Nanosnipmo - March bonus snippet
Continuing from right where we left off in November:
First Aid woke up singing. His helm was pressed close to the fire truck - one of them was singing the hymn of Great Rejoicing to Primus and one of them was singing a corny little love song, and the songs were somehow one and the same. The music was more felt through the bond than heard, their voices still worn and raspy. First Aid had a vague feeling that his gestalt commander had never used to sing like that but...then again, it had been a long time. To say the least.
The neural block was beginning to wear off, and First Aid’s damaged hand throbbed dully, but not enough to merit doing anything about it. There was nothing he wanted more in the universe than to just rest there forever, in the tangle of his brothers. He wrapped arms around as much of the others as he could as they murmured and hugged him back. What a long, strange journey they had had! First Aid was still processing it, just as they were processing all the vorns of his time without them.
//So hard, you hurt so much, but you never gave up// They all thought sympathy at one another, mourning the pain, sharing admiration and comfort. First Aid extracted himself from his brothers somewhat, just enough so that he could online his visor and really look at them for the first time, trace their faceplates with his uninjured hand.
“What...” His overstrained vocalizer clicked and reset a few times. “What are your names?” he whispered.
They stared back at him, expressions stricken, realization dawning. First Aid shook his head a little. “I had...I had to leave everything behind, even your names.” A brief impression, sense memory, whirled through all of their minds for a moment: First Aid tenderly writing their name-glyphs in a layer of silicon dust, wind erasing them in a glittering swirl. First Aid’s spark breaking with love, connected to every nameless particle in the entire universe as they danced away.
“Even the dust. Only you would love a particle,” said the cycleformer, twining their hands together. First Aid pressed his helm to the other’s, looking deeply into the smiling yellow-gold optics as they had done since they were sparklings, he remembered that now, so clearly! “Groove,” the other one whispered. “I’m Groove.”
“Groove,” First Aid repeated, with a laugh-sob, helpless joy flooding the gestalt bond, and then they were all weeping again.
“This is going to take a while,” the fire truck said, much later, laughing and rubbing at the optic fluid on his faceplates. He rolled over on his back and First Aid perched on his chestplates, looking down at him expectantly. “Hot Spot,” he said, smiling up at his brother.
First Aid was laughing and crying too much to repeat it for awhile, but eventually he got his vocalizer back and said his gestalt leader’s name over and over. He didn’t remember falling back into recharge.
The pain of his injured hand woke him again only a half joor later. Ratchet was already there. “Figured this would be wearing off about now.” First Aid tensed and gritted his dentals, determinedly fighting the instinct to pull away as Ratchet gently extracted his hand from where he was coiled protectively around it and renewed the neural block. Hot Spot stroked his helm soothingly and First Aid relaxed as the pain eased, then disappeared.
“Do you want to move somewhere a little more comfortable than the storage closet?” Ratchet asked them wryly, as he began removing protective bandages and examining the ragged edges of the injury. They all looked at one another and shrugged.
“We’re good, Ratchet,” Hot Spot said. “I don’t think any of us feel like moving just yet, unless we’re in the way?”
Ratchet shook his helm. “This will be easier to fix in the main medbay, once you can let go of him for half a klik,” he said, wrapping up Aid’s hand again, “but there’s no rush. I leave the storage organization to Aid, anyway.”
“The supplies!” First Aid moved as if to get up and start cleaning the containers he’d knocked over and scattered in his earlier panic.
There was a chorus of protests from his brothers, and a “don’t you dare” complete with Glare of Doom from Ratchet, and First Aid subsided reluctantly.
“Bumblebee says he’s happy to swing by and take care of it as soon as he’s off duty. He knows these shelves almost as well as you do, so chill your thrusters.”
A small six-wheeled mech in alt mode rolled up to Ratchet’s legs and warbled in agreement, and transformed into a knee-high, blue-opticked little mech. He clambered on to First Aid, beeping and patting him in concern. Wheeljack followed behind him carrying cubes of energon. ”Wasn’t sure if you were up for visitors just yet, kiddos, but Roller was getting worried.”
“We’re all a little worried,” Silverbolt said, leaning on the door frame to the storage closet and nodding to his fellow gestalt commander. Hot Spot gave him a grateful smile and salute. “Everyone can’t wait to see you all again, but we’ll live,” he added, grinning. “I’ll go sit on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker before they try to tunnel in from underneath.”
“Appreciate it,” Ratchet waved a hand in Silverbolt’s direction.
“I’m ok, bitlet,” First Aid reassured the little mech, his voice still somewhat raspy. He wrapped his free arm around Roller and Roller snuggled in, beeping a curious greeting to the other four. “These are my brothers,” First Aid said. “Groove, and...and Hot Spot,” he introduced them, his voice wavering just a little, “and this is…” The helo smiled at him and lifted a hand to touch his face.
“You were the first to know my name, when we were activated, do you remember?” the helo asked a little wistfully.
First Aid’s voice softened in wonder as the name rose easily to the top of his processor. “This is Blades. Of course you are, oh how could I ever have forgotten?”
“And me?” the scout model asked, his blue optics glowing brightly.
“Streetwise!”
The Protectobots clung to one another again, managing it with almost all laughing with very little weeping this time. Ratchet moved prudently out of the way, and Roller made a small sound of alarm as he was engulfed in the Protectobot pile. “Sorry, Roller. Sorry,” First Aid said, laughing and nudging Roller up to the top where he wouldn’t be mushed. Roller patted the top of First Aid’s helm with a long-suffering sigh and then pointed firmly to Wheeljack and the tray of energon.
A little bit later Hot Spot had to rescue First Aid’s cube before he dropped it, as he nodded off into recharge before it was even half finished.
“Syncing up takes a lot of energy, and I think this is the first true recharge he’s had since he lost you,” Wheeljack said, as he took First Aid’s unfinished cube from Hot Spot. The rest of the Protectobots were looking a little droopy as well, optics dimming. “When we got Skydive and Air Raid back after they were captured that time, the Aerialbots recharged for an entire three orns straight. You’ve still got a lot of catching up to do.”
“We’ll have to meet all his new friends,” Hot Spot said, smiling and patting Roller, who had determinedly wedged himself in between First Aid and Blades. Roller gave him a friendly beep, and Streetwise beeped back in imitation, which got a giggle.
“He’s certainly made some interesting ones,” Wheeljack chuckled.
“We’ll have to share him more, now, I suppose,” Groove murmured sleepily, already half into recharge. “Or find some really big quarters so all the Aerialbots...and the...twins? And everyone can get...their fair share…” His voice trailed off as he dropped into recharge.
Hot Spot took a deep cycle of air to fend off recharge a few more kliks. “You’re welcome to join us, Wheeljack, Ratchet,” he said, tilting his helm invitingly.
“You know…” Wheeljack said, his vocal indicators softening to a considering blue. “If there’s space…”
Ratchet snorted at him, but he was smiling. “Go ahead. You’re well overdue for some recharge, anyway. I’ll keep an optic on the rest of the yahoos.”
Blades patted the spot next to him, and Wheeljack added himself to the pile. “C’mere, you,” he told Blades, wrapping an arm around him and snuggling in. “Oh, how I’ve missed you guys,” he sighed. Hot Spot somehow managed to find enough arm to wrap around Wheeljack, too, and they all powered down together.
This entry was originally posted at http://playswithworms.dreamwidth.org/130495.html. Please comment wherever you wish.
First Aid woke up singing. His helm was pressed close to the fire truck - one of them was singing the hymn of Great Rejoicing to Primus and one of them was singing a corny little love song, and the songs were somehow one and the same. The music was more felt through the bond than heard, their voices still worn and raspy. First Aid had a vague feeling that his gestalt commander had never used to sing like that but...then again, it had been a long time. To say the least.
The neural block was beginning to wear off, and First Aid’s damaged hand throbbed dully, but not enough to merit doing anything about it. There was nothing he wanted more in the universe than to just rest there forever, in the tangle of his brothers. He wrapped arms around as much of the others as he could as they murmured and hugged him back. What a long, strange journey they had had! First Aid was still processing it, just as they were processing all the vorns of his time without them.
//So hard, you hurt so much, but you never gave up// They all thought sympathy at one another, mourning the pain, sharing admiration and comfort. First Aid extracted himself from his brothers somewhat, just enough so that he could online his visor and really look at them for the first time, trace their faceplates with his uninjured hand.
“What...” His overstrained vocalizer clicked and reset a few times. “What are your names?” he whispered.
They stared back at him, expressions stricken, realization dawning. First Aid shook his head a little. “I had...I had to leave everything behind, even your names.” A brief impression, sense memory, whirled through all of their minds for a moment: First Aid tenderly writing their name-glyphs in a layer of silicon dust, wind erasing them in a glittering swirl. First Aid’s spark breaking with love, connected to every nameless particle in the entire universe as they danced away.
“Even the dust. Only you would love a particle,” said the cycleformer, twining their hands together. First Aid pressed his helm to the other’s, looking deeply into the smiling yellow-gold optics as they had done since they were sparklings, he remembered that now, so clearly! “Groove,” the other one whispered. “I’m Groove.”
“Groove,” First Aid repeated, with a laugh-sob, helpless joy flooding the gestalt bond, and then they were all weeping again.
“This is going to take a while,” the fire truck said, much later, laughing and rubbing at the optic fluid on his faceplates. He rolled over on his back and First Aid perched on his chestplates, looking down at him expectantly. “Hot Spot,” he said, smiling up at his brother.
First Aid was laughing and crying too much to repeat it for awhile, but eventually he got his vocalizer back and said his gestalt leader’s name over and over. He didn’t remember falling back into recharge.
The pain of his injured hand woke him again only a half joor later. Ratchet was already there. “Figured this would be wearing off about now.” First Aid tensed and gritted his dentals, determinedly fighting the instinct to pull away as Ratchet gently extracted his hand from where he was coiled protectively around it and renewed the neural block. Hot Spot stroked his helm soothingly and First Aid relaxed as the pain eased, then disappeared.
“Do you want to move somewhere a little more comfortable than the storage closet?” Ratchet asked them wryly, as he began removing protective bandages and examining the ragged edges of the injury. They all looked at one another and shrugged.
“We’re good, Ratchet,” Hot Spot said. “I don’t think any of us feel like moving just yet, unless we’re in the way?”
Ratchet shook his helm. “This will be easier to fix in the main medbay, once you can let go of him for half a klik,” he said, wrapping up Aid’s hand again, “but there’s no rush. I leave the storage organization to Aid, anyway.”
“The supplies!” First Aid moved as if to get up and start cleaning the containers he’d knocked over and scattered in his earlier panic.
There was a chorus of protests from his brothers, and a “don’t you dare” complete with Glare of Doom from Ratchet, and First Aid subsided reluctantly.
“Bumblebee says he’s happy to swing by and take care of it as soon as he’s off duty. He knows these shelves almost as well as you do, so chill your thrusters.”
A small six-wheeled mech in alt mode rolled up to Ratchet’s legs and warbled in agreement, and transformed into a knee-high, blue-opticked little mech. He clambered on to First Aid, beeping and patting him in concern. Wheeljack followed behind him carrying cubes of energon. ”Wasn’t sure if you were up for visitors just yet, kiddos, but Roller was getting worried.”
“We’re all a little worried,” Silverbolt said, leaning on the door frame to the storage closet and nodding to his fellow gestalt commander. Hot Spot gave him a grateful smile and salute. “Everyone can’t wait to see you all again, but we’ll live,” he added, grinning. “I’ll go sit on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker before they try to tunnel in from underneath.”
“Appreciate it,” Ratchet waved a hand in Silverbolt’s direction.
“I’m ok, bitlet,” First Aid reassured the little mech, his voice still somewhat raspy. He wrapped his free arm around Roller and Roller snuggled in, beeping a curious greeting to the other four. “These are my brothers,” First Aid said. “Groove, and...and Hot Spot,” he introduced them, his voice wavering just a little, “and this is…” The helo smiled at him and lifted a hand to touch his face.
“You were the first to know my name, when we were activated, do you remember?” the helo asked a little wistfully.
First Aid’s voice softened in wonder as the name rose easily to the top of his processor. “This is Blades. Of course you are, oh how could I ever have forgotten?”
“And me?” the scout model asked, his blue optics glowing brightly.
“Streetwise!”
The Protectobots clung to one another again, managing it with almost all laughing with very little weeping this time. Ratchet moved prudently out of the way, and Roller made a small sound of alarm as he was engulfed in the Protectobot pile. “Sorry, Roller. Sorry,” First Aid said, laughing and nudging Roller up to the top where he wouldn’t be mushed. Roller patted the top of First Aid’s helm with a long-suffering sigh and then pointed firmly to Wheeljack and the tray of energon.
A little bit later Hot Spot had to rescue First Aid’s cube before he dropped it, as he nodded off into recharge before it was even half finished.
“Syncing up takes a lot of energy, and I think this is the first true recharge he’s had since he lost you,” Wheeljack said, as he took First Aid’s unfinished cube from Hot Spot. The rest of the Protectobots were looking a little droopy as well, optics dimming. “When we got Skydive and Air Raid back after they were captured that time, the Aerialbots recharged for an entire three orns straight. You’ve still got a lot of catching up to do.”
“We’ll have to meet all his new friends,” Hot Spot said, smiling and patting Roller, who had determinedly wedged himself in between First Aid and Blades. Roller gave him a friendly beep, and Streetwise beeped back in imitation, which got a giggle.
“He’s certainly made some interesting ones,” Wheeljack chuckled.
“We’ll have to share him more, now, I suppose,” Groove murmured sleepily, already half into recharge. “Or find some really big quarters so all the Aerialbots...and the...twins? And everyone can get...their fair share…” His voice trailed off as he dropped into recharge.
Hot Spot took a deep cycle of air to fend off recharge a few more kliks. “You’re welcome to join us, Wheeljack, Ratchet,” he said, tilting his helm invitingly.
“You know…” Wheeljack said, his vocal indicators softening to a considering blue. “If there’s space…”
Ratchet snorted at him, but he was smiling. “Go ahead. You’re well overdue for some recharge, anyway. I’ll keep an optic on the rest of the yahoos.”
Blades patted the spot next to him, and Wheeljack added himself to the pile. “C’mere, you,” he told Blades, wrapping an arm around him and snuggling in. “Oh, how I’ve missed you guys,” he sighed. Hot Spot somehow managed to find enough arm to wrap around Wheeljack, too, and they all powered down together.
This entry was originally posted at http://playswithworms.dreamwidth.org/130495.html. Please comment wherever you wish.