[Crown the Empire] Reign 15
Playlist by Chapter
Title: Reign
Universe: TF Amalgam, Crown the Empire
Characters/Pairings: Grimlock/Starscream, Skywarp/Thundercracker/Swoop, Slag, Snarl, Knock Out, Cylonus/Tailgate
Rated: M
Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Moral and Political Dilemmas, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence
Summary: Megatron is dead, and Grimlock has claimed rulership of the Decepticons, where falling for his new Air Commander becomes an unexpected bonus. But there are some who disagree with his ascension, and intend to return the Decepticons to the status quo. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof.
Reign - Chapter Fifteen
The mech who first stepped out of the Peaceful Tyranny was nothing terrifying to look at. He was shorter than Megatron, mostly blacks and purples, his face the Decepticon brand and treads suggesting a tank alt-mode. He had two cannons like his idol, and red optics gleamed from the optical slits of the mask.
Grimlock knew, thanks to Starscream's briefing, that this was Tarn, the leader of the Deception Justice Division.
Behind Tarn came his subordinates, the much smaller Kaon, and then the massive Helex and Tesaurus, the both of them easily the size of Overlord or Black Shadow. They were no more menacing than Tarn, though Grimlock understood how they could provoke so much fear. Especially since Kaon held a long leash, which at the end snapped and snarled a ferocious turbohound. There was another, a small blue mech with medic’s crosses. Grimlock did not know this one, save that they did not resemble the Vos who Krok had described. The little blue one did, however, carry a rifle nearly twice their size.
“Greetings,” Tarn said, his voice pleasant as he strode forward, one hand waving in a gesture that the foolish could take as friendly. “I am looking for Grimlock, the mechanism claiming ownership of the Decepticons.”
“I own nothing,” Grimlock replied, just short of a growl. He forewent his usual ploy at idiocy. Tarn, he knew, would not fall for it. “It is a title I earned.”
Tarn tilted his helm, giving Grimlock a sidelong glance. “So they say.” His weight shifted, his helm turning slowly as though assessing the mechs to either side of Grimlock. “Where is Starscream? I would have thought he’d lay claim to the empty throne.”
Grimlock’s engine growled. “If you serve the Decepticons, then you serve me, the rightful leader by combat, by Decepticon law. And yet, you’ve not offered me any honor.”
“Haven’t I? My mistake.” One clawed hand pressed over Tarn’s chassis, the cannon gleaming in the midday light. “It must be that you do not deserve it.”
Grimlock’s armor rippled.
“Easy,” Thundercracker murmured beside him, his gaze locked on Tarn and his associates. “He’s baiting you.”
“I know that,” Grimlock hissed. He lifted his chin, focused his gaze on Tarn once more. “Whether I deserve it is not for you to decide.”
Tarn made a non-committal hum in the back of his vocalizer. “Perhaps. But if I recall, the right of challenge yet exists.”
Grimlock put a lock on his energy field before it could flare out once more. “Or you could stand down, swear an oath to me, and keep your spark.”
Tarn’s optics flashed. “I swore an oath to Lord Megatron and none other. I would sooner die than bend my knee before anyone else.”
“Then he’ll get his wish,” Thundercracker muttered, his optics narrowed, his hands drawn into fists.
“He won’t surrender,” Cyclonus added, his field as carefully contained as Grimlock’s own. “Mechs like Tarn, there’s nothing in them but the madness.”
All things Grimlock already knew.
Grimlock took a single step forward. “I am Lord Grimlock, and I lead the Decepticons.” He lowered his helm, glaring at Tarn through his visor. “They are mine to protect. If you want them, you’ll have to take them from me.”
Tarn laughed. “Gladly.”
A shot fired from Tarn’s left, faster than Grimlock could anticipate and dodge. He moved anyway, saving himself from a chest wound that would have damaged him severely. Nevertheless, the bullet slammed into his right hip, sending fire racing through his substructure and causing energon to well up.
Grimlock didn’t know who was the first to fire back - Skywarp perhaps. Either way, it caused the Decepticon Justice Division to scatter as they powered up their weapons.
“You all right?” Thundercracker asked, leaning in close.
“I’ll survive,” Grimlock grunted and straightened, holding himself proud despite the pain lancing through his side.
He took a single step forward, not caring that he limped. Tarn wanted a fight? Then Grimlock would give him one.
“Decepticons!” Grimlock roared, his armor flaring outward as if in threat. “Attack!”
~
Rest and recuperation were two things Starscream loathed. Not only because he’d had to endure it far too much in his functioning, but because he’d also been forced to work despite the need for it. Now, although he acknowledged his frame would repair better if he rested, he felt restless.
He wanted to be up, moving, buried deep in work, preferably at Grimlock’s side. Who knew what terrible decisions Grimlock had made in his absence? That mech was entirely too Autobot for his own good.
The feeling intensified when the notification popped up in the corner of his HUD. The entire Decepticon army had been put on full alert. Non-combatants, if any, were being sent to Polyhex. Project Final Resort had been put on standby. Several calls to arms had been issued to key members of Decepticon command.
Starscream knew these orders. He knew this plan. He and Grimlock had spent hours putting it together with Cyclonus’ input to shore out the weaknesses. They’d even passed the finalized version to Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus, as the Autobots played a crucial part in ensuring the safety of non-combatants, however few there were.
The Decepticon Justice Division approached Cybertron, if they hadn’t landed already. And here Starscream was, on his aft in a berth, barely able to move, to function. He was a victim waiting to be murdered.
His spark clenched. His ventilations stuttered.
Worse than that, Grimlock and the others were out there, facing the DJD without Starscream. His Intended, his trine-mates - they stood against those beasts, the monsters Megatron had created. Meanwhile, Starscream was here, trapped on a medberth.
He hated it.
A shadow moved in front of his door. Starscream froze, peering at the dark shape, until he could make out a massive primary engine and rotors. The only rotary still functioning in the Decepticons, at least of that size, was Blackout. One of Cyclonus’ lieutenants and nominally, to be trusted.
A guard perhaps. To keep Starscream in or to prevent assassins out? Perhaps a little bit of both.
It was some relief that Grimlock continued to express concern for his welfare. Though the idea of needing a guard rankled Starscream. He was accustomed to looking after himself because he was the only one who cared enough to do so.
Grimlock, and the relationship they had, was all new territory.
Starscream worked his jaw and ground his denta. Berthbound or not, he was still second in command of the Decepticon army. He had remote access to the command center which meant he could keep an optic on the fight.
He pulled up the security feeds and patched it through to his holo-display. Yes, it was extraneous equipment, but it proved its use now. He could see the battlefield, could see the DJD and the Decepticons squaring off, could see Grimlock standing against Tarn, larger than Megatron’s pet, but size wasn’t all that mattered.
Grimlock limped; Starscream did not know why. Had Tarn gotten in a lucky shot? Or most likely, someone had been wielding Vos with dangerous accuracy. Energon coursed from mangled plating in Grimlock’s right hip. He did not move as fast as Starscream knew him capable.
The ends of Tarn’s double-fusion cannons glowed a baleful purple.
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip. His ventilations quickened. He should be there. He should be fighting.
Damn Metalhawk.
Starscream’s free hand closed into a fist. He’d never felt so helpless. All he could do was lay here and watch.
~
Avoiding the blasts of Tarn’s fusion cannons was not easy. Somehow, Grimlock managed it, though not without singeing his armor.
“You are surprisingly agile for your size,” Tarn said, stalking slowly across the battlefield, his cannonfire keeping Grimlock at bay.
His armor smoked where Tarn had managed to strike a blow. His hip ached from Vos’ first and last landed shot. It was only pain.
“And your bark is worse than your bite,” Grimlock retorted with a growl. His cables twitched, his spark thumping from a surge.
Times like these, he regretted not having a ranged weapon. But then, he’d always been a better fighter with brute force.
Tarn laughed, low and threatening. “You have no idea.” He kept one hand pointed toward Grimlock, the end of his fusion cannon glowing with readiness. The other gestured toward his chestplate, no his intake. “You’ve heard of a certain talent of mine?”
Grimlock drew up short, his tail swishing the ground behind him. Tarn did not fire again, though the threat of him doing so made Grimlock reconsider charging. His armor was thick, sturdy, and he could take a hit. But too many direct strikes of those pseudo-fusion cannons and not even Grimlock was sure he could withstand them.
“I have,” Grimlock said, his engine snarling.
Tarn chuckled and gave a small bow, like a performer before the show. “Then allow me to demonstrate,” he said.
Grimlock braced himself and disengaged his audial receptors, though he knew it was pointless. Tarn’s outlier ability transcended receivers, unerringly doing damage directly to the spark.
He could still track the battle through his comms, through the comments his commanders made in loud bursts across the party line. But all else was silence. The booming of ordinance he felt in his feet. His armor rustled.
He growled at Tarn. Waiting. Waiting.
Nothing.
Tarn’s optics flashed.
Grimlock cut his audial receptors back on just in time to hear Tarn snarl, “What are you?”
It clicked.
Not directly birthed by Vector Sigma or the Allspark, Grimlock and all the other Dinobots had sparks that spun at vastly different frequencies. Maybe, given enough time to experiment, Tarn could parse out the one which would have a devastating effect. But for now, Grimlock was safe.
He grinned toothily, fangs flashing in the light.
“Lord Grimlock,” he said, stalking toward Tarn, his tail swishing behind him as he narrowed his optics at the DJD member. “Rightful leader of the Decepticons. And it looks like your little trick doesn’t work on me.”
Tarn’s field burst outward with all the force of a physical attack, battering against Grimlock’s own but making no headway. “I don’t know what you are,” he said. “But you bleed like any other Cybertronian. I will kill you all the same.”
Grimlock growled, low and bestial, a predator with his optics focused on his prey. “Try it!”
He launched himself forward, dodged the first blast Tarn directed toward him, and leapt at the DJD leader with denta bared.
He hadn’t let Megatron defeat him. Like the Pit he’d let Megatron’s pet do it.
~
Scourge paced back and forth, his comms tuned in to the updates coming from the command center, courtesy of Krok. The commander on deck did an excellent job of reporting current events without giving way to the fear so thick in his tone, but it was a near thing.
He couldn’t tell if Lord Grimlock and the other fighters were winning or not. It was too close to assume otherwise.
Scourge spun on another heel. His armor itched. His hand ached where he clutched the activation fob. Their last resort could be up and running in a matter of moments. His orders were clear - only if there was no other choice.
If it meant the life of his commander, Scourge was severely tempted to frag his orders and activate them anyway. Why should they risk their sparks when they had three super soldiers sitting in stasis?
Scourge hit a wall, spun, and paced all over again. His spark squeezed into a smaller and smaller ball of indecision and inaction.
“Krok, status update,” he all but snarled into the comm.
“Stand down,” Krok replied, all he’d been saying for the past five minutes. “So far, we are holding our own.”
So far.
Scourge’s wings jittered. “Let me know if that changes.”
“I will.”
The comm buzzed flat. Standby mode. Just like Scourge himself.
He stalked past a viewing window and peered in at the three offline frames, shackled up against a wall, optics dark, helms drooping. Not even their biolights glowed. Overlord. Black Shadow. Sixshot.
Letting them live had been a mercy apparently. Scourge wasn’t sure he could agree with that statement. Unless they proved to be of use today.
He stared down at the fob in his hand.
Another minute passed.
There was a strut-shaking boom in the distance.
“Krok, status update.”
“Stand down.”
And on it went.
~
“You take the ugly one,” Brawl said as he pounded his fists together, excitement all but radiating in his energy field.
Slag snarled, his spines bristling. “Which one the ugly one?”
Swoop took the sky above both of them, transforming mid-leap. “You both ugly ones,” he squawked.
Brawl burst into laughter, and it rang over the battlefield, incongruent to the already noisy bursts of blasterfire and frames colliding.
Slag stomped his feet, the ground trembling beneath him. “Fine,” he grumped as the two larger members of the DJD turned toward them, grinder whirring and smelter gurgling. “Then me Slag take the ugly one.”
“Fine by me,” Brawl said as he launched himself at the nearest mech, the one with the X across his faceplate.
Slag grinned toothily at the remaining mech and roared a gout of flame in greeting just as Swoop rained down hellfire from above. The yelps of shock and pain were music to Slag’s audials.
This was going to be fun.
~
He knew it was a mistake to turn on the screen, but the anxiety gripping his spark could not be swayed otherwise. Knock Out fought the urge to flee as the monitor flashed through various security viewpoints of the battle. Running away would save his own plating, but where would he go?
Lord Grimlock had beaten Megatron. Surely he could take down Megatron’s pet.
The DJD were outnumbered. But given the smoke, torn plating, splattered energon, and flashes of armor, Knock Out couldn’t tell. He didn’t know if they were winning or losing.
No one had been brought to his medbay yet. Whether it was because they hadn’t gone down yet or they couldn’t make it, he didn’t know.
Three against two. Brawl and Slag and Swoop squaring off against the two big ones. They looked pitifully small compared to the two members of the DJD.
Beside Knock Out, Snarl shifted from pede to pede, his armor ruffling. His optics were no less focused on the screen, his ventilations huffing agitated heat.
“You should go. Help them. You don’t have to stay here,” Knock Out said as he folded his arms over his chestplate. A pitiful protection for his spark, they were.
He’d heard what horrors the DJD were capable of. His plating would not withstand the heat of the smelter or the chomp of the restlessly spinning grinder. His armor would scorch under the electricity of the chair. Tarn would sing him into a sweet death. Or a painful one, whichever his preference.
Knock Out shuddered.
Snarl moved closer, his shoulder bumping Knock Out’s. He was warm, his armor buzzing with an undercurrent of charge that zapped Knock Out’s substructure.
“No,” he said. “Me Snarl stay here. Protect you Knock Out. Protect him Starscream.” His optics never left the screen, though his engine growled. “Me Snarl where me need be.”
Knock Out would never admit that he was grateful for it. “Suit yourself,” he said.
Breakdown appeared at his other side, carefully clutching three small cubes of energon, which he then handed over two of them. “It could be over any minute now,” he said with downcast optics and clamped armor. “We should be ready.”
Knock Out accepted the cube. Snarl drank his so quickly he could not have tasted it.
“Thank you,” Knock Out murmured.
Ready to run, or ready to save someone’s guttering spark, Knock Out assumed. He sipped at his cube and forced himself to watch the monitor. Lord Grimlock had just shifted to Dino-mode, his fangs gleaming in the midst of the smoke and ash.
Knock Out said a prayer, though he did not believe in them.
~
Grimlock wasn’t sure which of them miscalculated first. If he moved too slowly, or if he let his arrogance blind him.
His hip ached. His armor smoked. He’d shifted back to root-mode to better avoid the blasts of that fusion cannon. Tarn was small. Quick. Grimlock’s plating was a testament to the sharpness of Tarn’s claws.
He twisted to avoid Tarn’s onslaught of attacks, rage giving way to patience until Tarn bled nothing but fury and sheer madness. He attacked as though his spark depended on it, and perhaps it did.
He was not unscathed in their battle, but the earlier first strike took its toll. Grimlock was slower, too slow, and another blast from that cannon - Tarn in alt-mode, a tank, doubled his attack effectiveness - drove him back several steps. He stumbled, vents wheezing.
Tarn snapped back to his pedes and advanced.
“You are pathetic,” Tarn snapped, energon dripping over his armor, staining the purple and black paint. He walked with a limp, but seemed to have immeasurable charge to power those cannons of his. “I don’t believe you defeated Lord Megatron.”
Grimlock lashed at Tarn with his energy sword, forcing him back. “If you want, I can show you the smelted pile of slag we call his dead frame,” he taunted.
Tarn’s engine roared, his optics flaring. He fired at Grimlock again, and again, until the barrels of his cannons started to glow.
Grimlock twisted to avoid them, felt the heat of one blast against his backstrut, his frame singing caution and pain. A shot struck the ground near his pedes and hit something, an old piece of ordinance from the war perhaps.
The blast tossed Grimlock backward. His aft hit the ground with a strut-jarring thud. His processor blanked out for half a second, his vision going staticky. His frame tingled and he tried to get to his pedes, managing a half-crouch, his audials ringing. His legs wobbled, his knees even more so.
Footsteps crunched over debris, barely audible over the sound ringing in his audials. Grimlock looked up through wavering vision and static.
“Why won’t you just die?” Tarn snarled, and pointed both of his cannons point-blank at Grimlock’s helm, the ends glowing a fiery crimson.
He might survive the blast. He might not.
Damn.
“No!”
The expected shot never came. Blistering heat whisked by Grimlock’s audials, singeing the outer edge of his armor. A blaster shot slammed into Tarn’s chestplate, knocking him back a step. It was quickly followed by a second, and then a third. Those took out a cannon each before a fourth hit Tarn in the chest again.
Tarn stumbled backward, his armor smoking, sparks erupting from fractured plating and exposed circuits.
Grimlock didn’t think to look where they came from. He shoved to his pedes and threw himself at Tarn, his fist slamming into the other mech’s chestplate. His knuckles crumpled armor where the blastershot had left it cracked and smoking.
Tarn grunted, optics widening behind his mask, and he hit the ground with a strut rattling crash. Grimlock followed him, dropping his full weight down on Tarn.
The DJD commander flailed, tried to swing at Grimlock, but it was easy to dodge. Grimlock’s fist slammed into Tarn’s helm, knocking him into a brief reset, before he flicked his other hand.
His energon sword flared back to life. It dripped plasma to the ground, sizzling where it struck.
“You… were… Autobot,” Tarn gurgled, his voice nothing like the beautiful cadence it had been before.
“If you think that means I’ll spare you, you’re wrong,” Grimlock growled, his hand encircling Tarn’s throat, thumb pressing against the vibrations of Tarn’s vocalizer. “You’d never bow to me.”
Crimson optics flashed behind the Decepticon badge. “Never,” Tarn gritted out, his claws clamping onto the arm Grimlock held at his throat, digging into the cables beneath.
“I know.” Grimlock held the tip of his sword to Tarn’s chestplate, directly over the mech’s spark. The plasma burned against the metal, sending up curls of smoke.
Tarn’s optics dimmed. He might have snarled behind his mask. There was nothing of supplication in his field. It had to be done. The choices a Prime could never make.
Grimlock shoved his sword all the way through Tarn’s chestplate, piercing armor and secondary armor until he breached Tarn’s spark chamber itself. Tarn jerked beneath him, claws digging deep, drawing energon, even as Grimlock’s sword pierced the entirety of Tarn’s chassis, emerging through Tarn’s back and treads.
Tarn’s optics dimmed and then darkened. The claws loosened their deadly hold and fell away, the tips stained with Grimlock’s energon. The heat whisked out of his frame, slowly but surely.
Grimlock released Tarn’s intake and pushed himself upright, jerking his blade free as he did so. He disengaged the plasma blade, tucking it back into the crannies of his frame. He ached from helm to pede, but he lived, he suffered nothing Knock Out could not repair.
He looked down at the smoking, graying chassis of Tarn, and felt pity for the disillusioned mech. Could he have been reformed? Now they’d never know. Grimlock wasn’t Optimus. Sometimes, he had to make the choices for himself.
It was only then that he realized the battlefield had gone silent.
Grimlock lifted his helm, scanning the destruction around him. But it was not his soldiers he saw first, valiantly standing their ground against the fearsome might of the DJD. It was Starscream, standing behind him, his frame yet a patchwork of static bandages and energon dribbling sporadically, no doubt from torn fluid lines.
His wings drooped, but his optics were bright. Fierce. He held a blaster, the end of it still glowing from recent firing.
“You need a keeper,” Starscream said, his voice low, rippled with static. Exhaustion read from every crease in his face, in the clamp of his armor. Even now, he trembled where he stood.
He had never looked more beautiful.
“You’re supposed to be in a berth,” Grimlock said, surprising himself with how nonchalant he managed to speak.
Starscream smirked and tossed the blaster to the ground. It was not his own, Grimlock realized, but probably one Starscream had scooped up along the way from the medbay to here.
“You should be glad I didn’t.” Starscream took a step forward, but he wobbled as he did so, and then opted to stand still. “Now come get me before I fall down.”
Grimlock chuckled. “Yes, Star.”
He hurried to Starscream’s side, but the silence of the battlefield continued to linger. A second glance, this time to his soldiers, told him why.
The blue medic was down, pinned beneath Skywarp’s pede and spitting curses the likes of which Grimlock had never heard. The massive gun they had been carrying lay in pieces, energon soaking the ground around it.
Ah. So it had been Vos. Whether or not he lived was the question..
Cyclonus had his blade at Kaon’s throat, the blind mech on his knees. Cyclonus’ armor was pitted and scorched, more black than purple, and there was a long cut running across his face. It bled liberally, but his grip on Kaon’s shoulder did not falter. Where the Sparkeater had gone, Grimlock did not know.
Helex and Tesaurus fought against Brawl, Slag, and Swoop. But they had stopped fighting and now stared in Tarn’s direction. Whether it was grief or relief in their expression, Grimlock did not know. But the five fighters seemed to have come to some unstated truce. Helex had even been nice enough to put Brawl down from where he’d been trying to feed the tank feet-first into his smelter.
Grimlock hooked an arm around Starscream, helping him remain on his own two pedes, before he turned to address the battlefield.
“Your leader is dead,” Grimlock began, looking at the surviving DJD one by one. “You have a choice. You can surrender to me, or you can meet his fate.”
“Or you could let us go!” the blue medic snarled, their fists pounding the ground where they were pinned beneath Skywarp.
Starscream snorted. “So that you can find some other psychotic leader and come back again? Absolutely not.”
“I am not Optimus Prime,” Grimlock added with an affectionate squeeze to Starscream’s waist. “Neither am I Megatron. This is the only mercy I’ll allow. So if I were you, I’d choose quickly.”
Helex and Tesaurus exchanged glances before they turned toward Grimlock as one and held up their hands, even the secondary smaller sets.
“We surrender,” they said, together, though Tesaurus’ gaze lingered on Tarn’s graying frame.
“Nickel, you might as well,” Kaon said, resignation thick in his tone. “We are no good to anyone offline.”
The blue minibot - Nickel apparently - huffed and went limp beneath Skywarp. “Then back into a cage I go,” they said.
Kaon did not reply to Nickel, lifting his chin instead to ease the pressure of Cyclonus’ blade against his intake. “If you agree to give Vos medical attention, then I will surrender as well.” He lifted a hand, touching the tip of his finger to the hilt of Cyclonus’ blade. “Though understand that I don’t have to.” Electricity sparked from the tip of his finger, dancing over the coils protruding from his back.
Cyclonus did not so much as flinch.
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Fair enough.” He lifted his hand to his comm, contacting Krok in the command center. “Krok, tell everyone to stand down. Tarn is dead, and the rest are in custody. I repeat, give the order to stand down.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
~
“Cyclonus!!”
He had only seconds to brace himself before a white and blue blur threw itself at him. Arms wrapped around his waist tightly, the shaking frame pressed against him. Tailgate’s energy field was a maelstrom of emotion that clung to Cyclonus’ own, as sticky as energon goodies.
Cyclonus shouted at his battle protocols to stand down, and ignored the pain radiating through his frame. His shoulders drooped, and he dropped his hands down, returning the embrace that Tailgate offered him. Though he moved slowly, creakily, his internal lines scorched and some cables fried. He’d absorbed one of Kaon’s electrical attacks and felt internally set aflame.
“I am quite all right, little one,” Cyclonus said as one of his hands cradled the back of Tailgate’s helm.
Fisted hands pressed against his backstrut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t go to Nova Cronum,” Tailgate said, his vocals muffled against Cyclonus’ ventrum but sending vibrations through his armor nonetheless.
“I am simply relieved you did not storm the battlefield.” Cyclonus stroked Tailgate’s helm as the minibot’s field battered against his, thick with concern and relief and agitation.
“I should have,” Tailgate said.
Cyclonus, despite himself, chuckled. “I believe you would have,” he murmured, and slipped out of Tailgate’s hold only so far that he could drop to his knees, his hands cradling Tailgate’s helm. “And I am glad that you did not.”
Tailgate lifted a hand, his fingers delicately brushing over the slash marks on Cyclonus’ face. He had long since deactivated the pain sensors behind them, and his repair nanites had worked diligently to stop the bleeding. Energon still crusted around the edges, however, mingling with smoke and ash. He knew he looked quite the fearsome sight.
“You almost died,” Tailgate said, his visor dimming at the realization.
“But I did not.” Cyclonus pressed their forehelms together and cycled a ventilation. He did not care that they had audience.
Once upon a time, it would have bothered him. It would have been a sign of weakness, something to be exploited. But here, with Decepticons led by Grimlock, it was not only welcome, but encouraged.
“I’m glad you won,” Tailgate murmured.
Cyclonus’ field embraced Tailgate’s own, soothing out the rough edges. “So am I.”
~
It could have gone a lot worse, Grimlock observed.
Of the Decepticon Justice Division, only Tarn and Vos were killed. Attempts were made to save Vos’ spark, but it was too late. He guttered there in the surgery room, with Knock Out and Glit working feverishly to keep him online.
Kaon took the news in silence. He bowed his helm, clasped his hands, looking small and weak without his coils. Helex and Tesaurus, too, were far less fearsome now that they had been disarmed to the best of Grimlock’s medical staff’s ability.
Nickel, the medic from a long-forgotten Cybertronian colony Grimlock would learn, spat and raved at them. She claimed they did not try hard enough. That she could have saved Vos if only she’d been allowed. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she was not.
Grimlock pitied her, but of guilt, there was none.
Tarn had chosen to come to Cybertron. He arrived with intentions to do harm, to slaughter and lay waste to everything Grimlock had built since Megatron’s death. Grimlock had tried the path of peace; Tarn had spat in the face of it.
Grimlock would not feel guilty for what he had to do.
The Sparkeater had slipped its chains and escaped, vanishing into the wilds of Cybertron. Grimlock assembled a team to go after it. He doubted they’d ever find it. All the beast had to do was find one of many entrances to the web of tunnels within Cybertron’s core, and no one would ever see it again.
It could have been a lot worse.
Grimlock had suffered no casualties among his own troops. There were bumps, bruises, cuts, scrapes, damaged limbs and scorched wings. Brawl would walk with a limp for a while, at least until he finished integrating the new pede Knock Out had to construct for him. Cyclonus bore the scrapes on his face as a badge of pride, opting not to get them repaired. It left him with an even fiercer visage.
Given that a small white and blue minibot had leapt into his arms with a tight embrace, Grimlock assumed no one would mind. And while that was an odd pairing if Grimlock had ever seen one, he wished Cyclonus the best with it.
Peace time made for strange berth partners he supposed.
Thundercracker would be berthbound for the better part of a week. Vos, in Nickel’s hands, had taken out both of his thrusters, sending him into a crash-landing of which he survived thanks to Skywarp’s panicked and last-minute use of his warp drive. He was already proving to be quite the irritating patient, and Grimlock did not envy Knock Out for the length of Thundercracker’s tenure.
But he would live. That was what mattered. To Grimlock, who cared for all of his subordinates, and to Skywarp, who had pulled Grimlock aside and explained that Nickel only lived for so long as Thundercracker did. The darkness in his vocals gave no lie to his promise.
Grimlock rested a hand on Skywarp’s shoulder and reminded him, “Vos is dead. Let that be vengeance enough.”
Seeker wings flicked backward, but Skywarp inclined his helm stiffly. “Yes, Lord Grimlock,” he replied and returned to Thundercracker’s berthside.
He might not like it, but Skywarp would obey.
Slag, too, had survived and was already busy regaling anyone who would listen with the story of his bravery and awesomeness - Slag’s words, not Grimlock’s. He and Brawl were never found far from each other, and Grimlock didn’t know if there was something romantic between them, or if they just liked each other’s company.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. So long as Brawl didn’t mistreat Slag, that was all that mattered to Grimlock.
Swoop was the only one of the warriors who had emerged all but unscathed. He had a few scorchmarks on his plating, and a twisted ankle-strut, but that was the worst of it. He was fully mobile and took advantage of that, traveling from recovery room to recovery room, visiting his brothers, visiting Thundercracker, and visiting Grimlock and Starscream as well.
Starscream was back where he belonged, in the medbay, in a berth. He’d overtaxed his systems pulling that stunt, setting his full recovery back for several weeks month.
“Worth it,” Starscream said, half-wheezing, his ventilations labored. Any worse and Knock Out would have to roll in the manual-ventilator again.
“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Grimlock replied, his hands clasped around one of Starscream’s own. Perhaps his hold was a little too tight. Perhaps not.
Starscream did not complain. “I think you’re just jealous I stole some of your glory,” he drawled with a smirk.
“That must be it,” Grimlock agreed.
His own armor was still charred and pitted. He, too, would walk with a limp until someone looked at his hip. But he was mobile, and had the good sense to plug in a few pain patches. He would keep until everyone else had been seen to.
“Not that I’m ungrateful,” Grimlock added, his thumbs stroking over Starscream’s palm. “Thank you.”
Starscream’s engine purred. “I’m told that a partnership implies an equal amount of give and take,” he said. “You save my life; I save yours.”
Grimlock’s spark throbbed. “Am I allowed to believe that means you love me?”
“You’re allowed to think whatever you want.” Starscream’s shrug was far from dismissive. “But I’m an honorable Seeker, my lord. You’ll have to wait until the end of this courtship to find out.”
The end? Grimlock barked a laugh. With all that had happened as of late, he hadn’t even begun to woo Starscream. All he’d managed to do was display his prowess in the berth.
“Very well.” Grimlock pressed his mouthplate to Starscream’s knuckles and allowed his field free, to mingle with the edges of Starscream’s own. “I’ll consider it a challenge then.”
Starscream settled back into the medberth comfortably. “I’m sure you’ll win just like all the others you’ve set for yourself.”
“I’m glad to have your confidence,” Grimlock murmured, his spark so warm as to be consuming.
Commotion in the hallway stole Grimlock’s attention. He abruptly straightened, helm swinging toward the open door where he’d been keeping one audial on all the medic chatter. He knew Knock Out would give him a full report, but he still liked listening to the babble.
“Do you want my help or not?” A voice demanded, both annoyed and cranky.
Grimlock knew that voice. He resisted the urge to laugh aloud.
“Your creator is a force to be reckoned with,” Starscream said.
Grimlock untangled his fingers from Starscream’s and forced himself to stand. “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied and made his way to the door, wondering if he would need to break up a fight between Knock Out and Ratchet.
The two got along. Barely. But Grimlock hadn’t extended a direct invitation to Ratchet and informed Knock Out ahead of time, so the Decepticon CMO was probably getting his plating in a twist over the unexpected arrival.
Grimlock stood in the doorway and peered down the hallway. Ratchet and Knock Out were indeed squaring off, and just past Ratchet’s shoulder, Grimlock could see Wheeljack’s flashing indicators. So Ratchet hadn’t come alone this time.
“I don’t need your help,” Knock Out said, his tone tight, but his armor rippling with irritation. He had his hands planted on his hips, his tires spinning aggressively.
Ratchet, for his part, had his arms folded over his windshield, giving Knock Out a look that even Sideswipe had learned to obey. “You’d prefer to be short-handed then?”
“I have all the hands I need!” Knock Out snapped. “So why don’t you trot your over-sized aft back to Polyhex and stay out of my medbay for once!”
Wheeljack leaned around Ratchet, and even from this distance, Grimlock could sense the calm he projected in his field. “Hey, now. We ain’t here to take over or anythin’, kid. We just wanna help since the Cons did all the hard work. Yeah?”
Knock Out’s engine revved.
Grimlock stepped into the hallway before any energon could be shed. “For the most part, our injuries were minor. Though we appreciate the offer of assistance.”
Wheeljack saw him first, his indicators lighting up with a bright ripple of delight. “Grimlock!” he said, and waved, though he played it smart by not immediately pelting down the hall and passing Knock Out along the way. “Optimus didn’t send us, just so you know. Ratchet stormed over here all on his own.”
“I did not!” Ratchet hissed through clenched denta.
“Did so,” Wheeljack replied, full of smug humor. “I’ll make him leave if you don’t need us though.”
“We don’t!” Knock Out all but snarled, his armor fluffing even further away from his protoform. Even his shoulder tires twitched.
Grimlock waved a dismissing hand. “You don’t have to leave. If Knock Out has matters under control, then you can make this a visit. Snarl’s been moping again.”
“Have not!” Floated down the hallway from around the corner where Snarl had been working out of sight on repairing Thundercracker’s thrusters. Or, barring that, refurbishing some spare parts from storage.
“I do not need any help,” Knock Out repeated, his tone as tight as a wound spring. “And this is my medbay.”
Wheeljack held up his hands and nudged Ratchet with a shoulder. “Then we’re not here. Promise.” He winked an optic and then slid past Knock Out, heading for Grimlock instead. “Come on, Ratch. The kid’s got it.”
“I’m not a kid,” Knock Out snapped.
Ratchet lingered for the span of a few more seconds, giving Knock Out a long look. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
“I won’t.” Knock Out stalked past Ratchet, heading back into the central medbay. He took his agitated energy field with him.
Ratchet unfolded his arms and rolled his optics. “Sparklings these days,” he muttered as he started down the hall to join Wheeljack.
“Technically, Knock Out was within his rights to throw you out on your aft,” Grimlock said, amused. Wheeljack chose that moment to throw his arms around Grimlock in an attempt at an embrace, which Grimlock returned. “Nice to see you, too.”
Ratchet grumbled. “You all got lucky,” he said as his gaze flicked over Grimlock from helm to pede. “And you need medical attention.”
Grimlock shrugged. “I could wait. Others couldn’t.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” Ratchet said sourly, his optics filling with shadows. He folded his arms again, at once looking smaller and less imposing.
--Let Ratchet fix you up,-- Wheeljack said in a quick, narrow-band comm. --He’s been antsy all day since we went on high alert, and he doesn’t have anywhere to put that energy.--
Ah. So that explained it.
Grimlock gave Wheeljack a squeeze. “Though if you want to take a look at it, I won’t object.”
Ratchet’s gaze shifted from Wheeljack to Grimlock and back again. “All right, kid. Find me a room.”
Grimlock tilted his helm toward Starscream’s private recovery room. “Might as well use this one.” He slipped out of Wheeljack’s hold and preceded them inside.
Starscream was still online, his lips curved with a subtle amusement. No doubt he’d been eavesdropping. Not that it was difficult. Knock Out and Ratchet both were loud.
“Oh, look,” Starscream purred in a tone Grimlock had come to recognize as incendiary at best. “It’s the In-Laws.”
Wheeljack laughed, his indicators flashing brightly at them. “Glad you’re looking well, Starscream. Thanks for saving our idiot’s life out there.”
Starscream’s smirk widened. “Yes, well, I didn’t want to have to take time to train another one,” he drawled.
Ratchet snorted. “That’s more information than we wanted to know. Thanks. Grimlock, sit in that chair next to your Intended.”
Grimlock obeyed because yes, he could wait, but also, he was in some discomfort. He was quite eager to have that eased, and Ratchet understood the complexities of his system design better than Knock Out did. Then again, Ratchet had a hand in designing Grimlock’s frame. That came with the territory.
“You’re welcome,” Starscream said. He kept his gaze focused on the two Autobots. It wasn’t quite suspicion, but it wasn’t relaxed comfort either. Grimlock took no small amount of pride in the fact his proximity seemed to calm Starscream.
Wheeljack pulled out a stool as Ratchet circled around Grimlock, cataloging injuries and poking at them when a visual estimate wasn’t enough.
“So,” Wheeljack said, making himself comfortable. “What’s new?”
Starscream’s lip curled with a smirk. Ratchet muttered something subvocally. Grimlock chuckled.
This part, at least, would to be fun.
****
a/n: I hope the battle wasn't too much of a disappointment. I opted not for a long, knock out drag down fight. XD
AS always feedback is welcome and appreciated. This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/353185.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Reign
Universe: TF Amalgam, Crown the Empire
Characters/Pairings: Grimlock/Starscream, Skywarp/Thundercracker/Swoop, Slag, Snarl, Knock Out, Cylonus/Tailgate
Rated: M
Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Moral and Political Dilemmas, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence
Summary: Megatron is dead, and Grimlock has claimed rulership of the Decepticons, where falling for his new Air Commander becomes an unexpected bonus. But there are some who disagree with his ascension, and intend to return the Decepticons to the status quo. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof.
Reign - Chapter Fifteen
The mech who first stepped out of the Peaceful Tyranny was nothing terrifying to look at. He was shorter than Megatron, mostly blacks and purples, his face the Decepticon brand and treads suggesting a tank alt-mode. He had two cannons like his idol, and red optics gleamed from the optical slits of the mask.
Grimlock knew, thanks to Starscream's briefing, that this was Tarn, the leader of the Deception Justice Division.
Behind Tarn came his subordinates, the much smaller Kaon, and then the massive Helex and Tesaurus, the both of them easily the size of Overlord or Black Shadow. They were no more menacing than Tarn, though Grimlock understood how they could provoke so much fear. Especially since Kaon held a long leash, which at the end snapped and snarled a ferocious turbohound. There was another, a small blue mech with medic’s crosses. Grimlock did not know this one, save that they did not resemble the Vos who Krok had described. The little blue one did, however, carry a rifle nearly twice their size.
“Greetings,” Tarn said, his voice pleasant as he strode forward, one hand waving in a gesture that the foolish could take as friendly. “I am looking for Grimlock, the mechanism claiming ownership of the Decepticons.”
“I own nothing,” Grimlock replied, just short of a growl. He forewent his usual ploy at idiocy. Tarn, he knew, would not fall for it. “It is a title I earned.”
Tarn tilted his helm, giving Grimlock a sidelong glance. “So they say.” His weight shifted, his helm turning slowly as though assessing the mechs to either side of Grimlock. “Where is Starscream? I would have thought he’d lay claim to the empty throne.”
Grimlock’s engine growled. “If you serve the Decepticons, then you serve me, the rightful leader by combat, by Decepticon law. And yet, you’ve not offered me any honor.”
“Haven’t I? My mistake.” One clawed hand pressed over Tarn’s chassis, the cannon gleaming in the midday light. “It must be that you do not deserve it.”
Grimlock’s armor rippled.
“Easy,” Thundercracker murmured beside him, his gaze locked on Tarn and his associates. “He’s baiting you.”
“I know that,” Grimlock hissed. He lifted his chin, focused his gaze on Tarn once more. “Whether I deserve it is not for you to decide.”
Tarn made a non-committal hum in the back of his vocalizer. “Perhaps. But if I recall, the right of challenge yet exists.”
Grimlock put a lock on his energy field before it could flare out once more. “Or you could stand down, swear an oath to me, and keep your spark.”
Tarn’s optics flashed. “I swore an oath to Lord Megatron and none other. I would sooner die than bend my knee before anyone else.”
“Then he’ll get his wish,” Thundercracker muttered, his optics narrowed, his hands drawn into fists.
“He won’t surrender,” Cyclonus added, his field as carefully contained as Grimlock’s own. “Mechs like Tarn, there’s nothing in them but the madness.”
All things Grimlock already knew.
Grimlock took a single step forward. “I am Lord Grimlock, and I lead the Decepticons.” He lowered his helm, glaring at Tarn through his visor. “They are mine to protect. If you want them, you’ll have to take them from me.”
Tarn laughed. “Gladly.”
A shot fired from Tarn’s left, faster than Grimlock could anticipate and dodge. He moved anyway, saving himself from a chest wound that would have damaged him severely. Nevertheless, the bullet slammed into his right hip, sending fire racing through his substructure and causing energon to well up.
Grimlock didn’t know who was the first to fire back - Skywarp perhaps. Either way, it caused the Decepticon Justice Division to scatter as they powered up their weapons.
“You all right?” Thundercracker asked, leaning in close.
“I’ll survive,” Grimlock grunted and straightened, holding himself proud despite the pain lancing through his side.
He took a single step forward, not caring that he limped. Tarn wanted a fight? Then Grimlock would give him one.
“Decepticons!” Grimlock roared, his armor flaring outward as if in threat. “Attack!”
~
Rest and recuperation were two things Starscream loathed. Not only because he’d had to endure it far too much in his functioning, but because he’d also been forced to work despite the need for it. Now, although he acknowledged his frame would repair better if he rested, he felt restless.
He wanted to be up, moving, buried deep in work, preferably at Grimlock’s side. Who knew what terrible decisions Grimlock had made in his absence? That mech was entirely too Autobot for his own good.
The feeling intensified when the notification popped up in the corner of his HUD. The entire Decepticon army had been put on full alert. Non-combatants, if any, were being sent to Polyhex. Project Final Resort had been put on standby. Several calls to arms had been issued to key members of Decepticon command.
Starscream knew these orders. He knew this plan. He and Grimlock had spent hours putting it together with Cyclonus’ input to shore out the weaknesses. They’d even passed the finalized version to Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus, as the Autobots played a crucial part in ensuring the safety of non-combatants, however few there were.
The Decepticon Justice Division approached Cybertron, if they hadn’t landed already. And here Starscream was, on his aft in a berth, barely able to move, to function. He was a victim waiting to be murdered.
His spark clenched. His ventilations stuttered.
Worse than that, Grimlock and the others were out there, facing the DJD without Starscream. His Intended, his trine-mates - they stood against those beasts, the monsters Megatron had created. Meanwhile, Starscream was here, trapped on a medberth.
He hated it.
A shadow moved in front of his door. Starscream froze, peering at the dark shape, until he could make out a massive primary engine and rotors. The only rotary still functioning in the Decepticons, at least of that size, was Blackout. One of Cyclonus’ lieutenants and nominally, to be trusted.
A guard perhaps. To keep Starscream in or to prevent assassins out? Perhaps a little bit of both.
It was some relief that Grimlock continued to express concern for his welfare. Though the idea of needing a guard rankled Starscream. He was accustomed to looking after himself because he was the only one who cared enough to do so.
Grimlock, and the relationship they had, was all new territory.
Starscream worked his jaw and ground his denta. Berthbound or not, he was still second in command of the Decepticon army. He had remote access to the command center which meant he could keep an optic on the fight.
He pulled up the security feeds and patched it through to his holo-display. Yes, it was extraneous equipment, but it proved its use now. He could see the battlefield, could see the DJD and the Decepticons squaring off, could see Grimlock standing against Tarn, larger than Megatron’s pet, but size wasn’t all that mattered.
Grimlock limped; Starscream did not know why. Had Tarn gotten in a lucky shot? Or most likely, someone had been wielding Vos with dangerous accuracy. Energon coursed from mangled plating in Grimlock’s right hip. He did not move as fast as Starscream knew him capable.
The ends of Tarn’s double-fusion cannons glowed a baleful purple.
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip. His ventilations quickened. He should be there. He should be fighting.
Damn Metalhawk.
Starscream’s free hand closed into a fist. He’d never felt so helpless. All he could do was lay here and watch.
~
Avoiding the blasts of Tarn’s fusion cannons was not easy. Somehow, Grimlock managed it, though not without singeing his armor.
“You are surprisingly agile for your size,” Tarn said, stalking slowly across the battlefield, his cannonfire keeping Grimlock at bay.
His armor smoked where Tarn had managed to strike a blow. His hip ached from Vos’ first and last landed shot. It was only pain.
“And your bark is worse than your bite,” Grimlock retorted with a growl. His cables twitched, his spark thumping from a surge.
Times like these, he regretted not having a ranged weapon. But then, he’d always been a better fighter with brute force.
Tarn laughed, low and threatening. “You have no idea.” He kept one hand pointed toward Grimlock, the end of his fusion cannon glowing with readiness. The other gestured toward his chestplate, no his intake. “You’ve heard of a certain talent of mine?”
Grimlock drew up short, his tail swishing the ground behind him. Tarn did not fire again, though the threat of him doing so made Grimlock reconsider charging. His armor was thick, sturdy, and he could take a hit. But too many direct strikes of those pseudo-fusion cannons and not even Grimlock was sure he could withstand them.
“I have,” Grimlock said, his engine snarling.
Tarn chuckled and gave a small bow, like a performer before the show. “Then allow me to demonstrate,” he said.
Grimlock braced himself and disengaged his audial receptors, though he knew it was pointless. Tarn’s outlier ability transcended receivers, unerringly doing damage directly to the spark.
He could still track the battle through his comms, through the comments his commanders made in loud bursts across the party line. But all else was silence. The booming of ordinance he felt in his feet. His armor rustled.
He growled at Tarn. Waiting. Waiting.
Nothing.
Tarn’s optics flashed.
Grimlock cut his audial receptors back on just in time to hear Tarn snarl, “What are you?”
It clicked.
Not directly birthed by Vector Sigma or the Allspark, Grimlock and all the other Dinobots had sparks that spun at vastly different frequencies. Maybe, given enough time to experiment, Tarn could parse out the one which would have a devastating effect. But for now, Grimlock was safe.
He grinned toothily, fangs flashing in the light.
“Lord Grimlock,” he said, stalking toward Tarn, his tail swishing behind him as he narrowed his optics at the DJD member. “Rightful leader of the Decepticons. And it looks like your little trick doesn’t work on me.”
Tarn’s field burst outward with all the force of a physical attack, battering against Grimlock’s own but making no headway. “I don’t know what you are,” he said. “But you bleed like any other Cybertronian. I will kill you all the same.”
Grimlock growled, low and bestial, a predator with his optics focused on his prey. “Try it!”
He launched himself forward, dodged the first blast Tarn directed toward him, and leapt at the DJD leader with denta bared.
He hadn’t let Megatron defeat him. Like the Pit he’d let Megatron’s pet do it.
~
Scourge paced back and forth, his comms tuned in to the updates coming from the command center, courtesy of Krok. The commander on deck did an excellent job of reporting current events without giving way to the fear so thick in his tone, but it was a near thing.
He couldn’t tell if Lord Grimlock and the other fighters were winning or not. It was too close to assume otherwise.
Scourge spun on another heel. His armor itched. His hand ached where he clutched the activation fob. Their last resort could be up and running in a matter of moments. His orders were clear - only if there was no other choice.
If it meant the life of his commander, Scourge was severely tempted to frag his orders and activate them anyway. Why should they risk their sparks when they had three super soldiers sitting in stasis?
Scourge hit a wall, spun, and paced all over again. His spark squeezed into a smaller and smaller ball of indecision and inaction.
“Krok, status update,” he all but snarled into the comm.
“Stand down,” Krok replied, all he’d been saying for the past five minutes. “So far, we are holding our own.”
So far.
Scourge’s wings jittered. “Let me know if that changes.”
“I will.”
The comm buzzed flat. Standby mode. Just like Scourge himself.
He stalked past a viewing window and peered in at the three offline frames, shackled up against a wall, optics dark, helms drooping. Not even their biolights glowed. Overlord. Black Shadow. Sixshot.
Letting them live had been a mercy apparently. Scourge wasn’t sure he could agree with that statement. Unless they proved to be of use today.
He stared down at the fob in his hand.
Another minute passed.
There was a strut-shaking boom in the distance.
“Krok, status update.”
“Stand down.”
And on it went.
~
“You take the ugly one,” Brawl said as he pounded his fists together, excitement all but radiating in his energy field.
Slag snarled, his spines bristling. “Which one the ugly one?”
Swoop took the sky above both of them, transforming mid-leap. “You both ugly ones,” he squawked.
Brawl burst into laughter, and it rang over the battlefield, incongruent to the already noisy bursts of blasterfire and frames colliding.
Slag stomped his feet, the ground trembling beneath him. “Fine,” he grumped as the two larger members of the DJD turned toward them, grinder whirring and smelter gurgling. “Then me Slag take the ugly one.”
“Fine by me,” Brawl said as he launched himself at the nearest mech, the one with the X across his faceplate.
Slag grinned toothily at the remaining mech and roared a gout of flame in greeting just as Swoop rained down hellfire from above. The yelps of shock and pain were music to Slag’s audials.
This was going to be fun.
~
He knew it was a mistake to turn on the screen, but the anxiety gripping his spark could not be swayed otherwise. Knock Out fought the urge to flee as the monitor flashed through various security viewpoints of the battle. Running away would save his own plating, but where would he go?
Lord Grimlock had beaten Megatron. Surely he could take down Megatron’s pet.
The DJD were outnumbered. But given the smoke, torn plating, splattered energon, and flashes of armor, Knock Out couldn’t tell. He didn’t know if they were winning or losing.
No one had been brought to his medbay yet. Whether it was because they hadn’t gone down yet or they couldn’t make it, he didn’t know.
Three against two. Brawl and Slag and Swoop squaring off against the two big ones. They looked pitifully small compared to the two members of the DJD.
Beside Knock Out, Snarl shifted from pede to pede, his armor ruffling. His optics were no less focused on the screen, his ventilations huffing agitated heat.
“You should go. Help them. You don’t have to stay here,” Knock Out said as he folded his arms over his chestplate. A pitiful protection for his spark, they were.
He’d heard what horrors the DJD were capable of. His plating would not withstand the heat of the smelter or the chomp of the restlessly spinning grinder. His armor would scorch under the electricity of the chair. Tarn would sing him into a sweet death. Or a painful one, whichever his preference.
Knock Out shuddered.
Snarl moved closer, his shoulder bumping Knock Out’s. He was warm, his armor buzzing with an undercurrent of charge that zapped Knock Out’s substructure.
“No,” he said. “Me Snarl stay here. Protect you Knock Out. Protect him Starscream.” His optics never left the screen, though his engine growled. “Me Snarl where me need be.”
Knock Out would never admit that he was grateful for it. “Suit yourself,” he said.
Breakdown appeared at his other side, carefully clutching three small cubes of energon, which he then handed over two of them. “It could be over any minute now,” he said with downcast optics and clamped armor. “We should be ready.”
Knock Out accepted the cube. Snarl drank his so quickly he could not have tasted it.
“Thank you,” Knock Out murmured.
Ready to run, or ready to save someone’s guttering spark, Knock Out assumed. He sipped at his cube and forced himself to watch the monitor. Lord Grimlock had just shifted to Dino-mode, his fangs gleaming in the midst of the smoke and ash.
Knock Out said a prayer, though he did not believe in them.
~
Grimlock wasn’t sure which of them miscalculated first. If he moved too slowly, or if he let his arrogance blind him.
His hip ached. His armor smoked. He’d shifted back to root-mode to better avoid the blasts of that fusion cannon. Tarn was small. Quick. Grimlock’s plating was a testament to the sharpness of Tarn’s claws.
He twisted to avoid Tarn’s onslaught of attacks, rage giving way to patience until Tarn bled nothing but fury and sheer madness. He attacked as though his spark depended on it, and perhaps it did.
He was not unscathed in their battle, but the earlier first strike took its toll. Grimlock was slower, too slow, and another blast from that cannon - Tarn in alt-mode, a tank, doubled his attack effectiveness - drove him back several steps. He stumbled, vents wheezing.
Tarn snapped back to his pedes and advanced.
“You are pathetic,” Tarn snapped, energon dripping over his armor, staining the purple and black paint. He walked with a limp, but seemed to have immeasurable charge to power those cannons of his. “I don’t believe you defeated Lord Megatron.”
Grimlock lashed at Tarn with his energy sword, forcing him back. “If you want, I can show you the smelted pile of slag we call his dead frame,” he taunted.
Tarn’s engine roared, his optics flaring. He fired at Grimlock again, and again, until the barrels of his cannons started to glow.
Grimlock twisted to avoid them, felt the heat of one blast against his backstrut, his frame singing caution and pain. A shot struck the ground near his pedes and hit something, an old piece of ordinance from the war perhaps.
The blast tossed Grimlock backward. His aft hit the ground with a strut-jarring thud. His processor blanked out for half a second, his vision going staticky. His frame tingled and he tried to get to his pedes, managing a half-crouch, his audials ringing. His legs wobbled, his knees even more so.
Footsteps crunched over debris, barely audible over the sound ringing in his audials. Grimlock looked up through wavering vision and static.
“Why won’t you just die?” Tarn snarled, and pointed both of his cannons point-blank at Grimlock’s helm, the ends glowing a fiery crimson.
He might survive the blast. He might not.
Damn.
“No!”
The expected shot never came. Blistering heat whisked by Grimlock’s audials, singeing the outer edge of his armor. A blaster shot slammed into Tarn’s chestplate, knocking him back a step. It was quickly followed by a second, and then a third. Those took out a cannon each before a fourth hit Tarn in the chest again.
Tarn stumbled backward, his armor smoking, sparks erupting from fractured plating and exposed circuits.
Grimlock didn’t think to look where they came from. He shoved to his pedes and threw himself at Tarn, his fist slamming into the other mech’s chestplate. His knuckles crumpled armor where the blastershot had left it cracked and smoking.
Tarn grunted, optics widening behind his mask, and he hit the ground with a strut rattling crash. Grimlock followed him, dropping his full weight down on Tarn.
The DJD commander flailed, tried to swing at Grimlock, but it was easy to dodge. Grimlock’s fist slammed into Tarn’s helm, knocking him into a brief reset, before he flicked his other hand.
His energon sword flared back to life. It dripped plasma to the ground, sizzling where it struck.
“You… were… Autobot,” Tarn gurgled, his voice nothing like the beautiful cadence it had been before.
“If you think that means I’ll spare you, you’re wrong,” Grimlock growled, his hand encircling Tarn’s throat, thumb pressing against the vibrations of Tarn’s vocalizer. “You’d never bow to me.”
Crimson optics flashed behind the Decepticon badge. “Never,” Tarn gritted out, his claws clamping onto the arm Grimlock held at his throat, digging into the cables beneath.
“I know.” Grimlock held the tip of his sword to Tarn’s chestplate, directly over the mech’s spark. The plasma burned against the metal, sending up curls of smoke.
Tarn’s optics dimmed. He might have snarled behind his mask. There was nothing of supplication in his field. It had to be done. The choices a Prime could never make.
Grimlock shoved his sword all the way through Tarn’s chestplate, piercing armor and secondary armor until he breached Tarn’s spark chamber itself. Tarn jerked beneath him, claws digging deep, drawing energon, even as Grimlock’s sword pierced the entirety of Tarn’s chassis, emerging through Tarn’s back and treads.
Tarn’s optics dimmed and then darkened. The claws loosened their deadly hold and fell away, the tips stained with Grimlock’s energon. The heat whisked out of his frame, slowly but surely.
Grimlock released Tarn’s intake and pushed himself upright, jerking his blade free as he did so. He disengaged the plasma blade, tucking it back into the crannies of his frame. He ached from helm to pede, but he lived, he suffered nothing Knock Out could not repair.
He looked down at the smoking, graying chassis of Tarn, and felt pity for the disillusioned mech. Could he have been reformed? Now they’d never know. Grimlock wasn’t Optimus. Sometimes, he had to make the choices for himself.
It was only then that he realized the battlefield had gone silent.
Grimlock lifted his helm, scanning the destruction around him. But it was not his soldiers he saw first, valiantly standing their ground against the fearsome might of the DJD. It was Starscream, standing behind him, his frame yet a patchwork of static bandages and energon dribbling sporadically, no doubt from torn fluid lines.
His wings drooped, but his optics were bright. Fierce. He held a blaster, the end of it still glowing from recent firing.
“You need a keeper,” Starscream said, his voice low, rippled with static. Exhaustion read from every crease in his face, in the clamp of his armor. Even now, he trembled where he stood.
He had never looked more beautiful.
“You’re supposed to be in a berth,” Grimlock said, surprising himself with how nonchalant he managed to speak.
Starscream smirked and tossed the blaster to the ground. It was not his own, Grimlock realized, but probably one Starscream had scooped up along the way from the medbay to here.
“You should be glad I didn’t.” Starscream took a step forward, but he wobbled as he did so, and then opted to stand still. “Now come get me before I fall down.”
Grimlock chuckled. “Yes, Star.”
He hurried to Starscream’s side, but the silence of the battlefield continued to linger. A second glance, this time to his soldiers, told him why.
The blue medic was down, pinned beneath Skywarp’s pede and spitting curses the likes of which Grimlock had never heard. The massive gun they had been carrying lay in pieces, energon soaking the ground around it.
Ah. So it had been Vos. Whether or not he lived was the question..
Cyclonus had his blade at Kaon’s throat, the blind mech on his knees. Cyclonus’ armor was pitted and scorched, more black than purple, and there was a long cut running across his face. It bled liberally, but his grip on Kaon’s shoulder did not falter. Where the Sparkeater had gone, Grimlock did not know.
Helex and Tesaurus fought against Brawl, Slag, and Swoop. But they had stopped fighting and now stared in Tarn’s direction. Whether it was grief or relief in their expression, Grimlock did not know. But the five fighters seemed to have come to some unstated truce. Helex had even been nice enough to put Brawl down from where he’d been trying to feed the tank feet-first into his smelter.
Grimlock hooked an arm around Starscream, helping him remain on his own two pedes, before he turned to address the battlefield.
“Your leader is dead,” Grimlock began, looking at the surviving DJD one by one. “You have a choice. You can surrender to me, or you can meet his fate.”
“Or you could let us go!” the blue medic snarled, their fists pounding the ground where they were pinned beneath Skywarp.
Starscream snorted. “So that you can find some other psychotic leader and come back again? Absolutely not.”
“I am not Optimus Prime,” Grimlock added with an affectionate squeeze to Starscream’s waist. “Neither am I Megatron. This is the only mercy I’ll allow. So if I were you, I’d choose quickly.”
Helex and Tesaurus exchanged glances before they turned toward Grimlock as one and held up their hands, even the secondary smaller sets.
“We surrender,” they said, together, though Tesaurus’ gaze lingered on Tarn’s graying frame.
“Nickel, you might as well,” Kaon said, resignation thick in his tone. “We are no good to anyone offline.”
The blue minibot - Nickel apparently - huffed and went limp beneath Skywarp. “Then back into a cage I go,” they said.
Kaon did not reply to Nickel, lifting his chin instead to ease the pressure of Cyclonus’ blade against his intake. “If you agree to give Vos medical attention, then I will surrender as well.” He lifted a hand, touching the tip of his finger to the hilt of Cyclonus’ blade. “Though understand that I don’t have to.” Electricity sparked from the tip of his finger, dancing over the coils protruding from his back.
Cyclonus did not so much as flinch.
Grimlock inclined his helm. “Fair enough.” He lifted his hand to his comm, contacting Krok in the command center. “Krok, tell everyone to stand down. Tarn is dead, and the rest are in custody. I repeat, give the order to stand down.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
~
“Cyclonus!!”
He had only seconds to brace himself before a white and blue blur threw itself at him. Arms wrapped around his waist tightly, the shaking frame pressed against him. Tailgate’s energy field was a maelstrom of emotion that clung to Cyclonus’ own, as sticky as energon goodies.
Cyclonus shouted at his battle protocols to stand down, and ignored the pain radiating through his frame. His shoulders drooped, and he dropped his hands down, returning the embrace that Tailgate offered him. Though he moved slowly, creakily, his internal lines scorched and some cables fried. He’d absorbed one of Kaon’s electrical attacks and felt internally set aflame.
“I am quite all right, little one,” Cyclonus said as one of his hands cradled the back of Tailgate’s helm.
Fisted hands pressed against his backstrut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t go to Nova Cronum,” Tailgate said, his vocals muffled against Cyclonus’ ventrum but sending vibrations through his armor nonetheless.
“I am simply relieved you did not storm the battlefield.” Cyclonus stroked Tailgate’s helm as the minibot’s field battered against his, thick with concern and relief and agitation.
“I should have,” Tailgate said.
Cyclonus, despite himself, chuckled. “I believe you would have,” he murmured, and slipped out of Tailgate’s hold only so far that he could drop to his knees, his hands cradling Tailgate’s helm. “And I am glad that you did not.”
Tailgate lifted a hand, his fingers delicately brushing over the slash marks on Cyclonus’ face. He had long since deactivated the pain sensors behind them, and his repair nanites had worked diligently to stop the bleeding. Energon still crusted around the edges, however, mingling with smoke and ash. He knew he looked quite the fearsome sight.
“You almost died,” Tailgate said, his visor dimming at the realization.
“But I did not.” Cyclonus pressed their forehelms together and cycled a ventilation. He did not care that they had audience.
Once upon a time, it would have bothered him. It would have been a sign of weakness, something to be exploited. But here, with Decepticons led by Grimlock, it was not only welcome, but encouraged.
“I’m glad you won,” Tailgate murmured.
Cyclonus’ field embraced Tailgate’s own, soothing out the rough edges. “So am I.”
~
It could have gone a lot worse, Grimlock observed.
Of the Decepticon Justice Division, only Tarn and Vos were killed. Attempts were made to save Vos’ spark, but it was too late. He guttered there in the surgery room, with Knock Out and Glit working feverishly to keep him online.
Kaon took the news in silence. He bowed his helm, clasped his hands, looking small and weak without his coils. Helex and Tesaurus, too, were far less fearsome now that they had been disarmed to the best of Grimlock’s medical staff’s ability.
Nickel, the medic from a long-forgotten Cybertronian colony Grimlock would learn, spat and raved at them. She claimed they did not try hard enough. That she could have saved Vos if only she’d been allowed. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she was not.
Grimlock pitied her, but of guilt, there was none.
Tarn had chosen to come to Cybertron. He arrived with intentions to do harm, to slaughter and lay waste to everything Grimlock had built since Megatron’s death. Grimlock had tried the path of peace; Tarn had spat in the face of it.
Grimlock would not feel guilty for what he had to do.
The Sparkeater had slipped its chains and escaped, vanishing into the wilds of Cybertron. Grimlock assembled a team to go after it. He doubted they’d ever find it. All the beast had to do was find one of many entrances to the web of tunnels within Cybertron’s core, and no one would ever see it again.
It could have been a lot worse.
Grimlock had suffered no casualties among his own troops. There were bumps, bruises, cuts, scrapes, damaged limbs and scorched wings. Brawl would walk with a limp for a while, at least until he finished integrating the new pede Knock Out had to construct for him. Cyclonus bore the scrapes on his face as a badge of pride, opting not to get them repaired. It left him with an even fiercer visage.
Given that a small white and blue minibot had leapt into his arms with a tight embrace, Grimlock assumed no one would mind. And while that was an odd pairing if Grimlock had ever seen one, he wished Cyclonus the best with it.
Peace time made for strange berth partners he supposed.
Thundercracker would be berthbound for the better part of a week. Vos, in Nickel’s hands, had taken out both of his thrusters, sending him into a crash-landing of which he survived thanks to Skywarp’s panicked and last-minute use of his warp drive. He was already proving to be quite the irritating patient, and Grimlock did not envy Knock Out for the length of Thundercracker’s tenure.
But he would live. That was what mattered. To Grimlock, who cared for all of his subordinates, and to Skywarp, who had pulled Grimlock aside and explained that Nickel only lived for so long as Thundercracker did. The darkness in his vocals gave no lie to his promise.
Grimlock rested a hand on Skywarp’s shoulder and reminded him, “Vos is dead. Let that be vengeance enough.”
Seeker wings flicked backward, but Skywarp inclined his helm stiffly. “Yes, Lord Grimlock,” he replied and returned to Thundercracker’s berthside.
He might not like it, but Skywarp would obey.
Slag, too, had survived and was already busy regaling anyone who would listen with the story of his bravery and awesomeness - Slag’s words, not Grimlock’s. He and Brawl were never found far from each other, and Grimlock didn’t know if there was something romantic between them, or if they just liked each other’s company.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. So long as Brawl didn’t mistreat Slag, that was all that mattered to Grimlock.
Swoop was the only one of the warriors who had emerged all but unscathed. He had a few scorchmarks on his plating, and a twisted ankle-strut, but that was the worst of it. He was fully mobile and took advantage of that, traveling from recovery room to recovery room, visiting his brothers, visiting Thundercracker, and visiting Grimlock and Starscream as well.
Starscream was back where he belonged, in the medbay, in a berth. He’d overtaxed his systems pulling that stunt, setting his full recovery back for several weeks month.
“Worth it,” Starscream said, half-wheezing, his ventilations labored. Any worse and Knock Out would have to roll in the manual-ventilator again.
“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Grimlock replied, his hands clasped around one of Starscream’s own. Perhaps his hold was a little too tight. Perhaps not.
Starscream did not complain. “I think you’re just jealous I stole some of your glory,” he drawled with a smirk.
“That must be it,” Grimlock agreed.
His own armor was still charred and pitted. He, too, would walk with a limp until someone looked at his hip. But he was mobile, and had the good sense to plug in a few pain patches. He would keep until everyone else had been seen to.
“Not that I’m ungrateful,” Grimlock added, his thumbs stroking over Starscream’s palm. “Thank you.”
Starscream’s engine purred. “I’m told that a partnership implies an equal amount of give and take,” he said. “You save my life; I save yours.”
Grimlock’s spark throbbed. “Am I allowed to believe that means you love me?”
“You’re allowed to think whatever you want.” Starscream’s shrug was far from dismissive. “But I’m an honorable Seeker, my lord. You’ll have to wait until the end of this courtship to find out.”
The end? Grimlock barked a laugh. With all that had happened as of late, he hadn’t even begun to woo Starscream. All he’d managed to do was display his prowess in the berth.
“Very well.” Grimlock pressed his mouthplate to Starscream’s knuckles and allowed his field free, to mingle with the edges of Starscream’s own. “I’ll consider it a challenge then.”
Starscream settled back into the medberth comfortably. “I’m sure you’ll win just like all the others you’ve set for yourself.”
“I’m glad to have your confidence,” Grimlock murmured, his spark so warm as to be consuming.
Commotion in the hallway stole Grimlock’s attention. He abruptly straightened, helm swinging toward the open door where he’d been keeping one audial on all the medic chatter. He knew Knock Out would give him a full report, but he still liked listening to the babble.
“Do you want my help or not?” A voice demanded, both annoyed and cranky.
Grimlock knew that voice. He resisted the urge to laugh aloud.
“Your creator is a force to be reckoned with,” Starscream said.
Grimlock untangled his fingers from Starscream’s and forced himself to stand. “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied and made his way to the door, wondering if he would need to break up a fight between Knock Out and Ratchet.
The two got along. Barely. But Grimlock hadn’t extended a direct invitation to Ratchet and informed Knock Out ahead of time, so the Decepticon CMO was probably getting his plating in a twist over the unexpected arrival.
Grimlock stood in the doorway and peered down the hallway. Ratchet and Knock Out were indeed squaring off, and just past Ratchet’s shoulder, Grimlock could see Wheeljack’s flashing indicators. So Ratchet hadn’t come alone this time.
“I don’t need your help,” Knock Out said, his tone tight, but his armor rippling with irritation. He had his hands planted on his hips, his tires spinning aggressively.
Ratchet, for his part, had his arms folded over his windshield, giving Knock Out a look that even Sideswipe had learned to obey. “You’d prefer to be short-handed then?”
“I have all the hands I need!” Knock Out snapped. “So why don’t you trot your over-sized aft back to Polyhex and stay out of my medbay for once!”
Wheeljack leaned around Ratchet, and even from this distance, Grimlock could sense the calm he projected in his field. “Hey, now. We ain’t here to take over or anythin’, kid. We just wanna help since the Cons did all the hard work. Yeah?”
Knock Out’s engine revved.
Grimlock stepped into the hallway before any energon could be shed. “For the most part, our injuries were minor. Though we appreciate the offer of assistance.”
Wheeljack saw him first, his indicators lighting up with a bright ripple of delight. “Grimlock!” he said, and waved, though he played it smart by not immediately pelting down the hall and passing Knock Out along the way. “Optimus didn’t send us, just so you know. Ratchet stormed over here all on his own.”
“I did not!” Ratchet hissed through clenched denta.
“Did so,” Wheeljack replied, full of smug humor. “I’ll make him leave if you don’t need us though.”
“We don’t!” Knock Out all but snarled, his armor fluffing even further away from his protoform. Even his shoulder tires twitched.
Grimlock waved a dismissing hand. “You don’t have to leave. If Knock Out has matters under control, then you can make this a visit. Snarl’s been moping again.”
“Have not!” Floated down the hallway from around the corner where Snarl had been working out of sight on repairing Thundercracker’s thrusters. Or, barring that, refurbishing some spare parts from storage.
“I do not need any help,” Knock Out repeated, his tone as tight as a wound spring. “And this is my medbay.”
Wheeljack held up his hands and nudged Ratchet with a shoulder. “Then we’re not here. Promise.” He winked an optic and then slid past Knock Out, heading for Grimlock instead. “Come on, Ratch. The kid’s got it.”
“I’m not a kid,” Knock Out snapped.
Ratchet lingered for the span of a few more seconds, giving Knock Out a long look. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
“I won’t.” Knock Out stalked past Ratchet, heading back into the central medbay. He took his agitated energy field with him.
Ratchet unfolded his arms and rolled his optics. “Sparklings these days,” he muttered as he started down the hall to join Wheeljack.
“Technically, Knock Out was within his rights to throw you out on your aft,” Grimlock said, amused. Wheeljack chose that moment to throw his arms around Grimlock in an attempt at an embrace, which Grimlock returned. “Nice to see you, too.”
Ratchet grumbled. “You all got lucky,” he said as his gaze flicked over Grimlock from helm to pede. “And you need medical attention.”
Grimlock shrugged. “I could wait. Others couldn’t.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” Ratchet said sourly, his optics filling with shadows. He folded his arms again, at once looking smaller and less imposing.
--Let Ratchet fix you up,-- Wheeljack said in a quick, narrow-band comm. --He’s been antsy all day since we went on high alert, and he doesn’t have anywhere to put that energy.--
Ah. So that explained it.
Grimlock gave Wheeljack a squeeze. “Though if you want to take a look at it, I won’t object.”
Ratchet’s gaze shifted from Wheeljack to Grimlock and back again. “All right, kid. Find me a room.”
Grimlock tilted his helm toward Starscream’s private recovery room. “Might as well use this one.” He slipped out of Wheeljack’s hold and preceded them inside.
Starscream was still online, his lips curved with a subtle amusement. No doubt he’d been eavesdropping. Not that it was difficult. Knock Out and Ratchet both were loud.
“Oh, look,” Starscream purred in a tone Grimlock had come to recognize as incendiary at best. “It’s the In-Laws.”
Wheeljack laughed, his indicators flashing brightly at them. “Glad you’re looking well, Starscream. Thanks for saving our idiot’s life out there.”
Starscream’s smirk widened. “Yes, well, I didn’t want to have to take time to train another one,” he drawled.
Ratchet snorted. “That’s more information than we wanted to know. Thanks. Grimlock, sit in that chair next to your Intended.”
Grimlock obeyed because yes, he could wait, but also, he was in some discomfort. He was quite eager to have that eased, and Ratchet understood the complexities of his system design better than Knock Out did. Then again, Ratchet had a hand in designing Grimlock’s frame. That came with the territory.
“You’re welcome,” Starscream said. He kept his gaze focused on the two Autobots. It wasn’t quite suspicion, but it wasn’t relaxed comfort either. Grimlock took no small amount of pride in the fact his proximity seemed to calm Starscream.
Wheeljack pulled out a stool as Ratchet circled around Grimlock, cataloging injuries and poking at them when a visual estimate wasn’t enough.
“So,” Wheeljack said, making himself comfortable. “What’s new?”
Starscream’s lip curled with a smirk. Ratchet muttered something subvocally. Grimlock chuckled.
This part, at least, would to be fun.
****
a/n: I hope the battle wasn't too much of a disappointment. I opted not for a long, knock out drag down fight. XD
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