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dracoqueen22Title: War Without End – Thundercracker
Universe: Bayverse, post-DotM, canon-compliant
Characters: Thundercracker, Skywarp, Ratchet, Drift, Wheeljack, Dreadwing, Tracks, Prowl
Rating: T
Warnings: mentions of character death, angst, some language, canon typical violence,
Desc: Thundercracker is tired of merely surviving. He wants to live.
Thundercracker - Final Part
----------------------
There’s a blinking icon in the corner of Thundercracker's monitor, one that he doesn't recognize. He frowns, tapping on it. That brings up a type of communication program, one used for electronic mail. He has a message.
Probably spam, he thinks with a roll of his optics, but he clicks on it nonetheless. A new window pops up. The message is from an unknown address, but the content is entirely applicable. Lennox has somehow learned a method of contacting them, and Thundercracker will rip out his squishy heart and set it on fire if this leads the Autobots to them.
--Ratchet. Dreadwing. My office. Now!-- Thundercracker growls over a quick-bursted comm, closing it down immediately thereafter and leaving no room for either mech to argue.
“Your office?” Dreadwing questions, his vocals coming up behind Thundercracker almost immediately. He must have been dozing nearby. “Is that what you're calling it?”
Thundercracker whirls toward the other Seeker. “I'd get you one, but we're all out of crates.”
The barn door slams open with a screech of rusted hinges. Ratchet stomps inside.
“This had better be slagging important,” he all but snarls, spewing Pitfire and slagstone from his energy field.
“Did you give Lennox the means to contact us?” Thundercracker throws out, ignoring Ratchet's usual foul temper. Seriously, Drift needs to do something about this sooner rather than later. It's starting to affect everyone's temperament.
Ratchet draws up short, optics cycling in and out. “It's not exactly a secret,” he huffs. “If anything goes south with the humans, he's our first warning.”
“Including internet mail addresses?” Thundercracker half-turns, tapping the monitor for his scrapped together computer system.
“He's our ally! Of course, I did.” Ratchet folds his arms over his chestplate.
Thundercracker vents out of relief. “That wasn't a criticism. I wanted confirmation.” He presses his knuckles to his lipplates. “We're about to get a new recruit.”
“What?” Dreadwing demands. “Who?”
Ratchet, however, seems to already know.
“Prowl,” he says, and it’s like a sigh.
“How would you know?” Dreadwing gives the medic a suspicious look. “Did the human contact you, too?”
“No, he guessed.” Thundercracker leans back against the console. “And you're right. It’s Prowl. Lennox says he disappeared several hours ago, missed the dawn and the noon roll call.” He studies his medic. “How did you know?”
Ratchet drags one of the empty crates over and seats himself. He rubs his face for a long moment.
“Because we know who crashed and you only indicated one recruit. Sunstreaker would never leave Sideswipe. Hound wouldn’t abandon Dino.” He looks away, suddenly seeming eons older. “I had both dreaded this and hoped for it all the same.”
“Why the disparity?” Dreadwing asks, and he seems honestly curious.
“Prowl would be a great asset. I admit that his battle computer would go a long way towards ensuring we can get off this planet alive and survive long-term.” Ratchet's helm dips as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “But if even Prowl becomes disillusioned with Optimus, then it means that he’s far too gone to be saved.”
Thundercracker levels his gaze. “It’d be confirmation that the decision you made was the right one.”
“Not confirmation.” Ratchet shakes his head, fingers clenching and unclenching. “But similar enough that my conscience is alleviated.”
“You doubted yourself.”
From Dreadwing, it is more statement than it is question.
Ratchet cycles his optics. “Wouldn't you?”
“Warrior builds haven't the luxury of self-doubt. We must always be certain of our convictions,” Dreadwing responds, but there is no chastisement in his tone. He’s rarely one to criticize anyway. “I’ve heard of Prowl. Who hasn’t?” He shrugs. “You’re certain Prime wouldn't send him as a spy?”
“As much as it pains me to admit, I don't think Optimus has that much foresight.” Ratchet lifts his gaze, the quirk of his mouth wry and shaded with disappointment. “Unless it was Prowl's idea, which is possible. Jazz was the more underhanded of the two, but Prowl has always been subtle in his own way.”
Thundercracker frowns, thinking hard. He doesn’t like that implication, but if it’s real, if Prowl is truly coming to join them, this would be a great boon. A master tactician and an excellent fighter with updated intelligence on their enemies all wrapped up in one nice big former Autobot package.
“Dare we trust him?” he poses of no one in particular.
Ratchet gestures to the screen. “Lennox seems to think we have reason to. Something's obviously happened in Chicago, something that would cause Prowl to abandon his post. Unless we cease trusting Lennox, I think Prowl's defection is honest.” He reads the message over again. “Besides, Lennox has just as much to lose if it isn’t real. He did help us before, enough so to guarantee his death if anyone caught on. Perhaps even that of his sparkmate and child. He wouldn’t say anything unless absolutely certain.”
The two Seekers mull over that before exchanging a glance.
“Then what do we do?” Dreadwing’s gaze focuses on Thundercracker, once again affirming that they have unanimously declared him to be their leader.
Thundercracker flutters his wings involuntarily. “There's no telling precisely when Prowl will arrive. Or if Lennox gave him exact directions.”
“He wouldn't have,” Ratchet answers. “Too many audials. Too much risk. He probably gave him a vague idea just to get him moving in the right direction.”
“Then we send Warp out to look for him,” Thundercracker decides.
Dreadwing fiddles with the tip of a talon. “Would he accept a Seeker’s invitation?”
“I’m sure he already knows that I was last seen with Skywarp,” Ratchet says, some of the anxiety in his energy field ebbing away now that they are no longer focusing on him and his own troubles. “Nevertheless, I would suggest that Skywarp employ some… tact.”
Dreadwing's pump all but stutters with disbelief. “Are we talking about the same bot here?”
“Skywarp's the only one who can perform long-distance recon without alerting the humans' energon net,” Ratchet points out.
True enough since he can teleport in a split-second.
“We could send Drift, I suppose,” Thundercracker allows, “but if it is a trap, he won't be able to escape so easily.”
“Tracks is an option,” Dreadwing adds, but there is reluctance present. “But I’d be the first to admit he isn’t as fast in the air as Skywarp. And again, he doesn’t have the ability to vanish so easily.”
“If Prowl is intending to seek out Ratchet, he won’t be surprised to see Warp,” Thundercracker adds, fingers drumming on the desktop. “It has to be common knowledge that Ratchet with him.”
Their medic nods. “Skywarp, it is.”
“He isn’t planet-side right now, remember?” Dreadwing points out, trepidation shifting to amusement as his hand drops to his side.
“I think that this takes precedence over repairs on the Ark.” Thundercracker swivels back around to face his monitor.
He taps into the communication systems, keying in the triply-encrypted channel to the Jackhammer. Before he can send the ping, however, the line beeps with an incoming call. Speak of Unicron and he arrives.
Thundercracker accepts the comm and isn't surprised when Skywarp's face appears on screen. However, he can also hear muttered cursing in the background. The image fritzes with static, but there’s evidence of blaster-scoring on Warp's visible shoulder. He also looks frazzled, though he covers it up with a half-sparked smile.
“I’m afraid to ask,” Thundercracker says by way of greeting, tone carefully neutral.
A deprecating chuckle escapes his trinemate's mouth. “We kinda got a problem, TC.”
In the background, Thundercracker hears a crash. The image jerks as though the camera has been struck, and there's a flash, followed by the sound of Wheeljack spitting a curse. Drift, their backup, is nowhere in sight.
Thundercracker's optics narrow. His sensors prickle as Dreadwing and Ratchet crowd behind him, peering over his shoulders at the screen.
“What kind of problem?”
Skywarp winces. “You're never gonna believe who was on the Ark when we got here.
Looks like he's been here for months, too. Must have arrived just after that one time you three came up here.”
“Who is it?” Dreadwing demands.
Skywarp's optics flick past Thundercracker. They linger on Dreadwing for a click.
“Our favorite slagger, TC! It's Astrotrain.” He sounds somewhere between cheerful and crazed. So like normal then. “And he is not a happy mech. The fragger's two shades from Empty.”
Ratchet curses behind Thundercracker, his energy field buzzing. It took severe energon starvation for a fully-sparked mech to sink that low.
“He almost took out Jack! I think he just saw the brand and went fragged.” Skywarp glances behind himself before returning his gaze to the screen. “Luckily, my scanners registered movement, and I was able to intercept before he became a pile of paste.”
Ratchet grinds a few gears, a discombobulating noise that screeches in Thundercracker's audials. The medic seems on the verge of going to the moon and avenging his old friend personally. If he could fly that is.
“Wheeljack's not that easy to kill,” he bites out but doesn’t sound entirely sure.
Thundercracker resists the urge to bang his helm on the nearest flat surface. Since really, that’s just the way this orn is going. Is this what drove Megatron and Prime to madness?
“Astrotrain is twice Wheeljack's size and weight,” Thundercracker says instead, convenient surface unavailable. “And you know good and well that Empties don’t have the usual safeguards in regards to their own well-being.”
Nonetheless, thank Primus and Prima both that he'd had enough foresight to send Wheeljack with company. Skywarp can help with the repairs, true. But he’s also an able soldier. Drift too is useful in that regard. He might not be able to repair, but he can haul, guard, and be an extra pair of hands.
“I took him down,” Warp continues on-screen, far too proud as his servos rubbing over the visible blast mark. “Though not without some grappling. Astro wouldn't listen when I told him to stand down. He's fragged about something.”
Dreadwing makes a contemplative noise. “I seem to remember… something,” he alludes. “Were not he and Blitzwing partners?”
“Of a sort,” Thundercracker acknowledges, though Blitzwing was friendlier toward the Seekers. Unlike Astrotrain, who always had a rod shoved up his thruster for some reason. “Triple-changers always did like to stick to their own kind.”
Then again, the same could be said for all the divisions of Cybertron. Flight mechs gravitate toward other flight mechs with rotaries keeping to their own. Shuttles often lost to the vastness of space with Seekers practically a coven of secrecy. Groundmechs aren't so different. It doesn’t help that many flyers are – were – war-builds, automatically setting them apart from the rest of the civilian population.
It was a rare flyer that was a true noncombatant. Tracks and Skyfire are the only ones that Thundercracker can think of offhand. And they were both Autobots. Still most on that side are grounders because most civilians were grounders. Transports and haulers and construction-class and all the other various varieties. Four-cylinders, three-cylinders, two-cylinders and no-cylinders. They all had their associations. Medics stuck to medics or engineers, though they had their own cliques as well, and the scientists were notorious for their reclusive natures outside of a select few.
Thundercracker once worked for Ratchet, who was then a Senator, as a contracted war-build with a noteworthy aptitude for higher processor functions. It was an experiment from the upper echelon, to see if other uses could be made of war-builds in times of peace. Not that those were common.
Thundercracker was a success. Many of his fellows weren’t. The plan was scrapped several vorns later, and Thundercracker was returned to the army, where he had to struggle to climb his way back to notoriety. His fellow war-builds disdained him for the civilian life he briefly carried. Or even attempting to rise above his programming.
“Anyway,” Skywarp says, dragging Thundercracker from his memories, “we've got him cuffed and restrained. What should I do with him?”
“If he's that close to Empty, then he isn’t coherent enough to fully comprehend his actions.” Ratchet glares at the ceiling like it personally offended him. “We can't, in good conscience, offline him. He may be willing to lay down arms.”
“Astrotrain?” Skywarp guffaws; there’s no other word for it. “Not likely. The mech only followed the Decepticons because Megs beat him to scrap. He always had his own agenda outside of that. He isn't gonna bow to me or TC or Dreadwing. And he definitely isn't going to listen to an Autobot.”
In the background, Drift floats by like a white specter. His paint is visibly scratched, but his demeanor is unruffled. Knowing his history, this was probably like a light spar before the real fun began.
“Mechs can change,” Drift offers pointedly, one hand trailing near his Autobot sigil. “It's been vorns since you've spoken to Astrotrain, has it not? Maybe he's different.”
“And maybe he isn't,” Skywarp counters, the edge of something in his tone. “Look, Ratchet. I'm all for gathering up the loose ends and making some kind of neutral colony, but I'm telling you now, Astrotrain isn't going to sit around the campfire and sing kumbayah.”
Thundercracker finds himself wanting to bang his head again. This is the type of thing they all need to sit down and debate in depth. It's a discussion that can't be made on the spot, and right now, they did not have the time. Prowl's impending arrival cannot be ignored.
Rubbing his nasal bridge, Thundercracker waves a dismissing hand in the air. “You all have a valid point, but right now, there are bigger issues.”
“Prowl,” Ratchet confirms.
Skywarp startles. Drift does as well but more subtly.
“Prowl?” Warp repeats like he heard it wrong the first time. “What about him?”
“He's on his way here. Possibly.” Thundercracker settles back on his crate, wing bumping against Dreadwing, who barely seems to notice. “I need you here, Skywarp.”
“Well, what the frag am I supposed to do with Astrotrain?” his trinemate demands, gesturing with a taloned digit. “Let him wreak havoc or something? Make Drift go sit on him?”
Ratchet leans around Thundercracker to get a better view. “Tell Jack to put him in medical stasis. But pour some energon down his intake first. He'll keep for a while like that.”
“A waste of good energon if you ask me,” Skywarp mutters, but he seems to be considering it. “Fine. We'll tie him up somewhere and be back as soon as possible. But don't say I didn't warn you.”
“Noted.”
Thundercracker ends the transmission, knowing his trinemate too well for Skywarp to be offended. Besides, the longer their conversations last, the greater the chance the humans or Autobots will detect the signal and track them down. He swivels back around to Dreadwing and Ratchet, both of whom have become indispensable advisers as of late. Though for different reasons.
“Dreadwing, find Tracks and tell him to hit the road. If he finds Prowl, let us know but don't make contact. Maintain his distance,” Thundercracker orders.
They'll have Skywarp make first contact since he can escape easier. But if Tracks finds Prowl first, at least they won't have to waste the energon sending Skywarp to look.
He turns to their medic next.
“Ratchet, keep an optic on the newscasts. The humans are probably looking for Prowl, too. Let me know if they find him first.”
Ratchet nods, but Dreadwing returns his gaze evenly.
“And Astrotrain?”
“We'll figure him out later.” Thundercracker frowns, ten kinds of scenarios dancing across his processor. “He might be willing to work with us, but I'm not ready to trust that or him. We have too much at stake.”
He thinks of the hatchlings, growing in their makeshift tanks. They may never be sparked, but they are the last. Thundercracker will protect them to the end.
If they as a species are to survive, this is what must be done.
Ratchet looks at Thundercracker. “You know,” he says, vocals soft but shaped with awe, “that you are giving him a chance is more than Optimus was ever willing to do. I think that says something. Don't you?”
Uncomfortable, Thundercracker pushes himself to his pedes. “It’d be hypocritical of me to kill Astrotrain, wouldn’t it?”
“Who would have ever guessed that a 'Con would be the one advocating peace?” Dreadwing echoes. “I can almost believe the war will soon be at an end.”
“For us, maybe.” Thundercracker moves by both his lieutenants – for lack of a better term – and steps out of his makeshift office. “But until we leave this planet and Prime's reach, we’re still at war.”
Within an hour, Skywarp, Drift, and Tracks are scouring the neighborhood for signs of Prowl. Lennox had been forthright enough in giving them a detailed description of his alt-mode. They had every reason to suspect that Prowl, the walking battle computer, would be there soon enough.
Unsurprisingly, it’s Skywarp who finds Prowl first.
--Got him!-- Skywarp all but sings into the comm. --Want me to make contact?--
Thundercracker glances at Ratchet. “What do you suggest?”
“An invitation,” the medic replies, drumming his fingers on a crate. “Ask him to meet us somewhere, far enough from the base that we're not compromised.”
Thundercracker inclines his head. “Where do you suggest?”
“There is an abandoned weigh station about an hour's drive from here,” Dreadwing offers and unfolds his arms. “The road is sparsely traveled.”
Thundercracker glances at Ratchet. He merely shrugs.
“Coordinates?”
“Already sent.”
Thundercracker's systems ping the arrival of a small document that he then forwards on. --Deliver an invitation, Warp. Be tactful.--
--You got it, boss.--
“This ought to be interesting,” Dreadwing mutters.
Thundercracker ignores him, instead contacting Drift and Tracks, telling them to return to the base.
“Luckily, Prowl never fires without considering all the variables,” Ratchet comments with a thoughtful tone.
Thundercracker checks their furthest reaching sensors for anomalies but can see nothing that could possibly be a danger or NEST intrusion. There's not anything on the cameras either. That doesn’t mean that Prime's group hasn't found their hideout. Thundercracker is determined to be paranoid until the danger has passed and maybe not even stop then.
--Message delivered.-- Skywarp sounds far too cheerful for anyone’s liking. --And he didn't fire at me even once, boss!--
--Thanks. And don't call me that.-- Thundercracker ends the comm before Skywarp's laughter can filter through.
Primus knows how much he hates that they've thrust this leadership upon him. And Skywarp continues to rub it in simply because he knows his trinemate despises it. He doesn't like making the decisions. He doesn't like the responsibility resting on his shoulders. He feels like he's steering them all down the path toward destruction.
Though in comparison to Megatron and Optimus Prime both, Thundercracker's practically a human saint, a priest of Primus, and the Allspark all wrapped into one neat package.
“Well?” Dreadwing prompts as both he and Ratchet look at their glorious leader expectantly.
“Skywarp delivered the coordinates, and I assume they were accepted. He didn’t indicate otherwise,” Thundercracker replies, gesturing for the two to precede him out of the barn.
They only have a short window in which to meet Prowl, discern the mech's intentions, and return to the Lennox farm before the satellites come into position. The false readings Wheeljack earlier inserted into the human's energon detection system will be found out soon. They can’t afford to delay.
“We’ll need to fly,” Thundercracker adds and gives Ratchet a pointed look. “It’ll be faster.”
The medic scowls and crosses his arm over his chassis. “I'll stay here then.”
“Not an option. Prowl will trust you. He’ll treat us with suspicion,” Thundercracker insists.
There’s also the added measure that in the event of a trap, the Autobots might delay their weapons fire to avoid striking Ratchet. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Still, it's a calculated risk. If this were a trap, then they as a team are doomed. Ratchet's expertise is needed for the sake of the hatchlings. For all of them truth be told. Wheeljack is good for emergency patches, but complicated procedures are beyond his scope. If they hope to survive once leaving Earth, they’ll need a medic of Ratchet's caliber.
It’s that understanding that makes Thundercracker think twice and even a third time about bringing Ratchet along. He considers taking Wheeljack instead, but he hasn't been planet-side that long. He knows nothing of Prime's current behavior, at least not personally. He won’t be able to shift out falsities in Prowl's stories as Ratchet would.
That doesn’t even go into the fact that Ratchet was on Prime’s handpicked team. With Prowl’s own brother. Or that they are personal acquaintances.
A fluttery sound escapes Thundercracker. This second-guessing is why he despises leadership so very much. He isn’t a tactician. He does not know how to read mechs, especially ones like Prowl. He doesn't know if he's making the right choice, and they’re all still looking to him for answers.
It's enough to drive him to madness.
Thundercracker can only shake his head.
“Let’s go.”
“I fragging hate being carried,” Ratchet grumbles but follows after them.
Thundercracker delegates the task to Dreadwing, who is larger anyway. It's another point in the favor of peace that Ratchet doesn't pitch a fit.
The location Dreadwing offered is a twenty minute flight away from the farm in the opposite direction of Chicago. Abandoned is an understatement. The weigh station has not seen visitors in so long it’s become overgrown by vegetation. There’s little to be seen of a building beneath all of the vines, both living and dried out husks. Luckily, it’s surrounded by woodland, though the road that connects it to the main highway is choked with weeds.
They arrive before Prowl. Skywarp lingers out of sight and ready to warp in at a moment's notice, and Dreadwing sets Ratchet down with care, probably having learned his lesson from Warp, who once dropped the medic and got a wrench to the helm afterward. The Seeker griped about the dent for weeks, but Thundercracker had no sympathy. His trinemate deserved it for being an idiot. Not that such is a thing is a rare state of mind for Skywarp.
The silence seems to wrap around them. Ratchet stands and waits, pulling out a datapad and frowning over the contents. Dreadwing finds an abandoned car, using it as a perch as he draws his blade, polishing the edges. Thundercracker stands closest to the road, watching and waiting for Prowl to arrive. Skywarp has already sent him a picture of the mech's alt-mode.
The sound of a high-performance engine precedes Prowl's arrival. Thundercracker tries to remain relaxed, but he can't stop his autonomics from triggering a first-level fighting subroutine. Dreadwing doesn't move, but Thundercracker can sense that he’s very aware. Ratchet subspaces his datapad. Three pairs of optics lock on the dirt road.
A police car, white with broad black highlights, comes into view, drawing to a halt with a crackle of tires on gravel. There is a moment's pause before Prowl shifts to his root mode, facing down the three of them with nary a twitch to betray him. His sensory panels – the front doors of his vehicle mode – resemble wings as they protrude from his back. He looks from Ratchet to each of the Seekers and then back.
This is it. The moment of truth.
They don't have the time for politeness or courtesy. So Thundercracker dives into the spark of the matter immediately.
“What are your intentions?” he demands.
As far as size goes, Prowl isn’t the largest grounder amongst the Autobots. Not by far. But he isn’t as short as his brother was either. Instead, he’s strangely average. Both height and build.
However, there’s something about the way he holds himself. Poised. Oddly graceful. Like a human king who stands before his enemies but has lost nothing of his commanding nature.
Prowl looks from Ratchet to Thundercracker, but his optics give nothing away.
“Peace.”
Dreadwing looks up from his sword, but his talons drag down the length of the blade. “Why?”
For a moment, the stoic facade flickers.
“It's the only hope I have left,” Prowl responds, doors giving a slight twitch and betraying his grief.
Ratchet steps up beside Thundercracker. His frame language is wary and his vocals quiet.
“What has Prime done?”
Prowl cycles a ventilation. There’s almost a bleak quality to his face despite the impassiveness.
“More than I can bear,” he answers, and the last syllable edges with static. “I understand why you left. It was inevitable that I’d do the same.”
“You haven't said why. What was the final straw?” Dreadwing insists, finally rising and sheathing his blade. He stands on Thundercracker's left side with Ratchet on the right.
The three of them present a unified front.
Prowl draws himself up straight. But his tone is hollow, echoing.
“Hound is offline. Prime let him die.”
Quiet then. Deathly so. It makes even Thundercracker wince. He doesn't have to look at Ratchet to feel the devastation. Thundercracker doesn't know Hound from any other Autobot, but of course, his medic would.
“What do you mean he's offline?” Ratchet demands.
Prowl's optics dim, now little more than grey specks. “We came here because we knew you’d be with Prime. Hound… He was severely injured, and our crash landing didn't help.” His doors press tightly to his dorsal plating. “His spark chamber was compromised, Ratchet. There's nothing I or Sunstreaker could do. Primus knows we tried.”
“You should’ve left him in stasis!” Ratchet’s voice is now a hiss. He lurches an aborted step forward but then presses back to Thundercracker's side. Field reaching out as if in search of comfort.
“To what end?” Prowl's vocals are knife sharp before he can get himself back under control. “There is no medic among the Autobots, not anymore! You were gone. Without an explanation… At least none that Prime would give me. I’d honestly thought you dead until later. And then… Then, Prime forbid contacting you.”
Ratchet's plating rattles audibly. His energy field is terrible. A roil of anger and anguish and misery.
“I’m a medic first,” Ratchet declares, and Thundercracker has to steady him. “Optimus knew – knows – this. I would’ve come. I would’ve... We could’ve worked out something!”
Thundercracker tightens his grip.
Yes, Ratchet would’ve gone, and he would’ve gotten himself killed. All without saving Hound in the process. It’s a good thing Prime didn’t even try. Thundercracker would’ve had to stop him, and that wouldn’t have ended well.
Thundercracker would’ve done it anyway.
Prowl's doors jerk upright. His fingers twitch against him, but his tone is almost dead.
“That was only the beginning.” Each word is clipped, broken at the edge. “I thought I understood, but I didn’t know the situation. I thought Prime knew what was best. I tried to convince myself, but for once, logic failed me.” His voice suddenly lowers, as if admitting a shameful secret. “I didn’t want to believe you a traitor. I simply couldn’t lose anyone else. I couldn’t be idle. If not for Sideswipe, I would have gone to locate you myself.”
“Against Prime's wishes?” Dreadwing is incredulous, and probably with good reason.
If there is an Autobot who exemplifies law and order, it’s Prowl of Praxus. Even a Decepticon like Thundercracker knows this much.
“I didn’t understand then.” Prowl straightens, hands smoothing over the white plating of his thighs. “Sideswipe stopped me. He… I was forced to realize my folly. I returned, but Hound's spark lost the fight soon after.”
He looks away then. At the ground and nowhere else. Especially not the mechs in front of him.
“But it doesn’t sound like you left immediately,” Thundercracker says into the ensuing quiet that’s already thick with grief and regret. “You still stayed.”
Blue optics snap at him, and he sees true rage there as Prowl's frame goes rigid. It’s just a glimpse before he looks away, but it’s enough. Anger so cold that it’s burning. Biting with icy fangs that sink into his very spark.
“I made a promise,” Prowl replies, and his vocals are at complete odds with his demeanor. “One I do not abandon lightly. I just didn’t know how much Prime and the Autobots have changed. I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it.”
“What was it?” Ratchet asks, and he lacks the accusing lilt Thundercracker used. “What finally changed your mind?”
For a long moment, the tactician is mute. His head dips, thoughts obviously turned inward. Even his sensory panels are frozen against his back.
Finally, he lets out a slow ventilation.
“Destroying our enemies is one matter, but when he sought to turn those same weapons on one of us, on an Autobot, without hesitation...” His hands flex against his thighs again. “I fear Prime can no longer see peace for the war anymore. I fear…” He shakes his head. “I know that he’s lost himself to the madness.”
“Then, you’re willing to work with us?” Dreadwing inquires almost gently. “To turn your back on the Autobots?”
“The Autobots were the first to turn.” Prowl lifts his gaze, shoulders straight. “If I am to preserve what is left… then yes, I will.”
They look at each other then. Prowl to Ratchet. The Seekers to each other and then to him.
Ratchet pings Thundercracker after a breem.
--I believe him.--
Thundercracker fights to keep in a sigh.
--You’re willing to bet your spark on that?--
Ratchet shifts beside him, field now quiescent against his frame. --If I'm wrong, then it’s more than my spark at stake.--
Unfortunately true.
If Prowl is tricking them, there isn’t a single one of them who will survive. Thundercracker and his Decepticon brethren will be killed on sight. The hatchlings will be disposed of, and the Autobots will be taken for questioning. Before no doubt meeting their end, too. Or worse… reprogramming.
--There's no lie in his field,-- Dreadwing adds on the same encrypted channel. --He’s left, though not without difficulty. He left someone of value behind. Just look at him.--
Thundercracker doesn’t need to, but he does. It only makes his spark twinge before he glances away.
He really hopes he isn’t dooming them all.
“Very well,” he allows if only because he doesn’t know what else to do. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Prowl relaxes but only marginally. “Thank you.” He offers a short bow that is too formal for Thundercracker’s comfort.
“But first,” Ratchet says, stepping forward and holding up a device, “we have to make sure you aren't carrying any uninvited guests.”
“A necessary precaution, I'm sure,” Prowl accepts with the barest glimmer of gratitude.
Thundercracker leaves them to it. He takes the reprieve and turns instead to Dreadwing.
“Are your sensors detecting anything other than native life?” he asks quietly, knowing that the larger bot’s scanners are more highly attuned.
“Other than Skywarp circling us like a vulture? No.” Dreadwing's field brims with amusement. “I believe that Prowl is sincere. A lucky break for us. There is no processor better suited for helping us.”
Thundercracker glances at the two Autobots. “Soundwave would’ve been useful,” he muses.
“Soundwave was and will forever be loyal to Megatron,” Dreadwing retorts with a wing-flick. “It's in his programming, his core coding. He can't be anything but. Luckily, he's not a problem.”
“No. Prime took care of that for us.” Thundercracker can't hide the disdain in his voice.
Soundwave would never have agreed to this tentative peace. Still, that doesn't mean Thundercracker approves of Prime's method of taking him out of the picture.
He turns to Ratchet and Prowl, done with this little discussion. “He clean?”
Ratchet doesn't answer for a moment. Then, his scanner beeps, and he nods.
“As far as I can tell.” He sounds inordinately pleased, especially given what he just learned about Hound. “Ready to head back to base, boss?”
“Yes.” And just because Ratchet is being a smart-aft, Thundercracker decides to return the favor. “You can drive this time. Show Prowl the way. I'll let Skywarp keep an optic on you.”
Ratchet makes a disgruntled noise. It’s more comforting than the good humor.
“Small favor.” He flicks his servos at the Seekers. “Go. Fly. Be free. We grounders will meet you there.”
Sometimes, Thundercracker wonders if he really is the one in charge. He shares an amused look with Dreadwing. Both of them activate their thrusters and launch into the sky, transforming along the way.
--Warp, keep an optic on our ground-bound companions,-- Thundercracker says as Dreadwing pulls up on his right wingtip.
--Oh, give me the boring job,-- Skywarp gripes, but he arcs around nonetheless. --Just because you want to… --
Thundercracker cuts him off. --Skywarp.--
--Fine, fine. We'll be there soon enough.--
He ends the transmission before Thundercracker can respond. Not that he would’ve said anything more than a kind of chastisement. Not that Skywarp ever really listens anyway.
He and Dreadwing arrive at the base long before Ratchet and Prowl. Dreadwing lands, but Thundercracker circles a few times, his scans set to max. This is a terrible risk they’re taking, and Thundercracker can't help worrying he's made a mistake.
He doesn't like it; this burden of leading others. It's too heavy. It's too much. And though it's no excuse, it's no small wonder that Megatron and Optimus Prime went as crazy as they did. Some days, Thundercracker thinks he might fall into that Pit himself.
He doesn't land until he sees Skywarp approach, and in his wake are Ratchet and Prowl, too. Thundercracker still doesn't feel safe, but there's nothing on his scanners. Their security system pings signs of all clear, and Skywarp passes him in a whirl of excited energy with no signs of worry.
“All's clear,” Warp says as they drop down in root mode. He tosses Thundercracker a jaunty salute.
His trinemate bites back an annoyed sigh; it would only encourage him.
“Good. Go get some rest or something.”
“What about Astrotrain?” Warp immediately asks.
Thundercracker waves him off and keeps going. “Later.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
Another sharp salute, and Skywarp vanishes, never one to waste an opportunity to teleport.
Ratchet and Prowl arrive then, the former in the lead, and both shift to root mode as they pull up to the Seeker’s position. Prowl gives the base an assessing look, and Thundercracker can only imagine what he sees. A collection of ramshackle buildings and acres upon acres of grassland. Compared to the human base that the Autobots use, it’s quite pathetic.
“I think our newest arrival would benefit from a tour, don't you?” Ratchet says with a calculating gleam to his optic that doesn't bode well for Thundercracker's chances of escaping a scan. He needs to get control of his energy field and fast.
“It would be appreciated,” Prowl adds in a distracted tone. His sensory panels shift up and down against his back. A clear signal of agitation.
“I see no reason why not,” Thundercracker replies. “Though Skywarp just made a beeline for his lab.”
Ratchet twitches. “I'll make sure to avoid it. Come on, Prowl. The boss looks like he needs to brood.”
It’s Thundercracker's turn to twitch, though he keeps it to himself. Prowl tosses him a look but allows Ratchet to lead him away. Thundercracker watches them until they’re out of sight into the medbarn. It is, in his opinion, the perfect opportunity to make himself scarce.
He heads for his office, passing through the quarters that he and Skywarp share. Though Warp has been spending more time in his lab as of late, and Dreadwing has more or less taken over Skywarp's berth, complete with Tracks attached to his side.
He pushes through the cloth partition and drops down into his makeshift chair, staring blankly at the dark monitors of his computer system. A subtle tremble works its way from his substructure, and Thundercracker leans forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. He has to focus to dial his battle routines back down.
Is there a true ally among them? Or is Prowl a virus waiting to activate?
Thundercracker doesn't know. He hates that he can’t trust his own judgment. He doesn't like the weight that rests on his shoulder. The burden is too much. This responsibility is too much.
“You made the right choice.”
Thundercracker jerks upright. He swings toward the doorway, finding Dreadwing.
“I don't recall asking your opinion,” Thundercracker says, irritated that he's been caught.
“And I don't need an invitation to give one,” Dreadwing retorts, inviting himself fully inside so that the curtain swishes shut behind him.
Thundercracker straightens. He isn’t a sparkling. Maybe never was one. He shouldn’t have to fight not to fidget.
“I suppose you don't need permission to disturb me either,” he manages instead.
Dreadwing folds his arms over his chassis. He leans against a reasonably stable stack of crates.
“Oh? Were you busy?”
His tone is pure Towers mech and is obviously borrowed from Tracks. His optics glance pointedly at the dark monitor.
Thundercracker performs a systems check, if only to keep himself from snapping back.
“Did you want something?”
Silence settles between them. Dreadwing's gaze drops to the computer and away from Thundercracker.
“It's difficult, isn't it?”
Thundercracker draws back but hesitates. Unsure where this is going.
The other Seeker shifts, arms dropping as he fiddles with a crate. His energy field is contained, but it’s clear he has something more he wishes to say.
“Autobots don't like to lead,” Dreadwing continues pensively. “And the ones who do were once military themselves.” His wings twitch against his backplate, an indication of his disquiet.
Thundercracker, however, just keeps staring. He honestly doesn’t know what to say. Even if he did, Dreadwing doesn’t allow him time to get a word in.
“Jack and Tracks listened to me because they only know how to follow,” the larger Seeker continues. “For all that they were once civilians, they’ve had a lifetime of conditioning to do whatever the Senate or the Council or whomever told them. War-builds are supposed to follow commands, but our programming ironically gives us more room for independent action. For adjusting to the situation as long as there’s a goal in mind.” Dreadwing ventilates audibly. “We follow orders, but we can also make them or change them on the fly.”
Thundercracker doesn’t reply. It only makes the larger mech sigh.
“I didn't like telling them what to do, but someone had to or we were all scrap,” Dreadwing admits. “Neither one of them would’ve ever stepped up. Not even Tracks. Towers bots were the most compliant of all.”
Thundercracker swivels around to power on his computer. “You can't know that the choices you make are the right ones,” he confesses.
“That's why it's difficult.” Dreadwing’s hand falls to his side. “I'm not a tactician. I can command a unit of Seekers or a pair of Autobots, but I don't know how to lead in peace. How to have so many different functional-types look at me for guidance. How to look past the war and think of something more.”
“That's the crux of the matter, isn't it? We're all so used to war we can't function outside of it.”
Thundercracker stares at his monitor, but he doesn't really see it.
“To be fair, it's what we were sparked for.”
A laugh escapes Thundercracker. There's no humor in it.
“Still trapped by our origins, aren't we?”
It really isn’t a question.
“Some things can't be changed,” Dreadwing murmurs.
His hands draw into a fist. “I refuse,” Thundercracker says and surprises himself with the fierceness of his reply. “I haven’t come this far to bow to my coding.”
“Neither have I.” Dreadwing's tone echoes his with a quiet conviction. “I'll die before I submit to another again.”
Thundercracker agrees. He may wish for peace, but he’ll never return to the way things were before. No matter how much he longs for home.
“Submission and deference are not the same, however,” Dreadwing adds, and his head turns toward Thundercracker with a pointed look. “Sometimes, it is simply convenient to leave some tasks to those better suited.”
He looks up at the other flyer. “Is this your method of offering me advice?”
“A small suggestion.” Dreadwing's lipplates lift in a semblance of a smile. “Feel free to disregard it.”
He turns back toward the partition, dismissing himself as abruptly as he had invited himself in. He leaves behind fuel for thought though, and Thundercracker presses his knuckles to his mouth, substructure now quiet and stable.
Perhaps that’s not such a bad idea.
Astrotrain is a matter that Thundercracker can’t ignore.
Now that Prowl’s been confirmed and invited, Thundercracker can’t in good conscience leave Astrotrain in stasis. A decision must be made.
It requires another trip to the moon, a calculated risk and a use of energon that’s still being stretched thin by new additions and the ever-growing hatchlings.
Ratchet refuses to come.
“I've got better things to do,” the medic grumbles as he carefully transplants one of the groundlings into a larger container. The supplements he's added to the energon baths have caused a spike in maturity. “These hatchlings aren't going to care for themselves.”
Thundercracker barely stops himself from grinding a few internal gears. “You were his loudest advocate.”
“And I'm sure you won't forget it if I'm there or not.” Ratchet gives him a look, though his motions are careful and gentle. “I'm just the medic, Thundercracker. That's all I've ever been, and that's all I want to be.”
There's little chance of convincing him. Ratchet is perhaps the most stubborn mech that Thundercracker has ever met, including Starscream. In many ways, the two are much alike. An observation that he wisely keeps to himself.
He supposes it is better this way anyway. Ratchet is too valuable to their cause.
“Besides,” their medic continues. “Jack is more than capable of bringing Astrotrain out of stasis. And if Skywarp's description is accurate, there's nothing wrong with the mech a little energon won't cure.”
Thundercracker merely nods and leaves Ratchet in the care and protection of Drift, Tracks, and Warp. He debates leaving Dreadwing behind as well, if only to provide a voice of reason, but if Astrotrain is as crazy as he thinks, they’ll need the physical backup. Both Prowl and Wheeljack are capable of fighters, but they’re almost half the size of the Seekers and even smaller than a triple-changer.
The flight on the Jackhammer is different than the last time. The small scout-class shuttle is in much better repair now. It doesn't rattle and roll or emit strange creaks. It’s almost pleasant even.
Prowl is a silent traveler, processor whine the only noise he makes the entire trip. Wheeljack chatters to Dreadwing, who listens but doesn't offer much in return but seems relaxed enough all the same.
Thundercracker, in turn, paces in the limited space available. He wonders about Astrotrain's mental state. Triples and Seekers rarely get along. And he's certain Astrotrain never got over the offense of being put in his place by Starscream, not once but multiple times. Astrotrain has little love for the other two members of Stars’ trine either. Thundercracker holds little illusion of him happily joining their crew. Despite Ratchet's optimism, he strongly suspects he'll have to put a blaster to Astrotrain's spark by the time this is all over.
The Decepticons may have originally started as a rebellion, a bid for freedom and equality, but Megatron's origins and charisma often attracted other sorts as well. Mechs who wanted war for the sake of war. Mechs who just wanted power and rule. Mechs eager for a taste of spilled energon without fear for legal ramifications.
Astrotrain and Blitzwing never believed in the cause. Then again, by this point, there are few survivors who joined for the right reasons. The soft-sparks offlined first, oftentimes by friendly fire. Being scattered across the universe hasn't helped matters. Nor has Megatron's absence.
Thundercracker vents in and out. Their whole crusade was fragged from the start.
So it won’t surprise him in the least if Astrotrain isn’t at all interested in what they have to offer. But in the interest of fairness, Thundercracker wants to make the attempt. To prove to himself if no one else that they are better than Prime and his sycophants.
The moon now fills what Thundercracker can see through the viewport, and when the Jackhammer lands a few breems later, Wheeljack disembarks first with Thundercracker bringing up the rear. He gives the ruined Ark a critical look. The ship doesn’t look to be flightworthy anytime soon, though Wheeljack and Skywarp both assure him it can be done.
As for Astrotrain, he’s just within the Ark, propped up against a broken wall near the bridge, a crumpled mass of rust and disrepair that matches the Ark itself.
--Right where we left you,-- Wheeljack declares with a forced cheer and a muted flashing of his indicators.
He approaches the trussed up triple-changer with wariness. And that’s despite the darkness of Astrotrain's optics proving he’s still in stasis.
He's not much to look at in Thundercracker's opinion. Astrotrain's paint is scuffed, the original shade nearly incomprehensible. His paneling is dented, and only a few of the injuries are recent. There is evidence of neglect. Of no self-maintenance. Both clear indications of a mech whose processor is spiraling down the dark path to Empty.
No wonder he attacked Wheeljack. He must’ve been desperate to be energized. Maybe it wasn't the Autobot symbol that provoked him. Maybe it was just the sight of another living mech. Crouching here in the shadows, surrounded by the corpses of long dead frames, only contributed to Astrotrain's madness.
Thundercracker dangerously approaches pity as he realizes that, and he isn’t sure what to do about it. If it even really matters. They’re already planning to give him energon. To allow him the chance to join their cohort. To not be so alone.
Wheeljack kneels just behind Astrotrain as Thundercracker watches. He plugs into a neural port and is already activating protocols as the rest of their team catches up. Thundercracker is ever-aware of Dreadwing and Prowl moving to flank him, and there’s a tangible hum of systems on battle-standby.
Dreadwing clearly expects a fight. And while Prowl's expression is carefully neutral, he is poised for action.
Once again, Thundercracker feels a mech out of his element.
--Almost there,-- Wheeljack informs them, indicators muted now. But he abruptly directs back. --Oh, slag. He's going to…--
Whatever Wheeljack intends to say is cut off as Astrotrain onlines with a burst of energy and throws himself forward. He probably would’ve swung his fists if they weren't cuffed behind him, and his forearm plating twitches, as though trying to activate weapons that have already been removed.
Thundercracker throws himself forward even as Dreadwing bursts into action, tackling Astrotrain to the ground in a cloud of rust and Moon grit. A scuffle ensues, and Wheeljack pushes himself free with a pained twist of his faceplate. The torn end of a cable dangles from his wrist, something Ratchet will no doubt bitch about later.
Despite the energon, Astrotrain is still weak. It doesn't take much for Dreadwing to subdue him, pinning the triple-changer on his knees, wrists still cuffed behind him. The Seeker holds one of Astrotrain's wings, the other hand clasped firmly on his shoulder.
The triple-changer's expression has shifted to one of mulishness and disdain. His optics blaze scorn, though filth clings to his frame like some kind of disease. Given his general state of health, it might just be.
--You alright?-- Thundercracker asks Wheeljack, turning to him instead.
The engineer prods at his cable, spooling it with great care back into its casing. --Compared to how loudly Ratch is going to yell, I'm doing just peachy.-- He brushes off his frame, but he’s otherwise unharmed.
The fight wilts out of Astrotrain then, his energy expended. He sags in Dreadwing's grip with optics flickering.
--Astrotrain.--
Thundercracker transmits over a Decepticon frequency he’s sure to have. He's already given access to Prowl and Wheeljack, but it’s unlikely to be traceable by the Autobots on Earth.
Dim red optics lift to him as a sullen air wafts up. The triple-changer looks at Thundercracker with a curl to his mouth.
--What?--
Primus. He isn’t going to make this easy. Thundercracker's premonitions take an even darker turn.
He decides to start easy.
--What are you doing here?--
Astrotrain rolls his helm. He doesn’t even flinch when Dreadwing tightens his grip.
--Same as you. Followed the signal. Except the message forgot to mention that Megatron was dead.--
--He and the rest of Decepticon command,-- Thundercracker confirms, watching closely. Astrotrain may be restrained and underenergized, but he is no less dangerous. --The war is over.--
A burst of disbelief screeches across the comm. --Tell that to Prime!-- Astrotrain retorts with a sneer. --He's killing us even as we speak.--
How Astrotrain is aware of the events on Earth is a mystery. Perhaps he has found some way to hack into the human's satellites. Soundwave had, after all.
-- Prime has gone mad. Lost his way,-- Thundercracker concedes. --Cybertron is gone. There’s nothing left for us on Earth. If we are to survive, we must leave.--
Astrotrain’s wings twitch. --We?-- He scoffs. --You mean you and your consortium of Autoscum.--
Prowl tenses and steps up beside Thundercracker. Wheeljack's battlemask has already slid shut, concealing his expression. Plating dents beneath Dreadwing's grip, though Astrotrain doesn't appear to notice the pain. Maybe his systems have already scavenged those lines.
--They are my allies, yes.--
Thundercracker hesitates. He feels strangely offended, though he can't explain why.
--Imagine that,-- Astrotrain puts in snidely. --Allies. Like we’re holding a nice little conference and energon party.--
Thundercracker hesitates again. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to win someone over like Stars always managed. How to befriend someone so different from himself like Warp can. He’s just himself, and he’s never been so personable before.
--Survival is what matters now,-- he finally insists. --Not faction.--
Astrotrain shifts. His plating clamps to his substructure as he physically and mentally turns away.
--Whatever helps you in recharge, traitor.--
Thundercracker fumbles. The conversation has already gone off course, and he isn’t sure how to steer it back.
--I…--
--You are that devoted to the Decepticons?-- Prowl interrupts then, his tone curious but mostly neutral.
Another sound of disdain spills into the comm as Astrotrain shoots him a glare. --Frag, no. But leaving the 'Cons and walking hand in hand with Autobots are two different things.-- His gaze swings back to Thundercracker in accusation. --Autobots aren't allies. They’ll never understand.--
--The Autobots are on Earth right now,-- Prowl counters, effectively calling back Astrotrain's attention. --They serve under Optimus Prime, and they are not what we are.--
It’s Thundercracker's turn to look at Prowl. Wheeljack does, too. They are both confused. Ratchet has long professed that he’s still an Autobot, but Drift's recently removed his sigil, claiming he is neither. Wheeljack still has his though, and Tracks never seemed to have one at all as far as anyone can tell.
Astrotrain tilts his helm. --Then what the frag are you? With that red face on your chassis, mech?--
The police car lifts a hand to trace the emblem. --I am Prowl. I was sparked a tactician, and it’s what I will always be. I’m currently a refugee and an orphan, like the rest of us,-- he says, and his optics are too blue. --I’m searching for a place to call home. That’s what I am.--
Quiet for a moment. But then, Astrotrain turns his head again.
--Tell me another lie, bot.-- His features twist into a sneer. --You still wear that mark, don't you?--
--I notice that you’re still labeled as well.-- Prowl gestures to the stamp on Astrotrain's chestplate, front and center. --Factions do not make us who we are. They aren’t the sole entirety of our functioning. We are more than the brand we choose to bear.--
Silence again, but it’s more thoughtful now. Astrotrain peers at Prowl, as though he's never quite seen his like before. Thundercracker, for his part, is stunned. Is fumbling for something to say. And now for a different reason than before.
--So what. You all are Neutral or something?-- Astrotrain demands. His gaze skips around to each mech present, Autobot and Decepticon alike.
--Or something,-- Thundercracker manages when Prowl steps back, as though conceding the floor once more. Though frankly, Prowl is doing a far better job at this. --We have a plan. A goal. Where you fit into it is up to you.--
Astrotrain flicks his left wing, the one Dreadwing isn’t grasping. He smacks it against Dreadwing's frame as though protesting the restraint.
--If I tell you to frag off, are you gonna snuff my spark?--
Thundercracker cycles a ventilation. This part he can handle.
--If we let you go, are you going to turn around and shoot us in the back?--
Astrotrain grins.
Stalemate.
--What is that what you want, Astrotrain?-- Prowl questions.
The triple-changer's grin wipes away in an instant. --I wanted to live,-- he says, and his optics narrow. --I wanted to slagging survive. Me and my partner both. But it don't seem like that's an option now, does it?--
Well, that confirms at least one mystery. It might be kinder, Thundercracker reflects, if they do offline Astrotrain.
--Survival is our aim,-- Prowl responds, while Thundercracker mulls over an appropriate response and comes up blank. --No more fighting. No more killing. Just survival.--
Astrotrain twitches. His gaze falls to the tattered remnants of the Ark's flooring.
--Down there is death. Up here is death. What choice do I have? There’s nowhere to go.--
--There is,-- Prowl insists, and his tone is almost hypnotic. --If you are willing.--
Astrotrain stares at him. At his black and white paint. At his Autobot sigil. At his too blue optics.
--Can we trust you?-- Prowl questions, voice so very soft.
Thundercracker wants to shout a firm negative. Astrotrain may seem willing to submit now. But only because it's in his best interest. He'll never be trustworthy.
Astrotrain, however, smirks.
--Probably not.-- He rolls his shoulders. --Let me go, and I won't shoot you in the back. It wouldn't do me any good anyway. Give me some energon, and I'll pledge my allegiance.--
--We don't want your pledge,-- Thundercracker says, unable to hide the annoyance in your tone. --It's worthless to us.--
A hand settles on Thundercracker's arm. He startles, looking down. Finding that Prowl has now touched him, pulsing calm through his energy field.
--A pledge is not necessary,-- Prowl offers, all without looking up at Thundercracker for confirmation. Taking charge, it seems, is in his coding as well. --Do you wish to join our efforts? Or do we send you on your way?--
Astrotrain stares at Prowl again. His optics flicker as he obviously weighs his options.
Thundercracker switches to a private channel. --Do you think we can trust him?--
--Of course not.-- Prowl squeezes his arm again, as though offering comfort. --If he agrees to stay, I recommend that we leave him here on the moon. He will serve as adequate guard as long as we provide him energon, and he will not be a danger to the hatchlings.-- His field is gentle over Thundercracker. --I question his motives.--
--What would I have to do?-- Astrotrain demands then, losing none of his belligerence.
Prowl’s fingers smooth over Thundercracker’s plating in a single motion. The Seeker lets out air.
--Stay here.-- Thundercracker gestures to the Ark around them. --This is our way off-planet. Guard the Ark. Fix what you can. Ensure that we can all escape.--
Astrotrain, though aggressive and sullen, is also a capable in his own right. Not nearly as skilled at Wheeljack or even Skywarp. He’s more a mechanic than an inventor if Thundercracker remembers correctly. However, over the vorns, they've all had to expand their skill-set, and Astrotrain is no exception.
--And you'll give me energon?--
Astrotrain clearly has his priorities in order.
--You won't be able to consume to your spark's content, but you will be adequately fueled,-- Prowl corrects.
His hand falls away from Thundercracker, taking a step toward the bound mech. A glance from him, and Dreadwing releases his grip on Astrotrain, backing away. Neither of them even thinks to look to Thundercracker for confirmation. Which is probably a good thing.
Prowl just keeps going. --The question now is what you plan to do with our offer.--
--I don’t trust him,-- Dreadwing says across their encrypted line. His optics hold nothing but distaste. --He will cooperate only until it no longer benefits him.--
Prowl's helm lifts a fraction, enough to indicate his agreement. –Then, we’ll simply have to make sure he is benefited until the time comes that we can encourage him to go his own way without concern for retribution.--
Dreadwing takes a click, but he appears to accept that. Thundercracker merely offers a shrug.
--Fine,-- Astrotrain says on the main channel. --I'll join with your happy band of traitors. Got nothing better to do anyway.-- He raises his hands pointedly. --So can you take these cuffs off now?--
Prowl gestures to Dreadwing, who ruffles his wings but crouches down anyway.
--Are you otherwise injured?-- Prowl inquires as the cuffs are removed and Astrotrain rolls his shoulder joints.
--Nothing a bit of self-repair won't cure.--
The triple-changer rises with a noticeable wobble; he is still low on energon after all. The medical stasis and energon infusion did wonders for his mental state but not necessarily the physical.
--I wouldn't say no to a wash though,-- Astrotrain informs them, brushing at the filth caked on his frame.
--There is a small facility on our shuttle,-- Prowl informs him, looking up at the massive Decepticon without a trace of fear. --Dreadwing will show you, and Wheeljack will assist.--
--Throw me under the bus why don't you,-- their engineer grumbles, but humor edges his words.
Prowl tosses him a look and uses the private channel. --Fix his minor injuries. And while you're at it, make sure he's not carrying anything we should know about it.--
--Well, that's the mech I remember at least.-- Wheeljack curves his lipplates in a smirk. --For a parsec there you had me thinking you'd lost your processor. Or gone all soft-sparked.--
He taps the triple-changer on the arm. --Come on, big guy. Let's get you cleaned up.--
Wheeljack leads and Astrotrain follows with Dreadwing trailing behind the both of them. Thundercracker doesn't have to ask to know that Dreadwing's still running battle subroutines. Astrotrain is a threat, though a muted one now. Thundercracker isn’t going to trust Astrotrain any further than he can toss him into the void of space.
--He will need to be monitored,-- Prowl says once the three are gone. He turns toward Thundercracker, face pensive. --I would also recommend that we lock the controls for the Ark and keep anything remotely useful with us on Earth.--
Thundercracker gropes for one of the empty command chairs and slides into it. --It might be safer just to offline him now,-- he comments, nestling into the chair. It's nice to have furniture built to Cybertronian specifications, even if for a short while.
--Safer, yes. But hardly in line with what we’re trying to accomplish,-- Prowl replies, a slight curve to his mouth. --Otherwise, we would be no better than Prime or his brother.--
Thundercracker leans an elbow on the arm of the chair and sends a dismissive glyph across the comm. Prowl's right, of course. But he doesn't have to like it.
Then again, Prowl's been right about a lot of things. He's only been a member of their motley crew for a scant few days, and already, he's seamlessly merged into their hierarchy. He's all but thriving in it actually.
Thundercracker rests his helm on his knuckles, watching the Praxian as he wanders over to the Ark's dark console. Prowl has always been very highly ranked within the Autobots. There are few of them who Thundercracker knows by reputation and name alone, and Prowl is one of them. He's known for being highly intelligent, an unbeatable tactician, and curiously fair.
In facing Astrotrain, Thundercracker floundered, but Prowl easily took up the slack. Within moments, he measured and weighed and calculated and discovered the best outcome.
Dreadwing's earlier words float to the forefront of his processor. The seeded idea takes root and sprouts a few growths.
--You're good at this,-- Thundercracker says then, spark surging a strange rhythm inside his chassis. --At leading.--
Prowl gives him a strange look. --It's what I was sparked to do, after a fashion. I suppose you could say I was lucky in that regard. I actually enjoyed the place society had given me.--
--I'm not,-- Thundercracker responds and shifts in the chair. --Good at leading, I mean. I hate it. I can step up if pressed, but I don't like it. That's what Starscream was for. And Megatron.-- He looks at Prowl pointedly. --I'm a follower, and I’m comfortable with that.--
Prowl freezes. He very slowly glances up at Thundercracker. His optics are searching, seeking, but he seems surprised by what he finds.
--What are you implying, Thundercracker?--
The Seeker looks back at him. His spark vibrates in his chest, and his pump squeezes tightly.
This is it.
--If we’re going to survive long enough to leave this planet, we're going to need a strong leader,-- Thundercracker says, and some of the bands squeezing his spark, start to ease away. --So far, I've managed not to get us scrapped. But that's not enough.--
Dust stirs as Prowl approaches and stands directly in front of him. The two are nearly of a height with Thundercracker seated and the tactician standing.
--There are several other mechs available and capable of the position,-- Prowl points out, and his tone is more thoughtful than careful. --Dreadwing, for one. Ratchet, for another. Both have been leaders in the past, and Dreadwing was the head of his trine before they joined you. Ratchet was even a Senator.--
Thundercracker snorts at the thought. --They’ve both made it quite clear that they don’t want it either. That they’d only lead if there was absolutely no choice.—
--They’ve both been here longer than I,-- Prowl insists. --They’ve earned their place. Your trust.--
--So have you.--Thundercracker laughs. --You just did. You were amazing. You’ve never even met Astrotrain until now, but you read him like a datapad and got exactly what we wanted. And that’s while giving him what we planned to offer anyway.--
That seems to stump Prowl. His energy field is controlled as it always seems to be, but he doesn’t wrap it around himself as some mechs do. Instead, he allows it to reach out freely, to intermingle with Thundercracker’s. It’s a heady feeling. It speaks of trust and companionship, despite the fact they barely even know each other.
Nevertheless, Thundercracker knows enough.
Prowl just looks at him. --You would truly follow an Autobot's lead?--
There are so many things Thundercracker can say to that. But the truth is probably the best.
--No.-- He shakes his helm, meeting Prowl's gaze firmly. --I would follow yours.--
Silence settles at his words, heavy and expectant. Prowl's optics search his face, and Thundercracker can all but hear the calculations racing through his processor.
Finally, Prowl's helm dips.
--I need a breem.--
Thundercracker's lips tug toward a smile, but he doesn’t say anything.
--You are certain this is the better course?-- Prowl asks after a long moment, but he cannot hide the astonishment that wavers in his field. --This was not my intention after all.--
--It's for that reason really.-- Thundercracker raps his talons over the arm of the chair. --You would’ve followed. Done whatever I told you, even if it wasn’t what you’d have done personally.-- His energy brushes against Prowl’s own. --We don’t need another follower though; we need you to lead.--
Prowl puts a hand to his chin, and his doors move behind him. His optics are so very blue, bright like the lights on Cybertron before the war.
--Only if you are my lieutenant,-- Prowl decides suddenly.
It’s Thundercracker’s turn to be taken aback, but it’s only for a moment. Then, a weight lifts from his spark, and relief rushes through Thundercracker's systems. He can stand by Prowl's side, be his second, support his choices. But that he doesn't have to make them personally anymore is a burden happily surrendered.
He nods, and Prowl’s sensory panels flex and settle against his back when Thundercracker nods.
--Then, I will gratefully accept.--
He reaches out to claps Thundercracker’s hand. The gesture is returned gladly. Their future is already starting to look brighter.
a/n: Coming up next! (As soon as I write it anyway) Skywarp! And then, in order, Drift, Sunstreaker, Bumblebee, and Sideswipe. Fun times! Also, should Wheeljack, Dreadwing, or Tracks demand a say, they might find themselves with parts. It all depends on who shouts the loudest. :)
Feedback would be lovely. I'm trying to kick-start Skywarp into babbling at me.
