Nanosnipmo - Day 30
Picking up again right where we left off! Warning for a bit of self-harm in this one.
“Aid,” the pale blue-and-black fire truck said in a hoarse, strangled voice, moving towards him. He froze, though, as First Aid slid away from them, pressing himself against the storage units, vent rate increasing.
The black-and-white scout grabbed the other, voice shaking. “Slow down, he can’t...you’ve got to...Hot Spot, he’ll just fight us right now...please.” The fire truck sank to his knees with an anguished half sob, optics locked on First Aid, watching as almost imperceptible tremors shook his armor. First Aid’s faceplates were no longer calm, but locked in a strange, intense stillness of expression.
The helo model struggled towards him but the cycleformer held him back, although they were both weeping. “Shhh, Blades...easy. Don’t freak him out.”
“Aid!” the helo shouted, breaking free. First Aid scrambled away as if Decepticons were after him, overturning containers of supplies, then turned like a trapped turbofox, crouched as if to run. The helo let out a cry of despair, curling in on himself, and the other three mechs moved to support him. They all clutched one another in a desperate tangle in the doorway.
“Move. So he...can go,” the cycleformer spoke, forcing out each word.
“What…?” protested the scout model faintly, but the fire truck nodded jerkily and half-shoved half-dragged the other three over to the side, leaving First Aid an unobstructed path to the door. Aid stood, wavering unsteadily. As he made his way slowly towards the door he almost overbalanced and the fire truck made a convulsive movement as if to catch him, but froze again as Aid twitched violently away from them, tripping over scattered supplies until he caught himself on a shelf, optics still locked on the other four. The helo gave a wordless cry of frustration and beat his head twice against the back of the large fire truck, hands clenched in fists on the pale blue armor.
After a long moment First Aid moved away from the supporting shelf and stepped sideways towards the door, facing them the whole time, his engine giving a faint, high-pitched whine as it strained in overdrive. Ratchet met him at the door, and First Aid gripped the medic by the arms, staring blankly.
“Primus, Aid,” Ratchet muttered, running a quick scan. “Your systems...by all rights you should be in involuntary stasis lock.”
“Ratchet,” First Aid said softly, his optics focusing on Ratchet’s face. He spoke each word slowly and distinctly, as if it were the most important thing in the world. “I know them.”
“Yes, yes you do,” Ratchet replied, smiling, although fluid was gathering in his optics. “Why don’t you stick around and get to know them again?”
A large, trembling hand touched him cautiously on his backplates. First Aid shuttered his optics but made no other response. After a another few moments he let his hands drop from Ratchet’s arms and heaved an uneven, hitching vent, turning into the embrace of the other with his optics still shuttered. Unresisting, he was slowly lifted, balanced carefully in the other's arms and carried back into the storage closet. When First Aid unshuttered his optics again he was cradled in the lap of the fire truck as he sat against the wall, the other three pressed closed on all sides, quiet and passive, as if they had all absorbed his stillness.
They sat that way for a long time, First Aid blinking occasionally at the pale blue chestplates in front of him. I know them, he thought again, but at the thought a shudder gripped him, a rising wave of emotion crashed and subsided against the wall he had built against it. It made him clench and grit his dental plates together, press his helm against the armor in front of him before relaxing again. Again, with every attempt to let himself remember, the wave struck, higher and harder this time before subsiding.
First Aid made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a huff of exasperation, and a hand stroked gently down his back plates, tracing the old scars there, lingering on the new ones. Stubbornly he persevered, again, and yet again, each wave retreating only to rebound greater than before.
First Aid pushed his helm desperately against a wide shoulder, his engine made a soft, muffled grinding sound, stressed to the limit. He was being crushed from within between his own pain and the wall he’d built around it to keep himself sane, higher stronger thicker over the vorns, only now it wouldn’t come down. With a frustrated almost-growl he turned his face to where his hand was locked in a death grip on the other’s armor and bit down on it. Straight through the thin outer plating, tiny sparks flew as he bit down even further. He could feel the delicate circuitry crunch, the taste of his own energon flooded his mouth. There, he thought in satisfaction. There. Pain struck, merciless and inevitable, shattering the wall as his frame locked in anguish.
//Hang on// one of them or all of them thought //hang on, here we go//
~~~
//Are we in the Matrix?// the thought came from somewhere, a long time later, wandering and weary, but content.
//I hope not, after all of that// someone else thought, laughing.
//Oh Aid, First Aid// Some of them, all of them, were weeping, but in this place where they were there was nothing but joy. First Aid’s spark throbbed sweetly and easily in time with it.
//Nothing hurts// he thought a little wonderingly. //Nothing hurts at all//
//We’re glad. We’re so glad to have you with us oh Aid it’s been so long, so long without you, we MISSED you First Aid, First Aid// They thought his name over and over, it ran through all of their minds like a song. Their warm pile shifted a little, snuggling in closer, but First Aid hissed air through his vents as something did hurt. There were dismayed thoughts and sounds, and someone called hoarsely for Ratchet.
First Aid blinked, onlining his optics to Ratchet’s worried face. “Aid, what the slag happened?” He tried to answer, but his vocalizer refused to function, something catching and glitching in his throat.
“We think...we think he did it to himself,” the fire truck answered for him instead, voice still catching with sobs. Ratchet, muttering, offlined First Aid’s pain sensors from his shoulder down and cleansed and wrapped his hand in circuit gell and flex bandages.
“There,” Ratchet said, running a hand over First Aid’s helm. “That should hold you for now; you really did a number on it though. You’re not going to pull any more stunts like that, are you?” he asked, looking with concern into First Aid’s optics. First Aid shook his helm.
//Why can’t I talk?// he wondered.
//You did a lot of yelling//
//I did?//
//Yeah, we all kind of did. It’s ok now though//
It was all ok. Everything was ok. He was very tired. First Aid blinked and smiled sleepily up at Ratchet, and that seemed to reassure the other medic.
“Rest. Heal, all of you,” he told them. First Aid sighed deeply, feeling everything relax, all the way to his struts, his frame wrapped in warmth and love on every side, up and down and all around. All. Together. Whole. First Aid frowned, fighting his own systems. He didn’t want to recharge, to lose even one moment. What if…
The others didn’t give him time to let that thought take full form. //Rest and never fear, not ever. We will be here, always, to the end of the universe and the end of time and all the way back again. We promise. Rest//
They snuggled close, close, and closer, careful of Aid’s injured hand which they tucked tenderly under his chinplates. Spark-whole, souls united at long last, they let recharge take them.
This entry was originally posted at http://playswithworms.dreamwidth.org/126586.html. Please comment wherever you wish.
“Aid,” the pale blue-and-black fire truck said in a hoarse, strangled voice, moving towards him. He froze, though, as First Aid slid away from them, pressing himself against the storage units, vent rate increasing.
The black-and-white scout grabbed the other, voice shaking. “Slow down, he can’t...you’ve got to...Hot Spot, he’ll just fight us right now...please.” The fire truck sank to his knees with an anguished half sob, optics locked on First Aid, watching as almost imperceptible tremors shook his armor. First Aid’s faceplates were no longer calm, but locked in a strange, intense stillness of expression.
The helo model struggled towards him but the cycleformer held him back, although they were both weeping. “Shhh, Blades...easy. Don’t freak him out.”
“Aid!” the helo shouted, breaking free. First Aid scrambled away as if Decepticons were after him, overturning containers of supplies, then turned like a trapped turbofox, crouched as if to run. The helo let out a cry of despair, curling in on himself, and the other three mechs moved to support him. They all clutched one another in a desperate tangle in the doorway.
“Move. So he...can go,” the cycleformer spoke, forcing out each word.
“What…?” protested the scout model faintly, but the fire truck nodded jerkily and half-shoved half-dragged the other three over to the side, leaving First Aid an unobstructed path to the door. Aid stood, wavering unsteadily. As he made his way slowly towards the door he almost overbalanced and the fire truck made a convulsive movement as if to catch him, but froze again as Aid twitched violently away from them, tripping over scattered supplies until he caught himself on a shelf, optics still locked on the other four. The helo gave a wordless cry of frustration and beat his head twice against the back of the large fire truck, hands clenched in fists on the pale blue armor.
After a long moment First Aid moved away from the supporting shelf and stepped sideways towards the door, facing them the whole time, his engine giving a faint, high-pitched whine as it strained in overdrive. Ratchet met him at the door, and First Aid gripped the medic by the arms, staring blankly.
“Primus, Aid,” Ratchet muttered, running a quick scan. “Your systems...by all rights you should be in involuntary stasis lock.”
“Ratchet,” First Aid said softly, his optics focusing on Ratchet’s face. He spoke each word slowly and distinctly, as if it were the most important thing in the world. “I know them.”
“Yes, yes you do,” Ratchet replied, smiling, although fluid was gathering in his optics. “Why don’t you stick around and get to know them again?”
A large, trembling hand touched him cautiously on his backplates. First Aid shuttered his optics but made no other response. After a another few moments he let his hands drop from Ratchet’s arms and heaved an uneven, hitching vent, turning into the embrace of the other with his optics still shuttered. Unresisting, he was slowly lifted, balanced carefully in the other's arms and carried back into the storage closet. When First Aid unshuttered his optics again he was cradled in the lap of the fire truck as he sat against the wall, the other three pressed closed on all sides, quiet and passive, as if they had all absorbed his stillness.
They sat that way for a long time, First Aid blinking occasionally at the pale blue chestplates in front of him. I know them, he thought again, but at the thought a shudder gripped him, a rising wave of emotion crashed and subsided against the wall he had built against it. It made him clench and grit his dental plates together, press his helm against the armor in front of him before relaxing again. Again, with every attempt to let himself remember, the wave struck, higher and harder this time before subsiding.
First Aid made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a huff of exasperation, and a hand stroked gently down his back plates, tracing the old scars there, lingering on the new ones. Stubbornly he persevered, again, and yet again, each wave retreating only to rebound greater than before.
First Aid pushed his helm desperately against a wide shoulder, his engine made a soft, muffled grinding sound, stressed to the limit. He was being crushed from within between his own pain and the wall he’d built around it to keep himself sane, higher stronger thicker over the vorns, only now it wouldn’t come down. With a frustrated almost-growl he turned his face to where his hand was locked in a death grip on the other’s armor and bit down on it. Straight through the thin outer plating, tiny sparks flew as he bit down even further. He could feel the delicate circuitry crunch, the taste of his own energon flooded his mouth. There, he thought in satisfaction. There. Pain struck, merciless and inevitable, shattering the wall as his frame locked in anguish.
//Hang on// one of them or all of them thought //hang on, here we go//
~~~
//Are we in the Matrix?// the thought came from somewhere, a long time later, wandering and weary, but content.
//I hope not, after all of that// someone else thought, laughing.
//Oh Aid, First Aid// Some of them, all of them, were weeping, but in this place where they were there was nothing but joy. First Aid’s spark throbbed sweetly and easily in time with it.
//Nothing hurts// he thought a little wonderingly. //Nothing hurts at all//
//We’re glad. We’re so glad to have you with us oh Aid it’s been so long, so long without you, we MISSED you First Aid, First Aid// They thought his name over and over, it ran through all of their minds like a song. Their warm pile shifted a little, snuggling in closer, but First Aid hissed air through his vents as something did hurt. There were dismayed thoughts and sounds, and someone called hoarsely for Ratchet.
First Aid blinked, onlining his optics to Ratchet’s worried face. “Aid, what the slag happened?” He tried to answer, but his vocalizer refused to function, something catching and glitching in his throat.
“We think...we think he did it to himself,” the fire truck answered for him instead, voice still catching with sobs. Ratchet, muttering, offlined First Aid’s pain sensors from his shoulder down and cleansed and wrapped his hand in circuit gell and flex bandages.
“There,” Ratchet said, running a hand over First Aid’s helm. “That should hold you for now; you really did a number on it though. You’re not going to pull any more stunts like that, are you?” he asked, looking with concern into First Aid’s optics. First Aid shook his helm.
//Why can’t I talk?// he wondered.
//You did a lot of yelling//
//I did?//
//Yeah, we all kind of did. It’s ok now though//
It was all ok. Everything was ok. He was very tired. First Aid blinked and smiled sleepily up at Ratchet, and that seemed to reassure the other medic.
“Rest. Heal, all of you,” he told them. First Aid sighed deeply, feeling everything relax, all the way to his struts, his frame wrapped in warmth and love on every side, up and down and all around. All. Together. Whole. First Aid frowned, fighting his own systems. He didn’t want to recharge, to lose even one moment. What if…
The others didn’t give him time to let that thought take full form. //Rest and never fear, not ever. We will be here, always, to the end of the universe and the end of time and all the way back again. We promise. Rest//
They snuggled close, close, and closer, careful of Aid’s injured hand which they tucked tenderly under his chinplates. Spark-whole, souls united at long last, they let recharge take them.
This entry was originally posted at http://playswithworms.dreamwidth.org/126586.html. Please comment wherever you wish.