#skydash

[peaceandlove26]

do you love me? do you, surfer girl?

[keaalu]

Remember Me, chapter 12

Title (chapter): Remember Me (12)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: In which we find certain teleports are still sneaky assholes, Ramjet isn't sure how he got to this point in life, and Celerity has a helluva right hook. And we STILL don't know what that "one last job" was that Megatron has for Skywarp...

(...sloooowly catching up with posting this on here...)

----------------------------

Teleporting blind was hard to define to anyone who wasn’t a teleport.

Worst that could happen is you crash into a wall, they’d say. Haha, look at Skywarp, how clumsy, stuck in the furniture. What an idiot. But it’s only a wall. Why are you so upset. Just detach that bit, and carry on with your day. It’s really not a big deal.

What no-one seemed to realise was that it was never just like bumping into a wall, and never just a minor body part. More like… throwing yourself through a doorway where there could be anything on the other side – like the boiling inside of a volcano. And you wouldn’t know anything about it until you were already dissolving your spark in lava.

This insanity went against every instinct he possessed. He was only mostly confident that there was only air at the other end of his careful triangulations. Air was fine. His pre-materialisation field could push air out of the way. Liquids were… mostly fine, too. (OK, maybe except lava.) But solid objects – like walls, and floors, and bulkheads… – didn’t move. And this visual-only carefully-calculated little hop into a corridor had a margin of error as narrow as the tissue blade he’d stolen to cut out his beacon. Teleporting into solid objects was a particularly not-fun thing, and usually explodey into the bargain. (And look what happened last time: he disappeared into a time vortex for half a lifetime.)

…Skywarp successfully stepped out of his jump a few microns above the deck, in the middle of the corridor, as far from any walls as he could make it. The clunk as his thrustered heel hit the deck sounded unrealistically loud, but even the idea that it could have attracted an entire garrison of triplechangers to his escape took second billing to immediately checking himself over. He did six big agitated circles on the spot before finally being satisfied that yes, he was still in the same number of pieces he’d been in before teleporting, no, he hadn’t left anything behind in the cell, and no, he definitely wasn’t permanently attached to a wall.

And aside from his own clumsy footsteps, all was silence. That was good.

The lack of alarms felt like it was probably a good thing, as well.

Thank frag. He covered his face with both hands and blew stale exhaust into his palms.

OK. Stage two. Find the kids and break the slag out of here.

He cautiously brought all his systems back online and allowed himself a few long cycles of cool air before giving himself a good shake and telling himself to quit being a sparkling and get on with the plan.

It took every last ounce of self control not to break into a run. When his weight and certain hollow bits of anatomy were taken into account, especially against metal deckplates, thrustered heels weren’t really built with sneaking in mind, especially not quickly – they might not have noticed him escaping but they’d definitely notice the gunshot clatter of a running seeker. Instead he was reduced to skulking down the corridors with a weirdly delicate, deliberate stride, trying hard to minimise the echoes.

There was a time he had been good at this, and he was definitely out of practice. Turning into a semi-responsible adult had a lot to answer for.

In a further complication, since his teleport, he couldn’t seem to get the broken line in his helm to crystallise. It was still bleeding; trickling round under his chin and into his collar, before finding one of his many broken bits of fuselage to drip off. Only the occasional spots and smears, maybe, but even tiny droplets would light his way like glowing breadcrumbs. The quicker he could scoop up the little sparks and get out, the better.

He followed the subtle sounds of static down the corridor, homing in on the pinpoint labelled Seem that he’d stuck in his mental map. He figured it prooobably hadn’t helped the kid’s frame of mind, seeing his sire captured by the same bunch of thugs as had made his own life a living Pit for the last few orns… but hopefully Seem would still have enough of a grip on himself that he’d be helpful and not need carrying or some slag. (And hopefully the kids were on their own, or this would be the planet’s shortest rescue mission.)

He peered around the bulkhead and finally located the source of the sounds, huddled up in the corner of his cell. At least Slipstream wasn’t totally in the dark. Small blessings.

“Hey. Psst?”

“S-skyw-…!” Slipstream visibly jumped, and rocked forwards onto his knees, startled. “But, but… I thought they’d caught you-! I-I saw you with them-!”

“They did.” Satisfied the youngster had no babysitters, Skywarp turned his attention to the controls. “But you know me. I don’t like to stay caught for too long.”

“How-how did you even get out?”

Skywarp grinned. “See, when someone puts you in cuffs, you’re a good little cop and treat them like they’re meant to be treated. When someone puts me in cuffs, I take it as a challenge.” He gave the controls a wary poke, just in case it was booby-trapped, but the field obediently just fizzled out. “Huh. There’s no baffle on it? Why didn’t you get out?”

Struggling to stand, Slipstream glanced away, awkwardly, and gestured with his cuffed wrists. “Where was I going to go, exactly? We couldn’t exactly walk back to shore.”

“…Fair point. Let’s get your hands free.” Skywarp leaned briefly over the threshold and gave the cell a visual once-over. “Uh. So, uh. Where’s Dash?”

“I don’t know.” Slipstream crept to the front of the cell, tucked close to the wall, looking rather like a frightened animal. “I’m sorry. Probably with Ramjet. They don’t leave her with me very often, any more.”

“Great. That does kinda frag things up. I figured you’d be together.” Skywarp vented a terse sigh, and noticed the youngster flinch ever so slightly. He made a mental note to try not to spook him any worse until they were out “Can you see her? I’d have a look myself but it might clue them in that I’ve slipped the leash.”

Slipstream’s gaze meandered while he looked for his cousin’s signal. “…I see her, but… I’m not sure where exactly. Couple of decks above.” He studied the floor. “I’m sorry. I… kinda didn’t imagine I’d need to know, right now, or I-I’d have asked her more about where they took her. She-she’s always fine when they bring her back. I thought that was enough. I’m sorry-”

“Hey. Hey!” Skywarp caught his shoulders before he could get too wobbly. “It’s fine. You did what you could. Don’t beat yourself up over this, all right? You’ve taken enough of a beating from those guys already, don’t go and join in with doing it to yourself.” That was putting it lightly; the youngster looked like he’d taken a trip or two through the mill already. “Do I need to get the Hatchet to meet us at the Spacebridge?”

“It’s not so bad.” Slipstream shrugged and refused to meet his gaze. “Mostly just dents. I think they all had a turn at it, at one point or another. Got Dash to behave if she thought they’d punch me if she didn’t. I-I can cope. For now.”

Skywarp arched a brow at the lie, but let it rest. They’d have plenty of time for playing pin-the-blame-on-yourself later, when they weren’t still navigating this tightrope to safety.

Slipstream waited patiently while Skywarp fiddled with the dented cuffs and tried to get them to unlock. “Maybe we should try and find Ramjet.”

Skywarp gave him a wary glance. “What? Why?”

“He-he usually comes and collects Dash, and she says she normally stays with him when she’s not here. I think maybe he’s in charge of watching over her. And-” Slipstream cycled cold air and dragged up enough courage to put a little weight behind his convictions. “I think he’s maybe having second thoughts about all this? I overheard him say he wanted to come home, back to Cybertron. He might be willing to help, if we give him a bit of a break?”

Skywarp gave him a very long stare before finally saying “hm.”

“He-he’s… not been so bad. Compared to Dirge.” Slipstream chased, before that limited burst of spirit could run out. “Dirge absolutely wants me to know he’s going to kill me, eventually. Ramjet just… seems… bored of it all, I guess. He never looks interested. He’s just… flat.”

At last, the lock on the cuffs released. It took a little force, but between them they managed to peel them open.

“You don’t think it’s a trick? Or bait?” Skywarp tossed the broken cuffs into the cell, while Slipstream quietly examined his wrists for additional damage. “I mean, if there’s one person I know isn’t gonna be affected by a good punch to the head? It’s Ramjet.”

“After they caught me, he’s never really joined in when his wingmates decided I was due a slagging. I only really see him when he’s come to get Dash, or drop her back.”

Skywarp thought back to the aftermath of his own beating from Megatron, and recognised that actually? The youngster’s words did make a lick of sense. While everyone else grandstanded and tried to remind him how intimidating and scary they were all meant to be, Ramjet’s contribution had been… perfunctory. He had looked tired, more than anything. “You think he’d talk to us?”

“I don’t know.” Slipstream deflated, a little. “I haven’t dared broach the subject, in-in case I was wrong. Besides. I’m an Autobot, remember? He’d never talk to me.”

“…And I’m a traitor. I don’t know who they hate more. Chances are decent that he wouldn’t talk to me, either.” Skywarp returned his attention to the corridor. Still quiet, still empty. “Come on. Let’s at least quit hanging around in your cell doorway, seeing as this is precisely where everyone seems to be visiting right now. If anyone’s gonna accidentally spot us, it’ll be here. We can figure slag out on the way.”

Slipstream followed him, obediently. “So, um. When are the rest of the guys getting here?”

Skywarp winced. “I, ah, might have asked your ama to cover for me while I snuck out. With any luck they only figured out what I was up to when I dropped off the registry. Hopefully it means they’re still back on Cybertron.”

“Oh.” Slipstream just quietly nodded at the news, looking disappointed but not unduly surprised. Ideas like Skywarp’s tended to run in the family, after all. “Okay. So it’s just us?”

“Yeah. I figured dragging the others along for the ride wasn’t the right thing to do, right now.” Skywarp checked around a doorway, and blew out an annoyed sigh. “TC has one of his six-orn migraines and can’t see slag, and I didn’t want to immediately get murdered by bringing Screamer along. Thought I stood a better chance of surviving if it was just me. It’s… kinda worked so far, I guess. Still alive, anyway.”

“How are you going carry us when we find Dash? Do you know if you can even still fly?”

“Sure. I’ve flown with dings worse than this.” Skywarp offered an ambivalent shrug. “I’ve still got both wings, both thrusters, and hopefully most of my usual dumb luck. We’ll figure something out.” He glanced back at his sparkling and offered a lopsided smile, but Slipstream didn’t smile back. “We’re just gonna have to be lone heroes, all right?”

Slipstream laughed, humourlessly, and looked away. He was visibly deflating. “I’m not sure I’m hero material.”

“Hey. Quit that.” Skywarp gave him a light cuff on the arm. “The fact your confidence has taken a beating doesn’t mean you’re any less of a warrior than you were before a bunch of pitglitched ’Cons got their claws in you. They dumped you in a cell on your own with nothing to do except worry and it sucks.” He placed his hands firmly on the youngster’s upper arms, and crouched, subtly, to be on his eyeline. “Look. We’re gonna get out of here, but you’ve gotta focus for me, all right? I can’t do this and carry you as well.”

Slipstream stared through him for a second or two before finding his sire’s optics, and managing to focus on him. He nodded, shakily.

“I won’t lie to you. This situation sucks. There’s a pretty good chance neither of us are getting out of here in the condition we’re in right now, let alone as a functioning whole. But I need your attention. I need absolutely all your energy focused on us getting out.” Skywarp offered a wan smile. “You can be a snivelly wet blanket all you like once we’re home. Frag, I’ll come be a snivelly wet blanket with you. But let’s save it until we’ve got your cousin and got out.”

Slipstream had to reboot his vocaliser, and even then sounded hazy. “How is it you’re not scared?”

“Who said I wasn’t?”

Slipstream just stared at him, silently.

“Not looking scared doesn’t mean not being scared. You don’t survive war as long as I did without learning a few tricks, and looking like you have your slag together? Sometimes that’s enough to convince everyone else that you genuinely do.” Skywarp managed an ugly laugh. “I mean, Pit. I’m walking around here like I still own the place. Megatron’s already given me a slagging, I’m only reasonably confident that he won’t kill me on sight if he catches me, and that’s only because I know he wants Starscream to watch me die. And I’m not even totally confident of that. If we frag this up, he might decide sending him a video works just as well.”

Slipstream leaned into the stabilising grip for a further astro second or two, before lifting his own hands to cover the larger ones on his arms. “That’s… not really helping, Day.”

“…yeah, I know. I figure that’s why I never got the job as staff counsellor back home.” Skywarp let out a tired whistle of exhaust and let his helm bonk gently against Slipstream’s. “I also know, we’re gonna do this. We’re survivors. We’ve got through everything else and we’re already halfway there. We just need one last little push, and we’ll fetch Dashie, and be out.”

Slipstream nodded against him.

“Remember. It’s not about being scared. Everyone gets scared. Even I get scared. I’ve got the surges right now.” Skywarp grinned in a way that bared his denta in a determined snarl. “It’s about knowing you’re scared, and still telling it exactly where it can go frag off, because we’re gonna do it anyway. Right?”

Slipstream finally managed to dredge up a more genuine laugh – shaky and halfway to a sob, but at least there was a bit of energy behind it. He wiped his face with one hand and made an effort to straighten his twisted antennae. “Right. Let’s go tell it where to frag off.”

 -----

He might in reality have been sat on his aft, but in his head right now, Ramjet stood on a precipice, with his own weight in concrete around his thrusters, debating whether he dared step off into the unknown. Sure, even loaded up like this, he could still fly, but he was at his limit. Add one more tiny thing – like the weight of a first-instar sparkling, perhaps – and that might be enough to turn flying into falling and the drop in front of him was a very long way down with no way back up.

And that was just the little problem. He had no idea what to do about the big problems – the two massive spanners in his turbines called Thrust and Dirge. If he tried to discuss any of this with them, he knew Dirge would go straight to Megatron. Or ‘accidentally’ let it slip to Soundwave. And it didn’t take much thinking to know who Thrust would side with.

Ramjet knew the trine was in trouble.

Worse, he knew, deep down, that they were right. It was his fault.

Even during the better times, when they had an actual cause worth fighting for and things weren’t all so fractured and pointless, before The Traitor defected and the ‘Cons ended up stuck the wrong side of the spacebridge on planet Mud… he didn’t exactly have a great track record as wingleader. Not that his wingbros were any better, but Dirge had at least found the capacity to be kinda proactive for a change.

…Which meant Megatron was looking more closely at the three of them, all of a sudden, so whatever Ramjet did do, he didn’t have the luxury of taking time making the decision.

And that was discounting the idea that Starscream would beat him to the punch – finally make his move, get himself caught and horribly executed, the Autobots would move to try and stop the ‘Cons reinvading Cybertron, and their stupid meaningless war would start over again.

Assuming he did get out, Ramjet knew he’d have to be really careful about how he played this, because yeah, they’d abducted (and traumatised) the kids and shot – maybe killed – Skywarp’s femme. Maybe he could spin it that hey, he was acting on Megatron’s orders, not everyone has the Screamer’s compulsion to defy him at every turn. Right? If he grovelled low enough perhaps he wouldn’t immediately get shot. You could eventually come back from planetary exile, he figured. Couldn’t come back from being dead. And if it came to the worst, Autobot prisons had to be better than this dump.

Once he’d bought himself a little favour with the enemy, a little space to think without constantly being aware of a timer counting down to a deadline he didn’t actually know, he could work on figuring out what to do with his trine.

He’d probably frag things up irreparably no matter what option he took – but sitting here just staring at screens and hoping it’d just spontaneously somehow resolve itself wasn’t an option either.

Make or break time.

If he left, his bros would either follow him because they saw something worth saving, or they wouldn’t, because it was over.

Was he clutching at contrails, hoping they’d think he was worth following?

“Ugh.” He covered his face with both hands and rested his elbows against the control panel.

Skydash squeaked questioningly at him, but he ignored her for now.

Frag.

Frag.

Clutching at contrails.

Ramjet made up his mind. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” He held out his hand.

Skydash examined the big palm for several seconds before climbing warily on. “Walk where?”

“Does it matter? I mean if you’d rather stay in this li’l room, be my guest. But you might get kinda bored. And Mean Blue might come back.”

She chirped uneasily and clung tighter to his thumb while he lifted her to his shoulder. He let her wriggle into a convenient crevice, tiny fingers finding just enough gaps in his plating to anchor herself. It felt very strange, but he figured it wouldn’t be for too long.

Hoped it wouldn’t be for too long. And not for the wrong reasons.

The instant she was secure, Ramjet puffed himself up, arms stiff and hands fisted, just in case anyone was watching, and strode out into the corridor.

Just going about my business, nothing to see here.

I am a totally normal confident Decepticon warrior, where I belong, not even trying to sneak out with one of our prisoners.

“See ama now, Arrgie?” she asked, quietly.

“Maybe. If you behave.” He felt her perk up, and hastily added; “And be quiet, all right? You know Dirge will say no.” And instantly grass us up to Megatron. “If the guys spot us, that’s it. Curtains.”

She was silent for an astro-second. “What curtains am?”

“Curtains are what we close on the end of the world for both of us.” At the second little questioning noise, he went on: “Someone might even put you back in the bucket.”

Alarm flashed through her field. “No bucket,” she whispered.

“Right? No bucket.”

She managed a whole astro-second of silence. “When to get Unnolseem?”

Frag. “Uh. I’m… gonna… have to come back for him,” Ramjet lied. “The two of you together will be too heavy.”

If she sensed the lie, she didn’t call him out on it, and settled again, satisfied for now.

Then they rounded a corner and ran smack into Skywarp.

“Frag!” Ramjet leaped back and immediately went into a defensive half-crouch, fisting one hand in front of his chest, ready to deliver a punch if needed. “How did you get out?!”

“By being cleverer than you bunch of pitglitches, how do you think?” Skywarp had already put himself between Ramjet and Slipstream, using his wings as a shield, equally ready to fight. “Have you never upgraded the brig since we jumped ship?”

“Unnolseem!” Skydash ruined the tension. “Find ama!” she squeaked, excitedly flailing her arms. She looked like she was on the cusp of toppling clean off. “Arrgie say!”

Ramjet hastily grabbed her before she could fall off – and more importantly, before anyone else could snatch her. It unfortunately ruined the whole fearsome Conehead look that he was trying to carry off.

Skywarp gave him a very long, curious stare. “Are you defecting?”

“And fling myself on the tender mercy of you guys? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You haven’t shot us yet.”

“Of course not. I don’t want you falling apart in the hallway, it’d ruin Megatron’s plans. I’m calling for backup right now.”

“Really.” Skywarp folded his arms, unimpressed. “We all heard what Dashie just said about finding her bearer, and Seem thinks you want to come back to Cybertron. If you are quitting-”

Ramjet’s expression darkened. “I do want to come home; so what? It sucks that we’ve been stuck here all these vorns, slowly rusting and going decrepit, while you guys sit around enjoying the good life. It doesn’t mean I’m defecting. It means, I’m gonna wait until Megatron finally puts his plans into action, then swoop to victory the instant you’re out of the way.”

Skywarp arched an eyebrow, and they all just stared at each other for several seconds, the words hanging unspoken in the air. Which is why you’re sneaking out with half of Megatron’s plan.

Ramjet sighed. “Okay. Fine. Just for an astro-second, say I was. Say I didn't want to wait for Megatron because I know it'll instantly go to slag and we’ll have a derelict planet again. Would you give me a chance, or just shoot me when my back was turned?”

“You jumping ship now isn’t going to stop Megatron’s grand plan-”

“Maybe not? Who cares. At least he’ll have one fewer pairs of hands to help wreck the joint.” Ramjet closed his mouth with a little snap, and glared. “…And you are not tricking me into saying anything else. Not until I get some assurances of safety from you.”

Skywarp put his hands up, defensively. “Okayokay. You have my word that I won’t shoot you – yet, anyway – but I’m still just the grunt of my trine. It’s my wingbros you’re gonna have to convince.” He held one hand out. “Hand Dash to me, and Seem can get you out.”

“So you can all immediately leave me behind?” Ramjet tightened his grip, subtly. “No deal, traitor. She’s my guarantee that you at least listen to me.”

“I hate to break it to you, RJ, but last time I checked you couldn’t teleport.”

“So I’ll take the lift? Like I was about to do, before you two fragheads showed up. How do you think I normally get off this disintegrating tin can?”

“And you were planning to not get caught… how?”

“By… living here? And not being suspicious because I’m not sneaking around where I’m not meant to be? If Tiny keeps quiet, I’ll just leave the same way I normally do, using the docking gantry.” Ramjet lowered his voice to a hiss. “Which is looking less and less likely, by the way, the longer I stand here chatting with you two idiots. Just get yourselves out, and I’ll meet you up there.”

“Or you’ll run straight to Megatron and let him know we’re making a jailbreak. I think not.”

“The frag would I do that when we’ve already established I’m defying orders myself?!”

Skywarp rubbed the back of his helm. “Fine. We’re gonna have to work together, then. All four of us at once. If we synchronise our gates, we can just perform one big jump at once. Everyone knows where everyone else is, no-one betrays anyone, no-one gets shot.” He gave his niece a look. “You all right with that, Bit?”

Dash nodded. Having her family around had emboldened the sparkling. “Find ama. No bucket,” she asserted.

“Bucket?” Skywarp wondered.

Ramjet ignored him, just glaring tiredly at the sparkling. “Do I look anything like I have a damn bucket on my person anywhere?”

She just stared up at him.

“All right, all right, I get it. No bucket.”

“You good for fuel?” Skywarp gave Ramjet a loaded glance. “’Cause when we leave here, we ain’t stopping for anyone until we get through the spacebridge.”

Ramjet shrugged, ambivalently. “How are you for fuel?” he returned, sidestepping the question. “We haven’t exactly fed you while you’ve been here.”

“I haven’t leaked it all on the floor yet.” Skywarp dragged up a cynical smile. “This plastic refit you lot have been having so much fun sucking sump about does have a few perks. I can go lightyears further than you bunch of lead-forged bulk carriers-”

The sudden shrill pulsatile scream of Nemesis’s general alarm made all four jump. Scared, Skydash jammed her hands up over her audios and joined in a microsecond later.

Skywarp rankled at the accusatory looks. “Okay, fine! We’ve been chatting in the corridors for too long and I guess someone finally looked at the monitors. That or someone spotted I’m still dripping and is following my trail. Seem? Better get our gates synced.”

Slipstream nodded, gulping down cold air. “I’ve not done this in a long time,” he stammered. “Give-give me a second--”

The rattle of running footsteps was obvious even over the din of alarms.

Skywarp glanced down the corridor in the direction they were coming from. “We might not have a second, ’cause that sounds like company,” he snapped, turning to face the approaching enemy. “I’ll try buy us some time. Just don’t stop.”

Thrust skidded around the corner without leaving himself enough room to stop, and crashed side-on into the wall. In the instant it took to rebalance his gyroscopes, Skywarp already sprinting towards him, in an irregular teleported zigzag across the corridor.

“Oh, frag!” Thrust scrambled to lock back onto his target, but Skywarp’s quick hops ruined his tracking, and by the time he thought to rely on his vision, his assailant was already within striking distance.

The teleport threw a punch and connected his fist with Thrust’s unprotected face.

“How’s that plastic feel for you?!”

Thrust lost his balance and went crashing down on his aft, swearing the whole way.

“…Traitor!” Apparently aiming for a pincer movement to box the escapees in, Dirge had appeared from the opposite direction… but was so shocked to be seeing Ramjet together with Skywarp and the kids, he had no idea how to handle it.

Slipstream seized the chance – Dirge was within striking distance, hadn’t yet brought his cannons up, and the younger mech was still running hot with alarm.

He launched himself at the blue jet, arms wide and head down, and ploughed into his midsection. Smaller he might have been, but the youngster was heavy and sturdily built, and as tackles went it was pretty solid. One of Dirge’s thrusters skidded out from underneath him and they went sprawling.

Slipstream used both hands against the jet’s face to push himself up and away, out of reach. Dirge swore and made an unsuccessful grab for one arm, unable to recover from the shove quickly enough to catch him.

“Seem! Finalise the sync-!” Skywarp bellowed, urgently.

Thrust was already up in a crouch, pushing off in a lunge.

Slipstream snatched out a hand and secured his grip on Ramjet. “Done-!”

Thrust made a grab-…

-…but his fingers closed on empty air.

Then momentum carried him wildly over his centre of gravity and he collapsed onto Dirge.

It really wasn’t their day.

-----  

Up in the monitoring room, the escape hadn’t gone observed.

Megatron stood squarely in front of the screen, arms folded. A motley assortment of other mechs had clustered around the margins of the room behind him, wanting to see but not particularly keen to be within reach. Just in case.

Astrotrain stood at the back of the crowd, at a respectful, harder-to-slag distance. “Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job, mighty Megatron, but, uh. You… don’t want us to hunt them down?”

The warlord stared at the screen for several seconds, listening to the confused murmurings of his followers, before finally speaking.

“No. This might not be the outcome I had been hoping for, but it still works in my favour.” He turned away from the screen and everyone took a collective step back. “Whether he realises it or not, Skywarp is still working for us. With a little luck, he will carry our plan right to his own doorstep.” A small smile traced the thin lips. “He never does learn from past mistakes, does he?”

-----  

The flight back to land was uneventful. A blind sprint over the ocean, granted, trying to become invisible by sticking so close to the waves that seaspray often stung their fuselage… but no-one appeared to be following them. So they were all getting covered in salt-spots for no reason.

It left Skywarp deeply uneasy – too quiet, where was the pursuit, how far back were they, was there a trap ahead – but he kept his concerns to himself. Wasn’t about to challenge the advantage, just in case Primus decided the escapees had been granted quite enough good luck, now, and dropped a Blitzwing in their way.

The irony that their ‘prisoner’ was the only mech that was still functionally armed was not lost on him. The last thing they needed was a triplechanger to deal with.

Ramjet had been moodily silent since leaving the Nemesis.

-might not count for much coming from me, but think this is pretty brave of you- Skywarp pinged.

Ramjet replied with an obscene image.

-mean it! not even slagging with you-

-whatever. coulda got out without the bros being any the wiser, but you had to go screw that up- Ramjet replied, sourly.

-they’d have known eventually-

-would have figured out an excuse by then! cook it so dirge thought it was his idea. no hope now. total slagfest-

Skywarp let the matter drop, aside from a final -sorry- that he hoped was good enough to convince the conehead he was genuine.

Ramjet didn’t respond.

They finally arrived at the spacebridge to find Vantage had already cued up the Deixar address, and the wormhole was glowing hot. Only two other familiar figures stood nearby – Jazz and Prowl, of course – but Skywarp could pretty much guarantee the presence of a dozen other Autobots, minimum, hiding close by in the trees.

Relieved to be back on solid ground, Slipstream took two steps before stumbling and sagging against Skywarp, as if his knees had forgotten how to work. Skywarp let him lean – the smaller mech’s acrophobia was no secret, and he’d spent the entire journey clinging to him with both arms, optics offline, trying not to tremble too much but still distractingly shaky.

“Skywarp,” Jazz greeted, coming forwards, looking relaxed but keeping his gaze fixed on the uncomfortable Ramjet. “We spotted your coming and let Cybertron know you were on your way, but does anyone need Ratchet before you ship out?”

Skywarp snorted. “Thanks, but no thanks. No offence, but we’re not planning on hanging around.” He pulled carefully on Slipstream’s arm and got him back onto his feet. “Only a few more steps, Seemo, then you can fall apart in safety. All right?”

Prowl stood quietly watching them approach the spacebridge; he gave Ramjet a very long, meaningful stare, but didn’t challenge them.

Skywarp gave the Autobot a nod, but otherwise ignored him, hustling Ramjet along in front and hoping Prowl would play into the ruse the mech was his prisoner – or at least wouldn’t call him out, because his own sleek arms and absence of weaponry was kinda obvious.

Thankfully, no-one challenged why Ramjet was still carrying Dash, either. That would have been harder to explain without publically going into the detail Skywarp wanted to avoid.

The four emerged from the transport wormhole to a bristling blue wall of defensive shielding, scattered in a big circle between a loose perimeter of hastily-erected barriers. It looked like half the Deixar force was there, anticipating Megatron himself to be coming through.

“Whoa.” Even Skywarp took a step back, surprised. “That’s a bigger welcome than I was expecting.”

Ramjet tensed and stumbled backwards behind Skywarp’s wings. He’d have probably ducked straight back through the spacebridge if it hadn’t (inconveniently) already deactivated. “I thought you said I’d have to convince your bros?” he hissed. “Not the entire fragging police force! You never said anything about this.”

“Hate to break it to you but I haven’t had a tonne of contact with Cybertron in the last few orns?”

A big white shape with blazing blue optics broke through the vanguard, closely followed by a familiar set of blue wings, and advanced with a thunderous stride that made the ground shake. Skywarp heard Ramjet’s fans kick subtly to a higher frequency. With the femme’s field broadcasting her emotions so scorchingly hot, it did feel rather like having a hostile blue-white star bearing down on them.

The giant wrestled her self-control back and stumbled to a halt an arm’s length away. “Hand her over,” she instructed, shakily, then added; “please.”

For several seconds, Ramjet just stared. Celerity was easily as tall as him, and must have massed getting on for double. He barely even noticed Thundercracker approaching behind her.

Skywarp kicked him in the back of the leg. It was enough to break through the haze of fight-or-flight and he realised the sparkling was on the point of squirming out of his hands all by herself anyway.

Ramjet hastily plonked the tiny bot into the large palms, and the supernova rapidly deflated.

For several long seconds, Celerity just held her sparkling, the tension visibly draining out of her. Skydash clicked and squirmed and tried to mould herself all the way into her chassis.

“Ama, ama, ama,” the sparkling repeated, like an excited mantra. “Ama, ama!”

The instant Skydash had calmed enough to handle, Celerity peeled the baby carefully off her armour, and gently passed her into Thundercracker’s confused hands; Skydash shrieked and flailed excitedly and scrambled up his arm to latch around his neck. “Be good for a moment?” she said, with a smile, although it wasn’t obvious who exactly she was talking to.

Then she turned, and sent Ramjet reeling with a piledriver right hook to the face.

[fyeah-tmnt]

We always joke about Ben Schwartz voicing blue characters

but we forget about Josh Brener voicing nerds

[skellyuniverse]

I decided to make a side thing

If you are into both THSC and Warrior cats, it will be for you. However, it will need a few vote polls before I can start so I can decide few things.

[thesplintering]

“Touhou Multi Scroll Shooting 2” Now on Steam PC

“Touhou Multi Scroll Shooting 2” Now on Steam PC | #gaming #indiegames #indiegaming #Steam #pcgaming

On Wednesday, independent game developer Skydash Studios released Touhou Multi Scroll Shooting 2 on Steam PC. Crafted as a derivative of other Touhou Project works, Touhou Multi Scroll Shooting 2 is a “top-down, 3D bullet storm shooter featuring 3 female characters in sexy costumes.” There’s also no time wasted on plot or story sequences, just hot chicks dodging bullets and blasting baddies to…

[kawaii-mango]

Happy Birthday, Ben Schwartz! 💙 @rejectedjokes

YouTube

[emododong]

Sa mga taga-Cebu! If ganahan mo pa haircut og color sa inyo hair, adto mo sa Skydash & Co Salon and quote “Emododong” para makakuha mo og 10% discount on major services! Aron makabantay na nah si crush ninyo anang inyong nindot na buhok! http://bit.ly/2sjsU2B

[robotsandromance-blog]

Okay so one time ladybug got into a contest with another bugger (g1, just able to eat organic stuff I guess) over who could eat a tree fastest. She lost, but if you see her digging into a pine she's stressed. She used to be a termite which explains the wood thing. She LOVES being scratched where her elytra meet her wings. It calms her down instantly. Next is the ladyjet herself skydash!

HRUVHDKJBFHKJHTJH

BEING INACTIVE FOREVER DUE TO SCHOOL THEN COMING BACK TO THIS MADE ME HAPPY. AAAA I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

[freedomfightersofamerica]

via Twitter ( Oathkeepers)

[peaceandlove26]

tentative designs for my nextgen babies, kitten caboodle and princess spindrift

[keaalu]

Remember Me, chapter 8

Title (chapter): Remember Me (08)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: if/when her family get her back, Skydash is going to have a very interesting vocabulary.

---------------------------

In Nemesis’ monitoring room, it had been quiet for a while. Ramjet wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He wondered for an instant if the brat had actually died? Or vanished somehow – wouldn’t be the first sparkling with the annoying ability to walk through walls, after all.

Not sure he’d like what he’d find, it took a few moments to summon the desire to lift the databoard.

In the bottom of the bucket, Skydash was cuddled down into a ball, hugging her knees. Still alive, fortunately.

Ramjet waited an astro-second or two for a response before prompting: “Are you gonna behave if I let you out?”

Threads of frightened static emerged from the depths of the pail, but she didn’t respond otherwise.

The big jet vented a terse sigh, optics tightening, and glared down at her. “Fine. Stay in there then.”

Alarmed, the sparkling suddenly came to life – scrambling out and tipping the container over in her haste. “No bucket-!”

“Does this mean you’re gonna be good, now?” Ramjet hefted the pail in one hand, meaningfully.

“No bucket,” Skydash blurted out, scuttling backwards until her back impacted the side of the terminal. “No bucket!”

“I’m assuming that’s a yes.”

She disappeared into a small gap at floor level, still repeating the words like a mantra. “No bucket. No bucket.”

“...frag sake.” Ramjet covered his face with one hand and counted inwardly to ten thousand, before giving the slot a cursory examination. It was too low and awkwardly-angled for him to get much more than a hand into it, let alone grab for the runaway. Getting the sparkling back out would require a plasma cutter, unless she decided to emerge of her own volition.

Although by now she’d picked up a new noise that seemed to make every single last armour plate vibrate against its neighbour, and he didn’t want to get that much closer to it to be able to experiment.

Almost as bad as Dirge. “Am I being too complicated for you?” At least that horrendous siren-scream was still offline. “Come on, Tiny. Please. If you don’t quit making all that fragging noise, Megatron will come down here and silence the pair of us, permanently.”

“No bucket.”

“Fine.” He flipped the can over and propped his thruster against it. “No bucket. Are you gonna finally come out of there now?”

Little blue optics peeked out from the crevice into which their owner had wriggled. She gave a single questioning chirp.

Ramjet wondered briefly if he should attempt a grab, or if that’d just trigger more noise. Instead, carefully, slowly, trying not to spook her, he put out a hand.

Skydash inched closer to it, and stared at it for a very long time before finally climbing into his palm. He could feel her vibrating very subtly as he lifted her back up to the top of the terminal.

When he opened his fingers, she slithered limply off his hand like a rag doll, flopped out across the top of the terminal, and just lay there, unmoving.

Ramjet watched her, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A mixture of relief (because damn did the silence feel good) and concern (what new horror was the tiny brat cooking up?) washed over him in equal measures. “Yeah. That looks like a good plan.”

No new horror was forthcoming, though. Perhaps those tiny batteries were finally depleted? Her dim blue gaze slipped briefly sideways. “Sorry bite.”

Ramjet shrugged. “Eh, no big deal. Had lots worse than bites before.”

“Day say bite bad.”

“Figures that the master slaghead would be the one to teach his sparklings what’s good and bad.” Ramjet snorted. “He's probably right.”

She was silent for a few astroseconds, before adding, in a watery voice; “No bucket.”

“Sure. Whatever. No bucket.”

Peace reigned for a few breems. The sound that finally broke through the quiet was one of subtle movement – a little scuffly noise, as of someone trying not to draw attention to himself. Ramjet glanced behind to find Thrust lurking in the hallway, trying not to make it too obvious that he’d positioned himself within lunging distance of a strategic doorframe.

“So, Dirge said you smashed a mop over his helm and kicked him out,” Thrust said, warily, by way of greeting. “Is it safe for me to come in there?”

Ramjet’s expression flattened into a tired glare. “Well that all depends on why you’re here. If it’s just to heckle and make my life difficult? Then no, probably not.”

“Well, I’m meant to be on duty now, so I guess I’m here to relieve you? Buuut I can just go back to the galley if you’d rather, the Triples broke out some high grade and y’know.” Thrust jerked a thumb in a backwards point over his shoulder. “Ain’t gonna say no to that.”

Ramjet snorted, and stood up. “If anyone deserves the high-grade, it’s me. No way am I gonna stay here and let you scurry off to have fun while I do all the work.” He offered Skydash his palm and she climbed uneasily onto it.

Thrust slipped into the unoccupied chair. “You’re taking Tinybot with you?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna go stash her with her bro, assuming Hook managed to get the kid to finally stop bleeding.” Ramjet let Skydash perch on his arm; she clung to it unsettlingly tightly, turning her face away from Thrust. “Why; you wanna look after her?”

Thrust actually leaned away, subtly. “No-ot especially?”

“Then there’s your answer. Good job.” He gave his wingmate a condescending pat on the helm; Thrust swung a half-sparked return fist at him but missed by several miles. “Besides, you’d only end up scaring her into running off. There’s plenty of derelict bits on this tin can and I’m not keen to go hunting through all of ‘em.”

“That’d make being on sparkling duty pretty easy, though.”

“For you, maybe. Personally? I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life tearing the ship apart looking for a friggin’ sparkling that you couldn’t even keep one optic on.”

“Yeah yeah, fine, whatever. Don’t go blow a fuse, Captain Overwound.” Thrust put his hands up in surrender. “Anyone would think you were worried about it.”

Why was he being so careful with it, anyway? Ramjet shooed the niggles away before speaking; “Just taking a sensible precaution. Don’t wanna think about what might happen to us if we go and break it.”

“Dude, seriously – why would it matter if we did?” Thrust turned to scowl up at his wingleader. “You’re not actually scared of that bunch of cowards back on Cybertron?”

“I… didn’t say that?”

“Megatron’s not gonna care, ’specially if it gets the Screamer over here quicker.” Thrust blew out a loud sigh and let his arms flop down. “Can’t believe you, sometimes. We’ve got the upper hand for a change and you’re assuming we’re gonna lose already.”

“Hate to remind you that losing is kind of a habit, for us? Even when we do have the advantage, someone will take time out to gloat, or work on their own little scheme in the background, and oh, will you look at that, it’s all gone to slag again.”

“Right, except the usual reason it all goes to slag is sat there on Cybertron, smirking at us from a distance.” Thrust’s voice descended briefly into unintelligible mutterings. “I just wanna see the traitor get a decent punch in his ugly face, all right?”

“And when we screw up because you’re too busy trying to punch him, then what? You think Megatron’s gonna pat you on the head and say ‘never mind, at least you tried your hardest’? Or d’you think he’s gonna maybe kick you into the closest smelter?”

Thrust sulkily pursed his lips and didn’t reply.

“If we have to go plead our case with those guys, I don’t wanna be shot on sight for breaking Tiny.” Ramjet tried to swallow the words but they mostly blurted out anyway: “I don’t know about you but I’m not feeling like the most happy, fulfilled little Seeker right now, having seen how nice home looks right now.”

“Well I’m sure happier than I would be playing beast of burden under Acid Trip’s command.” Thrust’s sneer chased him across the room. “When did you get so scared of a couple of ex-Cons, anyway?”

Ramjet paused in the doorway, and looked back to meet his wingmate’s glare. “They’re ex-Cons, right. Ex-Decepticons. Traitorous slaggers, granted, but we fought alongside ‘em long enough to know they’re not that woolly in the struts. Do you seriously trust them not to run you through a mill a few times when they get their claws in you?” He shrugged, one-handedly. “Three fit, healthy, well-built mechs with a whole army behind them. How long do you reckon we’d last?”

Thrust made a psssh sound. “An army of dirt-crawling non-warriors, sure, and even they’re not scared of that blowhard slaghead. Who, by the way, hasn’t had to fight anything ’cept his own spreading aft in vorns. So y’know. Whatever. Forgive me for not immediately lubricating myself in fear.”

The white jet sighed and covered his face with his hand. “You’re worse than Dirge. Do you seriously think that’s it? There’s a reason they let the Screamer keep his helm bolted to his wings, and it wasn’t ’cause they liked his voice when he asked nicely not to be executed.”

Thrust gave him the world’s most condescending long-suffering look, and it was only the idea it’d get the kid squalling all over again that squashed Ramjet’s urge to punch him in the faceplates.

“When all you have are your wingmates, and one’s dense as slag while the other couldn’t make a decision to save his spark? The Strutless Wonder was outnumbered,” Thrust explained, sounding like a teacher with the world’s dimmest pupil. “What other option did he have except squeal and beg for mercy, like he did every time with Megatron?” He directed his glare back onto the monitors. “…Sucks to find out my wingleader’s scared of a glitching slagmunch that even a bunch of dirtbots aren’t even afraid of any more.”

“Thrust.” Ramjet leaned his head against the doorframe, letting his free arm dangle. “Primus. I just wanna be able to go home, some day. My life right now revolves around mud, and you guys, and there’s only so much of either a mech can take without going completely barking. Right now I’ve had it about up to here with you guys, today.” He waved his hand in the air as far above his helm as he could reach. “So if you’ll excuse me…” He bowed, steeply. “There’s some high-grade with my name on it, and I think I actually deserve it.”

Thrust grunted a dismissive goodbye, and sat and stared at the monitors for all of ten astroseconds, before blowing a tired raspberry and letting his arms flop down at his sides. “This is such a fragging waste of time.” He rocked his chair back onto its rear legs and propped his thrusters on the bank of terminals in front. “What are we even meant to be monitoring for these days anyway.”

He directed his attention up at the ceiling and tried counting tiles to encourage his brain to cycle into a dormant state, to take away thoughts of the high-grade his wingleader had made him miss out on. But there were only a half dozen really big tiles up there and it didn’t take very long.

“You really suck sometimes, RJ.”

The chirping alarm became the unwanted topping on Thrust’s personal slag-pile. He covered his face with both hands and tried to ignore it, for a few seconds, but it felt particularly shrill. “Agh!” He used the rim of one thruster to deliver a sour-tempered stomp to the terminal’s speakers. “What’s a mech gotta do to get a few fragging breem’s peace and quiet around here, anyway!”

The kick jogged the terminal out of sleep mode, and a fast-moving blip showed up on one of the screens. Thrust eyed it uninterestedly for a second or two, then frowned and rocked his chair back onto all four legs, leaning closer for a better look. “Oh, hey. What are you?”

The blip didn’t seem to just be passing; it drew a series of wide, flat loops through the air above the sunken Nemesis.

Thrust toggled the display to a live satellite feed for a better look.

Skimming low over the ocean like a giant black alien albatross, drawing big circles and throwing up spray from his wingtips, broadcasting an array of threatening insults on as wide a frequency range as he could access, was a former comrade.

Thrust promptly lost all desire to nap. His lips widened in a smirk.

“Mighty Megatron, sir? We’ve got company…”

-------

Starscream looked nowhere near ready to back down, doubly infuriated by the chastisement by Skyfire, of all people, so when the communications terminal in the corner of the room chimed, it was only having Thundercracker sitting in the way that stopped him outright shooting it. He let loose a volley of inventive curses instead, stomping across the room and punching the accept call dialogue hard enough to break it in half. “What?”

The screen came online to reveal a single Autobot, sitting primly at his desk; Prowl. Nobody seemed willing to commit to a decision on whether the fact it was just Prowl was a good sign, or a very, very bad one.

Unfortunately, the Bot’s politely inscrutable half-smile made everyone fairly confident that Prowl himself wasn’t entirely sure that this conversation was going to be a good thing, either.

Starscream threw up his hands, and resumed pacing. “What do you want, Autobot.”

Almost anyone else would probably have stammered their way into an apology, but Prowl was far too habituated to the red Seeker’s histrionics, and didn’t so much as flicker. “Would you like to explain why Skywarp just came through the spacebridge?”

“No.” Starscream folded his arms and lifted his chin, just a little. “Was that everything? Because we’re quite busy here.”

“Allow me to rephrase, as you seem to think I’m giving you an option. Why did Skywarp just come through the spacebridge?”

“Changing the way you ask the question doesn’t change my answer.”

One brow came up. “Am I to assume he’s flying solo for some reason?”

“Assume what you like. I have far better things to be doing right now than stand here talking to the likes of you-”

“To what end, Starscream?” Seeing the blue palm descending onto one of the buttons, Prowl hastily added; “Do I have to come and confront you in person so you can’t switch me off?”

A microsecond away from ending the call, Starscream caught himself with his fingers hovering just above the broken control panel. “It’s none of your concern! We have precious little time as it is without you wasting it all for us-”

“Then explain why your wingmate has just flown back to your former base! Reassure me you aren’t about to follow him!”

“Just tell him, mech. Primus!” Thundercracker snarled, feebly, from underneath his icepack. “They’re meant to be our allies, now. And we need all the damn help we can get.”

Starscream gestured grandly at the terminal with a swoop of one arm. “There’s a difference between being an ally, and expecting to be privy to all our private trauma-!”

“It’s hardly private if they’ve already spotted him, is it. And I’m pretty sure we can trust Prowl not to let the entire Autobot army get themselves involved until we invite them to be.”

A flicker of blue and white in the periphery of his vision caught Starscream’s attention. He turned just in time to focus on Celerity as she stepped up close enough for their static fields to mesh uncomfortably together. Before he could react, the giant lifted a hand and firmly pressed a big finger to his lips; so startled by the unexpected invasion of his space, Starscream actually just complied.

“Please,” she said, faintly. “Keep them in the loop. Just this once. Just until we have our family back.”

Starscream backed out of range, visibly puffing up, wings flaring. “We don’t need-”

“We do need. Please. Even if it’s just for them to keep us informed. They’ve already proved they can see what’s going on better than we can.” Celerity drew in a long draught of cold air and folded her hands together, straining to keep her self-control squeezed between them. “If you let our tiny ones get hurt because you’re too proud to accept Autobot help…”

They were all looking at him, now.

“Fine! Fine.” Starscream jerked his arms folded across his chassis, huffily. “So long as Prowl gets to the point sometime this Vorn.”

Prowl’s expression flattened into an unimpressed glare. “I see why Thundercracker handles most of the calls to Earth, now,” he drawled. “Fine. Let me use short words. When an ex-Con arrives unannounced through the spacebridge, fails to respond to greeting hails or transmit his own, and flies directly towards the site of his former base, concerns are immediately raised. Even you should understand the rationale behind that.”

“You don’t seriously think he’s defected”

“It’s a reasonable assumption to make. He always was the most loyal of the three of you.”

Starscream’s optics tightened. “It’s funny that you notice Skywarp come through, within mere breems of him slipping away from our attention, but don’t notice three fully armed Coneheads making a return trip, with hostages.”

Prowl sat quietly for a while, his gaze slipping to one side to check a display screen just out of view. When he spoke again, it was with an anxious, measured quiet; “I’d not been made aware of that.”

“Well, consider it a favour. Perhaps Red should spend less time spying on us, and more time upholding your end of our agreement. Now perhaps you understand our urgency to figure out what to do?” Starscream resumed pacing.

Prowl let the professional mask slip, just a little, swallowing a sigh and resting his chin on his laced fingers. “What can we do to help?”

“Stay out of our way. We’ve already been pushed off-balance. I don’t need the added stress of wondering what a bunch of overzealous Autobots are going to leap in and do.”

“Slipstream is one of us, remember? He has plenty of friends here who’d be willing to help you if they knew he was in danger.”

“That’s the whole point.” Starscream ground the words out from between gritted teeth. “Warp may be renowned for his lack of brains but you’re not short on idiots either, over there. It’s halfway to the Pit already. It’ll turn into outright war if Prime’s Merry band of Morons decide to try and leap to the rescue.”

One eyebrow crept up, ever so slightly. “Well. I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep our ‘merry morons’ from taking it upon themselves to defy you if they find out.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Starscream flapped his hands, exasperated. “Just… give me a heads-up when Warp starts back. If he starts back. I don’t know.”

“Of course. We’ll keep you informed if anything else meaningful happens.”

The instant the call ended, Starscream plonked down next to Pulsar on the couch, smarting, features compressed in a glare, almost bouncing her into him. The bike hastily scooted herself back into the furthest corner, leaning away but unwilling to relinquish her spot.

Starscream gave Thundercracker a loaded glance. “That icepack looks really good, right now.”

Thundercracker found a tiny smile from somewhere. “You can have my icepack when you prise it from my dead grey fingers.”

After much gentle cajoling from Celerity, the blue Seeker finally acquiesced and allowed himself to be led away to his room, to defragment and let the medical patch finally take.

...leaving just Starscream and Pulsar in the lounge. For almost a whole breem, they studiously ignored each other. The sour feeling of stressed electric fields saturated the entire building; even the potted maple had pulled in on itself, folding its leaves into staticky needles.

Finally – unexpectedly – Starscream broke the silence. “Sorry.”

Pulsar glanced up at him. “…what?”

The bigger mech rearranged his folded arms and glared off into a corner. “I don’t have a lot of people I consider friends, so it matters when they seem intent on inadvertently killing themselves. Taking it out on you was probably counterproductive.”

“Uhm, apology accepted.” She felt a little lost for words and for an instant nothing would come. She rebooted her vocaliser. “For the record, I don’t particularly like Skywarp’s idea.”

He snorted a curt laugh. “That wasn’t difficult to work out for myself. You didn’t even try to call it a plan, this time.” He finally glanced down at her. A little of the overt sneer had gone from his expression. “When we eventually get him back, you can punch him first,” he offered.

“That’s… rather generous of you.”

Starscream curled his lip. “There might not be much left worth punching if I get to him before you do.”

She smiled back, although her denta showed through a fraction and it looked somewhat like a snarl. “You’re assuming there’s going to be much left when I’m done with him. I’m pretty persistent, for a small bot.”

“Touché,” he accepted. “Let’s just hope we get him back in one piece, then. It’ll be very unsatisfying so find someone walloped him first.”

The silence drew out between them.

“I have to kill him,” Starscream said, quietly. “Megatron. And I’m not sure how.” He studied his fingers. “You’d think all those millions of vorns of failure would have given me a few ideas on what might not be a total disaster.” When Pulsar didn’t reply, he found a sour smile. “Still surprises me a little when I’m seriously discussing killing someone, and even a committed pacifist Autobot doesn’t argue about it.”

Pulsar looked back, unflinching. “Surprises me a little that we’re discussing the only way to stop the greatest threat our world has ever seen, and you think I’ll argue against it.”

-------

Megatron heard them approaching long before the origin of the infernal noise appeared in his throne room. He settled more comfortably in his seat to watch as his loyalists half-marched half-carried their new prisoner through the doorway.

The teleport was definitely making them work for their prize – fractionally smaller than the warlord remembered, with lighter armour and a sleeker build, but no less spirited, and definitely no less violent. It took four mechs to control him; everyone was equally covered in black and purple scuffs of paint already.

For almost half a breem, Megatron just studied their new prisoner, chin propped on one hand.

Skywarp glared back, optics blazing, no hint of fear in his bearing. He glowed with the faint purple nimbus of personal shields, making him difficult to keep a good grip on – almost slippery. His cuffed wrists kept his arms pinned at his sides, but he leaned forwards in the restraining hands, like a prizewinning terrier waiting to be released into a dogfight.

A few vorns of being allowed to fly solo had filled the mech with undeserved confidence. It was obviously going to be necessary to remind him why anyone with half a brain still feared him.

Of course, Megatron noted, not everyone in the room actually possessed half a brain.

Finally the old warmech straightened, drawing himself up to loom more effectively over the small assembly. “Skywarp. Good to finally see you again,” he drawled. “Rumours of your untimely death were obviously somewhat exaggerated.”

Skywarp wasn’t interested in pleasantries. “Where are they?”

Megatron shrugged one shoulder. “Somewhere safe. While I decide what to do with them. What value they may provide. Although I won’t make the same mistake of allowing them to live, seeing what a noble little Autobot you allowed your offspring to turn into.”

Skywarp made a strangled little noise of fury and struggled briefly in the retraining hands, almost succeeding at jerking himself free.

Thrust kicked him in the back of one leg and took him heavily down to his knees. A little ripple of jeers followed him down.

“And where is your pathetic excuse for a wingleader, I wonder. Trying to sneak up on us with force, no doubt. With his, ah.” Megatron chuckled. “Army.

Skywarp glowered up at him, darkly. “I punched him in the head and locked him in a box because I didn’t trust him not to come after you, Megatron. He’s a liability.”

The warlord actually laughed out loud at that. “I would be more inclined to say you coming here on your own was the liability. Now I only have to wait for two more idiots to come and join the party.”

“You better hope they don’t come here. I came alone to give you the opportunity to end this peacefully, Megatron.” Skywarp used his best ‘official’ voice. “You know who we are. You know what we can do. Release my family, and it won’t go any further.”

“I remember a bunch of cowardly, poorly-organised thugs who couldn’t have co-ordinated their way out of a wet paper sack if you gave them directions.” The warlord smirked. “Yes, Skywarp, I know you very well. And I don’t think I’ll be running from you in terror just yet.” He leaned down, just close enough for the trapped Seeker to hear the low throb of the big generators in his broad chassis. “Perhaps I need to remind you why you all followed me so loyally for all those vorns…”

[skydash02-blog]

I'm thinking about what I can do next (I want to design smt but I have no idea what😅) Do you guys have an idea? #design #boring #bored #skydash

[5t4r5and5uch01]

OMG BRO I WAS JUST THINKING OF THIS CZ I JUST STARTED WATCHING DUCKTALES (2017) AND OMG WHEN I HEARD MARK BEAKS I WAS LIKE WAIT A DAMN MINUTE NOW- IS THAT BOOTYYYSHAKER9000?!?! AND IS ALSO A NERD?!???

We always joke about Ben Schwartz voicing blue characters

but we forget about Josh Brener voicing nerds

[keaalu]

Remember Me, Chapter 6

Skywarp comes up with a plan to rescue the kids. It’s a terrible plan, but it’s better than no plan at all – right, Screamer?

He probably ought to have run it past his bros before swinging straight into carrying it out, though.

----------

Slipstream had already lost track of the number of times he’d been sent sprawling, when his captors finally hustled him into a cell and kicked his feet out from under him again. He wasn’t completely sure what they had planned for him, but was fairly confident it wasn’t going to be comfortable… and when Ramjet vanished with Skydash, he was certain it wasn’t going to be. He made a spirited effort to follow them, fear of what they might do to his cousin lending him a strength he didn’t normally have, but was ultimately no match for the two large, well-armed Decepticons.

Dirge backed him into a corner. The jet wore the kind of smile that anyone with a half-developed sense of self-preservation would have run away from – if they’d been able to. He’d still made no effort to clean Longbeam’s bright yellow finger-gouges off his cheek. “So, superstar. Look at you. All grown up,” he purred. “Almost a miracle. I wouldn’t have put money on it – not with parents like yours. I guess there’s just something in the family code that makes you slaggers hard to convince to die, huh?”

Slipstream somehow managed to keep the static out of his voice. “What do you want.”

Dirge paced back and forth in the space between his prisoner and the door, casually. “Who said I should need a reason to come see my favourite person?” His smile broadened. “You’re in my territory now, Slippy. And I have a little old score to settle. Remember that time in the desert, where you helped sneak TC out from under my watch, and made me look like an incompetent idiot?”

Slipstream felt his pumps stutter, uncomfortably. He tried offlining them, but it didn’t feel like it helped much. “…yes.”

“Yeah! I sure remember it. That’s what makes it such a shame, you know? This whole thing.” The blue conehead examined his fingers, artfully, and shook his helm, casting a sly glance sidelong to check for Slipstream’s reaction. “I mean, price of scrap metal has really taken a nosedive lately. We coulda got a much better price off the squishies if we’d took the chance to smelt you down a vorn or two earlier.” Seeing the smaller mech visibly cringe, his lips spread wider in a smirk. “What, did you think I was gonna say it was a shame you didn’t join up when you had the chance? Like we’d need a depressive little nonentity like you in the ranks.”

Thrust snickered. “Yeah, Dirge here has that market cornered already. He doesn’t need the competition when it comes to depressive nonentities.”

Dirge glared and gave him a swift kick in the back of one thruster; the red jet gave a startled yelp of pain, and hastily shoved back, embarrassed by the over-reaction.

He was sure he probably wasn’t supposed to have heard, but Slipstream picked up Dirge’s frustrated growl of stick to the plan, will you? And Thrust’s immediate return hiss of WHAT plan, you always friggin’ wing it and blame me when you screw up. For an instant, it looked like they were more interested in coming to blows with each other, right up in each other’s faces.

Slipstream almost dared to hope that they’d get too invested in their own quarrel, and forget about him… but hadn’t counted on the strength of feeling that would have brewed behind forty vorns of simmering resentment.

After a brief session of shoving and posturing, the two coneheads managed to get back on track.

“So, where were we, Slips?” Dirge moved to close the gap between himself and his prisoner. “Reminiscing about the good old days, right? Can’t deny that I’ve been looking forwards to the time we got to meet again. Especially after that big white blob kept me from shooting the two of you after you snuck out.” He pressed his fist into his palm. “That woulda spoiled the party today though, right? Now come on. Get up. On your feet.”

“I’d rather stay down here, thanks.”

“I’m sorry, did I sound like I was giving you a choice? Get up. Or do I have to get Thrust to help you?” Dirge flicked a hand at Thrust, who rolled his optics a little but obediently moved in closer.

Slipstream hastily scrambled to his feet. Often, having a wall at his back reassured him, but now it just emphasised the fact there was nowhere to go. He tugged uselessly at his wrists, wishing he could get the cuffs off – not that having his hands free would actually help that much against two fully-armed warmechs, but it might have made him feel a little better. Like he at least had the option of trying to defend himself.

Even if that might have only involved covering his face.

“So.” Dirge leaned down very close to their prisoner, and was gratified to see the younger mech flinch and turn his face away. “I guess now is a good time to educate you on a few things, yeah? Like how when you were tiny and stupid, we had this unwritten rule that we weren’t to hurt you. That you were too young to understand what we were fighting for, and maybe, if we treated you nicely, let you figure out for yourself that we were legitimate, maybe you’d grow up as one of us.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Well, guess what? You’re all grown up, now.” He smirked. “And you invited us into your life by choosing to become our enemy.” He tapped a finger against the little Autobot insignia etched into Slipstream’s chassis.

Slipstream hunched his shoulders and leaned back, just a little, just out of immediate reach. “You can blame the Triplechangers for that.”

“Yeah – blame, or thank, one of the two. I mean, it’s a lot less politically-incorrect to beat your enemy to a pulp than it is to squish some dithery little neutral, right?” Dirge’s lips pulled thin, showing his denta. “Who am I kidding. Like I’d not take the chance to bludgeon you over the head just because you weren’t an Autobot. This just makes it easier to justify…”

The first blow wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it still caught Slipstream off-guard – a solid punch in the side of his helm, crashing him backwards into the wall. Pain rang like a thunderclap through him; he couldn’t be completely sure, not with all his senses destabilised, but it felt like the crystal of his sidelight had shattered. There was certainly something leaking – stinking sharp and volatile where it ran down into his collar armour.

He tried to be brave – to do his family proud, to hold up his strong Autobot heritage, and not be defeated by a bunch of Decepticon thugs… but it hurt too much to do anything except curl as best he could into a self-protective bundle, trying to shield sensitive components from the beating.

Ultimately, even Dirge finally got bored. After activating the forcefield that closed the cell, he headed off in a very jovial mood with Thrust, apparently going to find some high-grade to celebrate their successful mission.

Slipstream wallowed in self-pity for a little while, curled up in his corner, trying to ignore the bright pink smears on the walls, the floor, his own armour… trying to concentrate on slowly disconnecting or rerouting systems away from all the spots that hurt.

Hard to think what they might be doing to Skydash, while he wasn’t there and couldn’t protect her. Although ‘protect’ was a bit of a stretch. More like, keep their attention away from her by offering himself as a better target.

Concentrating on fixing up what he could helped keep him at least slightly grounded. Energon crystallised off, obediently, plugging up the damaged, leaky vessels. Coolant vapours made the air stink; he deactivated a handful of pumps and let the broken pipes run dry. He’d have to rely on his fans until he could get repairs, but that would probably be all right. He’d maybe be a bit sluggish but at least he’d be functioning. Right?

Because he was going to get out of here, somehow.

Repairs weren’t just a daydream.

Primus. What were they doing to Dash?

When you were tiny and stupid, we had this unwritten rule that we weren’t to hurt you, Dirge reminded him, out of the recent past. Slipstream latched onto the memory, hoping that perhaps Skydash would likewise be “too small and stupid” for them to want to harm. The idea they’d want to turn her against her parents for no reason other than to punish her family seemed altogether too plausible. Maybe they’d never bring her back-

The clump of heavy footsteps drew his attention; Motormaster appeared in the doorway, and deactivated the forcefield. Slipstream automatically cringed away.

The big mech wasn’t interested in doling out violence, however. “Here. Catch.”

Before Slipstream could gather his wits, Motormaster flicked his wrist and sent a small bundle flying through the air.

A small Skydash-coloured bundle.

Alarm shot through him. Slipstream hurled himself forwards, and just managed to get underneath her, rolling with her to the ground to try and absorb a little of the impact. She still tumbled off him and hit the deck, but it was with only a little clunk, not a horrible wet broken crash. He curled over her, automatically, as if he could somehow protect her.

The stunticon outside the cell gave a dismissive snort, and – miraculously – turned away.

Slipstream waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before finally straightening up and checking Skydash over. He almost cried to see she was completely totally uninjured and perfect. She was scared, and crackling with static, and wanted her mama, but that was all. And Primus did he ever sympathise. He’d not wanted his parents like this quite so badly for a long time. All he wanted was to curl up next to his dam’s spark and let the rest of the world go dim around him.

“Hey, Dash. Come on, bit. Talk to me?” He leaned down and bumped her with his cheek. “It’s just me here now. You’re here with me and it’s all right.”

It took a good portion of a breem for Skydash to respond, during which time he gently shuffled her into his corner, where he could con himself into thinking he could perhaps protect her. She finally uncurled from her ball, looking fearfully around the small cell, still vibrating softly in distress but growing braver now she was satisfied they were genuinely the only two present. She climbed into her cousin’s lap, then wriggled her way up his chest, thrusting her small head up under his chin.

“Hey Dashie.” Slipstream tucked up his knees and rested his cheek against the top of her head, gently. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you at all?”

“Not hurt,” she confirmed, quietly. “Want Ama.” Most of the static had faded from her voice, but she still crackled every now and then.

“Yeah. I know. Me too.” He sighed, softly. “Just… have to be patient, all right? Do you think you can do that? They won’t hurt us while they still need us.”

Skydash stared up into his face. “Unnol hurt,” she challenged, reaching out a small hand to touch the glitter of crystallised energon on his cheek, and watched him flinch – only a tiny bit, but enough to make her snatch her hand back. “Make lies.”

He found a smile, and bumped cheeks with her. “Aw, I’m all right. I can get bashed around without hurting too badly. I had good teachers; you remember the Twins, right?”

She gave his features a brief but intense scrutiny – the dim, broken optic, the dried energon still crusting the damaged aerials, the new little dents and paint transfers – apparently trying to decide if she believed him. Even Sunny and Sides hadn’t put him through the mill quite this badly, even when he was at his most argumentative and asking-for-it. He kept up his smile for a little longer, and eventually she decided she didn’t want to challenge the lie, jamming herself back into the top curve of his chassis, the top of her head coming up under his chin. “…see Ama soon?”

“Yeah. I hope so. Soon.”

~~~~~~

For as long as he could remember, Thundercracker had been prone to headaches – although they were usually caused by his beloved wingmates. And never this bad.

It was only after the Triplechangers caught them so catastrophically off-guard, many vorns ago, that the headaches turned into incapacitating migraines. Stress usually set them off, spiking the pressure in coolant lines around his helm and destabilising his optics badly enough that they’d cut out altogether.

When his vision started to bleed into false-colours and static, he knew he was in for a bad one. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d got home, when even barely moving still managed to upset the precarious stability of his cortical pressure.

Right now, he cut a spectacularly unwarriorlike figure, sitting in the atrium with a foil around his shoulders and a coolant pack weighing his helm down, wishing he’d gone and done something about it last time. It wasn’t even as if this was the first time he’d regretted not going to a doctor and getting it fixed! But every time he considered it, there seemed to be something more immediate and important that needed his attention. (Usually, that thing was what triggered the migraine in the first place.) He’d put it off, and put it off, and eventually it’d fade off his radar… until the next one rolled around.

Knowing he was a walking liability was making his migraine worse. It kinda hurt to know you actually were the burden you thought everyone was talking about behind your wings.

Starscream had fussed noisily until a long-suffering Forceps had found a patch to force a temporary pressure bleed, but Thundercracker knew it’d take a while to kick in, and that didn’t guarantee he’d get his vision back any time soon.

As a much younger mech, new to the Decepticon cause and unsure how much of his weight he wanted to throw behind it, he’d been accused of being a ditherer – irresolute, couldn’t make a decision, always left everything too late.

Now, when he absolutely knew with a hundred percent conviction what he wanted – needed – to do? To go straight out to the spacebridge, fly direct to Earth, storm Nemesis, scoop his family to safety?

Didn’t matter what he wanted, any more, did it? Might as well put a little gift ribbon around his neck and go hand himself over.

At least he wasn’t the only one stuck for a response. Celerity still sat on the floor next to his feet, one arm stretched lightly round behind his thrusters, her head resting against his knees, purring quietly for him. She’d pitched it so that the subtle near-infrasound harmonised with his electric field, supportive and soothing – something she usually did for their sparkling when Skydash was having a tantrum. Figured.

Her field felt a fraction less strangled than it previously had, but now worry and exhaustion bled across their bond, in spite of her best efforts not to let it.

=you don’t have to be strong for everyone all the time= he reminded her.

She… acknowledged it, sort of, but not with anything verbal.

He shuffled awkwardly off the seat and down to the floor, to sit beside her. =Be all right. Just have to wait for Star to come up with a masterplan= he consoled, although it felt a little flat to him, too.

If only Starscream would make an effort to at least try and find his volume control…!

Wanting more information, the red jet had contacted Vantage, their reluctant silver spacebridge monitor. Finding out the mech had actually gone and let the Coneheads through with no questions and no notification? Had triggered another outburst of bad temper. He wasn’t quite as glass-etchingly strident as he had the capacity to be, but he was being unnecessarily loud, and to Thundercracker it felt like the words were echoing inside his head.

On the Earth end of the connection, Vantage looked like he'd have appreciated it if the ground would open and swallow him. “I-I thought they were coming for the whole New Vos thing.”

Starscream threw both arms up. “You didn't think to challenge it?!”

“No? They’re Seekers. I thought it was a Seeker thing? Why would I have challenged it?”

“Well I don’t know, perhaps the fact that they’re still fully-paid-up members of the Decepticon regime?! How did they even know about it?”

Vantage visibly cringed. “…I mighta asked them if it was why they wanted to come through.”

“Well thank you very much for making my job infinitely harder. Did you remember to invite Megatron while you were at it?!”

In the corner of the room, Skywarp put up his hands, and disappeared silently upstairs. He was apparently as tired of the noise as everyone else.

Pulsar watched him go into their shared room. She knew he tended to overthink, particularly when he was anxious, coming up with outlandish ideas that often made any bad situation worse. Quietly she slipped away from the atrium, and followed him up to the top floor.

She found Skywarp standing at the big terminal built into the wall, fiddling with his shield emitters, running diagnostics. The faint purple nimbus of active riot screens glowed around him. He didn’t look particularly anxious; his lips were compressed into a determined line and a small, serious frown furrowed his brow.

He startled at hearing her footsteps, but quickly relaxed upon seeing who it was. “Oh, it’s only you.”

“Thanks. Nice to know you’re glad to see me.” Pulsar gestured at the atrium with a sweep of one arm. “What are you even doing? Don’t you want to be with the rest of us, helping out?”

“To do what, exactly? Aren’t there enough folk down there already, getting in the way?”

She folded her arms, unimpressed. “You’d rather be up here instead, faffing about with unimportant things?”

“If you’re gonna get on my case, at least keep your voice down about it.” He pursed his lips, and slotted his fingers into a dedicated grip in the terminal, turning it through ninety degrees; the light of a green scanning laser swept once up and down his armour, checking for weak spots. “Or are you trying to tell the whole world what I’m doing?”

Pulsar obediently lowered her voice. “What are you doing?”

At last, Skywarp looked satisfied, straightening up. The subtle glow of his shielding finally winked out. “I’m going to fetch the wee sparks back.”

Pulsar just stared at him for a full few seconds, mouth open. “What, on your own?”

“Of course on my own. Why do you think I’m trying to sneak out?”

“But you can’t just-… that’ll be suicide!”

He set his hands on his hips and cocked his head, expectantly. “So, you got a better plan, have you?”

“Yes, I have an amazing plan. It’s called ‘let’s actually wait for Starscream to think of something practical and not take on Megatron singlehandedly’?”

He gave her a weird sort of patient glare and flapped a hand. “I can’t be sitting around waiting for Screamer to scheme his way to something that might work if he manages not to get distracted by gloating about how much better he is as leader. Besides, all of us going together is exactly what old Buckethead wants. Why should I make it easy for him to kill the three of us?”

“Remind me how this makes your plan a good one.”

“Well, he’s not gonna kill me if I go on my own, right?” Skywarp grinned, although he couldn’t quite hide the tension that tightened around his optics. “He wants to force us to watch each other dying. It’ll ruin everything if I go and grey out before Screamer can see it.”

“Unless he decides to record it, and sends it to him as a gift.” Pulsar stepped closer and caught his hand, and folding it into both of hers. “Please. At least discuss it with everyone before you launch into the unknown.”

Skywarp could feel her trembling, slightly, genuinely alarmed by his impetuous plan. He almost felt guilty for suggesting it. “So Screamer can put a total nix on it? Great idea.”

She looked away. “That might have been why I suggested you do it.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Eh, it’ll be fine. I… kinda know what I’m doing?” He lowered his voice. “Megatron thinks he knows me, right? I was a ‘Con most of my life and there’s not much about me that’s ever been subtle. By which token,” his expression brightened, optimistically, “maybe he’ll underestimate me.”

“There’s way too many maybe-s in this plan. What if this is exactly what he knew you’d do?”

“If Megs just wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have given us any warning. He’d have come here and done it. Let’s face it, Ramjet’s trine proved we let our attention drift way too far away from where it shoulda been, it woulda been easy to knock at least one of us off if they’d tried hard enough and weren’t a bunch of idiots. But?” He shrugged, gesturing with his free hand, palm out. “Megatron’s… basically told us what he’s planning? I guess it’s because he knows all Screamer’s triggers, and he’s baiting him in? He knows our wingleader’s just as stupid as me, at times, and if he can get him worked up, he’s easier to deal with.”

Pulsar leaned back a little, as though somehow capable of anchoring him, keeping her grip on his hand. “That doesn’t mean you have to go now.”

“In an ideal world where he gives Screamer a chance to scheme up something decent? Sure, maybe. But this isn’t that world, and if we don’t do something soon, he’s gonna get bored and encourage us to fly blind by posting bits of them back to us.” Skywarp pursed his lips. “I played the ‘Pulsar scavenger hunt’ once before, and it sucked. I don’t wanna play it again.”

She winced and looked away.

He peered out into the street, and checked the weather conditions. “So you’re gonna cover for me, right?”

“Cov-… no. What? No!” She recoiled subtly in alarm, letting go of his hand and putting both of hers up in a stop gesture. “I can’t cover for you, what are you even talking about. I’m not getting involved in this stupid plan of yours-!”

He gave her a vaguely smug look, brows arched. “I hate to break it to you, but you already are. Ever since you snuck after me to make sure I wasn’t getting up to no good.”

“I was worried about you-! Not that you’d understand the concept.” She covered her face with both hands, briefly. “I could yell for help. Stop you going.”

“But you won’t, because you know I’m right. And you want our family back together just as much as I do.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m happy to let you sacrifice yourself in the process-!”

“Well, you can’t stop me, so you might as well help out. I just need you to run interference until I can get through the bridge, all right?”

“Warp-… how?” She spread her hands. “My inability to lie convincingly is a running joke. Starscream will see through me the instant I engage my vocaliser.”

“I didn’t say you had to make up an excuse.” He gave her a sneaky smile and strummed a finger across her antennae. “I know one thing you could do that would be guaranteed to keep them from coming up to investigate.”

She just… stared at him, for several seconds, before finally locating her voice. “Did you miss the gravity of the situation, or was it just too entertaining for you to suggest I try and fake an overload to distract the guys downstairs?”  

His expression broadened into a pleased grin.

She folded her arms across her chassis, stubbornly. “They’d never believe it anyway. Even you’re not that insensitive.”

“Look, even if you just buy me a breem or two, that’ll give me a head start. They’re gonna notice I’m gone the second my signal falls off the registry so it’s not like you have to do it for long.”

“Ugh. All right.” She covered her antennae with both hands. “I’ll think of something.”

“Thanks, Squeaks. I owe you one.” He plopped a kiss onto the top of her smooth helm, and disappeared in a flutter of collapsing air.

[keaalu]

Remember Me, chapter four

Title (chapter): Remember Me (04)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: In which Slipstream realises just how big this thing might be that he and Dash are caught up in, and Starscream finally gets back from New Vos to a hostile welcome.

-------------------------

The command centre on Nemesis was every bit as sickly purple and ostentatiously oversized as Slipstream remembered it.

He didn’t remember ever seeing it from this angle, though.

“Show proper respect to your new master, scum!”

The shove to one shoulder made him stumble and fall to his knees. Before he could recover, scramble clumsily back to his feet, something heavy – and hot; someone’s thruster? – pressed down on the back of his neck, forced him to bow his helm.

Slipstream snarled in pain and bucked, trying to squirm his way out, but the bigger mech just kept increasing the pressure on the back of his neck until he was almost crushed flat to the floor. Ultimately it hurt too much to keep struggling, and he went limp. The scorching weight on the back of his neck disappeared.

“Good boy,” a condescending voice cooed, close to his helm. Felt like Dirge. “Keep this up, and maybe we won’t feel forced to use you as target practice… quite so much.”

The ripple of unkind laughter which simmered through the crowd was quickly replaced by a weirdly expectant lull, broken only by the sound of mechs jockeying for position, and the sound of approaching footsteps.

A new voice spoke up, somewhere just above and in front. “I should admit to being impressed, Ramjet. Your trine have actually done well, for a change.”

Well, there was no mistaking those gravelly tones. Suddenly, Slipstream didn’t really want to get up, any more.

“Thank you, mighty Megatron. It is an honour to serve!”

There were jeers from the rest of the assembly. An honour to serve! Get up off your belly, Ramjet; who’d you think you are; Screamer? Yeah, well done for kidnapping a sparkling.

Someone caught a hand under Slipstream’s shoulder and hauled him upright. He had to work hard to restrain a flinch.

Barely an arm’s length away, Megatron sat scrutinising him – elbows propped on his knees, leaning down towards him. The warlord looked good; not the scruffy, half-starved bundle of desperation the youngster had expected, from the disparaging way his family had taken to describing him. Poor Megatron, stuck on the wrong side of the spacebridge, squabbling with Autobots.

No, the mech sitting staring down on him looked clean and capable, well-oiled and powerful. Every inch the nightmare that could flatten everything on Cybertron, if he wanted.

“Slipstream,” he said, at last. “Considerably larger than last time we met.”

Slipstream didn’t recognise his own voice – thin and fracturing. “Yes, sir.”

Didn’t hurt to be polite, even if you did feel like purging a tank, right?

“I did expect more from you,” the old warlord finally said, at last, relaxing back in his chair. “As a sparkling, I could see the potential in you. A small mirror of your sire, who had been loyal to me for a very long time. With a little…” He wafted a hand. “…coaching, in the right direction? A little reminder of why this was the only faction that would ever truly understand you? The two of you could have been valuable assets in my campaign.” He elaborated a sigh. “Instead, I see just another unimaginative, whining Autobot, with the lack of ambition that comes as standard.”

Slipstream bristled. The words might have still been faint, but they were out before he got the chance to evaluate whether they were actually sensible to say; “I don’t think I asked for your approval.”

The blow came out of nowhere – an almighty, needlessly violent kick to the head, it sent him skidding across the deck. He fetched up against someone’s legs, puffing softly in alarm.

The bellow chased him across the floor; “Watch your manners, dirtcrawler!” Only just able to pick up the words through a haze of distortions, he wasn’t even sure who was yelling. The owner of the legs used their feet to hustle him back to the centre of the room.

He could feel a trickle of… something… begin to ooze down from his temple. His diagnostics couldn’t make up their mind on what they thought it was. He hoped it was only energon.

Megatron watched with a smirk. “Please don’t kill our guest before we’ve had the chance to make use of him.”

Dirge chose his moment perfectly. “Don’t worry, sir. If that one gets broken, we just use the spare.”

When the blue jet didn’t immediately elaborate, Megatron lifted his head briefly off his hand, and waved his fingers, impatiently. “Go on.”

Dirge waited until he was sure every optic was on him before opening his cockpit and extracting something small. He strode through the centre of the mass and with a flourish, placed it into Megatron’s hands. “First-instar sparkling,” he said, for the benefit of anyone without optics.

“Well this is very interesting,” Megatron purred, holding the small body up in front of his face; Skydash curled up, facing away from him, hugging her knees. “Dirge, I am very impressed.”

Dirge preened at the praise, thumbing his nose at the jeers from his comrades. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now. Where did you come from, I wonder.”

“Well, the little superstar here…” Dirge gave Slipstream a little shove and knocked him sideways, “was meant to be looking after it. Wasn’t counting on us coming along to spoil his orn, I guess.” He snorted and waited for Slipstream to wobble back to his knees before pushing him back over. “I figure they were so disappointed with their first effort – I’d be disappointed; I mean, not only a dirtcrawler, but an Autobot, too? – they decided to try again? That or Skywarp just never understood the concept of protection.”

“Always disappoints me when I realise you might be right. There’s grounder in it, again,” the warlord said, disappointedly. “Just can’t keep from polluting his code, can he? I can’t tell if it’s desperation leading to this lack of standards, or he’s just that easily swayed by a pretty face.”

Thrust leaned closer to his wingmate. “Does this mean you’re gonna lay off with the Primusawful Pit-screech, now?”

Dirge flattened his hand over his wingmate’s face and gave him a shove. “That’s one noisy little scrap of tin. Next time, you can try flying with it caterwauling in your cockpit.”

“She’s not caterwauling. She’s scared,” Slipstream spoke up, quietly. “I’m surprised a bunch of cowards like you don’t understand that. She’s had no part in your squabble, leave her out of it.”

“Did you forget the part we’re at war, you worthless nonentity?” Dirge closed a fist on the antennae spreading from the right of Slipstream’s helm, and dragged him halfway up off the floor.  Slipstream squeaked in pain and scrambled to get his feet underneath himself. “That makes everybody fair game.”

Thrust folded his arms and glared. “Good going there, scrappy. He was almost in a good mood, there. Now I’m gonna have to put up with him sulking all night.”

Megatron set the sparkling down on the arm of his chair; Skydash stayed huddled in the smallest ball she could manage, but looked too scared to try and escape. “Oh, I have a very specific reason for wanting you, Slipstream. I’m not going to make either of you fight.” He propped his chin back on his hand. “No, there’s one thing I know I can always get from your kind of pathetic, snivelling coward. You make excellent bait.”

Slipstream stiffened. A very large penny had apparently dropped.

“I know your, ah… family… will feel obliged to rescue you. Starscream won’t be able to resist the urge to try and show me up. Skywarp won’t be slow to follow, since he doesn’t have the brainpower for anything else. As for Thundercracker, well, when has that ditherer ever made a decision on his own, hmm?” Megatron sighed and shook his head, as though in regret. “But when I have finally destroyed all three traitors, in full view of the watching planet, no power in this universe will be able to stop me taking back what is mine.” His lips curved into a smirk. “It was so kind of that fool Starscream to do all the work for me, even if ultimately all he has created is another bloated, stagnating Autocracy. Waiting for me to step in and develop it to its true capacity.”

“They won’t come here. They’ll know it’s a trap. They’re not stupid!”

Megatron actually snorted. “If thousands of vorns of war has taught me one thing I can rely on with absolute certainty? It’s that your sire is most definitely stupid.” He gave the smaller mech a flat look. “Disappointing that it appears to run in the family.”

* * *

Starscream made remarkably good time back from New Vos, but didn’t appear to have the most appropriate target for his frustration in mind, as evidenced by the raging scarlet ball of temper that appeared in the empty infirmary doorway, wings hiked high on its back. “Remind me why I seem to be the last person to find anything out, around here?!”

“Excuse me?” Skywarp rounded on him so fast, Starscream actually flinched a step or two backwards. “I told you within a handful of breems of finding out for myself. You shut me down, saying I didn’t understand how important what you’re doing out in Vos is. Now you’ve apparently decided I wasn’t being a total moron for interrupting you, I should have told you faster?!”

Starscream puffed himself up, trying to avoid the need to admit Skywarp’s unexpected pushback had made him jump. “You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“No? Educate me.” Skywarp leaned in. Their faces were almost touching. “What did you mean.”

A soft, fracturing voice broke through in the brief silence. “Guys… please?”

With one final glare at each other, they turned to find Thundercracker perched on the edge of the empty berth, looking surprisingly small and sick, helm propped in both hands, wings drooping.

“You’re both being kinda loud right now. I think this is gonna turn into a migraine and I really don’t want to be laid up for five orns, again.” He drew in a long stabilising sigh of cold air and shuddered, wingtips trembling. “I haven’t even started to think what I’m gonna tell Lara.”

“Primus, dude.” Skywarp leaned down and bumped cheeks, briefly. “I’m sorry. Lemme find you a cold pack or something.”

“That’d be good. Thank you…”

The medical supplies in the adjoining office weren’t strictly for machines to help themselves to, but most staff had learned that Skywarp wasn’t the sort to be put off by rules and regulations, and making things hard to obtain just increased the likelihood that he’d make an unholy mess while searching. Thundercracker’s personal supply of icepacks were in a small easily-accessible chiller just inside the doorway; his ‘migraines’ were thankfully infrequent, but fairly infamous as well, and having an icepack on hand sometimes made the difference between it lasting one orn, or six. And him being able to still see.

Skywarp helped himself to two, and waved a threatening finger under the nose of the mech that had followed him into the office. “Don’t. Even start.”

Starscream put his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t going to. I’m sorry, all right?”

Skywarp grumbled wordlessly through his vents, but appeared somewhat mollified. “What then?”

“I was going to say, once we’ve got TC comfortable, maybe we should go home.” Something dark passed through the smouldering scarlet optics. “Someone wants our attention. I don’t feel inclined to keep him waiting.”

[keaalu]

Remember Me, chapter five

Title (chapter): Remember Me (05)

Series: Transformers, G1-based “Blue” AU

Rating: PG-13

Notes: After a “brief, friendly chat” with the ‘Cons still on Earth, the family try to take stock of what options they have.  Anybody got any ideas?

--------------

It really shouldn’t have taken this long for their call to Earth to be answered.

Starscream paced and muttered to himself the whole time. “They’re doing this on purpose. Keeping me waiting.”

“What if they’re just not there.” Already on edge, Skywarp had to keep his arms folded to keep from acting on the urge to punch him. Starscream’s stupid, angry electric field was polluting the entire building. “What if they’re on their way here, right now, because they know we’ll be stood here wasting time, waiting for them to answer the fraggin’ comms.”

“Oh, no; they’re there, all right. They’re doing this on purpose, to get at me. That’s what this whole thing is, some stupid… political… mind game.”

But it’s not your little sparks that have been turned into political currency, is it. Skywarp swallowed the words before they could escape, and instead said; “Of course it is. Mech, it’s not only me and TC that know the quickest way to get you flying blind into a situation is to make you think you don’t have personal control of it.”

Starscream glared at him for an instant, but apparently didn’t have an adequate counter-argument. “Are you implying I’m a liability?”

“I’m not implying anything; I’m saying it quite happily to your face. They’re trying to get you to rush into this because you’re easier to catch when you disconnect your brain.”

Starscream opened his mouth to say something that would no doubt have been particularly cutting, but never got the chance to vocalise it.

The terminal chirped and they both lunged for it, wings clashing.

“Hi, Starscream! Skywarp.” Dirge smiled the universe’s most sickly, insincere of smiles. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I keep you waiting?”

Starscream glared and folded his arms. “I have no desire to swap small-talk with an imbecile. Where is Megatron.”

“You want to get rid of me so soon? Aw, but we used to be f-…” Dirge stopped to think about it for a second. “Fellow cannon fodder!”

“And you remained it, you unimaginative blob of tin. Where is Megatron.”

Dirge propped his helm against one hand, contemplatively. “What do I get in return for reuniting you two old lovebots?”

While Starscream spluttered wordless outrage, Skywarp leaned in towards the pickup; “Just get him, Dirge.”

Dirge’s smile turned into a smirk. “But I’d forgotten how satisfyingly easy it was to get under the Screamer’s plating. Just once more, for old time’s-”

“Now, Dirge?”

“Oh, fine. Whatever.” The blue mech reached up towards the visual pickup, and the scene abruptly skewed around to the left.

As it turned out, Megatron hadn’t been very far away the entire time. Just off camera, in fact. Listening in, apparently amused by the speed at which Starscream’s temper had flared. “Good to see some things never change.”

Skywarp was close enough to feel his wingmate’s field flush with a small additional storm of fireflies, angry and embarrassed. He set a hand on the leading edge of his wing. -steady, dude.-

-don’t you ”steady” me- came the return snap… but the red mech seemed grateful anyway, a little of the prickliness easing off.

In the space in front of the big command chair, Megatron had arranged his trophies. Slipstream, now looking somewhat battered, and still cuffed, was half-kneeling half-dangling between Ramjet and Thrust, who held one arm each. Skydash sat by the warlord’s feet, curled up into the smallest ball conceivable.

“You certainly took your time, Starscream,” Megatron drawled. “Can I read into it that you’re glad to have got rid of these two?”

Starscream puffed himself up, arms stiff at his sides. “Don’t blame me for the fact the only followers you have left are a band of incompetents who can’t figure out how to work the communications terminal.”

“Haha! Figures that you’d know what one of them looks like, right Screamer?” Thrust chimed in; Ramjet gave him a frustrated shove.

Starscream ignored both of them. “You wanted my attention? You’ve got it. Let’s get to the point, shall we?”

Megatron shrugged, casually. “Old friends aren’t allowed to call each other for a chat, every now and then?”

“You have never been my friend, Megatron. Obstacles rarely are.”

Megatron’s jaw tightened, subtly. He directed his gaze towards Skywarp, as if to say oh really.

“Get to the point. What do you want.”

“I suspect you know what I want.” Megatron relaxed back in his throne and wafted a hand, grandly. “I must admit to being… grudgingly impressed with what you’ve done with the planet. Not particularly impressed by the way you did it, but then I probably shouldn’t be surprised at your willingness to crawl on your belly if it’s a useful means to an end; I’ve seen it enough times.”

Starscream visibly took offence, rocking forwards onto his toes, hands balling into fists. “I worked hard for this and not once did I crawl anywhere-!” He had to make a visible effort to tame his increasingly shrill voice. “This is what happens when people trust that you’re as good as you say you are, and don’t treat you like an imbecile.”

“Well let’s hope those same trusting fools are equally forgiving, when they realise you have no way of actually protecting them from danger.”

“What precisely do you mean by that.”

“Haven’t we just established that you are not an imbecile? You work it out.”

If he was alarmed by the threat, the Seeker didn’t outwardly show it. “How many followers have you actually got left, Megatron? Since I defected and almost your entire air force followed me?”

“How many do I need?” The warlord smirked. “A handful of trained warriors should be plenty, against a district full of sluggish politicians and failed soldiers. And when they see how quickly you are defeated, I suspect the transition will be… somewhat peaceful.”

Tiring of the two mechs posturing, Skywarp put himself in the way; “Hey, Seem? You all right, mech?”

“Been better. Still alive.” Slipstream managed to croak, before Thrust took offence and delivered a quick punch to the side of his head.

“Who gave you permission to speak?” the conehead bellowed.

Slipstream cringed away from him as best he could, but added, hastily; “Dashisfinetoo!”

Thrust made a half-step closer, as if to assault him again, but Ramjet shoved him backwards. Thrust made an obscene gesture but settled, glaring. No words came through audibly, so presumably the white jet’s snap of annoyance had gone over their private channel.

Skywarp leaned in towards the pickup, a little. “Keep your chin up, eh? Don’t do anything stupid to annoy these guys. We’ll come and get both of you soon, all right?”

“…right.”

Megatron glared at the two coneheads. The microphone obediently picked up words which probably weren’t meant to have been broadcast; this wasn’t meant to be a social call, you two morons. Get them out of here.

“So much for two old friends having a cosy chat, mighty Megatron,” Starscream observed, flatly, watching as the three coneheads hustled the two prisoners away. “Let them go. They have no part in our dispute.”

Megatron’s lip twitched; he couldn’t quite get the smirk to fit as well over his face as it had done previously. Looked rather like he was biting down on the need to snarl. “No part? On the contrary. I think those… insignificant little dirtcrawlers… have become a convenient weak point for you. Buut… if you want them so badly…” He shrugged and waved his hand, irritably. “Maybe we could be persuaded to send them back to you. One limb at a time. Or less, depending on how generous we’re feeling.”

Skywarp stiffened. “If you so much as think about it-”

“You’ll what? Come here? Good! I look forwards to it.” The crimson gaze flickered briefly across the room. “Just as I look forwards to welcoming Thundercracker when he arrives. We’ll make sure he’s, ah. Well-cared-for, until you’re all here.”

“…what?”

“Don’t take too long thinking about your options, now.” Megatron flattened his palm and made a side-to-side slicing motion, and the signal abruptly cut off.

Skywarp flopped out on the couch, arms sprawling. “Well this sucks slag.”

Starscream perched awkwardly beside him. “…um. Are you all right?”

Skywarp knew his wingmate probably actually meant please tell me you’re not going to fly off and do something moronic, now but it was nice to pretend he actually just meant are you all right for a change. He blew out a long whistle of exhaust and pressed the heel of both hands into his optics. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks. You?”

“Frustrated.” The scarlet jet hesitated for a second, and added; “All right, yes. Worried as well. I don’t have an answer for this whole mess yet. But,” he lifted a triumphant finger, “my computing capacity has never been better. We’ll think of something.”

Skywarp managed a small smile. “Better not be that same computing capacity that gets us into trouble almost as much as I get us into trouble.” His smile faded. “Just wait until TC gets home. Then you’ll have both of us to look after. It’ll be like Egypt, all over again.”

Starscream made an exasperated pfft noise through pursed lips, and rolled his optics, but it looked like it was mostly for effect.

Skywarp laced his fingers, and studied them quietly. “I know what you’re gonna say. My sparklings are always causing problems for you. The whole mess in Egypt was their fault, as well-”

“That… wasn’t precisely what I was going to say.” Starscream interrupted. “For one, it’s not just your sparklings causing problems, this time; it’s Thundercracker’s, as well.” A small smile curved the dark features. “I was going to say; this is what living with you feels like. Constant helmache.”

Now it was Skywarp’s turn to snort.

The rest of the family arrived en masse a breem or two later. Skyfire touched down incongruously lightly in the yard for a shuttle of his impressive bulk, apparently having followed Pulsar back from the station; the bike held the door open for him, and lingered there after he’d passed, watching while the remainder of the little party caught up.

Celerity had followed at a slower pace on foot, features drawn tight in a worried frown, carrying Thundercracker on her back, piggyback-style. The blue Seeker looked… dull. Grey and dusty. It was probably a measure of how bad he felt that he wasn’t even protesting at the undignified way of getting home; just let his arms drape down over her shoulders, rested his helm against her, and let her carry him.

Once indoors, she crouched and allowed the mech to slide gracelessly onto the couch next to his wingmate, before taking up her usual spot on the floor by his thrusters, resting her cheek against his knees. Thundercracker stretched out an arm and rested his fingers lightly against her antennae.

Skywarp could sense both of their static envelopes – stressed and tightly-wound, trying not to upset each other any more than they already were, and only succeeding at making each other worse. The teleport swallowed the click of annoyance. More importantly, he could feel the heat still pouring off his wingmate; no wonder the guy looked so drawn. He hastily fetched him a coolant mantle.

“So what did I miss?” Thundercracker finally asked, in a watery little voice that sounded nothing like his usual no-nonsense boom.

Skywarp let their wings touch. “Not much. Bit of posturing between Screamer and the Psychotron, but we didn’t find out much we didn’t already know.”

“You called him already?” Thundercracker turned and stared blindly through him. “You didn’t wait for me to get back?”

Skywarp rubbed the back of his helm and glanced away, guiltily. “Eh, well. Didn’t wanna make your migraine worse, you know?” he lied.

“…also didn’t want to let him know our trine’s strength is down by a third already?”

“He thinks you’re on your way already, mech.” Skywarp gave his hand a squeeze. “And the Dashlet’s fine. All right? We’ve seen her. Scared, sure, but she’s not hurt. We don’t know if he even realises she’s yours.”

Thundercracker sagged against him, like a deflating balloon. “Small miracles.”

“Ain’t it just?” Skywarp moved his other arm out of the way to allow a small, prickly body to climb into his lap. “Hey, Squeaky. Where’s Footloose got to?”

Pulsar offered a sigh and tucked up against him, stretching a small arm across his chassis. “Staying with the ambulance crew, for now. They’re better at getting her to calm down than me.”

Starscream settled gingerly on the drinks table in front of them, not entirely clear if it would hold his weight. He waited until everyone’s attention was on him before finally speaking. “We need to get a plan together, and fast. Megatron thinks he’s got us in a corner, but we’ll figure out how to escape.” A frustrated smile pulled his lips into a tight line. “Now. Has anyone got any ideas?”