A Hell of a Thing
Mar. 2nd, 2013 07:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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Bayverse, early war, pre Tyger Pax
Barricade, Bumblebee
no warnings
for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tf_speedwriting prompt and for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mewsing who wanted some of this pairing. Which I am not good at. ;-;
Barricade frowned. More than frowned, the electrum plating of his mouth tugging into a grimace so tight it almost hurt.
Not that anyone could see it: the EMP that burst above the battlefield spun everything down into a night black silence. The pulse rifle in his claws hummed down, useless, the lights in the few remaining buildings fading, as though the EMP slowed the speed of light even as it killed it, swallowing everyone in darkness.
“That’s the fraggin’ spacebridge, at least,” Barricade muttered as he heard the battle around him break off in a froth of confusion and uncertainty. That would at least be something, one of the objectives Starscream had pounded into their heads as essential for victory.
Right. Essential. He knew the protocols: denying assets to the enemy. But the problem was, the EMP denied assets to every mech who wasn’t a fancy flyer. You know, why worry about the mechs on the ground, right?
Barricade slung the rifle, racking it across his shoulders. Rule one of infantry work: never be weaponless. It might be useless as a gun right now, but it still made a good bludgeon. And as soon as he could get to an armory, it’d be the work of a klik to replace the circuits the EMP had fried.
Right now, though, the mission was to regroup, find out how and where to make a stand. Which, oh, look, another flaw in Starscream the Almighty’s plan: EMPs didn’t differentiate between weapons and communications circuitry. Any sort of intermech comm was down.
Probably good for Starscream, because if not, Barricade would be giving him an audio full of some pretty salty language.
He jumped down off the plascrete roof he’d been using as a shooting position, footplates clanging on the ground. His lower optics cycled down to lowlight, turning the sudden dark of the former battlefield into blocky grey shapes.
Barricade heard a sound above him, one he’d heard only once before: the heavy sound of gravity seizing a flightframe, punching it to the ground. It was the scream of the air parting under protest, dead engines spinning from freefall. And the blackness around him grew blacker.
He began running, footplates biting into the pavement, gouging with each step, vents heaving. He knew better than to waste time looking up, trying to gauge if he’d run far enough: when one of the Decepticon dreadnaughts fell, you ran and kept on running, because running too far was a lot better than being dead.
His upper optics, set on motion scan, caught a shape, a silhouette, struggling to free itself, one leg trapped in
rubble.
A hesitation of a microklik, before Barricade veered off course, pounding toward the mech, even as he cursed at himself. Stupid, Barricade. Stupid soft spot. Slag like this is gonna get you killed. Then you’re both gonna be dead and won’t that be awesome?
Least you won’t die alone, right?
The screaming of the falling dreadnaught reached a climax—he could hear the lower spires crush into the ground behind him, the plascrete of the few remaining low buildings burst under the pressure in loud pops and crunches. He could feel it, like a shockwave of falling air, pressing against his window-wings, as he launched himself in a hard tackle at the trapped mech, knocking the smaller shape off balance, onto the ground just as a panel of the dreadnaught blackened the air around them.
A shock of pain, a white and blue javelin up his left leg, forcing a sharp cry of agony from his vocalizer as he landed, belly first, on the other mech. And then a frothing black roar, as the impact of the ship behind them, on top of them, ruptured the pavement. The pavement below them cracked, bursting downward, flinging Barricade and the mech into a deeper darkness. Stones and chunks of pavement and steel pelted down on them, the fall slowing, until the fall was merely grit and pebbles.
They were safe. Just barely.
Barricade groaned, pushing his limbs experimentally, finding what was where and where up was. “Hey,” he said, voice gritty with dust from the cave in. “You all right?” He groped in the darkness for the other mech.
Another moan, metallic and thin, and then Barricade saw a pair of optics flicker to life.
Blue optics.
Slag.
The Autobot seemed to catch Barricade’s own four-opticked red stare at about the same moment, twitching back, grabbing instinctively for a weapon that he’d forgotten wouldn’t work. And which had fallen off his hip, anyway.
Barricade’s had, too, but Barricade was used to the rough and ready, claw grabbing for a rock, holding it, ready to launch, as he rose to his feet, wincing as he tried to put weight onto his left ankle. “You know,” he said. “We can both try to kill each other down here. That’d be fun. But kind of a waste. I mean, coulda just stayed topside, right?”
“You came after me.” There was a question under the voice.
“Yeah. Believe me, been kicking myself for it since.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a slaggin’ Autobot. You get hit in the head or something?”
“I mean, why’d you come after me?”
Barricade scowled, as though saying this hurt. It did, especially to an Autobot. “I’ve seen mechs get crushed before. Not how anyone should go.”
“Not even an Autobot?” The tone was almost amused, the blue optics glinting.
Barricade snarled. Rub it in, why don’t you? “Guess not.”
The mech rolled off the rubble, shedding chunks of plascrete, offering one hand. “We got here together. I guess if we plan on getting out of here, it’s going to be together, too.”
“Says you,” Barricade muttered, but he dropped the rock, letting it thud onto the ground. Urgh. Friendliness. He was gonna purge if this mech kept this up.
“Tell you what. If we do? It’ll be our secret. No one will ever know you saved an Autobot’s life.”
“Better not,” Barricade mumbled. Seriously. Enough to get executed for treason. Or die of shame.
“Well,” the Autobot said, yellow helm shifting as he took in the tunnel. “Which way should we go? You’ve got the better vision.”
Barricade grunted, scoping the vectors. “That way,” he said. “Away from the fall, and it slopes up. Gotta be an engineering station sooner or later. After that, you're on your own.”
“Good point. And good enough.” The mech came closer, ducking in under Barricade’s shoulder, taking his arm over his own set of doorwings, taking the weight off Barricade’s left side.
Barricade flinched at the touch, but forced himself to move, taking a step, letting the Autobot take his weight. Sooner they got out of here, the better, as far as he was concerned.
The Autobot beside him chuckled. “War’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?” He was so fraggin’ agreeable Barricade had to resist the urge to punch him. He grunted. “Name’s Bumblebee, by the way.”
“Don’t care,” Barricade muttered. “Just an Autobot to me.” Not true and even he knew it. Which just made his frown deeper.
“Don’t think like that. I mean, you’re a good mech. If the world were different, we could maybe even be friends.”
“Fraggin’ huge ‘if’,” Barricade grunted. But he didn’t deny it.
Bayverse, early war, pre Tyger Pax
Barricade, Bumblebee
no warnings
for
tf_speedwriting prompt and for mewsing who wanted some of this pairing. Which I am not good at. ;-;Barricade frowned. More than frowned, the electrum plating of his mouth tugging into a grimace so tight it almost hurt.
Not that anyone could see it: the EMP that burst above the battlefield spun everything down into a night black silence. The pulse rifle in his claws hummed down, useless, the lights in the few remaining buildings fading, as though the EMP slowed the speed of light even as it killed it, swallowing everyone in darkness.
“That’s the fraggin’ spacebridge, at least,” Barricade muttered as he heard the battle around him break off in a froth of confusion and uncertainty. That would at least be something, one of the objectives Starscream had pounded into their heads as essential for victory.
Right. Essential. He knew the protocols: denying assets to the enemy. But the problem was, the EMP denied assets to every mech who wasn’t a fancy flyer. You know, why worry about the mechs on the ground, right?
Barricade slung the rifle, racking it across his shoulders. Rule one of infantry work: never be weaponless. It might be useless as a gun right now, but it still made a good bludgeon. And as soon as he could get to an armory, it’d be the work of a klik to replace the circuits the EMP had fried.
Right now, though, the mission was to regroup, find out how and where to make a stand. Which, oh, look, another flaw in Starscream the Almighty’s plan: EMPs didn’t differentiate between weapons and communications circuitry. Any sort of intermech comm was down.
Probably good for Starscream, because if not, Barricade would be giving him an audio full of some pretty salty language.
He jumped down off the plascrete roof he’d been using as a shooting position, footplates clanging on the ground. His lower optics cycled down to lowlight, turning the sudden dark of the former battlefield into blocky grey shapes.
Barricade heard a sound above him, one he’d heard only once before: the heavy sound of gravity seizing a flightframe, punching it to the ground. It was the scream of the air parting under protest, dead engines spinning from freefall. And the blackness around him grew blacker.
He began running, footplates biting into the pavement, gouging with each step, vents heaving. He knew better than to waste time looking up, trying to gauge if he’d run far enough: when one of the Decepticon dreadnaughts fell, you ran and kept on running, because running too far was a lot better than being dead.
His upper optics, set on motion scan, caught a shape, a silhouette, struggling to free itself, one leg trapped in
rubble.
A hesitation of a microklik, before Barricade veered off course, pounding toward the mech, even as he cursed at himself. Stupid, Barricade. Stupid soft spot. Slag like this is gonna get you killed. Then you’re both gonna be dead and won’t that be awesome?
Least you won’t die alone, right?
The screaming of the falling dreadnaught reached a climax—he could hear the lower spires crush into the ground behind him, the plascrete of the few remaining low buildings burst under the pressure in loud pops and crunches. He could feel it, like a shockwave of falling air, pressing against his window-wings, as he launched himself in a hard tackle at the trapped mech, knocking the smaller shape off balance, onto the ground just as a panel of the dreadnaught blackened the air around them.
A shock of pain, a white and blue javelin up his left leg, forcing a sharp cry of agony from his vocalizer as he landed, belly first, on the other mech. And then a frothing black roar, as the impact of the ship behind them, on top of them, ruptured the pavement. The pavement below them cracked, bursting downward, flinging Barricade and the mech into a deeper darkness. Stones and chunks of pavement and steel pelted down on them, the fall slowing, until the fall was merely grit and pebbles.
They were safe. Just barely.
Barricade groaned, pushing his limbs experimentally, finding what was where and where up was. “Hey,” he said, voice gritty with dust from the cave in. “You all right?” He groped in the darkness for the other mech.
Another moan, metallic and thin, and then Barricade saw a pair of optics flicker to life.
Blue optics.
Slag.
The Autobot seemed to catch Barricade’s own four-opticked red stare at about the same moment, twitching back, grabbing instinctively for a weapon that he’d forgotten wouldn’t work. And which had fallen off his hip, anyway.
Barricade’s had, too, but Barricade was used to the rough and ready, claw grabbing for a rock, holding it, ready to launch, as he rose to his feet, wincing as he tried to put weight onto his left ankle. “You know,” he said. “We can both try to kill each other down here. That’d be fun. But kind of a waste. I mean, coulda just stayed topside, right?”
“You came after me.” There was a question under the voice.
“Yeah. Believe me, been kicking myself for it since.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a slaggin’ Autobot. You get hit in the head or something?”
“I mean, why’d you come after me?”
Barricade scowled, as though saying this hurt. It did, especially to an Autobot. “I’ve seen mechs get crushed before. Not how anyone should go.”
“Not even an Autobot?” The tone was almost amused, the blue optics glinting.
Barricade snarled. Rub it in, why don’t you? “Guess not.”
The mech rolled off the rubble, shedding chunks of plascrete, offering one hand. “We got here together. I guess if we plan on getting out of here, it’s going to be together, too.”
“Says you,” Barricade muttered, but he dropped the rock, letting it thud onto the ground. Urgh. Friendliness. He was gonna purge if this mech kept this up.
“Tell you what. If we do? It’ll be our secret. No one will ever know you saved an Autobot’s life.”
“Better not,” Barricade mumbled. Seriously. Enough to get executed for treason. Or die of shame.
“Well,” the Autobot said, yellow helm shifting as he took in the tunnel. “Which way should we go? You’ve got the better vision.”
Barricade grunted, scoping the vectors. “That way,” he said. “Away from the fall, and it slopes up. Gotta be an engineering station sooner or later. After that, you're on your own.”
“Good point. And good enough.” The mech came closer, ducking in under Barricade’s shoulder, taking his arm over his own set of doorwings, taking the weight off Barricade’s left side.
Barricade flinched at the touch, but forced himself to move, taking a step, letting the Autobot take his weight. Sooner they got out of here, the better, as far as he was concerned.
The Autobot beside him chuckled. “War’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?” He was so fraggin’ agreeable Barricade had to resist the urge to punch him. He grunted. “Name’s Bumblebee, by the way.”
“Don’t care,” Barricade muttered. “Just an Autobot to me.” Not true and even he knew it. Which just made his frown deeper.
“Don’t think like that. I mean, you’re a good mech. If the world were different, we could maybe even be friends.”
“Fraggin’ huge ‘if’,” Barricade grunted. But he didn’t deny it.
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no subject
Date: 2013-03-03 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-04 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-05 04:16 pm (UTC)He was so fraggin’ agreeable Barricade had to resist the urge to punch him.
Those lines made me laugh out loud. Loved this story, so much. What Bayverse could have been. You built the atmosphere wonderfully. Thank you!! ♥
no subject
Date: 2013-05-12 02:45 am (UTC)