Vengeance

Summary: Broken, beaten, defiled... Living, let alone moving on, from this point is a challenge not many are strong enough to accomplish. Dark fic; Rape, Language, Mech/Mech
Rating: M

Chapter 8



“Percy... y-you, you sure you want to go down this way?” Sideswipe looked down the hallway anxiously, glancing from the too-bright orange walls and back to his partner. Perceptor had his optics fixed ahead though, servos clasped before him in grim determination.

“I'm sure,” he answered surely. Soft, but nonetheless filled with resolve. “It is the fastest route, after all.”

The lamborghini couldn't deny that this way was quickest when one wanted to get to the medbay, but even he could still see the scuff marks on the floor and wall; traces of energon, almost burgundy now after all this time, speckled along the corridor from where others had missed them during clean-up. Just the faintest sight of them was enough to make even the burly warrior feel sick to his tanks. How then could he expect Perceptor to be able to brave this path?

It wasn't for Sideswipe to decide in either case. The microscope cycled a deep intake, hesitating only a moment, before stepping past the imaginary division line separating him from the corridor. A shiver running down his spinal struts, the red Twin followed after him. Their pede-falls echoed tinnily as they went; the end seemingly miles away from them. Subconsciously, Sideswipe moved to stand on Perceptor's left as they neared Mirage's room; protecting him, if that were at all possible anymore. What neither had expected though, was for the spy's door to be cracked open just the slightest.

“Perceptor....,” the lamborghini started, “Maybe, we should-”

The scientist moved around the other Autobot, slowly approaching the door. He said nothing, even as he set a shaking servo on the metal; pushing the door open more. It creaked and groaned like a wounded beast as it was forced back along its track, almost drowning out the surprised scuffle that echoed from within the dark room.

Sideswipe stepped up behind Perceptor quickly, a servo slipping to his blaster in subspace. “Percy, be careful. There's someone in there.....”

“I know,” the smaller mech replied fearlessly. Perceptor didn't look back at Sideswipe, only becoming more tense as he shoved the door open a little wider. When the lamborghini moved to follow him, the microscope turned, setting a black servo on the red hood. His expression was quiet, withdrawn, blue optics pleading silently at the other Autobot. Reluctantly, Sideswipe acquiesced to the demand, stepping back.

He watched as Perceptor disappeared into the room, leaving him behind.

Inside, it was dark. No lights flickered on at his presence, and the scientist wasn't entirely sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He didn't like the heaviness of the blackness all around him, but he doubted he'd be able to handle whatever horrors were kept veiled by the lack of light. Already, Perceptor could feel coolant pooling about his optics again, and his intakes heaved. Something stirred in the darkness once more, somewhere ahead of the small mech. Focusing on the sound, he headed toward it, adjusting his optical input, trying to increase visibility.

The grainy pixels guided him around shattered bits of furniture and other objects, straight to the berth at the back of the room, where heavy pedes caught his sight. Slowly, anxiously, Perceptor lifted his helm.

“Hello..... Perceptor,” Hound greeted dully, his vocalizer strained. The tracker lifted his helm slightly, gazing back at the scientist with a distracted gaze. It was obvious in his hunched shoulders and glossy cheekplates, that he had been crying.

It took all of the smaller 'bot's resolve not to crumple in sympathy.

“Why are you here?,” he demanded coldly.

Hound flinched a little at the harsh inquiry, servos tightening around the item clenched between his fingers. The microscope glanced at it, his optics taking a moment before he recognized it as a holoframe. One that would usually display an image, but currently its face was dark, the screen cracked. Whatever precious moments it had once held were now lost.... almost like their owner had been.

“Listen, P-perceptor, I-”

“I asked you a question,” Perceptor cut in quickly, returning his gaze to the tracker's face. “Please, do not give me excuses.” Pain reflected in the dim orbs, Hound biting his lip component hard.

“I-i...,” he choked, “I couldn't go to the medbay. I j-just..... I couldn't....” He dropped his helm again, unable to say anything more. There was so much he wanted to speak though, but the words caught in his vocalizer, twisting and twisting until it felt like he was swallowing a handful of nails. He barely even noticed when the microscope stepped forward a couple more paces, servos hanging loosely by his sides as he stood before the bulkier mech.

“I mean, w-why....,” Hound managed to stutter out, “W-why would he do th-that....? D-didn't they say th-that he w-was getting better-”

“I know.”

The jeep's helm snapped up, almost hopefully, but only distant, disappointed optics looked back at him. Again, he flinched, as Perceptor's lip components parted. “I know,” the red mech elaborated, “I heard. And I'm sure.... Mirage did too. Somehow.”

“How could you, of all mechs, say those things?,” Perceptor swallowed sharply, trying to remain focused through the tears beginning to glaze his optics. “I-i-i understand t-that.... that it's b-been hard, f-for everyone t-to adjust. B-but to sit there.... a-and agree with Wheeljack, w-when he was saying a-all those nasty things? D-did you not know t-that you were t-the only one M-mirage considered a friend? H-how could you b-betray him, wh-when he needed your h-help the most?”

The scientist turned his helm away, frame shaking as he tried to swallow back his sobs. His spark ached -in anger, disgust, sorrow, pity- spurred further by the tears he could hear falling down Hound's own cheekplates again. The tracker curled into himself as best as he could, intakes heaving as he cried. “I-i'm sorry!,” he sobbed brokenly. “I-i-i really am.... I d-didn't mean to- I n-never had wa-wanted-!”

The green mech broke off again, mumbling incoherent things softly as he cried harder, pleas and apologies being whispered to the dark room. “I d-didn't kn-know what to say -I-i-i-i never..... he c-came to me, a-and I panicked! I di-didn't know what e-else to d-do. I j-just never th-thought....”

The microscope had heard enough. He turned his attention back to Hound, reaching out and slapping the hysterical jeep. His palm stung and his chassis trembled at the violence he had just displayed, but his tears and the hurricane of emotions he felt racing across his circuits would not give him even a moment to feel ashamed of himself. “Y-you....,” he grit out, “Y-you jerk!”

Hound shuttered his optics up at Perceptor, a servo rising to his dented cheekplate in disbelief.

“I.... I try to be as sympathetic as possible,” Perceptor cried, unable to stop the well of pain, “Despite everything.... e-everything I have gone through. But I w-would never have been able to make it this far, i-if I didn't have them. The ones that have showed m-me, time and again, that th-they really do care for me. That I matter, that being happy, feeling safe, are important and o-okay things to want. H-hound... y-you're a really good p-person, but....”

“But you've done a stupid thing....,” the scientist continued softly, feeling his energy escape him. He could remember it so clearly, seeing Hound in the hallways with Wheeljack a month ago, the engineer saying such.... such mean things, and the tracker willingly nodding along in agreement. It had been a terrible secret to hold inside of him, but the knowledge that his most trusted friend and supposed love interest hated them because of what happened, would have torn Ratchet apart. As it had done just the other day....

It was almost hard to believe, that someone who was usually so good and kind, could allow himself to be motivated by another's poisonous words. And yet.... wasn't that their life now?

Sighing, Perceptor turned his gaze away from Hound, unable to look the tracker fully in the optic anymore. All he could see was pain and sorrow reflected back at him, and a small, angry part of himself did not want to grant the bigger mech any sympathy. It hissed that Hound was undeserving of it.

“Y-you..... you need to correct yourself, Hound, and everything that you've done. I can only hope that when Mirage wakes up..... you, and him, might be able to forgive yourself for the transgressions you have done to him.” The scientist did not add the other things buzzing in his helm; like, that Hound did not deserve forgiveness, and that he still spent his nights, worrying that he'd wake to find that Mirage had finally passed on.

Those were words that did not need to be spoken, and fears better left forgotten.

Slowly, Perceptor turned away from the jeep, heading back through the darkness and rugged room, to the strip of light, leading out into the hallway like a beam of salvation. He was blinded immediately once he stepped out of the room, hearing something heavy shuffle towards him uncertainly. When he flinched, it stopped.

“P-percy....,” Sideswipe called, “Percy, a-are.... are you okay?”

Pixels re-orientating themselves, the microscope twisted slightly to face the lamborghini, feeling a weight begin to lift from his shoulder plating. It left him feeling drained though, as if he'd been online for cycles already, without recharge or fuel. “I.... I'm fine,” he answered wearily, as Sideswipe slowly closed the distance between them.

“You sure?,” the red warrior asked in concern, lifting a servo and gently stroking it down Perceptor's helm.

“Y-yes.... I....” Perceptor trailed off, glancing back to Mirage's door and the darkness. He couldn't hear Hound anymore, but he doubted the tracker had moved from his spot yet. Sideswipe followed his gaze, petting the scientist's helm again.

“Who was in there?”

The lamborghini made to move to the door, but the microscope grabbed his servo, drawing him back to his side. “It doesn't matter. Please,” he said, tightening his grip. Sideswipe hesitated, torn between finding out who was in the room and comforting Perceptor. Eventually though, he did choose the smaller mech, squeezing the trembling servo back.

“Let's go get you some energon.... alright?,” the warrior suggested softly, leaning forward and gently kissing the scientist's helm.

“T-that, that would be nice,” Perceptor agreed, sighing softly at the tender comfort given to him. Even the smallest of kindnesses was enough to soothe his jumbled circuits and painful thoughts. Relaxing at his companion's own calming state, Sideswipe gently began leading them forward again; a tiny smile on his lip components, and fingers still entwined in strength and support.

xxXxXxx

The forest groaned and creaked as he walked through the trees, pushing them out of his path; wary of the leaves and pines raining down. He was glad when he came to the designated clearing, grinning wickedly as his optics landed on the other already waiting for him. With a courage he didn't entirely feel, he sashayed forwards, drawing the mech's attention.

“I'm so glad that you could make it.”

“Inquiry: Why did you comm me?” Soundwave circled the clearing slowly, keeping opposite of the other, visor flashing when he attempted to move closer. Eventually, he stopped trying to back the Decepticon into a tree, leaning against the steadiest oak near him.

“I thought you might of wanted to see me,” he cooed.

The tapedeck tensed, servo slowly reaching for his blaster in subspace. “Demand: Give reason for contacting. Now, Tracks.”

The aforementioned Autobot began to giggle deliriously, leaning forward slightly. “No need for the guns, love. I don't have any on myself, and we're far enough away from any Autobot outpost. You'd have plenty of time to shoot me if that's what you so wished and still escape.” Tracks twisted a servo in the air loosely, resting against the tree's bark again calmly, that insane smile still on his face. “Besides, I only called to talk to you....”

Soundwave kept his servo resting on his hip plating, ready for the moment when the corvette turned out to be a liar, but he heard nothing from the surrounding forest except the meaningless white noise of the organic creatures throughout the trees and grass; overshadowing the quiet, incoherent mess that was Tracks' own helm. “Status: confused. Inquiry: subject of confrontation?”

“I have a proposition for you, Soundwave,” Tracks answered, growing solemn. “You're Third in Command, are you not? Meaning, on top of being communications officer, you know all the ins and out of Megatron's forces. Their strengths, their weakness..... Where they're gonna break and hard.”

The Decepticon tensed further. Scoffing slightly at the response, the multi-coloured mech pushed himself off of the oak, starting up his predatory circling again. The tapedeck copied his every action, waiting for the other to make his move. The corvette smirked, his indigo optics dimming in dark amusement.

“Yes. You could destroy that army within a matter of kliks, couldn't you? But never Megatron. No..... I doubt you would ever lay a servo on that sick fragger. You're too.... loyal to him, after all.”

“Maybe though,” Tracks continued, servos winding about nonsensically again. Soundwave watched their twisting, weaving motions warily; the both of them still pacing around the clearing slowly. “Maybe, I could convince you, hmmm? To break every.... single.... one... of.... those..... mechs. Tear them down until it hurts, and keep ripping until they have no sensation left.”

The communications officer stopped his circling, visor flashing as he stared at the corvette in surprise. Tracks slowed to a stop as well, his wings flared and twitching slightly with every passing breeze. “What?,” he asked in mock innocent. “Did you think I was so incapable of hatred? That I couldn't even muster the rage up for all of your comrades after they so thoughtfully raped me?!”

The forest erupted into a squabble of noise as birds and mammals skittered away in distress; the corvette pulling his fist out of a tree's trunk slowly. The abused wood groaned sickly before it cracked with a boom of thunder, crashing to the ground behind him. Silently, the winged Autobot picked the shards of wood out of his servo, glancing at Soundwave coldly. In a calmer tone, he said, “No, I think I have put up with enough. Things have gone far enough.... it's time for vengeance to be exacted. And you are going to help me.”

“Fact: are out of your helm. Will not assist you,” the Decepticon was quick to spit back.

A coy smile graced Tracks' lip components; slowly, he sashayed for the tapedeck, managing to get close enough to slide his servos down the other's chestplates. Breaking out of his stupor, Soundwave quickly reached for his weapon; cocking it, and holding the end to the Autobot's helm. Tracks merely shuttered his optics at the press of the cool metal, that misplaced smile still on his face.

“Oh, insane I may be.... but, you will still help me Soundwave. I have something to offer you in exchange for your assistance,” the corvette whispered temptingly against the communications officer's mouth guard. “Something I'm certain you can not refuse, and desire more than anything else.”

Silence met his statement, Soundwave for once in his function stunned into immobility. Smile growing on his face, Tracks sunk to his knees slowly, fingers splaying out across white thighs. “Do this,” he grinned seductively, mouth brushing the other's pelvic plating, “And I shall be yours. For whatever purpose you choose. Utterly.... and eternally....”

Light flashed across that blood-red visor, a servo falling to curl around the back of his helm. Cycling an intake slowly, the Autobot offlined his optics, giving way to the void growing within him.

xxXxXxx

“I think.... Skyfire, maybe you should leave him alone for a while.”

The shuttle turned to the speaker, a vicious glare on his face. Smokescreen, having never seen such a look before on the other, flinched, suddenly wary of Skyfire's fluid allegiance and his monstrous size. Stepping back a pede-step, he flared his doorwings in warning, servos folding before him tensely. Seeing the defensive action, Skyfire hurried to try and reign in his ire, turning his glare to the floor. “My.... apologies,” he replied tersely, “But I will not do as you say Smokescreen. Ratchet needs me still. Even if he doesn't want anything to do with me.”

The psychiatrist frowned, clenching his servos tightly. “Listen, I understand that you feel something for him Skyfire, but it is in my medical opinion-”

“What medical opinion?!,” Skyfire snapped, cutting the Datsun off. “You are no medical officer; you aren't even a real psychiatrist! It's only because of how under-staffed the crew is, and how much of a charmer you can be, that Optimus even made you shrink. You do not have the expertise or the authority to be telling me anything.”

Twisting, as if he had been slapped, it took Smokescreen astroseconds before he was able to respond again. When he did, it was with his doorwings rigid high behind his back and his vocalizer overladen with a snarl. “I have more right and place then you do, outsider!,” he yelled. “You were stupid to believe that joining the Decepticons had been the right choice and look at how that turned out! You nearly killed the lot of us, and had your spark blasted through by your so-called 'friend.' You were wrong then, what's to say you're not now?”

The shuttle narrowed his optics, looming over the arrogant Datsun; his engines growling back in rage. Despite the sudden urge he felt to grab Smokescreen by his helm and bash it into the adjacent wall, Skyfire held himself calmly, his wings lowered and still behind him. “I have made my mistakes, yes,” he answered coldly, “But I will not leave Ratchet alone. Not after all this now. He hates us, Smokescreen, because of what one mech has done. Abandoning him, even for a moment, will only further cement that false truth, that we're all the same and he's unwanted. If one person can do so much damage, then I will try to be that one person who does all he can to help Ratchet get back onto the right track.”

Slowly, Skyfire pulled away, turning his helm and looking back at the medbay doors. They were open just a crack, enough to allow him to see Ratchet, standing over Mirage's frame as he continued to try and repair the broken spy. “Medical knowledge from datapads and routine protocol are no longer valid here Smokescreen.....,” the shuttle mumbled sadly, all of his anger receding, for the time being. He knew though if he ever came across Wheeljack soon, it would erupt all over again, and he could not be responsible for the things he did to the callous engineer. He could not forgive the other Autobot for what he had done to the medic, after all.....

“The only way to heal, to make things better, is to grope our way along through this darkness. I'm sure you've realized that by now too, after what's happened with Mirage.”

Smokescreen bit his bottom lip component in shame, dropping his gaze to the floor. He knew, even despite all his anger and guilt and fear, that Skyfire was right. “I.....I'm just trying to make sure we all recover from this,” he hesitated in confessing, feeling coolant rise to the edges of his optics. “I me-mean, I'm responsible f-for the crew's mental stability. I've got to m-make sure that they're o-okay and that..... that.....”

“I know....,” Skyfire interjected softly. He still did not turn his helm away from the medbay doors. “You may do things as you wish, Smokescreen. As for me.... I will do them differently. Whatever it takes, I will see to it that Ratchet can smile.... trust..... care..... once again.” His piece spoken, the white mech silently heading for the ajar doors, leaving an ashamed and crying Smokescreen behind.

xxXxXxx

Night had fallen, and with it, silence once more.

Orange corridors were empty, void of life, except for the shadow that moved like a wraith down them; a breeze that barely stirred even the smallest layering of dust. The Autobots had already tucked themselves away for the rest of the evening, as they had done since the beginning of this tragedy. Unworried by them though, the shadow continued to slither along, intent on only one direction.

He could not help but pause though as he came across the door to his own room.

Hesitation cost him precious astroseconds, before he decided to move forward; palming the door open. It too was empty within, only the shadows twisting and twirling in surprise to greet him. They were quiet as they turned their attentions to him, not mocking or jeering as they usually did. It was almost as if they were in awe of him, if not stunned by his recent actions, like they didn't believe he had the courage to follow through with anything.

How he had showed them.

Shuttering his optics mutely, the wraith turned and retreated back down the hall, the shadows trailing after him like ghastly pets. They followed him all the way down to the medbay, crawling along the walls and floors as he entered into the room, keeping silent vigil as he headed for the other mech spread out across one of the berths.

“Mirage.....,” he whispered softly, reaching out. He held his energon-soaked servos over the unconscious spy's helm; weaving them along the arches and dips in the blue plating, but never actually touching the metal. He would not, he decided, sully such innocence with his tainted touch.

“Oh, precious Mirage.... the deed has been done,” the wraith continued lowly, his lip components tugging into a broken smile. “Our revenge is complete. The very ones that have done this to us are no more..... I'm only sorry that it came so late. That I could not accomplish this before you tried to take your own life.”

No sign of acknowledgement came from Mirage -not even a twitch of his fingers- only the steady and depressing hum of the system-support machines as they worked away, and his visible spark still weakly puttering.

Sighing softly, the mech bent closer to his comatose companion, servos resting on the berth. It took nearly all his effort not to shake. “I.....I have sold what little I had left for this victory, and soon, I will have to leave for good now. The demon I have made my bargain with beckons for me; I can feel it,” he confessed, spark heavy. He paused, uncertain, before chuckling mirthlessly. “Heh..... There's so much I want to say, but I... I don't think I'll be able to get it all out....”

“Just.... come back to us soon Mirage. The others will need you, as much as you need them. Your strength will help guide them where I can not. And maybe someday, the memories shall fade and you can all be happy, somehow.”

Gently, he pressed a kiss to the spy's crown, before pulling away entirely. The shadows cooed sadly as he walked backwards to the doors, circling tightly around his legs as he went. The mech did not care. His attention was still fixed on Mirage though, farewells whispering loudly in his helm. Words he could not force out of his vocalizer. Before the doors closed on his disappearing frame, one final sentence echoed into the medbay.

“....Be well....”