Bunny ate my braincell. Excuse me while I go get a replacement...
Bunny 10 from here and the accompanying comment.
Title: Sojourn's End
'Verse: IDW Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing. Um... Tissue?
He paced outside the door to the mech’s office, cursing himself, his situation, the war and everything else he could think of that warranted cursing. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted, one of the few times he was grateful the mech behind this door was such a slagging workaholic.
//Springer. Do you have something to discuss, or are you just attempting to annoy me?//
He jerked at the comm. and glared at the still shut door, working up the courage to palm it open and enter, meeting Prowl’s flat stare with suddenly nervous expectation.
“Springer?”
His fuel tanks churned. The tactician had tilted his helm in query, evidently realising that the triplechanger was not in his office just to bother him. The green mech growled in frustration, stalking about the room, trying to figure out how to talk to the black and white officer. Prowl just watched him, allowing him time to gather his thoughts, and with a defeated cycle of air, Springer faced the Autobot SIC and asked.
“Do you remember?”
Prowl blinked at him, and the Wrecker could almost see the mech sorting through all the factors that would elicit such an outburst from the triplechanger.
“That cycle in Calor’s orbit?”
“… Yeah. When my team, Hot Rod and Arcee were all in medbays and piles of deactivated scrap scattered hither and yon.”
“I do.” Springer’s blank tone was matched by Prowl’s quiet one.
“You remember me talking to you?”
“Yes. And everything after that as well.”
“Alright. That makes this easier and harder at the same time. Prowl…” Here Springer cycled air heavily. “After everyone recovered and we were sent out again, something started to feel off. I checked, didn’t tell anyone what I found, but-”
The Wrecker broke off again, coming forward to drop into the seat in front of Prowl’s desk, recalling what had driven him to the tactician in the first place.
= = =
Springer had been near mad with grief and rage at the time, and Kup had to order him to leave the med bay and find some place to vent. He’d gone to the training deck and run himself ragged, then dragged his chassis back to the Xantium to flop on his berth and torture himself by running the battle scenario over and over again in his processors. He would have trashed his quarters, but his ship would not have appreciated that. As it was, he could feel the concerned humming of her systems wrapping around him, lulling him into a short, restless recharge.
He onlined to see First Aid at his side.
Bolting upright, his first thought was that one more of his team had… gone, and he tried to ask, but no sound issued from his vocaliser.
“They’re alright. All of them will make it. You need to refuel and rest properly before we let you in to see them though. But you’re not missing much, they’re all in recuperative stasis right now.” First Aid reached for his forearm and held it comfortingly, then wrapped his arms about the leader of the Wreckers when the mech shuddered in relief.
“Frag. I can’t do this.”
“You can.”
“How do you know? You don’t-” He cut himself off, changing the subject. “How do you handle watching mechs and femmes come into the med bay in pieces, putting them back together knowing that they’ll have to go out again to get slagged into even smaller bits?”
The Protectobot continued his earlier sentence, knowing what the triplechanger had been about to say. “Yes. I don’t fight. It hurts me to pick up arms and use them to harm others, even Decepticons. And I know the Wreckers don’t understand why. Most of the other Autobots don’t either. They say I’m a dead weight, a possible security risk, a coward.
“I couldn’t bear it at first. My brothers helped as much as they could, but defending your convictions is a very personal matter. Some days I couldn’t face my own gestalt out of the utter shame I felt. They were out there, getting slagged and I wasn’t helping them, wasn’t watching their backs. Knowing that my choice not to fight meant that they had to take more damage, and that they were willing to take it for me so that I wouldn’t have to… I-”
The medic turned away, sighing, and Springer watched him, optics dark and desperate.
“You should talk to Prowl. I know you two don’t get along, but he helped me. A mech who won’t fight when he’s perfectly able, to a tactician I’m probably a waste of resources, virtually useless, but he’s never scorned me for it. He’ll help you, I know it.”
= = =
First Aid’s words playing on loop in his processor, Springer tracked down the tactician. He found the mech at work, observing as a battle diagram played out, making notes and adjustments, then running the simulation again. After a moment, he realised that the diagram was of the last battle, the one that had slagged his team and his friends so badly.
The tactician hadn’t noticed him, caught up in his thoughts and calculations. Springer supposed that was the only reason he got to see Prowl actually looking weary. It was difficult to remember sometimes, what with their mutual antipathy and all, but Prowl had the same burden he had, only on a much larger scale. He only had to handle a team. Prowl planned and strategised for the whole Autobot army.
Decision made, he knocked on the doorframe, watching the SIC immediately snap into perfect, unruffled form as he entered, greeting the black and white mech quietly. The civil words raised Prowl’s optic ridge, and he smiled half sparkedly at the mech’s surprise. “Yeah, I know.”
The chevroned mech watched him approach, then frowned briefly at his too bright optics and the faint smell of high grade emanating from his form.
“Springer. Are you over energised?”
“Had one cube of high grade. Still sober enough to recognise a mech being mortal. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you have a spark.”
Evidently, Prowl thought his words were too silly to respond to, and ignored them in favour of a sharp query. “What do you want?”
“I… How do you do it? How do you bear all their expectations, the weight of all your decisions? My team are deactivated or were close to it, my friends in a similar state, and I’m the one who’s responsible. My processors are so fragged up I can’t think straight anymore. First Aid said you helped him. And… Frag. I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but I think I may need whatever you did for him right now.”
The tactician paused, then nodded, shutting off the display and meeting Springer’s optics with a serious expression.
“You do know what this entails?”
“Yeah, ‘Aid was pretty clear on that. He was also pretty insistent I consider it seriously."
"You are overcharged."
"I'm not. My judgement isn't impaired. You can scan me yourself.”
“Very well. Are you at liberty now?”
“Yeah. Until my team clear medical, I’m left with too much nothing to do.”
Prowl nodded again, then quietly requested that the green mech follow him.
= = =
Springer looked up form where he’d been staring at his hands. “We sparked, Prowl.”
The chevroned mech’s optics flared bright with his shock, and if it had been over any other matter, the triplechanger would have at least chuckled.
“But that would mean you’ve been carrying since…”
“I know. Guess I should have told you, but…” He sighed, and Prowl looked away, getting himself under control again.
“What do you want to do?”
The green Wrecker sagged, cycling air in one long, explosive burst. “Thank you.”
“For what?” The tactician looked puzzled once more, and Springer shook his head, smiling wryly.
“For not telling me to terminate right off.”
The flicker of emotion that crossed Prowl’s face caused the Wrecker to immediately regret his words. “Frag, sorry.”
“I know I’ve never given much cause for anyone to predict otherwise.” The doorwinged mech was impassive once more, and Springer cursed himself again.
“But I knew better. In any case, we can’t do anything else. The damage I took in the Shaliri system, plus the length of time I’d been carrying… My portion of the sparklet’s remerged. All that’s left is your half. I came to return that to you.”
“… I see.”
After another pause, the tactician sighed and rose from his seat, drawing near the Wrecker. Both mechs split their chest plates, revealing the bright lights of their sparks and in Springer’s case, that of a small, weakly flickering fragment in addition to his own. Prowl eyed it solemnly, and shuttered his optics as the triplechanger closed the rest of the distance between them, bringing the fragment to the tactician’s spark.
There was a soft hiss as the small light rejoined its progenitor, and Springer’s hold on the black and white mech tightened as the Wrecker apologised again. The chevroned mech shook his head, gritting his denta against the pain, trembling very slightly. Taking a chance, Springer pushed their sparks into proper contact to offer what comfort he could, falling into the tactician like he’d done so long ago. As their minds bled into each other, the Wrecker observed that the other’s spark was still the same.
Still that calmness that characterised the Autobot SIC. Still the slagging control over nearly every emotion and response, driving Springer crazy with frustration and sometimes envy.
Still the concern for the bots under him. The desire to keep them alive that pushed the tactician to keep going, doing what he did. The same desire that Springer had, that he’d lost sight of until reminded of it by the black and white mech.
Still the stability that Springer had once needed to sort out his troubled CPU.
Still… Prowl.
~Did you choose a designation? ~
He jerked, startled at the suddenness of Prowl’s voice in his head, but didn’t break the connection between them.
~No. It was… easier, not to name the sparklet. ~
~I understand. ~
~Do you have one? ~
~… Sojourner. ~
~One who makes only a temporary stay. Fitting.~
And with that, Prowl withdrew from him, straightening as plating sealed and his expression smoothed.
“I’ll add the name to the records of our fallen.”
Springer nodded, and left the room. They had a war to continue fighting.
Title: Sojourn's End
'Verse: IDW Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing. Um... Tissue?
He paced outside the door to the mech’s office, cursing himself, his situation, the war and everything else he could think of that warranted cursing. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted, one of the few times he was grateful the mech behind this door was such a slagging workaholic.
//Springer. Do you have something to discuss, or are you just attempting to annoy me?//
He jerked at the comm. and glared at the still shut door, working up the courage to palm it open and enter, meeting Prowl’s flat stare with suddenly nervous expectation.
“Springer?”
His fuel tanks churned. The tactician had tilted his helm in query, evidently realising that the triplechanger was not in his office just to bother him. The green mech growled in frustration, stalking about the room, trying to figure out how to talk to the black and white officer. Prowl just watched him, allowing him time to gather his thoughts, and with a defeated cycle of air, Springer faced the Autobot SIC and asked.
“Do you remember?”
Prowl blinked at him, and the Wrecker could almost see the mech sorting through all the factors that would elicit such an outburst from the triplechanger.
“That cycle in Calor’s orbit?”
“… Yeah. When my team, Hot Rod and Arcee were all in medbays and piles of deactivated scrap scattered hither and yon.”
“I do.” Springer’s blank tone was matched by Prowl’s quiet one.
“You remember me talking to you?”
“Yes. And everything after that as well.”
“Alright. That makes this easier and harder at the same time. Prowl…” Here Springer cycled air heavily. “After everyone recovered and we were sent out again, something started to feel off. I checked, didn’t tell anyone what I found, but-”
The Wrecker broke off again, coming forward to drop into the seat in front of Prowl’s desk, recalling what had driven him to the tactician in the first place.
= = =
Springer had been near mad with grief and rage at the time, and Kup had to order him to leave the med bay and find some place to vent. He’d gone to the training deck and run himself ragged, then dragged his chassis back to the Xantium to flop on his berth and torture himself by running the battle scenario over and over again in his processors. He would have trashed his quarters, but his ship would not have appreciated that. As it was, he could feel the concerned humming of her systems wrapping around him, lulling him into a short, restless recharge.
He onlined to see First Aid at his side.
Bolting upright, his first thought was that one more of his team had… gone, and he tried to ask, but no sound issued from his vocaliser.
“They’re alright. All of them will make it. You need to refuel and rest properly before we let you in to see them though. But you’re not missing much, they’re all in recuperative stasis right now.” First Aid reached for his forearm and held it comfortingly, then wrapped his arms about the leader of the Wreckers when the mech shuddered in relief.
“Frag. I can’t do this.”
“You can.”
“How do you know? You don’t-” He cut himself off, changing the subject. “How do you handle watching mechs and femmes come into the med bay in pieces, putting them back together knowing that they’ll have to go out again to get slagged into even smaller bits?”
The Protectobot continued his earlier sentence, knowing what the triplechanger had been about to say. “Yes. I don’t fight. It hurts me to pick up arms and use them to harm others, even Decepticons. And I know the Wreckers don’t understand why. Most of the other Autobots don’t either. They say I’m a dead weight, a possible security risk, a coward.
“I couldn’t bear it at first. My brothers helped as much as they could, but defending your convictions is a very personal matter. Some days I couldn’t face my own gestalt out of the utter shame I felt. They were out there, getting slagged and I wasn’t helping them, wasn’t watching their backs. Knowing that my choice not to fight meant that they had to take more damage, and that they were willing to take it for me so that I wouldn’t have to… I-”
The medic turned away, sighing, and Springer watched him, optics dark and desperate.
“You should talk to Prowl. I know you two don’t get along, but he helped me. A mech who won’t fight when he’s perfectly able, to a tactician I’m probably a waste of resources, virtually useless, but he’s never scorned me for it. He’ll help you, I know it.”
= = =
First Aid’s words playing on loop in his processor, Springer tracked down the tactician. He found the mech at work, observing as a battle diagram played out, making notes and adjustments, then running the simulation again. After a moment, he realised that the diagram was of the last battle, the one that had slagged his team and his friends so badly.
The tactician hadn’t noticed him, caught up in his thoughts and calculations. Springer supposed that was the only reason he got to see Prowl actually looking weary. It was difficult to remember sometimes, what with their mutual antipathy and all, but Prowl had the same burden he had, only on a much larger scale. He only had to handle a team. Prowl planned and strategised for the whole Autobot army.
Decision made, he knocked on the doorframe, watching the SIC immediately snap into perfect, unruffled form as he entered, greeting the black and white mech quietly. The civil words raised Prowl’s optic ridge, and he smiled half sparkedly at the mech’s surprise. “Yeah, I know.”
The chevroned mech watched him approach, then frowned briefly at his too bright optics and the faint smell of high grade emanating from his form.
“Springer. Are you over energised?”
“Had one cube of high grade. Still sober enough to recognise a mech being mortal. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you have a spark.”
Evidently, Prowl thought his words were too silly to respond to, and ignored them in favour of a sharp query. “What do you want?”
“I… How do you do it? How do you bear all their expectations, the weight of all your decisions? My team are deactivated or were close to it, my friends in a similar state, and I’m the one who’s responsible. My processors are so fragged up I can’t think straight anymore. First Aid said you helped him. And… Frag. I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but I think I may need whatever you did for him right now.”
The tactician paused, then nodded, shutting off the display and meeting Springer’s optics with a serious expression.
“You do know what this entails?”
“Yeah, ‘Aid was pretty clear on that. He was also pretty insistent I consider it seriously."
"You are overcharged."
"I'm not. My judgement isn't impaired. You can scan me yourself.”
“Very well. Are you at liberty now?”
“Yeah. Until my team clear medical, I’m left with too much nothing to do.”
Prowl nodded again, then quietly requested that the green mech follow him.
= = =
Springer looked up form where he’d been staring at his hands. “We sparked, Prowl.”
The chevroned mech’s optics flared bright with his shock, and if it had been over any other matter, the triplechanger would have at least chuckled.
“But that would mean you’ve been carrying since…”
“I know. Guess I should have told you, but…” He sighed, and Prowl looked away, getting himself under control again.
“What do you want to do?”
The green Wrecker sagged, cycling air in one long, explosive burst. “Thank you.”
“For what?” The tactician looked puzzled once more, and Springer shook his head, smiling wryly.
“For not telling me to terminate right off.”
The flicker of emotion that crossed Prowl’s face caused the Wrecker to immediately regret his words. “Frag, sorry.”
“I know I’ve never given much cause for anyone to predict otherwise.” The doorwinged mech was impassive once more, and Springer cursed himself again.
“But I knew better. In any case, we can’t do anything else. The damage I took in the Shaliri system, plus the length of time I’d been carrying… My portion of the sparklet’s remerged. All that’s left is your half. I came to return that to you.”
“… I see.”
After another pause, the tactician sighed and rose from his seat, drawing near the Wrecker. Both mechs split their chest plates, revealing the bright lights of their sparks and in Springer’s case, that of a small, weakly flickering fragment in addition to his own. Prowl eyed it solemnly, and shuttered his optics as the triplechanger closed the rest of the distance between them, bringing the fragment to the tactician’s spark.
There was a soft hiss as the small light rejoined its progenitor, and Springer’s hold on the black and white mech tightened as the Wrecker apologised again. The chevroned mech shook his head, gritting his denta against the pain, trembling very slightly. Taking a chance, Springer pushed their sparks into proper contact to offer what comfort he could, falling into the tactician like he’d done so long ago. As their minds bled into each other, the Wrecker observed that the other’s spark was still the same.
Still that calmness that characterised the Autobot SIC. Still the slagging control over nearly every emotion and response, driving Springer crazy with frustration and sometimes envy.
Still the concern for the bots under him. The desire to keep them alive that pushed the tactician to keep going, doing what he did. The same desire that Springer had, that he’d lost sight of until reminded of it by the black and white mech.
Still the stability that Springer had once needed to sort out his troubled CPU.
Still… Prowl.
~Did you choose a designation? ~
He jerked, startled at the suddenness of Prowl’s voice in his head, but didn’t break the connection between them.
~No. It was… easier, not to name the sparklet. ~
~I understand. ~
~Do you have one? ~
~… Sojourner. ~
~One who makes only a temporary stay. Fitting.~
And with that, Prowl withdrew from him, straightening as plating sealed and his expression smoothed.
“I’ll add the name to the records of our fallen.”
Springer nodded, and left the room. They had a war to continue fighting.