Bring out'cher dead!
Nine Rings of Vos - Arc Seven: Revelations
A Transformers G1 Fanfiction
Author: Sanjuno Shori Niko
Summary: Ironhide is trying his very hardest not to compromise mission integrity... It would help a lot if those damned Seekers would stop giving him mournful looks.
Timeline: The rest of this Arc can be found here.
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(In which Ironhide chooses to gamble.)
“Hey, Prowler.” Jazz’s visor flickered weakly as he grinned unsteadily up at his overjoyed new bondmate. “Yer ‘Tor’s as pushy as always.”
“Primus.” Ratchet gaped incredulously as Prowl sobbed out a broken, hysterical laugh, Jazz grinning like the devil even as he slipped into stasis-lock. “It’s a Primus damned miracle.”
“Primus blessed, I rather think.” The gold and black mech kneeling at Prowl’s side corrected with a gentle, knowing smile.
“… Right.” Ratchet took a moment to collect his thoughts and went back to repairing what he could. There was no point in celebrating until Jazz was stable enough to make it back to Autobot City and the proper medical bay awaiting them there. Getting Jazz patched up was the priority, Ratchet could think about the whole resurrection angle later.
Once Ratchet no longer required his assistance, Blackout moved away from the medic and his patient in order to wordlessly start repairs on the large smoking hole in Ironhide’s side. The Autobot Weapon Master glowered suspiciously for a while, but his glare just seemed to amuse the black Seeker.
“Ironhide.” Jetfire looked grim enough to distract the Autobot officer from his silent grudge match. The ex-Autobot jet lowered his voice. “We have a problem.”
“What kind ah problem?” Ironhide had to check himself. Slag, it was hard to think of Jetfire as a traitor. The white jet just did not act like a Seeker was supposed to. They were craven cowards, energon thirsty savages, interface addicted hedonists, or all that and worse. Jetfire was not like that though. You could not fake being thoughtful, and kind, and noble, not to the degree Jetfire possessed those qualities. If it were not for the altered frame, and the unapologetic commitment to Vos, Ironhide never would have pegged Jetfire as a Seeker.
Of course, that was the sticking point, the part that still stung. Jetfire had played them but good, and no one had suspected a damn thing until Jetfire had shown up to escort them from their cell in Vos to that confusing meeting with a mind-bogglingly sane Starscream. Jetfire had been polite, and friendly, and if it were not for those subtle changes in frame and posture that made the difference between flyer-alt and Seeker there would have been nothing to differentiate between the Jetfire who stood before Ironhide now and the Jetfire who had been Ironhide’s friend and fellow officer.
It was that strange sigil that the Seekers all wore that was the worst. Seeing it in place of the Autobot brand was jarring, wrong, and probably the reason behind Ironhide’s harsh words at their last parting. Looking back, Ironhide realized that Jetfire had not been faking much beyond hiding his Seeker origins for whatever reasons.
So, maybe they could trust him, trust the information he brought them. For now, at least, Ironhide would withhold judgement. Just for now.
“Long range communications are down, your shuttle’s manual controls are jammed so it’s flying on autopilot with no way to alter our course, and the Decepticon Armada is hiding in our wake.” Jetfire grimaced as he waved the black Praxian over from where he was hovering near Prowl. “Ironhide, Autobot Weapon Officer, meet Barricade, an Infiltrator by trade and head of the Vos Guardians Special Operations Division.”
“Sir.” Barricade’s nod was terse, and there was something in the way the mech held his doors, in the economical way he moved, that was pinging Ironhide’s identity tags as familiar.
“Mah pleasure.” Ironhide’s drawl was dry as he examined the many sharp edges ornamenting the Praxian’s frame. It was odd, after so long, to see a Praxus model that was, unlike the three the Autobots were used to, outright menacing. Prowl only stalked when he was going to battle (or irritated by one of the Ark’s many pranksters.) This Barricade fellow stalked as a matter of course, like he knew of no other way to move. It was the same sense of the familiar-made-strange that Ironhide got when looking at Jetfire, only more annoying because damn his optics if it was not nearly impossible to pin down that nagging sense of familiarity.
“Cool.” Jetfire casually bumped Barricade’s arm to disrupt the glare-down. “Now that we’re all friends, you mind explaining to Ironhide about the big evil Decepticon plot, Cade-babe?”
“I have told you not to call me that.” Barricade’s voice was a dark growl, and the timbre was completely wrong, but the tone and the words themselves and the disgruntled-if-fond expression of exasperation were identical. Right down to the stiff twitch of door-panels and the sharp edge of warning to the flat, assessing glare. The resemblance hit Ironhide like an anvil out of a cartoon sky.
“Huh.” Ironhide shrugged off the crazy thought. He had obviously lost more energon than he had realized if he was hallucinating about repainted Prowl clones. “So what’s tha big secret?”
“The Decepticons have hacked your shuttle’s security code transmissions.” Barricade was blunt, and even if he dropped harsh truths like tactical nukes at least it moved the conversation along. “We will not be able to warn Autobot City until we are in range of short range communicators, and by that point the Decepticon strike team will have bypassed Earth’s Planetary Defense Grid. What warning we can provide with come only moments before the Decepticons attack the city in force.”
“No!” Horrified, Ironhide looked from the grim Praxian to a sombre Jetfire. The jet just shook his head as Ironhide snarled. “Can’t one ah yah fly ahead, or - yah teleported in, can’t yah ‘port ahead with the warnin’?”
“Primus, I wish we could, ‘Hide.” Jetfire clenched his hands into fists, looking as distressed and upset as Ironhide felt. “Unfortunately, Sunstorm’s our heavy hitter, and we’re too far from a star for him to get enough power to survive leaving the shuttle, and my ancestor is old. We needed the help we got back at our origin point just to get us here safely in time to help you, and although he can make big jumps with passengers, Ancestor Jetfyre used up most of his energy just getting us here. Even if you gave him the coordinates to your city, he wouldn’t be able to make it there with his current energy levels. It was risky having him gate us here in the first place.”
“Frag.” Ironhide slammed his fist into the blaster-scored wall, well aware of what their fates would have been if the Decepticons had been able to take the shuttle. The other Autobots flinched, armour sealing tight, stress and badly contained fear making them skittish. Ironhide looked around, and knew they were helpless. The Autobots were wounded and scared, torn between panic and anger while the Seekers were either lending unobtrusive aide or taking a nap.
Ironhide’s optics rebooted in disbelief, but yes, the uncommonly large Seeker with the older-than-Kup design was slumped in an out-of-the-way corner making that buzzing-rattle noise older models were prone to when they lived long enough that the more advanced replacement parts failed to match perfectly to their operating system.
“If you’ll accept my advice?” Jetfire’s optic band gleamed in weary amusement while Ironhide gaped at the former Autobot’s aged kin.
“Git ahn with it.” Ironhide was gruff, thrown off balance by everything - the attack and the eleventh hour save and the news of the sabotage and the emotional see-saw of all the events in between. Plus, Jetfire. He was definitely thrown off by Jetfire and the Seeker weirdness.
“As soon as we’re in range, broadcast the alert. Give Autobot City as much warning as you can. Stay inside the shuttle for as long as possible to provide cover, Megatron’s probably grinding his gears over you all surviving his ambush, so he’s going to be stripped flat when you send word of the attack.” Jetfire frowned, looking away, his gaze weighing as if he could see through the shuttle’s hull plating all the way to the far distant shore of their ultimate destination. “Ancestor Jetfyre can do the med-evac in order to get Jazz and Ratchet to the med-bay double-time. The rest of us will cover you.”
“What are ya’ll gettin’ outtah this?” Tarnation, Ironhide was not at all afflicted with guilt by the wounded look Jetfire gave him. Mech had no business looking like an abandoned bumble-puppy in acid rain when he had that many war-mods attached to his face.
“I’d appreciate it if you kept my ancestor in the med-bay, he’s really too old to be fighting a pitched battle. Other than that… can’t you just trust me, ‘Hide? Please?” Jetfire held his hands open, imploring, his visor drawing back to look Ironhide in the faceplates, optic to optic. “Just for now? Until the battle’s over and everyone’s safe? You trusted me once.”
“Ah thought yah were trustworthy, once.” Ironhide glowered, ready to say more… but hesitated. He thought hard, staring down the white and red Seeker who flinched, wings drawing back, visor coming down across wounded optics. Before Earth, before humans had integrated into the Autobot’s lives, Ironhide had not really noticed how physical some mechs were about communication. Looking back though, Jetfire had always been like that. Talking with hands and wings, posture and gesture and a thousand little twitches that added layers and layers of meaning and nuance to both silence and vocalizations. That much had not changed about the former Autobot. Maybe that was it, the reason Ironhide had to actively work at not trusting Jetfire. Now, looking at his fellow Autobots, patched wounds and shaken composure and desperate determination, looking at the Seekers, battlefield terrors turned unlikely saviours, Ironhide decided they did not have all that much of a choice, in the end.
“Ironhide.” Jetfire’s voice was a whisper as his hands twitched out towards the surly Weapon Officer, then away as if afraid to offend his former comrade with an unwelcome touch. “Let us help you, at least this much, at least against Megatron. You know that we hold no love for him.”
“Yeah. Fine. Ya’ll kin help.” Ironhide growled, mostly for show as he took a leap of faith, trusting instinct over training, hoping against the odds that he was not being played for a fool. Again. “Ya’ll kin help out against tha Cons when we land. Just this once.”
Feeling inexplicably better now that the decision was made, Ironhide ignored Jetfire’s far-too-sincere relieved grin and prayed to any benevolent force watching them that the Seekers hated Megatron as much as they seemed to, if not…
If not, Ironhide knew that he would not live long enough to regret it.
(Word Count: 1,768)
=/=
So I was gonna say something really awesome and witty but I have to go outside and close off the East Pasture. Damned responsibilites, always getting in the way of my fun. XP
In other news, I start my apprenticship at the alterations shop this weekend. My first assignment? The creation of 100 patient gowns for the local hospital. Motherfucker. 0.<
=/=
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!! (Another new release! I have to wait for some of my hatchlings to mature before I can get the other new eggie, but that should happen sometime in the next few hours, so all's well that ends well.)
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A Transformers G1 Fanfiction
Author: Sanjuno Shori Niko
Summary: Ironhide is trying his very hardest not to compromise mission integrity... It would help a lot if those damned Seekers would stop giving him mournful looks.
Timeline: The rest of this Arc can be found here.
=/=
(In which Ironhide chooses to gamble.)
“Hey, Prowler.” Jazz’s visor flickered weakly as he grinned unsteadily up at his overjoyed new bondmate. “Yer ‘Tor’s as pushy as always.”
“Primus.” Ratchet gaped incredulously as Prowl sobbed out a broken, hysterical laugh, Jazz grinning like the devil even as he slipped into stasis-lock. “It’s a Primus damned miracle.”
“Primus blessed, I rather think.” The gold and black mech kneeling at Prowl’s side corrected with a gentle, knowing smile.
“… Right.” Ratchet took a moment to collect his thoughts and went back to repairing what he could. There was no point in celebrating until Jazz was stable enough to make it back to Autobot City and the proper medical bay awaiting them there. Getting Jazz patched up was the priority, Ratchet could think about the whole resurrection angle later.
Once Ratchet no longer required his assistance, Blackout moved away from the medic and his patient in order to wordlessly start repairs on the large smoking hole in Ironhide’s side. The Autobot Weapon Master glowered suspiciously for a while, but his glare just seemed to amuse the black Seeker.
“Ironhide.” Jetfire looked grim enough to distract the Autobot officer from his silent grudge match. The ex-Autobot jet lowered his voice. “We have a problem.”
“What kind ah problem?” Ironhide had to check himself. Slag, it was hard to think of Jetfire as a traitor. The white jet just did not act like a Seeker was supposed to. They were craven cowards, energon thirsty savages, interface addicted hedonists, or all that and worse. Jetfire was not like that though. You could not fake being thoughtful, and kind, and noble, not to the degree Jetfire possessed those qualities. If it were not for the altered frame, and the unapologetic commitment to Vos, Ironhide never would have pegged Jetfire as a Seeker.
Of course, that was the sticking point, the part that still stung. Jetfire had played them but good, and no one had suspected a damn thing until Jetfire had shown up to escort them from their cell in Vos to that confusing meeting with a mind-bogglingly sane Starscream. Jetfire had been polite, and friendly, and if it were not for those subtle changes in frame and posture that made the difference between flyer-alt and Seeker there would have been nothing to differentiate between the Jetfire who stood before Ironhide now and the Jetfire who had been Ironhide’s friend and fellow officer.
It was that strange sigil that the Seekers all wore that was the worst. Seeing it in place of the Autobot brand was jarring, wrong, and probably the reason behind Ironhide’s harsh words at their last parting. Looking back, Ironhide realized that Jetfire had not been faking much beyond hiding his Seeker origins for whatever reasons.
So, maybe they could trust him, trust the information he brought them. For now, at least, Ironhide would withhold judgement. Just for now.
“Long range communications are down, your shuttle’s manual controls are jammed so it’s flying on autopilot with no way to alter our course, and the Decepticon Armada is hiding in our wake.” Jetfire grimaced as he waved the black Praxian over from where he was hovering near Prowl. “Ironhide, Autobot Weapon Officer, meet Barricade, an Infiltrator by trade and head of the Vos Guardians Special Operations Division.”
“Sir.” Barricade’s nod was terse, and there was something in the way the mech held his doors, in the economical way he moved, that was pinging Ironhide’s identity tags as familiar.
“Mah pleasure.” Ironhide’s drawl was dry as he examined the many sharp edges ornamenting the Praxian’s frame. It was odd, after so long, to see a Praxus model that was, unlike the three the Autobots were used to, outright menacing. Prowl only stalked when he was going to battle (or irritated by one of the Ark’s many pranksters.) This Barricade fellow stalked as a matter of course, like he knew of no other way to move. It was the same sense of the familiar-made-strange that Ironhide got when looking at Jetfire, only more annoying because damn his optics if it was not nearly impossible to pin down that nagging sense of familiarity.
“Cool.” Jetfire casually bumped Barricade’s arm to disrupt the glare-down. “Now that we’re all friends, you mind explaining to Ironhide about the big evil Decepticon plot, Cade-babe?”
“I have told you not to call me that.” Barricade’s voice was a dark growl, and the timbre was completely wrong, but the tone and the words themselves and the disgruntled-if-fond expression of exasperation were identical. Right down to the stiff twitch of door-panels and the sharp edge of warning to the flat, assessing glare. The resemblance hit Ironhide like an anvil out of a cartoon sky.
“Huh.” Ironhide shrugged off the crazy thought. He had obviously lost more energon than he had realized if he was hallucinating about repainted Prowl clones. “So what’s tha big secret?”
“The Decepticons have hacked your shuttle’s security code transmissions.” Barricade was blunt, and even if he dropped harsh truths like tactical nukes at least it moved the conversation along. “We will not be able to warn Autobot City until we are in range of short range communicators, and by that point the Decepticon strike team will have bypassed Earth’s Planetary Defense Grid. What warning we can provide with come only moments before the Decepticons attack the city in force.”
“No!” Horrified, Ironhide looked from the grim Praxian to a sombre Jetfire. The jet just shook his head as Ironhide snarled. “Can’t one ah yah fly ahead, or - yah teleported in, can’t yah ‘port ahead with the warnin’?”
“Primus, I wish we could, ‘Hide.” Jetfire clenched his hands into fists, looking as distressed and upset as Ironhide felt. “Unfortunately, Sunstorm’s our heavy hitter, and we’re too far from a star for him to get enough power to survive leaving the shuttle, and my ancestor is old. We needed the help we got back at our origin point just to get us here safely in time to help you, and although he can make big jumps with passengers, Ancestor Jetfyre used up most of his energy just getting us here. Even if you gave him the coordinates to your city, he wouldn’t be able to make it there with his current energy levels. It was risky having him gate us here in the first place.”
“Frag.” Ironhide slammed his fist into the blaster-scored wall, well aware of what their fates would have been if the Decepticons had been able to take the shuttle. The other Autobots flinched, armour sealing tight, stress and badly contained fear making them skittish. Ironhide looked around, and knew they were helpless. The Autobots were wounded and scared, torn between panic and anger while the Seekers were either lending unobtrusive aide or taking a nap.
Ironhide’s optics rebooted in disbelief, but yes, the uncommonly large Seeker with the older-than-Kup design was slumped in an out-of-the-way corner making that buzzing-rattle noise older models were prone to when they lived long enough that the more advanced replacement parts failed to match perfectly to their operating system.
“If you’ll accept my advice?” Jetfire’s optic band gleamed in weary amusement while Ironhide gaped at the former Autobot’s aged kin.
“Git ahn with it.” Ironhide was gruff, thrown off balance by everything - the attack and the eleventh hour save and the news of the sabotage and the emotional see-saw of all the events in between. Plus, Jetfire. He was definitely thrown off by Jetfire and the Seeker weirdness.
“As soon as we’re in range, broadcast the alert. Give Autobot City as much warning as you can. Stay inside the shuttle for as long as possible to provide cover, Megatron’s probably grinding his gears over you all surviving his ambush, so he’s going to be stripped flat when you send word of the attack.” Jetfire frowned, looking away, his gaze weighing as if he could see through the shuttle’s hull plating all the way to the far distant shore of their ultimate destination. “Ancestor Jetfyre can do the med-evac in order to get Jazz and Ratchet to the med-bay double-time. The rest of us will cover you.”
“What are ya’ll gettin’ outtah this?” Tarnation, Ironhide was not at all afflicted with guilt by the wounded look Jetfire gave him. Mech had no business looking like an abandoned bumble-puppy in acid rain when he had that many war-mods attached to his face.
“I’d appreciate it if you kept my ancestor in the med-bay, he’s really too old to be fighting a pitched battle. Other than that… can’t you just trust me, ‘Hide? Please?” Jetfire held his hands open, imploring, his visor drawing back to look Ironhide in the faceplates, optic to optic. “Just for now? Until the battle’s over and everyone’s safe? You trusted me once.”
“Ah thought yah were trustworthy, once.” Ironhide glowered, ready to say more… but hesitated. He thought hard, staring down the white and red Seeker who flinched, wings drawing back, visor coming down across wounded optics. Before Earth, before humans had integrated into the Autobot’s lives, Ironhide had not really noticed how physical some mechs were about communication. Looking back though, Jetfire had always been like that. Talking with hands and wings, posture and gesture and a thousand little twitches that added layers and layers of meaning and nuance to both silence and vocalizations. That much had not changed about the former Autobot. Maybe that was it, the reason Ironhide had to actively work at not trusting Jetfire. Now, looking at his fellow Autobots, patched wounds and shaken composure and desperate determination, looking at the Seekers, battlefield terrors turned unlikely saviours, Ironhide decided they did not have all that much of a choice, in the end.
“Ironhide.” Jetfire’s voice was a whisper as his hands twitched out towards the surly Weapon Officer, then away as if afraid to offend his former comrade with an unwelcome touch. “Let us help you, at least this much, at least against Megatron. You know that we hold no love for him.”
“Yeah. Fine. Ya’ll kin help.” Ironhide growled, mostly for show as he took a leap of faith, trusting instinct over training, hoping against the odds that he was not being played for a fool. Again. “Ya’ll kin help out against tha Cons when we land. Just this once.”
Feeling inexplicably better now that the decision was made, Ironhide ignored Jetfire’s far-too-sincere relieved grin and prayed to any benevolent force watching them that the Seekers hated Megatron as much as they seemed to, if not…
If not, Ironhide knew that he would not live long enough to regret it.
(Word Count: 1,768)
=/=
So I was gonna say something really awesome and witty but I have to go outside and close off the East Pasture. Damned responsibilites, always getting in the way of my fun. XP
In other news, I start my apprenticship at the alterations shop this weekend. My first assignment? The creation of 100 patient gowns for the local hospital. Motherfucker. 0.<
=/=
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!! (Another new release! I have to wait for some of my hatchlings to mature before I can get the other new eggie, but that should happen sometime in the next few hours, so all's well that ends well.)
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♠
♥
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♥
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