Underground

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW Stormbringer
Afterburner, Nosecone, Strafe, Scattershot, Lightspeed, Jetfire, Topspin
spoilers for Stormbringer?
for gestalt_love  challenge 'journeys'.

 

Afterburner groaned, and was more than a little surprised he could actually hear the sound. His last memory had been in the shrieking particle storm, ions howling over his audio, scraping his optics with lines of white interference, as Nosecone half-carried him from the wreckage of their pod.

The pod. Which meant, he thought, piecing his past together like a bad puzzle, the Calabi Yau. Gone. His groan snapped into an oath. Afterburner pushed himself up, only to have the movement stopped by a large, cool hand. “Lie back,” the voice said. It took Afterburner a moment to place, and another memory to snap into position.

Topspin. Which meant the Wreckers. Which meant the humble science crew of the Calabi Yau had gotten itself into some very, very deep slag.

“The others,” he demanded. Or tried to. It came out more as a croak.

“Here,” Topspin said, and nothing more. The mech shifted his bulk, a sort of awkward squatting crawl, reaching for a scanner. “Ionic flux is falling, finally,” he reported. Apparently a Wrecker attempt at bedside manner. Which...skirted what they both knew Afterburner really wanted to know.

“Online?” Start with the worst.

Topspin considered. Which was a terrible hesitation. “Yes. All of them are online.” And nothing more.

Afterburner felt irritation flare. “I want to see them.”

“No.” A flash of the optics.

Afterburner snapped. “Where's Jetfire?” He'd tell the truth.

“I'm right here.” Jetfire's baritone was like a flow of cool water, soothing Afterburner's hot irritation. He sounded...distracted. But even so. “The unique energon signature we'd traced was related to an attempt to revive Thunderwing. And his...related technology.”

The coolness suddenly chilled. Afterburner knew what that meant. “The others!” he demanded, urgently. He sat up, slapping Topspin's hand aside.

“We were all taken for dermal harvesting.” The worst. Right there.

Afterburner's hands balled into helpless fists. For the first time, Jetfire looked over from the display he'd been studying intently, formulae and numbers spilling across the screen. He caught something in Afterburner's stricken expression: “They are recovering,”

“Bastards.”

“We're getting 'em,” Topspin said, quietly. A better stab at consolation. Sometimes violence was the best solution.

“You'd better,” Afterburner sniped.

“It's the Wreckers,” Nosecone spoke up, limping in from Afterburner's left. “They're better suited to this sort of thing than we are.”

Afterburner snorted. “Don't tell that to Scattershot.” He let his optics rake up Nosecone's frame. “You all right?”

Nosecone nodded. “I took less damage in the crash.”

Afterburner's mouth flattened. “Yeah, just my luck.”

“There's a kind of luck,” Jetfire said, mildly, from where he was tapping furiously at the console, his wings rigid with concentration, “that we discovered this now. While there still may be a chance to stop it.”

“Thunderwing.”

Nosecone frowned. “Zombie Thunderwing.”

“Not...entirely accurate,” Jetfire corrected. “Thunderwing appears to have no conscious ability to direct himself, only to attack.”

“As if his entire sentience has been channeled to his weapons array,” Nosecone suggested.

“Quite possibly.” Jetfire made a frustrated huff. “These experiments they are performing are...beyond us.” Morally, ethically and scientifically.

“Because we have slaggin' ethics!” Afterburner cut in, sharply, thinking of the others, of dermal harvesting. Especially Lightspeed. “How come you're fine? If you were all taken for harvesting, how come you're up and around and not them?” His anger spilled into his voice, as he staggered to his feet. Nosecone caught at him, partly for balance, partly to hold him back from attacking Jetfire.

“Ah.” Jetfire glanced over at him, his blue optics tight with something Afterburner couldn't read. “I was interrogated first. And...I have a larger surface area.” His mouth worked, strangely, unhappy. “I am trying to make up for it,” he added, quietly.

Nosecone's hand patted his chassis, gently. “Later,” he murmured. Afterburner had wanted to abort this mission—not as badly as Scattershot, who had gone strangely obsessive about the weather—but it rankled to be right.

“Let me see the others,” Afterburner said.

Jetfire nodded at Nosecone, as if unaware of Afterburner's dark thoughts. “Yes. They are in the next chamber.”

Topspin grumbled.

“Don't you have something to go shoot?” Afterburner snapped. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Jetfire's lower wing panels ruffled at the burst of anger. “Afterburner,” he chided.

“Don't you dare--!” Afterburner rolled to his feet, optics livid. “You know it's all your fault, Jetfire!”

Nosecone hushed him, frantically, drawing him as quickly as he could toward the next room.

Jetfire's ventilation whooshed, his wings drooping. “We'll...discuss that later.”

“Oh sure, when you can tear your optics off a screen!”  Even as he said it, Afterburner knew how unfair it was.  Jetfire was always too absorbed in something, but he was not, for all of that, uncaring.  And even as he limped after Nosecone, Afterburner could see the stripped panels along Jetfire's wings.  He had not gotten away unscathed.

“Afterburner,” Nosecone pleaded. “Come on, let's go see the others.” He half-turned to the Wrecker. “Thanks for the rescue, and...we're just upset right now.”

“No, it's fine,” Topspin said, striding toward the entryway, grabbing his gun. “Better use up there, anyway.”

Jetfire made a worried sound, but Nosecone waved him off with a 'later', before leading Afterburner into the next chamber of the underground complex.

“Let it go,” Nosecone murmured. “The others really need us, and Jetfire's a good commander. You know this. Just that...no one could have expected this.”

Afterburner muttered, turning his head. Nosecone was always a bit too eager, to ready to forgive. Jetfire was a good scientist—that much he'd grant. But not, no, a good leader. He pushed the wobble from his legs as he saw Scattershot, half-sitting up, nursing a cube of energon.

“Hey,” Scattershot said, tipping his head. “Understand we lost our ride.”

Afterburner winced. “Yeah.” Cybertron had been dead for ages: They hadn't expected there to be anyone left alive, much less firing an active anti-air battery. Still, he felt foolish. Like it was his fault.

“Big mechs are here, I heard,” Strafe said, from his spot on the floor. He'd gotten the worst of the dermal abrasion, most of his armor stripped past the enamel, several long stripes of agonizingly bare silver marring each face. His optics were fuzzy from sensorblock.

Nosecone nodded. “Optimus himself.”

“And the Wreckers,” Afterburner added. “Acting like they own the place.”

“As far as I'm concerned,” Strafe muttered, “they can have it.”

“Should have pulled back sooner,” Afterburner said. “Would have spared you all of this.”

“No way,” Lightspeed said. “We found it. If we hadn't checked this out, think how bad this could have gotten.”

“WORSE than Thunderwing?” Afterburner frowned. Was Lightspeed serious? It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

“Yeah, but it was just us, and the big guns are here to take care of it. Otherwise, how many more planets might Thunderwing have destroyed?” Lightspeed's optics were wide and honest. He was clearly in the Jetfire-is-awesome camp.

Afterburner frowned, biting back a retort as he dropped painfully down to one knee next to Lightspeed. Time to change the subject. “So, how you doing, kid?”

Lightspeed managed a grin—not much of one, but it was there. “I'll look back on this as a pit of an adventure. Eventually.”

Behind Afterburner, Strafe managed a laugh. “Hey, think of it this way, 'Speed. It's good science. We now know more about the dermal harvesting process than anyone.”

“You need to work on that sense of humor,” Scattershot said, “seriously.”

“Right. Just as soon as you stop being a sissy about the weather. Primus, all we heard from you this whole mission...?”

Scattershot sat up, optics blazing. “Was I right? Huh?” Less angry than actually satisfied that his worry had played out.  He hadn't expected the storm to mask the enemy, but, well...that's how combat instinct worked. You just learned to trust it after a while.

“Please!” Nosecone's optics flared from his orange facial plating. He hated fighting among the team. “Come on. Enough fighting. We're all stressed. We're all in pain. And we're all stuck here.”

“Jetfire's fault,” Afterburner muttered.

“No, it's not!” Lightspeed looked shocked. “It's science, and exploration.”

“And war,” Scattershot added. “Things...happen. It's no one's fault.” Even Strafe gave Afterburner a strange look.

Afterburner whirled, looking at them. Really? They were all against him? Choosing Jetfire over him? Choosing...oh. He subsided, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just....” It wasn't a choice...until he made it one.  

“Been a long time since we got this close to the action,” Scattershot said, slowly.  A first plank in a bridge. 

“And to almost dying,” Strafe added, managing a weak smile. “Could have skipped that part.” Another hand, reached out to Afterburner.

“And lost our ship,” Nosecone said. “I don't know about you, but I feel kind of...lost.”

“They could...they might break up the team,” Lightspeed's voice was soft, as if he said it too loudly, it would happen.

There. That was it. That was the heart of what had been eating at Afterburner all along, as he watched the others tromp off into the polluted atmosphere, as he'd heard the panicked cries over the comm, as the Calabi Yau burst into a million pieces, scattering in the terrible slow silence of space. These were his friends, his team.

Afterburner's mouth pressed so tightly that the metal dented. “Not going to let that happen,” he said, fiercely. “We're a good team.”

“The best,” Scattershot nodded.

“Handpicked,” Nosecond added, softly. “By Jetfire.” A hint.

Fine. Afterburner let it go. More important than the past was the future. And his team--his team--reaching out, despite his hostility. He wasn't going to drive that wedge between them when they all wanted the same thing: to stay together. “Yeah,” he muttered. “All right.” He didn't want to fight. Enough of that going on on the surface.

“Right,” Scattershot said, pushing himself painfully up the wall, heels shoving against the ground, “First step: prove to them we can work as a team.”

“Jetfire's trying to decrypt the stuff on that ultra-energon we tracked here,” Nosecone suggested.

Scattershot nodded. “You're the most mobile, 'Cone. Get some stuff in here. We'll get set to work.”

Who knew where it would go from here? Who even knew if they'd actually ever get out of here? Maybe Thunderwing would destroy the whole planet, Wreckers, Optimus and all. Maybe the war would be won or lost right here. But, Afterburner thought, the last embers of his anger melting to a dull burn that would keep him intent and focused for cycles, they would do it together. They would be a part of it.

Comments

[playswithworms.livejournal.com]

Technobots! :D I really like your take on them, too, and love the character arc of Afterburner deciding not to make his team choose, and the team reaching out. And Lightspeed and Jetfire both get extra snuggles *snuggles them*

[chibirisuchan.livejournal.com]

o-omg "dermal harvesting" omg *shudder*. War is awfully good at coming up with euphemisms for really horrible stuff, isn't it... poor bots!