Rating: M
Chapter 15
He knocked on the door, before
entering. “Bumblebee.... are you alright?” Optimus kindly kept
his flashlight focused on the floor as he tried to peer through the
gloom of the berthroom, noticing the younger autodog picking himself
up off the floor. “Are you hurt? Do you need some band-aids or
anything?,” the secretary asked concernedly.
“Y-yeah, boss-bot, I'm fine,”
Bumblebee answered. Raising his flashlight now, the german shepherd
shone its beam on the youngling, quickly scanning him for any dents
or the like. One servo lifted to his face to try and keep the light
from glaring into his optics, the yellow mech pouted, plopping back
on his berth. “Boss-bot.... you're gonna blind me!”
“Sorry..... I'm sorry,” Optimus
sighed, quickly dropping the flashlight again. “Just this
storm..... I suppose I was a little caught off-guard by the power
going out, just as you were, if the thump I heard downstairs was any
indication. I was.... worried.”
Despite himself, the chihuahua smiled,
kicking his pedes carelessly. “Boss-bot, you worry too much! If you
hadn't taken time off of work, you wouldn't have been here when the
blackout happened. Sure, I probably would have fallen just like I
did,” Bumblebee shrugged, “But I would have just picked myself
right on up and went downstairs to get some flashlights and candles.
I'm a tough pup.... You don't have to constantly babysit me!”
The secretary didn't know what to say
to that. “....you really don't need to call me 'boss', Bumblebee. I
am your guardian; not your employer or your social worker.”
Again, the youngling shrugged. “It's
just familiarity, you know? Besides, you are the one who brings in
the dough and feeds us and shelters us, so, yeah! You're totally the
boss, Optimus.” Bumblebee chuckled at the dry look he could
practically see on the german shepherd's face through the darkness,
kicking his pedes faster.
After a klik though, the yellow 'bot
got quiet, his legs resting against the berthside. “.....say,
Optimus?,” he inquired softly. “Well, I don't know, maybe it's
none of my business, but.... Are you ever going back to work? Is
there a reason why you haven't gone back for a whole week?”
Optimus remained silent. “I'll leave
this for you,” the blue mech said, setting the flashlight he
carried down on Bumblebee's dresser. “I'm going to go look for some
candles.” Turning, the german shepherd closed the youngling's
berthroom door behind him as he left. The chihuahua stared silently
at the wood for a klik, stunned that his guardian would just up and
walk away without an explanation -something he never did!- over one
simple question.
There came a shuffling from behind him
and a dark green shadow climbed onto the berth beside Bumblebee.
Surprisingly, the yellow mech did not react. “.....big dog very
strange.....,” the stranger buzzed in an odd fashion, like he a
horde of insecticons filling his mouth. “He bumblebot's sire?”
The autodog snorted, rolling his
optical sensors. “No. He's my guardian; he looks after me, like a
parent, but he isn't my dad. I told you that already.”
His guest said nothing for a moment,
before he inched closer, his denta opening above the chihuahau's neck
cables. “Bumblebot lucky still..... Bumblebot not get caught doing
naughty things with dirty stray,” the other smirked, his purple
optics glowing brightly in the darkness.
Shivering against the hot intakes
brushing along his plating, Bumblebee attempted to turn his helm to
the green mech, his mouth opening in protest. A breathless, choked
squeak of “Wasp!” escaped him instead as he was shoved back onto
the sheets; the stranger pinning him down and molesting his willing
victim, just as he had been doing before Optimus had come upstairs.
xxXxXxx
The persian walked into the office,
slowing his pace as he rounded the bend and his gaze fell on the jack
russel terrier sitting stiffly in her chair. “Mr. Soundwave,” she
greeted with a scowl, “Please. Take a seat.”
Soundwave acquiesced to the demand,
curious as to what Flare-up wanted to discuss with him. The last time
the femme had even called him, was to inform him that Tracks was
unable to make their appointment, and if he'd be willing to have
another escort for the evening. The kittycon had politely declined.
Now, just as he was beginning to worry slightly about the
pomeranian's status, she had asked to meet with the blue mech
face-to-face immediately. It would be an understatement of any sort
to say that the business 'bot lunged at the opportunity for answers.
Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't
still feel unsettled by Flare-up's reproachful optics.
“Fact: you wished to speak with me
directly,” Soundwave began, when it became obvious after a klik
that the autodog wasn't going to start.
“Yes.....,” Flare-up replied, her
lip components pursed testily. “It has come to my attention that
you've slept with Mr. Tracks recently during your last engagement.
Normally, that wouldn't be a problem..... except the terms of his
contract have been changed at least a week before that, excluding him
from any and all sexual appointments. So, now we have a problem Mr.
Soundwave. Do I, or do I not, have you charged with rape?”
The persian tensed a smidge in his
chair. “Fact: was.... not aware of these changes. Status: have too
much respect for your employee to force them into something that
wasn't what they wanted or was not in agreement with their contract,”
Soundwave quickly explained. “Tracks: ....seemed willing and eager.
Apologize: was out of bounds and was unaware.”
The femme lifted one servo, turning her
helm to her computer as she tapped away at the keys. “Unaware, huh?
It shows here that you were dutifully informed by our staff about the
changes in Mr. Tracks' terms of engagements, same as the rest of his
frequent customers.... Which makes me believe that you are lying, Mr.
Soundwave,” the jack russel finished, a low growl in her tone as
she faced the kittycon. “But..... I am willing to give you the
benefit of the doubt this time, considering Mr. Tracks' reputation
and the cause for your presence here today.”
Soundwave tried not to cock his helm as
his interest piqued. Shifting an astrosecond, Flare-up crossed one
leg over the other, folding her conjoined servos in her lap.
Lightning flashed across the swollen skies behind her.
“The Agency's main goal, as I'm sure
you're well aware of,” the femme began, “Is to bring satisfaction
and good company to our clients, while keeping our employees safe and
well taken care of. It is through a mutual consensus that one of our
'bots goes out on an engagement with another for the evening. We work
through a standard system of preferences, matching clients with
escorts whose criteria fits with the one hiring them for a date. A
final screening is done between myself and the escort in question
before any appointments are made.”
The kittycon nodded his helm. This was
a basic and good practice to have. He was somewhat confused as to why
he was being told about it, but Soundwave assumed it must have some
importance to the matter Flare-up had referred to.
“I can tell you must be perplexed,”
Flare-up continued, a smirk pulling at her lip components. “But,
everything has a point, Mr. Soundwave. Just as the fact that though
our objective is to sell pleasure.... it does not exclude us from the
laws of nature.”
Now the business mech was really
sitting straight in his seat. Behind him, the tip of his tail was
twitching. If the autodog noticed, she did not comment on it.
Instead, she grabbed a file on her desk and slapped it down in front
of Soundwave. “To get to the point, our employees have had their
routine check-ups this orn and I'm afraid something very.....
unusual.... came up in Mr. Tracks' stats.”
Slowly, Soundwave reached forwards,
opening the folder. His visor flashed with his surprise as he
scrolled through the contents, seeing the highlighted comment in the
vet's notes.
Flare-up rose to her pedes. “He's
sparked..... and the offspring is yours, Mr. Soundwave.” The jack
russel terrier reached forward, yanking the folder back and tucking
it away in a drawer, drawing the kittycon's full attention. Leaning
across the desk, she said crisply, “Business practice dictates that
I ask you first, sir, which you'd prefer. Do you or do you not want
this sparkling?”
The persian slowly leaned against the
back of his chair, fingers lacing together before his chestplates.
xxXxXxx
It was dark when he began to take
notice of his surroundings.
Quietly, the mech pushed himself off
his berth, shoving his concerns about how he had gotten there aside
for the moment. His processor buzzed loudly, pressing hotly on the
back of his optics. Thinking, let alone asking useless questions,
would be too much right now. All he wanted -all he felt he needed-
was to move. Knee joints creaking from a few orns out of use, the
mech stood, striding stiffly and silently toward the berthroom door.
The darkness of the hall beyond was
interrupted only by the wane light coming from the kitchen. He
turned, heading for its bare glow; the only heading in his otherwise
unknown world.
He'd been asleep for so long, it felt,
and even though he knew these were familiar surroundings..... the
mech still did not recognize them. The scuff on the wall, the
berthroom door open a tad on the left, even the picture on the wall
all were remnant's of a stranger's life. Pausing, he tipped his helm
up, shuttering his optics at the single photo hanging; two little
mechs reflected back, each with the servo of their creator on their
shoulder plating.
That autodog..... the one who stared
back distantly, cold and encased in a prison of silence and numbing
sorrow. That was him.
No. That wasn't right. It was the
not-him. An unknown 'bot who merely wore his face.
He continued onwards, drawn to the
light like moths to a flame; the world, a haze around him, nothing
but cotton and quiet. He almost didn't hear the poorly muffled sobs
until he'd stepped into the kitchen. Mutely, he watched as the other
mech's shoulders shook; white servos gripping the counter edge
tightly as the bulldog hovered brokenly over the sink.
“.....Wheeljack?,” his hoarse vocalizer called, pulling the
stranger's name from the depths of his memory banks.
He cocked his helm as Wheeljack jolted
at the word, whirling around and gazing at the other in shock.
“P-perceptor! I-i-i.....,” the bulldog trailed off, intakes
heaving as he realized tears were splashing down his cheekplates. He
hurriedly wiped them away with one servo, shakily stepping toward the
other autodog. “U-umm... y-you're, uh, u-up. I-i'm glad! I, I
mean.....”
The border collie did nothing as the
engineer came to a stop before him, a servo resting between his
shoulder plating. “Y-you.... you should be r-resting. You've....
been through a bit of an ordeal. You need more time to-”
“Wheeljack....” Perceptor
interrupted his friend quickly. He'd slept for too long already, he
no longer wanted to do that. He had awoken specifically because there
was something he wanted. Something he needed badly......
His processor recalled the photo in the
hallway. Those two bright smiles shining on young, care-free
faces..... He wanted that. Craved for the love and freedom that
embodied those two mechs. He needed to wrap himself in their essence
and never be released from the sweet oblivion.
“Wheeljack,” Perceptor felt his
mouth open, the words pouring out without conscious thought, “Where
are my sons?”
The bulldog's gloomy expression cracked
and sorrow spilled from his optics. “I-i'm sorry!,” he choked, a
crack resounding through the kitchen as Wheeljack fell to his knee
joints abruptly. He bowed his helm, fists curled on the tile as he
sobbed anew, the very picture of brokenness, despair and remorse as
he knelt half-bent over at the scientist's pedes. “I'm s-s-so,
so-sorry! P-please.... I-i.... I l-looked, P-percy.... I d-did,
b-but, b-but they w-were g-gone.... I-i don't.... d-don't know
wh-where....”
Wheeljack gasped, the tears coming
harder as he pressed his very face to the floor in anguish.
But to Perceptor, he did not notice,
for the fog was being swept from his processor and limbs just in time
to send reality crashing again as pain erupted from his spark.
xxXxXxx
They were soaked by the time they
reached the house. Trembling as the icy gust blew around their legs,
Jetfire spared a quick look with his brother, before he was stepping
up the marble staircase. Behind, Jetstorm followed him, helm tipped
back and squinting through the relentless downpour at the large home
before them. It couldn't be considered a mansion, but it was
certainly grand enough, not to mention wide. He did not doubt that
the family within lived comfortably.
And this is what their sire had left
them for.....
Swallowing back his nausea, the blue
youngling quickly dashed up the last few steps, taking his rightful
place beside his twin. Their chilled servos found each other in the
rain, clasping together tightly as Jetfire raised his free servo;
hesitating only a moment, before steeling himself and pressing
harshly on the doorbell. The cheerful ring echoed faintly within the
house, overwhelmed by a ruckus of noise from the 'bots within. A
squeal sounded close by the front door, and the hybrids could not
help the flinch that they both give.
The astrosesconds passed by, each more
torturous than the last, and still there was no tell-tale sound of a
lock turning or the handle dipping as someone grabbed it from the
other side. Jetstorm glanced at his brother, but could only see
Jetfire's lower lip component shivering in the darkening gloom. It
wasn't hard to tell that the orange mech did not have the courage to
ring the doorbell a second time..... and Jetstorm did not think he
could do it at all.
Anxiously, the blue youngling started,
“B-be of may-”
A deafening thud interrupted him; helm
whipping around, both of the mechs stared in trepidation as the knob
twisted down, the door slowly pulling back and a rush of warm air
brushing teasingly at their faces. Harsh, red optics stared back at
them coldly.
“Who the slag are you?!,” the
kittycon growled, pushing his helm through the ajar door.
Jetfire and Jetstorm shuttered their
optics idly. The youngling before them couldn't have been much
younger than them, maybe about a year or two, and yet they were
stumped and even a little anxious from his aggressiveness. The
kittycon looked just like their sire..... Denta bared as lip
components twisted back in a snarl, the blue mech opened his mouth to
speak to them again when a screechy vocalizer pierced the air.
“THUNDERCRACKER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT THE FRONT DOOR?!”
The abyssian flinched at the shout,
slamming the door in the hybrids' faces. They could hear
Thundercracker yelling something from the other side, before the door
was yanked open again; this time, a tall, slender mech glaring down
on them.
Starscream.
“Yes....?,” the kittycon demanded,
wiping his claws on his apron.
The twins stared, stunned into
immobility, up at their supposed sire. Starscream was..... beautiful.
His magenta plating, his proud, raised black ears; his narrow, sharp
red optics. He was an exotic kind of lovely, and it was hard to
believe that his mech had been the one to create them. Yet, was he
not also the one that had hurt their mother irrevocably as well? As
the silence dragged on, the abyssian's glare increased, until his
optics were mere slits on his face.
“If you're trying to sell goodies, I
am not- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
It was like a hurricane of emotions
twisting up inside of them, burning with an icy sting that dug into
their circuitry deep, freezing their spark and ripping all shred of
logic from their processors. Wanting- needing- some sort of comfort,
of connection, Jetstorm foolishly flung himself forward; wrapping his
arms tight around Starscream's middle and burying his face into the
other mech's chestplates. Jetfire's spark pulsed through the dark
storm brewing inside of him, watching in horror as Starscream's
expression changed from one of disdain to a snarl of utter loathing
and disgust. Quickly, the kittycon grabbed the blue hybrid by the
back of his neck, tugging hard and shoving the youngling away from
him. It was only with his brother's quick response that Jetstorm was
saved from tumbling down the rain-slicked steps.
Glancing over his shoulder plating as a
deep voice rumbled from further in the house, Starscream stepped out
into the chilly rain, slamming the door behind him. “How dare
you?!,” he hissed, claws bent crookedly at his sides. “Touching
me with your nas-”
“You being sire!,” Jetstorm shouted
quickly, still having yet to rise from his seat of wet marble. The
hybrid's hood had fallen back and now his down-cast ears were getting
soaked as he turned his helm up, looking imploringly at the magenta
mech. “Are daddy of ours! Believing must be.”
Starscream's optics flared at the cry,
anxiously glancing back at the house before he took a menacing step
towards the twins. “First, you have the audacity to assault me, and
now you're spitting bald-faced lies?!,” the kittycon growled,
slinking forward with each sentence. “I do not know where you came
from, but I do not take kindly to two, miserable lil' strays coming
up to my door and trying to stir up trouble. Did you say something to
my son? Did you tell him some of your pathetic delusions?!”
Jetfire quickly pulled his brother up
to his pedes, stepping in front of the stunned youngling and
protecting him as their sire loomed over them. He could feel anger
and sorrow and confusion warring in him so strongly, it threatened to
show itself as half-processed vomit all over the porch. Trembles ran
down his spinal struts, but whether that was from him or Jetstorm
pressed tightly against his back, the orange hybrid couldn't be sure.
“N-no,” he croaked loudly in denial, servos raised in a placating
manner. He did not want to upset the magenta mech, just as much as he
wished to be heard and their dilemma taken seriously. “We s-say not
of thing t-to him; o-only w-wanting to t-talk to you! O-our mommy
i-is-”
A wet smack rang through the air,
before thunder rolled heavily in the black sky above. Slowly, the
younger mech lifted a shaky servo to his face; his fingers hovering
over his dented cheekplate as he stared, wide and teary-opticed, at
the ground below. Starscream looked unrepentant as he lowered his
raised servo, snorting derisively at Jetfire's silence.
“So your carrier is the one to blame
for your insolence..... Well, you can tell that greedy, little mutt
that I will not be coerced into paying a single dime to their sneaky,
under-handed ways,” the kittycon spat. “No one tricks Starscream
into a con!”
“T-that not b-being...,” Jetstorm
hiccupped behind.
He was cut off as Jetfire finally
reacted, lunging forward and shoving at the abyssian. Starscream
shrieked as he slipped back, slamming into the door, the furious
youngling snarling up into his face.
“B-brother!,” his twin wailed,
reacting a few astroseconds too late; tugging uselessly on the
other's poncho.
“It being fault of you!!,” Jetfire
screamed, pushing Starscream again. “You make of mommy sad! Y-you
him hurting a-and then.... then you us leaving! You big, s-stupid,
ugly f....FRAGGER!! Hate you I, hate, hate, hate-”
“GET OFF OF ME!,” the abyssian
yelled, wriggling, grabbing hold of an orange ear and giving a
vicious tug. The youngling hissed, pulling back just as his brother
tugged on his poncho one lost time, both him and Jetstorm tumbling
back and rolling down a few steps before they could stop themselves.
Panting weakly, the hybrids pushed themselves up, looking upwards as
they saw sharp pedes stop before their faces.
Starscream glared down on the twins
with all the hatred in his cruel spark, his claws picking slowly at
his crumbled and soaked clothing, trying to smooth it back into place
in a half-unconcerned manner. “I suggest you both leave,” he
hissed lowly, bared fangs glittering as lightning scoured across the
sky. “I have never, nor will, bear life to such horrible, foul lil'
brats like yourselves, and if I ever catch you coming near me and my
family ever again, you will regret it!!”
Jetfire bared his fangs in return, but
Jetstorm merely grabbed his brother's arm and quickly pulled the both
of them down the stairs. Glancing over a shoulder plating as they
jogged into the stormy night, the spark-broken hybrid saw that the
kittycon disappeared back into his home, shutting the door behind
him, uncaring about the two younglings stuck out in the rain. The
sight tore at Jetstorm's already withering spark.
Three blocks later, the younglings
finally slowed to a stop, arms wrapped around themselves and plumes
of fog circling around their helms as they cycled intakes heavily.
The wind snarled as it raced down darkened streets, kicking grit and
rain water up into their faces; increasing the chill racking trembles
through their frames as the angry sky above upended torrential
amounts of water down upon their lowered helms. For a while, Jetstorm
and Jetfire only stood there, on that wet, gloomy street corner,
being battered by the cruel weather on every side.
“FRAG!!”
Whirling around, Jetfire kicked the
nearest postal bin, screaming into the air as the metal box toppled
and clanged down the sidewalk. The blue mech flinched at the shout,
clapping his servos around his ears.
“S-stop!,” he begged hoarsely.
The other hybrid merely growled,
ignoring his brother in favour of stomping on the knocked over tin
box, cussing and spitting low curses. “Evil that 'bot, him bad, him
ugly....,” the orange youngling snarled. “Making pay him I do. He
mommy hurt, I hurting him-”
“STOP IT! NOW STOP!!”
Jetfire jolted at the cry, turning
around just as Jetstorm collapsed to the ground, servos clenching his
helm and his face pressing into his knees. The surprised twin felt
shame overcome him, only realizing just then the twisting, dark snake
of despair echoing like a ghost in his angry spark, clenching around
his fuel tanks and making him feel as if he would purge that very
moment.... Jetstorm's own feeling in this entire affair. The blue
mech flinched as Jetfire tried to approach him, servos raised
apologetically and his ears flattened against his helm.
“B-brother, I-i....”
“STAY AWAY!!,” Jetstorm screamed,
folding into himself and loudly weeping. “N-no...... m-more.....,”
he whimpered, “P-please, begging..... n-no angry b-be, no h-hurting
be..... pl-please....”
The orange youngling dropped to his
knee joints, grabbing his broken brother and pulling him closer,
coolant pooling in his optics and mixing in with the rain water.
“S-sorries am,” he choked, trying to speak steadily even though
he wanted nothing but to bawl and hiccup just as much as Jetstorm
was. “S-so.... so-sorries. P-please, brother, b-be giving o-of
forness.... pr-promise n-not hurting you, a-am I..... Be-believing
m-must me.”
Please, he silently cried over the
bond, please, don't push me away. I need you so much right now.
Slowly, hesitantly, the blue hybrid
uncurled from his ball, his shaking arms wrapping tight around
Jetfire's chestplates and squeezing his twin tightly in his grasp.
His aching spark pulsed, weakly, sending out the faintest echo of
love and faith that he was capable of sharing this moment. Jetfire
sobbed, glad for even the smallest wisp of affection from Jetstorm,
clutching his brother back equally as tight; burying his face into
the side of the other's helm and kissing his temple.
They were prepared to sit there in the
pouring rain, until either the chill had frozen them completely or
the storm washed away all of their pain, but light, close to the
ground, cut through the darkness, shining brightly into their
peripherals. Lifting his helm, Jetfire shuttered his optics blearily
over a shoulder plating, watching as the car pulled to a stop a few
feet away; the door opening and an unexpected 'bot climbing out of
the vehicle.
Clutching his coat tighter to himself,
Ratchet padded through the rain, for once a kind, if not worried,
smile pulling at his lip components. “Found you....,” he mumbled
softly, a sigh of relief almost noticeable in his tone. The labrador
extended a servo, the compassion having yet to leave his optics.
“Come on, let's get you two home.”
Jetstorm shakily stared up from the
ground, hiccups escaping him as he tried to keep from crying again.
At the promise of safety and sanctuary, the twins lept to their
pedes, jumping Ratchet and wrapping their arms as far around the vet
as they would go. Even as soaked and dirty as they were, the older
mech did not chastise them; instead, resting a strong arm on each of
the younglings' trembling shoulders, turning them towards the car and
leading them through the rain and gloom to the warmth of the vehicle.
xxXxXxx
Wheeljack just wanted to curl up and
die. He glanced up from the floor, looking up at the border collie
sitting tersely on the living room couch, but was quick to drop his
gaze when the scientist's dead, almost hateful, optics fell on him.
He wanted to open his mouth and apologize, just as he'd been doing
profusely for the last few cycles, but the engineer knew it was the
last thing Perceptor wanted to hear. If anything, the smaller autodog
probably just wanted him to get the frag out and never come back.....
and though, Wheeljack himself would gladly comply with such a demand,
he was torn between his own feelings of self-loathing and an urge to
make sure that Perceptor was okay. He couldn't even begin to think of
how much he'd hate himself after, if the border collie hurt himself
in anyway because of the bulldog's stupid negligence.
Venting softly, the white mech clenched
his clasped servos tightly, as subtly as possible glancing at the
clock set on the right-hand living room wall. It's little, black
hands read that it was a ten kliks to midnight..... Where was
Ratchet? Had he found the boys? Or was he just as lost about what to
do or where to go, as Wheeljack felt? Sucking back a fresh wave of
tears, the bulldog lifted his servos, cupping his forehead as he felt
his despair peak again. Oh, Primus, he prayed desperately, let them
come home safe and sound.
The knock at the door was like
salvation to the desolate mech.
Helm snapping upwards, Wheeljack
glanced to the doorway, then back to Perceptor, but the border collie
was staring ahead vaguely; ignoring the sound and the engineer
altogether. Slowly, Wheeljack rose to his pedes, shuffling around the
living room at a snail's pace, before padding quickly for the door.
He was almost afraid that the few astroseconds he had spent
deliberating had convinced their unexpected guest to leave. Tears
sprang to his optics and his intakes heaved when he opened the door
and was greeted with two young faces that he had been hoping to see
again all orn. “T-thank Primus!,” the bulldog wheezed as Jetfire
and Jetstorm flung themselves at the engineer; hugging him tightly
and refusing to budge. Wheeljack squeezed them back, cradling them
tight in the circle of his arms, pressing his tear-streaked face into
each of their helms and venting deep as a means to keep from bawling.
Happy or not, he didn't want to upset the twins with anymore tears.
Still standing outside the door,
Ratchet smiled, his shoulders slumping; just as equally relieved to
get the hybrids home and back into the arms of those who loved them.
But..... “Wheeljack,” the labrador spoke up quietly, drawing the
other mech's attention, “Where's Perceptor?”
Nuzzling the younglings one last time,
the engineer cleared his vocalizer heavily, optics dim as he lifted
his helm slowly to look at the vet. Jetfire and Jetstorm pulled back
a tiny bit as they sensed their guardian's tension. “H-he..... he's
in the living room. Ratchet....,” Wheeljack mumbled painfully.
“A-and.... he's awake.”
Before Ratchet could even look
surprised, the twins were ripping themselves from the bulldog's hold,
zipping around him and running into the living room. “Mommy!,”
they shouted, vocalizers crackling and tears welling freshly in their
optics as a flurry of emotions filled their tender sparks. Ratchet
and Wheeljack rounded the corner quickly, just in time to see the
hybrids fall to their knees before the scientist; wrapping their arms
around the rigid mech and hugging him tightly as they sobbed. If that
wasn't surprising enough, the look of muted shock on Perceptor's face
knocked the intakes out of the other two autodogs, especially when
coolant rose in the border collie's own optics as he wrapped a servo
around the back of Jetfire and Jetstorm's helms.
“M-mommy,” Jetstorm wailed,
pressing his forehead into Perceptor's shoulder plating, “S-sorries
we being!”
Jetfire hiccupped, his dim and flooded
optics looking up at the autodog beseechingly. “Pl-please, angry
n-not be us wi-with! Wh-when h-hurting were y-you...... We kn-know
not else w-what doing!” His brother croaked, squeezing Perceptor
tighter as the orange youngling struggled to explain their behaviour.
“W-we not want o-of see y-you crying d-did an-anymore, a-and
b-believing th-that sire m-mentioned y-you all c-could help.”
The hybrid lowered his helm contritely,
choking as a painful sob ripped through his chassis. “B-but wrong
we-were being, m-mommy, r-really wrong were we!”
Jetstorm sniffled, trembling as he
turned his helm up this time, allowing his brother to break down into
tears. “A-and sorries w-we're so,” he continued, clutching his
carrier's shirt tightly, “F-for all th-these things b-bad doing
a-and y-you scaring. S-so, so sorries.....”
Perceptor shuttered his optics at the
apology, his fingers circling a little tighter around the back of his
sons' helms. From behind them, Ratchet placed a shoulder on
Wheeljack's shoulder plating, catching the bulldog's attention and
shaking his helm. The white autodog, who had been ready to jump in
there and cut the twins' off -knowing that they weren't responsible
for anything and shouldn't be the ones apologizing- mutely lowered
his chin, backing down at the vet's silent order. The only sounds
filling the room was the sobs and sniffles of the young mechs as they
clung to their quietly weeping mother.
“B-but......,” a voice whispered
wetly after a klik. Both of the hybrids lifted their helms, wiping at
damp cheekplates with frozen servos.
“Y-you not crying n-need do
a-anymore, m-mommy,” Jetfire said, “'C-cause, back a-are we!”
“A-and love so much y-you w-we are!,”
Jetstorm declared loudly.
The younglings glanced at each other,
smiling, before turning all the love and tenderness in their sparks
with the mech they held tightly. “T-that mean, old, ugly 'bot
wanted us never,” they continued, in perfect sync, “But w-will be
okay it, us trust! W-we you love, and Wheeljack y-you loves, and
Ratchet you loves, a-and all other uncles and b-big brothers ours of
c-caring about mommy you too! Will be right o-of all we without
t-that stupid sire, because....”
They paused, tones dropping into a
hopeful, almost uncertain hush. “B-because got you us all have,
a-and, that is you all need r-really......”
“Right?”
Perceptor's expression changed before
all the prying optics. Apathy retreating for a moment, surprise and
pain bloomed across his optics, quickly replaced by unbelievable
relief, hope and joy. Tugging his sons closer, the border collie
kissed each of their foreheads, before wrapping his arms tight around
their shoulders and hugging them to his chassis. The younglings
hiccupped at the unanticipated response, tears collected in their
optics and purring in contentment as they nuzzled the autodog. A
small, almost unnoticeable smile pulled at the scientist's own lip
components.
Watching the beautiful scene unfold
before him, Wheeljack felt his spark wither agonizingly in his
chassis. Coolant was quickly coming to his own optics again, before a
rough servo was squeezing at his shoulder plating. Fumbling, the
bulldog hurried to hide the traces of his pain as he faced Ratchet,
but the vet only smiled wryly, patting the younger mech's back
roughly.
“C'mon pup,” the labrador
whispered, “Go join them. You are as much a part of this family as
the boys are.”
Wheeljack hesitated only a moment,
before, deciding to act on faith, obeyed Ratchet and approached the
other three mechs. He was not pushed away or glared at as he sat
himself on the couch beside Perceptor; one arm wrapping around the
border collie's shoulder plating, Jetstorm shifting accordingly, so
now he was hugging both the bulldog and his carrier. The engineer's
helm fins lit up with pure bliss, showering all four of them in a
spattering of bright and warm hues.
“Guess First Aid was right.....,”
Ratchet mumbled to himself as he continued to study the joy four
'bots exuded in the comfort and presence of each other. “Happy
endings are possible.”
Glad to see this makeshift family whole
again, the labrador quietly turned, leaving the apartment to get some
long and much needed rest of his own.
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