#mixmaster whump

[dramamelon]

Constructicon Week is here! @constructiconweek

I'll be posting them here as well as reblogging with an AO3 link because they're all short pieces. :)

What Once Was

Day 6: Mixmaster | Welding Rating: T Tags: Minimal Editing, Canon Blender of IDW1 & IDW2, Snippets of Larger Story, Abandoned & Destroyed City, Haunted Houses, Whump, Blood and Injury, updated as necessary Fic Summary: In a moment of peace that was either the End of the War or a Temporary Truce (no one was quite sure where they stood yet), the Constructicons claimed the shattered remains of Crystal City as their own. So far, no one else had raised a fuss, leaving them free to rebuild as they wished. Chapter Summary: When things got ignored, someone was going to bear the brunt when it escalated. Poor Mixmaster had never even noticed anything unusual. Note: Tags have been updated!

He was sure it hadn't been his fault. There was no way Mixmaster tripped over his own pedes and fell down a flight of sharp-edged stairs to land at the bottom, dented everywhere, cracked open in several places, and laying in a growing pool of energon. A large spike of a shattered support truss hit on the way down left him with a large puncture in one side, the source of most of his vital fluid loss. An attempt to cycle the irises of his optics resulted in a disturbing grinding sound that had Mixmaster pausing the attempt mere moments after beginning. Instead, he slowly blinked his optical shutters, holding them closed long enough to let the flowing stream of cleansing fluid give the cracked lenses a good wash. Hook would appreciate him doing at least that much.

This was very not good.

His armor creaked as he tried to roll into a position he could more easily stand from, pain flaring from the wounds stressed by the action. He pushed a bit harder, hoping he might be able to get himself to help under his own power, but it quickly became apparent that wasn't going to happen. Giving up with a sigh, Mixmaster eased his frame back down against the ground and opened the team bond. The likelihood of the others laughing at his predicament was incredibly high, simply because all of them were Like That, but he knew they'd come around to help him before he completely bled out.

::If there's a chance someone's not busy right now, I would appreciate if I could get a little help?::

As the bond crackled with a swirl of curiosity, annoyance, and long-suffering knowing, Mixmaster could only cringe and hope he hadn't misjudged them. Really, of all the ways to go, deactivating in a broken heap at the bottom of a grand staircase in a ruined city had never crossed his mind. And oh, how very big the puddle of his living energon was becoming, stretching across at least half the length of the lobby. He touched his flagging consciousness against the bond again. With luck, he didn't sound like too much of a loser as he added a little extra plea to his request.

::Please?::

It all turned into a bit of a blur after that point. He didn't feel quite so bad about it, though, when what little his optics could decipher through the static haze was familiar green and purple. Might have been nice to be able to hear whatever Bones was saying, but Mixmaster knew one couldn't have everything.

He felt the rumble of the rest of his team as they rushed into the lobby of the medical facility they were searching, felt the heady and worried crush of their erupting EM fields. Maybe a snicker slipped from his intake when one of them slipped in the slick spill of his energon on the old and cracked tiles of the floor. He couldn't have said who it was. Or if it actually happened.

Then, hands were on him, pulling and shoving him onto his back—or as well as could be obtained with his barrel in the way. Whatever sound might have escaped him, Mixmaster kind of found himself grateful he was blissfully unaware of it over the raging agony that swept over his frame from the top of his helm to the tips of his pedes. When the severed lines were tied off he wept. When a piece of scrap metal was slapped against the gaping hole in his side and the heat of Hook's torch touched the edge, welding the panel to his torn plating, Mixmaster remembered no more.

[dramamelon]

Constructicon Week is here! @constructiconweek

I'll be posting them here as well as reblogging with an AO3 link because they're all short pieces. :)

Getting this up early because I've got work this morning. And there is where we see why I've warned it's not a full story. ^^; (Don't worry, it's gone on the WIP pile to grown up into one.)

What Once Was

Day 7: Bonecrusher | Smoke Rating: T Tags: Minimal Editing, Canon Blender of IDW1 & IDW2, Snippets of Larger Story, Abandoned & Destroyed City, Haunted Houses, Whump, Blood and Injury, Drug Use Fic Summary: In a moment of peace that was either the End of the War or a Temporary Truce (no one was quite sure where they stood yet), the Constructicons claimed the shattered remains of Crystal City as their own. So far, no one else had raised a fuss, leaving them free to rebuild as they wished. Chapter Summary: Bonecrusher waited because there wasn't much else he could do.

Sitting beside the medslab, a lit cy-gar in one hand, Bonecrusher watched Mixmaster recharge with passive optics. His poor Mixmaster looked like he'd been thrown into the Pit and spit back out. The worst part of it was not one of them could figure out what precisely happened to him. Not even the most pragmatic of them believed Mixmaster had simply fallen down the stairs. That just wasn't the sort of thing that happened to any of them, not even Scavenger on one of his clumsy days.

He lifted the cy-gar to his mouth and pulled a long drag, tensors and aching pistons relaxing as the cloud of fluxweed smoke infiltrated his internals. Only once it imparted no more of the effect did he release the shimmering smoke in thin, curling tendrils that rose toward the ceiling. Hook would have a field day with him if he saw it—probably swat it out of his hand then stomp it out on the floor—but Hook wasn't around at that particular moment, so Bonecrusher didn't particularly care. Moreover, if he were awake, Mixmaster wouldn't care—Mixmaster was the one that provided the fluxweed.

Letting his wrists fall to rest against his thighs, the bright hot end of the cy-gar idling probably too close to his plating, Bonecrusher watched the status display on the side of the medslab. "Wish I could read that slag," he muttered. He lifted his gaze to take in Mixmaster's prone frame again, catching sight of the line that fed energon back into his still dangerously depleted system. "Don't like seein' you like this, Mixer. 'S too quiet. Need to wake your aft up and make some noise."

"Has he done anything yet?"

Bonecrusher grunted and didn't bother to even glance Scavenger's way, the younger mech peeking in around the side of the open door of the private medical room. "Nope," he replied, popping the word as it left his lips. "Not even a twitch."

The scoop arm drooped behind the kid, his disappointment at the news palpable. "Oh, I'm sorry," Scavenger said, hugging the edge of the door frame. Bonecrusher sometimes wondered how he'd managed to stay so innocent compared to the rest of the team, all things considered. He watched as Scavenger leaned in a little more, optics brightening behind his red visor as he gazed on Mixmaster's still frame. "He'll be okay," Scavenger said, his vocalizer tuned softer than Bonecrusher had ever heard it before. "Hook fixed him up, right? And he had all the parts here, right when and where he needed them."

"Yeah," Bonecrusher agreed. "Probably the best condition he's been in since before the war." He flicked the cy-gar a little, the red glow of the burning end tracing a line of light through the air. His rust-pitted pistons creaked and groaned with the small movement. He bit back a grunt at the sensation, long used to it by that point. "Best condition any of us has been in since then."

Bonecrusher ignored the half-empty decanter of coolant set on the counter on the far side of the room, refusing to see how it shifted without being touched. His gaze shifted toward Scavenger, though, when the kid reacted, staring at the glassware and cringing back out of the doorway. The hand he had wrapped around the door frame tightened and the decorative plating along the side jamb put up a metallic whine as it gave under the pressure.

"Just some seismic activity," Bonecrusher told him, attention already returned to Mixmaster's still frame. "No need to act like it's something to be scared over."

He imagined Scavenger gnawing at his lip behind the blast mask, could envision the worry hidden in his optics by the visor he wore. It was just a matter of waiting it out, however. Soon enough, Scavenger nodded and forced himself to relax. Left behind on the side jamb molding as he pulled his hand away was the distinct impression of his firm grip. There was no fixing the low set of his scoop arm, though. Bonecrusher snorted and took another drag from his cy-gar.

Then Mixmaster's hand twitched, followed moments later by a distinct flicker of light in his recharge-dark optics. Bonecrusher was instantly on his pedes, bellowing as loud as he could, "Hook!"

[dramamelon]

Constructicon Week is here! @constructiconweek

I'll be posting them here as well as reblogging with an AO3 link because they're all short pieces. :)

What Once Was

Day 6: Mixmaster | Welding Rating: T Tags: Minimal Editing, Canon Blender of IDW1 & IDW2, Snippets of Larger Story, Abandoned & Destroyed City, Haunted Houses, Whump, Blood and Injury, updated as necessary Fic Summary: In a moment of peace that was either the End of the War or a Temporary Truce (no one was quite sure where they stood yet), the Constructicons claimed the shattered remains of Crystal City as their own. So far, no one else had raised a fuss, leaving them free to rebuild as they wished. Chapter Summary: When things got ignored, someone was going to bear the brunt when it escalated. Poor Mixmaster had never even noticed anything unusual. Note: Tags have been updated!

He was sure it hadn't been his fault. There was no way Mixmaster tripped over his own pedes and fell down a flight of sharp-edged stairs to land at the bottom, dented everywhere, cracked open in several places, and laying in a growing pool of energon. A large spike of a shattered support truss hit on the way down left him with a large puncture in one side, the source of most of his vital fluid loss. An attempt to cycle the irises of his optics resulted in a disturbing grinding sound that had Mixmaster pausing the attempt mere moments after beginning. Instead, he slowly blinked his optical shutters, holding them closed long enough to let the flowing stream of cleansing fluid give the cracked lenses a good wash. Hook would appreciate him doing at least that much.

This was very not good.

His armor creaked as he tried to roll into a position he could more easily stand from, pain flaring from the wounds stressed by the action. He pushed a bit harder, hoping he might be able to get himself to help under his own power, but it quickly became apparent that wasn't going to happen. Giving up with a sigh, Mixmaster eased his frame back down against the ground and opened the team bond. The likelihood of the others laughing at his predicament was incredibly high, simply because all of them were Like That, but he knew they'd come around to help him before he completely bled out.

::If there's a chance someone's not busy right now, I would appreciate if I could get a little help?::

As the bond crackled with a swirl of curiosity, annoyance, and long-suffering knowing, Mixmaster could only cringe and hope he hadn't misjudged them. Really, of all the ways to go, deactivating in a broken heap at the bottom of a grand staircase in a ruined city had never crossed his mind. And oh, how very big the puddle of his living energon was becoming, stretching across at least half the length of the lobby. He touched his flagging consciousness against the bond again. With luck, he didn't sound like too much of a loser as he added a little extra plea to his request.

::Please?::

It all turned into a bit of a blur after that point. He didn't feel quite so bad about it, though, when what little his optics could decipher through the static haze was familiar green and purple. Might have been nice to be able to hear whatever Bones was saying, but Mixmaster knew one couldn't have everything.

He felt the rumble of the rest of his team as they rushed into the lobby of the medical facility they were searching, felt the heady and worried crush of their erupting EM fields. Maybe a snicker slipped from his intake when one of them slipped in the slick spill of his energon on the old and cracked tiles of the floor. He couldn't have said who it was. Or if it actually happened.

Then, hands were on him, pulling and shoving him onto his back—or as well as could be obtained with his barrel in the way. Whatever sound might have escaped him, Mixmaster kind of found himself grateful he was blissfully unaware of it over the raging agony that swept over his frame from the top of his helm to the tips of his pedes. When the severed lines were tied off he wept. When a piece of scrap metal was slapped against the gaping hole in his side and the heat of Hook's torch touched the edge, welding the panel to his torn plating, Mixmaster remembered no more.