Fic: Of Swords and Companions Past
Title: Of Swords and Companions Past
Characters: Crosshairs, Drift, Wheeljack
Verse: Bayverse, Pre AoE, set during the war
Genres: Action, adventure, angst
Disclaimer: Not mine as usual.
Summary: Personally, he'd rather that he never saw Drift ever again but he's learnt by now that the universe rarely (never) gives him what he wants.
"'m gonna get that fixed."
Last words Wheeljack ever said to him. Aftermath of a battle, Crosshairs's inbuilt blade a broken, shattered messed. Bad fight, he'd snapped the blade on the thick hide of a Con frontliner. Crosshairs had emptied in an entire round in the big brute's throat before it stopped moving. Caught in the euphoria of surviving, they'd lingered just a little too long as Wheeljack had gathered up the pieces. Under the swordmech's tutelage, Crosshairs skill had developed until the paratrooper could hold his own against the Wrecker, match blade for blade. He relied on it in a way he hadn't before joining the Wreckers and the loss of his sword is a nasty shock to his systems.
Next thing Crosshairs knew, he was waking up in a Con prison. Whether Wheeljack ever made it there or not, he never found out. In some respects, escaping had been the easy part. Not knowing what had happened to his friend? One of the few Autobots Crosshairs genuinely liked and respected? That was the hard part. Wheeljack had taught him the ropes of being a Wrecker, how to survive the worst the war could throw at him. But what Wheeljack hadn't shown him was how to live without one of his closest friends and Crosshairs hates the way that he's had to learn this lesson. They find no body when they go back to the battlefield, nothing on the prison's records when the Wreckers come by and tear it all to shreds. It's like the universe just upped and swallowed Wheeljack whole. No trace of whether he's alive or dead.
His blade remains broken. He refuses Springer's orders to get it fixed. It's back to the good 'ol guns again, the only things that haven't betrayed or failed him yet. There's a scar left on his arm when he gets tired of staring at the empty blade mount and hacks it off with a combat knife. The attending medic is furious when he has to fix the mess Crosshairs makes of his own forearm. Messy, messy, hadn't thought it through clearly enough, a fit of mindless anger. Kept waiting to hear that calloused voice again, challenging him to a duel. Each one of them lessons in swordplay, Wheeljack had been a master of his craft and Crosshairs something of an apprentice. Wheeljack had seen something in Crosshairs when they'd first met on that mission oh so long ago. Something none of his frame brothers had. Or maybe they did but just hadn't survived long enough for it to matter in the end. The only reason why the mech had put in a recommendation for the Wreckers on his file, not that Crosshairs had ever wanted it. He'd ignored the invitation till the Wreckers had been in desperate need of a paratrooper for a mission.
Command had loaned him over. Temporarily, they'd assured him. And it had been. He'd done the mission well. Transferred out. Then back in again. 'nother mission. And so it went. Bit by bit till eventually he resigns himself to the fact that he is a Wrecker, even if half the time his file says otherwise. Crosshairs had fought to keep the rough and burly group from making him one of them but eventually he gives up. They're his brothers now, no matter how much he'd rather otherwise.
Wheeljack and he had a good run. Longer than most. Really, he should be just grateful that it hadn't ended sooner. But there had been an accusing weight on his right arm, a promise that was never fulfilled, a reminder that he's missing part of himself in more ways than one. So Crosshairs cuts it off, freeing him from the shackles of the past. Maybe once he was a swordsmech. That chapter of his life is over. It didn't feel right to fight with a sword without Wheeljack at his back. He's a gunslinger now and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Of course, the universe only lets him have this for so long before shoving Drift in his path. They meet on the battlefield because that's the only place Crosshairs can be found. He doesn't have a life outside war, never had one either. It's a regular skirmish for the Wreckers, then one lone triple changer drops from the sky with a flurry of blades and a dance so deadly, five Decepticons are dead before they even know what they're dealing with.
The sight of those swords hurts part of his spark deep inside. The moves are unfamiliar and they're a jarring disconnect from what he's half-expecting to see. Drift doesn't fight like Wheeljack at all and Crosshairs is disorientated, his shooting is the worse it's ever been his entire life. The scar on his arm itches and burns in remembrance of a limb he'd amputated from himself. There's a craving there for something Crosshairs thought he'd buried long behind him. In the aftermath of that battle, he finds himself a secluded spot, arms himself with a sharpened piece of metal and furiously practises his forms. He's exhausted by the end of it and still not settled. He doesn't know what he wants, only that something is wrong and missing.
Drift travels with them till he makes his way back to his own unit. Got separated from own people and had jumped into a Wrecker battle because he is clearly as unhinged as the rest of them. Might be something to do with the fact the mech's a triple changer. They're never the most stable of mecha. Possibly something to do with having a shape one too many, programming just can't hack it. Or maybe its just Drift, inherently. It's kinda difficult to tell what is him and what isn't. The mech has a murky sense of self, a social chameleon that soaks up the culture of whatever is around him. That goes beyond the triple changer in him, even his root mode starts altering shape to match what whatever persona he is that cycle, which is something Crosshairs heard vague rumours of triple changers doing but not to the extent Drift takes it.
In the short time that they travel together, Crosshairs decides that Drift is extremely fragging annoying and wants nothing more to do with him. Wants him dead actually. The mech's swords reminds him of a life he's shoved away and Drift, of course, with his fluid coding and all-round general unstableness, slowly morphs into a Wrecker because clearly the universe hates Crosshairs. Whether intentional or not, Drift ends up sounding a lot like Wheeljack. Crosshairs finds himself excusing himself from social situations whenever he can and stewing far, far away from the mech as he tries to keep himself from shooting this mocking parody of an old friend.
When Drift is gone, the haze of fury lifts and suddenly Crosshairs can think again. But the universe isn't done with kicking a mech in his sore spots, they run into each other, every couple of hundreds of vorns or so. On and off, it's not surprising really. The war's progressed to the point that only the toughest have survived and so you start seeing the same faces after a while. Drift's a different mech every time Crosshairs sees him, thankfully never a Wrecker again. Crosshairs takes care to make each encounter shorter than the last. The scar on his arm has long healed but it still throbs in remembered pain at the sight of those swords.
Then there's this one time when Crosshairs's pinned down by a Decepticon and Drift tosses a blade straight through his head. Instead of giving the sword back, something inside Crosshairs snaps. He stows his guns away and takes the blade. Wields it like he'd been onlined with one (he had been), like it was just yesterday that he had Wheeljack at his back. It's only when the battles over, when he's torn a bloody path through the Decepticons and left a trail of dismembered limbs everywhere that he realises its Drift at his side and not Wheeljack.
Drift approached him then, as he stood in the carnage and tried to remember where the frag he is. "I did not-"
Crosshairs punched him hard in the face before shoving the blade back into to its owner and storming off. They don't see each other for a few vorns after that and Drift never mentions what he'd seen again, which is just the way Crosshairs likes it. Personally, he'd rather that he never saw Drift ever again but he's learnt by now that the universe rarely (never) gives him what he wants.
Which is why, thousands of vorns later, when he answers Optimus Prime's call and finds himself part of the scant few remaining Autobot forces on Earth, he ain't all that surprised to find that Drift is there. The universe's a bitch. His arm hangs empty and waiting, still feeling the weight of a broken promise.
Maybe someday he'll get it fixed.
Maybe.