Jet Seeking
WHO: Jetfire, Ironhide, maybe a Drift
WHAT: Ironhide and others search for Jetfire after THIS.
WHERE: Back alleys of zone 2.
WHEN: ....now? As soon as the robots are turned back to normal.
WARNINGS/NOTES: Locked to people who know they are involved; potential wibble-fest and trauma within?
( The memory now is like the picture was then;
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again )
WHAT: Ironhide and others search for Jetfire after THIS.
WHERE: Back alleys of zone 2.
WHEN: ....now? As soon as the robots are turned back to normal.
WARNINGS/NOTES: Locked to people who know they are involved; potential wibble-fest and trauma within?
( The memory now is like the picture was then;
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again )
Not once. Even when he'd been human, he'd gone looking for the alleyway. He'd watched the feed so many times, he had the transmission memorized, looking for any sign of something familiar. Nothing. No sign of the little one anywhere. They had to be alive--there had to be some sign of them. Something.
And now that he was his rightful self, it was easier to patrol. Easier to push his frame beyond its limits. He wasn't going to give up. Not until he knew for sure one way or another. He'd lost track of how many days he'd been out here--he hadn't been back to the apartment since waking up in his rightful form. He wasn't going to let this happen. He was going to find the little ones, and destroy the one responsible. They didn't deserve this... they were his to protect.
But even his huge body had limits. He had to stop, or collapse. He transformed, pausing for a moment to lean against the mouth of an alleyway, waiting for overtaxed systems to cool down.
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He gave his arm a shake, making a sound of displeasure. It needed to get off his cannon. That was sensitive equipment. Why would it be here? Shouldn't it be off with its masters? Or one of them, anyway. "The little ones keep it as a pet," he said, suddenly thoughtful. He stared down at it for a long moment, frowning heavily. "Why would it be..."
A glance back at Drift. Ironhide didn't know how intelligent this thing was, but it couldn't hurt. And if he looked like an idiot for talking to an animal, he doubted Drift was one to spread it around. "You seen Jetfire, creature?" he growled, fixing it with a stare.
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At the question, it froze, perking up and staring at Ironhide, peeping unhappily.
Finally, with a searching stare, it leapt off Ironhide's arm, wings unfurling as it took off down the alley.
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What's more, it seemed to understand what was asked of it. "Follow it." Though, it was likely the statement wasn't needed. There was a brief moment where Drift hesitated, however- let Ironhide go first, and risk him barreling into a delicate situation? Or, go first himself?
He went with the former, waiting for the weapons master to make his move. He could outmaneuver the older mech if he had to.
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Once it took off, he wasn't far behind, pounding down the alleyway after it. Drift's statement only helped cement it in his processor--this was what they needed to do. He'd chase this stupid reptile across the city if he had to.
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Two turns and a dead end away, the little thing meeped out a plaintive trill, fluttering down to dart between a half dozen massive L-shaped pipes protruding from both a building wall and from the ground to the sewer below. Staring out at his followers from the shadowed crevice behind them, the firelizard curled up protectively on a orange colored helm.
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Ironhide didn't outright smash through them, but whoever owned the building nearby was going to have something of a problem with their plumbing the way he was barreling past them. He snarled something, forcing a shoulder around one of the larger ones. A few pipes weren't getting in his way. Not when there was a little one to find. The big Autobot didn't stop until he spotted the bright armor.
And then he knelt, reaching a hesitant hand toward the jet. Was he alive...? He had to be.
"Jetfire..."
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In the meantime, he merely hung back, keeping a wary optic out for potential trouble.
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Jetfire, meanwhile...wasn't dead, at least. He wasn't gray with death, and other then a few dents and scrapes, appeared whole... But he made no notice of Ironhide's voice or even his loud movements, or his pet's quick retreat. Optics dim, he only sat, curled up and silent and hidden between what was left of the pipes.
A quiet 'tap' was Ironhide's only answer, Jetfire's helm slowly rocking forward bonelessly to knock against the nearest pipe. And again. And again.
And again.
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"Little one..." His voice was rougher than normal, low. As if he would break the young Autobot just by speaking too loud. "Hey... c'mon..."
He inched closer, reaching a big, scarred hand for the huddled form. Even if he suddenly ignited, it would be better than this. He moved to collect the jet, just to lift him up into his heavy arms. Contact--something--maybe that would help. This had to be repairable. If it wasn't... Ironhide didn't know what he was going to do.
Please... answer me...
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Drift stepped back and out of the way as Ironhide moved to withdraw the young jet from his hiding place.
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He was just...broken.
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Not this.
"He lives," he murmured, turning slowly toward Drift. There was no relief in the statement.
No, the fact that Jetfire was alive was of small comfort. He had no idea what was wrong, he had even less of an idea how to go about fixing it. All he could do was straighten up, his worn joints creaking with age and sudden fatigue, holding the jet close to his scarred chest. Optics shuttered.
And vow that he would make Soundwave hurt for this. Prime's truce or no, the Decepticon would be made to suffer. How, he didn't know. He didn't even particularly care. Cold rage settled over the ache in his spark.
No one touched what was his, without a price.
"Need a medic," was all he said aloud.
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"I know someone," he said finally, shifting his gaze to meet Ironhide's. "The mech Perceptor and I work for keeps a medic in his employ- they're good. Very good." Ratchet, either one, might have been an option, but to be honest he trusted his coworker, a long-time resident of the nexus, to understand Malgans and the workings thereof more than he did the other two.
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If he appeared to lean ever so faintly into the warmth of the larger bot's chest plates...well. It could have just been the angle. Probably just the angle.
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"Take us there," he said, stepping towards Drift. There was no question in his tone. If the white 'Bot knew a place to go, he would follow. No questions asked. "Quickly."
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