[Transformers] {Fic} The Remaking 1/??
Title: The Remaking
Genre: Transformers 2007 Movie-verse/G1 AU
Rating: PG-13 (for violence)
Summary: Things change. They just weren’t supposed to do it so drastically! Bad Allspark! No biscuit!
Warnings: Brutal scenes, angst and death. Everything else is fluffy bunnies… sorta.
A/N: The dream that ate my brain now comes to you in fic form. This thing is turning into an Eddings epic, I swear! A couple more characters and it’ll be The Redemption of Althalus all over again. ^_^
The Remaking
1
Sam awoke to a sense of impending urgency.
It thrummed through his body like quickening; building, folding over itself again and again until it was thick and immovable, an iron block of pressure and panic that jolted him into full awareness and slammed him against the surroundings of his predicament.
He was in the back of a moving vehicle. It looked like he was in a station wagon, bright lights pouring in from windows at his feet and to either side of his head. He was jostled as it lurched over a bump in the road, his head slamming back against the floor of the boot. His small grunt of pain brought the cackling of raucous laughter from behind his head and he twisted, body aching with distant pain and all too aware of its confinement, to see who was there.
Once he saw he wished he hadn’t. It was ludicrous - one of the strangest images he could ever have expected to see. More outrageous than anything he could have come up with in his wildest imaginings or sugar-induced coma-dreams. God, was it even possible? And how the hell did he happen to get there?
They had to have been holoforms. How else would two giant flying Decepticons have managed to fit inside of a station wagon with a boot small enough to make him feel claustrophobic?
He felt his stomach lurch with indefinable fear as Starscream looked over his shoulder and waved at him. His dark-metal robotic face was twisted in a cheery grin, and at whatever expression must have crossed over Sam’s face he laughed; that harsh, coughing laugh that sounded so wholly amused. Beside him, in the driver’s seat, Sam could see the familiar colour markings of Skywarp, and when Starscream laughed again the other seeker turned his head and laughed in reply.
Outside of the vehicle the sky seemed to flash, and Sam turned his head to one of the windows. He couldn’t see much of where they were or where they were going - the sleek piercing form of an F-22 in the way sort of prevented that. The wingtip was barely a meter away from the window a forearms length from Sam’s face, and up until now he had thought it impossible to have been able to fly that low. There was another flash from Sam’s other side, and turning his head he saw a similar sight beyond the other window. That twist of obscure fear in his gut rapidly churned into thick dread, and biting his lip he turned his gaze to the roof of the car, refusing to look anymore.
He was in big, big shit. And he didn’t even know how it had happened. Where had he been? What was he doing? Where was Bee? Shit, nothing past coming out of the South City mall remained in his memory. Did the others know where he was? Hell, he didn’t even know where he was. Well, aside from being in a car driven by the holoforms of two Decepticons who happened to be flying alongside at illegal altitudes, and at an impossible speed. And, hell, the station wagon had to be a Decepticon too because holoforms couldn’t touch anything but themselves and why the hell was he thinking about this kind of shit when he should be thinking of a way to get out of this!
He cast a quick, calculating gaze around the interior of the vehicle, paying close attention to the boot access at his feet, and to the judders that trembled up from beneath him that let him know what kind of terrain they were on.
He could feel the thrumming of the F-22 engines now, different from what he had assumed to be the rumble of the earth-bound vehicle. The vibrations came at him sideways, not up through the metal beneath him, and the surrounding pressure of the Decepticons around him only served to make him feel more smothered than he had already. Something in his chest lurched close to his heart, and the cool chill of a thing unknown but familiar nipped at his feet. He couldn’t break his way out. He was stuck. Trapped.
“Not thinking of escaping are you, fleshbag?” the high engine-like whine of Starscream’s voice resonated back to him. “We were just about to have some fun!”
The deeper rumble of Skywarp’s laugh sent shudders down Sam’s spine. His amused bark didn’t sound quite as cheerful as Starscream’s, its depth made it ominous and malicious. “You and your little Snuzzlebum were just too easy.”
Sam arched his head back, his neck straining to keep the two seekers in his sights, squinting against the bright glare of the raptors outside. “Bumblebee?” he asked. “You have Bumblebee?”
“In a little box!” called back Skywarp, and outside one of the raptor’s pulled away and made a smooth, glorious twist. “The bug was simple. Lay a little bait, and he buzzes right on in.”
“And you,” Starscream laughed, “It was like tripping a drone. It’s completely beyond me how you managed to become the dominant species on this planet with brains that work so little as yours.”
Sam felt despair well up. “You’re bullshitting,” he tried.
“Nope,” Skywarp replied, looking over his shoulder at him, his visible red optic flashing in a cruel mimicry of a wink. “You should be able to feel it soon.”
“And then you’ll know, won’t you?” Starscream told him, turning fully in his seat to lean over the headrest, long limbed arm reaching out to touch his face.
“Know what?” Sam asked, in his voice a tremble that caused his words to shudder, and he ducked his head away from that cool, imaginary touch on his forehead.
Starscream chuckled, his optics glittering in the wild light. “Why, what it feels like, of course, to fight a battle you know you’ll never win.”
“What?” Sam gasped, swallowing convulsively, but Starscream had turned back in his seat, nudging Skywarp’s arm and laughing as he ordered a curt; “Now.”
And, suddenly, Sam’s sensations and emotions broadened, split, and the things that he had been feeling and assuming were his impressions abruptly became not his impressions, but someone else’s, and they rode alongside and underneath what were his own. Someone else’s… His vision flickered.
Sam gasped. “Bumblebee!”
Desperation thundered through him. Like an overhead projector with two different images overlapping he could see both his own boot-coffin and Bumblebee’s entrapping box. Thoughts not his own piggybacked on his human fear and horror; knowledge of cause and consequence, the understanding that the Decepticons had only caught them to cause them distress, the remembered but I wasn’t there conversation with Thundercracker that told him that they were of no use to them but for a passing amusement. The closing distance of the walls around Bumblebee sent pain flaring through Sam’s heart, and the spark-deep knowledge that he was going to die made him scream.
Bumblebee twisted.
Sam struggled wildly.
The Decepticons laughed, a vulgar backing track to the dual film that played in Sam’s vision as the ceiling of the metal box he was in not him - Bee!, descended. From the corner of his optics Sam could see Bee’s arms flailing at the metal, the yellow and grey of his limbs separated from the darkness only by the blue splash of his optical lights. Underlain beneath it was the image of his own flesh arms, pasty white in the wild light from the F-22’s, doing the same. He could hear both the soft thump of his fists hitting the cushioned ceiling of the car, and the screeching scrape of metal against metal, and his own voice yelling; “No, Bee! Fight!”
Bumblebee’s knees came up to brace against the metal, smooth knee-plates skidding against the featureless juggernaut as it bore down on them. His mind was cooler, calmer than the tempest that was Sam’s, but was fearful all the same. Dark and certain with death, and Sam screamed and railed at the unmoving ceiling of the vehicle while Bee slipped and skidded, braced himself and was slowly crushed by the unrelenting descent of the metal slab.
“Bee!” he screamed; “Bee!”
Something popped in his shoulder, and Sam writhed and shrieked while Bumblebee was jammed, unable to move, head turned to the side and optics lighting only smooth, faceless metal. Pain flared all over Sam’s body, chest, hips, legs, bursting up in a blaze then guttering out just as quickly while one by one Bumblebee’s systems fell offline.
Sam heard his own name being called, the single syllable being bounced and bounced in the small confines while he flailed until, with a sickening lurch of pain and a final scream, Sam lost Bumblebee.
The breath was torn from his throat, and all vision escaped him. He died, and Sam heard the wild laughing of the Decepticons chasing him into unconsciousness.
Chapter Two
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Song: Big Energy In Little Spaces - Opshop
Genre: Transformers 2007 Movie-verse/G1 AU
Rating: PG-13 (for violence)
Summary: Things change. They just weren’t supposed to do it so drastically! Bad Allspark! No biscuit!
Warnings: Brutal scenes, angst and death. Everything else is fluffy bunnies… sorta.
A/N: The dream that ate my brain now comes to you in fic form. This thing is turning into an Eddings epic, I swear! A couple more characters and it’ll be The Redemption of Althalus all over again. ^_^
The Remaking
1
Sam awoke to a sense of impending urgency.
It thrummed through his body like quickening; building, folding over itself again and again until it was thick and immovable, an iron block of pressure and panic that jolted him into full awareness and slammed him against the surroundings of his predicament.
He was in the back of a moving vehicle. It looked like he was in a station wagon, bright lights pouring in from windows at his feet and to either side of his head. He was jostled as it lurched over a bump in the road, his head slamming back against the floor of the boot. His small grunt of pain brought the cackling of raucous laughter from behind his head and he twisted, body aching with distant pain and all too aware of its confinement, to see who was there.
Once he saw he wished he hadn’t. It was ludicrous - one of the strangest images he could ever have expected to see. More outrageous than anything he could have come up with in his wildest imaginings or sugar-induced coma-dreams. God, was it even possible? And how the hell did he happen to get there?
They had to have been holoforms. How else would two giant flying Decepticons have managed to fit inside of a station wagon with a boot small enough to make him feel claustrophobic?
He felt his stomach lurch with indefinable fear as Starscream looked over his shoulder and waved at him. His dark-metal robotic face was twisted in a cheery grin, and at whatever expression must have crossed over Sam’s face he laughed; that harsh, coughing laugh that sounded so wholly amused. Beside him, in the driver’s seat, Sam could see the familiar colour markings of Skywarp, and when Starscream laughed again the other seeker turned his head and laughed in reply.
Outside of the vehicle the sky seemed to flash, and Sam turned his head to one of the windows. He couldn’t see much of where they were or where they were going - the sleek piercing form of an F-22 in the way sort of prevented that. The wingtip was barely a meter away from the window a forearms length from Sam’s face, and up until now he had thought it impossible to have been able to fly that low. There was another flash from Sam’s other side, and turning his head he saw a similar sight beyond the other window. That twist of obscure fear in his gut rapidly churned into thick dread, and biting his lip he turned his gaze to the roof of the car, refusing to look anymore.
He was in big, big shit. And he didn’t even know how it had happened. Where had he been? What was he doing? Where was Bee? Shit, nothing past coming out of the South City mall remained in his memory. Did the others know where he was? Hell, he didn’t even know where he was. Well, aside from being in a car driven by the holoforms of two Decepticons who happened to be flying alongside at illegal altitudes, and at an impossible speed. And, hell, the station wagon had to be a Decepticon too because holoforms couldn’t touch anything but themselves and why the hell was he thinking about this kind of shit when he should be thinking of a way to get out of this!
He cast a quick, calculating gaze around the interior of the vehicle, paying close attention to the boot access at his feet, and to the judders that trembled up from beneath him that let him know what kind of terrain they were on.
He could feel the thrumming of the F-22 engines now, different from what he had assumed to be the rumble of the earth-bound vehicle. The vibrations came at him sideways, not up through the metal beneath him, and the surrounding pressure of the Decepticons around him only served to make him feel more smothered than he had already. Something in his chest lurched close to his heart, and the cool chill of a thing unknown but familiar nipped at his feet. He couldn’t break his way out. He was stuck. Trapped.
“Not thinking of escaping are you, fleshbag?” the high engine-like whine of Starscream’s voice resonated back to him. “We were just about to have some fun!”
The deeper rumble of Skywarp’s laugh sent shudders down Sam’s spine. His amused bark didn’t sound quite as cheerful as Starscream’s, its depth made it ominous and malicious. “You and your little Snuzzlebum were just too easy.”
Sam arched his head back, his neck straining to keep the two seekers in his sights, squinting against the bright glare of the raptors outside. “Bumblebee?” he asked. “You have Bumblebee?”
“In a little box!” called back Skywarp, and outside one of the raptor’s pulled away and made a smooth, glorious twist. “The bug was simple. Lay a little bait, and he buzzes right on in.”
“And you,” Starscream laughed, “It was like tripping a drone. It’s completely beyond me how you managed to become the dominant species on this planet with brains that work so little as yours.”
Sam felt despair well up. “You’re bullshitting,” he tried.
“Nope,” Skywarp replied, looking over his shoulder at him, his visible red optic flashing in a cruel mimicry of a wink. “You should be able to feel it soon.”
“And then you’ll know, won’t you?” Starscream told him, turning fully in his seat to lean over the headrest, long limbed arm reaching out to touch his face.
“Know what?” Sam asked, in his voice a tremble that caused his words to shudder, and he ducked his head away from that cool, imaginary touch on his forehead.
Starscream chuckled, his optics glittering in the wild light. “Why, what it feels like, of course, to fight a battle you know you’ll never win.”
“What?” Sam gasped, swallowing convulsively, but Starscream had turned back in his seat, nudging Skywarp’s arm and laughing as he ordered a curt; “Now.”
And, suddenly, Sam’s sensations and emotions broadened, split, and the things that he had been feeling and assuming were his impressions abruptly became not his impressions, but someone else’s, and they rode alongside and underneath what were his own. Someone else’s… His vision flickered.
Sam gasped. “Bumblebee!”
Desperation thundered through him. Like an overhead projector with two different images overlapping he could see both his own boot-coffin and Bumblebee’s entrapping box. Thoughts not his own piggybacked on his human fear and horror; knowledge of cause and consequence, the understanding that the Decepticons had only caught them to cause them distress, the remembered but I wasn’t there conversation with Thundercracker that told him that they were of no use to them but for a passing amusement. The closing distance of the walls around Bumblebee sent pain flaring through Sam’s heart, and the spark-deep knowledge that he was going to die made him scream.
Bumblebee twisted.
Sam struggled wildly.
The Decepticons laughed, a vulgar backing track to the dual film that played in Sam’s vision as the ceiling of the metal box he was in not him - Bee!, descended. From the corner of his optics Sam could see Bee’s arms flailing at the metal, the yellow and grey of his limbs separated from the darkness only by the blue splash of his optical lights. Underlain beneath it was the image of his own flesh arms, pasty white in the wild light from the F-22’s, doing the same. He could hear both the soft thump of his fists hitting the cushioned ceiling of the car, and the screeching scrape of metal against metal, and his own voice yelling; “No, Bee! Fight!”
Bumblebee’s knees came up to brace against the metal, smooth knee-plates skidding against the featureless juggernaut as it bore down on them. His mind was cooler, calmer than the tempest that was Sam’s, but was fearful all the same. Dark and certain with death, and Sam screamed and railed at the unmoving ceiling of the vehicle while Bee slipped and skidded, braced himself and was slowly crushed by the unrelenting descent of the metal slab.
“Bee!” he screamed; “Bee!”
Something popped in his shoulder, and Sam writhed and shrieked while Bumblebee was jammed, unable to move, head turned to the side and optics lighting only smooth, faceless metal. Pain flared all over Sam’s body, chest, hips, legs, bursting up in a blaze then guttering out just as quickly while one by one Bumblebee’s systems fell offline.
Sam heard his own name being called, the single syllable being bounced and bounced in the small confines while he flailed until, with a sickening lurch of pain and a final scream, Sam lost Bumblebee.
The breath was torn from his throat, and all vision escaped him. He died, and Sam heard the wild laughing of the Decepticons chasing him into unconsciousness.
Chapter Two
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Song: Big Energy In Little Spaces - Opshop