shadow_vector | Civilizing Barricade

Verse: Bayverse
Rating: PG 13 for some innuendo
Crack.

Barricade had gotten in the habit of pre-shift in the refectory with Blackout and Starscream. Which was totally NOT about him having a thing for airframes. Though he had to admit the optic-candy aspect of it certainly made crawling off his recharge berth a bit easier. No, it was all about what was really important: cadging sips of their higher-grade sparkly pink energon rations when they weren’t looking.

He was pretty sure they were onto him, but tolerated it. He wasn’t sure precisely why, though. Still, he wasn’t in the mood to ask questions that might ruin two very good things.

This pre-shift, however, the optical landscape (as well as the aromascape, if that was even a word) was marred by the presence of Brawl. Worse: A burbly Brawl, bubbling on and on about later this shift when he was supposed to meet up with Bonecrusher again.

That was an image Barricade really did not choose to have re-inserted into his memory cache, especially at this early cycle. He lunged for Starscream’s energon and tossed back a large gulp to try and cope with (ie, erase with extreme prejudice) the new information. Starscream smoothly reached over and plucked his ration out of Barricade’s hands. “It is inappropriately early in the solar for you to overcharge,” the jet admonished.

“So, it’s working out for you, then?” Blackout asked. “See, Barricade, I told you this would be a good thing.”

“Good thing, my crankshaft,” Barricade muttered, swiping for Blackout’s ration. Bonecrusher could die in a fireball for all he cared. In fact, that would significantly improve his mood from ‘crabby and undercharged’ to ‘dance like you’re in a music video.’ Blackout snatched the cube out of his grip. “Come on,” he pleaded, “Groundframe stuff is swill!”

“I like the color,” Brawl said, helpfully, lifting his mauvy sludgy ration. “Real mechs don’t drink pink.”

Barricade groaned. “Where did you pick up that ridiculous slogan?”

Brawl’s optics got dreamy. “Bonecrusher.”

Barricade slapped a palm over his face. “Should have guessed that, really.”

“It was rather obvious,” Starscream said, taking a showy sip of his energon, pausing to lick his lips tauntingly. “You are rather slow on the uptake in pre-shift.” Barricade tried to ignore the sudden rev of his engines at the sight of the jet’s glossa flicking against his labial plates, frowning at the jet’s smirk of recognition. One day he was going to get the jet back for all the teasing he did. He had a distinct premonition that it wouldn’t be today.

“I hate Bonecrusher.” Barricade tried to toss back his own energon without getting any of it across his glossal sensors, failed abjectly, and fell to coughing.

“I like him!” Brawl said, then stopped, then looked confused. Wait. Revise list: I hate everything but hating everything, blowing stuff up, and Bonecrusher. Three. That’s not too much to not hate. He had just enough fingers to keep track of that much. Better to not hate anything else though. He'd hate running out of fingers.

“Yeah, kind of figured that,” Barricade said, still coughing.

“What’s your problem with Bonecrusher, anyway, Barricade?” Blackout asked. “Never understood the aggravation you groundframes have for each other.”

“It does verge on melodrama,” Starscream added.

“From the mech who cries at the season finale of Seeker Cadets, and the other who tried to kill him in a failed mutiny. Yeah, no drama among airframes here,” Barricade muttered. “Just don’t like Bonecrusher, that’s all, and you’re not going to make me change!” he added, hurriedly as the copter and jet exchanged a look. “And if you think locking me in a closet with him is going to work…well, that’s plagiarism and I will sue.” He bared his denta in what he hoped was an intimidating snarl.

“We merely wish to know the reason for your objections,” Starscream murmured, reaching over to run one talon up Barricade’s arm. “Surely a rational mech like you has rational objections.”

“I like him cuz he’s cool!” Brawl blurted. “And he’s got a cool name.”

Barricade rolled his optics. “His name sucks.”

“What’s wrong with his name?”

Barricade shrugged. “Hate compound nouns pretending to be names.”

“Like…Blackout?” the copter asked, tilting his head.

“Starscream?” the jet smirked.

Frag. “Uhhhhh, fine. I hate trisyllabic names.”

“Megatron!” Brawl exclaimed. “No, wait.” His low brow furrowed as he ticked off the syllables on his claws. “Yep! Me-ga-tron. That’s three!”

Barricade shot a pained expression at the two airframes. Starscream leaned back, amused. “Bar-ri-cade,” he whispered, holding up three talons. Barricade growled.

“I think,” Blackout said, “that you have self-image issues that you project onto other mechs.” And that, Barricade thought, is what comes of introducing Blackout to the ‘psychology’ section of the database.

Starscream tapped his chin, considering. “Yes, I seem to recall someone else also getting a little damp around the intakes during the season finale.”

“It was an allergic reaction! To your exterior joint lubricant, or.… bad energon.” Speaking of which, he lunged across the table, his chassis banging on the metal lip, reaching for Starscream’s ration. The jet leaned farther back, hauling Barricade nearly flat on the table.

“Throwing yourself at us already?” Blackout said, tweaking one of Barricade’s wing fairings.

“You wish, copter,” Barricade said, trying to pry the cube from Starscream’s talons, his legs kicking to keep him balanced on the table. “Come on. You know what I want.”

Blackout started giggling. Barricade squirmed. It was like Brawl cast this…aura of stupid around him and Barricade had fallen under its influence. Must be the smell.

“You DO have a cute aft!” Brawl blurted. Barricade froze. All three turned in stunned silence to Brawl, who bounced excitedly. Blackout burst out a bark of laughter as Barricade released his grip on the jet’s talons, sliding with a bump back onto his seat.

“Oh, this I must hear. Brawl,” Starscream said, slowly, as though speaking to someone a little…slow, “Who said that about Barricade’s aft?”

“I did! Just now!”

“Yes, I heard you,” Starscream said, patiently. “Anyone else?”

“Bonecrusher said it first. But he’s right. He’s right about EVERYthing.”

“Not about this,” Barricade said, swiping his hands down his hip fairings. He turned around, worried about catching another mech at another table staring at The Goods.

“I never noticed,” Blackout said, sounding a bit surprised. “Maybe you could like…stand up and turn around or something.”

Barricade shot a look of pure white-hot death at the copter. Blackout winked.

“I have also never noticed. I suspect I have gotten distracted by the delectable amount of back kibble he has.” Starscream’s long arms reached over and ran a line down one of his upper arm tires.

“I’ve got some, too!” Brawl said. “Cannons!”

“And they are very nice cannons, too, Brawl. No one is saying you are not adorable.”

“I think he’s pretty damned unadorable,” Barricade muttered.

“Can’t stand the competition?” the copter teased.

Brawl frowned, his lower lip plate quivering. Starscream sighed, swatting at Barricade. “Brawl,” the jet said, waiting until Brawl turned his flat little head to him, “No one except Barricade, and as we have said, he merely projects his insecurities upon others. Perhaps you can help us remedy his egregiously low self-esteem.”

Brawl’s processor picked his way through the jet’s vocabulary as if it were a minefield. “You want him to feel good about himself,” he said, slowly. Starscream nodded encouragingly. “Well, he’s got a cute aft!”

“I like the way he rubs his own doorwings when he gets bored during meetings.” Blackout said, helpfully.

Barricade felt his cheek plates heat. They noticed that? “Stop it,” Barricade said, hunching over. “Sexual harassment. Got policies against that on this ship, you know.” Well, they would as soon as he wrote them. Rule one: No making fun of the CIO. Two: No staring at the CIO’s hot little backside. And three: NO random and bizarre compliments.

“It is not harassment to express appreciation,” Starscream said, primly, “It is good manners. For example, I appreciate the way you shudder when you overload.”

“Oooh, I like that too,” Blackout said, envious. “Wish I’d thought to say that one.”

Barricade banged his head on the table, covering it with his arms. “Shut up.”

“I like…the way his eyes glaze over when you rotate his drivetrain tires.”

“Oh yes, that also.” Starscream purred.

Barricade made an obscene gesture with his talons over his head. Which did not have the desired effect.

“I never saw that tire thingie,” Brawl said, jealously. Oh no.

“We shall remedy that right now,” Starscream said, reaching over and hauling Barricade across the table.

“This is abuse,” Barricade said, weakly, as his metal frame scraped across the table, “And I demand energon.” He found his back pulled up against the jet’s chassis, his legs splayed on the table. Blackout wrapped Barricade’s talons around a cube of energon, and then reached up and ran his thumb along one tire before setting it spinning. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Barricade moaned, his fingers clutching around the energon. His head tilted back against Starscream’s shoulder. “You know,” he said, woozily, “two against one is unfair odds.”

“We know,” Starscream said, “And we are vastly impressed with your…valiant resistance.”

Barricade lifted the cube to his mouth, trying to cook up a suitably smart retort. Which process was hampered by the jet reaching down and nipping one of his tires. He was tempted to give in, but…Brawl was staring at him with his beady little red eyes and squashy face. Should rename him Buzzkill. Chastity Belt. “All right,” Barricade said as his frame quivered in response, “Demonstration over. Barricade’s fraggin’ adorable. I embrace my immanent adorability. Enough.”

He raised the cube again, only, this time jerking as Brawl prodded his foot with one of his claws. Seriously? Gross. “Trying to drink myself into a coma—an adorable coma, of course—here, Brawl, d’you mind?”

“You’ve got tiny feet!” Brawl said. Frag, it was like everything was a slaggin’ revelation with this mech.

“Yes,” Barricade said, snatching his foot out of range. “Small feet.” He glared, waiting for the obvious follow-up: Small feet, small module.

“They’re smaller than mine!” Brawl heaved back, swinging one of his legs on the table, wiggling his toes. “See?”

Oh dear Primus. Show-and-tell not enhanced by the obvious fact that Brawl had a few hygiene issues. What was that green stuff between his toes? Barricade gulped the energon in the cube, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Barricade,” Starscream said, “Is there something you want to say to Brawl?”

“Suck on a landmine, Brawl.”

“Barricade, now.” Starscream snatched the cube from his hands again. “Be nice, or no more interfacing for you.”

“Lick my skidplate, jet. I’ve got the copter.”

“Copter does not condone verbal abuse.” Blackout said, mildly. Barricade looked up at him, tilted his chin to look at the copter. They wouldn’t dare. Nope: they would. Damn capricious airframes.

“Fine,” he said, aggrieved. “Yes Brawl, your feet are bigger than mine. Your mastery of the obvious simply stunned me into silence.”

“Aaaaaaaand?” Blackout prompted. His hand hovered over Barricade’s arm tire.

“And I need more energon.”

Starscream trailed one hand down across his interface panel. “Try again, Barricade.”

“Why are you doing this, seriously? You two hate me or something? Is it about that rebellion thing, jet? Because I thought that was you and the copter. I just did my own thing.” He pawed at the cube, which Starscream dangled just out of his reach.

“We are doing this to socialize you, Barricade. Heretofore you have the manners of a mech who has been raised by rabid turbofoxes.”

“I like turbofoxes!” Brawl said. He’d obviously been trying to follow the conversation, but had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and was off sniffling flowers. “My favorite cartoon is Transistor, the Magical Turbofox!”

“I loved Transistor!” Blackout said. “Especially the episode with all the turbofox kits afraid of the new pack leader.”

“That’s probably where Brawl learned about socializing,” Barricade muttered, glad the conversation wasn’t on him for a change.

“Barricade. Be nice to Brawl. You do realize that he came over to eat with us because he feels grateful for what we have done for him and wishes to express that.” Brawl nodded, earnestly.

“Eeeeeeueuuuughgghghghhhh,” Barricade grunted. “Trying…so…hard to…care…!” He shrugged. “Nope. Sorry. Didn’t work.”

“Barricade…,” Starscream warned.

“He wants to show his appreciation so much,” Barricade said, “He can set himself on fire or throw himself in a smelter or something. Or, slag it, how about just bathe!”

“Bonecrusher likes me like this,” Brawl interjected. “Gamey.”

“He does?” Blackout asked. Well, it was a reasonable question, all things considered.

“He says he hates it which means he really likes it.” Brawl shrugged. “Just have to speak the same language.”

“Language of losers,” Barricade muttered.

“That’s it!” Blackout said, reaching across the jet to grab Barricade’s shoulder. “Cute aft is getting spanked.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Barricade hissed, wriggling frantically in the hands dragging him across the table. His talons skittered uselessly on the flat metal of the table. Blackout snickered, dragging the smaller mech’s hips around in an arc. “Brawl,” Barricade appealed, “help!”

“Hey, uhhhh, don’t spank him?” Brawl said, hesitantly. Good old Brawl. Barricade felt an…entirely unaccustomed and not-really-very-pleasant rush of warm feeling for the ugly little tank. Until the flat-headed moron added, “Let Bonecrusher do it!”

Blackout’s hands froze. “I like it. Actually kinda hot.”

“An excellent idea, Brawl,” Starscream said. “Quite possibly your first. You should be very proud.” Brawl beamed.

“I hate it,” Barricade said, scooting his nearly-spanked aft out of harm’s way . “Not that any of you have asked me or anything.”

“No one has asked you because of your demonstrably negative attitude, Barricade,” Starscream explained, as though this whole thing were entirely reasonable.

“I’ve got your ‘demonstrably negative attitude’ right here,” Barricade snapped.

Starscream tilted his head, ignoring another obscene gesture, his optics focused behind Barricade’s shoulder. “And look who is coming?”

“Really think I’m going to fall for that, jet? Seriously? You must think I’m stupider than Brawl, here.” He ran his hands down his chassis, making sure everything was back in place. “Barricade may be superlatively adorable, but he is not stupid.”

“Adorable’s an overstatement,” Bonecrusher’s gravelly voice grated over Barricade’s shoulder. “Always did overrate yourself, Barricade.”

“Now, Bonecrusher, do not undo all the hard work we have done trying to adjust Barricade’s self-esteem.”

“Primus,” Barricade muttered, “is that what you’re trying to do?”

“Brawl,” Bonecrusher said, “You smell disgusting, by the way. I can smell you from here. Like a septic tank threw up in a perfume factory.”

“Thank you!” Brawl beamed.

“I blame you,” Barricade hissed at Blackout. Starscream was stifling a very un-Air-Commander-like giggle.

“Presume the stupid one told you about the cute aft comment,” Bonecrusher said. Brawl bobbed his head, eagerly. His optics were wide and glowy. Barricade felt a little queasy. And it was not from Brawl’s unique scent.

“But Starscream likes the back kibble better,” Brawl reported.

“Phuh. His back kibble’s all right, I guess.” Barricade yelped as Bonecrusher’s long claws squeezed at his door wings. “Can’t move it independently, though,” he added dismissively.

“He’s got really tiny feet,” Blackout said. “Brawl noticed that, too.”

“Whose side are you fraggin’ ON, copter? I mean, what do you --whoaaaa!” Barricade flailed as Bonecrusher reached one of his freaky-long arms down and lifted the smaller mech bodily by the ankle.

“They are tiny,” Bonecrusher said. “Good eye, Brawl.” The tank made some burbly happy sound like ‘guurrrrhhhh.’ “Don’t know how you can see anything through that stank, though.”

“Uhhhhh, hey. Any chance you could, you know, like, put me down or something? Ankle servos aren’t meant for this much weight.” Barricade’s talons dangled helplessly in the air above the table.

“Huh. Don’t think so,” Bonecrusher said. “Good look for you. Besides, think you owe me for that lockup in the supply closet with the rolling spore mold over there.”

Brawl melted.

“Plus,” Starscream interjected, “Barricade is on the verge of learning some manners. Perhaps if you shook him or something.”

Barricade felt a hot jet of air across is back. He swung with his talons, slicing the air around him. “Better idea,” Bonecrusher said, and retracted the arm.

Barricade howled as he felt…Bonecrusher…biting his aft plates. “Primus what is WRONG with you?!” he yelled, swatting frantically behind his back, his talons ringing off Bonecrusher’s face. Another nip. “Stop that. Right now. I outrank you!” Another nip. “Come on, jet. This has gone far enough. Ha ha ha, very funny laughing at the little guy.”

“I do find it rather amusing and just deserts,” Starscream said. “You have been excessive in your dislike of Brawl, here, who has done nothing to deserve it.”

“Ask me, it’s pretty hot,” Blackout added. “Might have to try it.”

Another nip, this time followed with a glossa exploring a seam in the armor. Barricade squealed, in spite of himself. He was NOT getting turned on by Bonecrusher. Throw himself in a smelter first. “Come on!” he shouted. “Put me down. Please!”

Wham! He crashed hard on his head against the floor. “Ow,” he muttered, pushing to a seated position. “A little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“What?” Bonecrusher said, dryly. “Just did what you asked.”

“I am going to have to autoclave my aft, now,” Barricade said, rubbing the plates, twisting to check for damage.

“I’ll be busy autoclaving my glossa,” Bonecrusher snapped back. “You’re going to have to wait til I’m done.” He reached over and grabbed Brawl by one of the tank’s short arms. “Come on, stupid, let’s go see if we can interface some smarts into you.”

Brawl bounced to his feet, trotting after the larger mech. “Thanks!” he burbled over his shoulder. “And tell Barricade that’s how he acts when he likes you.”

“Lucky me,” Barricade said, clawing his way back onto his seat. He shifted on the seat, rubbing at his aft armor again. “Think he dented my bractae with his teeth,” he muttered.

“One way to look at it, Barricade,” Starscream said, “Is to be grateful that Brawl is not a jealous mech.”

Oh, there was a disturbing thought, on SO many levels.

“Now, meantime, I feel that you may have suffered sufficiently. Allow us to make it up to you.”

“Finally!” Barricade grabbed for an energon cube, drinking it down greedily, hoping it would manage to kill off the part of his cortex that stored the sensory input of Bonecrusher’s glossa in his aft plates. Blackout got up and came around behind him, pulling his back against the copter’s legs.

“Thinking more along the lines of kiss and make better, Barricade,” Blackout grinned down at him. He hauled Barricade off the seat, pinning him against his chassis, burying his face in the smaller mech’s neck, Barricade’s wing fairings flattened against his cheeks.

“Abuse,” Barricade croaked, weakly. Starscream leaned over the table, nuzzling his grille.

“Oh yes,” Starscream said. “Abuse indeed. I shall expect the statement of charges on my desk by the end of shiftcycle. It should make for some amusing reading.”

Next: Strategic Deployment

Civilizing Barricade

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