Broken Mirrors

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG-13
IDW
Red Alert, Perceptor (post-LSOTW)
angst, PTSD .  It's based on an actual flashback I had. 
for tf_speedwriting  prompt 'no man's land'

 

Red Alert froze, his fist still stinging from the slam into the monitor’s screen.  Cracks burst across the screen, radiating from the point of contact.

He heaved, suddenly, forcing himself to cycle a vent of air, to try to dissipate the sudden swell of heat over his systems.

No. Not again. Not here.  Not in front of someone. 

His optics focused on the distorted reflection of his face in the darkened screen.  Look. Look. You’re fine. 

He looked but the image seemed to flicker, morph, his face shattered, one optic sparking and sputtering behind the cracked lens, and above it, the black ruined chaos of what had been the left side of his head.

Red Alert’s optic panged as if in real pain, his vision flattening as though the optic were, once again, offline, the world becoming flat edged and unreal, lacking depth.

No.

He jerked his hand free, plasglass tinkling brittle and sharp against the floor.  He stared at his hand, marveling , almost, at its intactness, the backplate just a bit dented, infinitesimal scratches cutting down through the enamel . So much pain, and so…little damage.

Other than the screen, of course, which was a testimony, writ large and unmistakable, to his excess. His loss of control. His loss of reality.

He swept his hand over his face, forcing himself to feel its intactness, the smooth solid plates of his undamaged helm.  See?  You’re whole. Look. Feel it. Feel it.

He stared down the image in the dark reflection, trying to force his knowledge of wholeness, safety, solidity, into that fragmented, spiderwebbed image.

“What’s wrong?” Behind him, Perceptor’s voice, soft as it had become, careful not to startle.

“Nothing!” Red Alert snapped, realizing, but not registering, how badly contradictory the words were to the…obvious evidence.

Perceptor merely waited, optics mild.

“I’m fine,” Red Alert insisted, to the silence, trying to jam conviction into his voice.  But all he heard was a plea, a wish that it were true, that he was fine.

Because that was the worst part: he knew he was…sick.  He knew he saw things that weren’t there, weren’t true. He knew that it was just a trick of his cortex, some memory execution glitch, resulting from the hasty first-triage station repairs, and locked in by autorepair, until the errors were who he was, incapable of being overwritten. 

He knew what it was and still…he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control it.  The visions owned him.

He shook his head, trying to ignore the illusory wetness of non-existent energon and cortical saline that weren’t, really, sliding over his cheek, down his neck, locking his gaze with Perceptor’s.  “I’ll sign a statement of charges,” he said, wearily, tired of hiding it, tired of lying to himself. The effort of keeping up the illusion that there were no illusions was grinding at him, wearing him down, a malignant force of denial.

The other mech nodded, something behind his mismatched optics glittering with something Red Alert didn’t know how to read.

“Tell them,” Red Alert scrabbled through his list of excuses, what he’d used before, what he’d used recently.  He’d rather destroy his own character than…admit the truth. It was hard enough to admit it to himself.  “Tell them I was arguing with you. Insubordination or something. And I got mad and…punched out the screen as a threat.” 

Not original, but it wasn’t so far out of who they thought he was to draw attention. Red Alert: problem soldier…when there was no enemy. 

“Insubordination,” Perceptor echoed. Red Alert could hear the question lurking behind it, like a monster in the mist: Why volunteer for something that would bring charges, demerits, punishment? 

“It’s easier this way,” Red Alert said, with an attempt at a careless shrug. 

Perceptor gave a stiff nod that Red Alert took, somehow, as encouraging, his optics traveling over Red Alert’s face. Brisk, businesslike. 

“I’m already damaged,” he added, the words blurting out like a kind of bravado. “I’m no good for anything but war.”  His hands trembled from the effort of admission, honesty sucking the words from him like a turbine.  “But some of these other, younger mechs? They have a chance. They have a future.”  He managed a sickly smile, more of a grimace than anything else. His hands went limp, dead. 

“Yes,” Perceptor said. And it was an acknowledgment and an agreement. There was no judgment, no wariness, no matter how hard Red Alert searched the mech’s modified face.  And Red Alert saw, suddenly, Perceptor, as if seeing him for the first time, taking in the modifications, subtle and obvious, physical and mental.  And he saw…himself—a projection of his own damage, but not his own illusion. Not this time. 

Perceptor knew, because Perceptor was the same: damaged beyond repair, irrevocably scarred by the war, but determined to use himself up in it, burn himself out as a shield to protect someone else, someone more deserving. The Autobot creed, turned to its logical conclusion, verging sacrifice into suicide.

“I only hope it works,” he heard himself say, his voice scratchy and thin, the truth too big to be said loudly.  His optics flickered, again, the world shifting, righting itself, the colors stabilizing, binocular vision returning, not even the memory of the wet heat of sparking damage on his face, his neck. 

And Perceptor’s slow nod was a bridge across the no-man’s land between them.

 

Comments

[eerian_sadow]

oh gods this... it's beautiful and terrible and touching and heartbreaking all at one. i loved it, even as it was making me cry.

*hugs*

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Red Alert seems a prime candidate for PTSD, especially with his paranoia. And even when he's written cracky g1-style, it's impossible to deny he's aware that his episodes are...disruptive to the real.

I was inspired to try writing him by Wocket's darkfest fic this year! :D

[eerian_sadow]

you handled him very well! he was believable and real, and definitely not quite all there anymore without being over-the-top about it. you did great.

[femme4jack.livejournal.com]

I'm going to need to read this one several times. Very touching and made my heart ache.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

The irony is I wrote it between sessions on Saturday. In fact in one place, I had just seen a number of papers about King Arthur and instead of 'Perceptor' I'd written 'Perceval'.

Close enough? Not really. It made me laugh when I was rereading it to type it up. :P

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

At first i though this was a Schizophrenic episode. the brain is such a weak structure, it is scary how much power it has over our reality. thank you for sharing.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Most schizophrenics are unaware that their reality is not...reality. Which is what makes them so particularly difficult to deal with. Most PTSD patients know that they're seeing/hearing things that aren't there.

...you're aware you implied you thought I was schizophrenic?

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

just meant "schizophrenic episode" as the way the event was perceived by myself, do not in any conceivable way think you are even remotely schizo ... (not that there's anything wrong with that). I've just read more 1st hand accounts of Schizophrenia so related to that concept in the beginning, despite your warning. my second hand PTSD experiences are different.

[abarai-san.livejournal.com]

I'd say that this is so intense, tangible and very realistic... But that would be stating the obvious, no? ;) Hm... Well I'd always thought it would be Bluestreak to have PTSD. Or maybe that's just my headcanon. ^_^; But yeah, Red Alert. Seems more plausible. I've always had a fascination with PTSD. This fic is perfect :)

[aughoti (from livejournal.com)]

This is an amazingly effective piece of writing.

Not original, but it wasn’t so far out of who they thought he was to draw attention. Red Alert: problem soldier…when there was no enemy.

There's something so utterly bleak in that line; good enough to be a weapon, but too damaged to be part of society anymore. And the recognition that Perceptor's damage might have a different shape, but it's ultimately exactly the same thing, is just heartbreaking.