Chapter Text
“Looking good! Take ‘im on another lap!”
Rung waved at the trainer on the sideline of the track and put his hand back on the reins.
“There’s one more in you, hmm?” Rung called ahead.
Deadlock rolled his eyes and buckled down, easing closer to the inner rail. His gait had been steady and unwavering, so Rung gave him some slack going into the next turn.
“That’s what I thought!”
They came down the home stretch and Rung let out the rest of the reins so Deadlock could come to a natural conclusion near the gate. In the soft, sandy material, Deadlock sauntered to a stop and their outrider came to collect him. He shied away, turning back to the track, but the outrider’s centaur, Smokescreen, grabbed Deadlock’s harness and turned him towards the gate.
“Come on. All done,” Rung said, patting his shoulder. “Time for your bodywork.”
“I don’t like doing that,” Deadlock hissed as Smokescreen led them towards the cooldown area outside the barn.
“I know,” Rung said kindly. “But it won’t take long, and there might be a sweetie in my pocket for you if you behave.”
Deadlock folded and unfolded his arms before tucking them back into their racing position.
“...hmph.”
They reached the small paddock and with the outrider’s help Rung slipped from Deadlock’s back. He set to untacking him, and a stablehand joined him to take the saddle and pads back to the storeroom.
“Alright,” Rung said, nodding to the outrider, who now held Deadlock’s reins. “We’ll start with a slow walk and then we’ll stretch.”
Thirty minutes later they were on their way back to the barn, Deadlock sucking on a butterscotch candy. Rung led him into his stall and closed the door before he removed his harness.
“Let me grab the brush and oil,” Rung said.
“I can do that,” the stablehand said, taking the harness from him.
“I know,” Rung said kindly. “But I want to do it.”
He closed the stall door and locked it before he fetched his grooming kit. The bag had Rung’s name on it, and so did the items within. He set it down by the door and took a stiff bristle brush and a jar of oil out of his bag. He was reaching for his keys when Deadlock’s stable buddy trotted in next door.
“Hello, Megatron,” Rung greeted, reaching into his subspace pocket and taking out another hard sweet, this time a mint.
He put his hand through the bars of Megatron’s stall, heedless of the May Bite warning sign. Megatron held his hand out and Rung placed the candy securely in his palm before he returned to Deadlock.
“Come now,” Rung said, reaching with the brush.
Deadlock skittered away and Rung followed him patiently, barely running the brush over the point of his withers before Deadlock moved again. Next door, Megatron paced the stall and came to stand facing the wall, staring Deadlock down.
His behavior improved instantly.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I wanna go outside.”
“Not yet,” Rung said, brushing him down. “Supper first, then you can go outside.”
“But I wanna race Drag Strip,” he pouted.
“He is having his supper at the moment too,” Rung chided. “There. Now, a little oil and it will be done.”
Deadlock forced himself to stand still so Rung could tend to his legs and make sure the specialized hydraulics were slick and functional. Now and then he oiled a small component part but for the most part it was a physical exam. Once he was finished, the stablehand brought in a tray laden with food. Suddenly hunger was apparent on Deadlock’s face and he started crunching on a cut carrot.
Rung tidied up his things and turned to see Megatron watching him through the door to his stall.
“Would you like a brushing too?” Rung teased, and if on invitation Megatron turned sideways.
…
“You can always ask me,” Rung said, taking care to work his brush over every part of Megatron’s strong body.
“I’m not yours,” Megatron murmured.
“No, you aren’t,” Rung said. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t like spending time with you.”
Megatron’s tail swished back and forth in thought as Rung worked his way down his legs. He picked up one front hoof, holding it for a moment so Megatron could adjust his weight before Rung began picking it out.
He knew who groomed Megatron; it was whoever was on duty and had time. As a retired stud he was more of an ornament than a working piece of machinery.
Rung set his front hoof down and moved to the back. The first hind foot he picked up sported a rock caught between Megatron’s leisure shoe and the sole of his hoof.
“Megatron, has this been bothering you all day?” Rung asked, picking out the rock and listening to the corresponding pleased groan he made.
“…no.”
“Hmm. I’m going to ask if they will look in on you more,” Rung decided, moving a around to Megatron’s other side. “Even retired, a stallion of your caliber requires thorough care.”
Once he was finished with Megatron’s hooves he oiled his legs and finally packed up his things.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Rung said, easing out the stall door. He clicked the lock in place—he didn’t have a key to this door—and sighed. “Keep an eye on Deadlock.”
“I will.”
He put his bag away and sought out the head office. Inside, the owner was busy balancing the books yet waved Rung in anyways.
“Hello, Rung. What can I do for you?”
“Hello Mirage. I was going to ask if one of the hands can visit Megatron in the morning for grooming as well as in the evening,” Rung said. “He had a rock all day today in his left hind and it left a sore spot behind.”
“We need to talk about more than Megatron,” Mirage said. “Sit down.”
Rung eased down across from Mirage’s desk. “What is it?”
“We’re downsizing,” he said. “We’ve been successful this year but in our breeding, not the racing. A number of the racing potentials are being sold to fund our new breeding barn.”
“Oh,” Rung said. “So that means…”
“Yes, you will need to find other employment,” Mirage sighed. “And also… because of Megatron’s impairment, he will be moving on as well. I wondered if you might be interested in him.”
“Me?” Rung asked. “I, I am, but I can’t afford a stud of Megatron’s quality. I must politely decline.”
“Once you see the price I’m sure you’ll be amenable. His impotence makes it quite doable.”
Rung left the office with a dazzled grin and a bill of sale. Megatron, his! He hurried out to his scooter and fired it up. If he went home now, he’d have time to come back with the truck and trailer and bring Megatron home tonight.
How exciting! And his young prospect at home could use the company.
…
Deadlock watched Megatron go sadly, peering out the bars of his stall. By contrast, Megatron eagerly followed Rung, his monogrammed lead rope swaying back and forth.
“Easy now,” Rung murmured as they exited the barn.
On the walkway, a couple hands hurried off the pathway at Megatron’s approach. Even though he didn’t leave his stall much anymore, there was a time the tall black stallion would command these hallways on the walk to the breeding shed. He bared his teeth at them as he went but as soon as Rung glanced up at him his expression softened and he leaned down in interest when Rung offered him a slice of apple.
“Hot Rod’s going to love you,” Rung said. “Oh I’m so excited to bring you home. I’ve dreamed of this for so long.”
“Me?” Megatron asked incredulously.
“Yes!” Rung said. “I have always enjoyed your companionship, and you are so steady with the colts.”
His trailer was waiting at the dock and Megatron loaded easily, following Rung’s guidance to the foremost stall. Once he was slotted in place Rung detached the lead and hurried down the ramp.
“It will be a short drive,” he called to Megatron. “Please be patient.”
His coal red optics burned down into Rung with curiosity more than irritation, so Rung patted the side of the trailer and hefted himself into the truck.
He would need to drive carefully. Well, he always drove carefully, but he would need to… be careful. He didn’t want to upset Megatron.
The truck and trailer groaned as Megatron shifted his weight impatiently.
He’d better get a move on.
…
He didn’t disturb Megatron any further on the ride home, as far as he could tell, so when they arrived and he parked the trailer outside the barn he didn’t fret about unloading him. Well, he never fretted about interacting with Megatron but he was a stallion. And that meant he commanded more respect than the average centaur.
A wild whinny echoed from outside the barn, and rapid hoofbeats led that voice inside.
“Where have you beeeen?” Hot Rod whined. “I’ve been by myself all day!”
Rung unlocked the ramp and eased it open, peeking into the trailer. Megatron watched him climb the ramp and open the stall divider before he turned to him and let Rung clip on his lead rope.
“Where have you brought me?” Megatron asked, peering out the end of the trailer.
“This is my ranch,” Rung said. “I... well, Megatron... the racing farm is downsizing. They offered—”
“I’m yours?”
Rung flushed, helm to pede.
“That would be the simpler way to say it, yes,” Rung said. “You’re mine now.”
He led Megatron down the ramp and towards the stable, subtly watching his body language. He wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, or anxious, he was… excited. The farther down the aisle they went, the higher Megatron’s steps, the bouncier his gait, until he was shying sideways away from the stalls at the end, Hot Rod peeking out.
“Easy, easy,” Rung murmured, guiding him in tighter and tighter circles until Megatron threw his head back and growled.
“This place smells different—“
“It needs to be cleaned,” Rung said, voice soothing. “Here we go. Yes. Yes, here.”
He led Megatron into the stall and removed the lead rope; the paddock door was open, and as soon as he was free Megatron whirled around and galloped outside.
“Wowie!” Hot Rod squealed. He turned and zipped outside after him, tail raised. “You’re faaaast!”
Rung watched Megatron race down to the end of the paddock and slide to a stop, chest heaving. He stamped his foot, threw his head, and blew his nose at Hot Rod through the fence.
“Hi! What’s your name?”
Good, they were interacting already. Rung closed the paddock door and latched it so he could open the stall door and grab a wheelbarrow. The bedding was stale. The last time he had a centaur here was... when?
He began shoveling the substrate, a mess of straw and wood chips, while he considered. This stall belonged to his last prospect, Blue Bacchus, before he went on to win all of his first-year races. And then he fell, and he retired.
How often falls happen. Leg injuries, especially with racers, could be life-ending, and surely career ending. After all, Megatron—
A sharp kick rattled the outside door.
“Megatron,” Rung chided. “I’m cleaning it for you.”
Another kick shook the door and some dust fell out of the cracks in the planks. Rung sighed and set the shovel aside so he could open the top half of the door and look out, and Megatron could look in.
“Yes?” Rung asked, putting his hands on his hips.
“The grass is long,” Megatron pointed out.
“Should I cut it?”
Megatron’s last paddock was kept short. Perhaps he preferred it that way.
“No!”
Kicking up his heels, Megatron raced back down to the end of the paddock, hesitated, and then laid down, rolling this way and that in the long grass. Hot Rod giggled and flopped down too, squealing happily.
“Don’t rile him up too much now,” Rung called. “It will be time for supper soon.”
Megatron kicked his feet, rolled a bit more, and then slumped down onto his side, breathing heavily. He laid there, tail twitching, before he rolled over onto his legs and looked at Rung, over the door. His wild red optics blazed with glee as he fell back into the grass again and squirmed around.
This move was going to be good for all of them.
...
Mirage had sent Rung with Megatron’s notes, so he reviewed them as he prepared their evening meal. He preferred carrot, beetroot, parsnip, pear, and barley, unsweetened. Rung squinted at the notes. Unsweetened? Compared to Hot Rod, who enjoyed cucumber, apple, banana, grapes, peaches, plums... oat cubes, soaked in honey... it was a struggle to feed him anything wholesome, which included plain energon.
While he set the barley to cook, he contemplated the rest of Megatron’s notes. He’d last been examined months ago, and there was no mention of any deep cleaning or dental inspections. He would need to schedule an appointment with Ratchet, and then take stock of his cleaning and detailing supplies to fill out the rest. Maybe he should give Megatron a fresh coat of paint?
Appended to his food preferences list was likes soaked raisins. He would need to purchase some of those. He knew he didn’t need to feed Megatron too much, he wasn’t as active as Hot Rod was, but it felt so empowering to have this kind of control over his care. He could make sure that Megatron had everything he needed.
The oats were on and the barley was bubbling. He had everything Hot Rod liked on hand... and nothing Megatron did. He only had some barley left over from Blue Bacchus. He grabbed a pencil and wrote out a shopping list, and jotted down likes mint candy in Megatron’s file, below the note for raisins.
He washed three apples, two cucumbers, two handfuls of grapes, and checked the plums. They were still too hard to use. He had one peach leftover, so he cut that in half and pitted it—they could each have some. The oats came out faster than the barley, which had a longer cooking time, so Rung dished up Hot Rod’s fruits and cucumbers, poured off the leftover water and dumped the oats into the silicone tray he used to form the cubes. He drizzled honey over the whole yummy mess and stuck it down into the oven beneath the stovetop.
His feedroom was a modest setup, he had a stove and oven combination at the ready, a sink, and a couple pots and pans for cooking. The silicone tray had been his latest purchase, simply because Hot Rod refused to eat his grains loose. He liked finger food, not eating implements. Megatron’s notes... didn’t say. Hmm.
He grabbed the other feeding tray and rinsed it off before he placed Megatron’s fruit on it. It had a built in depression that served as a bowl—he usually put Hot Rod’s grapes in his—but it would be perfect for Megatron’s barley. He dug around in a drawer and found the spoon he used with Blue Bacchus and set it on the tray so he wouldn’t forget it.
The barley was nearly ready, and the oat cubes were bubbling in the oven. He needed to pour the energon.
...
He served Hot Rod first. Now that he had two centaurs to take care of he would need to dig out his old wheeled cart so he could bring both trays at once. Once the tray was solidly in place on the stall wall he locked the door again and fetched Megatron’s tray.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t have anything else that was listed in your notes,” Rung said, setting the tray in place and turning to look up at Megatron. “Only barley. I’ll go to town tomorrow morning and buy…”
He trailed off as he saw Megatron reach out and take a slice of apple, then cucumber. Then a grape. And finally, the half peach. He wordlessly ate, inching closer and closer to Rung as he did so.
He didn’t need to say anything. Rung could tell the sweet, juicy, darkness-cooled fruit tasted good, and that was before the fresh peach juice was dribbling down his chin.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said kindly. “Don’t forget to drink your energon.”
Megatron glanced over at him, paused in his peach demolition, and grabbed the energon cube in one hand. He chugged it, keeping eye contact with Rung the whole time, until it was empty. He set the cube down pointedly and resumed his fruit consumption.
Rung eased out of the stall, a hidden smile on his face. He’d never seen Megatron so voracious before. He did make an effort to pick perfect fruit. It had to be that.
He swept the feedroom and tidied up while he waited for them to eat. Hot Rod was picky, but as long as he was served foods he enjoyed then he would finish up in around twenty minutes. Megatron… Rung hadn’t been around many times for his supper. How long did he require?
The spoon clanked into the bowl and he peeked out to see Megatron already turning away, licking the peach juice off his hands. He washed off in his water trough and then drank heartily before settling drowsily in the back corner of his stall.
Rung had better put the bolster back in the stall. If Megatron laid down in the night he’d need it.
He crept into Megatron’s stall, bolster in his arms, and once he set it down beside the door he grabbed the tray. He anticipated Megatron to be napping already but he wasn’t. He stood, arms crossed, red optics burning like dim coals.
“Goodnight, Megatron,” Rung said softly, and the stallion inclined his helm towards Rung.
Once he was back in the corridor, Hot Rod threw a grape at him.
“Now now,” Rung admonished, catching the grape before it could fall on the floor. “No throwing food.”
Hot Rod giggled, louder when Rung popped the errant grape in his mouth and ate it.
“Are you finished?”
“Yeah,” Hot Rod said, stealing the last two oat cubes from the tray.
“Okay.”
…
By the time he had the trays washed, the feedroom tidied, and the grains measured out for the morning meal, it was dark outside.
He peeked in on them as he left the stable. Megatron was sleeping against the wall, and Hot Rod was on the floor, curled up with his bolster.
Silly boys. Rung turned out the light and walked up the hill to his single story ranch house.
Megatron, his. Just knowing the older stallion was waiting for him down at the barn was a thrilling prospect, despite his weariness.
He stumbled into the kitchen, poured a cube of energon, and slammed it back.
Time to recharge.