[Bay] War Without End - Skywarp - Pt IV
May. 5th, 2014 09:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: War Without End – Skywarp
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, background pairings
Desc: Friends. Alllies. Peace. Family. Skywarp never imagined that any of those terms would include an Autobot.
He finds TC in the Jackhammer. He’s slouched in the pilot's chair and aimlessly flicking through the open channels on the console. There’s nothing but static to be heard with the occasional human broadcast interfering.
He finds TC alone, which is surprising. Though Warp already knew he would be since all the others are either otherwise assigned or in recharge.
“Hey.”
TC doesn't so much as twitch. No doubt he's long sensed Warp's energy field.
“Were you looking for me?”
Skywarp grins. “After a fashion.” He leans on TC's chair, causing it to tilt back and jerk his friend backwards. “Where's Prowl?”
His wingmate's energy field is always a quiet purr, carefully contained and close to his plating. Such is true today. But it also flares at Warp's question before being quickly withdrawn.
“How should I know?” TC asks, and though his tone is even, there's an edge of irritation underlying it that Skywarp can recognize.
Warp drags his fingers across the top edge of TC's wing. “I hardly see you two apart nowadays. You're practically joined at the hip.”
“Stop that.” Thundercracker leans forward, off-setting Warp's weight, flicking his wing out of reach.
Grinning, Warp backs away and holds up both hands in surrender. “Private property. I understand.” He edges around the narrow space, dropping himself down into the copilot’s seat. “I notice you didn't answer me.
“You didn't have a question,” TC retorts with an askance look.
“Didn't I?”
Swiveling his own chair, TC gives him a level look. “What's on your processor?” he questions. All traces of his earlier irritation are gone, replaced by a quiet and genuine sobriety.
Sometimes, TC knows him a little too well. It can be annoying. Though he supposes the fact that he sought out his wingmate at all proves that Skywarp wants to talk.
And he does, too. Only without Autobot audials or whatever the frag Drift and Dreadwing want to call themselves either.
“It's just weird, you know,” Warp says, sinking into the comfort of a chair that had been designed for their kind. “Fighting and living and laughing with the Autobots. I still don't know what to think about it.”
Understanding flickers over TC's expression, but he turns his attention back to the console. “I never took you as one so loyal to the Decepticon cause.”
“The cause, yes. Megatron and the Decepticons? Not quite.” Skywarp leans to his right and braces his chin on his servo. “Over the eons, it got harder to remember what it’s all for.”
“And now?”
He lifts his gaze to the viewscreen. It’s shuttered now, and he imagines beyond it is the distinct rippling effect of a shuttle hidden from human satellites.
“It feels like we're the closest to our goals than we've ever been. And this?” His other hand flicks against the dark brand, etched into his chassis. “This feels like a lie.”
A trace of amusement reflects in TC's vocals. “Are you going to switch it out for an Autobrand now?”
“Frag no!” Skywarp is more horrified than offended. “I don't want either of them! I don't want a faction to define or decide for me anymore.”
TC's digits rap over the console, but his tone is soft. “Then what do you want?”
It's a fair question. They've functioned for so long within factional lines that they’re all having a hard time shaping themselves without the brand's dictations to guide them. After all, they’re traitors to their respective sides.
Once, a long time ago, before factions designated them, Seekers were known by their markings. Tribal lines and origin indicators and batch numbers all swirled across their plates and wings. Starscream, as their Air Commander, had been the only one allowed to keep his.
Skywarp misses his own. More than that, he wishes he could remember what they were.
They, at least, would be far preferable to the brand of Decepticon or Autobot. He wouldn't have a faction to define him then.
What does he want?
The answer comes easier than Skywarp would’ve expected.
“Friends,” he says. “Allies. Peace. Family.” His spark pulses an ache, and Skywarp cycles a ventilation. “I don't remember Vos, TC. I don't remember my hatchmates. I don't remember home.”
His memory core is a ruin, a mismatch of partially-repaired pathways, burnt out circuits, and smashed linkages. It's unrepairable, even with all of Ratchet's talents. There are things Skywarp is never going to remember. Until now, he hasn't had time to think much upon that loss. In war, what he can't remember didn't really matter. Every battle brought him one flight closer to offlining.
But now? Fighting for peace? Things are a lot different.
TC pauses, a soft whuff coming from his vents. “Tracks told me something not too long ago.”
“Tracks?” Warp cycles his optics. “Since when do you spend any time with that Seeker wannabe?”
TC shoots him a warning glance. “Since I became curious as to how he joined up with a ‘Con.” He taps Warp on the forehead. “Hush. I'm making a point.”
“Fine.”
It still doesn't make any sense. Then again, TC has always been more for thinking than the average Decepticon, which is why Skywarp came to him in the first place. In the absence of Stars, TC has the answers. It's practically written into his core coding as an absolute at this point.
TC gives him another look but returns his attention to the console. “I asked him why he wasn't disturbed by Cybertron's destruction.”
Warp cocks his head. He has a point. Of them all, Tracks was the only one who didn't have as much of an outward reaction toward the data packet.
“He said that he hasn't been home in eons. Everyone and everything he ever knew is offline and gone. Destroyed by the war.” TC hesitates, the sound of armor clamping down loud in the silence. “To him, Cybertron became a myth, a legend almost. The planet itself isn't home.”
It does not compute. Cybertron isn’t home?
“Then what is? Earth?” He doesn’t bother to hold back a disdainful blat of static. This organic-infested rock is never going to be home.
“No.” The chair creaks as TC shifts, ceasing his random fiddling and going still. “Dreadwing. And to a lesser extent, Wheeljack.”
Skywarp frowns. “But they aren't mates. He said so himself.”
Multiple times in fact since Warp has a habit of teasing everyone. Dreadwing does not approve.
“Neither are we.” TC swivels his chair, looking straight at him. “But you’re my wingmate and my family all the same. If you wanted to skip out on the others and leave this very click, I’d go with you. For no other reason than you were leaving.” Thundercracker just gazes at him for a very long moment before letting out a chuckle. “Even if you do irritate the slag out of me on a daily basis.”
Skywarp stares.
Those are dangerous words. Especially to come from a Decepticon. But then, they aren't ‘Cons anymore are they?
“The Cybertron I remember isn’t one I'd want to return to,” TC continues, but his vocals are even softer, his gaze distant. “It was a miserable existence. This--” Here he gestures all around them, encompassing the shuttle, their miserable base, and all its occupants. “--for all its flaws, is an improvement. Autobots included.”
Skywarp supposes he can agree with that much. Mine labor and then press-ganged into a battle group and sent to war as though his spark meant nothing, that's the Cybertron he remembers. It's not one he wants to see again.
Maybe Tracks has a point. Still...
Warp leans forward. He flicks his finger against TC's wing, striking the emblem branded into a solid plate.
“Are you going to give it up?”
“No.” TC turns back to the console, taps a few buttons, and the viewscreen clouds over. “I don't know if I’m ready for that.”
Warp flickers his optics. And yet, TC has no problem cuddling up to an Autobot. Truly, he is a Seeker of many contradictions.
“Then what are you ready for?” he inquires, and his voice is actually sincere for once.
“Peace.”
Warp grins. “Me, too. Even if it means working with Autobots.”
Many of whom, if Skywarp is honest, aren't that bad. Drift's got a wicked sense of humor, Ratchet's all bluster, and Jack is an explosive genius. Literally. He's still making up his mind about Prowl, and Tracks has kept mostly to himself. And Dreadwing.
“For better or worse, they’re our future,” TC agrees, and the screens sift through images of the stars, galaxy maps and the like.
Only then does Skywarp realize what it is TC is doing: searching for a new planet or moon for them to call home.
Skywarp sits back in his chair. “It makes you wonder what Stars would think, doesn't it?”
A blip of reluctant amusement flickers in TC's energy field. “I know exactly what he'd do.?
“Try to overthrow Prowl and declare himself our leader?”
They share a mutual glance of fond exasperation. It's hard not to.
“That exactly,” TC decides.
Warp shakes his helm, lifting his optics to the steady search on the screen. Known planets are weighed, measured, and dismissed or set aside for further investigation.
“He was a power-hungry fragger, wasn't he?”
“Not always.” TC's tone is heavy with regret. “Not in the beginning.”
Yeah… that, too.
Skywarp leans on the arm of his chair. “Maybe it's better this way then. For everyone. I can't see Stars bowing to peace.”
No, he really can't. There’d been so much hate and anger surrounding their trinemate's spark. At first, it’d been dedication and determination, but over the eons of war, the vorns of Megatron's influence, all those good qualities were tainted and cast aside.
Sometimes, Skywarp misses the Starscream he used to know. He supposes it has to do with that whole family bit. He doesn't remember his own origins, caretakers, or hatchmates. TC and Stars were all he had.
“I was from Tarn,” TC offers then, pulling Skywarp from his musings. “I was fifth in the Gamma Hexa batch. And I wouldn’t protest if you choose to bear our mark.”
Surprise bursts in Warp's field before he can reel it in. Warmth flushes through him, affection rising to the fire.
“I...”
He has no words, nothing that can match the honor TC has allowed him. He can only look at his trinemate. His friend. His family.
“Thanks, TC.”
His wingmate makes a noncommittal noise, as though embarrassed by the offer. “Don't you have work you should be doing?”
Yes, definitely embarrassed.
Warp grins and levers himself out of the chair. “Slave driver,” he teases and throws himself at TC. “Love you, too.”
A sound that can best be described as a squawk spills from TC’s vocalizer. “Get off me,” he orders, trying to push at Skywarp. But he can't hide the affection in his field. The fondness that swirls around them both.
Skywarp laughs and lets himself be rebuffed. He pulls back, putting a respectable distance between them. His trinemate is right, he supposes. He does have work to do.
He heads for the door, noting that TC has just as quickly returned to his searching. The quiet click of his talons on the Jackhammer's controls are near the only sound in the bridge.
And then, Skywarp has a thought. He pauses in the doorway.
“Say, TC,” he begins. “I was thinking--”
“--Second in Beta Ennea batch. The one from Vos. Not those idiots in Kaon.” TC shakes his head. “Don’t use their emblem.”
A smile curves Skywarp's lipplates again. TC always seems to know what he's thinking.
“Thanks.”
He taps his fingers against the door frame and takes his leave. He should be heading up for the Ark soon. Thundercracker's given him a lot to think about, and he'll have nothing but time to do so. First though, Skywarp wants to see Ratchet. He's thinking it's about time his naked wings got a little decoration.
On his way into the medbarn, Warp nearly collides with Prowl who is on his way out. The boss, however, neatly sidesteps. And Warp can't help himself as he offers Prowl a bit of advice.
“TC's in the Jackhammer,” he says.
Prowl pauses, arching an orbital ridge at him. Autobot faceplates are so weirdly expressive.
“Is there a reason you're supplying me with this information?”
Warp shutters an optic, a parody of a wink he picked up from the television. “I just thought you'd want to know.”
“But why?”
Prowl actually sounds confused. A score for Skywarp!
“Oh, I think you'll figure it out eventually,” Warp replies with a grin, shimmying past and skirting into the doorway of the medbarn. “Good luck.”
Prowl gives him a look that is nothing short of flabbergasted. “Thank you...?”
Laughing to himself, Skywarp lets the door slide shut. Let the tactician brood on that for a while. Maybe he'll get it faster than Drift did.
Warp beams and shakes his helm. He’s already seeking out Ratchet in the cramped confines of the barn.
This may be home after all, he reflects. Not Earth. But rather the mechs around him.
He supposes it's not too bad, all things considered. Not too bad at all.
***
Back to Part Three | On to Master List
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, background pairings
Desc: Friends. Alllies. Peace. Family. Skywarp never imagined that any of those terms would include an Autobot.
-------------------
Skywarp - Part Four
-------------------
Skywarp - Part Four
-------------------
He finds TC in the Jackhammer. He’s slouched in the pilot's chair and aimlessly flicking through the open channels on the console. There’s nothing but static to be heard with the occasional human broadcast interfering.
He finds TC alone, which is surprising. Though Warp already knew he would be since all the others are either otherwise assigned or in recharge.
“Hey.”
TC doesn't so much as twitch. No doubt he's long sensed Warp's energy field.
“Were you looking for me?”
Skywarp grins. “After a fashion.” He leans on TC's chair, causing it to tilt back and jerk his friend backwards. “Where's Prowl?”
His wingmate's energy field is always a quiet purr, carefully contained and close to his plating. Such is true today. But it also flares at Warp's question before being quickly withdrawn.
“How should I know?” TC asks, and though his tone is even, there's an edge of irritation underlying it that Skywarp can recognize.
Warp drags his fingers across the top edge of TC's wing. “I hardly see you two apart nowadays. You're practically joined at the hip.”
“Stop that.” Thundercracker leans forward, off-setting Warp's weight, flicking his wing out of reach.
Grinning, Warp backs away and holds up both hands in surrender. “Private property. I understand.” He edges around the narrow space, dropping himself down into the copilot’s seat. “I notice you didn't answer me.
“You didn't have a question,” TC retorts with an askance look.
“Didn't I?”
Swiveling his own chair, TC gives him a level look. “What's on your processor?” he questions. All traces of his earlier irritation are gone, replaced by a quiet and genuine sobriety.
Sometimes, TC knows him a little too well. It can be annoying. Though he supposes the fact that he sought out his wingmate at all proves that Skywarp wants to talk.
And he does, too. Only without Autobot audials or whatever the frag Drift and Dreadwing want to call themselves either.
“It's just weird, you know,” Warp says, sinking into the comfort of a chair that had been designed for their kind. “Fighting and living and laughing with the Autobots. I still don't know what to think about it.”
Understanding flickers over TC's expression, but he turns his attention back to the console. “I never took you as one so loyal to the Decepticon cause.”
“The cause, yes. Megatron and the Decepticons? Not quite.” Skywarp leans to his right and braces his chin on his servo. “Over the eons, it got harder to remember what it’s all for.”
“And now?”
He lifts his gaze to the viewscreen. It’s shuttered now, and he imagines beyond it is the distinct rippling effect of a shuttle hidden from human satellites.
“It feels like we're the closest to our goals than we've ever been. And this?” His other hand flicks against the dark brand, etched into his chassis. “This feels like a lie.”
A trace of amusement reflects in TC's vocals. “Are you going to switch it out for an Autobrand now?”
“Frag no!” Skywarp is more horrified than offended. “I don't want either of them! I don't want a faction to define or decide for me anymore.”
TC's digits rap over the console, but his tone is soft. “Then what do you want?”
It's a fair question. They've functioned for so long within factional lines that they’re all having a hard time shaping themselves without the brand's dictations to guide them. After all, they’re traitors to their respective sides.
Once, a long time ago, before factions designated them, Seekers were known by their markings. Tribal lines and origin indicators and batch numbers all swirled across their plates and wings. Starscream, as their Air Commander, had been the only one allowed to keep his.
Skywarp misses his own. More than that, he wishes he could remember what they were.
They, at least, would be far preferable to the brand of Decepticon or Autobot. He wouldn't have a faction to define him then.
What does he want?
The answer comes easier than Skywarp would’ve expected.
“Friends,” he says. “Allies. Peace. Family.” His spark pulses an ache, and Skywarp cycles a ventilation. “I don't remember Vos, TC. I don't remember my hatchmates. I don't remember home.”
His memory core is a ruin, a mismatch of partially-repaired pathways, burnt out circuits, and smashed linkages. It's unrepairable, even with all of Ratchet's talents. There are things Skywarp is never going to remember. Until now, he hasn't had time to think much upon that loss. In war, what he can't remember didn't really matter. Every battle brought him one flight closer to offlining.
But now? Fighting for peace? Things are a lot different.
TC pauses, a soft whuff coming from his vents. “Tracks told me something not too long ago.”
“Tracks?” Warp cycles his optics. “Since when do you spend any time with that Seeker wannabe?”
TC shoots him a warning glance. “Since I became curious as to how he joined up with a ‘Con.” He taps Warp on the forehead. “Hush. I'm making a point.”
“Fine.”
It still doesn't make any sense. Then again, TC has always been more for thinking than the average Decepticon, which is why Skywarp came to him in the first place. In the absence of Stars, TC has the answers. It's practically written into his core coding as an absolute at this point.
TC gives him another look but returns his attention to the console. “I asked him why he wasn't disturbed by Cybertron's destruction.”
Warp cocks his head. He has a point. Of them all, Tracks was the only one who didn't have as much of an outward reaction toward the data packet.
“He said that he hasn't been home in eons. Everyone and everything he ever knew is offline and gone. Destroyed by the war.” TC hesitates, the sound of armor clamping down loud in the silence. “To him, Cybertron became a myth, a legend almost. The planet itself isn't home.”
It does not compute. Cybertron isn’t home?
“Then what is? Earth?” He doesn’t bother to hold back a disdainful blat of static. This organic-infested rock is never going to be home.
“No.” The chair creaks as TC shifts, ceasing his random fiddling and going still. “Dreadwing. And to a lesser extent, Wheeljack.”
Skywarp frowns. “But they aren't mates. He said so himself.”
Multiple times in fact since Warp has a habit of teasing everyone. Dreadwing does not approve.
“Neither are we.” TC swivels his chair, looking straight at him. “But you’re my wingmate and my family all the same. If you wanted to skip out on the others and leave this very click, I’d go with you. For no other reason than you were leaving.” Thundercracker just gazes at him for a very long moment before letting out a chuckle. “Even if you do irritate the slag out of me on a daily basis.”
Skywarp stares.
Those are dangerous words. Especially to come from a Decepticon. But then, they aren't ‘Cons anymore are they?
“The Cybertron I remember isn’t one I'd want to return to,” TC continues, but his vocals are even softer, his gaze distant. “It was a miserable existence. This--” Here he gestures all around them, encompassing the shuttle, their miserable base, and all its occupants. “--for all its flaws, is an improvement. Autobots included.”
Skywarp supposes he can agree with that much. Mine labor and then press-ganged into a battle group and sent to war as though his spark meant nothing, that's the Cybertron he remembers. It's not one he wants to see again.
Maybe Tracks has a point. Still...
Warp leans forward. He flicks his finger against TC's wing, striking the emblem branded into a solid plate.
“Are you going to give it up?”
“No.” TC turns back to the console, taps a few buttons, and the viewscreen clouds over. “I don't know if I’m ready for that.”
Warp flickers his optics. And yet, TC has no problem cuddling up to an Autobot. Truly, he is a Seeker of many contradictions.
“Then what are you ready for?” he inquires, and his voice is actually sincere for once.
“Peace.”
Warp grins. “Me, too. Even if it means working with Autobots.”
Many of whom, if Skywarp is honest, aren't that bad. Drift's got a wicked sense of humor, Ratchet's all bluster, and Jack is an explosive genius. Literally. He's still making up his mind about Prowl, and Tracks has kept mostly to himself. And Dreadwing.
“For better or worse, they’re our future,” TC agrees, and the screens sift through images of the stars, galaxy maps and the like.
Only then does Skywarp realize what it is TC is doing: searching for a new planet or moon for them to call home.
Skywarp sits back in his chair. “It makes you wonder what Stars would think, doesn't it?”
A blip of reluctant amusement flickers in TC's energy field. “I know exactly what he'd do.?
“Try to overthrow Prowl and declare himself our leader?”
They share a mutual glance of fond exasperation. It's hard not to.
“That exactly,” TC decides.
Warp shakes his helm, lifting his optics to the steady search on the screen. Known planets are weighed, measured, and dismissed or set aside for further investigation.
“He was a power-hungry fragger, wasn't he?”
“Not always.” TC's tone is heavy with regret. “Not in the beginning.”
Yeah… that, too.
Skywarp leans on the arm of his chair. “Maybe it's better this way then. For everyone. I can't see Stars bowing to peace.”
No, he really can't. There’d been so much hate and anger surrounding their trinemate's spark. At first, it’d been dedication and determination, but over the eons of war, the vorns of Megatron's influence, all those good qualities were tainted and cast aside.
Sometimes, Skywarp misses the Starscream he used to know. He supposes it has to do with that whole family bit. He doesn't remember his own origins, caretakers, or hatchmates. TC and Stars were all he had.
“I was from Tarn,” TC offers then, pulling Skywarp from his musings. “I was fifth in the Gamma Hexa batch. And I wouldn’t protest if you choose to bear our mark.”
Surprise bursts in Warp's field before he can reel it in. Warmth flushes through him, affection rising to the fire.
“I...”
He has no words, nothing that can match the honor TC has allowed him. He can only look at his trinemate. His friend. His family.
“Thanks, TC.”
His wingmate makes a noncommittal noise, as though embarrassed by the offer. “Don't you have work you should be doing?”
Yes, definitely embarrassed.
Warp grins and levers himself out of the chair. “Slave driver,” he teases and throws himself at TC. “Love you, too.”
A sound that can best be described as a squawk spills from TC’s vocalizer. “Get off me,” he orders, trying to push at Skywarp. But he can't hide the affection in his field. The fondness that swirls around them both.
Skywarp laughs and lets himself be rebuffed. He pulls back, putting a respectable distance between them. His trinemate is right, he supposes. He does have work to do.
He heads for the door, noting that TC has just as quickly returned to his searching. The quiet click of his talons on the Jackhammer's controls are near the only sound in the bridge.
And then, Skywarp has a thought. He pauses in the doorway.
“Say, TC,” he begins. “I was thinking--”
“--Second in Beta Ennea batch. The one from Vos. Not those idiots in Kaon.” TC shakes his head. “Don’t use their emblem.”
A smile curves Skywarp's lipplates again. TC always seems to know what he's thinking.
“Thanks.”
He taps his fingers against the door frame and takes his leave. He should be heading up for the Ark soon. Thundercracker's given him a lot to think about, and he'll have nothing but time to do so. First though, Skywarp wants to see Ratchet. He's thinking it's about time his naked wings got a little decoration.
On his way into the medbarn, Warp nearly collides with Prowl who is on his way out. The boss, however, neatly sidesteps. And Warp can't help himself as he offers Prowl a bit of advice.
“TC's in the Jackhammer,” he says.
Prowl pauses, arching an orbital ridge at him. Autobot faceplates are so weirdly expressive.
“Is there a reason you're supplying me with this information?”
Warp shutters an optic, a parody of a wink he picked up from the television. “I just thought you'd want to know.”
“But why?”
Prowl actually sounds confused. A score for Skywarp!
“Oh, I think you'll figure it out eventually,” Warp replies with a grin, shimmying past and skirting into the doorway of the medbarn. “Good luck.”
Prowl gives him a look that is nothing short of flabbergasted. “Thank you...?”
Laughing to himself, Skywarp lets the door slide shut. Let the tactician brood on that for a while. Maybe he'll get it faster than Drift did.
Warp beams and shakes his helm. He’s already seeking out Ratchet in the cramped confines of the barn.
This may be home after all, he reflects. Not Earth. But rather the mechs around him.
He supposes it's not too bad, all things considered. Not too bad at all.
Back to Part Three | On to Master List
