Protectobot Snippets #1
So I was enjoying the last day of my 'weekend' (since I'm working Sat/Sun this week), and trying to sort through all of my fic bits and bunnies to see if there's anything that jumps out at me as doable...and d00d, I've got lots of bits! Problem is, I want them all to connect and make sense, and be a coherent whole, and it's like the classes I give on the food web to the kids - if you tug on one part, everything else has to adjust, lol. Who knows when I'm going have time to sort it all out, if ever (fall maybe? work just gets crazier from here on out), so I thought I'd go ahead and share a few instead of sitting on them all year.
There'll be some segments of longer story arcs I'm still working out in a random, flaily sort of way (maybe a tad spoilery for stuff later on, so avert your eyes if you don't want to know), little moments, scenes that don't fit anywhere yet, along with some crack and alternate versions and assorted oddments. So here, have some snippets!
Warnings: a little bit of angst, nothing too bad, some innuendo in the last one...
and you, with the glitchy hand, no commenting until your hand is better! You know who you are *stern glare*
1.
“You know we’d adopt you in a sparkbeat, right?”
First Aid tilted his head, as if considering. “Hmmm, I’ve always thought Superion could use a tail,” he said.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a nice helmet, myself,” Silverbolt said, smiling down at him.
2.
Hot Spot began slamming his hands into the column, yelling something incoherent, furious, with each blow. The column shivered, made an ominous cracking sound, and Silverbolt grabbed Hot Spot’s arms, tried to wrestle him away, probably not the best idea. Hot Spot was not as big, but he was startlingly strong, and despite being mainly a rescue unit not a frontliner, he was better at ground fighting than Silverbolt. With a powerful roll, Silverbolt was pinned beneath Hot Spot. He shuttered his optics and resigned himself to being pummeled to scrap. After a long moment of nothing but the sound of Hot Spot’s harsh, gasping air cycles, he cautiously unshuttered his optics to see Hot Spot looking down at him with a confused expression.
“What are you doing?” Hot Spot asked.
“Waiting for you to hit me.”
“What?!” Hot Spot looked scandalized. “Why would I want to hit you?”
“You’re angry.”
“Not at you,” Hot Spot snorted, sliding off of Silverbolt and giving him a hand so he could sit up.
“Sometimes it helps to just hit someone,” Silverbolt shrugged, scooting over to lean against the column next to Hot Spot. It creaked again, and they both looked up at the rickety watchtower it was helping to support. Hot Spot sighed.
“I’ll fix it,” he murmured, letting his head fall back against the column with a faint thunk.
3.
It was an illusion. Not real. Not First Aid kneeling quietly by the side of the road, wrists bound, blindfolded.
Hot Spot knelt in front of the illusion, removed the blindfold, and First Aid said, “Hot Spot,” in a voice only faintly surprised.
“You were expecting someone else?” Hot Spot asked him, in a calm reasonable voice that was also an illusion.
“Death, actually,” First Aid replied, tilting his head up so he could see Hot Spot better.
“I’m better than death, yes?”
First Aid nodded solemnly. “Much better.”
4.
“Don’t tell me,” Wheeljack interrupted, one hand going to his optics, “please don’t tell me you ran in to a power relay on purpose to get in here?” It shouldn’t surprise him. Really it shouldn’t surprise him at all. Of course he had.
Air Raid’s guilty expression confirmed it. “Fireflight was asking if they were going to die and he was gonna start crying, Wheeljack, if we didn’t find out and so, well…” Air Raid started to shrug and then stopped with a muffled yelp. “It worked didn’t it?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t electrocute yourself,” Wheeljack chided. “Whatever you do, if you value your aft do not let Ratchet know it wasn’t an accident or he’ll make the brig with Silverbolt look like a luxury vacation to Praxus.”
There was quiet tapping at the medbay door, and Air Raid looked up at Wheeljack pleadingly.
“Could you let Fireflight know about the Protectobots and that I’m ok? He didn’t mean to knock me into that relay quite so hard.” Air Raid looked at him, optics beseeching, and Wheeljack groaned inwardly. Air Raid didn’t quite have Fireflight’s spark-melting optics, but it was still very hard to say no to them. Wheeljack waited until Ratchet got back and took over with Air Raid’s wing. When he went to the door, meaning to crack it open sightly, Fireflight pushed his way through unexpectedly, shoving Wheeljack into the wall.
“Oh, sorry Wheeljack!” Fireflight said as he went by in a blurred streak of red over to Air Raid and Ratchet.
“Air Raid! Are you ok? I know you told me to run into you, but I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, it’s just we were flying so low and hey, Ratchet are the Protectobots going to be alright? They’re not going to die are they?”
“Shhhh, Flight!” Air Raid was motioning to his teammate frantically, as Ratchet froze in place, his hands still in Air Raid’s wing, and his optics gleamed in a way that did not bode well for those in his immediate vicinity. Wheeljack backed away a little and, on impulse, nudged Streetwise a few times until his optics powered up dimly. He held a finger to his face mask and motioned towards the unfolding drama on the next berth. Streetwise, ever quick on the draw, merely shifted slightly until he could see, shading his optics under one arm so Ratchet wouldn’t be able to see them.
“Told him to run into you. Told him to run into you?” Ratchet’s voice did not rise in volume, but the oh-you-are-in-deep-slag-now quotient rose exponentially with each repetition of the phrase. Air Raid scrambled off the berth and he and Fireflight backed away towards the door.
“Of all of the glitch-headed, misfired things to do, you get yourself deliberately injured and come in here taking up my valuable time, disrupting my medbay, and risk waking up patients who I don’t need to tell you have been through Pit. Oh don’t you even think of running out of here,” Ratchet intoned as Fireflight slipped out the door, and Air Raid tried to follow, feeling blindly for the opening as he was unwilling to turn his back on Ratchet. “You’ve poured your energon and now,” Ratchet lifted one hand, aimed, “you’re going to drink it,” Ratchet said in satisfaction, and threw. Thunk! Ratchet’s welder hit Air Raid dead on in the middle of his helm, and Air Raid dropped like a lead weight.
“Well, it wasn’t a wrench, but I hope it’ll do. Happy now?” Wheeljack leaned close to whisper to Streetwise, while Ratchet’s back was turned as he stalked over to retrieve Air Raid.
“Thanks Wheeljack,” Streetwise whispered back, grinning widely, optics shining with pure delight.
“Takes an Aerialbot to bring out Ratchet’s throwing arm, kiddo. You Protectobots just never got the knack, thank goodness.” Streetwise giggled softly and snuggled his face back down against Blades. Wheeljack tapped his helm lightly in silent warning to go back into recharge and went to help Ratchet lift the dazed Air Raid back on his berth.
5.
Hot Spot looked at the gleaming cannon on First Aid’s arm, then up at the face, so familiar, so different, in puzzlement.
The other Hot Spot laughed in understanding. “Don’t worry, it’s harmless, just knocks ‘bots offline for a moment.”
The other Groove giggled. “Yeah, in the most pleasant way possible. You should have seen the Decepticons lining up on the battlefield, trying to convince Aid to shoot ‘em.”
Hot Spot blinked and stared at the little secret smile curling the corners of First Aid’s mouth in wonderment.
There'll be some segments of longer story arcs I'm still working out in a random, flaily sort of way (maybe a tad spoilery for stuff later on, so avert your eyes if you don't want to know), little moments, scenes that don't fit anywhere yet, along with some crack and alternate versions and assorted oddments. So here, have some snippets!
Warnings: a little bit of angst, nothing too bad, some innuendo in the last one...
and you, with the glitchy hand, no commenting until your hand is better! You know who you are *stern glare*
1.
“You know we’d adopt you in a sparkbeat, right?”
First Aid tilted his head, as if considering. “Hmmm, I’ve always thought Superion could use a tail,” he said.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a nice helmet, myself,” Silverbolt said, smiling down at him.
2.
Hot Spot began slamming his hands into the column, yelling something incoherent, furious, with each blow. The column shivered, made an ominous cracking sound, and Silverbolt grabbed Hot Spot’s arms, tried to wrestle him away, probably not the best idea. Hot Spot was not as big, but he was startlingly strong, and despite being mainly a rescue unit not a frontliner, he was better at ground fighting than Silverbolt. With a powerful roll, Silverbolt was pinned beneath Hot Spot. He shuttered his optics and resigned himself to being pummeled to scrap. After a long moment of nothing but the sound of Hot Spot’s harsh, gasping air cycles, he cautiously unshuttered his optics to see Hot Spot looking down at him with a confused expression.
“What are you doing?” Hot Spot asked.
“Waiting for you to hit me.”
“What?!” Hot Spot looked scandalized. “Why would I want to hit you?”
“You’re angry.”
“Not at you,” Hot Spot snorted, sliding off of Silverbolt and giving him a hand so he could sit up.
“Sometimes it helps to just hit someone,” Silverbolt shrugged, scooting over to lean against the column next to Hot Spot. It creaked again, and they both looked up at the rickety watchtower it was helping to support. Hot Spot sighed.
“I’ll fix it,” he murmured, letting his head fall back against the column with a faint thunk.
3.
It was an illusion. Not real. Not First Aid kneeling quietly by the side of the road, wrists bound, blindfolded.
Hot Spot knelt in front of the illusion, removed the blindfold, and First Aid said, “Hot Spot,” in a voice only faintly surprised.
“You were expecting someone else?” Hot Spot asked him, in a calm reasonable voice that was also an illusion.
“Death, actually,” First Aid replied, tilting his head up so he could see Hot Spot better.
“I’m better than death, yes?”
First Aid nodded solemnly. “Much better.”
4.
“Don’t tell me,” Wheeljack interrupted, one hand going to his optics, “please don’t tell me you ran in to a power relay on purpose to get in here?” It shouldn’t surprise him. Really it shouldn’t surprise him at all. Of course he had.
Air Raid’s guilty expression confirmed it. “Fireflight was asking if they were going to die and he was gonna start crying, Wheeljack, if we didn’t find out and so, well…” Air Raid started to shrug and then stopped with a muffled yelp. “It worked didn’t it?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t electrocute yourself,” Wheeljack chided. “Whatever you do, if you value your aft do not let Ratchet know it wasn’t an accident or he’ll make the brig with Silverbolt look like a luxury vacation to Praxus.”
There was quiet tapping at the medbay door, and Air Raid looked up at Wheeljack pleadingly.
“Could you let Fireflight know about the Protectobots and that I’m ok? He didn’t mean to knock me into that relay quite so hard.” Air Raid looked at him, optics beseeching, and Wheeljack groaned inwardly. Air Raid didn’t quite have Fireflight’s spark-melting optics, but it was still very hard to say no to them. Wheeljack waited until Ratchet got back and took over with Air Raid’s wing. When he went to the door, meaning to crack it open sightly, Fireflight pushed his way through unexpectedly, shoving Wheeljack into the wall.
“Oh, sorry Wheeljack!” Fireflight said as he went by in a blurred streak of red over to Air Raid and Ratchet.
“Air Raid! Are you ok? I know you told me to run into you, but I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, it’s just we were flying so low and hey, Ratchet are the Protectobots going to be alright? They’re not going to die are they?”
“Shhhh, Flight!” Air Raid was motioning to his teammate frantically, as Ratchet froze in place, his hands still in Air Raid’s wing, and his optics gleamed in a way that did not bode well for those in his immediate vicinity. Wheeljack backed away a little and, on impulse, nudged Streetwise a few times until his optics powered up dimly. He held a finger to his face mask and motioned towards the unfolding drama on the next berth. Streetwise, ever quick on the draw, merely shifted slightly until he could see, shading his optics under one arm so Ratchet wouldn’t be able to see them.
“Told him to run into you. Told him to run into you?” Ratchet’s voice did not rise in volume, but the oh-you-are-in-deep-slag-now quotient rose exponentially with each repetition of the phrase. Air Raid scrambled off the berth and he and Fireflight backed away towards the door.
“Of all of the glitch-headed, misfired things to do, you get yourself deliberately injured and come in here taking up my valuable time, disrupting my medbay, and risk waking up patients who I don’t need to tell you have been through Pit. Oh don’t you even think of running out of here,” Ratchet intoned as Fireflight slipped out the door, and Air Raid tried to follow, feeling blindly for the opening as he was unwilling to turn his back on Ratchet. “You’ve poured your energon and now,” Ratchet lifted one hand, aimed, “you’re going to drink it,” Ratchet said in satisfaction, and threw. Thunk! Ratchet’s welder hit Air Raid dead on in the middle of his helm, and Air Raid dropped like a lead weight.
“Well, it wasn’t a wrench, but I hope it’ll do. Happy now?” Wheeljack leaned close to whisper to Streetwise, while Ratchet’s back was turned as he stalked over to retrieve Air Raid.
“Thanks Wheeljack,” Streetwise whispered back, grinning widely, optics shining with pure delight.
“Takes an Aerialbot to bring out Ratchet’s throwing arm, kiddo. You Protectobots just never got the knack, thank goodness.” Streetwise giggled softly and snuggled his face back down against Blades. Wheeljack tapped his helm lightly in silent warning to go back into recharge and went to help Ratchet lift the dazed Air Raid back on his berth.
5.
Hot Spot looked at the gleaming cannon on First Aid’s arm, then up at the face, so familiar, so different, in puzzlement.
The other Hot Spot laughed in understanding. “Don’t worry, it’s harmless, just knocks ‘bots offline for a moment.”
The other Groove giggled. “Yeah, in the most pleasant way possible. You should have seen the Decepticons lining up on the battlefield, trying to convince Aid to shoot ‘em.”
Hot Spot blinked and stared at the little secret smile curling the corners of First Aid’s mouth in wonderment.