Fic - Four Days (1/2)
Title: Four Days William Lennox Spent With Barricade... and One That He Didn't (part 1 of 2)
Rating: PG-13 for Cybertronian curses
Disclaimer: Nothing in here is mine and I promise to put them back in the box safe and sound when I'm done playing.
Warnings: Spoilers for RotF, but not the books or comics, most of which I haven't read and will cheerfully ignore. Slight AU from the very end of RotF.
Summary: No plan survives first contact with the enemy - as Will Lennox and Barricade are about to find out. Ca. 12000 words.
A/N: I have no excuse for using the two-enemies-get-stuck-in-a-bad-situation-together cliché. Absolutely no excuse whatsoever. I like Will, and I wanted to poke the 'Cons a little, that's all. It's set in the same 'verse as the previous A Series of Four fics but they're not needed for background information and this can be read as a stand-alone just fine. There'll be two or three sets coming up that serve as follow-ups/epilogues for this as well. Also, the unofficial working title for the longest time was 'Barricade and Lennox: Adventures in Fail'. I'm somewhat tempted to keep calling it that.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to my awesome, amazing beta for not groaning too much when I sent her 20 pages of fic to look over. All mistakes are mine, not hers.
* * * *
1.
* * * *
He hit the ground mid-motion as thunder cracked around him and dry ground became soft undergrowth, knocking the breath out of him as momentum threw him against unyielding wood, and he felt the sharp pain of breaking bone ricochet up his arm.
The sound of something heavy and metallic making an equally ungraceful entrance echoed among the trees for a few moments and then died, the silence broken only by an ominous creaking of wood giving way to something stronger.
Slag.
He was up an instant later, pain forced aside by adrenaline, gun in his less-injured hand, and Barricade seemed to have the same idea, weapons charging with a high-pitched whine as the two glared at each other but didn't fire... immediately. Possibly because they were surrounded by something that looked suspiciously like a clearing in a rainforest, and a ground-bound Cybertronian would have a Pit of a time getting out of that without offlining from mud and rain and decaying plant material stuck in joints and plating, and for once in their war, Will was glad he was human and evolved for Earth-based conditions.
“Where are we, fleshling?” the Decepticon demanded harshly, and Will snarled at it in return.
“How the frag would I know? It was your goddamn space bridge that got us here. Aren't you supposed to have that tentacled freak watching you?”
The Decepticon snarled, and Will tightened his grip on the gun, but still neither of them seemed willing to take the first shot and they stayed where they were for endless seconds, neither willing to back down, either, and Will suspected that only their surroundings had kept the mech from shooting him where he stood. Sabot rounds would hurt like slag, but there would be no way he could have taken down the 'Con in time if it had attacked. Gotten off a shot or two, possibly, but not killed it, and there was no chance he'd be able to get to the incendiary grenade in his pocket in time, and Barricade knew that, too. That meant something else was staying the 'Con's hand, and Will was willing to bet his life - and in a way, already had - that their surroundings had the Decepticon unsettled enough to let him live.
Another pause, and Will started to get a nagging suspicion. He hadn't been the target of that bridge, Sam had been, and the whole attack, he suspected, had been set up with the specific purpose of capturing the boy. The 'Cons had also never displayed space bridge technology before until Ironhide had returned with reports of an encounter with Thundercracker, and sure, they had put Jetfire's remains in a safe location, but...
'Hide mentioned Skywarp's a scientist. He could have worked it out.
“Your space bridge is still experimental,” he said, and there was no question in his voice. “You're still fragging around with the goddamn tech, aren't you? You really have no clue where we are.” And suddenly he wanted to kill something, because he realised something else and this was just slagging peachy. “You're supposed to have a slagging positioning system in you. Please tell me Megatron fried it in a bad mood.”
Another inhuman snarl, and maybe he'd pushed his luck too much, and Will grabbed his gun tighter and ignored the throbbing in his wounded arm as Barricade's harsh words answered him. “I would watch my words, fleshling, in your place.” A sudden, dark glow in the optics, and then it was gone again, and Will had a bad feeling about it all as the Decepticon continued. “My space bridge module has been reduced to slag and my communication centre is offline due to the unbalanced jump you just caused. By extension, so is that tracer the Hatchet put in all of you squishies. You expect a rescue. There will be none.”
Which would explain the dull feeling of pain and warmth in the spot on Will's back where the tracer had been injected, and he didn't bother to try and argue, and whatever Barricade had meant about the jump being his fault could wait as well. “Communication centre,” he repeated and already dreaded the answer. “Everything?”
Communication, navigation, information from the internet-
“Everything, human. Yours will have fared no better.”
And slag it, they could be anywhere, and while they might be able to figure out what continent they were on, they would have no clue exactly where they were past that - and even if they did, they'd have no way to pass on the information.
Another long moment, and still none of their weapons moved from their respective target, and Will was starting to realise that the Decepticon was not going to make the first move about anything. Then again, it wasn't a surprise. It was a 'Con, and while it might have been put at a distinct disadvantage from their situation and clearly had a reason behind keeping its small, organic enemy alive, it was just as clearly not going to admit to it.
It did leave a problem, though. How the hell did you talk to a 'Con? He'd exchanged, at the most, a dozen words with the things in his entire NEST career, and that only in battle, and he strongly suspected that Barricade would tolerate his continued existence only for as long as it was useful to him.
Megatron ruled by force. 'Cons respected strength and ruthlessness in battle, Ironhide had told him as much. 'Cons didn't care for fleshlings at all, but there had been vague indications that they had grudgingly come to respect NEST as an adversary, just as NEST had learned in turn to respect the ruthless destruction the Decepticons were capable of.
“So you're telling me we're stuck in the middle of a fragging jungle, no communication, no evac, and no intel,” he finally concluded and deliberately used the term 'we' before he continued, more biting. “I assume there's a reason we haven't killed each other yet.”
Barricade made a harsh, disgusted sound, but his weapons stayed still, and Will forced himself to keep from moving, too.
Don't show weakness. Don't back down.
“Your pathetic weapon could not kill me, fleshling. Even Optimus Prime could not do that. You are alive only because you are a native of this planet and may be useful to me.” Red optics narrowed at him and every instinct in Will's body told him to shoot at the enemy before it shot at him, and still he remained still. If his tracer was really fried - and he strongly suspected that was indeed the case - then he wouldn't have much of a chance of getting out on his own. Not with a broken arm and no idea of where he even was. Oh, sure, civilization could be only ten miles away, but Will doubted it. They weren't that lucky. They were never that lucky.
That dark glow in the red optics again, and Will got the distinct impression that Barricade was evaluating what he saw, and just as clear an impression that his life depended on the conclusion. Red optics lingered for a brief moment on the insignia on his uniform, and for a lot longer on his Cybertronian rank.
Barricade made another harsh sound, and this time it sounded distinctively mocking. “Special Operations. I assumed you to be Ironhide's pet fleshling, but perhaps they partnered you with him to keep him reined in. He always belonged with us. His processors are just too old and faulty to realise it.”
The 'Con was baiting him, Will realised, and the instinctive objection died before he could voice it, and maybe there was some twisted logic in what Barricade was doing, testing that a possible temporary ally was stable before taking further steps, and maybe it was just a cat and mouse game for sports, but whatever it was, Will refused to play along. He wasn't Ironhide. He was a human, and he could slagging well hold his temper when he needed it.
“You done taking potshots at us, or do you have more to get out of your system before we can get the slag out of this place?” he bit out instead, and tried to keep the balance between too aggressive and too weak. “I'll set up a playdate with 'Hide later and you can go play with his cannons. Right now, I'd prefer to get the slag out of here.”
He got another long, hard look in response, and this time the optics lingered on the broken arm, blood slowly seeping through the sleeve of the uniform, obviously judging if said potential, temporary ally would actually be able to function at all in their surroundings. “You are leaking, fleshling.”
First time Will even noticed that it was an open wound and not just a broken bone, and something in his stomach twisted.
Slag.
“So are you,” Will bit back as he pushed the thought aside and forced himself to focus on his enemy, and Barricade shifted, plating sliding to hide the already-drying tickle of Energon near one shoulder, and in a less serious situation, Will would probably have smirked at that. As it was, he settled for a challenging look. “I've survived worse.”
Survived much worse, but always with medical attention within reach, and never in a situation like theirs. He had spent a lot of his career pre-NEST in desert environments. Rainforests came with a whole different set of dangers, and while none of them went anywhere without first aid kits, it was still limited what they contained. Their current surroundings were hot, humid, and dirty, and he had an open wound... it was asking to get an infection, and although Ratchet had added handy little pills for that in the kit, there was only three days' worth of them.
On the other hand, with Barricade around, he might be dead long before that became a problem.
Barricade still had his weapons aimed at Will, and Will's gun still hadn't wavered from its target, and if neither of them did something, they'd still be there at nightfall. Even if the 'Con hadn't realised the full seriousness of the situation, Will had, and after another long moment, he made his decision.
Trusting a 'Con was a pretty sure way to get killed, but trying to get out of whatever place they were stuck in, injured and on his own, would be pretty much suicide.
He raised his head, silently prayed he had read the 'Con right, and then he lifted his palms upwards, gun held loosely in one hand and aimed harmlessly at the surrounding vegetation. “Neither of us have a slagging chance of getting out of here on our own, and we both know it. Now, you can play Starscream and kill me, and I'll be dead but at least it'll be fast. You'll still be stuck here, offlining bits and pieces at a time until there's nothing left of you but a dead pile of metal, and in another year you'll have been reduced to just another convenient thing for the local plant-life to grow on.”
Red optics narrowed - at Will's deliberate dig about Starscream, probably, because it was well-known that Barricade was loyal to his leader - and the hum of alien weapons remained steady for another several seconds before they were powered down and Barricade lowered them.
“Remain useful, fleshling, and you may remain alive,” the mech responded. There was more than a bit of a threat in the response, too, but Will didn't particular care. It was a 'Con. He would have been suspicious if that threat hadn't been there, and he simply nodded and reined in the worst of his sarcasm.
“So glad we're in agreement.” A slow breath, and then he continued. “I'm going to pull out a first aid kit and do something about my arm so it won't slow me down. Try not to get a twitchy trigger finger.”
An annoyed sound from the Decepticon, but it didn't move as Will brought out bandages and disinfectant, and so he kept talking, if mostly to keep the mech from reconsidering their arrangement too much.
“As for where we are... it looks like a rainforest to me. It was afternoon in Saudi Arabia when you opened that slagging bridge. It looks like morning now. That'd put us somewhere in South America. The Amazon Rainforest, probably,” he clarified, and his fingers worked with just a little hesitation as he finished up cleaning the wound - it hurt like slag but like hell he was going to let the 'Con know that, and he did not like the fact that there was a bone fragment sticking out - and then he carefully wrapped it up before he finished up with one of Ratchet's little first aid medical cocktails in pill shape. “No roads, no airports, no nothing. Trees and plants and animals, and that's pretty much it until you reach human settlements or hit populated regions again. Our best bet is find some running water and follow it. Sooner or later, we'll reach a bigger stream, and it'll eventually hit a river somewhere. Then...” A careful shrug. “There'll be human settlements there, of some kind.”
“The lack of certainty in your plan does not inspire confidence, fleshling.” Definitely a threat this time, and Will snarled in return.
“You think I want to be here?” An angry gesture around them, at the maze of plants and vines and growing trees in the clearing, and further out at the massive, green wall that surrounded them. “I want to get the slag out of here just as much as you do. You think of another plan that'll get us out faster, and I'm all ears. Until then, listen to the fragging fleshling that was born on this planet.”
The hum of weapons instinctively charging and then it faded again as Barricade's optics narrowed but he made no move to attack, and Will didn't make a move to reach for the grenade most of the NEST team carried one or two of around. Not something that burned hot enough to destroy a 'Con outright, but with a good hit, it would still be dead without medical attention, but as long as Barricade only seemed to be interested in proving his dominance, it wasn't a weapon Will was going to use. Not until he didn't have a choice. Too much of a risk of injuring yourself as well, and the NEST teams had all been drilled in that, too.
Then clawed fingers reached up and pointed towards the darkness of the rainforest, and Will had no clue what direction it even was - south-ish, probably, but that was about it - and even if he'd had a compass, he doubted it would have worked after the jump they had been put through. “You asked for running water, fleshling,” Barricade said in the harsh voice that was already becoming uncomfortably familiar to Will. “You will find it there. Your audio processors are too inferior to locate it.”
Arm taken care of as much as he could given the circumstances, Will let the insult pass and nodded, a slight bit of annoyance in his voice as he spoke. “Fine. Let's get the slag out of here before it starts raining.”
The Decepticon made an annoyed sound, and Will almost thought they would get stuck in another argument... but then the mech moved and they set off, heading into the dense plant-life around them, and it was too late for second thoughts.
* * * *
By Will's estimate, it took them a full hour to reach the edge of the clearing. His watch had been fried in the jump, and even if it hadn't, he doubted it would have lasted for long in their current conditions.
An hour, and he was already reconsidering his original estimate. He had enough pills - painkillers, antibiotics, and other Ratchet-approved cocktails - to last him for three days, but he was seriously starting to wonder if Barricade would last that long. An hour of half-grown trees, dense undergrowth, a tangled web of lianas, and soft ground that yielded to two tons of metal, and the mech's only immediate advantage seemed to be the clawed hands that cut and tore through anything in their way. Will wasn't normally in the habit of wishing Decepticons good health, but as they reached the edge of the clearing he found himself desperately hoping the 'Con would do better in the darkness underneath the canopy, because the last thing he needed was an offlining 'Con that decided to take a fleshling with it to the Pit.
If nothing else, the slow progress through the clearing had allowed him to take stock of the situation. His arm put him at a distinct disadvantage, but there would be less obstacles under the canopy and that would hopefully allow the wound and broken bone some rest and let Ratchet's pills do their work and speed up the healing process a little. Radio - fried like everything else, and there was a small, annoyed voice in the back of his mind wondering why the jump couldn't have fried Barricade, too, while it was at it. Three days' worth of edibles, since he wasn't going to call all of it 'food', but it was calories, and he needed that. Three days' worth, four if he stretched it, and he intended to. Two candy bars in a pocket, of a kind he knew from his time in Qatar wouldn't melt in the heat. A lighter, and a week's worth of water purifying tablets, if his estimate was right. Gun, two full magazines, incendiary grenade, one Sector Seven grade knife made for use against Decepticon bodies, one hunting knife...
And one snarly Decepticon, Will sighed silently and followed Barricade into the darkness of the forest, towering trees dwarfing even the alien robot - twice the height of the 'Con, easily, to Will's estimate, and that killed any chance of getting a look around to see if they could spot anything that might be civilization in the area.
No bug spray, his mental inventory continued, which would be pretty much guaranteed malaria. No mosquito net, no handy little book of the local plant-life and animals to let him know which ones to stay the slag away from, so he had found himself a walking stick that wasn't too heavy to keep the local creepy-crawlies away if they got too interested.
All in all, he had concluded, they were pretty much slagged, but he had forcefully pushed that thought aside to focus on their surroundings instead, because the last thing he needed was more injuries to add to his list, and if he let himself sink into the hopelessness of it all, he might as well just have laid down and died in that clearing.
The light vanished around them as the canopy blocked out sunlight, and although there were sounds around them - something, he realised, that had been missing in the clearing, most animals scared away by the sound of Barricade's crash landing - it was a dull sound, muffled by leaves and towering trees, and the colours of the forest became the more muted brown and green of tree trunks and exposed roots and decaying material, joined by moss and ferns.
Even in the warm temperature, Will still felt a shiver down his back and gripped the walking stick tighter. He had spent two weeks in a jungle on a training exercise once, but the majority of his experience had been in the deserts and mountains of the Middle East, and the nagging feeling of being in unfamiliar territory was not a welcome one.
Even Barricade seemed to be mildly affected, clawed fingers clenching and unclenching as the mech looked around and seemed to itch for something to tear down to break the endless roof above them. Will couldn't really blame him. From what he knew from various reports, Barricade had spent his time in civilization, in his alt-mode disguise, and only occasionally found himself in less... tamed areas. Even then, it had been deserts and mountains - dry places, usually, with little of Earth's abundance of organic life. Not anything like jungles or rainforests. Never anything even close to it.
The sound of water came shortly afterwards, barely a whisper of a sound, and Will said nothing but simply followed as the mech led the way. Neither spoke, and Will was fine with that, too. It was an arrangement of convenience, nothing more, and he had about as much desire to chat with a 'Con as Barricade had to talk with a human. Staying clear of each other seemed like the best course of action and the one least likely to end with weapons being fired.
The sound turned out to be a stream, only a few feet across, but it was clear and it flowed fast, and Will refilled his canteen and dropped a purifying tablet in it before they continued. Barricade's only response was a disgusted snarl that Will chose to interpret as the standard Decepticon displeasure with organic weaknesses, and then they moved out of the dense vegetation around the stream and went back into the forest again to follow the stream from there.
Will didn't argue. They had Barricade's audio processors to keep them on track, and it was easier for both of them to find a path among the trees and roots, rather than fight their way through the vegetation. Less risk of getting caught on thorns and spines, too, Will realised, although it wouldn't be a concern to the mech. Still, he was willing to take any help he could get.
They were silent, and they stayed silent as they made their way through the forest, and even if they stayed in the shadow of the giant trees, it was still not without difficulties. Easier for Will, being small enough to slip between the plants and small trees that managed to survive in almost perpetual shadow, but Barricade, while not the largest mech around, was still big enough to face the annoyance of the what few plants and trees did live under the canopy. Will doubted it was something that was really draining to tear through, but it still didn't improve the Decepticon's mood, and Will chose the wise solution and didn't comment.
They were silent, and they stayed silent even as the rain began in what Will judged to be the mid-afternoon and which his body considered late evening, because jetlag was a slagging bitch to deal with like that. They heard the sound on the leaves above them, but it took another several minutes before the rain made its way through the treetops to be felt by human and mech.
No poncho in his mental inventory, either, and Will sighed quietly and kept walking as the rain slowly soaked them.
* * * *
Night came fast. It had rained on and off for hours, and Will's inner clock was thoroughly messed up from the space bridge, and it shouldn't have surprised him when he finally looked up to realise the light was rapidly vanishing, but it still did and he mentally cursed himself for it.
“We need to stop for the night.”
First words either of them had spoken for most of a day, and Barricade stopped and narrowed red optics at the human. “Are you growing weak, fleshling?” Harsher than usual and definitely a threat in it, and Will made a disgusted sound in return.
“It'll be dark within half an hour. If you want to spend energy keeping your headlights on to keep walking, be my guest.” Red optics looked up to judge the light that seeped through the canopy, and Will saw his chance to continue. “There are likely no human settlements nearby. No cities, no harbours, nothing. That means no light, either, even in the unlikely case it could get through that slag up there to help us. It's going to be the same with moonlight. So either we stop for the night and light a fire, or you light up those headlights and we keep walking.”
The red optics returned their attention to him, and finally the Deception snorted. “Fire?”
“Light, heat, keep the predators and worst of the creepy crawlers away,” Will replied, because he remembered that much from his training exercise, at least, and he tried to ignore the throbbing in his arm as he continued. “I'll need to find something to sleep on, too. I don't particularly want to share a bed with bugs or snakes.”
Or mosquitoes, for that matter, but he didn't have a choice about that, and so he ignored it. Maybe the smoke would keep away the worst of them, but he didn't feel that hopeful.
A sigh, remembering something else, and he was already missing the familiar deserts of the Middle East. “And palm fronds for a shelter to keep out the rain.”
This time Barricade's response was a flat-out snarl, and the mech stalked off before Will had time to react. The Decepticon vanished into the forest around then, and Will was almost considering setting after him before he heard the distinctive sound of metal slicing through wood, and when Barricade reappeared a minute or two later, he was dragging the top of an unfortunate palm tree. “Shelter, fleshing. Burn the rest. I will recharge on the ground. So will you.” Another disgusted sound. “I have no patience for this foolishness. Prime made you a Cybertronian. Act like one.”
Will resisted the urge to face-palm at that. It was shelter, at least, and while he had gotten his share of mosquito bites already, he had noticed that most animals did keep a distance to Barricade. With some luck, that would continue even when the 'Con stopped snarling and moving around - it was something big and alien and there was always the hum of energy around mechs, even in recharge - and so he didn't press the matter.
He set to work as Barricade cleared himself a place to sit with his usual brutal effectiveness and got Will some additional firewood for work with, and by the time it was getting dark around them, they had a fire going, a human-sized shelter, and Will was almost starting to feel human again, socks and boots drying by the fire as his feet enjoyed some fresh air. Combat rations, purified water, hunting leeches and ticks in the light of a fire while disinfecting assorted minor cuts and scrapes from their rough landing...
Really, take the Decepticon out of the equation, and it was almost like being back in Ranger School.
His body craved rest, but Barricade made no move to go into recharge, and Will wasn't even surprised, because 'Cons were backstabbing slaggers, every single last one of them, and the fragger was probably expecting to be shot through his spark at the first inattentive moment. Not that Will could blame him. He had entertained the thought, briefly, before common sense took over and reminded him that he needed the 'Con to have any chance of getting out alive, and that Sarah was going to kill him if he decided it was worth dying there to get rid of Barricade.
A glance at the Decepticon on the other side of the fire, red optics never moving from him, and Will narrowed his eyes slightly.
Don't show weakness. Don't back down.
“I'm going to sleep. Try not to kill me overnight,” he bit out. And with that, he curled up in his shelter and surrendered to the blissful, restful oblivion of sleep.
* * * *
2.
* * * *
Dawn arrived painfully on the second day.
Will's first, somewhat surprised, realisation was that he was still alive after spending a night asleep less than thirty feet from a Decepticon. His second was that he hurt like slag.
Cold muscles felt the full soreness of battle and the failed space bridge jump, and the broken arm sent flashes of pain all the way up to his shoulder whenever he moved it and made changing the bandage an excruciating experience. Splintered, Will had noticed, not just broken, but he was not going to linger on that - he had a makeshift sling for it and three days worth of pills from Ratchet to keep infections at bay, and that was the best he could manage given the circumstances. The bug bites weren't too bad, most of the fraggers probably kept away by Barricade's presence, and the minor cuts and scrapes that he hadn't noticed until they had actually stopped for the night were healing already. A bit faster than usual, but not much, since the handy mix of pharmaceuticals that Will couldn't even begin to pronounce the names of were already occupied with his broken arm, and he could live with that, too. There was some chance they would be healed enough to avoid infections by the time he ran out of pills, and as long as he kept from getting scraped again, he would manage. Unpleasantly, but he would manage.
Barricade didn't look much better. Mud covered a good part of the black and white paint job, and branches and undergrowth were stuck in joints and under plating, and injuries that Will hadn't even noticed when they had first arrived were already starting to show from lack of proper medical attention. The thin line of dried Energon was long gone under the layer of mud, but the weird way the 'Con kept from moving his head in certain directions told Will that he had suffered more damage than could immediately be seen, and two claws on one hand seemed to respond slower than the rest.
Still, the Decepticon looked marginally more graceful than Will felt as it got to its feet... and then the image was ruined as the 'Con snarled and clawed at several branches that had jammed between its plating.
Will very firmly did not smirk, but still the dark head turned to find him and red optics narrowed. “This is your planet, fleshling. Fix this.”
Will considered arguing for a moment, but Barricade's mood the day before had looked positively cheerful compared to the expression he now showed, and Will strongly suspected that those branches would become a real problem soon if they weren't taken care of, and he still needed the 'Con if he wanted any chance of getting out of there.
“I can't use my arm,” he said, and tried to keep the worst of the annoyance out of his voice. “If you want help with that, you have to sit the slag down where I can actually reach.”
Not that he in any way wanted to help a 'Con with slag like that. It was one thing to help 'Hide, whom he trusted not to crush his fingers or hands on accident by shifting plating or moving at the wrong time, but this was a Decepticon, and he had no doubt the fragger would pull stuff like that for fun if it thought it could get away with it.
Barricade glared at him for another moment, but sat down with an annoyed huff, and then a second later leaned back on the cleared floor of the forest. “Move it, fleshling. I have no desire to linger here.”
Mud nearly covered the distinctive 'Police' written on Barricade's arm, but Will still hesitated as he came within range of the 'Con - close enough to kill him on accident, easily, because 'Cons weren't used to being around organics at all - but the mech remained unmoving as Will reached out.
“I'm starting now, but if you move as much as an inch, you can get the slagging scrap out on your own. I'm not letting you crush my hand because you got pissy,” he said flatly, and then he tugged hard on a branch with his good arm before Barricade had time to snap a response.
The branch came loose with a crack, already mostly-splintered by the movements of the mech, and Will's task consisted mainly in getting all the bits and pieces out. The branches were probably like getting a piece of wood jammed in your elbow if you were a human, and even if Will was never going to admit it, he was surprised that the Decepticon stayed completely still. Whether it was programming at play, or that his pain receptors had been turned off, or it was a matter of sheer stubbornness, he had no idea, but whatever it was, it made his task easier.
It took half an hour of struggles and the occasional bit of violence, and by the end of it Will found himself with several new scrapes, but none that had drawn blood, and so he simply shook his head and stepped back. “I'm done. You can get up again.”
Eighteen feet of Deception moved, and Will watched with vague fascination as the mech got up. He was used to Ironhide and the rest of the Autobots, but this was the enemy, and even if the species was the same, it still felt different when it was someone new. They all had their own, distinctive way of moving, and Barricade was obviously no different.
The Decepticon glared at him but didn't comment. Instead it turned around and continued along the game trail they had found the day before, and Will shook his head and followed.
At least the weapons hadn't come out again.
Yet.
* * * *
It was sometime just past noon to Will's internal clock - and just after lunch to his stomach - that Barricade finally broke the almost complete silence that had been between them since they had arrived.
Judging by the faint, toothy smile on the Decepticon's face, Will really doubted he wanted to hear what it was about to say, and Barricade proved him right a moment later.
“Is it common for fleshlings to be confused about their loyalties or are you merely an exception?”
“... What?” Whatever Will had expected, that wasn't it, and his reaction was less anger and more complete confusion at Barricade's words.
“Your loyalty,” the Decepticon repeated, a smirk on its lips and a dark glow in its eyes as they continued through the forest. “To have the insignia of your faction branded on you is the Cybertronian tradition. Once marked, a Decepticon brand is only removed by replacing the part it was placed on. Even Autobots, pathetically weak as they are, carry permanent branding. You carry only a piece of painted, organic matter to show your allegiance. The obvious conclusion would be that you were simply not sure of your choice, but perhaps the Prime has merely grown soft... or feels that organics are too weak to carry the proper brand of allegiance.”
What the slagging frag, you piece of scrap? Will mentally snarled, but reined in his response before his temper got the better of him.
“And somehow it's still not enough to make Starscream remember his supposed loyalty when Megatron turns his back,” he drawled instead and deliberately pulled out what he knew was a sore spot with a mech as loyal as Barricade. “I don't need a brand to remind me of my loyalties, and if Prime hasn't suggested it because he thinks organics aren't strong enough, I can live with that, too. Primus knows the human race hasn't done much to deserve his respect.”
It still felt strange sometimes to use Cybertronian terms - Primus, especially, felt strange, what with it being a Cybertronian deity that would probably have no clue what a human even was - but it was habit by now and using them around Barricade meant less reminders to the mech that it was around one of the annoying squishies that continued to be a pain in the aft to them.
Barricade smirked, a gesture that only served to put Will on edge again, and the Decepticon looked entirely too smug about it all. “Perhaps pets, then. Yours species live for only fractions of our lifespans. Give them a rank and a little bit of organic material and let them pretend to be useful. I am surprised they let you into battle at all. I would think Prime and Ironhide would prefer their pets to be sheltered, but perhaps they merely fail in those intentions, as the yellow bug continues to fail around its fleshling.”
Will's fingers itched to stuff the incendiary grenade somewhere nasty and unpleasant on Barricade, but he resisted the urge and merely flexed his fingers instead and kept from reaching for his gun. “I thought Megatron was the only pervert who overloaded at the thought of human pets, but maybe it's just a Decepticon thing,” he bit out with faked disgust, because Barricade was just trying to get under his skin and he knew that, but it didn't mean he couldn't do the same in return. “Sam and 'Bee are friends. You want a human to play ''face with the squishy' with, we have some former liaisons you can have. Slagging freak.”
Clawed fingers flexed as something flashed in red optics, and then Barricade narrowed them in annoyance at Will's smirk. “You are still expendable, fleshling,” he threatened, but the even tone was enough to make Will frown mentally, and his suspicions were confirmed as the Decepticon offered him a dark smirk. “Perhaps I should make your confused loyalties more permanent. Carve our insignia into your flesh so that you may bear it with pride in battle. You should be honoured. You would be the first fleshling to be allowed to pledge loyalty to this army.”
“You get those claws anywhere near me, and I'll put two magazines' worth of sabot rounds up your exhaust pipe,” Will threatened quietly. “And it will be worth it. 'Hide can hammer your aft up in the firing range back on base, and you get to explain to your buddies in the Pit that a pathetic fleshling took you down.”
He has expected anger from the 'Con, but all he got was a dark purr that sent a shiver down his spine. “No wonder old Ironhide claimed you, fleshling. You have his violence. Not a very Autobot thing to show.”
“It's war,” Will replied flatly. “I've seen Optimus Prime in battle. Good luck telling me he's a pacifist. You use violence for the fun of it. We do it to protect the rest of the planet from you. We didn't ask to have you try and take over. You showed up here, you attacked us, you tried to kill us.”
“Actually, fleshling, you have the story all wrong.” That dark purr again, like tar sticking to skin, and Will clenched his fists. “Your Prime sent the Allspark into the far reaches of the universe. Lord Megatron went after it. He was brought down on your planet, encased in ice, and when he was finally retrieved by your species, you kept him in stasis and experimented on him for your own technological gain. Unprovoked violence against the rightful leader of a people? Any civilization, on this planet or any other, would consider that a declaration of war. Your species dealt the first blow, fleshling. We intend to deal the last.”
The story was the truth, to the best of Will's knowledge, and arguments like 'Sector Seven' and 'government conspiracies' wouldn't do the least bit of good against Barricade, and he knew that, too. The fragger would find a way to twist that against them, too.
One-zero to the slagging 'Con, and Will kept his mouth shut as they continued through the forest.
* * * *
By the time it was getting dark again, they were long since drenched by the daily rain showers - to the Pit with Primus-damned rainforests, Will had decided, and he was never, ever going to complain about sand again - and neither of them had spoken again beyond the rare one-syllable words of direction. Not that Will minded. Silence, he figured, was a lot better than whatever other topics of conversation a slagging 'Con might think of, and he kept his attention firmly on his surroundings to avoid further injuries, and to spare his arm from any mistakes. The painkillers left only a dull ache behind but that didn't mean Will was going to risk anything. If he left it alone, there was some vague chance that the skin, at least, would be healed enough to keep out infections when the drugs ran out.
It was around the same time, chewing on a nutritional bar that had never tasted so good before while letting his feet dry by the fire after taking care of assorted blisters and other nasties, that he realised Barricade had another disadvantage. He wasn't sure just how often the Decepticon needed Energon, but whenever it happened, the mech would have a problem. No Energon, no oil, no gas, nothing that could in any way be used to keep a mech running. Will, at least, could find some of the local wildlife to eat when rations ran out - most animals still stayed clear of Barricade, but he'd seen some lizards around, and they wouldn't even be in the top five of weird slag he'd eaten over the years - but Barricade didn't have that option. Sooner or later, he would reach a point where he needed fuel of some kind, and Will could only hope they had made their way to civilization by then, or things would get real messy, real fast.
There was no way Barricade was going to let an enemy fleshling live if he knew he was slowly offlining, and Will couldn't even blame him. He wouldn't have left a 'Con alive if the situation had been reversed, either.
He had no clue when that 'sooner or later' would arrive, though, and so he ignored it. He certainly wasn't going to ask and thus let Barricade know that he was aware of the mech's potential weakness. It was just asking for things to get messy, too, and Will had enough to deal with as it was. The 'Con might look like walking scrap, but Will definitely wasn't doing much better, and he knew it.
Familiar red eyes watched him from the other side of the fire, clearly waiting for something, and Will glared. Fragging cowards, the lot of them, and he made a disgusted sound before he curled up in the relative dryness his shelter.
At least the fragger is stuck outside in the rain.
And with that cheerful thought accompanying him, he surrendered to sleep.
Rating: PG-13 for Cybertronian curses
Disclaimer: Nothing in here is mine and I promise to put them back in the box safe and sound when I'm done playing.
Warnings: Spoilers for RotF, but not the books or comics, most of which I haven't read and will cheerfully ignore. Slight AU from the very end of RotF.
Summary: No plan survives first contact with the enemy - as Will Lennox and Barricade are about to find out. Ca. 12000 words.
A/N: I have no excuse for using the two-enemies-get-stuck-in-a-bad-situation-together cliché. Absolutely no excuse whatsoever. I like Will, and I wanted to poke the 'Cons a little, that's all. It's set in the same 'verse as the previous A Series of Four fics but they're not needed for background information and this can be read as a stand-alone just fine. There'll be two or three sets coming up that serve as follow-ups/epilogues for this as well. Also, the unofficial working title for the longest time was 'Barricade and Lennox: Adventures in Fail'. I'm somewhat tempted to keep calling it that.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to my awesome, amazing beta for not groaning too much when I sent her 20 pages of fic to look over. All mistakes are mine, not hers.
* * * *
1.
* * * *
He hit the ground mid-motion as thunder cracked around him and dry ground became soft undergrowth, knocking the breath out of him as momentum threw him against unyielding wood, and he felt the sharp pain of breaking bone ricochet up his arm.
The sound of something heavy and metallic making an equally ungraceful entrance echoed among the trees for a few moments and then died, the silence broken only by an ominous creaking of wood giving way to something stronger.
Slag.
He was up an instant later, pain forced aside by adrenaline, gun in his less-injured hand, and Barricade seemed to have the same idea, weapons charging with a high-pitched whine as the two glared at each other but didn't fire... immediately. Possibly because they were surrounded by something that looked suspiciously like a clearing in a rainforest, and a ground-bound Cybertronian would have a Pit of a time getting out of that without offlining from mud and rain and decaying plant material stuck in joints and plating, and for once in their war, Will was glad he was human and evolved for Earth-based conditions.
“Where are we, fleshling?” the Decepticon demanded harshly, and Will snarled at it in return.
“How the frag would I know? It was your goddamn space bridge that got us here. Aren't you supposed to have that tentacled freak watching you?”
The Decepticon snarled, and Will tightened his grip on the gun, but still neither of them seemed willing to take the first shot and they stayed where they were for endless seconds, neither willing to back down, either, and Will suspected that only their surroundings had kept the mech from shooting him where he stood. Sabot rounds would hurt like slag, but there would be no way he could have taken down the 'Con in time if it had attacked. Gotten off a shot or two, possibly, but not killed it, and there was no chance he'd be able to get to the incendiary grenade in his pocket in time, and Barricade knew that, too. That meant something else was staying the 'Con's hand, and Will was willing to bet his life - and in a way, already had - that their surroundings had the Decepticon unsettled enough to let him live.
Another pause, and Will started to get a nagging suspicion. He hadn't been the target of that bridge, Sam had been, and the whole attack, he suspected, had been set up with the specific purpose of capturing the boy. The 'Cons had also never displayed space bridge technology before until Ironhide had returned with reports of an encounter with Thundercracker, and sure, they had put Jetfire's remains in a safe location, but...
'Hide mentioned Skywarp's a scientist. He could have worked it out.
“Your space bridge is still experimental,” he said, and there was no question in his voice. “You're still fragging around with the goddamn tech, aren't you? You really have no clue where we are.” And suddenly he wanted to kill something, because he realised something else and this was just slagging peachy. “You're supposed to have a slagging positioning system in you. Please tell me Megatron fried it in a bad mood.”
Another inhuman snarl, and maybe he'd pushed his luck too much, and Will grabbed his gun tighter and ignored the throbbing in his wounded arm as Barricade's harsh words answered him. “I would watch my words, fleshling, in your place.” A sudden, dark glow in the optics, and then it was gone again, and Will had a bad feeling about it all as the Decepticon continued. “My space bridge module has been reduced to slag and my communication centre is offline due to the unbalanced jump you just caused. By extension, so is that tracer the Hatchet put in all of you squishies. You expect a rescue. There will be none.”
Which would explain the dull feeling of pain and warmth in the spot on Will's back where the tracer had been injected, and he didn't bother to try and argue, and whatever Barricade had meant about the jump being his fault could wait as well. “Communication centre,” he repeated and already dreaded the answer. “Everything?”
Communication, navigation, information from the internet-
“Everything, human. Yours will have fared no better.”
And slag it, they could be anywhere, and while they might be able to figure out what continent they were on, they would have no clue exactly where they were past that - and even if they did, they'd have no way to pass on the information.
Another long moment, and still none of their weapons moved from their respective target, and Will was starting to realise that the Decepticon was not going to make the first move about anything. Then again, it wasn't a surprise. It was a 'Con, and while it might have been put at a distinct disadvantage from their situation and clearly had a reason behind keeping its small, organic enemy alive, it was just as clearly not going to admit to it.
It did leave a problem, though. How the hell did you talk to a 'Con? He'd exchanged, at the most, a dozen words with the things in his entire NEST career, and that only in battle, and he strongly suspected that Barricade would tolerate his continued existence only for as long as it was useful to him.
Megatron ruled by force. 'Cons respected strength and ruthlessness in battle, Ironhide had told him as much. 'Cons didn't care for fleshlings at all, but there had been vague indications that they had grudgingly come to respect NEST as an adversary, just as NEST had learned in turn to respect the ruthless destruction the Decepticons were capable of.
“So you're telling me we're stuck in the middle of a fragging jungle, no communication, no evac, and no intel,” he finally concluded and deliberately used the term 'we' before he continued, more biting. “I assume there's a reason we haven't killed each other yet.”
Barricade made a harsh, disgusted sound, but his weapons stayed still, and Will forced himself to keep from moving, too.
Don't show weakness. Don't back down.
“Your pathetic weapon could not kill me, fleshling. Even Optimus Prime could not do that. You are alive only because you are a native of this planet and may be useful to me.” Red optics narrowed at him and every instinct in Will's body told him to shoot at the enemy before it shot at him, and still he remained still. If his tracer was really fried - and he strongly suspected that was indeed the case - then he wouldn't have much of a chance of getting out on his own. Not with a broken arm and no idea of where he even was. Oh, sure, civilization could be only ten miles away, but Will doubted it. They weren't that lucky. They were never that lucky.
That dark glow in the red optics again, and Will got the distinct impression that Barricade was evaluating what he saw, and just as clear an impression that his life depended on the conclusion. Red optics lingered for a brief moment on the insignia on his uniform, and for a lot longer on his Cybertronian rank.
Barricade made another harsh sound, and this time it sounded distinctively mocking. “Special Operations. I assumed you to be Ironhide's pet fleshling, but perhaps they partnered you with him to keep him reined in. He always belonged with us. His processors are just too old and faulty to realise it.”
The 'Con was baiting him, Will realised, and the instinctive objection died before he could voice it, and maybe there was some twisted logic in what Barricade was doing, testing that a possible temporary ally was stable before taking further steps, and maybe it was just a cat and mouse game for sports, but whatever it was, Will refused to play along. He wasn't Ironhide. He was a human, and he could slagging well hold his temper when he needed it.
“You done taking potshots at us, or do you have more to get out of your system before we can get the slag out of this place?” he bit out instead, and tried to keep the balance between too aggressive and too weak. “I'll set up a playdate with 'Hide later and you can go play with his cannons. Right now, I'd prefer to get the slag out of here.”
He got another long, hard look in response, and this time the optics lingered on the broken arm, blood slowly seeping through the sleeve of the uniform, obviously judging if said potential, temporary ally would actually be able to function at all in their surroundings. “You are leaking, fleshling.”
First time Will even noticed that it was an open wound and not just a broken bone, and something in his stomach twisted.
Slag.
“So are you,” Will bit back as he pushed the thought aside and forced himself to focus on his enemy, and Barricade shifted, plating sliding to hide the already-drying tickle of Energon near one shoulder, and in a less serious situation, Will would probably have smirked at that. As it was, he settled for a challenging look. “I've survived worse.”
Survived much worse, but always with medical attention within reach, and never in a situation like theirs. He had spent a lot of his career pre-NEST in desert environments. Rainforests came with a whole different set of dangers, and while none of them went anywhere without first aid kits, it was still limited what they contained. Their current surroundings were hot, humid, and dirty, and he had an open wound... it was asking to get an infection, and although Ratchet had added handy little pills for that in the kit, there was only three days' worth of them.
On the other hand, with Barricade around, he might be dead long before that became a problem.
Barricade still had his weapons aimed at Will, and Will's gun still hadn't wavered from its target, and if neither of them did something, they'd still be there at nightfall. Even if the 'Con hadn't realised the full seriousness of the situation, Will had, and after another long moment, he made his decision.
Trusting a 'Con was a pretty sure way to get killed, but trying to get out of whatever place they were stuck in, injured and on his own, would be pretty much suicide.
He raised his head, silently prayed he had read the 'Con right, and then he lifted his palms upwards, gun held loosely in one hand and aimed harmlessly at the surrounding vegetation. “Neither of us have a slagging chance of getting out of here on our own, and we both know it. Now, you can play Starscream and kill me, and I'll be dead but at least it'll be fast. You'll still be stuck here, offlining bits and pieces at a time until there's nothing left of you but a dead pile of metal, and in another year you'll have been reduced to just another convenient thing for the local plant-life to grow on.”
Red optics narrowed - at Will's deliberate dig about Starscream, probably, because it was well-known that Barricade was loyal to his leader - and the hum of alien weapons remained steady for another several seconds before they were powered down and Barricade lowered them.
“Remain useful, fleshling, and you may remain alive,” the mech responded. There was more than a bit of a threat in the response, too, but Will didn't particular care. It was a 'Con. He would have been suspicious if that threat hadn't been there, and he simply nodded and reined in the worst of his sarcasm.
“So glad we're in agreement.” A slow breath, and then he continued. “I'm going to pull out a first aid kit and do something about my arm so it won't slow me down. Try not to get a twitchy trigger finger.”
An annoyed sound from the Decepticon, but it didn't move as Will brought out bandages and disinfectant, and so he kept talking, if mostly to keep the mech from reconsidering their arrangement too much.
“As for where we are... it looks like a rainforest to me. It was afternoon in Saudi Arabia when you opened that slagging bridge. It looks like morning now. That'd put us somewhere in South America. The Amazon Rainforest, probably,” he clarified, and his fingers worked with just a little hesitation as he finished up cleaning the wound - it hurt like slag but like hell he was going to let the 'Con know that, and he did not like the fact that there was a bone fragment sticking out - and then he carefully wrapped it up before he finished up with one of Ratchet's little first aid medical cocktails in pill shape. “No roads, no airports, no nothing. Trees and plants and animals, and that's pretty much it until you reach human settlements or hit populated regions again. Our best bet is find some running water and follow it. Sooner or later, we'll reach a bigger stream, and it'll eventually hit a river somewhere. Then...” A careful shrug. “There'll be human settlements there, of some kind.”
“The lack of certainty in your plan does not inspire confidence, fleshling.” Definitely a threat this time, and Will snarled in return.
“You think I want to be here?” An angry gesture around them, at the maze of plants and vines and growing trees in the clearing, and further out at the massive, green wall that surrounded them. “I want to get the slag out of here just as much as you do. You think of another plan that'll get us out faster, and I'm all ears. Until then, listen to the fragging fleshling that was born on this planet.”
The hum of weapons instinctively charging and then it faded again as Barricade's optics narrowed but he made no move to attack, and Will didn't make a move to reach for the grenade most of the NEST team carried one or two of around. Not something that burned hot enough to destroy a 'Con outright, but with a good hit, it would still be dead without medical attention, but as long as Barricade only seemed to be interested in proving his dominance, it wasn't a weapon Will was going to use. Not until he didn't have a choice. Too much of a risk of injuring yourself as well, and the NEST teams had all been drilled in that, too.
Then clawed fingers reached up and pointed towards the darkness of the rainforest, and Will had no clue what direction it even was - south-ish, probably, but that was about it - and even if he'd had a compass, he doubted it would have worked after the jump they had been put through. “You asked for running water, fleshling,” Barricade said in the harsh voice that was already becoming uncomfortably familiar to Will. “You will find it there. Your audio processors are too inferior to locate it.”
Arm taken care of as much as he could given the circumstances, Will let the insult pass and nodded, a slight bit of annoyance in his voice as he spoke. “Fine. Let's get the slag out of here before it starts raining.”
The Decepticon made an annoyed sound, and Will almost thought they would get stuck in another argument... but then the mech moved and they set off, heading into the dense plant-life around them, and it was too late for second thoughts.
* * * *
By Will's estimate, it took them a full hour to reach the edge of the clearing. His watch had been fried in the jump, and even if it hadn't, he doubted it would have lasted for long in their current conditions.
An hour, and he was already reconsidering his original estimate. He had enough pills - painkillers, antibiotics, and other Ratchet-approved cocktails - to last him for three days, but he was seriously starting to wonder if Barricade would last that long. An hour of half-grown trees, dense undergrowth, a tangled web of lianas, and soft ground that yielded to two tons of metal, and the mech's only immediate advantage seemed to be the clawed hands that cut and tore through anything in their way. Will wasn't normally in the habit of wishing Decepticons good health, but as they reached the edge of the clearing he found himself desperately hoping the 'Con would do better in the darkness underneath the canopy, because the last thing he needed was an offlining 'Con that decided to take a fleshling with it to the Pit.
If nothing else, the slow progress through the clearing had allowed him to take stock of the situation. His arm put him at a distinct disadvantage, but there would be less obstacles under the canopy and that would hopefully allow the wound and broken bone some rest and let Ratchet's pills do their work and speed up the healing process a little. Radio - fried like everything else, and there was a small, annoyed voice in the back of his mind wondering why the jump couldn't have fried Barricade, too, while it was at it. Three days' worth of edibles, since he wasn't going to call all of it 'food', but it was calories, and he needed that. Three days' worth, four if he stretched it, and he intended to. Two candy bars in a pocket, of a kind he knew from his time in Qatar wouldn't melt in the heat. A lighter, and a week's worth of water purifying tablets, if his estimate was right. Gun, two full magazines, incendiary grenade, one Sector Seven grade knife made for use against Decepticon bodies, one hunting knife...
And one snarly Decepticon, Will sighed silently and followed Barricade into the darkness of the forest, towering trees dwarfing even the alien robot - twice the height of the 'Con, easily, to Will's estimate, and that killed any chance of getting a look around to see if they could spot anything that might be civilization in the area.
No bug spray, his mental inventory continued, which would be pretty much guaranteed malaria. No mosquito net, no handy little book of the local plant-life and animals to let him know which ones to stay the slag away from, so he had found himself a walking stick that wasn't too heavy to keep the local creepy-crawlies away if they got too interested.
All in all, he had concluded, they were pretty much slagged, but he had forcefully pushed that thought aside to focus on their surroundings instead, because the last thing he needed was more injuries to add to his list, and if he let himself sink into the hopelessness of it all, he might as well just have laid down and died in that clearing.
The light vanished around them as the canopy blocked out sunlight, and although there were sounds around them - something, he realised, that had been missing in the clearing, most animals scared away by the sound of Barricade's crash landing - it was a dull sound, muffled by leaves and towering trees, and the colours of the forest became the more muted brown and green of tree trunks and exposed roots and decaying material, joined by moss and ferns.
Even in the warm temperature, Will still felt a shiver down his back and gripped the walking stick tighter. He had spent two weeks in a jungle on a training exercise once, but the majority of his experience had been in the deserts and mountains of the Middle East, and the nagging feeling of being in unfamiliar territory was not a welcome one.
Even Barricade seemed to be mildly affected, clawed fingers clenching and unclenching as the mech looked around and seemed to itch for something to tear down to break the endless roof above them. Will couldn't really blame him. From what he knew from various reports, Barricade had spent his time in civilization, in his alt-mode disguise, and only occasionally found himself in less... tamed areas. Even then, it had been deserts and mountains - dry places, usually, with little of Earth's abundance of organic life. Not anything like jungles or rainforests. Never anything even close to it.
The sound of water came shortly afterwards, barely a whisper of a sound, and Will said nothing but simply followed as the mech led the way. Neither spoke, and Will was fine with that, too. It was an arrangement of convenience, nothing more, and he had about as much desire to chat with a 'Con as Barricade had to talk with a human. Staying clear of each other seemed like the best course of action and the one least likely to end with weapons being fired.
The sound turned out to be a stream, only a few feet across, but it was clear and it flowed fast, and Will refilled his canteen and dropped a purifying tablet in it before they continued. Barricade's only response was a disgusted snarl that Will chose to interpret as the standard Decepticon displeasure with organic weaknesses, and then they moved out of the dense vegetation around the stream and went back into the forest again to follow the stream from there.
Will didn't argue. They had Barricade's audio processors to keep them on track, and it was easier for both of them to find a path among the trees and roots, rather than fight their way through the vegetation. Less risk of getting caught on thorns and spines, too, Will realised, although it wouldn't be a concern to the mech. Still, he was willing to take any help he could get.
They were silent, and they stayed silent as they made their way through the forest, and even if they stayed in the shadow of the giant trees, it was still not without difficulties. Easier for Will, being small enough to slip between the plants and small trees that managed to survive in almost perpetual shadow, but Barricade, while not the largest mech around, was still big enough to face the annoyance of the what few plants and trees did live under the canopy. Will doubted it was something that was really draining to tear through, but it still didn't improve the Decepticon's mood, and Will chose the wise solution and didn't comment.
They were silent, and they stayed silent even as the rain began in what Will judged to be the mid-afternoon and which his body considered late evening, because jetlag was a slagging bitch to deal with like that. They heard the sound on the leaves above them, but it took another several minutes before the rain made its way through the treetops to be felt by human and mech.
No poncho in his mental inventory, either, and Will sighed quietly and kept walking as the rain slowly soaked them.
* * * *
Night came fast. It had rained on and off for hours, and Will's inner clock was thoroughly messed up from the space bridge, and it shouldn't have surprised him when he finally looked up to realise the light was rapidly vanishing, but it still did and he mentally cursed himself for it.
“We need to stop for the night.”
First words either of them had spoken for most of a day, and Barricade stopped and narrowed red optics at the human. “Are you growing weak, fleshling?” Harsher than usual and definitely a threat in it, and Will made a disgusted sound in return.
“It'll be dark within half an hour. If you want to spend energy keeping your headlights on to keep walking, be my guest.” Red optics looked up to judge the light that seeped through the canopy, and Will saw his chance to continue. “There are likely no human settlements nearby. No cities, no harbours, nothing. That means no light, either, even in the unlikely case it could get through that slag up there to help us. It's going to be the same with moonlight. So either we stop for the night and light a fire, or you light up those headlights and we keep walking.”
The red optics returned their attention to him, and finally the Deception snorted. “Fire?”
“Light, heat, keep the predators and worst of the creepy crawlers away,” Will replied, because he remembered that much from his training exercise, at least, and he tried to ignore the throbbing in his arm as he continued. “I'll need to find something to sleep on, too. I don't particularly want to share a bed with bugs or snakes.”
Or mosquitoes, for that matter, but he didn't have a choice about that, and so he ignored it. Maybe the smoke would keep away the worst of them, but he didn't feel that hopeful.
A sigh, remembering something else, and he was already missing the familiar deserts of the Middle East. “And palm fronds for a shelter to keep out the rain.”
This time Barricade's response was a flat-out snarl, and the mech stalked off before Will had time to react. The Decepticon vanished into the forest around then, and Will was almost considering setting after him before he heard the distinctive sound of metal slicing through wood, and when Barricade reappeared a minute or two later, he was dragging the top of an unfortunate palm tree. “Shelter, fleshing. Burn the rest. I will recharge on the ground. So will you.” Another disgusted sound. “I have no patience for this foolishness. Prime made you a Cybertronian. Act like one.”
Will resisted the urge to face-palm at that. It was shelter, at least, and while he had gotten his share of mosquito bites already, he had noticed that most animals did keep a distance to Barricade. With some luck, that would continue even when the 'Con stopped snarling and moving around - it was something big and alien and there was always the hum of energy around mechs, even in recharge - and so he didn't press the matter.
He set to work as Barricade cleared himself a place to sit with his usual brutal effectiveness and got Will some additional firewood for work with, and by the time it was getting dark around them, they had a fire going, a human-sized shelter, and Will was almost starting to feel human again, socks and boots drying by the fire as his feet enjoyed some fresh air. Combat rations, purified water, hunting leeches and ticks in the light of a fire while disinfecting assorted minor cuts and scrapes from their rough landing...
Really, take the Decepticon out of the equation, and it was almost like being back in Ranger School.
His body craved rest, but Barricade made no move to go into recharge, and Will wasn't even surprised, because 'Cons were backstabbing slaggers, every single last one of them, and the fragger was probably expecting to be shot through his spark at the first inattentive moment. Not that Will could blame him. He had entertained the thought, briefly, before common sense took over and reminded him that he needed the 'Con to have any chance of getting out alive, and that Sarah was going to kill him if he decided it was worth dying there to get rid of Barricade.
A glance at the Decepticon on the other side of the fire, red optics never moving from him, and Will narrowed his eyes slightly.
Don't show weakness. Don't back down.
“I'm going to sleep. Try not to kill me overnight,” he bit out. And with that, he curled up in his shelter and surrendered to the blissful, restful oblivion of sleep.
* * * *
2.
* * * *
Dawn arrived painfully on the second day.
Will's first, somewhat surprised, realisation was that he was still alive after spending a night asleep less than thirty feet from a Decepticon. His second was that he hurt like slag.
Cold muscles felt the full soreness of battle and the failed space bridge jump, and the broken arm sent flashes of pain all the way up to his shoulder whenever he moved it and made changing the bandage an excruciating experience. Splintered, Will had noticed, not just broken, but he was not going to linger on that - he had a makeshift sling for it and three days worth of pills from Ratchet to keep infections at bay, and that was the best he could manage given the circumstances. The bug bites weren't too bad, most of the fraggers probably kept away by Barricade's presence, and the minor cuts and scrapes that he hadn't noticed until they had actually stopped for the night were healing already. A bit faster than usual, but not much, since the handy mix of pharmaceuticals that Will couldn't even begin to pronounce the names of were already occupied with his broken arm, and he could live with that, too. There was some chance they would be healed enough to avoid infections by the time he ran out of pills, and as long as he kept from getting scraped again, he would manage. Unpleasantly, but he would manage.
Barricade didn't look much better. Mud covered a good part of the black and white paint job, and branches and undergrowth were stuck in joints and under plating, and injuries that Will hadn't even noticed when they had first arrived were already starting to show from lack of proper medical attention. The thin line of dried Energon was long gone under the layer of mud, but the weird way the 'Con kept from moving his head in certain directions told Will that he had suffered more damage than could immediately be seen, and two claws on one hand seemed to respond slower than the rest.
Still, the Decepticon looked marginally more graceful than Will felt as it got to its feet... and then the image was ruined as the 'Con snarled and clawed at several branches that had jammed between its plating.
Will very firmly did not smirk, but still the dark head turned to find him and red optics narrowed. “This is your planet, fleshling. Fix this.”
Will considered arguing for a moment, but Barricade's mood the day before had looked positively cheerful compared to the expression he now showed, and Will strongly suspected that those branches would become a real problem soon if they weren't taken care of, and he still needed the 'Con if he wanted any chance of getting out of there.
“I can't use my arm,” he said, and tried to keep the worst of the annoyance out of his voice. “If you want help with that, you have to sit the slag down where I can actually reach.”
Not that he in any way wanted to help a 'Con with slag like that. It was one thing to help 'Hide, whom he trusted not to crush his fingers or hands on accident by shifting plating or moving at the wrong time, but this was a Decepticon, and he had no doubt the fragger would pull stuff like that for fun if it thought it could get away with it.
Barricade glared at him for another moment, but sat down with an annoyed huff, and then a second later leaned back on the cleared floor of the forest. “Move it, fleshling. I have no desire to linger here.”
Mud nearly covered the distinctive 'Police' written on Barricade's arm, but Will still hesitated as he came within range of the 'Con - close enough to kill him on accident, easily, because 'Cons weren't used to being around organics at all - but the mech remained unmoving as Will reached out.
“I'm starting now, but if you move as much as an inch, you can get the slagging scrap out on your own. I'm not letting you crush my hand because you got pissy,” he said flatly, and then he tugged hard on a branch with his good arm before Barricade had time to snap a response.
The branch came loose with a crack, already mostly-splintered by the movements of the mech, and Will's task consisted mainly in getting all the bits and pieces out. The branches were probably like getting a piece of wood jammed in your elbow if you were a human, and even if Will was never going to admit it, he was surprised that the Decepticon stayed completely still. Whether it was programming at play, or that his pain receptors had been turned off, or it was a matter of sheer stubbornness, he had no idea, but whatever it was, it made his task easier.
It took half an hour of struggles and the occasional bit of violence, and by the end of it Will found himself with several new scrapes, but none that had drawn blood, and so he simply shook his head and stepped back. “I'm done. You can get up again.”
Eighteen feet of Deception moved, and Will watched with vague fascination as the mech got up. He was used to Ironhide and the rest of the Autobots, but this was the enemy, and even if the species was the same, it still felt different when it was someone new. They all had their own, distinctive way of moving, and Barricade was obviously no different.
The Decepticon glared at him but didn't comment. Instead it turned around and continued along the game trail they had found the day before, and Will shook his head and followed.
At least the weapons hadn't come out again.
Yet.
* * * *
It was sometime just past noon to Will's internal clock - and just after lunch to his stomach - that Barricade finally broke the almost complete silence that had been between them since they had arrived.
Judging by the faint, toothy smile on the Decepticon's face, Will really doubted he wanted to hear what it was about to say, and Barricade proved him right a moment later.
“Is it common for fleshlings to be confused about their loyalties or are you merely an exception?”
“... What?” Whatever Will had expected, that wasn't it, and his reaction was less anger and more complete confusion at Barricade's words.
“Your loyalty,” the Decepticon repeated, a smirk on its lips and a dark glow in its eyes as they continued through the forest. “To have the insignia of your faction branded on you is the Cybertronian tradition. Once marked, a Decepticon brand is only removed by replacing the part it was placed on. Even Autobots, pathetically weak as they are, carry permanent branding. You carry only a piece of painted, organic matter to show your allegiance. The obvious conclusion would be that you were simply not sure of your choice, but perhaps the Prime has merely grown soft... or feels that organics are too weak to carry the proper brand of allegiance.”
What the slagging frag, you piece of scrap? Will mentally snarled, but reined in his response before his temper got the better of him.
“And somehow it's still not enough to make Starscream remember his supposed loyalty when Megatron turns his back,” he drawled instead and deliberately pulled out what he knew was a sore spot with a mech as loyal as Barricade. “I don't need a brand to remind me of my loyalties, and if Prime hasn't suggested it because he thinks organics aren't strong enough, I can live with that, too. Primus knows the human race hasn't done much to deserve his respect.”
It still felt strange sometimes to use Cybertronian terms - Primus, especially, felt strange, what with it being a Cybertronian deity that would probably have no clue what a human even was - but it was habit by now and using them around Barricade meant less reminders to the mech that it was around one of the annoying squishies that continued to be a pain in the aft to them.
Barricade smirked, a gesture that only served to put Will on edge again, and the Decepticon looked entirely too smug about it all. “Perhaps pets, then. Yours species live for only fractions of our lifespans. Give them a rank and a little bit of organic material and let them pretend to be useful. I am surprised they let you into battle at all. I would think Prime and Ironhide would prefer their pets to be sheltered, but perhaps they merely fail in those intentions, as the yellow bug continues to fail around its fleshling.”
Will's fingers itched to stuff the incendiary grenade somewhere nasty and unpleasant on Barricade, but he resisted the urge and merely flexed his fingers instead and kept from reaching for his gun. “I thought Megatron was the only pervert who overloaded at the thought of human pets, but maybe it's just a Decepticon thing,” he bit out with faked disgust, because Barricade was just trying to get under his skin and he knew that, but it didn't mean he couldn't do the same in return. “Sam and 'Bee are friends. You want a human to play ''face with the squishy' with, we have some former liaisons you can have. Slagging freak.”
Clawed fingers flexed as something flashed in red optics, and then Barricade narrowed them in annoyance at Will's smirk. “You are still expendable, fleshling,” he threatened, but the even tone was enough to make Will frown mentally, and his suspicions were confirmed as the Decepticon offered him a dark smirk. “Perhaps I should make your confused loyalties more permanent. Carve our insignia into your flesh so that you may bear it with pride in battle. You should be honoured. You would be the first fleshling to be allowed to pledge loyalty to this army.”
“You get those claws anywhere near me, and I'll put two magazines' worth of sabot rounds up your exhaust pipe,” Will threatened quietly. “And it will be worth it. 'Hide can hammer your aft up in the firing range back on base, and you get to explain to your buddies in the Pit that a pathetic fleshling took you down.”
He has expected anger from the 'Con, but all he got was a dark purr that sent a shiver down his spine. “No wonder old Ironhide claimed you, fleshling. You have his violence. Not a very Autobot thing to show.”
“It's war,” Will replied flatly. “I've seen Optimus Prime in battle. Good luck telling me he's a pacifist. You use violence for the fun of it. We do it to protect the rest of the planet from you. We didn't ask to have you try and take over. You showed up here, you attacked us, you tried to kill us.”
“Actually, fleshling, you have the story all wrong.” That dark purr again, like tar sticking to skin, and Will clenched his fists. “Your Prime sent the Allspark into the far reaches of the universe. Lord Megatron went after it. He was brought down on your planet, encased in ice, and when he was finally retrieved by your species, you kept him in stasis and experimented on him for your own technological gain. Unprovoked violence against the rightful leader of a people? Any civilization, on this planet or any other, would consider that a declaration of war. Your species dealt the first blow, fleshling. We intend to deal the last.”
The story was the truth, to the best of Will's knowledge, and arguments like 'Sector Seven' and 'government conspiracies' wouldn't do the least bit of good against Barricade, and he knew that, too. The fragger would find a way to twist that against them, too.
One-zero to the slagging 'Con, and Will kept his mouth shut as they continued through the forest.
* * * *
By the time it was getting dark again, they were long since drenched by the daily rain showers - to the Pit with Primus-damned rainforests, Will had decided, and he was never, ever going to complain about sand again - and neither of them had spoken again beyond the rare one-syllable words of direction. Not that Will minded. Silence, he figured, was a lot better than whatever other topics of conversation a slagging 'Con might think of, and he kept his attention firmly on his surroundings to avoid further injuries, and to spare his arm from any mistakes. The painkillers left only a dull ache behind but that didn't mean Will was going to risk anything. If he left it alone, there was some vague chance that the skin, at least, would be healed enough to keep out infections when the drugs ran out.
It was around the same time, chewing on a nutritional bar that had never tasted so good before while letting his feet dry by the fire after taking care of assorted blisters and other nasties, that he realised Barricade had another disadvantage. He wasn't sure just how often the Decepticon needed Energon, but whenever it happened, the mech would have a problem. No Energon, no oil, no gas, nothing that could in any way be used to keep a mech running. Will, at least, could find some of the local wildlife to eat when rations ran out - most animals still stayed clear of Barricade, but he'd seen some lizards around, and they wouldn't even be in the top five of weird slag he'd eaten over the years - but Barricade didn't have that option. Sooner or later, he would reach a point where he needed fuel of some kind, and Will could only hope they had made their way to civilization by then, or things would get real messy, real fast.
There was no way Barricade was going to let an enemy fleshling live if he knew he was slowly offlining, and Will couldn't even blame him. He wouldn't have left a 'Con alive if the situation had been reversed, either.
He had no clue when that 'sooner or later' would arrive, though, and so he ignored it. He certainly wasn't going to ask and thus let Barricade know that he was aware of the mech's potential weakness. It was just asking for things to get messy, too, and Will had enough to deal with as it was. The 'Con might look like walking scrap, but Will definitely wasn't doing much better, and he knew it.
Familiar red eyes watched him from the other side of the fire, clearly waiting for something, and Will glared. Fragging cowards, the lot of them, and he made a disgusted sound before he curled up in the relative dryness his shelter.
At least the fragger is stuck outside in the rain.
And with that cheerful thought accompanying him, he surrendered to sleep.