Ipseity (Tformers 100; Silverbolt, Wheeljack; Table: Emotion; Prompt: #6- Worry)
Title: Ipseity
Series: Transformers G1 (possibly AU)
Table(s): Emotion
Prompt: Worry
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Silverbolt, Wheeljack
Word Count: 935
Summary: Wheeljack has a project; Silverbolt has some concerns.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to HasTak and whoever else has gotten in on it while I wasn't looking.
Notes: Ties in to Nascent, and set before the Pbots were built. Some day I WILL post fic segments in the correct order!
When Silverbolt quietly slipped into his lab, Wheeljack really didn't think much of it. The Aerialbot wasn't exactly a common sight around this part of the Ark, but it wasn't unheard of by any means for him to simply stop by to check on mechs, a habit that saved Perceptor's aft once. Usually if Silverbolt stopped by and the engineer wasn't working on anything too vital or dangerous, like now, he'd offer a quiet greeting and they'd chat for a little while about nothing in particular, though the eccentricities of the rest of the Aerialbots was a popular topic.
This time the large jet didn't say anything, however, and just settled himself on a bench, staring down at the ground with a frown set in place. After checking to make sure that everything was stable (Ratchet would deactivate him if he got one of the younglings caught in an explosion, especially the responsible one) Wheeljack turned to look at him, vocal indicators flashing in curiosity. “Silverbolt? Is something wrong?”
Silverbolt looked up, something sharp and indescribable in his optics. “Is there?” The Lancia was slightly taken-back at the sheer amount of hurt hidden in the words, and was about to say something when the Concorde continued. “Did we do something wrong? Are we just not good enough? I know Fireflight doesn't notice important things sometimes, and Air Raid does a lot of stupid things, and Skydive barely speaks to anyone, and Slingshot's Slingshot, but... But we're trying...”
Oh. Oh, Silverbolt had somehow found out about... Well, frag. “Silverbolt... That has nothing to do with anything you have or haven't done, or being good enough, or anything like that.” Wheeljack began, approaching the jet cautiously. While he was fairly sure Silverbolt wouldn't actually hurt him, he'd had enough experience with volatile substances that he wasn't taking too many chances.
Then Silverbolt dropped his gaze again, expression closing off in a way that made his spark hurt. He flung an arm over the silver mech's shoulders, relieved when he didn't try to pull away. Wheeljack tugged him closer gently, trying to find a way to explain. Why couldn't Silverbolt have gone to Perceptor or Ratchet about... On second thought, nevermind. Just the image of either of them trying to deal with the jet in this kind of mood was almost enough to make him flinch.
“They're not going to replace you, ever. They're being made for a totally different purpose- they're going to be primarily defense- search and rescue, support, those types of things. They probably won't even be on the front lines that often. The only reason we're making them a gestalt is just in case they are needed in a fight- and they'd be there to help you, not to replace you.” Silverbolt leaned more heavily against him as he spoke, shifting to tuck his helm beneath the engineer's chin. The familiar movement, something that had happened Primus-only-knew how many times when the Aerial commander was still a sparkling, made him sigh out his vents in relief. Good, so Silverbolt wasn't mad at him.
He was so caught up in the revelation that he nearly missed the Concorde's quiet question. “What?”
Silverbolt moved his head to let his voice carry easier, one hand coming to curl over Wheeljack's on his shoulder. “Can we be there? I mean, I know we can't do anything to help build them, but... The others want to be- I want to be there when they're brought online.”
He considered that for a few moments. Five, well, four excitable youngling jets and one responsible one around five unpredictable sparklings? That was utter chaos just waiting to happen. “Sure, 'Bolt. I don't see why not.” Apparently content with his response, the large jet settled back to leaning against Wheeljack, systems humming quietly.
They stayed like that for a few breems before Silverbolt pulled away a little reluctantly, smiling at him as he slid off the bench. “I should get back to the others before they destroy something.” He said, tone falling into the mixture of exasperation and affection that always seemed to appear whenever he talked about his brothers. “Or wind up in the brig. Or find more of that tape.”
Wheeljack chuckled, dropping off the bench himself with a loud clank. “Those four are certainly a handful. Good luck.” He agreed, heading back to his latest invention while Silverbolt moved to leave the room, helm tilting as he possibly started talking to his brothers. Unbeknownst to the Lancia as he began fiddling with one faulty connection, the Concorde paused by the doorway, turning back with a curious look.
“Wheeljack?” The inventor looked up from the jumble of parts, earfins flashing questioningly. Taking that as his cue, Silverbolt continued, “The others wanted to know- do they have a name yet? We know they'll pick their own, but as a group.”
Humming thoughtfully, Wheeljack freed one hand to rub at his chin, a gesture he'd picked up from the television programs some mechs on the Ark kept going constantly. “Not as far as I know. They probably need one. Why, do you have something in mind?”
Silverbolt hesitated for a moment, obviously unsure whether to continue, but either his own resolve or his brother's prompting convinced him to keep talking. “Well, if they're supposed to be mostly defensive... What about the Protectobots?”
“The Protectobots...” Wheeljack murmured, testing the name on his vocalizer at the same time he turned it over in his processor. “I like it.”
Series: Transformers G1 (possibly AU)
Table(s): Emotion
Prompt: Worry
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Silverbolt, Wheeljack
Word Count: 935
Summary: Wheeljack has a project; Silverbolt has some concerns.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to HasTak and whoever else has gotten in on it while I wasn't looking.
Notes: Ties in to Nascent, and set before the Pbots were built. Some day I WILL post fic segments in the correct order!
When Silverbolt quietly slipped into his lab, Wheeljack really didn't think much of it. The Aerialbot wasn't exactly a common sight around this part of the Ark, but it wasn't unheard of by any means for him to simply stop by to check on mechs, a habit that saved Perceptor's aft once. Usually if Silverbolt stopped by and the engineer wasn't working on anything too vital or dangerous, like now, he'd offer a quiet greeting and they'd chat for a little while about nothing in particular, though the eccentricities of the rest of the Aerialbots was a popular topic.
This time the large jet didn't say anything, however, and just settled himself on a bench, staring down at the ground with a frown set in place. After checking to make sure that everything was stable (Ratchet would deactivate him if he got one of the younglings caught in an explosion, especially the responsible one) Wheeljack turned to look at him, vocal indicators flashing in curiosity. “Silverbolt? Is something wrong?”
Silverbolt looked up, something sharp and indescribable in his optics. “Is there?” The Lancia was slightly taken-back at the sheer amount of hurt hidden in the words, and was about to say something when the Concorde continued. “Did we do something wrong? Are we just not good enough? I know Fireflight doesn't notice important things sometimes, and Air Raid does a lot of stupid things, and Skydive barely speaks to anyone, and Slingshot's Slingshot, but... But we're trying...”
Oh. Oh, Silverbolt had somehow found out about... Well, frag. “Silverbolt... That has nothing to do with anything you have or haven't done, or being good enough, or anything like that.” Wheeljack began, approaching the jet cautiously. While he was fairly sure Silverbolt wouldn't actually hurt him, he'd had enough experience with volatile substances that he wasn't taking too many chances.
Then Silverbolt dropped his gaze again, expression closing off in a way that made his spark hurt. He flung an arm over the silver mech's shoulders, relieved when he didn't try to pull away. Wheeljack tugged him closer gently, trying to find a way to explain. Why couldn't Silverbolt have gone to Perceptor or Ratchet about... On second thought, nevermind. Just the image of either of them trying to deal with the jet in this kind of mood was almost enough to make him flinch.
“They're not going to replace you, ever. They're being made for a totally different purpose- they're going to be primarily defense- search and rescue, support, those types of things. They probably won't even be on the front lines that often. The only reason we're making them a gestalt is just in case they are needed in a fight- and they'd be there to help you, not to replace you.” Silverbolt leaned more heavily against him as he spoke, shifting to tuck his helm beneath the engineer's chin. The familiar movement, something that had happened Primus-only-knew how many times when the Aerial commander was still a sparkling, made him sigh out his vents in relief. Good, so Silverbolt wasn't mad at him.
He was so caught up in the revelation that he nearly missed the Concorde's quiet question. “What?”
Silverbolt moved his head to let his voice carry easier, one hand coming to curl over Wheeljack's on his shoulder. “Can we be there? I mean, I know we can't do anything to help build them, but... The others want to be- I want to be there when they're brought online.”
He considered that for a few moments. Five, well, four excitable youngling jets and one responsible one around five unpredictable sparklings? That was utter chaos just waiting to happen. “Sure, 'Bolt. I don't see why not.” Apparently content with his response, the large jet settled back to leaning against Wheeljack, systems humming quietly.
They stayed like that for a few breems before Silverbolt pulled away a little reluctantly, smiling at him as he slid off the bench. “I should get back to the others before they destroy something.” He said, tone falling into the mixture of exasperation and affection that always seemed to appear whenever he talked about his brothers. “Or wind up in the brig. Or find more of that tape.”
Wheeljack chuckled, dropping off the bench himself with a loud clank. “Those four are certainly a handful. Good luck.” He agreed, heading back to his latest invention while Silverbolt moved to leave the room, helm tilting as he possibly started talking to his brothers. Unbeknownst to the Lancia as he began fiddling with one faulty connection, the Concorde paused by the doorway, turning back with a curious look.
“Wheeljack?” The inventor looked up from the jumble of parts, earfins flashing questioningly. Taking that as his cue, Silverbolt continued, “The others wanted to know- do they have a name yet? We know they'll pick their own, but as a group.”
Humming thoughtfully, Wheeljack freed one hand to rub at his chin, a gesture he'd picked up from the television programs some mechs on the Ark kept going constantly. “Not as far as I know. They probably need one. Why, do you have something in mind?”
Silverbolt hesitated for a moment, obviously unsure whether to continue, but either his own resolve or his brother's prompting convinced him to keep talking. “Well, if they're supposed to be mostly defensive... What about the Protectobots?”
“The Protectobots...” Wheeljack murmured, testing the name on his vocalizer at the same time he turned it over in his processor. “I like it.”