[fic] Barbarosa
Title: Barbarosa
Rating: T
Series: Movieverse
Prompt: Demolisher/Sideways - that does *not* got there.
Summary: Demolishor tells Sideways a story, though it's not exactly about how the west was won.
Notes: I turned a cute prompt into something depressing. It's not necessary to be familiar with my story Best Laid Plans, as this fic can work as a stand alone. Also, Willie Nelson. Written for tf_rare_pairing .
Sideways ran as fast as his legs could take him. No one outruns me. So why was he always too late when it mattered? Too slow when it counted? And why couldn't he outrun the sight of Demolishor, crumpled on the pavement, wheels twisted out of place? Fear and horror, he realized, transcended such silly notions of speed.
“Demolishor!” He didn't care who heard him, didn't care if the enemy was retreating or advancing. He'd run across so many battlefields, completely ignorant to the danger around him, now wasn't any different. In the distance, he could hear and see the fight, the retort of weapons echoing over the concrete. Smoke climbed into the air, human buildings going up in flames like dry kindling.
All that he really saw, though, was the twitch of those shovel blade fingers when Demolishor heard his name. Hope flared in Sideways' spark, and he closed the distance between them with one last push of his gaited lope. Still, he sent out an emergency comm to all Decepticons active in the field - a medic was needed. Now.
Sideways launched himself up onto the shoulder cab of the downed excavator, like cresting a hill to reach Demolishor's head. He froze when he saw the damage, and Demolishor's optics were sluggish to look up at him and focus. Chunks of rocks and concrete slid off his face when he tilted his head, but he could move only so far. A great deal of his cranial armor was crumpled inward, shrapnel driven into the red metal. Sideways hadn't seen what had caused him to crash so badly, only Demolishor hitting the ground, and then not moving.
No time to waste - Sideways jumped down to the pavement next to Demolishor's head, hands twitching to get into something, repair anything. At least the maintenance console wasn't crushed, so Sideways plugged himself in, instantly hit with a wall of red alarms from Demolishor's system reports. He started with the obvious, checking any major fuel lines and following rivers of energon to open wounds. Demolishor watched him, somewhat aware, never once flinching when Sideways pinched bits of shrapnel out of his armor where he could.
“Sideways,” Demolishor's voice was tinny, and small. Smaller than Sideways felt. “Let me tell you a story.”
“O-okay,” Sideways said, hands slipping up the cables he was holding for a moment. Demolishor really wasn't doing well if he thought now was a good time for stories. Although... if he kept talking, that meant he was hanging on. He was buying himself time, so Sideways grabbed onto it. “What's it about?”
“Two outlaws,” Demolishor said, pausing as his vocalizer buzzed, then reset itself. “Both of them wronged by their families.”
Sideways hesitated, both because he wanted to concentrate on what he was doing, and because... a human story? Suddenly, Demolishor's injuries were overwhelming, an obstacle he could not overcome. He tugged at the cable strung between them, ensuring it was properly connected. Nothing on his diagnostics readout changed: Demolishor continued to slip further into the red. Red didn't feel like such a safe color anymore.
“How come?” Sideways asked, trying his best to keep his fingers from shaking. He could do this. He'd done it before. Demolishor trusted him, so he could trust himself. Frag! If only repairs were as easy as running!
“Oh, it's always a tragedy,” Demolishor said. “One was an accident, the other set up by his father-in-law. They met in the desert, you see. They helped each other, though the older one didn't really want the younger one around. He was clumsy. Couldn't catch an armadillo.”
“Okay,” Sideways nodded. Well, that made no sense. Humans made no sense. But Demolishor had to keep talking. “What happened?”
“They became friends.” Of course! Only humans could be enemies in one scene, then best friends in the next. Sideways shook his head, moving his attention to a bundle of cables he didn't recognize, but definitely looked out of place. “They became friends.”
Sideways didn't know what the significance of repeating that was, until he saw a good portion Demolishor's vitals were on their way to winking out permanently.
“That's a good story, Demolishor,” Sideways said, voice hitching as he worked faster to patch up the mess that was a leaking coolant line.
“It's not over. Don't you remember?” Demolishor asked. “We watched it together, when we were in Japan.”
Sideways dropped his head, wings flattening against his back. Why hadn't he paid closer attention to those movies? Demolishor put up with his terrible horror movies, even talked about them with him once they were done. Sideways just zoned out during the westerns, not caring about the cowboys, bandits, horses or dramatic rides into the sunset. How could he be so selfish? How could he deny Demolishor such a simple thing, when he indulged Sideways' every quirk?
“I'm sorry,” Sideways said. He couldn't lie to Demolishor on a good day, so why bother when he was dying? “I don't remember.”
When Demolishor did not respond, Sideways turned back the coolant line, wincing as part of the excavator's motor functions went into critical failure. Whatever tension or support had been left in his shoulders was released, and most of Demolishor went limp, joints hissing. He was giving up. All because Sideways couldn't remember what had happened to an outlaw and his clumsy friend.
“That does not go there,” Demolishor said suddenly, and Sideways jumped. But, he hadn't even...?
“What?”
“I told him that does not go there,” Demolishor repeated, speaking with the patience of thousand lifespans. Reliving a memory, maybe, of someplace far from here. Sideways tried not to notice how several of the words had started to slur together. “The power cable is near the spark chamber, up behind the optical feed.”
“Do you -”
“He died, in the end,” Demolishor said, and Sideways fell silent. Back to the outlaws? Well, let him talk. Nonsense or not, let him talk. “But he came back, you know. Full of life and youth and ready to ride again. They would know his name forever.”
“Did he ride off into the sunset?” Sideways asked, a smile somehow flashing across his face.
“No,” Demolishor said, and the smile was gone. Cowboys always rode off into the sunset - so why not this one? Maybe because he was an outlaw. Outlaws were hanged, right? Something like panic clutched at the Audi, a cold dread knotting in his tanks. “The sun had already set.”
“Oh,” Sideways ducked his head, hands tight on Demolishor's armor. Silence stretched on, and he found himself desperate for more. Anything, so long as Demolishor was still talking. “What - what was his name?”
“They called him - ” Demolishor said, facial plates grinding together in a grimace of pain, before relaxing. “Barbarosa.”
“Barbarosa,” Sideways repeated, the name burning into his cortex. 1982. Willie Nelson and Gary Busey. They were watching that movie again when this over. And this time he would remember every last painful little detail.
Sideways looked up, freezing when he locked optics with Demolishor. There was perfect clarity there, no confusion or denial about what was happening to him. He knew, but he wasn't scared. He looked worried, not for himself, but for Sideways. Selfless until the end. After a moment, the intensity faded, and Demolishor just looked worn down.
“Sideways,” Demolishor murmured, sounding as tired and far away as a dying sun. “Stay with me a little while.”
Oh, like he was going anywhere. Sideways hadn't heard so much as a gun shot since he'd started repairing Demolishor, but that didn't mean the fight had ended. There was nothing left for him to fix, as everything else was beyond his knowledge and expertise. Sideways pulled his cable out of Demolishor's jack, and then curled up next to him, resting against the curve of his mandibles. Hot air, smelling of ozone and burnt electricity washed over him as Demolishor vented a long, slow gust.
Sideways pressed his face into Demolishor's jawline, shoulders shaking down to the tips of his glass wings. He couldn't do this. Not alone. His comm request for a medic hadn't even been answered. Maybe that meant the Autobots had won, and they were coming this way. They hadn't been taking prisoners, so he could at least die with Demolishor.
He ran one hand along Demolishor's armor, soothingly, stopping to pull out a fragment of metal. A useless gesture, but he couldn't stand it being -
Sideways stared at the shrapnel in his hand. That does not go there. Sideways jerked upright, jumping to his feet and wheeling around to climb up Demolishor's face. Stupid, he berated himself, missing what Demolishor had been trying to tell him while he languished about not paying attention to him. He forced himself to ignore the darkened optics, clawing desperately at the armor of Demolishor's forehead. The power cable, the spark chamber, optical feed - there! The shrapnel was the same color as Demolishor's armor, wedged in at an awkward angle just above his optic. A fatal injury for someone who stored so many vital components in one spot.
Wiggling his fingers in as best he could, Sideways pried at the armor, his other hand tugging at the shrapnel. He didn't know if it had sliced anything open, but he could figure out what to do once it was out. The metal shard, however, had other ideas, and refused to budge. Sideways paused, just for a moment, collecting his rattled nerves. Don't panic, he told himself. Try again.
Clutching the shrapnel, Sideways heaved backwards with all his weight, but the shard held tight. He heaved again, and this time he felt it loosen, just a bit. Just enough to send some sort of crazy hope firing through his processors.
“Come on,” Sideways growled, giving it a hard wrench, shifting it under the armor. “Come on!”
The shard popped loose, and Sideways nearly toppled backwards, the momentum sending the metal flying out of his hand. It came out clean - no energon or coolant or vital fluids seeped from the wound. Sideways caught his balance just as Demolishor lurched beneath him, letting out a yelp as he fell, thumping against the twisted wheel. He crashed to the pavement, curling into a defensive position as the excavator shuddered around him, life surging through his frame once again.
Sideways looked up when he heard Demolishor's body relax, feeling a wash of hot air from his vents. He stood up, but hung back, uncertain. The shrapnel had likely been pinching or blocking something, but he wanted to give Demolishor room to recover.
“Well,” Demolishor wheezed, able to turn far enough to see Sideways below him. “You catch that armadillo?”
Sideways couldn't help it: he laughed, stepping forward to drape himself across Demolishor's face. The laugh ended with something a bit more hysterical, but he swallowed it before he started sobbing. He felt Demolishor's mandible scrape against his midsection, meant to comfort, and he clung tighter to the excavator. Here was Demolishor, brought back from the brink of death, attempting to soothe his friend. His clumsy friend that couldn't even catch an armadillo or remember a Willie Nelson movie.
But a friend, just the same.