-nothing intelligent to stick up here-
My bunny closet busted open about a month ago. While the ones in there, are still in there, the closet's not accepting anymore bunnies. So I started this thing (about a month ago? I'm sure the date on the file's not accurate), and it's turning out longer than I expected it to. Hopefully, I'll have the chance to finish it before the week's out (not counting on it).
Bluestreak bunnies.
They bite.
Hard.
Title Three Small Words
Characters Bluestreak, Starscream, Jazz, Prowl, Sunny'n Siders
Okami's Multi-verse This loosely ties into Silver Purity, Cursed Crimson (loosely, because it's one of those things you just don't talk about), and in turn Privileges of Rank loosely ties into this. (it makes sense... really :/) Of note, this happens before Privileges of Rank (and there goes any sense of chronology).
Summary It's a really bad day for Bluestreak. (summary will improved on)
Warnings Non-graphic torture in this part, guess it might be a tad on the dark side.
I hate it.
I hate their faces leering down at me. I hate their hands on me, in me; drawing sounds from my broken and wrecked lips and static-ridden vocalizer that I don’t want to make. I hate that they laugh at me; at my whimpers and moans, and they work to draw out more. And-Oh Primus-it hurts, it hurts, and there’s nothing good about it.
I scream.
I scream and I scream, my voice breaking and buzzing, shrilling as they wrench at my insides, teasing me, laughing at my broken cries. I scream and even though I’m surrounded there is no one to hear me. I scream, but not because I’m frightened (though Primus knows I’m terrified) or from the pain (even though my systems surge and shriek with each horrid twist), but because I am angry. I scream with rage and indignation, because they are doing this to me and I can’t do a slagging thing. And it’s all building up inside and there is no other way for me to let it out. So I scream. I scream at the sky, I scream at them, I scream at my helplessness; my face soaked in tears that drip into the rents on my cheeks, sending threads of burning pain through my circuits.
And the entire time he is standing there, watching me with those burning red optics. A sneer curls his lips, dental plates glinting white in the dim light of the abandoned moonbases. He’s almost like a sparkshade, with his red optics set into his black face, haloed by his ethereal white wings. And even though he was only watching now, it was him that had run his fingers through my doorwings, taking them apart piece by piece. His whispered words replayed through my cortex.
“I know you, Autobot. You watched your whole city get razed to the ground, your friends cut down before your eyes. Buildings tumbled around you, and you were so lost.” His red optics had brightened with excitement; his gaze drifting as he lost himself in his memories. Finally his attention returned to me. “You were so alone. Do you remember, Autobot? Do you remember when I spared you.”
“I’m not going to talk. You can’t make me talk. I won’t talk to you and you can’t make me talk.”
A snicker had hissed past his dental plates. “Talk? Who says we want to hear you talk, Autobot?” The other two, larger mechs-triplechangers- laughed at me. His finger curled on my doorwings, digging into the circuitry that lay underneath the metal plating. “We want to hear you scream, Autobot. Surrender and scream for us.”
Now he stood there, arms crossed and he watched me. His voice scraped out, encouraging my two tormentors, directing them when I made particular sounds, having them repeat whatever horrid thing it was so he could hear it again. Oh yes, I screamed, and the only satisfaction I got was that it wasn’t in fear. Even if they didn’t know it, even if they thought it. I knew, I knew why I screamed.
And I was ashamed of my anger.
And then he knelt down- my tormentors never ceasing their work-and he pulled my battered head onto his thigh. His smile almost turned soft, if I didn’t know who he was-what he was- I’d think it was soft, kind. But the purple insignia on his red and white wings was a constant reminder of who he was-what he was. He stroked a hand down my face. Oh Primus, don’t touch me, you slagger. Not like that. I can’t bear that kind of contact. But his hands traced my cheek seams, skipping over the rents in my face.
“Here you are. So alone, so lost again.” His face drew closer to me, his lips brushing my chevron in a familiar way that pulled a weak cry of objection from my vocalizer. “And this time you're no neutral with the potential to become a Decepticon. You are an Autobot.
I glared up at him, my vocalizer hitching and glitching on its own. “Slaggers... destroyed... my home.” My voice spat and fizzled, breaking my words into a series of grunts and groans. The larger of the two triplechangers snarled and slapped his hand onto my leg. I don't know what he did, but pain knifed through my systems, originating from my broken legs and spreading upward. I screamed, twisted fingers curled into fists as best as I could make them.
He said nothing until I finally quieted to whimpers and moans, the sky spinning above me. My hands remained clenched at my side; pressed against the ground as pain continued to tremor through me.
“Why, Autobot, I’d almost think that you hated us!” His words came out in mocking surprise. His laughter, their laughter jarred my battered body. “Aren’t Autobots supposed to be the purveyors of love and peace. What a failure.”
And I screamed.
Suddenly an explosion rattled the ground and one of my tormentors wailed, his body clanging to the ground.
“Get off him, Deceptiscum!”
I could hear the sound of gunfire, and lights flashed on the edges of my vision. Starscream wailed, staggering to his feet, dropping my head and it banged to the ground, blitzing the world in static. Feet pounded around me, kicking me in a flurry of careless retreat. The distinct sounds of transformations being initiated and the scream of engines powering up and roaring away heralded an end to the noise.
The silence was as deafening as the noise had been, broken only by a subtle shifting of metal on metal, and the broken rasp of my ventilators.
I stared up at the sky, not daring to hope that my torture had ended.
A chevroned, winged shadow knelt down next to me, silently looking over my body.
Prowl.
His mouth twisted with emotion as he reached for something out of my line of sight.
My vocalizer buzzed with a moan as I felt the stinging touch of his hand on my injuries.
He glanced up at my face, his optics widened and he pulled his hand back with a sharp jerk. “Bluestreak?” And suddenly there was nothing to be read from his expression, but cool calculation.
I moaned again, trying to get words out of my vocalizer, but it hissed and spat mockingly at my efforts.
Footsteps with a steady, familiar cadence approached and another mech knelt by my head. “Are ya still with us, Blue?”
My fingers scrape and skitter over the debris-littered ground as I reached for them. “NnJazz, Prrowwl.” The simple motions of moving my arms drove energon blades through my shoulders and down my door hinges.
A reassuring smile pulled at Jazz’s lips and he grasped my hand, hard at first, but his grip relaxed as he glanced down to see how damaged my hand was. “Shh, it’s okay, Blue. We gotcha, now.” His head twitched toward Prowl, before he curled the fingers of his free hand around my dented knuckles. “Say somethin', Prowl.” I wondered if they knew I could hear them.
Prowl took my other hand, his doorwings twitching as he moved closer. “You’re safe, Bluestreak.”
A roar overlaid any response I might have made.
The roar of jet engines.
Decepticons!
I cried out, in fright, in anger, twisting my broken frame in an effort to move away, but the two black and white mechs held me down with minimal effort.
“Sideswipe, as soon as you're a safe distance from the ground, deactivate your rockets. You're frightening him.”
The noise ended abruptly, succeeded by a clang of something heavy dropping a short distance.
“Primus, he’s still online?” Sideswipe’s normally cheerful voice sounded harsher; almost hissing in anger. He must have seen them off with his rocket pack. That's what I'd heard, not the Decepticons returning.
But if Sideswipe was here, then Sunstreaker must surely be around. Why hadn’t he said anything?
“Bluestreak, you’ll be alright. As you are right now, there’s a 67% chance that you will expire before we can get you to Ratchet .”
Jazz stared at Prowl, his mouth set in a tight grimace, his hand all but squeezed my own. “Prowl,” he said in the most menacing tone I’d ever heard him use, “that ain’t somethin’ he needs to hear.”
Prowl didn’t even look at the saboteur. “If you would permit Sideswipe to clamp your leaks, and allow Jazz or myself to remove the inhibitor preventing you from turning off your pain receptors, then it will only be a 48% chance.” His fingers brushed my chevron. He finally glanced up at Jazz. “We will have to transport you to Ratchet. He is unable come here.”
“Perceptor? Wheeljack?”
At each name Prowl shook his head, his face finally revealing emotion; his lips set in a grim line. “Sideswipe, get over here.” He released my hand, sending a surge of panic through my systems as I thought he was abandoning me. Jazz’s reassuring touch calmed me as Prowl spoke to Sideswipe. And then Prowl was back at my side, holding my hand as Sideswipe set to work on my chestplate and torso.
Prowl and Jazz’s calm presence, their tight grips kept me from panicking as everything Sideswipe did hurt, sending waves of agony throughout my frame. I couldn’t process anything but the throbbing of my systems, my audio sensors buzzing with the feedback of too much trauma. But I knew that the two officers spoke (argued, actually) over my head, to each other, and to the two warriors who accompanied them.
Prowl’s grip suddenly disappeared from my hand and I blindly groped for it, whimpering as someone tugged and pulled at my midsection.
“Shh, Blue, Prowl’s still there, he’s just gettin’ the inhibitor off.” Jazz’s cool hand cupped my cheek, gently pulling my head onto his thigh. So I grabbed at Jazz’s hand with my free one, and he quietly collected both my hands into his, pressing them together comfortingly.
“Bluestreak, deactivate your pain receptors. We need to get you out of here. You need a medic, and this location is not secure.”
I nodded hazily, still aware of Sideswipe's continued work on my legs. One by one I turned the tactile sensors off.
“Sideswipe, are you almost finished clamping those lines.” Prowl's gaze turned from the clawed adapter in his hand to the red warrior.
“Just about. Still have a few leaking. But they're not much.” Sideswipe paused and Prowl leaned over to look. “I think he'll be fine with these few lines open. As long as nothing else happens,” Sideswipe's voice dropped in volume, as though he didn't want me to know the information.
Prowl leaned further over my legs, his doorwings twitching. “It will have to do.” He returned to my head. “Bluestreak, Jazz is going to take you to the camp. Are your pain receptors deactivated?”
I nodded, wincing as even that small motion worked it’s way down my spinal relay. “My legs... and side.” I couldn’t see past my chestplate. I couldn’t see what the Decepticons had done to me. “No response.” My vocalizer hissed and buzzed and I wondered how much longer it would last, before it failed completely.
Prowl touched my shoulder and my chevron again. “It will have to do.” He squeezed my shoulder plate. “I need to rendezvous with Smokescreen.” He stood, moving away as Jazz gathered my frame into his arms.
“I could carry him.”
I couldn’t see Sunstreaker, and I was surprised it had taken him so long to speak. But not as surprised as I was at what he said. I'm certain I was a leaking, ragged mess.
“Negative. Your hands need to be free in case the Decepticons notice you are with wounded. You are Jazz's escort, you are more suited to the position. Get going. Sideswipe, you're with me.” Prowl suited action to words, transforming, and though I couldn't see him, I heard Sideswipe transform, and the sound of their gunning engines as they moved away.
Jazz straightened, a smile still on his face, though it looked strained. “Let's get you back to camp.” Jazz's grip tightened as he started forward.
Every step spiked through my system and I couldn't help the glitched cries that grunted out of my vocalizer. I clung to Jazz with my broken hands, the twisted metal leaving long scratches on his chestplate and shoulders, and I'm sure it hurt, but he didn't even grimace. Sunstreaker's constant sensor sweeps pinged off my own arrays, muddling the damaged sensors so that I no longer had any idea of where we were. Every time Jazz shifted his grip, and his fingers scraped against the remains of my doorwings, I had to stifle the urge to cry louder.
The last thing I wanted was to call any Decepticons nearby, to draw their attention. No, no no, I didn't want that. I didn't want to be back there with them again, impotent anger heating my circuits and pain knifing through my sensors. And before I know it tears are running down my face, dripping into the rips on my cheeks
“Do ya know where we are, Blue?” Jazz's voice drew me out of my thoughts. When I shook my head, happy for something else to focus my attention on, he continued. “This is Center Scion, there used to be an open air gallery just a little ways from here. They displayed everythin' from gestalt-sized statues, to hanging paintin's. Sunny used to have a few pieces here, didn't ya?” Jazz suddenly turned toward the Toughline.
“Probably,” Sunstreaker answered, raising no objections to the subject matter being brought up, or Jazz's use of his hated nickname.
“Think I remember seein' some'a your pieces there.”
My memory drives whirred as I tried to remember if I'd ever been to that gallery before. Because anything was better than thinking about what happened. “Fountain,” I managed after a klik of silence.
“Yeah, there used to be an oil fountain in the middle of it, and there was a big to-do about making sure the wind didn't blow in the wrong direction and ruin any of the artwork. They even had a shield that would shift to block the spray whenever the wind blew. It was a genius piece of design.” Jazz continued to describe the way the the light hit the oil mixture at any time of the day. I let his voice,roll over my audio sensors, delighting in the way it rumbled through his frame in a playful rhythm. Any time he paused, or faltered, I would moan to encourage him to continue. I think, I think I knew then why Blaster loved to listen to Jazz speak, because my limbs twitched with the lilt in his words, and it was soothing and it was calming.
And distracting.
The entire time I expected Sunstreaker to speak up and tell Jazz to shut up, or at least contribute his opinion on the way the colors conflicted with the artwork. But he didn't say a word, and as he moved around Jazz to scout the area I would catch glimpses of him, and catch him glancing at me. Was that concern? But it couldn't be, because this was Sunstreaker, and the only one he really cared about was Sideswipe. He told me I talked too much all the time and Sideswipe would tell him to shut up and they almost always ended up in a fight. What was Jazz talking about again?
He'd grown silent, I realized. The reassuring flow of words no longer there to beguile my fright, and hold my thoughts in calm waters. I moaned at him, wanting him to continue in whatever it was he was talking about. He shushed me gently, his gaze following the sensor sweeps coming from Sunstreaker. He'd slowed down, his steps quiet, stealthy. I realized that he was almost scraping a building, pressing into the shadow it would create on sensors.
Sunstreaker was in front of us, gun in hand, peering around a corner.
“There's three of them. I could take them.”
Jazz sidled around the golden mech, keeping me behind the warrior's back as he peeked around the taller mech's arm. “Nuh uh. We're tryin' ta get Blue back in one piece. I ain't settin' him down fer nothin'.”
The thought of being left behind for even an astrosecond had me scrambling to grip the edges of Jazz's chestplate, my broken fingers noisy on his plating.
He hastily moved away, telling me to hush, his hands twitching on my plating. “Y' can hear us, huh?” He smiled reassuringly as I nodded. “Don't worry, I ain't gonna leave you.”
I knew that if Jazz said he wouldn't leave me, then I was safe. Jazz never let anyone down.
“They heard him.” I could hear the charge of Sunstreaker's gun. “Go. I'll be right behind you.”
“Who's the officer here again? ” Yet Jazz was moving away from the golden mech.
Sunstreaker slid a glance over his shoulder. “The one who knows how to fight.” A smirk pulled his mouth up and he turned his head and strode out to meet the Decepticons, guns blazing.
Jazz waited for a bare klik, before he moved down the alleyway, pulling me closer as he squeezed past large generators that no longer function, or debris fallen from the crumbling buildings. He edged around corners, clutching me closely as he peered around the corners.
I muted my vocalizer, not wanting to distract Jazz as he slipped around the nearby battle. Though could it really be called a battle with those odds. I hoped Sunstreaker would make it out okay, he didn't say what models they were. If any of them were triplechangers... I hastily tried to turn my thoughts to something else, something that didn't involve the clanging of metal or the angry shouts that were so nearby.
Like the fountain that Jazz was telling me about. I tried to pull it up from my memory banks, but the noise of the battle pulled at me.
The sound of gunfire multiplied into an endless cacophony in my processor. The battle cries turned into screams for help, and the buildings around me burned with missile fire, and glowed with spilled energon. Jazz's hasty, jarring motions became distant ground-shaking explosions.
My ventilator wheezed, and my vocalizer switched back on. A moan escaped my throat, leeching out from between my dental plates. The world shifted.
“Blue?”
I shook, not wanting to look up. I didn't want to see anymore. I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to watch it all happen again.
“Hey, hey now. Don't do this, Blue. We're almost there.”
I whimpered, unable to manage any words, but I wanted to make him understand. I wasn't here.
I was back on that building, watching the Decepticon triplechanger come roaring toward me.
I was back in my city, watching my friends, watching strangers fall.
I was back there, with Starscream, and his two subordinates.
“'S okay, Blue. You're with friends. I'm here, I ain't gonna let any harm come to ya.”
Jazz's pace increased, and suddenly he swung himself around a corner, not even stopping to scan ahead. His ventilator rushed to cool his systems, and he pressed himself against the wall, peeking around the corner, back the way we'd come.
I could hear the soft tread of footsteps and Jazz scraped down the wall into a half crouch, freeing one hand for his gun.
“It's just me.”
Jazz's grip on the gun tightened, but he leaned further around the corner. A relieved sigh vented from his chest, the air rushing painfully over my frame.
My receptors were turning back on. They must have timed out after receiving no information for so long. Sensors were not meant to be turned off for an extended period of time. They stayed on for a reason, and Ratchet would always yell and scream if anyone tried to leave their sensors off for too long.
Sunstreaker appeared, his plating shredded and dented. The energon smeared across his frame gave him a feral look. He glanced at me, before he looked to Jazz. “We need to get out of here.”
Jazz nodded once, and he spared another look around the corner, before breaking into a sprint down the street. I knew he was keeping his gait as even as he could, but still knives of pain flashed through my damaged torso and legs. I had to click my vocalizer off again so I didn't cry out again.
The journey faded into a series painful runs, succeeded by terrifying clashes, succeeded by yet more painful running. It all melded together in my cortex, the damage too great for my processor to identify just one source, to separate it.
I didn't even notice when Jazz slowed down, until he started shouting at someone.
“I need a medic! I have wounded!”
I stared at the smoke-filled sky, my vocalizer long since activated and grating out noise after pitiful noise.
I caught a glimpse of a cross-bearing mech guiding Sunstreaker away, muttering about open leaks and torn pulleys, weighing them against what it would take to get the golden warrior fighting fit again. I knew they would take care of Sunstreaker first, get him patched up and send him right back out.
Jazz was following someone.
He talked hastily of what he saw, of what Sideswipe did, of the inhibitor that Prowl removed from my frame. He calculated just how much energon he had seen pooled around me, and how much he suspected I'd lost on the trip here.
I let Jazz's voice lull me into a comforting state, half into shut down, the pain the only thing keeping me online.
End Part 1