Erase and start again.

[iplaywinner]

WHO: Jetstorm and Anyone
WHAT: Jetstorm returns to the 'bots, visiting his brother and trying to resettle
WHERE: A clinic in Zone 2, the Auto-base, wandering around...
WHEN: Now-ish
WARNINGS/NOTES: Pretty much anyone can interact with him here, I don't mind. He'll mostly be at his brother's bedside, but I imagine that, until Jetfire wakes up and

Comments

[show_my_cannons]

Between searching for Sari, and hauling Optimus to the medic's, he hadn't had a chance to get back and check on the clinic situation for a long while. The change of scenery had been... helpful, at least. Getting his processor briefly off of things, letting him actually do something other than sit and wait for a little jet to wake up. Or pretend to be recharging when Jazz ordered it

[iplaywinner]

Jetstorm was curled up on the berth, nestled easily next to Jetfire even though it was only meant for one.

That bothered him.

But it wasn't anything compared to the spike of worry that flared as he recognized the uneven steps approaching, and knew exactly who was about to enter.

Subconsciously, he tensed...

And then Ironhide was there, and staring, and he was staring back at the old, black warrior, optics wide and bright behind his cassette-visor--

And metal lips pursed. Hesitantly, he held out a hand, entreating the Tyran to come closer but terrified he'd refuse.

"Spiky-Cannons-bot..."

He winced.

"Is being me."

[show_my_cannons]

No. Just... no. This couldn't be. It just couldn't be. This was some cruel joke. He was so tired, he was hallucinating all of this. He wasn't looking at this.

Belatedly, he realized he'd been sagging against the door frame, his fingers digging into it, hard enough to dent it. There was a vice around his spark, his frame suddenly aching.

What had that thing done...?

He didn't want to believe this. He didn't want to see this. But the voice... no one here spoke like that. No one but his little ones... He felt himself shake his head once, his foot stepping backward of its own volition. No. It couldn't--Why hadn't anyone told him

[iplaywinner]

He could read that expression, so easily--and though Ironhide didn't waver, it didn't stop him from whimpering, quietly, as the larger mech took a step back...

Knowing exactly what was going to happen now. Ironhide was going to leave, or call him a 'con, or tell him to leave, or throw him out, and he couldn't take that. He couldn't take any of this, anymore, and he winced.

And then familiar, warm hands were taking his, and he could only look back...

And he just clinged, desperately, reaching out, letting the relief wash over him and just nodding to the pet-name, not even bothering to correct him as he'd done so many, many times.

"Is...being true now, Iron-bot. But am still Jetstorm, I am promising..."
His grip tightened on his name, and he buried his head against the Tyran.

"Th...thank you, too. For finding brother..."

[okiefordokey]

Systems crash in 3...
...2
...1

REBOOT.

...

...Error.

Memory files incompatible with programming files Elite.prog.safe_635-889
Lockdown beginning...

Critical Error...

Files Elite.prog.safe_721-889 conflict with current core personality directives.
Spa.rk_core readings conflict with memory files.
Reroute: incomplete.
Conflicts...incompatible.

Systems crash in 3...
...2
...1

REBOOT.

...

...Error.

It...hurt.

In the brief moments of lucidness between cycles, it hurt.  If the medics hadn't manually shunted him in to recharge, he'd still be banging his head against the nearest wall as his core processor rebooted and crashed over and over again.

But everything was so empty inside, anyway.

It was easier to stay asleep.  The processor loop didn't hurt as much as his half of a spark did.

Brother was dead.And he didn't know how he was still alive

[iplaywinner]

The longer he stayed next to brother, the more he knew something was wrong.

He could feel his spark, if he turned off his optics and focused...

But he couldn't ping their special Chanel, and wasn't hearing the fast echo of Jetfire's thoughts, and couldn't connect up to find out what was wrong or to entice his brother forward.

It was so, so lonely--being right here and not being able to be as close as they were supposed to be--like watching a vid of Brother and not actually seeing Brother in person.

But it wasn't.

And he snuggled in closer, pulling an orange and white arm around until he could place it over his own chest....looking up at Jetfire and missing him, willing him to come back....needing him to come back, so they could be whole again...

[okiefordokey]

It was hard, without a direct connection, to know what he was feeling was real.

But as the feeling lingered nearby again, tempting - close, up against plating, bringing with it tiny warmth and a sense of longing...

He wanted. Needed that other half.

Conflicts...incompatible.

Systems crash in 3...
...2
...2
...2

-Err0r.

...Might be his last chance. Had to wake up. Had to. Needed to. -Am being so, so sorry brother, please forgiving me-!

C0re p3rson@1ity %irect!ves pr!ori+y overrid3 initi@ted.
Elite.pr0g.s@fe_721-889 system5 crash det3cted.

...

Priority Override: complete.

For a long, long moment, the only outward sign was a faint whirring sound of quiet, idling electronics and systems humming back online; the tiny flicker of metal optic lenses focusing before lighting up.

Then fingers twitched against blue plating.

[iplaywinner]

It almost wasn't enough for him to notice...

And then, suddenly, it really, really was, because there had been a twitch.

A real twitch, and he was promptly turning, promptly planting himself on top of Jetfire and shaking his shoulders.

"BROTHER. BROTHER, IS THAT BEING YOU? YOU ARE NEEDING TO BE WAKING UP, NOW."

If he could will any harder, he'd do that, too.

[inferiordude]

It was almost Frenzy and Rumble, all over again.

It feels like stellar-cycles ago now. Maybe it is, for all the time he's spent here and back. At the same time, he can think of Rumble, think of when he was still online, and that seems as if he'd just seen the young 'Con the day before. It's... really odd, how memories and sorrow intertwine, but he's never been one to define his emotions.

No, Soundwave just feels them as they come. Let them feel and then he can keep on going.

This, though. It's far more personal than he's vocalized to anyone. There's just no reason to make it sound like it's about him, because it's not. It's about them. The brothers, the twins.

The other Soundwave, what he did -- it was stupid and selfish. Maybe a little sympathetic, but it's still no excuse. You don't hurt someone to get what you want. Even if you miss... people

[iplaywinner]

He'd been laying for so long at that point, trying to reconcile all thoughts within his brain into something that made sense that his small engine had started whining in distress...

...and he'd realized that it had been a while, since he'd recharged inside of a large, blue tape-deck.

It caused him to shudder, not...even knowing what he was doing now, caught between wanting to get up and ask the doctor how he was even supposed to recharge, and not wanting to leave brother's side...

And then Soundwave walked in.

Jetstorm was on his feet in an instant, standing on the berth, looking completely ready to flee but significantly grounded by the orange jet behind him that he was not going to leave alone for Soundwave to convert, ready to try fighting if he had to and knowing that if Soundwave gave him an order, he wouldn't be able to resist

[inferiordude]

Trauma, he understands. Oh, absolutely. For the longest time, he could not stand to hear Optimus Prime's voice because it reminded him of the other one. Now he's adjusted. Now he can't even look at Ratchet without wanting to purge his tanks.

Jetstorm's reaction isn't offensive. He understands completely. As such, he slowly sets himself onto his knees, keeping his hands up in the air.

"Eh?" There's a confused flicker in his blue visor, then his frame trembles before he laughs a little. "Well, it's m'name, little dude, but I ain't the one that... that did this. I promise ya."

[iplaywinner]

"No."

He shook his head, relaxing slowly but not yet coming off-guard.

"You are...to be sounding...like he is, but also you are not."

But he also...still...was, and even though he 'belonged' to the other one, he could sense the nearness of a compatible tape-deck, and thought on how tired he was, and--

Promptly thought about how terrifying that had been, for one night, and shivered, sitting back down next to brother.

"...I am..not knowing nearly enough about Cassettes. If...you are not being of evil-badness-bots, then...
...
can you be telling me?
How...I am to be recharging, and why...you...
...are feeling like I can be trusting you?"

(going for the 'later, wandering around' option)

[teh_koptur]

Blackout has gotten kicked out of, well, politely asked to leave the employment agency. It isn't his fault that he got excited about the list of jobs they'd given him and flared his rotors and...knocked over their coffee machine. He clutches the printout in his hand--he can't really read all that good. He's hoping to find someone who will help.

He droops as a bit more coffee drips off one of his rotors. Sad copter is sad. He sits down on the curb, watching the mechs walk by....

(woo!)

[iplaywinner]

The wall of a robot walking next to him is so huge that he'd not really registered it as a robot at all so much as a building with two legs...

And that had been fine with him, for all that every robot was now so, so much taller.

However, he was also used to normally drifting around at optic level, which evened the scale, and suddenly the shifting wall made to sit down, and he found himself suddenly caught behind him, circuits buzzing with consternation at having almost been squished.

Except these were rotors, and he recognized rotors...reaching out to wipe a bit of some brown, dripping substance off of them, trying not to be reminded of Blackout-con.

"...is...looking like you may be needing of a wash." He sighed, navigating out of the Malgian to look up at him.

[teh_koptur]

Oh no! Blackout winced. "I'm sorry, little mech. I didn't mean to drip on you and stuff. I...kinda mess up that kind of thing a lot."

Well, at least he didn't squish the tiny mech. That would be bad, and then all that pride he'd had telling Megatron he hadn't stepped on someone would be wrong. Which was not cool.

He'd never seen this mech before, but that wasn't saying much. The mechs he did recognize he could count on one hand--and his frame type didn't have that many fingers! But at least the little blue mech didn't sound angry or nothin'. In fact, he kinda sounded sad. You sighed when you were sad, right?

"You...okay? I can find you a washrack and take you there and stuff?"

[iplaywinner]

"...."

Jetstorm just stared for a few moments, looking at the bot from his uniquely warped perspective and not missing the purple Decepticon symbol several head-heights above him.

It...was a Malgian rotor-craft.

A Malgian...Blackout.

"Is...okay. Am still getting used to this, and..."

He couldn't help but make a face at the idea of a wash-rack, though.

"Why are you having of drips, anyhow?" He looked at his now-coated hand, shaking it off, thinking it didn't have quite the right consistency for oil...

[calledthemedic]

Prime had sent along the coordinates and Ratchet hadn't wasted time - though he had spent a few moments contacting Santori and making sure his credentials with the hospital would carry weight with the clinic. It helped to be working for the very best, at least in some ways, and they assured him he'd have no problems.

That was good. Ratchet wasn't much in the mood for any problems at all.

The clinic was a good one, and Ratchet appreciated the medics and doctors' professionalism as he was directed, lightly questioned, and given the files he requested. Jetfire was in bad shape, but they'd stabilized him well enough and frankly the medics here were more familiar with Malgians (even if they hadn't seen programming changes like Ratchet had, because they never looked) than he was. Jetfire had a good chance of repair with the return of his brother, Ratchet suspected, but it would be some time to see. And Jetstorm was why Ratchet was here, now

[iplaywinner]

There'd been mechs walking in and out for most of the day, especially Doctors. He'd had enough time to notice the different ways they walked--the differences between quick, light footsteps that carried them in quickly and back out quickly, to the heavy, considering ones that looked like they had too much on their processors already.

Ratchet fell right in the middle of this, and it startled him, briefly, when a familiar face walked in, confident but not hurried.

He didn't even feel the scan.

"...Medic-bot! ...is...is being good to see you!" He sat up, noticing the way Ratchet's optics didn't even flicker at his new body, and wondering if that was because he looked Primaxian, now.
"...Prime is wondering...if...you can maybe be helping me."

[calledthemedic]

"It's good to see you too, Jetstorm." Ratchet smiled at the jet-turned-cassette and offered out a hand, stepping right next to the berth and seemingly undisturbed by the pair resting on it. "Prime asked me to take a look at you, yes, and I'm sure there's a few things I can help you with right now. I'd like to do a full scan of your processor first though, if that's all right?"

For Prime: to see if Soundwave had left anything (though Ratchet doubted the player would have to one of his own cassettes) and for himself: to see just how the reprogramming of the cassettes processor had carried over (if at all) into the new body.

[iplaywinner]

"...if you can be helping now, am not objecting..." He looked at the hand in surprise at the direct-ness...

But it wasn't so different from Red Alert, back on his Cybertron, and he'd let her into his head to check several times. He'd let this Ratchet in before, too, so it would be fine now, right?

"...am...not sure how you can be to connecting, though." He poked at his chest, and at the back of his neck. "The leads...are all being different. Am still learning this body."