Flash Fiction Fills Take 48 (Second Half)
Feb. 16th, 2014 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: And to round out an interesting weekend, I present the last two flash fiction from the previous round of requests. I do hope you enjoy.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: Dear Lies 'verse, Wheeljack and the Twins, “The Care and Feeding of one Ratchet the Hatchet”
Fandom: Transformers G1, Dear Lies 'verse. Warnings: None.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: SuperWonderBat, “It's called the Fortress of Solitude for a reason”
Fandom: Justice League DCAU. Warnings: None.
a/n: Next Flash Fiction Friday will be sometime in March, just not sure when yet. I'll announce it though. Promise!
Feedback is welcome and appreciated, as always.
More writing being done when I can. Got the last piece of my Once Burned series near-completion. I've got my challenge fic kind of playing coy. Maybe I'll get it done by the deadline. *fingers crossed* I'm plotting out Sideswipe's part of WWE even as I bite my nails over Drift's. I've got at least one more part of Indivisible ready to go and I'm contemplating how to go about another piece of it. And I've decided to write Act III of Wayward Sons for my SciFiBigBang.
Phew. Lots of stuff. :)
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: Dear Lies 'verse, Wheeljack and the Twins, “The Care and Feeding of one Ratchet the Hatchet”
Fandom: Transformers G1, Dear Lies 'verse. Warnings: None.
“Are you sure you're up to this?” Sideswipe asks.
Wheeljack crosses his arms. “He's been my best friend for longer than you've been functioning. I think I can handle it.”
The Twins exchange glances.
“I'll get the datapad,” says Sunstreaker before he walks away and starts rifling around in their storage chest.
Wheeljack wonders how either of them can find anything in this haphazard mess they call their room.
“What datapad?” Wheeljack asks.
“You'll need it,” Sideswipe says. “We've worked hard to get him this far.”
“I think I know how to babysit my best friend!” Wheeljack huffs, feeling more than a little irritated that these sparklings think they know more than him. “And I also think he'd be a little insulted you think he needs a nanny bot.”
“Ratchet doesn’t know what he needs,” Sideswipe insists with a raised orbital ridge “He never has but especially not now. Not since, well, you know.”
Yes, Wheeljack knows. And how surprisingly tactful for Sideswipe.
“Here,” says Sunstreaker as he suddenly appears at Wheeljack's right side and hands over a datapad.
Wheeljack is half-afraid of what's on it. He flicks the power switch, reads the title, and can't resist laughing out loud.
The Care and Feeding of one Ratchet the Hatchet.
“Why would you even write this?” he asks.
Sideswipe shrugs. “Thought it might come in handy some day.”
“And we were right,” Sunstreaker agrees, moving to stand by his brother's side, presenting a united front as they often do.
Wheeljack peers at the table of contents, his grin growing, as well as his sense of awe. There are chapters regarding energon intake, recharge requirements, frame maintenance schedules, paint upkeep, and even suggested activities to occupy Ratchet's downtime.
His schedule is listed, hour by hour and day by day. Of course, it helps that Ratchet rarely deviates and can usually be found working.
An addendum to this is Jazz's schedule, with potential conflicts highlighted in red.
Wheeljack reboots his optics and looks up at the twins, strangely intent. “How long have you been working on this?”
They exchange glances again and shrug in unison.
“Since we came back from Yellowstone,” Sideswipe says, half-question and half-answer.
“It started as a joke,” Sunstreaker adds. “Something Smokescreen said offhand and even though he has no idea what happened, it made sense.”
“And then we realized we were actually helping so we kept adding to it,” says Sideswipe.
Wheeljack is floored. He tucks the datapad into his subspace. “Thanks. I'm sure it will be of use.”
“It better,” Sunstreaker warns.
“Yeah,” Sideswipe adds. “We don't want to come back and find our favorite medic underfueled and undercharged.”
“Or scuffed,” Sunstreaker says with a shudder.
“I'll do my best,” Wheeljack promises.
“Then we'll leave him in your capable hands for the next two weeks,” Sideswipe says as he backs Wheeljack toward the door.
“And you better not blow him up,” Sunstreaker warns.
Wheeljack huffs. “Hey! All of my explosions are intentional.”
Sunstreaker smirks. “The warning stands.”
The door closes in his face.
Wheeljack rolls his optics.
Who knew the Twins could be such nanny bots?
Still...
He considers the datapad in his subspace. Apparently, he and Prowl have some studying to do. Looking after Ratchet while the Twins are on long-range patrol just took on a whole new level of challenge.
Wheeljack crosses his arms. “He's been my best friend for longer than you've been functioning. I think I can handle it.”
The Twins exchange glances.
“I'll get the datapad,” says Sunstreaker before he walks away and starts rifling around in their storage chest.
Wheeljack wonders how either of them can find anything in this haphazard mess they call their room.
“What datapad?” Wheeljack asks.
“You'll need it,” Sideswipe says. “We've worked hard to get him this far.”
“I think I know how to babysit my best friend!” Wheeljack huffs, feeling more than a little irritated that these sparklings think they know more than him. “And I also think he'd be a little insulted you think he needs a nanny bot.”
“Ratchet doesn’t know what he needs,” Sideswipe insists with a raised orbital ridge “He never has but especially not now. Not since, well, you know.”
Yes, Wheeljack knows. And how surprisingly tactful for Sideswipe.
“Here,” says Sunstreaker as he suddenly appears at Wheeljack's right side and hands over a datapad.
Wheeljack is half-afraid of what's on it. He flicks the power switch, reads the title, and can't resist laughing out loud.
The Care and Feeding of one Ratchet the Hatchet.
“Why would you even write this?” he asks.
Sideswipe shrugs. “Thought it might come in handy some day.”
“And we were right,” Sunstreaker agrees, moving to stand by his brother's side, presenting a united front as they often do.
Wheeljack peers at the table of contents, his grin growing, as well as his sense of awe. There are chapters regarding energon intake, recharge requirements, frame maintenance schedules, paint upkeep, and even suggested activities to occupy Ratchet's downtime.
His schedule is listed, hour by hour and day by day. Of course, it helps that Ratchet rarely deviates and can usually be found working.
An addendum to this is Jazz's schedule, with potential conflicts highlighted in red.
Wheeljack reboots his optics and looks up at the twins, strangely intent. “How long have you been working on this?”
They exchange glances again and shrug in unison.
“Since we came back from Yellowstone,” Sideswipe says, half-question and half-answer.
“It started as a joke,” Sunstreaker adds. “Something Smokescreen said offhand and even though he has no idea what happened, it made sense.”
“And then we realized we were actually helping so we kept adding to it,” says Sideswipe.
Wheeljack is floored. He tucks the datapad into his subspace. “Thanks. I'm sure it will be of use.”
“It better,” Sunstreaker warns.
“Yeah,” Sideswipe adds. “We don't want to come back and find our favorite medic underfueled and undercharged.”
“Or scuffed,” Sunstreaker says with a shudder.
“I'll do my best,” Wheeljack promises.
“Then we'll leave him in your capable hands for the next two weeks,” Sideswipe says as he backs Wheeljack toward the door.
“And you better not blow him up,” Sunstreaker warns.
Wheeljack huffs. “Hey! All of my explosions are intentional.”
Sunstreaker smirks. “The warning stands.”
The door closes in his face.
Wheeljack rolls his optics.
Who knew the Twins could be such nanny bots?
Still...
He considers the datapad in his subspace. Apparently, he and Prowl have some studying to do. Looking after Ratchet while the Twins are on long-range patrol just took on a whole new level of challenge.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: SuperWonderBat, “It's called the Fortress of Solitude for a reason”
Fandom: Justice League DCAU. Warnings: None.
If it was up to Bruce, he'd still be in the Batcave as he was supposed to be, watching over his city.
Unfortunately, Diana had never learned or been taught how to take no for an answer.
All of Bruce's logical arguments had been ignored. All of Batman's reasoned statements were given the same regard.
Sometimes, a man just wanted to be alone, Bruce had said.
Not this time, Diana had insisted, fingers locked around his cape and threatening to tear the reinforced fabric.
It's called the Fortress of Solitude, Bruce had reminded her. There's a reason for that.
We have a long-standing invitation, Diana had declared. Besides, not everyone prefers to brood in silent isolation.
That doesn't give us the right to barge in unwelcome! Bruce had all but huffed, trying not to be offended and failing.
Diana had glared.
An hour later, Bruce was strapped into Diana's jet, on their way to the Arctic. All of his objections had been overruled. He had no choice.
It wasn't that Bruce didn't want to be there for Clark. They were partners and lovers and everything in between. He simply wanted to offer Clark the privacy he felt he needed.
Diana was the one with other ideas.
“Don't expect him to be happy to see us,” he muttered.
“I fully expect he'll be sulking,” Diana replied, her cheerful tone at odds with the way she gripped the throttle. “Much like you are now.”
Bruce didn't dignify that with a retort.
They landed, none of the Fortress' defenses rising to greet them, prompting a smug look on Diana's part. Bruce ignored her. The lack of challenge only meant they were still recognized as allowed visitors.
It did not meant Clark wanted to see them.
“Clark?”
Bruce followed Diana as they moved through the many rooms and corridors of the Fortress. In many ways, it resembled the Batcave with all of the memorabilia.
They found Clark where Bruce expected him to be, staring up at the statue of his parents. He'd removed his cape, but nothing else.
He didn't turn to greet them.
Diana sighed. “There you are,” she said and Bruce was content to let her take the lead.
“Here I am,” Clark answered.
“You haven't been answering our calls,” Diana continued, daring to approach Clark. “We were worried.”
“We?” Clark repeated and he half-turned, gaze flicking to Bruce, who was finding comfort in the shadows.
Sometimes, Clark had these moments. They were few and far between, but it was like his Kryptonian heritage clashed with his Earth sensibilities and something went cross-wired in his brain. If he carried guns, Bruce would call it an 'itchy trigger finger'.
Hopefully, this wouldn't be one of those times. But Bruce had not survived as a crimefighter this long by being unprepared.
“Yes, we,” Diana said, unperturbed and of course she would be. She was an Amazonian princess, half-god, and nearly as invincible as Clark.
“I'm fine,” Clark said, his tone far from matching his claim. “I don't want any company right now.” That, at least, rung as truth.
“The last thing you should be is alone,” Diana insisted, shooting Bruce a look that demanded his cooperation. Or else.
He sighed to himself. “It wasn't your fault,” Bruce said. “There's nothing you could have done.” This, too, was the truth, but it when it came down to it, Bruce wasn't sure who had more capacity for self-blame: himself or Clark. At least he admitted it.
“I should have done more,” Clark insisted, his words taking on a sharp edge, his hands curling into fists. The tense lines of his back were a testament to his agitation.
“You are powerful,” Diana said, her soothing tone a magical ability into itself as she drew even closer, unafraid. “But you are not a god. We do our best, try our hardest, and never give up. That is all we can do.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. That he didn't shrug her off was a good sign.
Bruce dared approach, stepping out of the shadows, offering his pragmatism in counter to Diana's optimism, knowing that Clark appreciated both. It was not unlike the tug he felt between his Earth heritage's human emotion and the Kryptonian scientific rationale.
“You're not alone,” he said, feeling the weight of the shadow of Clark's parents over them. He could related. He had the massive painting in Wayne Manor; Clark had his statue. “And if I remember correctly, you're the one who taught me that.”
Clark's head dipped. He exhaled audibly. His hands unclenched from their firsts. “Only you would turn my own words against me, Bruce.”
“It's a special talent I have,” Bruce said wryly.
“Among many others,” Diana said and squeezed Clark's shoulder, pressing against his side in comfort. “I know you want to be alone, but will you let us be alone with you?”
“That doesn't make any sense, Diana,” Bruce said, but he allowed himself to step fully out of the shadows, discreetly tucking away his sliver of Kryptonite.
“It's not supposed to.”
Clark shook his head. “Why is it that Bruce is allowed to sulk but I am not?”
“For Bruce, it's a natural state of being,” Diana teased, tossing a wink Bruce's direction.
Bruce glowered. “I take exception to that.”
“It's only offensive because it's true,” she retorted with obvious amusement.
“I do not sulk. Or brood for that matter!” Bruce argued and noticed, to his relief, a smile growing on Clark's face.
If familiar banter was all it took, then Bruce would continue.
And maybe he would consider conceding that Diana had been right.
Maybe.
Unfortunately, Diana had never learned or been taught how to take no for an answer.
All of Bruce's logical arguments had been ignored. All of Batman's reasoned statements were given the same regard.
Sometimes, a man just wanted to be alone, Bruce had said.
Not this time, Diana had insisted, fingers locked around his cape and threatening to tear the reinforced fabric.
It's called the Fortress of Solitude, Bruce had reminded her. There's a reason for that.
We have a long-standing invitation, Diana had declared. Besides, not everyone prefers to brood in silent isolation.
That doesn't give us the right to barge in unwelcome! Bruce had all but huffed, trying not to be offended and failing.
Diana had glared.
An hour later, Bruce was strapped into Diana's jet, on their way to the Arctic. All of his objections had been overruled. He had no choice.
It wasn't that Bruce didn't want to be there for Clark. They were partners and lovers and everything in between. He simply wanted to offer Clark the privacy he felt he needed.
Diana was the one with other ideas.
“Don't expect him to be happy to see us,” he muttered.
“I fully expect he'll be sulking,” Diana replied, her cheerful tone at odds with the way she gripped the throttle. “Much like you are now.”
Bruce didn't dignify that with a retort.
They landed, none of the Fortress' defenses rising to greet them, prompting a smug look on Diana's part. Bruce ignored her. The lack of challenge only meant they were still recognized as allowed visitors.
It did not meant Clark wanted to see them.
“Clark?”
Bruce followed Diana as they moved through the many rooms and corridors of the Fortress. In many ways, it resembled the Batcave with all of the memorabilia.
They found Clark where Bruce expected him to be, staring up at the statue of his parents. He'd removed his cape, but nothing else.
He didn't turn to greet them.
Diana sighed. “There you are,” she said and Bruce was content to let her take the lead.
“Here I am,” Clark answered.
“You haven't been answering our calls,” Diana continued, daring to approach Clark. “We were worried.”
“We?” Clark repeated and he half-turned, gaze flicking to Bruce, who was finding comfort in the shadows.
Sometimes, Clark had these moments. They were few and far between, but it was like his Kryptonian heritage clashed with his Earth sensibilities and something went cross-wired in his brain. If he carried guns, Bruce would call it an 'itchy trigger finger'.
Hopefully, this wouldn't be one of those times. But Bruce had not survived as a crimefighter this long by being unprepared.
“Yes, we,” Diana said, unperturbed and of course she would be. She was an Amazonian princess, half-god, and nearly as invincible as Clark.
“I'm fine,” Clark said, his tone far from matching his claim. “I don't want any company right now.” That, at least, rung as truth.
“The last thing you should be is alone,” Diana insisted, shooting Bruce a look that demanded his cooperation. Or else.
He sighed to himself. “It wasn't your fault,” Bruce said. “There's nothing you could have done.” This, too, was the truth, but it when it came down to it, Bruce wasn't sure who had more capacity for self-blame: himself or Clark. At least he admitted it.
“I should have done more,” Clark insisted, his words taking on a sharp edge, his hands curling into fists. The tense lines of his back were a testament to his agitation.
“You are powerful,” Diana said, her soothing tone a magical ability into itself as she drew even closer, unafraid. “But you are not a god. We do our best, try our hardest, and never give up. That is all we can do.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. That he didn't shrug her off was a good sign.
Bruce dared approach, stepping out of the shadows, offering his pragmatism in counter to Diana's optimism, knowing that Clark appreciated both. It was not unlike the tug he felt between his Earth heritage's human emotion and the Kryptonian scientific rationale.
“You're not alone,” he said, feeling the weight of the shadow of Clark's parents over them. He could related. He had the massive painting in Wayne Manor; Clark had his statue. “And if I remember correctly, you're the one who taught me that.”
Clark's head dipped. He exhaled audibly. His hands unclenched from their firsts. “Only you would turn my own words against me, Bruce.”
“It's a special talent I have,” Bruce said wryly.
“Among many others,” Diana said and squeezed Clark's shoulder, pressing against his side in comfort. “I know you want to be alone, but will you let us be alone with you?”
“That doesn't make any sense, Diana,” Bruce said, but he allowed himself to step fully out of the shadows, discreetly tucking away his sliver of Kryptonite.
“It's not supposed to.”
Clark shook his head. “Why is it that Bruce is allowed to sulk but I am not?”
“For Bruce, it's a natural state of being,” Diana teased, tossing a wink Bruce's direction.
Bruce glowered. “I take exception to that.”
“It's only offensive because it's true,” she retorted with obvious amusement.
“I do not sulk. Or brood for that matter!” Bruce argued and noticed, to his relief, a smile growing on Clark's face.
If familiar banter was all it took, then Bruce would continue.
And maybe he would consider conceding that Diana had been right.
Maybe.
a/n: Next Flash Fiction Friday will be sometime in March, just not sure when yet. I'll announce it though. Promise!
Feedback is welcome and appreciated, as always.
More writing being done when I can. Got the last piece of my Once Burned series near-completion. I've got my challenge fic kind of playing coy. Maybe I'll get it done by the deadline. *fingers crossed* I'm plotting out Sideswipe's part of WWE even as I bite my nails over Drift's. I've got at least one more part of Indivisible ready to go and I'm contemplating how to go about another piece of it. And I've decided to write Act III of Wayward Sons for my SciFiBigBang.
Phew. Lots of stuff. :)
