Spark Deep -- Chapter 8: Capture
Title: Chapter 8: Capture
Rating: K+
Continuity: AU G1
Chapter 8: Capture
The rest of the orn passed without incident. Bluestreak followed the Twins up to the West Wing, and the three of them curled together on the couch, their forms bathed in firelight, optics dim, fields closely entwined. They slept there, unwilling to move, to leave the comfort provided by familiar fields and warm frames.
Sunset came quickly, with the Twins shuddering through their transformation and Bluestreak unwilling to leave them. For close to a joor, they simply stayed there, unmoving, curled together in front of the fire. The gray mech was the first to speak, breaking the day-long silence.
“I'm sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Sunstreaker asked, tightening his grip on the mech, pulling him closer.
“Yeah. You've done nothing wrong,” Sideswipe agreed as he ran a hand along Bluestreak's closest doorwing.
The gray mech vented, leaning into the soft touches. “I... Smokescreen. If I hadn't invited him, he wouldn't have... wouldn't have seen you.”
“Blue, it's fine. It was an accident, unintentional on all fronts. You've got nothing to be sorry for.”
“I...”
“Mute it. We're the Lords here,” Sideswipe said, grinning cheekily. “We get to be in charge.”
Bluestreak just rolled his optics and settled into their hold, still reluctant to move.
Music began filtering up from the party room, and still they stayed. Around midnight, there came a knock came on the door.
“Come in!” Sideswipe called, and it swung open to reveal Hound and Mirage, both with cubes of energon.
Mirage smirked happily (it was a very strange expression, Bluestreak thought) as he brought his cubes over. Hound followed, grinning widely. “Here you go, my Lords, Master Bluestreak,” Mirage practically hummed as he handed over the energon. Sideswipe eyed him strangely, but accepted the energon.
Then the two servants left, and the three mechs were left alone again.
They drank their energon, then went down to the party for a short while. Then the party was over, the sun risen, and Bluestreak was wandering the house. The Twins were asleep, and he would join them soon.
Bluestreak was ambling up the stairs when the shout echoed through the house. He glanced back, then turned and ran for the door, where the shout had originated.
Trailbreaker was standing in the middle of the frame, arms braced against the thick doorstop, blocking the entrance.
“TB?” Bluestreak called, and the black mech spared him only a glance.
“Blue, get upstairs. Now!”
Optics widening, the gray mech scrambled toward the stairs. Trailbreaker didn't shout. Ever. Something was wrong.
There was a loud crash behind him, and another loud yell, but he did not look back.
Then someone wrapped their arms around him and he fell to the ground, writhing, trying to dislodge the hold. He screamed.
“Bluestreak! Stop! Blue, it's me!”
The thrashing stopped, and Bluestreak finally turned fear-bright optics on his captor. Black and white armor, wide, sweeping doorwings, bright, golden optics...
“Prowl?”
“Bluestreak... Are you injured?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good. Come.”
Prowl stood, lifting Bluestreak with him.
It was then that the gray mech noticed the emblems on his brother's doorwings. A stylized, red face, overlaid on red, wing-like bars.
“What's this?”
“The symbol of our new home, where we will soon be. Come.”
Without letting go of Bluestreak's arm, Prowl started toward the door, hauling his brother after him.
“Prowl! Stop! Let me go!”
“No, Bluestreak. Smokescreen told me what has happened, and you are coming home. I will pay for the contract if I must, but you will not stay here any longer.”
They had reached the door now, and Bluestreak felt his spark jerk. A lithe, silver mech was pressed up against Trailbreaker, a knife held close to the black mech's throat cabling. “No!” he cried, reaching for the doorkeeper.
The silver mech didn't move.
“Prowl, please, Trailbreaker hasn't done anything wrong, leave him be! Let him go! Get away from him!”
The black and white Praxian frowned. “Trailbreaker... If Jazz comes away, will you stay here, and swear not to attack?”
The black mech hissed lowly, optics darting from Bluestreak to Prowl. “... Fine,” he ground out after a moment, and the silver mech, Jazz, slid easily away, dagger subspaced quickly.
Prowl nodded and continued on, tugging Bluestreak along with him.
The gray mech stared with wide optics at the company of soldiers - they couldn't be anything but soldiers; they wore heavy armor and were bristling with weapons - who were standing in front of the house, guns drawn.
“Come,” Prowl said as he passed. “We are finished here.”
“You aren't going to kill the monsters?” one of the mechs asked, and Bluestreak's vents hitched.
Prowl shook his helm. “They have been here for vorns. Should they attack, then I will do what I can. Until then, they have shown themselves as harmless. Now come.”
Bluestreak tugged at the grip on his arm, but Prowl had always been bigger and stronger, and he was unable to break it. He turned back as far as he could, doorwings almost flat against his back, and gazed, forlornly, at Trailbreaker, who was still leaning against the doorjamb where Jazz had left him.
The black mech stared back, expression dark. He gave a slow nod, then glanced upward. Bluestreak's vents hitched again, and his optics widened.
“Bluestreak!” Prowl snapped, and tugged him to face forward again. Then they were in the forest, and the manor house was behind them.
Rating: K+
Continuity: AU G1
Chapter 8: Capture
The rest of the orn passed without incident. Bluestreak followed the Twins up to the West Wing, and the three of them curled together on the couch, their forms bathed in firelight, optics dim, fields closely entwined. They slept there, unwilling to move, to leave the comfort provided by familiar fields and warm frames.
Sunset came quickly, with the Twins shuddering through their transformation and Bluestreak unwilling to leave them. For close to a joor, they simply stayed there, unmoving, curled together in front of the fire. The gray mech was the first to speak, breaking the day-long silence.
“I'm sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Sunstreaker asked, tightening his grip on the mech, pulling him closer.
“Yeah. You've done nothing wrong,” Sideswipe agreed as he ran a hand along Bluestreak's closest doorwing.
The gray mech vented, leaning into the soft touches. “I... Smokescreen. If I hadn't invited him, he wouldn't have... wouldn't have seen you.”
“Blue, it's fine. It was an accident, unintentional on all fronts. You've got nothing to be sorry for.”
“I...”
“Mute it. We're the Lords here,” Sideswipe said, grinning cheekily. “We get to be in charge.”
Bluestreak just rolled his optics and settled into their hold, still reluctant to move.
Music began filtering up from the party room, and still they stayed. Around midnight, there came a knock came on the door.
“Come in!” Sideswipe called, and it swung open to reveal Hound and Mirage, both with cubes of energon.
Mirage smirked happily (it was a very strange expression, Bluestreak thought) as he brought his cubes over. Hound followed, grinning widely. “Here you go, my Lords, Master Bluestreak,” Mirage practically hummed as he handed over the energon. Sideswipe eyed him strangely, but accepted the energon.
Then the two servants left, and the three mechs were left alone again.
They drank their energon, then went down to the party for a short while. Then the party was over, the sun risen, and Bluestreak was wandering the house. The Twins were asleep, and he would join them soon.
Bluestreak was ambling up the stairs when the shout echoed through the house. He glanced back, then turned and ran for the door, where the shout had originated.
Trailbreaker was standing in the middle of the frame, arms braced against the thick doorstop, blocking the entrance.
“TB?” Bluestreak called, and the black mech spared him only a glance.
“Blue, get upstairs. Now!”
Optics widening, the gray mech scrambled toward the stairs. Trailbreaker didn't shout. Ever. Something was wrong.
There was a loud crash behind him, and another loud yell, but he did not look back.
Then someone wrapped their arms around him and he fell to the ground, writhing, trying to dislodge the hold. He screamed.
“Bluestreak! Stop! Blue, it's me!”
The thrashing stopped, and Bluestreak finally turned fear-bright optics on his captor. Black and white armor, wide, sweeping doorwings, bright, golden optics...
“Prowl?”
“Bluestreak... Are you injured?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good. Come.”
Prowl stood, lifting Bluestreak with him.
It was then that the gray mech noticed the emblems on his brother's doorwings. A stylized, red face, overlaid on red, wing-like bars.
“What's this?”
“The symbol of our new home, where we will soon be. Come.”
Without letting go of Bluestreak's arm, Prowl started toward the door, hauling his brother after him.
“Prowl! Stop! Let me go!”
“No, Bluestreak. Smokescreen told me what has happened, and you are coming home. I will pay for the contract if I must, but you will not stay here any longer.”
They had reached the door now, and Bluestreak felt his spark jerk. A lithe, silver mech was pressed up against Trailbreaker, a knife held close to the black mech's throat cabling. “No!” he cried, reaching for the doorkeeper.
The silver mech didn't move.
“Prowl, please, Trailbreaker hasn't done anything wrong, leave him be! Let him go! Get away from him!”
The black and white Praxian frowned. “Trailbreaker... If Jazz comes away, will you stay here, and swear not to attack?”
The black mech hissed lowly, optics darting from Bluestreak to Prowl. “... Fine,” he ground out after a moment, and the silver mech, Jazz, slid easily away, dagger subspaced quickly.
Prowl nodded and continued on, tugging Bluestreak along with him.
The gray mech stared with wide optics at the company of soldiers - they couldn't be anything but soldiers; they wore heavy armor and were bristling with weapons - who were standing in front of the house, guns drawn.
“Come,” Prowl said as he passed. “We are finished here.”
“You aren't going to kill the monsters?” one of the mechs asked, and Bluestreak's vents hitched.
Prowl shook his helm. “They have been here for vorns. Should they attack, then I will do what I can. Until then, they have shown themselves as harmless. Now come.”
Bluestreak tugged at the grip on his arm, but Prowl had always been bigger and stronger, and he was unable to break it. He turned back as far as he could, doorwings almost flat against his back, and gazed, forlornly, at Trailbreaker, who was still leaning against the doorjamb where Jazz had left him.
The black mech stared back, expression dark. He gave a slow nod, then glanced upward. Bluestreak's vents hitched again, and his optics widened.
“Bluestreak!” Prowl snapped, and tugged him to face forward again. Then they were in the forest, and the manor house was behind them.