shadow_vector | Sky and Ground 27: Return

PG-13
Bayverse, Sky and Ground AU
Barricade, Skywarp, Starscream, Thundercracker
angst

Barricade waited where Starscream had positioned him in the hangar, between the two rations of high grade energon. Starscream himself had flown out into the darkness to meet Skywarp: a courtesy, perhaps. Barricade wished he had the nerve to take a pro-pack, but his fear of screwing up in front of Skywarp and jetting off at some mad vector needing to be pathetically rescued kept him inside. And, to be honest, Starscream hadn’t offered.

But Barricade couldn’t help but think that something more was going on. Starscream had seemed…worried. He wouldn’t tell Barricade why, nor did he explain why they needed TWO rats of high grade instead of one. He felt the cold of space from the gaping hangar door eat into his stilled circuitry. He tried to tell himself that that was the reason for his sudden shiver.

He tried not to look nervous, even though there was no one around to see him. He wanted Skywarp so badly he could almost feel himself reaching out toward the open hangar door, as if he were pulling away from himself bodily to reach for the black mech. As if he could connect a line between his spark and Skywarp’s and pull him home. Something like worry and homesickness and a dreadful urge to hear and know that Skywarp was all right stirred in him. Skywarp had been with Thundercracker, and Barricade could not stop his processor from running, over and over and over again, a thousand scenarios of what that might mean, given what Starscream had told him.

He wanted to hold Skywarp, feel for himself that the black jet was all right. Feel that he himself was all right, and safe and…still loved. He just…wanted to know.

Funny to think: when Skywarp had left, his only concern was that Skywarp would forget about him.

He heard the loud roar of an unfamiliar engine, three shapes cutting themselves out of the backdrop of stars. Three? He felt his engine stall.

The jets unfolded gracefully, landing lightly on the hangar’s floor with their delicately bladed feet. Starscream first, his bronze toes almost achingly familiar—Barricade remembered his hangover, when he had mistaken those for Skywarp’s toes, with a sudden flush of embarrassed memory. The other two landed simultaneously. Skywarp wobbled where he stood, the cold of space mazed in whitish traceries of ice over his greased frame. The third jet was blue, with the same crystalline frost, and similar enough in design—he must be Thundercracker. Barricade’s capacitor skipped current, torn between a kind of rage he had never felt and a worry that burned like acid. He didn’t know if he should move forward or retreat into the shadows. For the first time, it seemed, he looked at the jets and saw how very lethal they were.

The yellow lights flared and the large spaceside door rumbled closed, cutting off the cold, but also the freedom and space. It felt suddenly, even to Barricade, confined.

Skywarp stepped forward to hug Starscream, and stumbled. Barricade saw the ankle gyroscopic stabilizers spin wildly, and that settled him. He snatched up one of the cubes and strode forward. Thundercracker was not going to stand in the way of him taking care of Skywarp. He shot a glower at the blue jet as he walked by, even though his optic line was only at Thundercracker’s hip.

He held the cube up to Skywarp. “Here.” He quailed, seeing how Skywarp’s hands shook, the frozen grease flaking off his joints as he moved them to take the cube.

“Thank you, Barricade,” Skywarp said, his voice somehow strained and tight. He tossed the entire cube back at a swallow, his optics shuttering as it hit his systems. “Thank you,” he repeated, dumbly.

“And does your little grounder servant have one for me?” Barricade’s shoulder wings flinched at the tone of Thundercracker’s voice. Deep and haughty. The words stung. ‘Servant’? What had Skywarp told him? Anything?

“No,” Starscream said, smoothly. “I have brought you energon, Thundercracker.”

Barricade looked up at Skywarp, worriedly. The black jet’s face was exhausted, the optics flickering faint, the facial plates flaking with grease. He hoped for a smile, trying not to feel crushed when Skywarp merely nodded.

Behind him, Starscream was talking quietly to Thundercracker—meaningless chatter about the flight conditions, their pace. Skywarp’s attention drifted to that. Barricade felt…pathetically, inexcusably, left out. Nonexistent. He couldn’t follow half of the conversation and Skywarp wasn’t even looking at him. He tried hard not to feel hurt. Skywarp was obviously exhausted. He needed rest. And Barricade wanted nothing more than to be with him, snugged together in the EM field he could already feel fuzzing up around him. He felt his hand reaching out to touch Skywarp, drew it back.

The black jet pushed by him, past the other two. “Tired,” he said. “Recharge.”

“I thought,” Thundercracker said, “we would recharge together. The three of us.” Barricade’s entire system froze.

“No.” Skywarp stopped, midstride, his head turned over his shoulder. “No.”

Thundercracker gaped.

“Thundercracker,” Starscream interjected, stepping again between the two, “Skywarp is exhausted. You know that he is not very good company when he is like this.” Starscream ran a hand over the blue collar armor. “And you, no doubt, are tired as well. And in need of cleaning and recharge. Why do you not let me take care of you?”

Thundercracker tilted his cheek against Starscream’s hand. “But…Skywarp?” He sounded honestly confused. Skywarp continued his steady march to the hangar’s shipside door.

“…will be fine. Barricade?” Starscream prompted. “You would do me a great favor if you would assist Skywarp. He can instruct you in what he requires.”

Barricade’s gaze bounced between Starscream and Skywarp’s retreating back. He refused to even think of Thundercracker or his stupid opinion. The door whooshed open to let Skywarp pass. Barricade raced after the black jet, not even caring how foolish his smaller, scurrying legs looked.

Skywarp had to get away. He couldn’t escape what he really wanted to, which was himself, so he had to settle instead for getting away from those he might hurt. Before he did something…regrettable.

He hated regret. Had spent his lifetime avoiding it. And found he regretted even that.

Thundercracker had kept up a stream of amiable chatter for most of the flight, not noticing—or not deigning to notice—Skywarp’s louring mood. And then…Barricade had been there, in the hangar, his face sweet and pure and hopeful and Skywarp had wanted to do nothing more than to drop to his knees and crush the smaller mech to him. But he didn’t trust himself to brave Thundercracker’s reaction. Not now, not so under-charged and frail and…unsteady on more than just his feet.

He didn’t trust himself, either.

He did the best he could, which was harmless empty pleasantries with Barricade. ‘Thank you.’ As if he could ever manage to fill that empty phrase with what he really felt. Right now he didn’t even know what he really felt—confusion and fear and worry and a vague unfocused anger and a desperate, desperate need to be reassured. And an equally keen awareness that he might damage the very thing he wanted.

No. He had to deny himself. Deny…himself until he could be trusted to control himself. If he hurt Barricade, the mech would forgive him, but he would never forgive himself. It was better to just get away now, at least until he had mastered himself. Before he couldn’t stop himself from shattering it entirely.

The door whooshed closed behind him, and then open again. Oh no. He turned.

Barricade stood there, balanced, almost mid-stride, looking frantic and caught out. A long moment. The door whooshed shut again behind Barricade.

“D-d’you not want me to come with you?”

“I…it’s better if….” Words guttered and died. Skywarp dropped to one knee, landing heavily enough to ding the floor. Barricade closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Skywarp’s shoulders as far as he could reach.

“Missed you,” Barricade blurted, his voice muffled against Skywarp’s chassis.

“I…can’t talk right now,” Skywarp managed. “Really.”

“Don’t have to.” The talons tightened around the armor plates. Not as a threat—Skywarp could break Barricade’s talons without thinking—but as a mute attempt to express something he could not say. Don’t push me away. Just let me stay. And then he said the word that broke Skywarp’s resolve. “Please?”

“All right,” Skywarp said, surrendering. Barricade had asked so little from him—was still asking so little. Not demanding an explanation or confronting Skywarp with his long deceits, with his unconscionable rudeness a few kliks ago. Merely…wanting to be with him, in whatever way Skywarp would let him. He scooped Barricade against him before releasing him and rising to walk, unsteadily, down the corridor, the smaller mech trotting at his bladed heels.

Starscream wrapped his arms around Thundercracker’s narrow waist. “I have missed you, Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker grinned against Starscream’s throat. “I’ve missed you, too. We have so much to catch up on.” He ran his icy hands greedily over Starscream’s back, the talons hooking around the engine mounts. “Skywarp seemed…distracted when he arrived. Is everything all right?”

Starscream shrugged, lightly, brushing Thundercracker’s mouth with his own. “The investigation here has some…complications.” He licked between Thundercracker’s lips, teasingly. “It is nothing to worry about.”

Thundercracker leaned in, his glossa probing between Starscream’s own lips, before pulling away. “He always takes his job too seriously. And unfortunately nothing else.” Thundercracker cast a shadowed glance at the door Skywarp and Barricade had exited.

Starscream’s supraorbital plates creased together for a fraction of a klik in worry. He pulled Thundercracker into a deeper kiss, his talons skating over the blue helm, his other hand sliding down the mech’s torso for his interface panel. “I think,” he murmured, “You are the one taking things too seriously.”

Thundercracker grinned. “You’re probably right.” He paused to nuzzle against Starscream, running his hands down the bronze jet’s arms. “But…what have you done to yourself?” He traced a talon along one of Starscream’s deeply etched markings. “Oh, Starscream. You’re not…?” His optics were worried.

“No,” Starscream said, hastily. He pulled his arm away. “I shall explain that later.”

Thundercracker frowned for a long moment, as if expecting merely that to have an effect. Starscream shook his head. Thundercracker shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him. “You’ll tell me if it’s important,” the blue jet said, sliding one arm over Starscream’s hip. “I trust you.”

Barricade worked tirelessly with the metal brush, sweeping away the crusted greased. He’d suggested the washracks and oiler to Skywarp, but hadn’t dared to repeat the idea when he saw the hooded response. Skywarp had merely asked him if it was too much to brush him.

The black jet hadn’t meant it as an insult—it was the most considerate question he could ask—but it still stung. So he’d scrubbed with the brush for cycles, the only exchanges between them his periodic questioning if he was too hard and Skywarp’s repeated denial. He could feel the black jet softening as he lay there, Barricade bent over his leg, brass-bristled brush schussing at an even pace back and forth around the edge of the armor plate, the crusted grease of his travel slowly peeling off him in purple fragments. The rhythm soothed Barricade’s anxiety almost as much as touching Skywarp.

“Barricade?” Skywarp asked suddenly. “Come here?”

“Not finished,” Barricade said, looking up, the brush stilled in his hands. “Hands gunky.”

Skywarp smiled, and it looked like a ghost of the smile Barricade remembered. “I’m gunky.” He raised one arm, and Barricade was a little embarrassed at how quickly he flung the brush aside and crept into the circle of that arm. He felt Skywarp’s face brush the spires of his head. “Little spike,” Skywarp breathed. Barricade felt himself loosen at the endearment. Barricade risked throwing an arm over Skywarp’s chest, the center of his chassis against Skywarp’s side. He could feel his spark chamber pulsing, almost to the armor.

“You talked to Starscream?” Skywarp asked. He coded the lights to off, the darkness settling around them like a protective blanket, something that cut everything else out of the world until it was just the two of them, limbs intertwined.

“Yes,” Barricade said. He struggled to think of what else to say. He’d had whole speeches prepared: exhortations to leave the blue jet, questions about how to punish a Trine mate, soft murmuring reassurances that nothing had changed between them. What he most wanted to do, what he knew he couldn’t do, was ask about it, bring that pain to the surface so he could attempt to make it go away. Ridiculous thought, that your words or your touch could heal, could make any difference. Only make things worse, when you try.

So instead, he lay there, dumb and mute, hoping foolishly that things would just somehow magically get better, and trying not to read too much invitation into the embrace.

“What did he tell you?” Skywarp gritted his denta. He had unfairly made Starscream take his burden—he had, like a coward, shifted the pain of memory and articulation onto Starscream, instead of doing it himself. He was a coward, but not this much. He would make sure Barricade heard the whole truth.

“Doesn’t matter,” Barricade said, burying his face in Skywarp’s armor, his talons once again clutching fiercely, possessively around the black plates.

“It does matter, little spike.” Skywarp stroked his free hand down the smaller mech’s back, grinning fondly as Barricade’s systems hitched. If nothing else, and this thought echoed bitterly from his memory, Barricade still desired him. And a dark quiet voice in his cortex purred, you could take him. Have him. And he wouldn’t mind. Would take the pain and think of it as love. Skywarp knew too intimately what that was like. Skywarp clutched Barricade closer, as though the smaller mech were a shield against his thoughts. “Please tell me?”

“That you…and…Starscream…had done bad things with each other.” The words started slow, then tumbled out too fast. And wrong. But Barricade couldn’t bring himself to repeat the actual words. “And that he forgave you,” he added, hurriedly. He didn’t want Skywarp to think Starscream had blamed him for anything.

Skywarp reached down and dug Barricade’s chin out of the crook between his arm and his body. “Look at me, little spike,” he said, his voice pitiful and thin. “I violated Starscream. I beat him. I took him against his will any time, any way I wanted. I would laugh when he’d beg me to stop. No, please,” Barricade was squirming with discomfort, but Skywarp was determined. While his courage held, he would have this out. He would say it. So that Barricade could have no misconceptions about who or what he’d let into his life. “And…and not just Starscream. Any mech. Anyone I wanted or…that Thundercracker wanted to see. Sometimes they fought. A lot of times they cried. And…it aroused me.” He could no longer bear to look at the four optics, brimming with emotions he couldn’t even read. Pity? Horror? Disgust? He turned his face away, giving into his cowardice. Barricade had once thought he was too disgusting for Skywarp: the opposite was the truth.

“I’m sorry.” Skywarp’s voice crackled. Pathetic. ‘I’m sorry’. Like that would do any good. Like that made anything better. His hands curled into fists around the smaller mech, talons digging below his own palm plates. He hissed in relief at the onset of the pain.

He lay there, inwardly writhing. A moan of sheer, weak agony escaped him when he felt Barricade move. The smaller mech was leaving him.

Well, he had the right. And…it was for the best. Best for Barricade—better if Skywarp hadn’t let it get this far, but...they were beyond that now. His breath hitched in a sob of shame. He deserved this. For what he had become. For deceiving Barricade that he was anything but this. He deserved far worse, but at the least, he could endure this—barely—without making it worse for the smaller mech. No. He wouldn’t try to fight it. Let Barricade leave. As clean a break as he could make it. Not let himself succumb to his cowardice and beg. He held his body still.

Barricade threw his arms around Skywarp’s neck. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, determinedly. “Love you.”

Skywarp tried to disentangle the smaller mech’s arms from around his neck. This time, Barricade struggled, clamping his fingers around armor. “Barricade,” he began, pleading.

“No,” Barricade insisted. “Yours. You always said so.”

“You don’t understand,” Skywarp squirmed, his entire body trying to get away. “I…I’m wrong. Inside. There’s something awful in me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Barricade murmured.

“Barricade,” Skywarp’s voice came out as a shredded whisper. “I’m not….”

Barricade lifted his head, meeting Skywarp’s gaze. “You are.” He held Skywarp’s optics with all the determination he had in his own.

Sky and Ground 27: Return

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