Protectobot Snippets #4
Another installment of snippets! As usual, lots of random leaping through time and universe, silliness and angst:
1.
Silverbolt gave the command and transformed, and was subsumed in the familiar mind of Superion. Superion turned, and the tiny thread of thought that had once called itself Silverbolt grinned somewhere, at Superion’s eagerness to greet his friend, his fellow gestalt being. It had been quite awhile since Superion and Defensor had had a chance to work or fight or train together. They never got a chance to just…be…together. Silverbolt sometimes got the feeling they, both of them, all of them, might like to, but he had never quite gotten around to asking Hot Spot about it. What did two giant gestalts do for relaxation, anyway? And knowing Defensor, he was likely no better at relaxing than any of his component parts.
2.
“How…how many of us are there?” Hot Spot asked, dazed.
“Theoretically, there’s an infinite number, but counting you guys, we’ve only met three other sets. We don’t go mucking around with this kind of thing as a general rule, but Unicron owed us a favor.”
“And there were the evil ones, don’t forget them, Street,” the other Groove said.
The other Streetwise groaned. “Oh geez, don’t remind me.”
“Evil…” Hot Spot wasn’t sure he wanted to know
“We really suck at being evil; it was pretty sad,” other Streetwise said, laughing, and the other First Aid nodded in rueful agreement.
3.
First Aid’s mask was still retracted, and Sideswipe caught the smile that quirked his lips briefly before the medic returned to his other patients. His intakes caught for a moment as he remembered, like a brief spark ember flare from the tangled darkness that was their past, Sunstreaker, running up to hug him. “Sideswipe, come and see,” he had been saying, laughing sweet and free as a seeker in flight. “Come and see what I made!”
4.
Slingshot was not jealous. He wasn’t. Everyone expected him to be, he could tell. He could tell by the way Wheeljack oh-so-carefully was spending extra time with him. He could hear it running like an undercurrent through Silverbolt’s processor. Keep an optic on Slingshot. Well, he’d show them. He’d show them all. And he’d make friends with that stupid helicopter even if it killed him.
5.
They huddled together in a corner of building, one of the few still standing. They had managed to get Hot Spot to hold still finally by the simple and effective expedient of piling on top of him until he couldn't move anymore, but none of them could recharge, despite being low on fuel and exhausted beyond bearing. Their processors wouldn't stop jolting from image to image, viewed from different perspectives, scenes from the long, horrifying cycle. Mechs they had saved. Ones they hadn't. The ones that might have been saved, if only.
“I still hear screaming.” Streetwise wearily tried to lift his head to look back towards the ruined city, and Hot Spot’s optics powered up again as he shifted a little beneath them.
“There’s no one screaming,” Groove said, voice static-raspy but reassuring, leaning more on Hot Spot’s shoulder just in case he was thinking of getting up. “It’s all in your processor.”
First Aid tucked Streetwise’s helm under his chin and added his own silent reassurance. There’s no one screaming. We saved all we could; it’s out of our hands now. First Aid knew that lesson very well. When they deactivated right under his hands, he knew it to his spark. There’s no one screaming anymore. Just quiet now, just quiet and the rain. Acid rain, not something they could go play in, like they had done on their little planet, back when they were new-sparked. Still, it was rain, and it pattered with a friendly, familiar sound on the broken buildings and streets.
Gradually the rain, and First Aid’s deep river of calm, began to trickle through them like a steady, soothing song. Processors quieted, began drifting, falling into peace and recharge at last…until Blades laughed, suddenly, in the gathering stillness, like a bright nova flare, and they all blinked and groaned and dragged themselves into exhausted wakefulness again.
“Blades…” Hot Spot said drowsily, bringing up a hand to pat blindly on Blade’s helm. “What?”
“We just turned one,” Blades whispered, grinning. “Check your chronometers.”
“One?” Streetwise mumbled sleepily, and then Hot Spot, laughing beneath them, “Hey, we really are! We’re one!”
“One whole vorn,” and First Aid and Groove traded smiles.
“One,” Blades said, pressing the front of his helm against Hot Spot’s, close closer closer, until Hot Spot’s optics merged into a wide glowing red sky. “One.”
“Happy one,” Hot Spot hugged them all close, in the ruined city as the rain came down. “Happy one to us.”
1.
Silverbolt gave the command and transformed, and was subsumed in the familiar mind of Superion. Superion turned, and the tiny thread of thought that had once called itself Silverbolt grinned somewhere, at Superion’s eagerness to greet his friend, his fellow gestalt being. It had been quite awhile since Superion and Defensor had had a chance to work or fight or train together. They never got a chance to just…be…together. Silverbolt sometimes got the feeling they, both of them, all of them, might like to, but he had never quite gotten around to asking Hot Spot about it. What did two giant gestalts do for relaxation, anyway? And knowing Defensor, he was likely no better at relaxing than any of his component parts.
2.
“How…how many of us are there?” Hot Spot asked, dazed.
“Theoretically, there’s an infinite number, but counting you guys, we’ve only met three other sets. We don’t go mucking around with this kind of thing as a general rule, but Unicron owed us a favor.”
“And there were the evil ones, don’t forget them, Street,” the other Groove said.
The other Streetwise groaned. “Oh geez, don’t remind me.”
“Evil…” Hot Spot wasn’t sure he wanted to know
“We really suck at being evil; it was pretty sad,” other Streetwise said, laughing, and the other First Aid nodded in rueful agreement.
3.
First Aid’s mask was still retracted, and Sideswipe caught the smile that quirked his lips briefly before the medic returned to his other patients. His intakes caught for a moment as he remembered, like a brief spark ember flare from the tangled darkness that was their past, Sunstreaker, running up to hug him. “Sideswipe, come and see,” he had been saying, laughing sweet and free as a seeker in flight. “Come and see what I made!”
4.
Slingshot was not jealous. He wasn’t. Everyone expected him to be, he could tell. He could tell by the way Wheeljack oh-so-carefully was spending extra time with him. He could hear it running like an undercurrent through Silverbolt’s processor. Keep an optic on Slingshot. Well, he’d show them. He’d show them all. And he’d make friends with that stupid helicopter even if it killed him.
5.
They huddled together in a corner of building, one of the few still standing. They had managed to get Hot Spot to hold still finally by the simple and effective expedient of piling on top of him until he couldn't move anymore, but none of them could recharge, despite being low on fuel and exhausted beyond bearing. Their processors wouldn't stop jolting from image to image, viewed from different perspectives, scenes from the long, horrifying cycle. Mechs they had saved. Ones they hadn't. The ones that might have been saved, if only.
“I still hear screaming.” Streetwise wearily tried to lift his head to look back towards the ruined city, and Hot Spot’s optics powered up again as he shifted a little beneath them.
“There’s no one screaming,” Groove said, voice static-raspy but reassuring, leaning more on Hot Spot’s shoulder just in case he was thinking of getting up. “It’s all in your processor.”
First Aid tucked Streetwise’s helm under his chin and added his own silent reassurance. There’s no one screaming. We saved all we could; it’s out of our hands now. First Aid knew that lesson very well. When they deactivated right under his hands, he knew it to his spark. There’s no one screaming anymore. Just quiet now, just quiet and the rain. Acid rain, not something they could go play in, like they had done on their little planet, back when they were new-sparked. Still, it was rain, and it pattered with a friendly, familiar sound on the broken buildings and streets.
Gradually the rain, and First Aid’s deep river of calm, began to trickle through them like a steady, soothing song. Processors quieted, began drifting, falling into peace and recharge at last…until Blades laughed, suddenly, in the gathering stillness, like a bright nova flare, and they all blinked and groaned and dragged themselves into exhausted wakefulness again.
“Blades…” Hot Spot said drowsily, bringing up a hand to pat blindly on Blade’s helm. “What?”
“We just turned one,” Blades whispered, grinning. “Check your chronometers.”
“One?” Streetwise mumbled sleepily, and then Hot Spot, laughing beneath them, “Hey, we really are! We’re one!”
“One whole vorn,” and First Aid and Groove traded smiles.
“One,” Blades said, pressing the front of his helm against Hot Spot’s, close closer closer, until Hot Spot’s optics merged into a wide glowing red sky. “One.”
“Happy one,” Hot Spot hugged them all close, in the ruined city as the rain came down. “Happy one to us.”