![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ajremixTitle: No Survivors 8
Fandom: Transformers IDW
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4843
Characters: Roadbuster, Smokescreen, Hot Rod, Prowl, Arcee
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
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
To say he was surprised to find Smokescreen at the door was an understatement. He hadn’t expected the tactician, wasn’t expecting anyone, and honestly didn’t want to see them even if he was. But Smokescreen was there, and though his expression was mild, the way he held himself told Roadbuster he wasn’t about to leave any time soon.
So he stepped back and swept a silent hand out, beckoning the smaller mech in. “Do you need something?” he asked gruffly. “Sandstorm’s doing better. He’s in the common room with the others.”
“I know. He dropped me a line a couple cycles ago, along with a resupply request. So did Topspin.” Smokescreen walked along Spr- Roadbuster’s new office. It was the first time he’d ever been there, and yet somehow it didn’t seem to him like Roadbuster had changed one thing about it. “I’m not here to talk to them,” Smokescreen said, turning with his doorwings flared high. It made him look larger (though still ridiculously small in comparison to the Wrecker) and was an indication that he would not be moved until he felt like it. “I’m here to speak with you.”
Something twinged uncomfortably inside Roadbuster. “About what?”
“I want you to do me a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I just want you to say these words: Springer is dead.”
Roadbuster stiffened, and his optic band flashed. Not angrily as Smokescreen had hoped they would, but in a panic. “What? No!”
The blue and red mech pressed his lips in a thin line. He figured Roadbuster was in denial after he had talked to the other Wreckers (none of them had admitted to requesting he speak to their new CO, but they all asked he go through with it regardless) and could see he wasn’t at all wrong. “Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“No! It’s stupid and a waste of time! I’m not saying anything!”
“Say it, Roadbuster,” Smokescreen pressed. “Humor an old friend. Say the words.”
His steely optic band glared fiercely at the tactician, but Smokescreen paid the animosity no mind. He just stood patiently, quietly urging Roadbuster to do as he said. Finally, gruffly, Roadbuster said it:
“Springer is dead.”
And then, suddenly, the reality, the weight of those words that he had tried so desperately to hold back for so long crashed down on him. “He’s dead,” he repeated. “He’s dead, and he’s not coming back.” His shoulders bowed and his head fell. “It’s not fair. How could he do this to me? How could he just leave us like that?” Hands gripped at his helmet, and Roadbuster’s fans whirled loudly in his head, trying to cool stressing circuits.
“We weren’t- we didn’t- Primus, both of us knew we wouldn’t survive the war. We knew that but I-I… I always thought… I never once believed he’d die before me. It just… I knew he could die, I’ve seen him come close so many times and I’m not stupid but I just never thought…
“I don’t want to survive him!” He sobbed, beginning to shake so hard that Smokescreen had to take him by the arm and guide him to a seat. “He’s my best friend, my brother, and it seems like we’ve never been apart and- how could he do this? Just left everyone who ever cared about him- left us all on our own. What are we supposed to do without him? What do we do with ourselves? I’m not as strong as he was, Smokescreen, I can’t be the kind of pillar he was, I don’t have the kind of unwavering faith he had!”
The smaller mech just perched himself on the arm of the chair, leaned over, and could just barely put his arms across those broad shoulders to hold him close. Smokescreen made soothing little noises, ran comforting touches along the heavy armored planes, but said nothing. Just sat and let Roadbuster pour out with every fear and inadequacy and sorrow and misplaced feelings of resentment and guilt that had been building inside of him for too long.
And he poured and poured and wasn’t aware of half the things he said or if any of his words were lining up right, they just fell out of his mouth one after another. He shook and he grieved and he sobbed and he clutched back at Smokescreen as his systems whined harshly, fans and vents whirring up and internals strained and heated. Roadbuster realized, at some point in the back of his processor, a point he wouldn’t consciously know he had already come to accept until some time later, that he understood so perfectly well why Springer had needed Arcee and Hot Rod so badly. He told Smokescreen things he wouldn’t have been able to tell the other Wreckers, things he wouldn’t ever have whispered to Xantium, things he probably wouldn’t even had admitted to Springer even if he had the chance to at that moment. But he could tell Smokescreen because it wouldn’t affect how the two worked together, it wouldn’t change how they saw each other. The gates had been opened and Smokescreen was there to catch each little word and shiver and trembled emotion in a bucket to lock away and keep safe where they’d never haunt Roadbuster again.
At some point Roadbuster had fallen silent. Smokescreen- having to lean over with his head pressed against the back of the Wrecker’s neck in order to hold him –didn’t say anything, just rocked a little and let his engine hum. Roadbuster rocked with him and rumbled in return. Eventually, when the rocking slowed and stopped and when Roadbuster lifted a hand to squeeze lightly at Smokescreen’s wrist, the tactician felt the need to ask.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better, I guess,” Roadbuster said hoarsely, sounding extremely exhausted and low, and his voice didn’t have the usual muffled tone Smokescreen was used to. He pulled back just enough to turn his head, catching sight of the combat vehicle’s exposed profile- battlemask retracted probably to let the air flow into his internals uninhibited. Smokescreen was a little surprised to find Roadbusters optics was far bluer than his visor suggested.
“You can’t keep hiding these things,” he said softly. “If you can’t tell your team, there’s plenty of others willing to be there for you. There is me.”
Roadbuster nodded his head, bumping lightly against the other ‘bot. He was tired now, slouched back almost supportlessly in the chair, in Smokescreen’s arms and felt completely empty inside. And in the wake of that emptiness it was like… like a wall had broken down in him. He didn’t have all these feeling blocked up within, and for the first time since Springer’s death, despite the sluggish process and unfocused firing of synapse, Roadbuster felt he was thinking clearly. He remembered with an amount of clarity and a certain measure of horror how he had been acting- Springer would’ve been ashamed.
“I need to talk to the others,” he mumbled, and it was almost surreal placing a mouth and a face to that voice, overlaying it on the all-too familiar mask and visor. It wasn’t a face made to be pretty; it was a harsh cut, as heavy and capable as the rest of him, and it looked, with the faded and spent optics and the worn edges of downturned lips, so very old. But it fit surprisingly easily to that rough tone. “They don’t deserve this kind of treatment. I need to tell them-“
“It can wait,” Smokescreen said softly. “You need to rest and you need to think about what your next step is going to be. I’ll talk to them, let them know that you’re okay and you’ll want to meet with them later. But you need to refuel and recharge. I won’t let you do anything else.”
The idea that Smokescreen could ‘let’ Roadbuster do anything (even though he knew the other mech’s idea made too much sense) made him chuckle through his vents.
“Alright,” he said at last, giving the arm around him another grateful squeeze. “Thank you.” He stood and felt the weariness hanging on his body as if all his energy was seeping out in a slow, steady trickle. It still hurt inside, and there was still a painful void where his best friend’s presence once filled, but Roadbuster was still alive. He could still function.
He went to the door and paused for just a moment, looking back at Smokescreen. He didn’t say anything before he disappeared around the corner, but he didn’t have to. Smokescreen could see it in his optics, the line of his mouth and soft, almost imperceptible nodded of his head.
The Wreckers were coming back on track. No one could say they’d ever truly be able to get over this loss, but they were on their feet and ready to fight again. That’s all anyone could ever ask of them.
~*~*~*~
“Hot Rod.”
The young mech turned and saw Prowl standing at the doors. “Hey, Prowl.” He didn’t try to fake any kind of normalcy, but at least he wasn’t dragging himself along anymore. “Didn’t expect you to come down for a visit.”
Prowl’s optics flickered briefly to where Springer’s hologram grinned translucently over Hot Rod’s spoiler. “I wasn’t. I came to speak to you.”
“Alright. Just lemme finish up here.” Hot Rod turned back to the memorial and bowed his head, lips moving silently. Prowl came up beside him and bowed his own. He promised, to the best of his ability, to take care of Arcee, Hot Rod, the Wreckers, to bring back Kup, and to remember the lessons he learned from the triplechanger. As he finished, Hot Rod reached out a little awkwardly to pat the marker. When he turned to leave, Prowl left with him.
Once out of the memorial hall, Prowl said, “I saw you’re back on the active duty roster.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you still plan on doing primarily solo missions?”
“If you have an angle to this conversation, just come out and say it. I don’t feel like playing word games.”
“The Wreckers still do not have full ranks.”
Hot Rod fell silent, and his step faltered just a little. Prowl wondered if he was pressing too quickly, but Hot Rod’s resilience was slowly returning to him. “And you think I should apply for it, huh?”
“You are talented,” the tactician said honestly. “And you have intelligence and experience. You still have your impulsive and brash behavior to contend with, but the Wreckers have no lack of that, either.” There was a long pause, and Hot Rod stayed quiet, sensing Prowl had something else to say. “I never did like sending anyone out alone on seemingly impossible missions.”
“No one deserves to die alone,” Hot Rod quoted. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“He wasn’t wrong. Even if he couldn’t hold himself up to his own standard as often as he wanted.”
“Springer never gave up and he never rested if there was something going on.”
No, he didn’t. And Prowl often thought he’d run himself and his team down like that. Yet they thrived. “He hated you going on those missions.”
“Yeah. We got into fights about it a lot.”
“He blamed me for those missions, you know.” To Prowl’s mild surprise (and relief and amusement), Hot Rod laughed. Springer blamed the black and white for everything he couldn’t pin on anyone else. Not because he seriously thought it was Prowl’s fault, but just because- in Springer’s words –he could. He never needed a reason, did it because he felt like it, and it always made for a good story to retell as Prowl’s overabundance of logic circuits couldn’t get away without finding and understand the purpose of how, exactly, he was even connected to the subject in question. They were stories Springer regaled Hot Rod with to pass the time or bring the young mech out of a funk.
“I considered,” Hot Rod said softly, “on more than one occasion, while he was alive, about joining the Wreckers. I wanted to be close to him, keep an optic on him. But I knew the other Wreckers looked out for him- better than I could. And I knew he needed me most to not be one of them.”
Prowl nodded in agreement. “Your relationship probably wouldn’t have survived. Springer’s sanity probably wouldn’t have survived.”
“Probably not. Sometimes I wonder, if it wasn’t for his command, would he even need me or Arcee the way he did? He loved them so much I think it’s just because he needed to keep some sort of distance that he could even love the two of us like he did.”
“No. The level of devotion Springer had for you and Arcee was one I’ve seen few display. I don’t think he loved the Wreckers over you- or you over them. I believe he just loved you differently. What he had for them was a trust and camaraderie born out of necessity. He loved them because he cared and if he didn’t care he wouldn’t have been able to keep the Wreckers together and have them working so efficiently. He loved the two of you partly because he needed someone that wasn’t under his command, yes, but because you gave him something he was lacking.”
Hot Rod- surprised to be getting an opinion of his relationship from Prowl of all mechs –looked at him curiously. “What?”
“Balance. Perspective.” The tactician gave Hot Rod a sidelong look. “Hope.”
He turned the words over in his processor, seeing how they fit within his own view. “You know,” he said at length, a little experimentally, “with how well the two of you seem to understand each other sometimes, I just don’t get why you were never friends.”
Very slightly the edge of Prowl’s lips turned up. “I don’t believe it was either of our intentions to be less than professional with each other at the least. It was just the culmination of long years and many arguments. We were practically fledglings in the academy, still trying to understand the kind of mechs we were and suddenly we had to contend with understanding someone that shook up our views of others and ourselves.” This time he gave a soft chuckle. “I won’t deny Springer prepared me for dealing with Jazz and the twins among others.”
“You got something out of it,” Hot Rod agreed. “I’m sure he’d be happy enough with just that.”
“Indeed.”
They walked along the hall in a contemplative silence. Then, quietly- as if he didn’t want to scare himself –the red mech said, “Maybe I’ll put in for the slot. The Wreckers were an important part of him. I… I’d like to be part of that.”
Prowl nodded. “I’ll alert Prime on your intention and forward the corresponding forms to you.”
“Thanks, Prowl. For a lot of things.”
The smile, though unfamiliar on the mech, strangely didn’t seem out of place. “It’s no problem at all.”
~*~*~*~
It was surprising how a simple phrase could change someone so utterly. It wasn’t that Roadbuster was ignorant to the things going on around him, but being forced to really see the death of his best friend and accept that it had happened he felt… well, not better exactly. It didn’t make the pain easier to bear, but it did make it easier for him to look the rest of his team in the optics. He had come to accept that it wasn’t the other Wreckers that were looking at Roadbuster as trying to take Springer’s place, but Roadbuster himself. He felt like an intruder, a traitor trying to slip into a position that wasn’t his because a part of him had wanted so desperately to believe that Springer would return.
But he wasn’t going to, and Roadbuster had wrestled with the realization that he was taking on the role that Springer had entrusted him with the day he was asked to become second in command.
For the first time since relaying Optimus Prime’s offer, Roadbuster had called the Wreckers together. For the first time since the briefing before their last mission, Roadbuster refused to hide from his team- his family –any longer.
He asked them, lowly, humbly, to accept his apologies for not being the kind of leader they needed him to be. He asked them, after he tied up probably the most important loose end, to meet with him later, and they’d finally be a team again.
Scoop piped up before anyone else had a chance to. “We’ll be there,” he said, a gentle determination in his optics. “All of us.”
Roadbuster smiled down at him- at all of them –and knew they’d be able to get through this together.
But not yet. Not just yet. What he had to do wasn’t to be done by the leader of the Wreckers, but as a mech looking after the ones he had promised, so long ago, to take care of. The three of them sat in Hot Rod’s quarters- the red mech’s youthful exuberance tempered with loss but the boundless energy that had initially attracted Springer was slowly returning. Arcee was looking more rested, beginning to look as if she had remembered how to be comfortable in her body again. They were both shaken up, would probably always be shaken up because there could never be enough millennia to ever truly get over losing what they had. They knew and accepted this and resigned themselves to feeling that dull ache until their bodies finally gave out. Just as Roadbuster had come to accept it.
They spoke quietly, a little awkwardly, these two parts of Springer that he could never have done without, the two parts of his life that revolved around him, that he loved equally and dearly and differently. These two parts that acknowledged each other and knew that the other half was just as important to Springer as they were, they saw each other and knew each other and respected each other for what they did for the triplechanger and yet rarely actually interacted.
The conversation was stunted and broken, filled with long pauses and an uncomfortable air. But they talked regardless. Because both parts were so important to Springer. Neither side could have ever asked him to choose one over the other; they’d have better luck asking him to split his spark in two. So they sat and forced through these uncomfortable walls with each other because the other was so important to the mech they loved so deeply, a mech who lived and loved without reservations. There was no better way to celebrate his vitality than with the ones that meant so much to him.
They reflected on the times spent with Springer, how they each met and had come to regard the green mech as possibly the most important ‘bot they’d ever had the privilege to know. They snickered to themselves, remembering how the relationship between Springer and Arcee probably wouldn’t have happened at all if the Wreckers hadn’t pranked the two of them. And as Springer babbled apology after apology to the femme, trying to make her understand that it wasn’t his fault and he wanted to make it up to her, Arcee found she was seeing who the mech was under all the confidence and larger-than-life rumors. She saw that he was still susceptible to self-doubt, had such a strong moral code and compassion and that he could never seem to let go of his guilt, even if it wasn’t his to take. He cared too much, worried too much, and every failure was likely to break him down, and he’d still set himself up for it every time because it was better than not caring enough. Arcee had found it beautiful and intriguing, and she wanted to be the one to hold his confidence when he couldn’t, to tell him when he was wrong or right, be the one Springer lost himself in when his responsibilities were just too much to carry.
They talked about how Springer would sit for cycles on end with Hot Rod and just talk with him quietly after he had lost his first command. He told the younger mech that they all lose ‘bots, no matter how much they don’t want to, and even if he didn’t want to, he had to accept that possibility; the key was to prevent it as much as possible. He didn’t coddle Hot Rod during that time, just told him exactly how it was, told him how much it would hurt and that Hot Rod wouldn’t be able to look back upon that moment without beating himself up. Just like Springer would look back on all his failures- it never mattered if the mission itself was a success; if he lost a ‘bot in his command, it was always a failure in his view –and wish he had done something differently. When he walked about with Hot Rod, Springer didn’t snarl or threaten anyone that spoke ill of Hot Rod because he wouldn’t always be there to protect him; he had to learn how to let those words roll off his back. But when he was alone, Springer’s hands would capture arms or shoulders or necks, and he’d hiss lowly that even if he wasn’t always there, he’d hear what others had to say, and there’d be no one around to stop him from doing what he’d will.
They remembered the Wreckers’ first mission, when the roster was just four of them and they’d have to fly around in shuttles from base to base. Prowl had denied the request to create the strike force, kept it from going up to Sentinel Prime’s consideration back when the revolt had grown in a wildfire pace and before Prime had been killed. Remembered how torqued Prowl had been when he found out Springer had gone over his head and submitted that same request to the new Prime before he barely had time to settle into the position. Even after all he’d seen and all he’d done, Springer was so young and brash, then. Almost painfully so. And Roadbuster had been so disillusioned with the Security Force and that so many of the officers around him were all data-pushers who had no idea the first thing about tactics. They’d both jumped headlong into the idea of the Wreckers, of getting to do what they were created to do and had struggled so long and so hard to be good at. They finally had that chance, and they were so mortifyingly overconfident in everything that sometimes Roadbuster was surprised they survived those times at all. He supposed it could have been chalked up to the fact that such outright war was still so new to everyone, then. The two of them had slightly more practical battle experience than others in the war, and that made all the difference in the universe. If they had acted now as they did back then, Roadbuster didn’t doubt the lot of them would’ve been killed in an instant.
They spoke quietly and haltingly about Springer and what he’d done for them, what they wanted to do for him until Arcee’s chronometer went off, alerting her to the fact her shift was going to be starting up soon. Roadbuster took that moment to take something from one of his compartments and set two pieces of metal down before them. The two halves of Springer’s spark casing.
Neither Hot Rod or Arcee reached for them, but they looked up at Roadbuster with relieved smiles. “He did it?”
Roadbuster merely nodded. “Topspin and I discussed it. Since you two were the most important ones to Springer, we believe you should have these.”
They looked down at the spark casing halves and felt emotions getting caught in their internals. To know that Springer’s final passage had been complete, that he would be rejoined with his closest brothers and friends brought such a profound relief to the two of them. “Thank you,” they said quietly. “Thank you for always looking after him and caring for him and being with him to the end.”
The combat vehicle folded his large hands together, echoing their sentiment, glad that Springer’s body was no longer in that strange limbo between death and rebirth. No one ‘bot was ever truly alone, each having a part of someone dear to them inside and sitting there with those two halves- they had sat so small in his palms, so fragile and so important –the old adage of ‘Till all are one’ echoed in his processor. “Everything else is still being sorted, I’ll be by later to let you know when it’s complete.”
Arcee reached forward and pushed half of the spark casing back towards Roadbuster. “Keep it,” she said with a small, sad smile. “You meant as much to him as we did.” When she said ‘you’, somehow Roadbuster knew she meant the Wreckers and him, separate and the same. “You were something to Springer we could never have been, and you brought him back to us so many times. You love him as much as we do, and you deserve it just as much.”
“I… thank you.”
The femme didn’t say anything more, just stood up, pulled Hot Rod into a quick, tight hug, and then moved toward Roadbuster. She was so very small in comparison to him, even smaller than Smokescreen but her hug was just as powerful and just as needed. Roadbuster felt, with her tiny pale arms around his neck, that he really, truly understood these two that were so important to his best friend. The Wreckers respected them for what they did to Springer, but they had never gone out of their way to connect with them. They trusted Springer to be that bridge between those two parts of his lives.
And yet, really, he still was what brought them all together and kept them together. Springer still was and forever would be part of their lives.
Roadbuster brought up a hand to give Arcee’s arm a gentle squeeze. Neither of them had to say anything, but they could still feel that connection so plainly. Words would have just gotten in their way. She pulled back, her smile lighter than it had been when the Wrecker had come in earlier, and she waved the two mechs farewell before leaving Hot Rod’s quarters.
The remaining two sat quietly. Roadbuster eventually broached with, “I saw the request you put in.” Hot Rod said nothing but looked at him with surprisingly calm blue optics. “I’d like to ask why.”
He spread his hands out. “I meet all the requirements needed to join the Wreckers, I have plenty of field experience, and I have a variety of talents I’m certain you could make use of.”
“Do you expect us to choose you over the thousands others just as qualified as you because you meant something to Springer?” It was not a vindictive question and Hot Rod knew it was going to be asked- had hoped it would be. Because if it wasn’t, then joining the Wreckers would have been a mistake.
“No. I expect- if it does happen –to have been chosen because you need what I have, because you know that I can bring something to your team that no one else can.”
“Why did you decide to apply now?”
There were so many things Hot Rod could have answered that with. Because he wanted to find a place that truly felt like home now that his was shattered. Because he wanted to put Springer’s biggest worry with him to rest. Because he wanted to touch that part of Springer that Hot Rod could never have been a part of earlier. Even though all of those reasons were true in their own way, none of them was the actual truth.
“I applied because I needed to,” he said honestly. “Because if I didn’t, I’d be empty inside. I want to be a part of something bigger than me. It’s time that I grew up and really started thinking beyond myself. Even though I made Springer proud with the things I’ve done, I always left him worrying about me- both him and Arcee. All she has left is me, now. I can’t put her through that worry of me being on my own anymore. I can’t break her like that. She’s all that I have left.”
They sat in a long stretch of silence.
“I can’t make this decision just on my own, you know.”
“I know.”
Roadbuster nodded and stood up. “I’ll discuss this with the other Wreckers. I just wanted to understand where you were coming from.”
“Of course.” Hot Rod stood and followed him to the door. “Thank you for coming, Roadbuster. You and the other Wreckers will always be welcomed. You know that.”
He did, but it somehow seemed more real with Hot Rod actually saying it. “Thank you.”
Fandom: Transformers IDW
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4843
Characters: Roadbuster, Smokescreen, Hot Rod, Prowl, Arcee
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
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
To say he was surprised to find Smokescreen at the door was an understatement. He hadn’t expected the tactician, wasn’t expecting anyone, and honestly didn’t want to see them even if he was. But Smokescreen was there, and though his expression was mild, the way he held himself told Roadbuster he wasn’t about to leave any time soon.
So he stepped back and swept a silent hand out, beckoning the smaller mech in. “Do you need something?” he asked gruffly. “Sandstorm’s doing better. He’s in the common room with the others.”
“I know. He dropped me a line a couple cycles ago, along with a resupply request. So did Topspin.” Smokescreen walked along Spr- Roadbuster’s new office. It was the first time he’d ever been there, and yet somehow it didn’t seem to him like Roadbuster had changed one thing about it. “I’m not here to talk to them,” Smokescreen said, turning with his doorwings flared high. It made him look larger (though still ridiculously small in comparison to the Wrecker) and was an indication that he would not be moved until he felt like it. “I’m here to speak with you.”
Something twinged uncomfortably inside Roadbuster. “About what?”
“I want you to do me a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I just want you to say these words: Springer is dead.”
Roadbuster stiffened, and his optic band flashed. Not angrily as Smokescreen had hoped they would, but in a panic. “What? No!”
The blue and red mech pressed his lips in a thin line. He figured Roadbuster was in denial after he had talked to the other Wreckers (none of them had admitted to requesting he speak to their new CO, but they all asked he go through with it regardless) and could see he wasn’t at all wrong. “Say it.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“No! It’s stupid and a waste of time! I’m not saying anything!”
“Say it, Roadbuster,” Smokescreen pressed. “Humor an old friend. Say the words.”
His steely optic band glared fiercely at the tactician, but Smokescreen paid the animosity no mind. He just stood patiently, quietly urging Roadbuster to do as he said. Finally, gruffly, Roadbuster said it:
“Springer is dead.”
And then, suddenly, the reality, the weight of those words that he had tried so desperately to hold back for so long crashed down on him. “He’s dead,” he repeated. “He’s dead, and he’s not coming back.” His shoulders bowed and his head fell. “It’s not fair. How could he do this to me? How could he just leave us like that?” Hands gripped at his helmet, and Roadbuster’s fans whirled loudly in his head, trying to cool stressing circuits.
“We weren’t- we didn’t- Primus, both of us knew we wouldn’t survive the war. We knew that but I-I… I always thought… I never once believed he’d die before me. It just… I knew he could die, I’ve seen him come close so many times and I’m not stupid but I just never thought…
“I don’t want to survive him!” He sobbed, beginning to shake so hard that Smokescreen had to take him by the arm and guide him to a seat. “He’s my best friend, my brother, and it seems like we’ve never been apart and- how could he do this? Just left everyone who ever cared about him- left us all on our own. What are we supposed to do without him? What do we do with ourselves? I’m not as strong as he was, Smokescreen, I can’t be the kind of pillar he was, I don’t have the kind of unwavering faith he had!”
The smaller mech just perched himself on the arm of the chair, leaned over, and could just barely put his arms across those broad shoulders to hold him close. Smokescreen made soothing little noises, ran comforting touches along the heavy armored planes, but said nothing. Just sat and let Roadbuster pour out with every fear and inadequacy and sorrow and misplaced feelings of resentment and guilt that had been building inside of him for too long.
And he poured and poured and wasn’t aware of half the things he said or if any of his words were lining up right, they just fell out of his mouth one after another. He shook and he grieved and he sobbed and he clutched back at Smokescreen as his systems whined harshly, fans and vents whirring up and internals strained and heated. Roadbuster realized, at some point in the back of his processor, a point he wouldn’t consciously know he had already come to accept until some time later, that he understood so perfectly well why Springer had needed Arcee and Hot Rod so badly. He told Smokescreen things he wouldn’t have been able to tell the other Wreckers, things he wouldn’t ever have whispered to Xantium, things he probably wouldn’t even had admitted to Springer even if he had the chance to at that moment. But he could tell Smokescreen because it wouldn’t affect how the two worked together, it wouldn’t change how they saw each other. The gates had been opened and Smokescreen was there to catch each little word and shiver and trembled emotion in a bucket to lock away and keep safe where they’d never haunt Roadbuster again.
At some point Roadbuster had fallen silent. Smokescreen- having to lean over with his head pressed against the back of the Wrecker’s neck in order to hold him –didn’t say anything, just rocked a little and let his engine hum. Roadbuster rocked with him and rumbled in return. Eventually, when the rocking slowed and stopped and when Roadbuster lifted a hand to squeeze lightly at Smokescreen’s wrist, the tactician felt the need to ask.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better, I guess,” Roadbuster said hoarsely, sounding extremely exhausted and low, and his voice didn’t have the usual muffled tone Smokescreen was used to. He pulled back just enough to turn his head, catching sight of the combat vehicle’s exposed profile- battlemask retracted probably to let the air flow into his internals uninhibited. Smokescreen was a little surprised to find Roadbusters optics was far bluer than his visor suggested.
“You can’t keep hiding these things,” he said softly. “If you can’t tell your team, there’s plenty of others willing to be there for you. There is me.”
Roadbuster nodded his head, bumping lightly against the other ‘bot. He was tired now, slouched back almost supportlessly in the chair, in Smokescreen’s arms and felt completely empty inside. And in the wake of that emptiness it was like… like a wall had broken down in him. He didn’t have all these feeling blocked up within, and for the first time since Springer’s death, despite the sluggish process and unfocused firing of synapse, Roadbuster felt he was thinking clearly. He remembered with an amount of clarity and a certain measure of horror how he had been acting- Springer would’ve been ashamed.
“I need to talk to the others,” he mumbled, and it was almost surreal placing a mouth and a face to that voice, overlaying it on the all-too familiar mask and visor. It wasn’t a face made to be pretty; it was a harsh cut, as heavy and capable as the rest of him, and it looked, with the faded and spent optics and the worn edges of downturned lips, so very old. But it fit surprisingly easily to that rough tone. “They don’t deserve this kind of treatment. I need to tell them-“
“It can wait,” Smokescreen said softly. “You need to rest and you need to think about what your next step is going to be. I’ll talk to them, let them know that you’re okay and you’ll want to meet with them later. But you need to refuel and recharge. I won’t let you do anything else.”
The idea that Smokescreen could ‘let’ Roadbuster do anything (even though he knew the other mech’s idea made too much sense) made him chuckle through his vents.
“Alright,” he said at last, giving the arm around him another grateful squeeze. “Thank you.” He stood and felt the weariness hanging on his body as if all his energy was seeping out in a slow, steady trickle. It still hurt inside, and there was still a painful void where his best friend’s presence once filled, but Roadbuster was still alive. He could still function.
He went to the door and paused for just a moment, looking back at Smokescreen. He didn’t say anything before he disappeared around the corner, but he didn’t have to. Smokescreen could see it in his optics, the line of his mouth and soft, almost imperceptible nodded of his head.
The Wreckers were coming back on track. No one could say they’d ever truly be able to get over this loss, but they were on their feet and ready to fight again. That’s all anyone could ever ask of them.
~*~*~*~
“Hot Rod.”
The young mech turned and saw Prowl standing at the doors. “Hey, Prowl.” He didn’t try to fake any kind of normalcy, but at least he wasn’t dragging himself along anymore. “Didn’t expect you to come down for a visit.”
Prowl’s optics flickered briefly to where Springer’s hologram grinned translucently over Hot Rod’s spoiler. “I wasn’t. I came to speak to you.”
“Alright. Just lemme finish up here.” Hot Rod turned back to the memorial and bowed his head, lips moving silently. Prowl came up beside him and bowed his own. He promised, to the best of his ability, to take care of Arcee, Hot Rod, the Wreckers, to bring back Kup, and to remember the lessons he learned from the triplechanger. As he finished, Hot Rod reached out a little awkwardly to pat the marker. When he turned to leave, Prowl left with him.
Once out of the memorial hall, Prowl said, “I saw you’re back on the active duty roster.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you still plan on doing primarily solo missions?”
“If you have an angle to this conversation, just come out and say it. I don’t feel like playing word games.”
“The Wreckers still do not have full ranks.”
Hot Rod fell silent, and his step faltered just a little. Prowl wondered if he was pressing too quickly, but Hot Rod’s resilience was slowly returning to him. “And you think I should apply for it, huh?”
“You are talented,” the tactician said honestly. “And you have intelligence and experience. You still have your impulsive and brash behavior to contend with, but the Wreckers have no lack of that, either.” There was a long pause, and Hot Rod stayed quiet, sensing Prowl had something else to say. “I never did like sending anyone out alone on seemingly impossible missions.”
“No one deserves to die alone,” Hot Rod quoted. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“He wasn’t wrong. Even if he couldn’t hold himself up to his own standard as often as he wanted.”
“Springer never gave up and he never rested if there was something going on.”
No, he didn’t. And Prowl often thought he’d run himself and his team down like that. Yet they thrived. “He hated you going on those missions.”
“Yeah. We got into fights about it a lot.”
“He blamed me for those missions, you know.” To Prowl’s mild surprise (and relief and amusement), Hot Rod laughed. Springer blamed the black and white for everything he couldn’t pin on anyone else. Not because he seriously thought it was Prowl’s fault, but just because- in Springer’s words –he could. He never needed a reason, did it because he felt like it, and it always made for a good story to retell as Prowl’s overabundance of logic circuits couldn’t get away without finding and understand the purpose of how, exactly, he was even connected to the subject in question. They were stories Springer regaled Hot Rod with to pass the time or bring the young mech out of a funk.
“I considered,” Hot Rod said softly, “on more than one occasion, while he was alive, about joining the Wreckers. I wanted to be close to him, keep an optic on him. But I knew the other Wreckers looked out for him- better than I could. And I knew he needed me most to not be one of them.”
Prowl nodded in agreement. “Your relationship probably wouldn’t have survived. Springer’s sanity probably wouldn’t have survived.”
“Probably not. Sometimes I wonder, if it wasn’t for his command, would he even need me or Arcee the way he did? He loved them so much I think it’s just because he needed to keep some sort of distance that he could even love the two of us like he did.”
“No. The level of devotion Springer had for you and Arcee was one I’ve seen few display. I don’t think he loved the Wreckers over you- or you over them. I believe he just loved you differently. What he had for them was a trust and camaraderie born out of necessity. He loved them because he cared and if he didn’t care he wouldn’t have been able to keep the Wreckers together and have them working so efficiently. He loved the two of you partly because he needed someone that wasn’t under his command, yes, but because you gave him something he was lacking.”
Hot Rod- surprised to be getting an opinion of his relationship from Prowl of all mechs –looked at him curiously. “What?”
“Balance. Perspective.” The tactician gave Hot Rod a sidelong look. “Hope.”
He turned the words over in his processor, seeing how they fit within his own view. “You know,” he said at length, a little experimentally, “with how well the two of you seem to understand each other sometimes, I just don’t get why you were never friends.”
Very slightly the edge of Prowl’s lips turned up. “I don’t believe it was either of our intentions to be less than professional with each other at the least. It was just the culmination of long years and many arguments. We were practically fledglings in the academy, still trying to understand the kind of mechs we were and suddenly we had to contend with understanding someone that shook up our views of others and ourselves.” This time he gave a soft chuckle. “I won’t deny Springer prepared me for dealing with Jazz and the twins among others.”
“You got something out of it,” Hot Rod agreed. “I’m sure he’d be happy enough with just that.”
“Indeed.”
They walked along the hall in a contemplative silence. Then, quietly- as if he didn’t want to scare himself –the red mech said, “Maybe I’ll put in for the slot. The Wreckers were an important part of him. I… I’d like to be part of that.”
Prowl nodded. “I’ll alert Prime on your intention and forward the corresponding forms to you.”
“Thanks, Prowl. For a lot of things.”
The smile, though unfamiliar on the mech, strangely didn’t seem out of place. “It’s no problem at all.”
~*~*~*~
It was surprising how a simple phrase could change someone so utterly. It wasn’t that Roadbuster was ignorant to the things going on around him, but being forced to really see the death of his best friend and accept that it had happened he felt… well, not better exactly. It didn’t make the pain easier to bear, but it did make it easier for him to look the rest of his team in the optics. He had come to accept that it wasn’t the other Wreckers that were looking at Roadbuster as trying to take Springer’s place, but Roadbuster himself. He felt like an intruder, a traitor trying to slip into a position that wasn’t his because a part of him had wanted so desperately to believe that Springer would return.
But he wasn’t going to, and Roadbuster had wrestled with the realization that he was taking on the role that Springer had entrusted him with the day he was asked to become second in command.
For the first time since relaying Optimus Prime’s offer, Roadbuster had called the Wreckers together. For the first time since the briefing before their last mission, Roadbuster refused to hide from his team- his family –any longer.
He asked them, lowly, humbly, to accept his apologies for not being the kind of leader they needed him to be. He asked them, after he tied up probably the most important loose end, to meet with him later, and they’d finally be a team again.
Scoop piped up before anyone else had a chance to. “We’ll be there,” he said, a gentle determination in his optics. “All of us.”
Roadbuster smiled down at him- at all of them –and knew they’d be able to get through this together.
But not yet. Not just yet. What he had to do wasn’t to be done by the leader of the Wreckers, but as a mech looking after the ones he had promised, so long ago, to take care of. The three of them sat in Hot Rod’s quarters- the red mech’s youthful exuberance tempered with loss but the boundless energy that had initially attracted Springer was slowly returning. Arcee was looking more rested, beginning to look as if she had remembered how to be comfortable in her body again. They were both shaken up, would probably always be shaken up because there could never be enough millennia to ever truly get over losing what they had. They knew and accepted this and resigned themselves to feeling that dull ache until their bodies finally gave out. Just as Roadbuster had come to accept it.
They spoke quietly, a little awkwardly, these two parts of Springer that he could never have done without, the two parts of his life that revolved around him, that he loved equally and dearly and differently. These two parts that acknowledged each other and knew that the other half was just as important to Springer as they were, they saw each other and knew each other and respected each other for what they did for the triplechanger and yet rarely actually interacted.
The conversation was stunted and broken, filled with long pauses and an uncomfortable air. But they talked regardless. Because both parts were so important to Springer. Neither side could have ever asked him to choose one over the other; they’d have better luck asking him to split his spark in two. So they sat and forced through these uncomfortable walls with each other because the other was so important to the mech they loved so deeply, a mech who lived and loved without reservations. There was no better way to celebrate his vitality than with the ones that meant so much to him.
They reflected on the times spent with Springer, how they each met and had come to regard the green mech as possibly the most important ‘bot they’d ever had the privilege to know. They snickered to themselves, remembering how the relationship between Springer and Arcee probably wouldn’t have happened at all if the Wreckers hadn’t pranked the two of them. And as Springer babbled apology after apology to the femme, trying to make her understand that it wasn’t his fault and he wanted to make it up to her, Arcee found she was seeing who the mech was under all the confidence and larger-than-life rumors. She saw that he was still susceptible to self-doubt, had such a strong moral code and compassion and that he could never seem to let go of his guilt, even if it wasn’t his to take. He cared too much, worried too much, and every failure was likely to break him down, and he’d still set himself up for it every time because it was better than not caring enough. Arcee had found it beautiful and intriguing, and she wanted to be the one to hold his confidence when he couldn’t, to tell him when he was wrong or right, be the one Springer lost himself in when his responsibilities were just too much to carry.
They talked about how Springer would sit for cycles on end with Hot Rod and just talk with him quietly after he had lost his first command. He told the younger mech that they all lose ‘bots, no matter how much they don’t want to, and even if he didn’t want to, he had to accept that possibility; the key was to prevent it as much as possible. He didn’t coddle Hot Rod during that time, just told him exactly how it was, told him how much it would hurt and that Hot Rod wouldn’t be able to look back upon that moment without beating himself up. Just like Springer would look back on all his failures- it never mattered if the mission itself was a success; if he lost a ‘bot in his command, it was always a failure in his view –and wish he had done something differently. When he walked about with Hot Rod, Springer didn’t snarl or threaten anyone that spoke ill of Hot Rod because he wouldn’t always be there to protect him; he had to learn how to let those words roll off his back. But when he was alone, Springer’s hands would capture arms or shoulders or necks, and he’d hiss lowly that even if he wasn’t always there, he’d hear what others had to say, and there’d be no one around to stop him from doing what he’d will.
They remembered the Wreckers’ first mission, when the roster was just four of them and they’d have to fly around in shuttles from base to base. Prowl had denied the request to create the strike force, kept it from going up to Sentinel Prime’s consideration back when the revolt had grown in a wildfire pace and before Prime had been killed. Remembered how torqued Prowl had been when he found out Springer had gone over his head and submitted that same request to the new Prime before he barely had time to settle into the position. Even after all he’d seen and all he’d done, Springer was so young and brash, then. Almost painfully so. And Roadbuster had been so disillusioned with the Security Force and that so many of the officers around him were all data-pushers who had no idea the first thing about tactics. They’d both jumped headlong into the idea of the Wreckers, of getting to do what they were created to do and had struggled so long and so hard to be good at. They finally had that chance, and they were so mortifyingly overconfident in everything that sometimes Roadbuster was surprised they survived those times at all. He supposed it could have been chalked up to the fact that such outright war was still so new to everyone, then. The two of them had slightly more practical battle experience than others in the war, and that made all the difference in the universe. If they had acted now as they did back then, Roadbuster didn’t doubt the lot of them would’ve been killed in an instant.
They spoke quietly and haltingly about Springer and what he’d done for them, what they wanted to do for him until Arcee’s chronometer went off, alerting her to the fact her shift was going to be starting up soon. Roadbuster took that moment to take something from one of his compartments and set two pieces of metal down before them. The two halves of Springer’s spark casing.
Neither Hot Rod or Arcee reached for them, but they looked up at Roadbuster with relieved smiles. “He did it?”
Roadbuster merely nodded. “Topspin and I discussed it. Since you two were the most important ones to Springer, we believe you should have these.”
They looked down at the spark casing halves and felt emotions getting caught in their internals. To know that Springer’s final passage had been complete, that he would be rejoined with his closest brothers and friends brought such a profound relief to the two of them. “Thank you,” they said quietly. “Thank you for always looking after him and caring for him and being with him to the end.”
The combat vehicle folded his large hands together, echoing their sentiment, glad that Springer’s body was no longer in that strange limbo between death and rebirth. No one ‘bot was ever truly alone, each having a part of someone dear to them inside and sitting there with those two halves- they had sat so small in his palms, so fragile and so important –the old adage of ‘Till all are one’ echoed in his processor. “Everything else is still being sorted, I’ll be by later to let you know when it’s complete.”
Arcee reached forward and pushed half of the spark casing back towards Roadbuster. “Keep it,” she said with a small, sad smile. “You meant as much to him as we did.” When she said ‘you’, somehow Roadbuster knew she meant the Wreckers and him, separate and the same. “You were something to Springer we could never have been, and you brought him back to us so many times. You love him as much as we do, and you deserve it just as much.”
“I… thank you.”
The femme didn’t say anything more, just stood up, pulled Hot Rod into a quick, tight hug, and then moved toward Roadbuster. She was so very small in comparison to him, even smaller than Smokescreen but her hug was just as powerful and just as needed. Roadbuster felt, with her tiny pale arms around his neck, that he really, truly understood these two that were so important to his best friend. The Wreckers respected them for what they did to Springer, but they had never gone out of their way to connect with them. They trusted Springer to be that bridge between those two parts of his lives.
And yet, really, he still was what brought them all together and kept them together. Springer still was and forever would be part of their lives.
Roadbuster brought up a hand to give Arcee’s arm a gentle squeeze. Neither of them had to say anything, but they could still feel that connection so plainly. Words would have just gotten in their way. She pulled back, her smile lighter than it had been when the Wrecker had come in earlier, and she waved the two mechs farewell before leaving Hot Rod’s quarters.
The remaining two sat quietly. Roadbuster eventually broached with, “I saw the request you put in.” Hot Rod said nothing but looked at him with surprisingly calm blue optics. “I’d like to ask why.”
He spread his hands out. “I meet all the requirements needed to join the Wreckers, I have plenty of field experience, and I have a variety of talents I’m certain you could make use of.”
“Do you expect us to choose you over the thousands others just as qualified as you because you meant something to Springer?” It was not a vindictive question and Hot Rod knew it was going to be asked- had hoped it would be. Because if it wasn’t, then joining the Wreckers would have been a mistake.
“No. I expect- if it does happen –to have been chosen because you need what I have, because you know that I can bring something to your team that no one else can.”
“Why did you decide to apply now?”
There were so many things Hot Rod could have answered that with. Because he wanted to find a place that truly felt like home now that his was shattered. Because he wanted to put Springer’s biggest worry with him to rest. Because he wanted to touch that part of Springer that Hot Rod could never have been a part of earlier. Even though all of those reasons were true in their own way, none of them was the actual truth.
“I applied because I needed to,” he said honestly. “Because if I didn’t, I’d be empty inside. I want to be a part of something bigger than me. It’s time that I grew up and really started thinking beyond myself. Even though I made Springer proud with the things I’ve done, I always left him worrying about me- both him and Arcee. All she has left is me, now. I can’t put her through that worry of me being on my own anymore. I can’t break her like that. She’s all that I have left.”
They sat in a long stretch of silence.
“I can’t make this decision just on my own, you know.”
“I know.”
Roadbuster nodded and stood up. “I’ll discuss this with the other Wreckers. I just wanted to understand where you were coming from.”
“Of course.” Hot Rod stood and followed him to the door. “Thank you for coming, Roadbuster. You and the other Wreckers will always be welcomed. You know that.”
He did, but it somehow seemed more real with Hot Rod actually saying it. “Thank you.”
