A Brother's Bond
Title: A Brother's Bond
Verse: G1
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Smokescreen, Jazz, Bluestreak, Ratchet
Word Count: 1,743
Warnings: Death, Angst, Mech Cursing
Summary: A grim past connects two mechs in a brighter future.
Notes: For vejiraziel. The prompt was "Smokescreen and Bluestreak- Big Brother Looking After Little Brother." This is one part of my half of our trade over at tf_trading_post.
“A-AAH!”
That corpse was alive. No, no. Not a corpse, Smokescreen silently reminded himself, optics frozen on the body.
Twitching pale hands reached out from under the rubble, scrabbling for purchase on something, anything. For a moment, one caught the edge of a strip of metal, but the frantic spasms forced the mech's grip to give, slicing into the already bleeding joints. The mech had very obviously tried the action before.
Primus, there was a survivor… Someone was alive in this massacre… Smokescreen marveled at the thought, venting softly in disbelief.
The injured mech’s helm bobbed, a pained gasp stopping the flow of nonsensical babble the mech had been releasing for a brief moment. The leg that Smokescreen had bumped into scraped into the metal surface below him as if the mech was attempting to sit up from where he was laying face down in the wreckage. Aside from the obvious damages littering the poor mech’s body, a large metal beam pinning the mech to the ground hindered any hope of escape he might have.
“Smokescreen to Jazz,” the blue and red mech said quietly, pressing a finger to his comm. It hardly mattered though as the trapped mech didn’t seem to have acknowledged his presence since the pained scream.
“This is Jazz. Anything to report in your sector?” the normally cheery mech commed back with a grim tone that thoroughly expressed the horrendous situation they were attending to.
“Yeah… I found a survivor.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I’ll be right over with a medic. Secure them as best you can until we arrive.”
“I’ll do what I can. Smokescreen out.”
The energon-splattered mech suddenly released a pained moan, coupled by the sound of metal grinding on metal. The mech’s only remaining doorwing was crumpled and pinned to his back, his struggling only further damaging the appendage, as it too was pinned under the beam.
“Easy… Easy…” Smokescreen soothed, moving towards the mech.
Once more, his presence seemed to go unacknowledged, but as he approached, he realized he was wrong. What he thought was mindless, panicked babble sounded more like begging…
“I’m here to help, just hold still and I’ll get you out,” he assured the rather young-looking mech, kneeling down near his shoulders.
The damaged gray helm jerked in his direction, the single remaining optic wide and flaring bright in fear while the shattered one sparked in response as a trickle of energon ran out in a stream down his face plates.
“Nomorepleasenomorejustleavemealone…”
The words, quiet and nearly emotionless bore down on Smokescreen. His spark swelled, taken aback by the tragic response. He’d seen battle and death, he’d dealt with the emotional responses of mechs with all different backgrounds… But this youngling, crushed by the pieces of his own home, possibly the only living resident of Praxus… It was so different.
“I’m Smokescreen,” he said quietly, optic locking on the grey mech’s face. “I’m an Autobot. I won’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else hurt you, okay?”
“Nomorepainpleasejustleavegoaway…”
Smokescreen reached out and carefully picking up one bleeding hand, he held it between two of his own. The mech gave no reaction, but his hand trembled erratically within Smokescreen's.
“Ijustwanttolivedon’tletmediepleaseplease…”
His hands squeezed gently over the trembling one between them. “I’m going to get you out from under there, okay? It may hurt for a second, but just keep still.”
“Gonethey’reallgonedeadwhyamIaliveIshouldn’tbealive…”
Smokescreen gently set the hand back down, standing up to hover over the metal beam. It was large enough to hold an injured mech down, but he was sure that if he pulled hard enough, he could lift it off of the Praxian youngling.
Shifting his stance, Smokescreen gripped the edge of the beam, ignoring the sharp edges he knew would cut into his own joints. Ignoring the thought, he pulled up.
“STOPPLEASEIdon’twanttodiepleasejustleavemestopstopstopplease…”
Metal cut into his fingers, his joints groaning in protest under the strain, Smokescreen lifted. Slowly, the crumpled doorwing was freed, falling limply to the mech’s side. With a strained grunt, the beam came free of the youngling’s back.
“IthurtsI’mgoingtodiewhydoIhavetodiepleasenomoreplease…”
Smokescreen shuffled a step to the side, intending to clear the beam from him and then drop it back to the ground. There was no way the injured Praxian could move in his condition, even freed from the beam. The process was awkward, a shuffle, hefting the wreckage higher, a grunt. Finally though, he reached a point where he could safely toss the beam away. It landed with a loud metal thud several feet from the injured mech.
Suddenly, the babbling stopped. Despite the horrific damage to his back, energon leaking from between crushed plating and wires sparking erratically, he’d managed to pull his mangled, dented legs under him, curling into a tight little ball.
“Help will arrive soon,” Smokescreen assured the mech quietly, although he was sure the other mech still wasn’t paying attention. “You’ll get medical attention and you’ll be fine… You’re going to live.” He sat himself down beside the mech again, laying a hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid the doorwing.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou…” the mech chanted, helm lifting slightly to gaze intently on the blue-and -red bot’s face.
“It’s why I’m here…” Smokescreen replied, unsure if he was even having a conversation with him. “I promise I’ll protect you…”
The single optic bore into him, seeming to take in the words. Then, pulling one trembling hand from under himself, he reached out towards Smokescreen. His hand rattled across the surface of his leg for a moment, reaching for Smokescreen’s side. It closed around a section of plating carefully as he stretched the other hand out to do the same.
Smokescreen watched his movements for a moment before he understood what he was trying to do. “Come here…” he murmured softly, helping the bot pull himself closer. Trembling arms closed around his waist, the injured mech pressing his helm weakly into his abdominal plating.
“Thank you…” the mech sobbed quietly, sounding far more conscious then he had before.
Smokescreen held the mech gently to him, mildly surprised at the intelligible words. “Do you have a name…?” he asked gently.
“…B-Bluestreak…” the youngling whispered.
“Well that answers about half of my questions,” Ratchet rumbled, pulling a pair of pliers from a box beside him.
“What’s the other half?” Smokescreen asked, turning his head in his arms to glance toward the medic.
“When and why did you start calling each other brothers when you aren’t?” Ratchet asked, stepping up next to the medical berth. He carefully pressed his hands into the Special Ops mech’s back, worming the pliers in with them to attend to a hard-to-reach bundle of wires.
Smokescreen struggled not to squirm at the feeling, pressing his helm into his crossed arms until the hands halted. “Well…” he grunted. “Blue’s the one who started it really. Just as soon as he was repaired, he started following me around wherever I went and quickly began referring to me as his brother. Not sure why, but it stuck and I like it.”
Ratchet snorted and used the pliers to disconnect a small wire. “It stuck so well that one of your previous medics wrote in your file that he was your real brother.” He grunted. “And of course you didn’t try to fix it.”
“Didn’t think it would cause any harm.”
One of the hands in his back twitched. “It wouldn’t cause any harm?” Ratchet asked tightly. “What if something serious had happened to one of you? What if you needed a part that only a brother could provide? Then what if that transplant killed you because you systems REJECTED it because he isn’t really your brother?! That’s the harm!” the CMO snapped, his voice rising with each word.
Smokescreen flinched into the berth. “Okay, okay. Sorry. You’re right, it was a bad idea,” he muttered. He just wished the medic would remove his hands before he injured him…
“Fragging idiots…” Ratchet grouched, returning to the repairs, although a touch more violently than before.
Smokescreen was forced to bite down on his retort and endure the next hour of painful repairs before a distraction came. Of course, until then, he was forced to listen to the medic’s grumbling insults, holding back his pride in favor if staying on the medic’s relatively good side by not objecting to his words.
Thankfully, his distraction came in the form of a familiar, bright face.
“Smokescreen?” Bluestreak called, peering around the med bay door. He shot a look at Ratchet. “Can he have visitors? I heard he was in here and I never like being alone in the med bay so I wanted to drop by. Is that okay? I can leave if it’s not.”
The quick grin that slid across Smokescreen’s face kept the medic from any refusal or verbal attack he may have thrown at the Praxian.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Just don’t disturb him while I finish up.”
The smile that pulled across Bluestreak’s face was near blinding in its excitement. “Thanks Ratchet! It means a lot and I know you usually don’t like people in here when you’re working so I know this is unusual, but I really appreciate it!”
Ratchet just gave a grunt in response, optics focused on his patient’s back as Bluestreak made his way eagerly toward them.
“Great timing, Blue,” Smokescreen noted, reaching one hand out to grip the young gunner’s arm when he got close enough.
“Well I would have been here sooner, but I reported to Prowl and that turned out to take more time than usual and then it was a while before Sideswipe told me that you and Jazz ran into the Seekers on patrol and that you got injured. I really wanted to come sooner, but I was afraid Ratchet didn’t want me in here, so I kind of just sat outside the med bay until I thought it was safe….”
“It’s fine,” Smokescreen assured him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m just glad that you did come.”
If possible, Bluestreak’s face brightened further, moving to clasp Smokescreen’s hand within his.
The simple gesture was all too familiar after his earlier reminiscing and Smokescreen felt his spark swell with a familiar protective need. He curled his hand in Bluestreak’s. “Love you, bro…”
Bluestreak’s hands, so steady now after all this time, molded tighter around his. “Love you too, brother.”
Somewhere behind Smokescreen, Ratchet just snorted.
~~~
Beta'd by pellimusprime.
Verse: G1
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Smokescreen, Jazz, Bluestreak, Ratchet
Word Count: 1,743
Warnings: Death, Angst, Mech Cursing
Summary: A grim past connects two mechs in a brighter future.
Notes: For vejiraziel. The prompt was "Smokescreen and Bluestreak- Big Brother Looking After Little Brother." This is one part of my half of our trade over at tf_trading_post.
“A-AAH!”
That corpse was alive. No, no. Not a corpse, Smokescreen silently reminded himself, optics frozen on the body.
Twitching pale hands reached out from under the rubble, scrabbling for purchase on something, anything. For a moment, one caught the edge of a strip of metal, but the frantic spasms forced the mech's grip to give, slicing into the already bleeding joints. The mech had very obviously tried the action before.
Primus, there was a survivor… Someone was alive in this massacre… Smokescreen marveled at the thought, venting softly in disbelief.
The injured mech’s helm bobbed, a pained gasp stopping the flow of nonsensical babble the mech had been releasing for a brief moment. The leg that Smokescreen had bumped into scraped into the metal surface below him as if the mech was attempting to sit up from where he was laying face down in the wreckage. Aside from the obvious damages littering the poor mech’s body, a large metal beam pinning the mech to the ground hindered any hope of escape he might have.
“Smokescreen to Jazz,” the blue and red mech said quietly, pressing a finger to his comm. It hardly mattered though as the trapped mech didn’t seem to have acknowledged his presence since the pained scream.
“This is Jazz. Anything to report in your sector?” the normally cheery mech commed back with a grim tone that thoroughly expressed the horrendous situation they were attending to.
“Yeah… I found a survivor.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I’ll be right over with a medic. Secure them as best you can until we arrive.”
“I’ll do what I can. Smokescreen out.”
The energon-splattered mech suddenly released a pained moan, coupled by the sound of metal grinding on metal. The mech’s only remaining doorwing was crumpled and pinned to his back, his struggling only further damaging the appendage, as it too was pinned under the beam.
“Easy… Easy…” Smokescreen soothed, moving towards the mech.
Once more, his presence seemed to go unacknowledged, but as he approached, he realized he was wrong. What he thought was mindless, panicked babble sounded more like begging…
“I’m here to help, just hold still and I’ll get you out,” he assured the rather young-looking mech, kneeling down near his shoulders.
The damaged gray helm jerked in his direction, the single remaining optic wide and flaring bright in fear while the shattered one sparked in response as a trickle of energon ran out in a stream down his face plates.
“Nomorepleasenomorejustleavemealone…”
The words, quiet and nearly emotionless bore down on Smokescreen. His spark swelled, taken aback by the tragic response. He’d seen battle and death, he’d dealt with the emotional responses of mechs with all different backgrounds… But this youngling, crushed by the pieces of his own home, possibly the only living resident of Praxus… It was so different.
“I’m Smokescreen,” he said quietly, optic locking on the grey mech’s face. “I’m an Autobot. I won’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else hurt you, okay?”
“Nomorepainpleasejustleavegoaway…”
Smokescreen reached out and carefully picking up one bleeding hand, he held it between two of his own. The mech gave no reaction, but his hand trembled erratically within Smokescreen's.
“Ijustwanttolivedon’tletmediepleaseplease…”
His hands squeezed gently over the trembling one between them. “I’m going to get you out from under there, okay? It may hurt for a second, but just keep still.”
“Gonethey’reallgonedeadwhyamIaliveIshouldn’tbealive…”
Smokescreen gently set the hand back down, standing up to hover over the metal beam. It was large enough to hold an injured mech down, but he was sure that if he pulled hard enough, he could lift it off of the Praxian youngling.
Shifting his stance, Smokescreen gripped the edge of the beam, ignoring the sharp edges he knew would cut into his own joints. Ignoring the thought, he pulled up.
“STOPPLEASEIdon’twanttodiepleasejustleavemestopstopstopplease…”
Metal cut into his fingers, his joints groaning in protest under the strain, Smokescreen lifted. Slowly, the crumpled doorwing was freed, falling limply to the mech’s side. With a strained grunt, the beam came free of the youngling’s back.
“IthurtsI’mgoingtodiewhydoIhavetodiepleasenomoreplease…”
Smokescreen shuffled a step to the side, intending to clear the beam from him and then drop it back to the ground. There was no way the injured Praxian could move in his condition, even freed from the beam. The process was awkward, a shuffle, hefting the wreckage higher, a grunt. Finally though, he reached a point where he could safely toss the beam away. It landed with a loud metal thud several feet from the injured mech.
Suddenly, the babbling stopped. Despite the horrific damage to his back, energon leaking from between crushed plating and wires sparking erratically, he’d managed to pull his mangled, dented legs under him, curling into a tight little ball.
“Help will arrive soon,” Smokescreen assured the mech quietly, although he was sure the other mech still wasn’t paying attention. “You’ll get medical attention and you’ll be fine… You’re going to live.” He sat himself down beside the mech again, laying a hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid the doorwing.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou…” the mech chanted, helm lifting slightly to gaze intently on the blue-and -red bot’s face.
“It’s why I’m here…” Smokescreen replied, unsure if he was even having a conversation with him. “I promise I’ll protect you…”
The single optic bore into him, seeming to take in the words. Then, pulling one trembling hand from under himself, he reached out towards Smokescreen. His hand rattled across the surface of his leg for a moment, reaching for Smokescreen’s side. It closed around a section of plating carefully as he stretched the other hand out to do the same.
Smokescreen watched his movements for a moment before he understood what he was trying to do. “Come here…” he murmured softly, helping the bot pull himself closer. Trembling arms closed around his waist, the injured mech pressing his helm weakly into his abdominal plating.
“Thank you…” the mech sobbed quietly, sounding far more conscious then he had before.
Smokescreen held the mech gently to him, mildly surprised at the intelligible words. “Do you have a name…?” he asked gently.
“…B-Bluestreak…” the youngling whispered.
“Well that answers about half of my questions,” Ratchet rumbled, pulling a pair of pliers from a box beside him.
“What’s the other half?” Smokescreen asked, turning his head in his arms to glance toward the medic.
“When and why did you start calling each other brothers when you aren’t?” Ratchet asked, stepping up next to the medical berth. He carefully pressed his hands into the Special Ops mech’s back, worming the pliers in with them to attend to a hard-to-reach bundle of wires.
Smokescreen struggled not to squirm at the feeling, pressing his helm into his crossed arms until the hands halted. “Well…” he grunted. “Blue’s the one who started it really. Just as soon as he was repaired, he started following me around wherever I went and quickly began referring to me as his brother. Not sure why, but it stuck and I like it.”
Ratchet snorted and used the pliers to disconnect a small wire. “It stuck so well that one of your previous medics wrote in your file that he was your real brother.” He grunted. “And of course you didn’t try to fix it.”
“Didn’t think it would cause any harm.”
One of the hands in his back twitched. “It wouldn’t cause any harm?” Ratchet asked tightly. “What if something serious had happened to one of you? What if you needed a part that only a brother could provide? Then what if that transplant killed you because you systems REJECTED it because he isn’t really your brother?! That’s the harm!” the CMO snapped, his voice rising with each word.
Smokescreen flinched into the berth. “Okay, okay. Sorry. You’re right, it was a bad idea,” he muttered. He just wished the medic would remove his hands before he injured him…
“Fragging idiots…” Ratchet grouched, returning to the repairs, although a touch more violently than before.
Smokescreen was forced to bite down on his retort and endure the next hour of painful repairs before a distraction came. Of course, until then, he was forced to listen to the medic’s grumbling insults, holding back his pride in favor if staying on the medic’s relatively good side by not objecting to his words.
Thankfully, his distraction came in the form of a familiar, bright face.
“Smokescreen?” Bluestreak called, peering around the med bay door. He shot a look at Ratchet. “Can he have visitors? I heard he was in here and I never like being alone in the med bay so I wanted to drop by. Is that okay? I can leave if it’s not.”
The quick grin that slid across Smokescreen’s face kept the medic from any refusal or verbal attack he may have thrown at the Praxian.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Just don’t disturb him while I finish up.”
The smile that pulled across Bluestreak’s face was near blinding in its excitement. “Thanks Ratchet! It means a lot and I know you usually don’t like people in here when you’re working so I know this is unusual, but I really appreciate it!”
Ratchet just gave a grunt in response, optics focused on his patient’s back as Bluestreak made his way eagerly toward them.
“Great timing, Blue,” Smokescreen noted, reaching one hand out to grip the young gunner’s arm when he got close enough.
“Well I would have been here sooner, but I reported to Prowl and that turned out to take more time than usual and then it was a while before Sideswipe told me that you and Jazz ran into the Seekers on patrol and that you got injured. I really wanted to come sooner, but I was afraid Ratchet didn’t want me in here, so I kind of just sat outside the med bay until I thought it was safe….”
“It’s fine,” Smokescreen assured him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m just glad that you did come.”
If possible, Bluestreak’s face brightened further, moving to clasp Smokescreen’s hand within his.
The simple gesture was all too familiar after his earlier reminiscing and Smokescreen felt his spark swell with a familiar protective need. He curled his hand in Bluestreak’s. “Love you, bro…”
Bluestreak’s hands, so steady now after all this time, molded tighter around his. “Love you too, brother.”
Somewhere behind Smokescreen, Ratchet just snorted.
~~~
Beta'd by pellimusprime.