talk, you should've been a philosophy lecturer or something."
"Shaddup. I hate philosophy."
"Idiot."
"Dumbnut."
Movement on their sensor net cut short what could've been a capital brawl in the dirt, accompanied by a happy chirr and sleek blues lines. Both brothers cracked a smile, perked immediately. Pleased engine purrs sounded all around, the subtle greeting of a sibling trio. Distractor raised a hand, and Dissever nodded at the Lancer ambling their way.
"What's shakin' down, 'Bit?"
---
"... He's still a Decepticon."
Almost unseen, the long lanky lines of a white Ford shifted in half-shadows, more invisible than one would have thought, the milky color of his plating considered. Beside him loomed the imposing figure of his own brother, blue optics narrowed at the black Benz, sunning himself in the last of the afternoon heat while two high performance engines growled and snapped in mock intimidation, the two younger spark-brothers sparring, more playful than serious.
"He's a friend," Heatseek replied simply, arms crossed, finial twitching lightly. Somewhere in his subspace was the neatly folded set of blades equipped to every medic, a mark of their profession, more purely a part of them than any upgrade received. As they watched, Dissever's gaze shifted from his siblings to their general direction, red meeting blue. He inclined his head ever so slightly. Heatseek twitched finials in response.
"Final judgement of a sort for him tomorrow. Hope he gets his blades back."
"Not unreasonable to request that he be fully disarmed."
"More than most mechs on-base, you ought to know what a medic's saw means to them," the Ford muttered, switching his gaze to meet darker blues. Ironhide rolled massive black shoulders, the frown darkening faceplates, before he finally turned away in search of his own partner. Heatseek watched him leave, then pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against, moving over to the gambolling trio of siblings, looking more like a pile of bumblepups than full-proto mechs. Dissever growled up at him from the bottom of the pile, and he smiled.
"So."
The black Benz grunted from where he was sunning himself, acknowledging the presence of his sibling. Undeterred, Distractor plunked down beside his brother, sturdy silver limbs falling neatly into place.
"I hope you know what the frag you're doing," started the McLaren, earning himself a wary glance from the surly black SUV. One optic ridge arched, and Distractor made a vague gesture between them.
"Spark still tells."
"Figured as much," growled the once-Decepticon medic. A pair of passing Autobots on their way into the base threw casual salutes to Distractor, who returned them just as lazily. Neither of them so much acknowledged the other Benz. Dissever amiably ignored the cold shoulder, gears whirring as he shifted, stretching out his legs.
"Should get rid of that." A hand rapped on plating, over the subtle mark that was all sharp spearing angles and fox-like cunning. Dissever snorted, smacked away his brother's hand.
"Get slagged."
"You might want to be watching yourself, Dizzy, before you get slagged."
"I'm unarmed," he snapped, unable to stop the shudder. He lifted his left arm, the space left where the medic's saw used to lay clearly visible under clarity of a hot afternoon's sun. Red optics flashed as he turned his head, hunched forward, forearms on thighs. Distractor said nothing.
"And much as I wouldn't really trust the rest of them as far as a combiner could throw them, I'm trusting your Autobot code of honour," Dissever spat, bristling. "Hopefully I don't get a repeat of the past."
"And I thought I was bad at holding grudges... Dizz, it's a new era, as some would say. Nothing like the days of old. Besides, hasn't your parole officer knocked as much sense into you?"
"Bastard," muttered the Benz, half grinning. "I almost died. At the hands of someone we knew, trusted, loved. Someone we grew up with. I'm never going to forget that. You never forget when you melt down that last bridge."
"With your dumb roundabout talk, you should've been a philosophy lecturer or something."
"Shaddup. I hate philosophy."
"Idiot."
"Dumbnut."
Movement on their sensor net cut short what could've been a capital brawl in the dirt, accompanied by a happy chirr and sleek blues lines. Both brothers cracked a smile, perked immediately. Pleased engine purrs sounded all around, the subtle greeting of a sibling trio. Distractor raised a hand, and Dissever nodded at the Lancer ambling their way.
"What's shakin' down, 'Bit?"
---
"... He's still a Decepticon."
Almost unseen, the long lanky lines of a white Ford shifted in half-shadows, more invisible than one would have thought, the milky color of his plating considered. Beside him loomed the imposing figure of his own brother, blue optics narrowed at the black Benz, sunning himself in the last of the afternoon heat while two high performance engines growled and snapped in mock intimidation, the two younger spark-brothers sparring, more playful than serious.
"He's a friend," Heatseek replied simply, arms crossed, finial twitching lightly. Somewhere in his subspace was the neatly folded set of blades equipped to every medic, a mark of their profession, more purely a part of them than any upgrade received. As they watched, Dissever's gaze shifted from his siblings to their general direction, red meeting blue. He inclined his head ever so slightly. Heatseek twitched finials in response.
"Final judgement of a sort for him tomorrow. Hope he gets his blades back."
"Not unreasonable to request that he be fully disarmed."
"More than most mechs on-base, you ought to know what a medic's saw means to them," the Ford muttered, switching his gaze to meet darker blues. Ironhide rolled massive black shoulders, the frown darkening faceplates, before he finally turned away in search of his own partner. Heatseek watched him leave, then pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against, moving over to the gambolling trio of siblings, looking more like a pile of bumblepups than full-proto mechs. Dissever growled up at him from the bottom of the pile, and he smiled.