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ajremixPS: Not meaning to sound callous, I'm glad people are commenting about crying or feeling heartbreak because I don't consider myself an emotional person (emphatic, yes, emotional, not really) but parts of this story physically hurt to write, so I'm very glad to know others can feel that same heartbreak.
Title: No Survivors 3
Fandom: Transformers IDW
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3814
Characters: Wreckers, Aerialbots, Blaster, Ratchet, Hot Rod, Optimus Prime
Summary: Character death. Death is not the greatest pain in life. The greatest pain belongs to those left alive. Note: While this draws elements from my (sprawling) drabble series What’s Wrong with a Little Destruction?, it’s not necessary to read it to understand the fic, only to get the full effect. Special thanks to Vaeru, Cafei and Meallanmouse for being my betas
Part 1
Part 2
Slingshot crossed his arms, foot tapping irritably on the deck. “Am I the only one,” he seethed, “bothered with the fact he has not left ever since he came in here?”
Three of his teammates stifled groaned, flipping through channels on the monitor. “Give him a break, Sling. He’s had a rough time.”
“And holing himself up is going to make things better, is it?”
Silverbolt craned his neck to look at the white jet. “Since when have you cared about Sandstorm’s wellbeing?”
“He can disappear in his own quarters!” Slingshot snapped. “I don’t see why it’s gotta be Flight’s! And I don’t know why none of you are bothered by it! I mean- am I the only one that remembers what that slag-off did to him last time?”
“No,” Silverbolt said coldly with Air Raid and Skydive going stiff next to him, “we haven’t forgotten. But it’s Fireflight’s decision to let Sandstorm stay there or kick him out. It’s not our place to go over his head on this.”
“Not our- have you all gone stupid? I kept telling you Sandstorm would just grease his way to Flight, and I kept telling you he’d just get hurt in the end, and I was right both times! I’m telling you he’s just using this as an excuse to get in with Fireflight again for his own perverse enjoyment and you still won’t listen-“
“Because there’s no joy for anyone to get out of this.” The other Aerialbots started; Fireflight stood in the doorway with two energon containers. Slingshot opened his mouth to say something, but Fireflight cut him off. “I do know what I’m doing, Slingshot. I’m not stupid, and I’m not a fledgling, and I’d appreciate if you’d trust that I can make sound decisions on my own. I haven’t forgotten what happened, and I’ve accepted it was as much my fault as anyone else’s. I knew what I was getting into, and I let it all happen anyway, but this isn’t anything like that. This has messed him up far more than you realize, and he needs someone to be there.”
“He’s got the other Wreckers!”
“And they’re as messed up over this as he is. He needs stability, and he can’t get it from them- not right now.”
Slingshot pulled himself to full height. “Doesn’t the fact he has no other friends willing to be there for him bring up any warning lights to you?”
“Slingshot. Shut up.” Air Raid didn’t take his optics off Fireflight, knowing each minute movement and flicker of his best friend and reading all of them as nothing but confidence that this was what needed to be done. “If Fireflight thinks this is best, let him do it.”
He gave the black jet a grateful look. “Thanks, Air Raid.” In the silence of the common room, Fireflight strode through though he stopped as he came up next to Slingshot and bowed his head until their helmets touched. “Thank you for your concern,” he told the smaller ‘bot honestly, “but you have to have faith in me sometimes, too.”
Slingshot, a little ashamed that his worry really did seem like a lack of trust, gave a little nod. “It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s him. I don’t want you going through all that again.”
“I know. I don’t want to either.” He gave a small little smile before stepping back and walking down the hall.
The lights inside Fireflight’s quarters were dim, and he already knew without looking that Sandstorm hadn’t moved since he’d left him at the start of his shift. Ever since he had come in and told Fireflight about Springer’s death, Sandstorm didn’t leave the room. He stayed curled up on the berth, not even recharging, just locked away somewhere in his processor. He rarely spoke, but he still responded, would take the energon Fireflight brought for him, would sit up silently as Fireflight spoke, would let the red mech arrange the both of them on the berth as they’d lay together, Fireflight stroking along Sandstorm’s wings or back. Fireflight would stay up until exhaustion had him shut down but it seemed to him that Sandstorm didn’t offline at all, and with his strangely quiet and listless disposition, Fireflight was nearly beside himself with worry.
So he talked, because he wasn’t certain what else he should do. He gave Sandstorm one of the containers of energon and sat next to him, nursing his own portion. He watched silently as the black plating of Sandstorm’s battlemask retracted and he drank slowly, as lifelessly as he’d been doing everything. Fireflight looked away uneasily and started talking. He talked about what he did on duty, about any interesting bits of news or gossip he’d heard, and then he talked about the vigil. About how there were so many ‘bots they were spilling out into the halls and how upsetting it was that Kup was still comatose and how impressed he was at Hot Rod and Arcee’s composure and that Emirate Xaaron’s speech nearly undid everyone because every word he said was just so true.
He didn’t mention none of the other Wreckers had shown up. “You should’ve gone,” Fireflight said softly. “At least to say goodbye.”
“I’m going to quit.”
The soft words almost echoed in the silence of Fireflight’s room, and he nearly didn’t catch them. “What?” he asked, stumbling over it a little. “Quit? But- But you love being a Wrecker!”
“Well, I’m done.” Sandstorm’s optics stayed on the container as he swirled the energon lightly. “They can strip me down and throw me in jail if they want to. I want nothing more to do with either part of this stupid war. Should’ve stayed out of it in the first place.”
“Sandstorm- you don’t mean that.”
“Slag I don’t. That idiot Springer- it’s his fault that I’m here. Waltzing into my den, telling me I gotta join him or get arrested and stupid me, I go along with it.” He frowned harshly, hands tightening. Fireflight- afraid he’d break the container –placed his hands over Sandstorm’s, trying to get him to loosen his grip without making him stop speaking. “Stupid slagger deserved it.”
Fireflight froze. “Don’t say that,” he said in a stunned hush. Sandstorm looked up at him, optic band narrowed and yanked his hands free, container and energon spilling across the floor as he pushed off the berth.
“Why not? I had it right the first time- trust no one but yourself, believe in no one but yourself. Caring for others is just going to get you hurt. Friendship, family, love- all that’s just useless slag for someone to make a chump out of you with!” He paced angrily around Fireflight’s quarters. “So let’s all just have a big fragging laugh at me- the ‘bot that just goes around using everyone to his own ends, the one that has no idea how to care about anyone, ruins everyone he ever meets- hiding like some spark-broken fledgling! I hate that smug, obnoxious bastard!” Fireflight winced as Sandstorm’s fist slammed into the bulkhead, denting it.
“Well I’m glad he’s dead!” He went on, not noticing or ignoring the brief sparking at his knuckles, vocalizer rising in volume as he went on. “Always made everything look so fragging effortless, so damned self-sacrificing and noble and so sickeningly full of himself! He had everything anyone could want and it still wasn’t good enough for him! No- he had to go out and make things better for everyone, had to be such a slagging martyr! And everyone loved him for it! His own two loved him for it! Because they knew he always loved them best!”
“Sandstorm-“
He whirled around. “I can’t do that, Fireflight! Primus knows I tried but I’m not Springer! I can’t be anything like him! All that slotting heroism and compassionate slag came natural to him but I’m not and I won’t ever be like that! No matter how badly I want to change I can’t! I’m selfish, I’m an opportunist, I lie and I cheat and I use others and I can’t bring myself to care about anyone because I’m too slotting scared! I want to be able to make you happy and I want to do right but I can’t because you’ll ruin me and I hate that I can’t let you in and I wish I could be what you need but I’m not! I- I just-“ His mouth clicked shut and the battlemask slid into place, making him practically featureless, closing him off entirely from Fireflight. “I can’t see you again.”
Before Fireflight could stop him, Sandstorm spun and charged out the door. He nearly knocked over the other Aerialbots who stood outside, drawn by all the yelling, and they watched him go, too shocked to do otherwise. They exchanged looks, then turned to Fireflight who half-stood from his berth. “What the slag just happened?”
“I…” he put a hand to his face, processor whirling dizzyingly. “I need some time to think, please.” Fireflight’s spark hammered wildly, and all he could clearly think about was ‘Sandstorm, you idiot’.
~*~*~*~
Ratchet came up to where Blaster was standing at the glass of intensive care, observing. “How’s he doing?” the communications officer asked quietly.
The CMO sighed. “Stable. That’s probably the best we can say for now, and that’s being generous.”
“Is that a good thing?”
There was a long pause as Ratchet tried to sort his words properly. “In his current state, yes. In the long run, no. There’s nothing you or I can do for him. If there were we would’ve done it. This is beyond us.”
“We can’t just abandon him.”
“Of course not,” Ratchet said a little sharply, indignant at the thought. “Not when he needs us most.”
Blaster nodded, optics never wavering from the scene before him. “And Kup?”
“Status hasn’t changed, but with the rate his progress has been going it’s not too much of a surprise. There’s still a good chance he’ll recover enough to be coherent. A full recovery is far too optimistic.”
The two lapsed into silence and watched Hot Rod’s back as he sat by Kup’s inert form. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but they could read the young mech’s movements well enough. With Springer’s death, the Wreckers seemed to be dissolving. Arcee threw herself into everything and anything in hopes she’d exhaust herself too much to think about the situation. And Hot Rod needed someone to be there for him, someone that understood him, and even if Kup couldn’t listen and respond, it was more than what Hot Rod was getting from anyone else. He knew Kup could help him, he’d know what to do and say, he knew what it would take to get Hot Rod going again. He knew Kup could do it because he was Hot Rod’s mentor, he was Springer’s mentor, and Springer believed in Kup like Hot Rod did in Springer.
After some time, Hot Rod placed Kup’s lax hand back on the berth and gave it a squeeze and a pat- a habit he’d picked up watching Springer sit in this same seat, talking to him. Always the last thing he’d do before getting up to leave. Hot Rod’s optics flickered to Blaster and Ratchet. The red mech nodded at him, the white watched Kup with a sorrowful expression. As Hot Rod left intensive care, Blaster came up to him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You mind if we talk?” Blaster’s hand came up to touch the back of Hot Rod’s arm, just enough to guide if he was willing to follow. Wordlessly, Hot Rod accepted.
They walked out of the medbay, and as they walked, silence and cut-off conversations followed them. No one would meet Hot Rod’s optics; they all shifted uncomfortably as he passed. It was almost like every time anything happened to him, really. Whenever he got promoted, when he was given his first command, whenever a mission didn’t go as planned. They wanted him to get knocked down, and he knew it. Because he was young and brash and they thought every chance he’d ever gotten was just given to him. They wanted him to fail, and they hated themselves every time he did, because whenever he failed it was at the cost of someone’s life, and they saw clearly how a part of Hot Rod died with them.
“Well?” he asked after some time. “What did you want to talk about?”
“How you’re holding up, for one thing,” Blaster said as they walked shoulder to shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back.
“How am I supposed to be?” It was a valid question, no attempt at sarcasm, and Blaster could see the honestly lost expression deep in Hot Rod’s optics. “Do you know what’s it’s like to lose someone like this?”
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s like to have everyone you love drifting away, just as lost as you?”
“No.”
Hot Rod stopped in the middle of the hall, his faceplate strained and pleading along the cracks. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It hurts and I don’t know how to get rid of it. I just want him back.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Springer used to joke about some adage about the bonded unable to live without each other. He used to say that he could live without me or Arcee, but why would he want to?” Hot Rod’s lips pulled down in a harsh frown as he tried to control his emotions. “I’ve found myself wondering the same thing just about every damn klik and I can’t find an answer.” His optics searched Blaster’s pleadingly. “How am I supposed to be holding up?”
Blaster grabbed Hot Rod’s arm and squeezed it tight. “Just live for now. If that’s all you can do, it’s enough for right now.”
“And when it won’t be enough?”
“I’ll pray that day never comes.”
~*~*~*~
It wasn’t the first time Roadbuster had ever stood in Prime’s office on his own, but it was a rare occurrence, and the last time hadn’t been long after Optimus ascended to his current rank. Roadbuster remembered that meeting clearly- Optimus Prime had just gotten Springer’s request to develop a strike force whose specific purpose was to go into the worst of situations to fight and get ‘bots out of danger. Given Springer’s recent return after a less than amicable departure from the Security Force and given Roadbuster’s own high rank and the request to have him reassigned under Springer, the new Prime had called him in for his opinion.
Roadbuster never once regretted convincing Optimus Prime that it was the best course of action.
The Autobot leader nodded to the other mech and held out a hand, indicating for Roadbuster to have a seat. It felt a little awkward for him to do so; on the occasional time he came in here after the creation of the Wreckers, Roadbuster always stood in the back by the door as Springer sat and talked with Prime.
“Roadbuster,” he said with a tone not nearly as distant as he generally used, “thank you for coming.” Not knowing what he should say, the combat vehicle merely nodded in return. “I hope your Wreckers are doing well.”
“As well as they can, I suppose.”
Optimus Prime nodded. “I understand. This is a difficult time for all of you- for many of us. Springer was a great friend to so many and an inspiration to all. It…” Optimus Prime’s optics faded ever so slightly. “It is a tragedy to lose someone like him.” Sometimes, Roadbuster recalled, it was a little tough to remember that the two leaders had an odd sort of relationship between them. Not exactly close, but something that teetered just on the other side of two officers working in tandem. Optimus depended on Springer to do what most couldn’t, to be unafraid to disagree and give often blunt advice. Between Springer, Blaster and Jazz, the leader got the most accurate mental state of his troops. And Optimus Prime had values and beliefs very similar to the ones Springer held, was unafraid to seek advice when he knew he needed it, and he knew how to be grateful to those that risked their lives and oftentimes lost them. Roadbuster wondered a little grimly how often Optimus Prime grieved.
“Even if it was the way he wanted to go,” Roadbuster added gruffly. The thought didn’t take away any of the sting.
The Autobot leader let out a shuddering gust of air from his vents. He looked at Roadbuster with weary optics and knew there would never be an easy way to breech the subject. “Roadbuster, I’m elevating you as leader of the Wreckers.”
Green visor flaring in shock, Roadbuster stammered. “M-Me? I… I can’t!” He never once imagined himself leading the Wreckers, never wanted to. Because that would mean Springer was… he…
Optimus Prime knew why Roadbuster ‘couldn’t’, and Prime folded his hands together, wishing he didn’t have to force this upon the mech. “If you will not, who would you let be in charge of you?” The combat vehicle didn’t say anything, could barely force out any noises from his vocalizer. “There is no one else capable of leading the Wreckers, Roadbuster. You are second in command and have proven on more than several occasions you are able to lead the strike force on your own. You’re intelligent, a strong fighter and tactician and you know the Wreckers better than anyone.”
Springer knows us better than anyone, he didn’t say. Optimus Prime went on, not privy to the heaviness weighing in Roadbuster’s spark, “If you won’t lead them and no one else can, then I’ll have no choice but to abolish the Wreckers.”
That caused Roadbuster to snap his head up. “You can’t! I… what would we do? Where would we go?”
“You would be put where you’re needed most. Most likely,” and this was not a threat, this was the honest truth, and Roadbuster could see it clearly, “you would be separated. There are many outposts that can use your individual skills, and we need strong leaders.”
“Strong we may be,” Roadbuster said lowly, softly, “but Wreckers don’t listen to just anyone. We need a leader stronger than us, someone that knows when to give and when to take. We need someone that can accept us for what we are and show us how we can be better. The kind of leader we need isn’t one that can be found just anywhere. Can’t even be created.” He looked at his hands clenched and shaking lightly against his thighs. “A leader like that has to be forged, has to know how to learn from their mistakes. The leader we need has to be able to understand when we need an officer and when we need a soldier.” The leader they needed was Springer.
“Take command, Roadbuster,” Optimus Prime urged quietly. “You know what they need, you know how they work. There is no one better suited for this than you and they need you to take charge.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? They listen to you, you know how to command.”
“I’m not Springer.”
Optics softened at him. “No. You’re not. And they wouldn’t want you to be. I know how hard it is to have this responsibility suddenly pushed upon you.” Prime lifted his folded hands up, propping up his chin. “I know it’s difficult and I know it’s frightening, but it must be done. If not by you than by someone else. Can you trust anyone else to leader the Wreckers?”
“…no.”
“You are more than capable,” Optimus Prime told him. “Do not shortchange yourself, don’t underestimate your ability or your importance. And don’t underestimate the respect your teammates have for you.” The mech stood, went around his desk, and placed a hand on Roadbuster’s shoulder. “Take some time and think about it. Talk to the other Wreckers. Decide carefully and then let me know your decision. No matter your answer, it shall be honored. And no one will judge you for the choice you make.”
Roadbuster couldn’t look him in the optics and just said, “Yessir.”
As he left Prime’s office, Roadbuster radioed for the other Wreckers to meet him in Xantium’s common area. The six of them were waiting for him when he got there, and he realized that this was the first time since everything had happened that they were called together like this. And he didn’t think he’d ever seen them so disillusioned, so down-sparked. Even after everything they went though, the strike force was now on the verge of collapse, and Roadbuster knew he wasn’t the mech that could keep them together.
He stood before the quiet assembly, only half there, each mostly dwelling in some shelter within, unable or unwilling to weather the truth that shattered their confidence. He stood there and told them what Optimus Prime told him, and he waited for the hint of understanding to beam at him from faded optics.
Whirl, possibly the most stubborn, independent and anti-social mech of the group, spoke first. “I don’t want to leave,” he said simply. “Even if we couldn’t be Wreckers, I don’t want to leave any of you. This is the only place that’s ever felt like home to me. If you become our new commander, I’ll still be here next to you.” Roadbuster felt his internals quiver, and as other voices came up in quiet agreement, it gave him something Roadbuster hadn’t realized he’d given up on: hope.
A few were silent, however, and Roadbuster watched them avoid his gaze. He knew Topspin’s faith in himself as both a medic and friend had collapsed- medbay still a mess, no supplies reordered –and the arrangement between Sandstorm and Springer- exchanging incarceration for time in service –had long since been honored. It was Scoop’s avoidance that surprised the combat vehicle, watching the digger duck his head and press his lips together. It shook what little confidence Whirl inspired because it made Roadbuster remember just exactly who it was he wasn’t.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he told them slowly. “I know this is a big change and I know I can’t be what Springer w-“ His vocalizer fritzed and Roadbuster paused, trying to gather himself again. “I can only do what I’ve always done, and if you don’t feel you can continue under my command, no one will think less of you. Consider carefully and do what you believe is best. That’s all I can ever ask of you.” He looked about the group one last time before he nodded them dismissed. Then Roadbuster turned and walked out of the room to let them decide on their own.
Title: No Survivors 3
Fandom: Transformers IDW
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3814
Characters: Wreckers, Aerialbots, Blaster, Ratchet, Hot Rod, Optimus Prime
Summary: Character death. Death is not the greatest pain in life. The greatest pain belongs to those left alive. Note: While this draws elements from my (sprawling) drabble series What’s Wrong with a Little Destruction?, it’s not necessary to read it to understand the fic, only to get the full effect. Special thanks to Vaeru, Cafei and Meallanmouse for being my betas
Part 1
Part 2
Slingshot crossed his arms, foot tapping irritably on the deck. “Am I the only one,” he seethed, “bothered with the fact he has not left ever since he came in here?”
Three of his teammates stifled groaned, flipping through channels on the monitor. “Give him a break, Sling. He’s had a rough time.”
“And holing himself up is going to make things better, is it?”
Silverbolt craned his neck to look at the white jet. “Since when have you cared about Sandstorm’s wellbeing?”
“He can disappear in his own quarters!” Slingshot snapped. “I don’t see why it’s gotta be Flight’s! And I don’t know why none of you are bothered by it! I mean- am I the only one that remembers what that slag-off did to him last time?”
“No,” Silverbolt said coldly with Air Raid and Skydive going stiff next to him, “we haven’t forgotten. But it’s Fireflight’s decision to let Sandstorm stay there or kick him out. It’s not our place to go over his head on this.”
“Not our- have you all gone stupid? I kept telling you Sandstorm would just grease his way to Flight, and I kept telling you he’d just get hurt in the end, and I was right both times! I’m telling you he’s just using this as an excuse to get in with Fireflight again for his own perverse enjoyment and you still won’t listen-“
“Because there’s no joy for anyone to get out of this.” The other Aerialbots started; Fireflight stood in the doorway with two energon containers. Slingshot opened his mouth to say something, but Fireflight cut him off. “I do know what I’m doing, Slingshot. I’m not stupid, and I’m not a fledgling, and I’d appreciate if you’d trust that I can make sound decisions on my own. I haven’t forgotten what happened, and I’ve accepted it was as much my fault as anyone else’s. I knew what I was getting into, and I let it all happen anyway, but this isn’t anything like that. This has messed him up far more than you realize, and he needs someone to be there.”
“He’s got the other Wreckers!”
“And they’re as messed up over this as he is. He needs stability, and he can’t get it from them- not right now.”
Slingshot pulled himself to full height. “Doesn’t the fact he has no other friends willing to be there for him bring up any warning lights to you?”
“Slingshot. Shut up.” Air Raid didn’t take his optics off Fireflight, knowing each minute movement and flicker of his best friend and reading all of them as nothing but confidence that this was what needed to be done. “If Fireflight thinks this is best, let him do it.”
He gave the black jet a grateful look. “Thanks, Air Raid.” In the silence of the common room, Fireflight strode through though he stopped as he came up next to Slingshot and bowed his head until their helmets touched. “Thank you for your concern,” he told the smaller ‘bot honestly, “but you have to have faith in me sometimes, too.”
Slingshot, a little ashamed that his worry really did seem like a lack of trust, gave a little nod. “It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s him. I don’t want you going through all that again.”
“I know. I don’t want to either.” He gave a small little smile before stepping back and walking down the hall.
The lights inside Fireflight’s quarters were dim, and he already knew without looking that Sandstorm hadn’t moved since he’d left him at the start of his shift. Ever since he had come in and told Fireflight about Springer’s death, Sandstorm didn’t leave the room. He stayed curled up on the berth, not even recharging, just locked away somewhere in his processor. He rarely spoke, but he still responded, would take the energon Fireflight brought for him, would sit up silently as Fireflight spoke, would let the red mech arrange the both of them on the berth as they’d lay together, Fireflight stroking along Sandstorm’s wings or back. Fireflight would stay up until exhaustion had him shut down but it seemed to him that Sandstorm didn’t offline at all, and with his strangely quiet and listless disposition, Fireflight was nearly beside himself with worry.
So he talked, because he wasn’t certain what else he should do. He gave Sandstorm one of the containers of energon and sat next to him, nursing his own portion. He watched silently as the black plating of Sandstorm’s battlemask retracted and he drank slowly, as lifelessly as he’d been doing everything. Fireflight looked away uneasily and started talking. He talked about what he did on duty, about any interesting bits of news or gossip he’d heard, and then he talked about the vigil. About how there were so many ‘bots they were spilling out into the halls and how upsetting it was that Kup was still comatose and how impressed he was at Hot Rod and Arcee’s composure and that Emirate Xaaron’s speech nearly undid everyone because every word he said was just so true.
He didn’t mention none of the other Wreckers had shown up. “You should’ve gone,” Fireflight said softly. “At least to say goodbye.”
“I’m going to quit.”
The soft words almost echoed in the silence of Fireflight’s room, and he nearly didn’t catch them. “What?” he asked, stumbling over it a little. “Quit? But- But you love being a Wrecker!”
“Well, I’m done.” Sandstorm’s optics stayed on the container as he swirled the energon lightly. “They can strip me down and throw me in jail if they want to. I want nothing more to do with either part of this stupid war. Should’ve stayed out of it in the first place.”
“Sandstorm- you don’t mean that.”
“Slag I don’t. That idiot Springer- it’s his fault that I’m here. Waltzing into my den, telling me I gotta join him or get arrested and stupid me, I go along with it.” He frowned harshly, hands tightening. Fireflight- afraid he’d break the container –placed his hands over Sandstorm’s, trying to get him to loosen his grip without making him stop speaking. “Stupid slagger deserved it.”
Fireflight froze. “Don’t say that,” he said in a stunned hush. Sandstorm looked up at him, optic band narrowed and yanked his hands free, container and energon spilling across the floor as he pushed off the berth.
“Why not? I had it right the first time- trust no one but yourself, believe in no one but yourself. Caring for others is just going to get you hurt. Friendship, family, love- all that’s just useless slag for someone to make a chump out of you with!” He paced angrily around Fireflight’s quarters. “So let’s all just have a big fragging laugh at me- the ‘bot that just goes around using everyone to his own ends, the one that has no idea how to care about anyone, ruins everyone he ever meets- hiding like some spark-broken fledgling! I hate that smug, obnoxious bastard!” Fireflight winced as Sandstorm’s fist slammed into the bulkhead, denting it.
“Well I’m glad he’s dead!” He went on, not noticing or ignoring the brief sparking at his knuckles, vocalizer rising in volume as he went on. “Always made everything look so fragging effortless, so damned self-sacrificing and noble and so sickeningly full of himself! He had everything anyone could want and it still wasn’t good enough for him! No- he had to go out and make things better for everyone, had to be such a slagging martyr! And everyone loved him for it! His own two loved him for it! Because they knew he always loved them best!”
“Sandstorm-“
He whirled around. “I can’t do that, Fireflight! Primus knows I tried but I’m not Springer! I can’t be anything like him! All that slotting heroism and compassionate slag came natural to him but I’m not and I won’t ever be like that! No matter how badly I want to change I can’t! I’m selfish, I’m an opportunist, I lie and I cheat and I use others and I can’t bring myself to care about anyone because I’m too slotting scared! I want to be able to make you happy and I want to do right but I can’t because you’ll ruin me and I hate that I can’t let you in and I wish I could be what you need but I’m not! I- I just-“ His mouth clicked shut and the battlemask slid into place, making him practically featureless, closing him off entirely from Fireflight. “I can’t see you again.”
Before Fireflight could stop him, Sandstorm spun and charged out the door. He nearly knocked over the other Aerialbots who stood outside, drawn by all the yelling, and they watched him go, too shocked to do otherwise. They exchanged looks, then turned to Fireflight who half-stood from his berth. “What the slag just happened?”
“I…” he put a hand to his face, processor whirling dizzyingly. “I need some time to think, please.” Fireflight’s spark hammered wildly, and all he could clearly think about was ‘Sandstorm, you idiot’.
~*~*~*~
Ratchet came up to where Blaster was standing at the glass of intensive care, observing. “How’s he doing?” the communications officer asked quietly.
The CMO sighed. “Stable. That’s probably the best we can say for now, and that’s being generous.”
“Is that a good thing?”
There was a long pause as Ratchet tried to sort his words properly. “In his current state, yes. In the long run, no. There’s nothing you or I can do for him. If there were we would’ve done it. This is beyond us.”
“We can’t just abandon him.”
“Of course not,” Ratchet said a little sharply, indignant at the thought. “Not when he needs us most.”
Blaster nodded, optics never wavering from the scene before him. “And Kup?”
“Status hasn’t changed, but with the rate his progress has been going it’s not too much of a surprise. There’s still a good chance he’ll recover enough to be coherent. A full recovery is far too optimistic.”
The two lapsed into silence and watched Hot Rod’s back as he sat by Kup’s inert form. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but they could read the young mech’s movements well enough. With Springer’s death, the Wreckers seemed to be dissolving. Arcee threw herself into everything and anything in hopes she’d exhaust herself too much to think about the situation. And Hot Rod needed someone to be there for him, someone that understood him, and even if Kup couldn’t listen and respond, it was more than what Hot Rod was getting from anyone else. He knew Kup could help him, he’d know what to do and say, he knew what it would take to get Hot Rod going again. He knew Kup could do it because he was Hot Rod’s mentor, he was Springer’s mentor, and Springer believed in Kup like Hot Rod did in Springer.
After some time, Hot Rod placed Kup’s lax hand back on the berth and gave it a squeeze and a pat- a habit he’d picked up watching Springer sit in this same seat, talking to him. Always the last thing he’d do before getting up to leave. Hot Rod’s optics flickered to Blaster and Ratchet. The red mech nodded at him, the white watched Kup with a sorrowful expression. As Hot Rod left intensive care, Blaster came up to him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You mind if we talk?” Blaster’s hand came up to touch the back of Hot Rod’s arm, just enough to guide if he was willing to follow. Wordlessly, Hot Rod accepted.
They walked out of the medbay, and as they walked, silence and cut-off conversations followed them. No one would meet Hot Rod’s optics; they all shifted uncomfortably as he passed. It was almost like every time anything happened to him, really. Whenever he got promoted, when he was given his first command, whenever a mission didn’t go as planned. They wanted him to get knocked down, and he knew it. Because he was young and brash and they thought every chance he’d ever gotten was just given to him. They wanted him to fail, and they hated themselves every time he did, because whenever he failed it was at the cost of someone’s life, and they saw clearly how a part of Hot Rod died with them.
“Well?” he asked after some time. “What did you want to talk about?”
“How you’re holding up, for one thing,” Blaster said as they walked shoulder to shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back.
“How am I supposed to be?” It was a valid question, no attempt at sarcasm, and Blaster could see the honestly lost expression deep in Hot Rod’s optics. “Do you know what’s it’s like to lose someone like this?”
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s like to have everyone you love drifting away, just as lost as you?”
“No.”
Hot Rod stopped in the middle of the hall, his faceplate strained and pleading along the cracks. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It hurts and I don’t know how to get rid of it. I just want him back.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Springer used to joke about some adage about the bonded unable to live without each other. He used to say that he could live without me or Arcee, but why would he want to?” Hot Rod’s lips pulled down in a harsh frown as he tried to control his emotions. “I’ve found myself wondering the same thing just about every damn klik and I can’t find an answer.” His optics searched Blaster’s pleadingly. “How am I supposed to be holding up?”
Blaster grabbed Hot Rod’s arm and squeezed it tight. “Just live for now. If that’s all you can do, it’s enough for right now.”
“And when it won’t be enough?”
“I’ll pray that day never comes.”
~*~*~*~
It wasn’t the first time Roadbuster had ever stood in Prime’s office on his own, but it was a rare occurrence, and the last time hadn’t been long after Optimus ascended to his current rank. Roadbuster remembered that meeting clearly- Optimus Prime had just gotten Springer’s request to develop a strike force whose specific purpose was to go into the worst of situations to fight and get ‘bots out of danger. Given Springer’s recent return after a less than amicable departure from the Security Force and given Roadbuster’s own high rank and the request to have him reassigned under Springer, the new Prime had called him in for his opinion.
Roadbuster never once regretted convincing Optimus Prime that it was the best course of action.
The Autobot leader nodded to the other mech and held out a hand, indicating for Roadbuster to have a seat. It felt a little awkward for him to do so; on the occasional time he came in here after the creation of the Wreckers, Roadbuster always stood in the back by the door as Springer sat and talked with Prime.
“Roadbuster,” he said with a tone not nearly as distant as he generally used, “thank you for coming.” Not knowing what he should say, the combat vehicle merely nodded in return. “I hope your Wreckers are doing well.”
“As well as they can, I suppose.”
Optimus Prime nodded. “I understand. This is a difficult time for all of you- for many of us. Springer was a great friend to so many and an inspiration to all. It…” Optimus Prime’s optics faded ever so slightly. “It is a tragedy to lose someone like him.” Sometimes, Roadbuster recalled, it was a little tough to remember that the two leaders had an odd sort of relationship between them. Not exactly close, but something that teetered just on the other side of two officers working in tandem. Optimus depended on Springer to do what most couldn’t, to be unafraid to disagree and give often blunt advice. Between Springer, Blaster and Jazz, the leader got the most accurate mental state of his troops. And Optimus Prime had values and beliefs very similar to the ones Springer held, was unafraid to seek advice when he knew he needed it, and he knew how to be grateful to those that risked their lives and oftentimes lost them. Roadbuster wondered a little grimly how often Optimus Prime grieved.
“Even if it was the way he wanted to go,” Roadbuster added gruffly. The thought didn’t take away any of the sting.
The Autobot leader let out a shuddering gust of air from his vents. He looked at Roadbuster with weary optics and knew there would never be an easy way to breech the subject. “Roadbuster, I’m elevating you as leader of the Wreckers.”
Green visor flaring in shock, Roadbuster stammered. “M-Me? I… I can’t!” He never once imagined himself leading the Wreckers, never wanted to. Because that would mean Springer was… he…
Optimus Prime knew why Roadbuster ‘couldn’t’, and Prime folded his hands together, wishing he didn’t have to force this upon the mech. “If you will not, who would you let be in charge of you?” The combat vehicle didn’t say anything, could barely force out any noises from his vocalizer. “There is no one else capable of leading the Wreckers, Roadbuster. You are second in command and have proven on more than several occasions you are able to lead the strike force on your own. You’re intelligent, a strong fighter and tactician and you know the Wreckers better than anyone.”
Springer knows us better than anyone, he didn’t say. Optimus Prime went on, not privy to the heaviness weighing in Roadbuster’s spark, “If you won’t lead them and no one else can, then I’ll have no choice but to abolish the Wreckers.”
That caused Roadbuster to snap his head up. “You can’t! I… what would we do? Where would we go?”
“You would be put where you’re needed most. Most likely,” and this was not a threat, this was the honest truth, and Roadbuster could see it clearly, “you would be separated. There are many outposts that can use your individual skills, and we need strong leaders.”
“Strong we may be,” Roadbuster said lowly, softly, “but Wreckers don’t listen to just anyone. We need a leader stronger than us, someone that knows when to give and when to take. We need someone that can accept us for what we are and show us how we can be better. The kind of leader we need isn’t one that can be found just anywhere. Can’t even be created.” He looked at his hands clenched and shaking lightly against his thighs. “A leader like that has to be forged, has to know how to learn from their mistakes. The leader we need has to be able to understand when we need an officer and when we need a soldier.” The leader they needed was Springer.
“Take command, Roadbuster,” Optimus Prime urged quietly. “You know what they need, you know how they work. There is no one better suited for this than you and they need you to take charge.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? They listen to you, you know how to command.”
“I’m not Springer.”
Optics softened at him. “No. You’re not. And they wouldn’t want you to be. I know how hard it is to have this responsibility suddenly pushed upon you.” Prime lifted his folded hands up, propping up his chin. “I know it’s difficult and I know it’s frightening, but it must be done. If not by you than by someone else. Can you trust anyone else to leader the Wreckers?”
“…no.”
“You are more than capable,” Optimus Prime told him. “Do not shortchange yourself, don’t underestimate your ability or your importance. And don’t underestimate the respect your teammates have for you.” The mech stood, went around his desk, and placed a hand on Roadbuster’s shoulder. “Take some time and think about it. Talk to the other Wreckers. Decide carefully and then let me know your decision. No matter your answer, it shall be honored. And no one will judge you for the choice you make.”
Roadbuster couldn’t look him in the optics and just said, “Yessir.”
As he left Prime’s office, Roadbuster radioed for the other Wreckers to meet him in Xantium’s common area. The six of them were waiting for him when he got there, and he realized that this was the first time since everything had happened that they were called together like this. And he didn’t think he’d ever seen them so disillusioned, so down-sparked. Even after everything they went though, the strike force was now on the verge of collapse, and Roadbuster knew he wasn’t the mech that could keep them together.
He stood before the quiet assembly, only half there, each mostly dwelling in some shelter within, unable or unwilling to weather the truth that shattered their confidence. He stood there and told them what Optimus Prime told him, and he waited for the hint of understanding to beam at him from faded optics.
Whirl, possibly the most stubborn, independent and anti-social mech of the group, spoke first. “I don’t want to leave,” he said simply. “Even if we couldn’t be Wreckers, I don’t want to leave any of you. This is the only place that’s ever felt like home to me. If you become our new commander, I’ll still be here next to you.” Roadbuster felt his internals quiver, and as other voices came up in quiet agreement, it gave him something Roadbuster hadn’t realized he’d given up on: hope.
A few were silent, however, and Roadbuster watched them avoid his gaze. He knew Topspin’s faith in himself as both a medic and friend had collapsed- medbay still a mess, no supplies reordered –and the arrangement between Sandstorm and Springer- exchanging incarceration for time in service –had long since been honored. It was Scoop’s avoidance that surprised the combat vehicle, watching the digger duck his head and press his lips together. It shook what little confidence Whirl inspired because it made Roadbuster remember just exactly who it was he wasn’t.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he told them slowly. “I know this is a big change and I know I can’t be what Springer w-“ His vocalizer fritzed and Roadbuster paused, trying to gather himself again. “I can only do what I’ve always done, and if you don’t feel you can continue under my command, no one will think less of you. Consider carefully and do what you believe is best. That’s all I can ever ask of you.” He looked about the group one last time before he nodded them dismissed. Then Roadbuster turned and walked out of the room to let them decide on their own.
