Chapter 1: Dumb Names, Weird Planets, and a Sniper Rifle
Chapter Text
Look, he wasn’t complaining.
When the call went out that this little organic planet was to be the final arena, Deadlock of course rushed on over, stopping only on Troja Major to treat himself to something nice.
That something nice rested, freshly cleaned and loaded, in the co-pilot’s seat of Deadlock’s shuttle.
So of course he wasn’t complaining about the call, even though he’d abandoned the tail of a decently high priority Autobot target to answer the summons. The call meant the war was almost over. The call meant his work was almost done.
The console beeped, signaling the drop out of light speed. He booted up the shuttle’s weaponry. Upgraded, customized, and incredibly illegal weaponry, of course. He rested his thumbs on the triggers in preparation for the firefight that would undoubtedly welcome him.
Instead he crashed into a rather small satellite.
It wasn’t large enough to do any damage, and it didn’t explode on impact, so mostly Deadlock was just confused. No enemy ships, which was fine, but no ally ships, which was concerning. Just a little satellite that crumpled like a tin can when it collided with his hull. He’d been expecting a battle in the orbit of a desolate and war torn, possibly partially destroyed, planet. Instead it was just some junk that drifted slowly around a quiet blue world. No enemies. No allies. Not that he was complaining.
Certainly he wasn’t the first to arrive? Did he get the coordinates wrong?
Deadlock checked his nav computer. Nope, this was the place. He flicked on his radio and sent a hailing frequency to any fellow Decepticons. It took longer than it should’ve, but eventually, after several tense minutes and another cleaning of his new rifle, he received a set of local coordinates and rendezvous instructions.
So the battle was on the surface. Fair enough; fuel was expensive these days, and orbital battles took a lot more than surface ones. He checked the shuttle’s weaponry one more time and began the descent.
Which ended up being rather concerningly anti-climatic. Just like orbit, there were no signs that this little planet, with its puffy clouds and vast oceans and cities full of squishy little bipeds, was the current venue of a four million year war. Where were the Autobots? And if there weren’t any Autobots, then why wasn’t the place an established and fortified Decepticon outpost?
Something wasn’t adding up.
Not that he was complaining about the quiet! Just…that it was wrong.
The Nemesis came into view, majestic and deadly as always. It had been a long, long time since Deadlock was last stationed on Megatron’s flagship. Before he’d been assigned to Turmoil’s crew. But unlike Turmoil’s cruiser, the Nemesis was a ship that produced results.
Deadlock liked results. Both producing and seeing.
The Nemesis opened her hanger for docking, and Deadlock set his shuttle down in the designated area. With any luck, it’d be refueled and he’d be back out eradicating the last of the Autobots within the day.
After all, there shouldn’t be many left. Not with Megatron present in the solar system.
Containing his excitement at the prospect of winning the war at his Lord’s side, Deadlock made sure to arm himself thoroughly and sling his new best friend (the high caliber sniper rifle from Troja Major) over his shoulder before exiting the shuttle.
“Deadlock, sir!”
The ‘Con in question turned to face the Vehicon who’d spoken. “Here to tell me why it’s so damned quiet out there?” he drawled.
“Lord Megatron has summoned you to the bridge, sir,” the Vehicon said stiffly. “I will have recent reports and a summary of events in this system sent to your quarters.”
“Sure, sure.” He waved the soldier away and made his way to the bridge.
As he walked, his excitement at being back on board the Nemesis began to waver. It was never exactly a party ship, but now it was as quiet as a tomb and about as somber. A few whispers drifted through the halls to his audials, but there was no rough laughter, no tell-tale thuds of a good (or bad) natured brawl, not even a chorus of bad Starscream impressions. Instead it was…quiet.
Everything here was too quiet. Too still. Too…unproductive. Tense, far from peaceful, but quiet. Like a platoon in a trench waiting for the next shells to start dropping. This certainly didn’t feel like the flagship of an army on the brink of total victory. The uneasy feeling in his tanks blossomed into recognition and began to grow.
Eventually he reached the bridge and keyed to enter. And at the familiar scene laid before him, he began to relax.
Soundwave hunched over the communications console. Never one for words, he sent a greeting ping to Deadlock, to which he replied in kind. Soundwave; reliable and loyal, was never someone Deadlock could consider a friend, but he was a steady presence, and having him here boded well.
Vehicons sat at their stations below, manning the ship’s controls and monitoring her systems. They had purpose. They knew what they were doing, and they were doing it well. As an army should. Unlike the aimless troops wandering around the halls like ghosts. Perhaps Deadlock would mention that. It wasn’t good for morale.
And there, facing the viewport with his hands clasped behind his back, was Megatron. Deadlock could never feel hopeless in his presence. From the moment he’d heard him speak on Cybertron, at his rallies, Deadlock knew Megatron was the one to follow. The force that would change Cybertron for the better, and make certain that no one would suffer in the pits or the gutters.
He went to one knee. “Deadlock reporting for duty, lord Megatron.”
A heavy clawed hand rested on one shoulder, and its twin clasped Deadlock’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. “At last. A true Decepticon here to join the fight.”
Megatron seldom smiled, and when he did, it usually wasn’t a happy one. But from his optics, he seemed genuinely pleased to see his old comrade. On the surface, at least. But under that…Deadlock couldn’t help but notice something new in his lord’s gaze. Something unwelcome, and unexpected. A glint of madness and mania usually reserved for the likes of shock troops and berserkers.
Deadlock tried not to dwell on it. This was Megatron , after all. He’d never doubted him, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Pleased to fight by your side, my lord,” he said, projecting as much confidence as he could into his field.
“Oh I’m sure.” His grip abruptly turned harsh, Deadlock’s durable plating buckling under the strain of the old gladiator’s hand. Gone was the look of pleased confidence in his optics, replaced by cold anger. “Given that your last commander reported that you deserted ten years ago.”
Deadlock’s tank dropped. He pulled instinctively against the crushing grip. “My lord…”
“Oh, yes. Make your excuses. Tell me, Deadlock. Drift . What sort of reason would cause one of my finest soldiers to abandon his fellows, his lord, and his cause?”
“Turmoil was an idiot and a coward,” Deadlock snapped. “Wouldn’t take on a fight where he might’ve lost. Cared more for his plating than anythin’ else. ‘Specially the cause. I did more damage to the Autobots alone than his entire crew.”
“I see.” Deadlock’s vision filled with violet as Megatron brought his famed cannon up to his subordinate’s face. “And you, Drift? How much do you value your own plating?”
His spark thudded and flared in his chest, but Deadlock drew himself up to stare down the barrel. “I’d lay down my life for the Decepticons.”
“And if I decide we are better off without you? If I decide you can no longer be trusted, and with good reason?”
“Then I’ll pull that trigger myself,” he snarled, grabbing the cannon’s barrel with his free hand and bringing it flush against his forehead. “And I’ll go to the Pit knowin’ I did my duty to the cause.”
The humming of Megatron’s wrath and weapon filled the bridge for a klik.
Then another.
And another.
The warlord snorted and lowered his weapon. “As I said. A true Decepticon. Brash, Deadlock. But effective. You would do well to learn from him, Knockout,” he suggested with a glance towards a cherry-red grounder who just entered, probably having waited until the possibility of execution had passed. “Try caring more about your duty than your polish, for a change.”
“Of course. As you say, lord Megatron,” Knockout, presumably, said in a tone that suggested Soundwave performing stand-up comedy was more likely. He tapped away with clawed fingers on a data pad. “I have those energon usage reports for you.”
It was truly a sign of how poorly the Decepticons were doing that Megatron chose to ignore the mech’s flippancy. He released Deadlock’s wrist, leaving painful indentations, and gestured to Knockout. “Our resident medic,” he mentioned to Deadlock by way of introduction. “Energon is precious, so try not to lose too many limbs.” He strode back towards the viewport, conversation apparently over.
Knockout handed his data pad to Soundwave, and it struck Deadlock suddenly that there was someone missing. “When’s Starscream due back? I picked up some flight upgrades that may be of interest to him. Experimental Autobot tech.” Not that he had any fondness for the Seeker, but he was a superior, and one of Megatron’s trusted—
Knockout’s ruby optics darted back and forth between him and Megatron, but it was the lord of the Decepticons who spoke first.
“Starscream is a traitor to the cause. If you happen to see him, bring him back. Alive.”
And didn’t that just confirm every gut feeling Deadlock had since he came out of light speed. Not only a traitor, but only a minimal effort made to retrieve him? “Sure thing,” he mustered.
Megatron waved a hand in dismissal. “Knockout will show you to your quarters.”
***
The datapad buckled in Deadlock’s grip. As promised, the Vehicon had delivered reports and a summary of events, and it was…
Well.
Obviously something was very very wrong here.
He ground his fangs as he read. Plan after failed plan. Disaster after disaster. Betrayal after betrayal! The Decepticons were doing more damage to themselves than Optimus Prime and his group of five Autobots could ever dream.
Five!
Deadlock had once killed five Autobots with two shattered optics and one hand. There was nothing special about any of these idiots. Except maybe the upstart Prime, but Deadlock had never put much stock into the power of the Matrix and all that slag.
So five. Two wreckers, a light fighter, a scout, and a non-combatant medic. Prime.
This should’ve ended years ago, moments after Megatron arrived.
The screen cracked and shattered under the force of Deadlock’s frustration. He crumpled it into a ball and threw it against the wall, and flopped backwards onto his newly assigned berth.
This madness had to end.
And Deadlock was more than capable of ending it.
A memo blipped its way into Deadlock’s HUD. He grabbed his guns, prepared to set off to infiltrate a base or assassinate an enemy combatant, and opened the assignment.
Guard duty.
He felt something in his jaw snap.
***
“How many you got, Bulk?” Wheeljack’s voice, tinged with anticipation, crackled over comms.
Bulkhead peered around the storage crates serving as his cover to take a quick headcount of everyone he could see in the Decepticon energon mine. “Five miners, two guards on ground level.”
“Nothing up top?”
“Not that I can see, but I’ll eat my kibble if there aren’t at least a few more ‘Cons crawling around.”
“With a shipment this big, I was expecting Dreadwing or somethin’. This place needs protection.”
“‘Specially since you’ve been doing unauthorized hits on these mines,” Bulkhead muttered.
“Hey. It works, don’t it?”
Bulkhead didn’t comment. Let Jackie figure out his beef with Prime. “On my count,” he said, priming his wrecking ball.
“Too late,” his partner sang.
“Whaddaya mean “too la–””
Wheeljack’s grenade went off between the two guards.
“I mean “too late”!” the Wrecker called, launching himself at the ‘Cons in a flurry of blades.
Bulkhead grumbled and rushed out to meet the miners. Smash one in the face, blast another in the chest, it was unnerving how routine this felt.
Right up until a sniper bolt pierced through his foot.
“Slag!” He stumbled mid-swing and crashed into a pile of energon cubes.
The miners didn’t move in, instead backing away slowly, and when Bulkhead managed to turn and look, he saw why.
A lithe speedster ‘Con dropped from the upper levels and strode towards him, stowing the smoking sniper rifle and drawing two modded pistols instead. “And here I thought guard duty’d be boring,” he drawled in the rough accents of old Cybertronian slums. His gold optics gleamed with something between boredom and bloodlust.
Bulkhead’s vision filled with a barrel. “Tell me where your base is, ‘n I’ll make it quick.”
“Keep your filthy hands off him, ‘Con!” Wheeljack snarled from where he was finishing off the guards.
The ‘Con in question casually aimed his other pistol at the Wrecker. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the same option. Whoever answers first won’t have to watch his buddy die.”
“Big talk from the new guy,” Wheeljack taunted as he circled closer, seemingly undaunted by the gun pointed at his head. “Good ol’ Megs pull you out of the reserves just for guard duty?”
“Prime must be desperate if he’s sendin’ a liability like you to do his dirty work,” the ‘Con shot back. “Tell me, do the Wreckers still have the highest casualty rate? I’ll be happy to contribute a couple o’ amateurs.”
There was a cube of energon within Bulkhead’s reach. If they could just keep this ‘Con distracted…
“Amatuer?” Wheeljack laughed. “I’m a damn artist. And you look familiar. Ain’t you that fella who went AWOL some years back?” He snorted, and his hand moved subtly towards his grenade to prime it. “Surprised Megs let you come crawling back. How desperate is the old buckethead?”
The speedster tapped the trigger. “Don’t test me, Autobot. Where’s your base?”
“Maybe you’ll find it in the Pit!” Bulkhead threw the cube at the ‘Con’s face. Wheeljack’s grenade met it, and the two Wreckers dove out of the way to avoid the resulting (spectacular) explosion.
The ‘Con’s enraged screams chased them out of the mine.
Back in the Jackhammer, Bulkhead hunched over in his too-small co-pilot’s seat and poked at the hole in his foot. Hurt like the Pit, but he’d live. He glanced over at Wheeljack. “So. You know that guy?”
“You don’t?” He smirked.
“I don’t have the time to memorize every ‘Con mug,” Bulkhead grumbled.
Jackie chuckled. “Yeah, fair enough. They all blur together after a bit. But I’m pretty sure that was Deadlock.”
Bulkhead dug around his memory cores for the name. “Oh! Honestly, I thought he died.”
“I think most of us hoped he did. Real piece of work, that one.”
“Good shot though.”
“Hopefully not anymore, eh?”
They flew in silence until Wheeljack landed outside the base. “Home sweet home,” he announced.
“You coming in?” Bulkhead paused at the foot of the ramp. “You should probably tell Prime about Deadlock.”
“Pfft. Nah. You can be the one to let him know Megatron’s top assassin is back. I’m going to hit another mine.” He bounced a grenade in his palm and grinned. “Tell the doc I said hi.”
“Yeah, yeah. Watch yourself out there.” He waved a hand and limped into the base, hearing the Jackhammer take off behind him.
A small chorus of voices drifted through the access tunnel to the main silo. Ah, the kids were out of school. Miko probably worried when Bulkhead wasn’t there to pick her up…He limped faster, eager to show her the picture he’d gotten of Deadlock right before the explosion hit. His face had been contorted in a frankly hilarious mixture of surprise and rage; an excellent addition to Miko’s scrapbook.
“Bulkhead!!!” the human in question shrieked happily as soon as Bulkhead stepped into view.
He grinned and crouched down to let her jump into his hand. “Hey Miko! How was school?”
“ Boring . I have so much homework…” She wrinkled her nose. “I smell burning. Are you–” She looked down at his still smoking foot. “What happened?”
“Eh, just a little skirmish. You should see the other guy!” He sent her the picture.
She opened it on her portable comm–phone! Her phone. That’s what humans called them. “Hah! Looks like you got ‘im good.”
“Sure did! I doubt we’ll see that ugly mug again for a while.” He set her back on the platform with the couch. “I’d better go see the docbot before he starts throwing wrenches.” He waved and went in search of Ratchet.
The mech in question was organizing his tools (again) in the medbay. Why he needed so many different laser scalpels, Bulkhead would never know. How he could tell them apart was a complete mystery as well. “Hey Ratchet?”
He sighed. “What did you break this time?” He raised a tool Bulkhead didn’t know the name of and looked at it closely before setting it carefully next to its fellows.
“Just my foot. Got in the way of a sniper,” Bulkhead said lightly. He hopped onto the slab and stuck out the offending appendage.
“If I told you not to do that, would you listen?” Ratchet asked.
“Ehhhh probably not.”
“Then we’ll skip the lecture for today.” And if that wasn’t a testament to how strut-deep exhausted he was…He grabbed a welder and took a look at the injury, leaning in close to poke at the wires and charred plating. “Pretty clean, all things considered. Already cauterized…I’ll patch it up and you should be fine within two days or so.”
“Thanks, doc.”
As the medic worked to clean and seal the wound, Bulkhead’s thoughts turned back to the mech in the mine. “Hey, Ratchet?”
“Hmm?”
“You ever heard of a ‘Con named Deadlock?”
Ratchet was quiet for a moment. “I’m familiar, yes. Have you been poking through old records?”
“Nah, he’s the one who shot me.”
“What?!” The welder jerked, as did Bulkhead at the sudden sting of heat.
“Ow! Watch it! I mean, Jackie thinks it’s him. I’ve got no idea what he looks like though. Was wondering if you had a better idea so we can make sure it’s a positive ID.”
“Can you give a description?” he asked, hunched over his work like nothing had happened.
“Uhh…yeah. A little taller than Bee, definitely a speedster but with like a lot more armor. Black and white, some gold, little red stripes. Hold on, I took a picture.” He brought it up with his forearm-mounted projector.
Ratchet peered closely at the capture. “That is certainly Deadlock.” He immediately went back to the task at hand.
“You sure?” Not that he doubted the doc, but…he just wanted to be sure. How would Ratchet even know?
“Very.”
“You know him, then?”
“Let’s just say I’m intimately familiar with his work.” He finished the weld and checked over the surrounding plating. “And I was at the meeting where Prowl tried to convince Optimus to have him assassinated.”
“Shame he didn’t approve that one…”
Ratchet didn’t have a response, just shooed Bulkhead off the slab. “Come back if that starts acting up. And no lob ball until it heals. I mean it this time.”
“Sure, sure. Thanks, doc.” He waved on his way back into the main room.
Prime was there by the time he entered. Bulkhead frowned. He was on a rest shift; supposed to be recharging. Instead he was typing away, trying to crack the Iacon database. Of course that was a priority, but they needed Prime more than they needed artifacts, however cool those gimmicks were.
“‘Cons got a new creep in the ranks, Optimus,” he reported. “Jackie and Ratchet identified him as Deadlock, back from wherever he’s been for the past while.”
Optimus barely paused his efforts with the database. “Unfortunate, but it doesn’t change much. Deadlock will not likely impact the Decepticons’ command dynamic, given that he is a solo operative, but he will be formidable on the field.”
“Why do the ‘Cons get stupid names like that?” Miko demanded from the couch. “Hasn’t there ever been one named something normal, or is it all just killing and screaming and whatever?”
“Well, “Bumblebee” doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of the enemy,” Jack pointed out. He raised his hands placatingly at the resulting indignant beeps from Bee and Raf’s protests that Bumblebee was a fine name.
“Some of them renamed themselves to sound more threatening,” Arcee explained. “Most of the ‘Cons weren’t even given names on Cybertron.”
“So, what,” Jack asked, “just numbers? Like drones?”
“Exactly. The revolution didn’t come out of nowhere.”
“Yeah,” Miko said, “but who’d name themselves something stupid like…who was that guy you were talking about the other day?” She looked around the room for help.
“Deathsaurus?” Raf offered.
“Yeah! That’s a stupid name.”
“Don’t let Deathsaurus hear you say that,” Bulkhead chuckled. “Want to go for a drive, Miko?”
“Yes!” She nearly tripped down the stairs in her haste.
***
“You’re sure you don’t want a battle mask?”
Deadlock’s engine growled. “Knockout, I swear, if you ask me that one more time, I’ll shove your buffer so far up your tailpipe that the only thing you’ll be polishin’ is your processor.”
“Well, at least part of me would look nice,” the medic quipped as he flicked off the detailing sander he’d been using to smooth out the welds on his patient’s face. He hooked Deadlock’s chin with a finger and tilted his head around. Less out of concern for his patient, Deadlock thought, and more to admire his handiwork. “Let me know if you change your mind and want to protect that pretty face. Those are in short supply around here.”
Deadlock smacked his hand away. “Sure. Fine. You’re just upset that you’ve got competition now.” He grinned with too much fang to be sincere about it.
“You’re not wrong!” Knockout laughed. “Dreadwing isn’t exactly a looker.”
“At least he gets the job done. Mostly.”
“Well, he lost my assistant, so we have differing opinions.” He turned and put away his tools. “Speaking of Dreadwing though…I’m surprised you’re not making a bid for his position. You’re arguably more qualified for First Lieutenant.”
“Don’t want a command position,” Deadlock said with a shrug. He suppressed the urge to scratch at his fresh welds. “Not built that way.”
“So you say, so you say…”
Deadlock sighed. He didn’t particularly mind the flamboyant medic, but he didn’t trust that ambition. At least Knockout was easy to read. “I ain’t interested in any politics or slag here. Just tryin’ to win this war.”
Knockout looked over his shoulder at Deadlock for a long moment before going back to his equipment. “I don’t buy it.”
“You callin’ me a liar?” His plating bristled.
“No, I just think it’s surprising that you’re willing to stay so far down the chain of command. If you were higher up, you wouldn’t get guard duty.”
“If lord Megatron wants me on guard duty, then that’s where I’ll be. Ain’t nothin’ more to it.”
“Have it your way.” Knockout waved a hand. “You’re clear for active duty. Try not to get blown up.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Deadlock grabbed his weapons and stomped out of the lab.
There was a energon dispenser placed rather conveniently between the lab and his quarters, so he stopped to grab a cube. It never hurt to have a stash under his berth. Just in case.
Cube in one hand and a datapad with field reports in the other, he took the long way back to his hab to stretch his legs. Nothing like getting blown up by two B-list Autobots to make a mech restless.
He pulled up bios on Optimus Prime’s team. He’d glanced over them earlier, before he smashed that datapad to pieces, but now apparently he needed more information as to not get taken off guard again.
The big green one was Bulkhead. Ex laborer, ex Wrecker, apparently made up with strength what he lacked in smarts. No particular specialties besides hitting things hard. Should be easy enough.
Wheeljack was the other one. Deadlock had heard of him, but never fought him. Higher up in the Wrecker’s ranks, favored explosives and swords, major authority issues. Deadlock snorted. Figures that Optimus Prime would suffer mechs with authority issues on his team. Wheeljack could probably be baited into a trap, if Deadlock had the time and resources to set one.
He mused about what kind of firepower would be sure to reduce Wheeljack to rubble when he almost dropped both his cube and datapad as a hulking blue jet stepped out to block his way.
Deadlock’s optics traveled up. And up. And up some more until they came to Dreadwing’s dour face.
“Commander,” he greeted with the barest amount of respect. “Need somethin’?”
“Not from a deserter like you,” the jet said in that holier-than-thou tone that made Deadlock want to whip out a shotgun and blast his stupid face then and there, chain of command be damned.
“A’ight. I’ll be on my way then.” He tried to shove past, but Dreadwing didn’t budge.
“You abandoned your post for ten years. Now you expect to be welcomed back like nothing happened?” the commander demanded.
Oh. Lovely. Just the conversation he wanted to have. “Lord Megatron and I have an understandin’,” he explained stiffly. “But I’m guessin’ you’ve got a problem with my head still bein’ on my shoulders.”
“If I had it my way, your desiccated corpse would be adorning the hull of the Nemesis . But consider this a warning, Deadlock. I have my optic on you. And if you set one ped out of line, then there won’t be any barren moon where you can hide from me.”
He jostled kibble with the speedster on his way by.
“Airachnid’s doin’ a pretty good job of hidin’ from you,” Deadlock remarked offhandedly, stowing his cube and lighting up a cygarette instead.
Dreadwing’s heavy footsteps stopped short.
“So’s Starscream, come to think of it.” He flicked the first smudge of ash and turned to face the commander. “In fact, there’ve been more casualties from infightin’ than from Autobot attacks. So is it you? Or do ya have some excuse hidden up your tailpipe?”
Dreadwing wasn’t one to rise to the bait, wasn’t one to rush Deadlock, chokeslam him, and beat the slag out him like some ‘Cons would. He just stood there, fuming silently. But the speedster had his full attention now.
Deadlock took a drag on his smoke. “What’s goin’ on here, commander?” he asked. “Somethin’ ain’t right with this whole operation and I can’t put my finger on it. ‘Cons have had a presence here for months and from the reports I’ve read, it’s been nothing but failure after failure. An’ I know it can’t be plain incompetence. So what’s goin’ on?”
The Seeker was quiet for a long moment. Then he turned to leave. “Mind your place, soldier.”
And if that wasn’t just what Deadlock was known for. He snorted and continued to his hab.
Once his tank was full and his cyg was gone, he settled down at the console to look at recent reports of events that hadn’t been covered in his brief. Curiously, much of the information was redacted. He chewed idly on one of his claws. Stranger and stranger…
Good thing he still had a stash of engex and more than likely, someone wanted to vent. Knockout, perhaps…
Chapter 2: Old Names, Old Faces
Notes:
Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your comments and kudos on the first chapter! It means a lot, especially since this is my first fanfic =)
Enjoy chapter 2!
Chapter Text
“Okay. But is he actually ugly, or is he just making an ugly face?” Jack wondered, peering over Miko’s shoulder to get a better look at the picture of the new Decepticon displayed on her phone.
She frowned and tilted it sideways, as if that made a difference. “I think it’s just the expression. There’s no rule saying Decepticons can’t be pretty. Just that they can’t be smart, or cool, or better than Bulkhead at anything.”
“Sure, but the majority of them? Bleh,” Bulkhead said.
“True. Starscream’s got a face not even a mother could love,” Arcee quipped.
“I think it’s mostly the chin with him,” Jack mused. “There’s way too much chin.”
From near the monitors, Ratchet huffed. “And just how in the name of Primus is this a helpful conversation?”
“It’s fun! Boosting morale,” Bulkhead said with a grin.
“Can’t you find something more productive for fun?” Ratchet pointed at Raf, currently seated on the ground and typing furiously on his laptop. “Raphael is having lots of fun upgrading our storage. Can’t you…I don’t know. Mop the floors? That’s fun!”
Miko raised a hand to fake whisper at the others. “Is fun different on Cybertron?”
Arcee laughed. “Nah. Ratchet was just forged grumpy.”
“I certainly was!” the doctor defended. “”Fun” doesn’t get you through medical school!”
“What about Thunderclash?” Arcee countered. “He’s fun. And didn’t the two of you graduate together?”
“Thunderclash is a…special case,” Ratchet mumbled.
“What about Knockout?” Miko asked. “Did you go to school with him, too?”
“No. And besides, I’m sure he had his medical license revoked, if he ever had one.”
Jack looked up at Arcee. “Did you know any Decepticons before the war?” he asked, genuinely curious. The bots seldom spoke of pre-war Cybertron.
“Not really. I saw Starscream at a few parties, but tried to avoid him. He was a politician back then. So…even creepier.”
“Hard to imagine creepier than he currently is,” Miko mused.
“And yet, he managed.” Arcee cracked a smile. “I think he was involved in a couple pyramid schemes. Maybe some tax evasion, too.”
“What about you, Bulk?” Miko wondered. “Any pre-’Con ‘Cons?”
“Ehhh, Breakdown and I used to work construction together. Joined the Wreckers together, too. He was a decent guy; didn’t think he’d go ‘Con. But once he met Knockout, that was it.”
“Bee?” Raf looked up from his laptop for half a second to glance at his partner.
Bumblebee warbled and waved a hand. So so.
“And we know Optimus used to know Megatron,” Miko recalled. She turned to Ratchet. “What about you, docbot?”
He didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Oh, a few. Most of their medics from a professional standpoint. A politician or two. And Deadlock.”
“You knew Deadlock?” Arcee asked, incredulous. “How?”
“Mmhmm. I fixed him up a couple times. I used to run a clinic in a rough area and….well, he got into all sorts of trouble.”
“Why’d he go ‘Con?” Raf wondered. “You wouldn’t help anyone bad .”
“It is a medic’s duty to help anyone who needs it, Raphael,” Ratchet corrected gently. “As for why he joined the Decepticons, I can only assume he was drawn to Megatron’s rhetoric. Bots in his situation wanted something better, and Megatron promised that.” He tapped a few buttons on the system keyboard. “Here, try that.”
Raf squinted at his screen. “Nope. I’ll tweak the code some more to see if we can get better compatibility, but right now it’s not doing what it should…human systems don’t like Cybertronian files, I guess.” He adjusted his oversized glasses and went back to typing.
A horn honked as Optimus rolled back into base through the ground bridge. He shifted back into root mode and glanced over the idling team. “Everything seems to be quiet out there. No signs of Decepticon activity.” He went over to Ratchet and Raf. “How’s the upgrade going?”
“Not as well as I’d like,” the medic grumbled. “This human technology simply isn’t built to handle something as large as the Iacon database. Raphael is doing everything he can, but we’re running into some hardware issues.”
“I can try a workaround,” Raf offered. “But I’ll need some supplies. Nothing crazy,” he added hastily. “Most of it we can pick up from a store a few towns over.”
“Field trip?” Miko jumped up.
“That sounds reasonable,” Optimus said. “Is there anything else I missed?”
“Wheeljack dropped off a ton of energon while you were out,” Bulkhead replied, pointing to a jumbled stack of cubes. “But the storage room’s full. We’ll need to clear out another so we can fit everything.”
“Very well,” Optimus said. “Ratchet, you and Arcee take the children and get that equipment. The rest of us will deal with the storage problem.”
“Have fun moving furniture!” Miko called as she ran down the steps. She followed Raf into Ratchet’s vehicle mode. “Can we ride with the siren on?”
“No.”
“Aw. Arcee was right. You’re no fun at all .”
***
Deadlock wasn’t fond of this planet.
To be fair, he wasn’t fond of most organic planets. There was so much dirt. Everywhere. And if it wasn’t dirt getting under his plating and gumming up his systems, it was other, more disgusting organic matter. So this region, with nothing, absolutely nothing but gritty dust he could practically feel choking his vents? No. Not a fan. At all.
If he was being honest, being dirty just brought back bad memories of life in the Dead End. Taking shelter in storm sewers led to mud all in his systems. Cold mud. And sometimes he’d had to bury himself in garbage while he recharged in the hopes that scavengers wouldn’t notice him and chop him up for parts. All fun stuff. So when he had regular access to washracks, he made a point to be as clean as possible as often as possible.
He’d definitely take a long shower after returning from this patrol.
Apparently there’d been Autobot activity in this area in the past, and Megatron wanted it monitored, so Deadlock would monitor.
Even though he’d found out that Megatron could’ve killed Optimus when the Prime had amnesia, and instead decided to go on a weird power trip and convince the mech to be a Decepticon.
Even though he’d nearly blown his own brains out when Knockout drunkenly told him that Megatron decided he was the fulfillment of some rusted prophecy from who knows when, written by some bot who was probably on circuit speeders, and tried to ally himself with Unicron .
He’d follow orders. That’s what he should do, right? To win the war. To wipe out the last of the old senate’s corruption. He was in far too deep to start doubting Megatron. Such things would get him killed, and that’s if he was lucky .
He felt a little out of place in his sleek sportscar alt among the worn, dirty vehicles that seemed to be the norm in this small town, so he kept moving as to not draw too much attention. How well it worked, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t pay too much mind to the organics pointing or invading his personal space, as gross as it was, but there hadn’t been any Autobots yet.
Shame.
By mid-afternoon with nothing to report, Deadlock was bored out of his processor. The whole weird situation on the Nemesis made him long for something simple. Like a fight. One he would win and bring things back on track. Simple.
He sat on a ridge in root mode, sipping on one of the many partial cubes kept in his subspace, and wondering if those birds circling above would make for decent target practice. Probably not. Target practice was boring if your targets weren’t firing back. And the organic splatter wasn’t worth it.
He sighed and finished his lunch. As soon as they found the Autobot base, the war was over, and they could all just get on with their lives. Not that Deadlock knew what he’d do after the war was won and Cybertron rebuilt. Maybe he’d settle down. A nice big apartment, a job to pay for more fuel than he could ever drink, maybe he’d even get a hobby .
He snorted at the thought and lit up a cygarette. Hobbies were for rich bots. He didn’t even know if he was good at anything besides shooting.
Well, shooting and pissing people off. Those were his specialties.
Did pissing people off count as a hobby? There were comedians, after all…
No. More than likely, he’d take a ship and leave that sorry ball of tin behind. Maybe go find Turmoil and settle their scores. Take a page from Lockdown’s book and become a bounty hunter. The work wouldn’t end once the war was won, after all.
He was dragged out of his thoughts by the whine of a small yet high performance engine. He flicked down his visor and zoomed in to get a better look at the highway below.
There. Blue two-wheeled vehicle. Followed by an ambulance. An odd enough combination that, paired with his boredom, merited investigation.
He put out his smoke on his ped and flipped into alt mode to pursue.
Deadlock tailed them to some chain electronics store and pulled into a parking spot next to them. A closer scan revealed that, yes, these were Autobots. And they likely detected him as well. Just as he was ready to strike, the ambulance doors popped open, and two human youths jumped out. They, along with the motorcycle driver, scampered into the store.
A few moments passed.
“Sooo,” Deadlock said casually. “Do we wanna do this here or…?”
In response, they both sped off down the road.
“Slag, yes .” He tore off after them, leaving smoke in his wake.
A few miles down the highway, apparently the two-wheeler decided they were far enough away from the squishies and made her move.
She braked, slid a few yards before shifting into root mode and firing two shots at Deadlock’s tires. He swerved and transformed, coming out in a headlong charge with a gun in one hand and a serrated knife in the other.
She rushed to meet him, and all else was lost to the flurry of melee. He grabbed one of her arms and pinned it against his side, taking a swipe at her face with his knife. She dug her sharp fingertips into his seams, dodged the blade, and fired a shot at his head. Deadlock dodged with a causal jerk and buried his knife in her shoulder joint.
She cried out, and something slammed into Deadlock from behind. Of course. The ambulance. He yanked his knife free as he released the two-wheeler and stumbled forward. He flicked the safety on his gun and brought it to the ambulance’s head level and–
And his vision fritzed.
The organic desert wavered, replaced with the gray walls of a run-down clinic, falling apart despite its owner’s best efforts. Chipping paint, rust stains, but clean as it could be. His spark thudded and flared in his chest, and his processor recalled vividly the pain of waking up from an overdose that should have killed him. There was a medic there in front of him…
But the medic’s face.
The expression went from enraged, to concerned, to enraged, as time blurred and Deadlock’s processor reeled.
His vision stabilized. He was frozen, aiming a gun at Ratchet’s head.
If he pulled the trigger, the Decepticons were one step closer to victory. The Autobots wouldn’t last long without a medic.
But he didn’t fire.
Ratchet, apparently, wasn’t suffering a similar predicament. He charged with blades extended.
And Deadlock…didn’t fight him.
He let Ratchet carve a deep slash into his chest armor, and kick him back several feet. When he recovered his footing, Ratchet just stood there. Waiting.
Deadlock shifted into alt mode and sped away.
***
“Hey Ratchet?”
Ratchet pulled into the parking lot. Hopefully the children didn’t even notice they’d left. “Yes, Arcee?”
“What in the Pit was that ?”
“That was a Decepticon. You’ve seen several.”
“Oh don’t give me that scrap,” she snapped, turning off her hologram and putting out her kickstand. “Why didn’t you go after him? He was a sitting duck!”
“You needed medical attention.”
“ Ratchet !”
“What do you want me to say, Arcee?” he demanded. “I didn’t kill him, he didn’t kill us, now he’s gone and…”
“And what? Are you going to choke up again the next time you see him?”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Oh really .” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, if you wanted there to not be a next time, then you should’ve ripped his spark out.”
“I’m a medic , Arcee! I’m not going to kill an enemy that, for whatever reason, wasn’t fighting back!”
They fell into tense silence.
“That was Deadlock,” Arcee noted.
“Yes.”
“You said you knew him before the war.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think maybe now would be a good time to elaborate on exactly how you knew him?”
Ratchet huffed. “I told you back at base. He needed repairs, I repaired him. Transaction complete.”
“That’s not the full story,” she snapped.
“I don’t owe you the full story,” he snapped right back.
More silence. The children emerged from the store, carrying several shopping bags.
“You know I have to tell Optimus,” Arcee said with a bit less anger.
“I know.”
“So you’ve got about twenty Miko-filled minutes to think of a good excuse about why you let him go.”
Ratchet didn’t dignify that with a response as the children clambered in, and right away Miko started yammering about a human subspecies called “Karen”.
***
Doors on the Nemesis didn’t slam. That was a design flaw. They should slam.
Deadlock would have slammed the door to his hab.
He sat down on his berth, trying to stop the shaking that had overtaken his hands the minute he’d come out of alt mode. What was wrong with him?
Sure. Ratchet had been there. Sure. Ratchet had saved his life that one time. What did it matter? It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter to Ratchet, so it shouldn’t matter to Deadlock either.
And maybe it didn’t matter to Deadlock.
But it certainly mattered to Drift.
And that was a problem. A big problem.
At least there hadn’t been anyone to see it.
He clenched his fists. Then released. Clench. Release. Still shook. He grabbed his helm and rested his elbows on his knees. Why couldn’t this be simple? Why couldn’t the Decepticon have shot the Autobot? It would have been laughably easy. He could have been the catalyst to end the war. He could’ve ushered in a new Cybertron. It should have been easy. Why wasn’t it–
He took a deep vent to cycle cool air through his systems. His fans were thunderous in his audials, his HUD spammed him with stress warnings. He needed to calm down. He needed to stop. He needed…he needed…
He lit up a cygarette. It took several tries, since his damned hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but he lit it, and the moment the drug hit his systems he started to relax and get himself into a place where he could actually think .
He had a problem. The problem was that he froze up when faced with the enemy CMO. The problem was that he didn’t know if he’d do it again. That was his problem.
Great. Problem identified. What was the solution?
That was always how it’d been. Life was problems and solutions. Problem: life sucks. Solution: drugs. Problem: Cybertron sucks. Solution: join the Decepticons. Problem: enemy forces overtaking outpost. Solution: shoot them all between the optics.
Simple. He liked it simple. Things could be simple.
This wasn’t simple. This was feelings .
Feelings like guilt. Guilt for surviving. How stupid was that? He felt guilty that he’d done what he had to do to survive. Because that damned doctor had said he could do better. Implied that he was better.
Well, he wasn’t better. And the doctor could deal with it.
But Drift couldn’t.
Couldn’t deal with the sudden possibility that he might have been wrong. That everything he’d done for Cybertron, for her people, was wrong . That Megatron was insane and the Decepticon army was full of self-serving idiots. That there was nothing more to it than he’d chosen the wrong side and that the medic was proof of that.
He couldn’t be wrong about this. He couldn’t .
He was right. Megatron was right. He had to be. Or else…or else…
A knock sounded on the door.
“What the frag do you want ?!” he demanded.
The door opened, revealing Soundwave. He probably didn’t mean to stand there ominously, but he stood there ominously.
Deadlock pulled himself together like a blind mech gathering broken glass. “What is it, Soundwave?”
The communications officer sent him a ping. Bridge .
Frag.
“Alright. Yeah. Thanks. Gimme a klik.”
Soundwave didn’t move. Bridge, now.
Deadlock’s optics narrowed. So much for no one having seen his screw-up. There’d been a time when the Decepticons didn’t squander their resources spying on their own mechs. Apparently those days were behind them. He put out his cyg on his ped and stood. “Alright, then. Now.”
Soundwave followed him to the bridge, the threat clear. This wasn’t a summons for a friendly chat. When they got to the door, he slid past Deadlock and keyed it open. Ever silent, he stared at the assassin and pointed inside.
Deadlock went.
Megatron stood in his usual spot, faced towards the viewport. He didn’t turn to face his subordinate. “Deadlock.”
“Megatron.” He didn’t salute, didn’t kneel. Perhaps that was a mistake.
It was, objectively, a brief pause, but it felt like a lifetime.
“In my brief,” Deadlock began, careful to keep the emotion out of his voice, “you didn’t say who their medic is.”
Megatron was silent for a moment, not moving an inch. “It was my hope that you would never find out.”
“Why?” the assassin demanded. “I’d find out eventually, why keep it from me?”
“Do you know why you are here, Deadlock?”
He bristled at the change in subject. “You called me here. T’tell me off for freezin’ up.”
“No, why are you here, on this planet?”
“To win the war,” he snapped. “Why else?”
“And yet you refused to strike a blow against them. So I ask again, why are you here?”
Deadlock bared his fangs in response.
Megatron sighed and turned to face him. “I did not tell you, because I knew you would not do what needed to be done, what with your shared history. I knew you would seek him out. And now we both know for certain that you are unable to do what is needed for our victory. So tell me, Drift. What do you have to say to defend yourself?”
Deadlock said nothing.
Megatron waited patiently for a few minutes until it was abundantly clear that his subordinate had no defense whatsoever. He cleared the distance between them in a single step and tilted Deadlock’s head up with one claw under his chin. “You were one of my finest. I had hoped you remained so, even with your desertion. You disappoint me, Deadlock. Why do you still cling to this? To him?”
The assassin wrenched away. “Kill me or don’t, Megatron,” he snarled. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Very well. Figure out where your priorities lie. I will not tolerate an incident like this again.” He turned back to the viewport. “I should not need to tell you that Soundwave sees everything.”
Chapter 3: Frustrations
Notes:
Updating a little early! Enjoy!
This chapter covers the events of "Flying Mind" and "Triage". "Toxicity" and "Tunnel Vision" largely ignored.
Chapter Text
The laser scalpels should not have been making Ratchet angry, but they were. He’d had this set for as long as he could remember, and refused to replace them when he could repair them instead. But seeing all the patches and welds and little dents that weren’t worth popping, he couldn’t help the frustrations rising in his chest.
Stupid. It was stupid. A scalpel was a scalpel. He just happened to like these ones. Not that he had a choice, now. If these were broken beyond repair, he’d have to make new ones from scratch. And while he was an accomplished doctor, he was no engineer. Replacements wouldn’t come close to the quality of these. Not with the resources he had. Not with the tools and the ramshackle setup and inferior Earth technology and the fact that even a little radiation leak would apparently cut the nearby humans’ lifespans in half…
So he was frustrated. He shuffled them around the drawer again, trying to find an arrangement that would somehow placate him. It wasn’t working, but that wouldn’t stop him.
“Ratchet.”
He didn’t bother looking up. “Optimus.”
The Prime came into the medbay and sat on the slab. “Arcee told me what happened.”
Ratchet huffed and flicked a speck of dirt off one of his scalpels. “Did she now. And are you here to take me to task for not killing an enemy combatant?”
“No. I’m here to check on my friend.” He crossed one long leg over the other. “So what happened?”
“Arcee told you.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
The medic sighed and shut the drawer. “There’s not much to say. Deadlock…froze up. As soon as he saw me. Let me get in a pretty good hit after I got him off of Arcee. But he didn’t fight back. I don’t know why, but he just…” He looked over at Prime. “I won’t kill someone who’s not fighting back.”
“I would never ask that of you,” Optimus assured him. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I just…I didn’t want to see him again.” He rubbed his helm. “I’d hoped he was dead. Because I didn’t want to see him in combat. I didn’t want to see what he became.”
“I know you had hope for him back on Cybertron…”
“Yes, on Cybertron! Millions of years ago! It’s ridiculous to have expected that he could have been anything else. It’s ridiculous to have wished those reports were false, and that I didn’t enable him to kill so many of us.” He opened the drawer again and rearranged his scalpels. Again.
“Ratchet.”
“ What. ”
A heavy hand rested on his shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself for what he did after you helped him. Just like you tell me I can’t blame myself for what happened with Megatronus.”
Logic should have helped. It didn’t. But it should have.
“I don’t want to be the one to…to put him down,” he said softly. “When it comes time, it can’t be me. I…I don’t think I’ll be able to.” Not when Deadlock had looked at him like that. Like he was…like he was still that kid dying on Ratchet’s operating table.
“I’ll make sure of it. Hopefully it won’t come down to that at all.”
“With the way things are going, I can’t count on that.”
***
In all the years Deadlock had known Soundwave, he had never failed to respond to a ping.
Yet Deadlock was there, standing in the middle of nowhere (sector 287, actually. A remote part of North America that seemed to be mostly flat nothingness, tapping his foot because for the past hour , Soundwave had not responded to his requests for a ground bridge pickup.
He sent another ping.
No response.
He grumbled and sat down on the green stuff underfoot (grass?) and lit a cyg. Nothing to do except wait, apparently.
He’d been sitting pretty on his aft for another hour before his comm alerted him of an incoming communication. Open channel. From Autobots.
“…-mega One, do you read? Repeat, this is Autobot Outpost Omega One, do you read, Decepticon warship?”
It was Ratchet. Why the frag were they hailing the Nemesis ?
He hesitated briefly. Just long enough to ensure the Nemesis wasn’t responding. Then stamped down lots of feelings and tuned into the channel. “This is Decepticon Patrol Unit Deadlock. I have received your transmission, Autobot Outpost Omega One.”
A long pause from the other end. Then it was a different Autobot, Bulkhead, Deadlock guessed, who spoke. “Uhhh…hey, Deadlock. Do you know what’s going on with the warship?”
“Is this some kinda fraggin’ joke? What the frag do you want?”
Brief pause. “Well, uh…we just wanted to check in. Make sure everything’s… ok?”
Deadlock reset his optics. “Come again?”
“Look, we noticed some weird activity going on with the warship’s flight patterns, and uh…well, we got worried. Is everything ok?”
What the actual frag. This was a war! Were they drunk? “I’m on patrol. I…um…haven’t heard from the ship in a while,” he managed to stammer out.
Longer pause. Then it was Ratchet. “Deadlock, the ship itself just talked to us. What in the name of the Unmaker is happening up there?”
“I told you I’m on patrol! I haven’t heard slag! Did you say the ship talked to you?” …was he drunk? He stood up and began to pace.
“Affirmative.”
“I mean, I’m no expert, but I think something’s wrong.” Very wrong. Very, very wrong. And not just with him.
“Well, I’m glad we have your excellent powers of deduction here to tell us that.”
“Don’t fraggin’ sass me, doc. You called me .”
“Yes, and you are by far the worst person who could’ve picked up. Do you know why the ship is making a beeline for Manhattan or not?”
Deadlock hung up. He put out his cyg and checked the Nemesis ’ coordinates. It was somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and, by how fast it was going, was indeed making a beeline for Manhattan. And Deadlock didn’t have the slightest idea why. He wasn’t sure he could do anything about it, either, seeing as he was in the middle of nowhere and had no way of getting to the ship.
At least driving across the country was better than sitting on his skidplate. He had to do something so he didn’t think too hard on the events of the past five minutes.
***
It occurred to Deadlock a couple hours into his journey that this part of Earth was mostly corn.
Just corn.
Maybe some other crops here and there.
A sign advertising the world’s largest frying pan.
Why the Autobots were so invested in protecting this place was beyond him.
According to his nav system, he was somewhere in Nebraska when he finally received a transmission from Soundwave. Deadlock: status?
Deadlock pulled over to the side of the highway (something he’d learned to do after almost getting pancaked by a huge truck while he was answering a call). “Sending current coordinates. Requesting ground bridge pickup. Soundwave, what the frag happened up there? I’ve been callin’ for hours. Pit, the Autobots called to find out what’s goin’ on!”
Ground bridge request: acknowledged. Deadlock: maintain current position.
He should’ve expected that Soundwave would avoid any questions. Still, if it had been a simple malfunction, he would have told Deadlock. The fact that he was that brusque, even for Soundwave standards, told Deadlock that something seriously bad had happened. Not many things could rattle Soundwave.
By the time Deadlock was back on board the Nemesis and stalking his way through to the bridge, any confusion he had was pushed to the side in favor of anger. Anger was…safer. Confusion made him look weak.
The bridge was abuzz with activity when he entered. Vehicons darted to and fro, carrying out repairs and delivering odds and ends. Megatron was giving orders to Knockout. Soundwave was plugged into a console and working furiously. Deadlock leaned against a wall and waited, wondering if anyone was going to fill him in or if he'd have to pry more information out of Knockout (with the help of the last of his Nightmare Fuel...).
“…you should have backup. Without Breakdown here, you are vulnerable, Knockout,” Megatron was saying.
The doctor huffed. “Well, fine. A squad of Vehicons should do nicely. The Autobots aren’t likely to do much heavy hitting in the middle of a precious human metropolis.”
“Which is exactly why a heavy hitter should accompany you.” He gestured towards an insecticon.
Knockout visibly shuddered and looked for an out. His optics alighted upon Deadlock. “Ah, Deadlock! Perfect timing. I’d say you are much more suited to accompany me on this mission rather than a bug.”
Megatron turned to face the assassin. “How kind of you to join us, after all the excitement has passed.” He returned his attention to Knockout. “The insecticon will accompany you. Deadlock, as he has so aptly demonstrated during his desertion, prefers to work alone.”
Deadlock snorted and lit up a cyg so he didn’t ask Megatron what had crawled up his tailpipe and died.
Knockout evidently decided it was best to just take the insecticon and leave. Once he was gone, Megatron’s gaze once again fell on Deadlock. “Where were you?” he demanded.
“I was on patrol in sector 287 as ordered,” Deadlock replied stiffly. “Tried to get in contact with the Nemesis for pickup, no response until just recently. What happened?”
Instead of answering, Megatron brought up a set of coordinates on a nearby monitor. “We’ve decided the locations of four Iacon relics. You will retrieve this one.”
Deadlock nodded and tapped some ash off of his smoke. “Consider it done.” At least this task made sense. He'd get his answers later.
***
Ratchet did not like Wheeljack.
It wasn’t a surprise, really. Wheeljack liked to joke, have fun, and break rules. Ratchet did not. Ratchet would have much rather gone on this retrieval mission alone, but he had to concede that that’d be a bad idea that would probably get him killed.
So he was with Wheeljack. A mech he did not like.
The dislike only grew stronger when Wheeljack spotted Laserbeak and flew into a spin of stunts that seemed to either be designed to crash the ship or send Ratchet into spark failure.
Possibly both.
Wheeljack yanked on the controls and pulled them out of a death spiral towards the rocky ground. “Almost had him!”
“Laserbeak is a—watch out!” He flinched as they grazed an outcropping. “Laserbeak is a low-priority target! It’s only here to distract us!”
“Then consider me distracted!” the Wrecker snarked, and moved to cut the drone off. Finally, one of his shots landed and Laserbeak went spiraling to the ground.
“Where there’s Laserbeak, there’s Soundwave,” Wheeljack surmised once they were on the ground. He poked at the wreckage with one of his swords. “And he’ll be coming back for his pet.”
“Then we had best move quickly. We’ve already spent too much time on a drone when we could be finding the relic.” Ratchet waved his scanner for emphasis.
Wheeljack paid no mind and took out a grenade. “Hold on a minute. Just gonna leave a little surprise for Soundwave. Old Wrecker trick.”
Something clicked in Ratchet’s head. “I have a better idea.”
In short order, and with Raphael’s help, they were able to rig a virus that would transmit the rest of the Iacon database to the Autobots once Soundwave and Laserbeak were jacked into the Nemesis . It was a risky plan in that it might simply not work, but it was better than nothing.
Once Laserbeak limped off, probably to find Soundwave, Wheeljack and Ratchet made a beeline for the coordinates of the relic. It was no surprise there was a Decepticon already there. But…it wasn’t Soundwave.
Deadlock held the capsule under one arm and flicked ash off of a cyg. “Was wonderin’ when you’d show up. Now are we gonna do this easy, or are you gonna try to take this thing and make me do somethin’ I’ll regret, Ratchet?”
Ratchet froze.
Wheeljack, thankfully, did not. He drew both swords and stepped between Ratchet and the Decepticon. “You’re outnumbered, ‘Con. I don’t think you’re the one who should be makin’ demands.”
“Heh. I’ve faced worse odds than this and come out on top.” He wrenched the capsule open and took out the relic. A…blaster of some sort? He just holstered it with his others like he’d just picked up another standard sidearm. He tossed aside the capsule and shifted his stance, claws out, cyg burning, optics cold. “Come on then, Wrecker. Let’s see what you got.”
Wheeljack charged forward, and the rest was lost in a flurry of melee. Ratchet darted around to try to corner Deadlock. To at least…put pressure on him to retreat. His spark thudded and flared as he drew his pistol and aimed, and his hands, hands that remained steady while performing countless surgeries, hands that remained steady while comforting friends in their final moments…his hands shook.
Deadlock saw him out of the corner of his optics and bared his teeth in a snarl. He wrenched out of Wheeljack’s grip and pinned the mech to the ground with a knife under his chin.
And he looked.
Right at Ratchet.
Something in that gaze changed rapidly. A softening, and then an abrupt hardening again. Without breaking eye contact, he drove the knife deep into Wheeljack’s side, and then in an instant he was in alt mode and speeding off toward the horizon.
Ratchet ran over and began administering emergency repairs. The wound wouldn’t be fatal as long as it was treated. But if Ratchet chased after Deadlock and the relic, Wheeljack would bleed out.
It was ruthless and calculated, and yet…
Wheeljack was going to be alright. That’s what mattered.
Chapter 4: These Teeth are Made for Chompin'
Notes:
Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the engagement so far; I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the story so far! This chapter covers "New Recruit" and "The Human Factor".
Chapter Text
The pod had crashed in a dense forest. By some miracle, the fuel hadn’t caught, else the whole place would go up in flames. Deadlock signaled his soldiers to surround the wreckage and crept up to the hatch. There shouldn’t have been any call for suspicion, but…no one had hailed the Nemesis or sent out a beacon. Soundwave just picked up the pod.
Deadlock tore open the hatch and ducked out of the way of the laser fire that answered. An Autobot vaulted out and darted for cover from the Vehicons’ volley. Deadlock rushed forward, heedless of the danger. With failure after failure being reported, he wasn’t going to let even the smallest victory escape. He may have been able to retrieve the sound blaster, but apparently no one else had gotten the relics they’d been sent after. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t doing enough.
The Autobot wove between the trees, firing a few shots behind him. One struck Deadlock in the shoulder, and his own shot went wide and hit a nearby tree. The thing came crashing down in front of his prey. Deadlock rushed forward and tackled him, swatting aside his struggles and sinking his fangs into the Autobot’s neck. He cried out and tried to throw him off, but he was small, and weak, and Deadlock ripped free with a spray of energon and slammed the ‘Bot’s shoulders deep into the soft organic ground.
The Decepticon bared his fangs in a mockery of a smile and leaned in, letting the ‘Bot’s own energon drip onto his face. He drew a knife and flared his plating. “Alright, Autobot. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna tell me where your base is, and I’ll make sure you die quick.” He tapped the spot between his optics for emphasis. “Or, you can hold out, and I’ll make sure you don’t die.” He stopped and savored the moment as the Autobot looked around for help that wouldn’t come.
One of the Vehicons garbled something about a ground bridge over the comms. They were pulling back. Deadlock switched his radio off. They could run if they wanted, the cowards. He wasn’t going to lose this. The mech, shiny and clean like the elite of Iacon and Praxus, stared wide-opticed at Deadlock like he’d never had his life threatened before.
Deadlock didn’t remember the first time his life was threatened. Things like that tended to blur together after a while. Being scared was a luxury he’d never had, and this Autobot did. He bared his fangs and brought the knife up to the Autobot’s optic.”You’ll get by just fine with only one of these.”
His audials twitched in response to the sound of laser fire close behind. Of course. Autobot backup. He rolled off his prey and hauled them both to their feet. The knife stayed poised to puncture though his optic, and the Autobot’s struggles did nothing to help him.
Prime and his team came into view. Deadlock’s optics flicked through their ranks. Ratchet wasn’t there. Good. Drift didn’t want him to see the energon dripping down his chin, the savage wounds on the Autobot’s throat cables. Deadlock’s knife cracked the mech’s optic glass. “Back off, Prime,” he snarled. “Or this one gets the once in a lifetime opportunity to feel a knife go into his brain.”
Prime, of course, did no such thing. He cut an imposing figure, standing there with a cannon aimed at Deadlock’s head. Looked like an enforcer. “Release him, and we’ll allow you to escape with your life,” he ordered. “You’re outnumbered.”
Deadlock’s grip tightened until he heard plating buckle. “I said back off ,” he growled. “I ain’t afraid to die, and I’ll be damned if I’m not takin’ one of you with me.”
Prime slowly lowered his weapon. “A life for a life, then? You know it’s not worth it. Release him, and we will sort out our differences another day.”
Deadlock had to laugh. “You think I value my life? You think Megatron does? Tell ya what; gimme the location of your base, and I’ll only kill the whelp here.”
There was a sound of wood cracking, and the assassin wrote it off as something underfoot. That is, until a tree fell on him. The Autobot scrambled away as Deadlock struggled to free himself from the thing pinning him on his stomach against the dirt, one especially sharp chunk having stabbed right into his knee joint.
The Prime’s legs came in to view, and he picked up the knife that’d fallen from Deadlock’s hand. “All life has value, Drift,” he said, and the pity in his voice made Deadlock’s vision blur with impotent rage. “It’s a shame Megatron doesn’t see it, and a crime that he made you the same way.”
***
Megatron’s backhand sent Deadlock sprawling onto the floor of the bridge. “You had a very simple task, Deadlock,” the warlord snarled. “One Autobot to kill, and yet somehow you end up crawling in the dirt. Mewling for help.” He crouched down and dragged the assassin up by a finial. “It’s because of mechs like you that this war has gone on this long, that our planet is dead!” He threw Deadlock down again in disgust. “Get out.”
Deadlock hauled himself to his feet. “Lord Megatron—“
“Are you deaf as well as incompetent?” Megatron demanded. “Get out before I kill you.”
Soundwave, hunched over his console, opened the door for him.
Deadlock limped his way to the medbay. Lab. Whatever Knockout was calling it these days. His energon boiled, but who the rage was directed at, Deadlock couldn’t quite tell. Which just made him angrier. Vehicons stayed well out of his way, and even Knockout bit back whatever snide comment he was going to use as a greeting, instead opting to just point towards the slab and grab his welding equipment.
The doctor’s silence didn’t last long. Only halfway through patching the gunshot wound in Deadlock’s shoulder. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”
“Frag off,” Deadlock grumbled.
“I don’t think you appreciate how bored I get, holed away in here. All I get is second hand drama.”
“Because you keep runnin’ away from first hand drama.”
“It’s much safer for my finish,” Knockout pointed out with a disdainful look at the scratches on Deadlock’s plating. “Speaking of, what did you get into to cause this mess?”
“Tree fell on me,” Deadlock mumbled.
“Huh?”
“Tree fell on me!” he snapped. “Fraggin’ Autobot in the pod, fraggin’ Autobot reinforcements showed up, and a fraggin’ tree fell on me. And now fraggin’ Megatron is threatening to fraggin’ kill me next time I frag up!”
“…sure you don’t want to toss in one more “frag” for good measure?” He yanked out the branch that had impaled Deadlock’s knee, right through the seam, holding him down with surprising strength when the assassin lurched with a grunt.
Knockout tossed the branch over his shoulder and sighed. “Look, I get it. You were top dog for a while. But things changed during our time here on this dirtball, Megatron most of all. You want to get back in his good graces? Just…do something right, and keep your fragging head down otherwise.” He began picking splinters out of the torn wires and jammed gears. “I know you’ve been having some sort of crisis and some disagreements with high command. Whole ship knows. But you need to stop . You’re not going to change anything and right now you’re just making yourself look bad.” He tossed aside more organic debris with a look of disgust.
Deadlock found he didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. He stared at the ceiling while Knockout finished cleaning the wound. When he began welding, Deadlock found his voice again. “Was he always like this?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Knockout replied, rather unconvincingly. He finished one of the smaller welds and checked his work.
Deadlock was tired of dancing around the point. “Was Megatron always insane?” he demanded.
Knockout jerked back. “What? No. Shut up. None of that in my lab.”
“Answer the question, medic,” Deadlock growled.
Said medic sighed and returned to his work. “He…came back different. After his travels. Left us alone on Earth for a couple years and when he came back, he had the dark energon. I don’t know what he saw out there, but…” He shook his head to banish the train of thought. “No. You’re not dragging me into this. You got my advice, and that’s to mind your own business. Stop looking for a fight, because you’ll find one.”
The assassin shut up and continued staring at the ceiling. Shame, he thought. Fights always managed to find him, even if he wasn’t looking for them.
***
Ratchet patted Smokescreen on the back. “Good as new. Just a few surface scratches on that optic. You got lucky. You’ll be fine as long as those cable patches integrate properly.”
Their newest teammate huffed and blinked a few times. “Figures my first real combat would end up with me being taken hostage…”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see plenty more action here. You’ll have your heroic chance, kid. Don’t worry about it.”
Smokescreen likely didn’t mean to pout, but he definitely pouted. “See? Everyone just sees me as a dumb kid. Even if I take out a whole army that won’t change.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but you are a good two or three million years younger than everyone else here,” Ratchet pointed out. “They’ll treat you like a kid for a while, but then they’ll forget about it. I won’t, but they will. Everyone’s a kid to me, don’t take it personally.”
He groaned dramatically and slid off the table. “If you say so, doc. Thanks for the patch.”
“Any time. If something starts acting up, let me know. Don’t be an idiot and walk around with an injury just because you don’t want to go see the scary doctor.” Ratchet waved the kid out and began cleaning his tools.
He wasn’t left alone for long. Only two scalpels in and he heard the telltale footsteps of his old friend behind him.
“I didn’t think you were injured, Optimus,” Ratchet said. He wiped his hands and turned around to see the Prime sitting down on the slab. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I am fully functional. I wanted to speak to you about Deadlock.”
Ratchet huffed and turned back to his tools. “And what would such a conversation accomplish? I have no current intel on him.”
“Perhaps. But he very nearly killed one of our own today. Were it not for Bumblebee’s quick thinking bringing down that tree, Smokescreen would not have lived long enough to make it back to base for repairs.” Prime paused for a moment, perhaps waiting for Ratchet to respond. When no response was forthcoming, he sighed and continued. “I wanted to know how much hope you have for him.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ratchet announced with as much conviction as he could muster in a blatant lie. He rearranged his scalpels again.
“You held back during your and Arcee’s encounter with him. You told me you don’t want to kill him.” His optics bore holes right into Ratchet’s brain module. “I will not believe that is due to a lack of stomach on your part. You have hope for him, that he will stray from Megatron’s side.”
“He won’t,” Ratchet snapped. “And it is foolhardy to entertain such a notion.”
“But that isn’t stopping you,” Optimus said softly.
“Of course it’s not! Which is why I don’t trust myself to do what needs to be done. Which is why I was relieved when he was reported missing in action.” He whirled around. “Which is why you need to stop caring about my feelings, and end him the next time you see him. He is an unstable, vicious mech and a danger to all of us. We almost lost Bulkhead, and today we almost lost Smokescreen. We can’t lose anyone else, Optimus! And to protect our own, Deadlock needs to be put down.”
Optimus’s blue optics remained steady as he looked at his rather less than steady friend. “You don’t mean that. Ratchet, I know what it’s like to see a friend go down the wrong path. You can talk to me any time, you know.”
“Great, fine, now I know.” Ratchet folded his arms and prepared to glower at the Prime as he left.
Optimus stood, but paused as he turned to leave. “It’s not your fault. What he became after you saved him. It’s not on you, and it’s not fair to either of you if you blame yourself.”
***
Deadlock stared at that… thing Knockout brought aboard, arms folded and a cygarette resting against a fang. “I’d reach in and crush the organic, but it seems…messy.”
The thing wearing Breakdown’s plating didn’t respond, but its optics flicked towards the lurking assassin. Deadlock felt sick. The fact that this had been done to one of their own…and it wasn’t even dead yet! He itched to remedy that. This was an abomination and an insult.
He looked at Megatron. “Lemme kill it.”
“Patience, Deadlock. Cylas here has a point. Optimus’s human allies have provided him with an undeniable edge. Perhaps it’s time we test the human element.” Megatron stalked around the walking corpse in thought.
Deadlock and Knockout shared a look.
Knockout sighed. “Sir, much as I loathe to say it, I don’t think you’re giving Optimus and his team their due credit. How in the name of Primus could these…gross little squishy things really turn the tide of a four million year war?”
“Let me help you find out,” the thing said, using Breakdown’s mouth to grin.
Deadlock couldn’t take it anymore. He drew a pistol and casually flicked off the safety, leveling it at Breakdown’s chest, where the human lay nestled. “I ain’t interested. Yer a fraggin’ sick bastard and we ain’t here to suffer your mockery of Breakdown.”
Megatron’s hand pushed the gun firmly down. “You fire on my command, Deadlock. And I want to hear what Cylas has to offer.”
The assassin huffed and holstered his weapon. “Fine. But I ain’t waitin’ for permission if it steps outta line.”
“We have to work on that attitude of yours,” Megatron muttered. He turned towards the monitors and gestured the human-in-corpse thing over. “Show me what you can bring to the table, human.”
It put a crate on the desk. “Damocles. A highly destructive laser weapon affixed to this satelite. It hits within a square foot of the designated target, and can cleave through the earth to hit even the deepest buried bunker.”
“And how is it controlled?” Megatron asked.
Deadlock snorted. “This is a toy compared to Cybertronian firepower.”
“If you keep interrupting me, you’ll find out how Cybertronian firepower feels when I blow your insolent head off,” Megatron snapped. “You can either show some self-control for once, or you can get. Off. My. Bridge.”
Deadlock glowered and shifted his cyg to the other side of his mouth. “I’ll be in the practice range, my lord,” he ground out. He spat at the…thing’s…feet, and stalked out of the bridge.
Fifty clips and several target dummies later, his rage hadn’t cooled one bit. It was an insult. A heresy. A mockery of everything they stood for and a desecration of one of their own for that thing to even exist. And now it was on the bridge. Speaking with Megatron as if it was one of them! As if it was a Decepticon, as if it had any idea, any right , to dedicate itself to the cause.
He ejected the empty clip and loaded a new one in a blur of motion, and shot thrice into the new target. Three shots, one charred hole in the dummy’s chest. It didn’t help.
A mech stomped into the range behind him. “I see we’re on the same page,” Knockout noted, looking at the target, and the smoldering hole where Cylas would be, had it been him Deadlock was shooting at.
“I think we are,” he agreed.
The cherry-red medic leaned against the wall. “And there’s nothing we can do.”
“Nothin’ at all.” Not without disobeying Megatron.
Knockout clenched his fist. “Parading around in Breakdown’s body…how in the name of Primus can that be permitted?”
“Not our place to question,” Deadlock muttered. Another three shots went into the target’s chest.
“You didn’t have a problem questioning on the bridge,” Knockout reminded him.
“And Lord Megatron made it pretty damn clear my questions weren’t welcome.”
“So we’re going to sit here and do nothing?”
“Nah,” Deadlock said. “We’re gonna sit here and shoot at targets until there’s somethin’ else to shoot at.” He handed the medic one of his spare pistols.
Knockout looked at the gun for a long moment before taking it and checking the clip. “Not my usual weapon,” he admitted, taking aim. His first shot went wide, hitting the target in the shoulder.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Deadlock said.
They practiced in silence for a while. Knockout clearly wasn’t a marksman, but then again, he didn’t need to be. Medics, and indeed, anyone with any bit of medical training, were kept away from combat whenever possible. The fact that Knockout was allowed in the field at all shocked Deadlock. If he was put out of commission, there would be no one left who could make repairs.
Perhaps it had been different when Breakdown was alive and there to protect him.
“You didn’t know Breakdown, did you?” Knockout asked.
“Nah. We were never stationed together. I was with Turmoil for most of the war.”
“You’d have liked him,” the medic said, almost wistfully. Whether that was a true statement or not didn’t seem to occur to him. “He…made the worst jokes. I always laughed at them, mostly because no one else did. Until it grew on me, that is. We ended up sharing a sense of humor.”
Deadlock didn’t have a response for that. Let Knockout talk, if that’s what he wanted.
“I didn’t even know he died. Dreadwing never told me what happened on that mission. I confronted him, just now, but he didn’t have much to say about it. I thought that…that thing was him, when I first saw it.” His next shot didn’t even hit the target, though it came pretty close to the one next to it. “I want to make that human suffer for what he did. Airachnid too, but she’s not here. That thing is.”
“Megatron won’t let you hurt it. Least not as long as it has somethin’ to offer him,” Deadlock reminded him.
“I know, I know. I’m honestly not even sure if I could. It still looks like Breakdown.”
Deadlock set his gun down on the shelf and turned to the doctor. “You know I’m probably not the one for talkin’ to ‘bout your dead sparkmate,” he said bluntly.
“Well, you haven’t left yet,” Knockout snapped. “And it’s not like there’s a plethora of mechs here to talk to. So if you’re going to be here, you’re going to listen to me talk about him.”
Deadlock nodded and picked his gun back up. He changed the clip. “What was he like? Besides the puns.”
Knockout smiled, ever so slightly, and told him.
Hours later, Knockout was called to the bridge. Deadlock, having exhausted every target exercise he could call to mind, wandered to his quarters, sticking to side corridors and avoiding anyone and everyone. If he ran into Megatron in a bad mood, he’d more than likely be reduced to a stain on the wall.
He keyed open his door and let it slide closed behind him. A reflection of purple light caught his attention.
“Soundwave,” he said by way of greeting. He turned towards his lurking uninvited guest and lit up a cyg. “Please tell me you’re here to give me orders to shoot someone.”
“ It’s your lucky day ,” Soundwave said in a recording of Knockout’s snide voice. He handed over a data pad.
Deadlock took it and scanned through the contents. “Megatron doesn’t want him alive anymore?”
Silence.
“Alright then. I’ll get it done.”
“Don’t fail me again ,” Soundwave said as Megatron. He turned on spindly legs and glided out.
***
Finding Starscream was easy, in the end. There were only so many places a traitor could use as a suitable base of operations. And within a few days of Starscream crashing a retrieval operation and making off with a chunk of some special energon Deadlock didn't care about, the assassin was able to pinpoint his location. Deadlock thanked his luck; hopefully Starscream’s severed head would be enough to snap Megatron out of his…whatever this was. This task was not one he could afford to fail.
Deadlock had first met Starscream…some time back. His memory wasn’t great. It had never been a single meeting, but rather a passing in the hallway here and there, a word once or twice, nothing more than that until Deadlock had risen to prevalence as one of the best assassins in the Decepticon forces.
Starscream had slithered up to him, then. Deadlock had been cleaning his weapons, and looked up to see the second in command watching him closely. He’d spoken in a way Deadlock hated; dancing around the point ad nauseum. If there even was a point. Deadlock couldn’t tell. He’d heard afterwards about Starscream’s treacherous nature and thought little of it. If Megatron kept him around, he must contribute something worthwhile. Besides, his Trine kept him in line. At least until they were shot down over the ruins of Praxus. Starscream… definitely changed after that. Without Thundercracker’s level head and Skywarp’s refusal to take part in anything he deemed “boring”, including Decepticon politics, Starscream went from a fearsome commander to a sniveling liability. Took more risks, made sure everyone knew about how things would be if he led the Decepticons instead of Megatron. From the records Deadlock had found of Earth-based operations, he was a disaster of a military commander.
Now, with how things stood, Deadlock figured that Starscream’s contributions may have begun and ended with “punching bag”.
Not that the Seeker didn’t deserve it, but something didn’t sit quite right with the whole thing.
Deadlock was getting real sick of that feeling.
He snuck through the wreckage of the Harbinger , wincing at each rusted creak. He didn’t strictly need stealth to have an advantage over Starscream, but it’d certainly help.
He saw lights up ahead, and heard the click clack of Starscream’s ridiculous stilettos. Bingo.
In a blur of motion, he was in the doorway with both guns at Starscream.
The bastard didn’t even turn around from where he hunched over an old, cluttered table. “Here to kill me?”
“You know it.” He fired both weapons.
Two shots hit, one in the chest and one in the head. Starscream slumped over, smoking from the wounds. Deadlock strode over to collect the proof. He frowned at the third wound, right where the T-Cog would be.
The cold barrel of a gun pressed against the assassin’s back.
“And here I thought those clones were a complete waste,” the real Starscream hissed in his audio. “Getting sloppy, aren’t we?”
Deadlock ducked and grabbed the barrel of Starscream’s weapon, using it to flip the Seeker over his shoulder and onto the desk. He aimed his pistols once more, trying to keep them steady through the shaking in his hands.
Starscream knocked one of Deadlock’s guns aside and dug his claws into the assassin’s throat. “I always figured you’d come crawling back,” he gloated. “Tell me, did you lick his boots, or did he deprive you of your limbs?”
Deadlock threw the traitor off and fired again, but the shot went wide. “Neither. Welcomed me back ‘n sent me to kill you.”
“Oh. Naturally.” He dove away, probably trying to put some distance between them.
“Yeah.” Deadlock shot twice, both missing.
Starscream looked at the two smoking holes in the wall. “Now isn’t this interesting. Finally lost your touch?” He surged forwards and leaned into Deadlock’s face. “No…I smell something else on you. Is that fear?”
In a feat of flexibility, he kicked Deadlock’s head, sending it back with a snap. As the assassin struggled to regain his bearings, Starscream pressed his gun to Deadlock’s head and leaned down to put his face far, far too close to the assassin’s.
“So, Deadlock,” Starscream taunted. “Let’s have a little chat .”
***
Starscream’s head and spark casing bounced on the bridge of the Nemesis and rolled to a stop at Megatron’s feet.
Deadlock stood at the doorway, lighting a smoke. He smiled ruefully.
“Results.”
Chapter 5: A Spoonful of Engex Helps the Feelings Go Down
Summary:
Warning for alcohol use, referenced drug use/overdose, referenced suicide.
Realized I never mentioned my tumblr. Feel free to find me there as such-heroic-nonsense, I love to chat about robots!
Chapter Text
Ratchet finished the weld and retracted his visor. “All set, Bumblebee. Take it easy for a cycle though to make sure it doesn’t reopen.”
Bee warbled an affirmative and a thanks and hopped off the slab, careful not to bump his injured arm against anything on his way out.
Ratchet sighed and entered another log. More sniper bullets going into his teammates’ — his friends’— limbs. All the same caliber, all from the same weapon. All from the same mech.
One mech he should have just let die, long ago in a rundown clinic.
There was a knock on the doorway. Ratchet turned, expecting to see Optimus, or maybe Bulkhead coming for a follow-up. Instead, Arcee stood there with her arms folded. “Come on, Ratch. Let’s go for a drive.”
“A drive? No. I’m busy.” He turned back to his log.
A few moments passed, but he didn’t hear Arcee leave. He glanced over his shoulder.
She still stood in the doorway. Now smirking. “Just waiting till you’re not busy anymore. So we can go for a drive.”
Which is how Ratchet ended up seated on the edge of a bluff a few miles into the desert. He leaned back on one hand and glanced over to Arcee, seated next to him. “This isn’t much of a drive,” he pointed out.
She chuckled. “Yeah, you got me there. What I wanted was to chat. And keep this out of sight.” To Ratchet’s surprise, she pulled a bottle of engex from her subspace. She popped the lid, took a swig, and handed it to Ratchet.
He arched an eyebrow. “How long have you had this?” He took a small sip. Not bad, frankly.
“Not too long, actually. Cliff and I found a crate of the stuff right before we came to Earth. Apparently belonged to a ‘Con named “Misfire”, but I doubt he’s going back for it.”
“You don’t say.” He took another sip. Yep, not bad at all, considering it was cheap booze a low ranking ‘Con had stashed away. He handed the bottle back.
She took it and raised it to her lips. “So tell me about Deadlock.”
“So that’s what this is about? I’m going back to base…” He started to stand, but Arcee’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Ratchet, I don’t drag up a painful past for no reason. You know this. But something about this guy is bothering you, and you’re keeping it all bottled up. I think it’ll help to air some old grievances. Obviously you don’t want to tell Optimus, because he has too much to deal with already. But I happen to have two working audials and some spare time. And,” she waved the bottle,, “I’ve got a couple more of these to ease the way.”
“Fine, this one’s mine, then.” He snatched the bottle and sat back down. He took a long sip. “Honestly, I’m not sure where to start.”
“How about the beginning? How did you two meet?” Arcee reached into her subspace and pulled out another engex.
It was a wonder she managed to keep any at all. Ratchet had blown through his stash within a year of being stuck on Earth. “Remember the Dead End?” At her nod, he continued. “I used to run a free clinic there. In my spare time, under the senate’s radar. It wouldn’t do to have the Prime’s personal medic helping leakers and addicts, now would it.”
“Nope, that sounds like a good way to get yourself disappeared,” Arcee agreed. She popped the lid on her engex and took a small sip.
“Right. But…I couldn’t stop. I wanted to help people, not change out squeaky gears on whiny senators. And maybe I thought I was doing something good at the time, but now I wonder if it was just out of selfishness.”
“Just because you also gain something from helping people doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing,” Arcee pointed out.
“I suppose. But anyway, I helped the leakers and addicts when they needed it. Fixed them up and sent them on their way. Deadlock, he was Drift, back then, was one of them. Young, hooked on every drug you can think of, and…I wanted to help him.”
“And he threw it back in your face,” Arcee predicted with confidence.
Ratchet shook his head. “No, no, it wasn’t like that. One day I came out of the clinic and caught him spray painting some nonsense on my walls. He just stood there while I tore into him, and after I was done he just pointed at the graffiti and told me that he was drawing signs that would let other leakers know it was a safe place, not a chop shop masquerading as a clinic.” He took a swig to prevent the memory from rising too far. “He was…almost shy in his efforts to pay me back. Never mind I told him a thousand times that he didn’t need to. He’d bring me samples of what the syk dealers were selling so I could have a record of what they laced it with, and that saved more than a few lives. I’d find an old coolant can outside my office, sometimes with a Dead End trinket or two. Scrap metal that resembled a turbofox, a homemade charm to ward off bad luck, maybe a rough sketch or a bit of writing done by someone who had a brief moment of artistic inspiration.” He took another sip. “I think he wanted to be friends, but didn’t quite know how to go about it. He had a small crew, as he called it. Well, not his, exactly. He said Gasket was their leader. I don’t think it was really a gang. More of just…a couple mechs who did what they could to keep themselves alive. I never met most of them, but Drift brought Gasket by once or twice so I could look at an old rust infection in his knee.”
“He doesn’t sound half bad.”
“He wasn’t. He was just a misguided kid who was dealt a bad hand. But I couldn’t change the hand he was dealt. Neither could he.”
“Let me guess. Megatron could.”
“Exactly. After the gladiators, the Decepticons recruited heavily from the Dead End. I was approached many times, and each time I told them I was just there to help people, not join a revolution. Drift fell for Megatron’s rhetoric though. And honestly? I can’t say I blame him.”
“The war didn’t come out of nowhere,” Arcee agreed. “I doubt there’s an Autobot out there who didn’t consider joining the Decepticons when they first formed.” She cracked a smile. “Except maybe Ultra Magnus.”
Ratchet smirked at the memory of Prime convincing Ultra Magnus to join the Autobots, and Magnus citing every single law they were breaking. “Yeah, except him. Anyway, I didn’t see Drift for a long time. When he came back to my clinic, he was a different bot. His gang was gone, and he wouldn’t tell me what happened. He learned how to shoot, how to fight, and he was…angry. Not at me, but at everything else. But he wasn’t a Decepticon yet. He told me he was going to a recruitment rally, and he wanted me to come with him.”
“What did you do?” Arcee probed gently.
Ratchet took a long drink. “I argued. I was going back to Iacon that day, and I tried to get him to join the Autobots with me. It…wasn’t pretty. I said a lot of things I regret. He said a lot of things that hurt. Maybe he regrets them too. I’m not sure.” Another swig. “He told me that what I did in the clinic was a waste, and that I was just another high-class bot slumming in the Dead End for the thrill.”
“That’s just not true.”
“Isn’t it though? I repaired them, but I didn’t help them. I just patched them up and sent them on their way to die a little slower. And when it came down to it, I didn’t take their side. I took Optimus’s.”
“We are on their side though! A better Cybertron for everyone, right? Not just the mechs with money, or who turn into microscopes. Bulkhead wouldn’t have joined if he didn’t think the labor class would be better off with the Autobots. Most bots wouldn’t.”
“That wasn’t how the leakers saw it. They just saw another government that would either exploit or ignore them. At least Megatron gave them a fighting chance. But at the time…Drift told me he wanted to fight for a better tomorrow, and I called him a terrorist. Short-sighted. Selfish. Brainwashed. All sorts of things, when really I should have listened to him. I thought I knew better than he did. About everything, including his life and what would make it better. After all,” he said bitterly, “I was the one of us who was educated and worldly, and didn’t fry my processor with boosters.”
“You know better now, though.”
“Do I, Arcee? Sometimes I don’t think I changed at all. Pit, I experimented on myself because I was confident I could do no wrong, that I knew everything.”
“Cut yourself some slack. Nobody’s perfect.”
“But I thought I was. And maybe that was the final straw that pushed Drift to the Decepticons. And I barely even thought about him till Prowl brought up a file on a Decepticon assassin, and practically begged Optimus’s permission to have a black ops team go after him. He looked different, and he went by Deadlock, but I knew it was Drift. Just…different. Angry, and deadly.”
“And that was it?”
“Pretty much. Eventually I heard he was missing in action, presumably dead, and I was relieved because I wouldn’t have to see him again. I could just write him off as another Decepticon casualty. And when he came back…I wasn’t prepared. I’m still not. I don’t know what to think about him anymore. He’s not Drift anymore, but I feel as though that’s my fault.” He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. “It’s personal, now. There are so few of us left, why did he have to be one of them? Now I’m going to have to watch him die, or I’m going to watch him kill and wonder if I should’ve let him rot in the streets of old Cybertron.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Finally Arcee spoke. “Do you want to talk about it more?”
Ratchet took a gulp of his engex. “No. I think I just want to stay here for a while.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She rested a hand on his arm, and they sat there until the sun went down and the engex was gone, in silent understanding that some things couldn’t be fixed with words.
***
Deadlock lit a cyg and crossed his arms. The sword…thing? Magic sword. The magic sword was embedded in the rock, but apparently it was stuck in there enough that Megatron was making no progress in removing it. “That thing ain’t movin’. Wanna just take the whole damn rock?”
Megatron released the sword and flung himself away in frustration. “Give the order. We must keep it out of Prime’s hands.”
Deadlock waved the mining foreman over and relayed the orders. It’d be inconvenient, but…at least it would stay away from the Autobots. Not that he thought Prime would be able to do anything spectacular with it, but if it put Megatron more at ease, then fine.
“It’s not like the Matrix makes ‘im special,” he grumbled as the miners got to work. “Just a shiny fraggin’ rock sittin’ pretty in that chassis.”
“I forget how…uneducated you are in these matters,” Megatron said. “Unfortunately, the Matrix does give Optimus certain advantages. Usage of the Star Saber and the Forge of Solus Prime are chief among them.”
“‘M not uneducated ,” Deadlock snapped. “I just don’t put any stock into the fraggin’ Primes or Primus or Prima or whatever. No one’s that special.”
“They were built different than us,” Megatron explained vaguely. “And given that you know of my encounter with Unicron, your stubborn rejection of such ideas should be no more.”
Deadlock frowned. That had been particularly unpleasant to hear about. “We don’t need anythin’ like that,” he pointed out. “Decepticons don’t need nothin’ except ourselves. No divine right or Matrix slag.”
“That is no longer the case. To defeat Prime, I need whatever advantage I can find. Dark Energon was only the beginning.” He looked at the Star Saber with an unwelcome mania in his optics.
“The Dark Energon was a fraggin’ disaster,” Deadlock snapped. “Your own ship turned against you!”
Megatron’s backhand took him by surprise, and the next thing Deadlock knew, he was sprawled on the dusty ground with his Lord looming over him, a snarl on his face. “Mind your tongue, Deadlock.”
The assassin spat energon off to the side. “You used to listen to what your soldiers had to say,” he growled. “Whether you wanted to hear it or not. I’m guessin’ that’s no longer the case?”
“I don’t have soldiers for their thoughts ,” Megatron informed him. He hauled Deadlock up by the shoulder and pushed him back. “Return to the Nemesis , and count yourself lucky that I don’t rip out your vocalizer.”
Funny, Deadlock thought as he stomped over to the lift. Enforcers used to say the same slag. He needed a drink…
***
Megatron rewound the holo recording, as if watching it again and again and again would make Prime’s use of the Star Saber any less intimidating.
The rest of Decepticon command remained silent. Deadlock, for one, was certainly not going to say anything. He chewed his cyg and glowered at the image of Prime taunting them.
Dreadwing spoke first. “Soundwave, is there anything in the ancient texts that suggests a way to disable the Star Saber?”
Soundwave turned his faceless gaze towards the jet and said nothing.
“I guess not, then…” Knockout sighed. “What’s our next course of action, lord Megatron?”
Megatron didn’t respond, just stared into the holo.
Dreadwing looked at Deadlock. “You’re always trigger happy. Do you think you could carry out an assassination, given adequate resources?”
Deadlock opened his mouth, but the sharp clang of Megatron’s fist coming down on the console stopped whatever he might’ve said.
“There will be no assassination,” Megatron snarled. “There is only one way Prime will die, and that is by my hand. Do you understand?”
The three mechs exchanged concerned glances. Soundwave remained expressionless.
Dreadwing pulled some specs up on the display. Optimus’s last recorded ones. “An assassination would be strategically sound, whoever carries it out. Long distance scans don’t show any change in Prime’s physicality besides an uptick in spark output.”
“A mech is a mech,” Deadlock said succinctly. “Put a sniper round through his optic and he’ll go down like any other.”
Knockout smirked. “A theory you haven’t yet tested with a certain medic.”
Deadlock snarled and drew a knife. “Won’t talk so smart with your vocalizer out, will ya?”
Dreadwing shoved him in the chest to push him away from their medic. “Enough. The last thing we need is more bickering.”
Megatron pushed himself away from the console. “Leave me,” he snapped, turning towards the viewport.
“Should we prepare an ambush, then?” Dreadwing asked.
“I said leave . No one makes a move unless I say so. If any of you so much as look at Prime, I’ll tear you apart myself.”
Knockout rolled his optics and trudged out. Deadlock, Dreadwing, and Soundwave followed. As soon as the door shut behind them, Soundwave stalked off. Knockout went the other direction, leaving the commander and assassin standing in the hallway.
Deadlock flicked some ash off his cyg. “I’ve got a bottle of Nightmare fuel stashed away. Care to join me?” he asked. Come with me somewhere private ? he meant.
Dreadwing, thankfully, picked up on it. He wrinkled his faceplates. “Keep your swill. I have something better.” He started down the hall, motioning for Deadlock to follow.
“Something better” turned out to be triple filtered Vosian highgrade, which Dreadwing poured two glasses of and slid one across the desk to Deadlock.
The assassin put out his cyg and picked up his drink. “Kept this in your subspace for a while then, huh?”
“Since before the insurrection.” He swirled his glass and gazed at the color. “Seems a waste to let it sit there any longer.” He took a delicate sip and then set it down.
Deadlock did the same. It was…good. Better than anything he’d had in a long while, and his taste receptors weren’t quite sure how to react to the cool, clear taste. It was so light that he couldn’t taste the bite of engex, which meant it’d be stupid easy to get drunk on. But more important things were at hand. “Lemme know if I’m readin’ this wrong, but you want the war over and done with.”
“You are correct. It has dragged on for far too long, and progress these past few months has been…demoralizing.” Dreadwing looked displeased to even admit it, which told Deadlock that the commander knew why progress had been all but nonexistent.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” He leaned forward and tapped a claw on the desk. “You and I both know this war isn’t going to end in glorious single combat. It ain’t a gladiator arena.”
“Yet that is what Megatron seems to be demanding,” the Seeker said. Not as an accusation, or in resignation, just as a simple fact. Deadlock decided to push.
“Then I’ll level with you. Give the order, and I’ll take out Prime. Then I’ll march my shiny skidplate back here, drop the proof, and the two of us convince him it was the correct course of action.”
There was a long pause as Dreadwing unpacked that. “And the war will be over.”
“And the war’ll be over.”
Dreadwing took a sip of his drink. “No.”
“No?”
“No. It’s treason, Deadlock. And while I may not agree with Megatron’s orders, I am sworn to obey them. You would do well to do the same.”
“You have nothing to lose by giving that order,” Deadlock snapped. “If it goes south you could even pin the whole thing on me.”
“And yet I would be disobeying a direct order. I will not sanction this,” Dreadwing said firmly. “I will also not throw away Decepticon lives.”
“And if I do it anyway?” Deadlock asked. “We both know I’m a loose canon.”
Dreadwing leaned forward. “You obviously place no value on your own life. But you are still useful to the cause, and I am sure we can enforce compliance if need be.”
“Damn you, Dreadwing,” Deadlock snarled. “I’m trying to help you!”
“You’ve never helped anyone in your entire existence. Don’t try to start now,” he said dryly. He stood and keyed the door open, revealing two Vehicons. “Seeing as you’ve clearly overindulged in the highgrade, you will be escorted back to your quarters. It would be best for you to take the next shift to…recover.”
Deadlock’s optics narrowed, and he knocked back the rest of his drink. “Fine. Dig your own grave. See if I care.” He stood with enough force to knock over his chair and stormed out, leaving the Vehicons to scramble to catch up.
Chapter 6: Ghost Town
Summary:
Shorter chapter, takes place around Alpha/Omega. Starting to fuss with the timeline a bit here.
Chapter Text
Ratchet needed a break. He’d needed a break for quite some time (about four million years), but now it seemed he was reaching his limit. Between Damocles, the red energon, the Star Saber, Bulkhead almost dying, and Deadlock haunting his thoughts, he’d never felt more tired. And now this.
He stared at the image of the omega keys in a mix of hope and despair. The possibility of returning home was…well, it was almost too much to bear.
After all, it would never be home again.
The others could talk about oil baths and bars all they wanted, but Ratchet knew better. Or perhaps he was cynical in his old age. But even a rebuilt Cybertron couldn’t erase the fact that the population had slaughtered itself.
A perfect world couldn’t exist, so it didn’t merit any thought.
But it demanded it.
He shook his head and went back to organizing his tools. Again. Best to keep his hands busy, if nothing else.
The ping startled him.
After all, it was on a frequency he hadn’t used in millennia. It took him a moment to identify it. He’d given that frequency out to patients to contact him if something came up. In case of an emergency.
Autobot command had different frequencies for that. This one was personal.
The ping was a set of coordinates and a brief message. Corner of fifth and eighty-first .
The location of his old clinic.
His tank churned. Deadlock.
He slammed the drawer shut in frustration and stomped into the main silo. “We’re out of copper,” he snapped at Bumblebee, who looked up, startled, from where he and Raf were playing with a remote controlled car. It was only the three of them in the base, with Arcee, Optimus, and Smokescreen having gone to scout an Energon mining operation, and Bulkhead took Miko and Jack off-roading. Thankfully, he had made a full recovery from the tox-en and his injuries, and Miko wanted to make up for lost time rumbling around the rocky desert.
Ratchet punched a set of coordinates into the ground bridge interface. “I’ll comm when I’m ready for pickup.”
Bumblebee warbled a question.
“No, don’t bother Optimus with this. It’ll be a quick trip.”
More beeps.
“No, I don’t need company. Just hold down the fort.”
He drove through the bridge before the scout could ask any more questions.
It wasn’t a pleasant place for a meeting. From what Ratchet could guess, it was an abandoned coal-mining town nestled deep in the mountains. Run-down buildings, a layer of soot everywhere, gloomy as anything.
Ratchet shifted back into root mode and glanced around at the settlement. No one had been here in years. It’d once been a thriving town, from the number of buildings, but in all likelihood, the mine had run dry, or the company had stopped paying.
Perhaps the workers had risen up against the rich bastards who poisoned them for profit, and they all ended up dead for their efforts.
His peds kicked up clouds of dust and soot as he walked towards the center of town. His systems showed one Decepticon signal, nothing else. But he kept a hand on his blaster, just in case.
The town square held a wooden platform, long rotted and collapsed. Deadlock sat on a nearby stone foundation. A half-empty bottle of cheap engex in one hand and a cygarette in the other. He watched Ratchet’s approach with careful disinterest.
“Well?” Ratchet demanded. “You called me here.”
“Yeah,” Deadlock said. He tapped the ash off his smoke. “I did.”
“So what do you want?”
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” He stared at Ratchet with slightly glazed golden optics and took a swig out of the bottle. “Can’t say I’ve been asked it too much, though. What do you want, doc?”
“I want to know why you called me here,” the medic said flatly. “You know I don’t enjoy wasting my time, and I don’t see how watching you get raging drunk is anything but that.”
Deadlock was quiet for a long moment. “I’m not sure.”
“Well that’s helpful.” Despite his better judgement, which told him to turn right around and go back to base, he sat down on another stone foundation on the other side of the square. “You shouldn’t smoke those. It cl–”
“Clogs my vents, causes long term damage to my fuel lines, raises my risk of spontaneous Spark failure,” he said with a smug, mirthless grin. “Better’n syk, though.”
“Are you still using?”
“No. Haven’t for a while.”
“...good.”
“Is it?” he asked around the mouth of the bottle.
“I don’t know.”
They sat in silence as the wind blew clouds of soot up from the ground.
“Ya ever feel like…like there’s somethin’ bad lookin’ over your shoulder?” Deadlock asked, wiping his mouth. “Like it’s just waitin’ for the right moment to make itself really known, but you know it’s there?”
“Sounds like Soundwave has been keeping an eye on you,” Ratchet muttered. What was his game?
The ‘Con chuckled. “Nah. I managed to shake him a little while ago. I know Soundwave. He’ll never change. Not him…” He took a long drag on his cygarette.
“Some things don’t.” Bumblebee’s eagerness, Arcee’s determination, Bulkhead’s good humor, Optimus’s unwavering dedication.
“And some things do.”
“I’m guessing some things haven’t changed for the better,” Ratchet offered. Did Deadlock just want to talk to someone?
“No. No they haven’t…” He sighed and set the now empty engex bottle on the ground. Took a drag, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, doc. Ya remember the last time?”
“You asked me to join the Decepticons. You said they would make Cybertron a paradise.” He remembered the conversation well. “I told you that Megatron wasn’t what you thought, and that there was something wrong with his motivations.”
Deadlock nodded. “And I told you that Orion was too weak and ignorant to make any progress. Then we argued.”
“We did.”
He tapped some ash off the smoke. “Well, you were right, doc.”
Ratchet blinked. “Huh?”
“You were right. Megatron is in it for himself. Doesn’t give a damn ‘bout any of us. Doesn’t give a damn .” He spat to the side and glowered at his smoke as if it’d caused all his problems.
“He never did,” Ratchet said softly.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I…I have to believe he did, at some point. I gotta believe that at the beginnin’ he just wanted somethin’ better for us. But now? He…I don’t know what he wants. An’ I don’t think he does either. But the things he does to get it…” He avoided looking at Ratchet, instead staring at his cygarette.
“What are you getting at, Deadlock?”
“‘M not sure yet. Mostly I think I just wanted t’tell ya you were right. Didn’t think much past that.”
Another drawn out silence as the wind echoed through long-empty mineshafts. Ratchet rubbed at a spot of wear on one of his fingers.
“Yeah. I guess that’s it,” Deadlock said. He put out his smoke and made to stand.
“Come with me,” Ratchet blurted.
The ‘Con assassin froze.
Ratchet took a deep vent. “Come with me. To the Autobots. We can…we can make it right. Megatron doesn’t have to win. If we defeat him, we can rebuild Cybertron. No one has to suffer like you did.”
Deadlock stood there for a long, long moment, in the ash and soot and death. Ratchet didn’t want to let himself imagine it, imagine even the possibility that a Decepticon like Deadlock could have decent intentions and want to contribute to the rebuilding of their planet, but if he did…
“No, Ratchet. I don’t…no. I’m a Decepticon. That ain’t gonna change.”
He folded into alt mode before Ratchet could say anything else, and drove away in a cloud of dust.
***
There was a notification on Deadlock’s console when he returned from “patrol”. Meeting. With Dreadwing. In his office.
Deadlock grumbled to himself and made his way over. He pinged the door for access, and it slid open. The Decepticon commander sat behind a desk, idly looking over data pads. He didn’t bother looking up at Deadlock’s entry. “Sit.”
The assassin weighed his options, and decided it wasn’t worth it right then to be difficult about sitting across from Dreadwing. He plunked down and lit up a cyg.
Dreadwing looked up then, and was quiet for a moment. Then, very simply, he said, “You’ve been drinking.”
“Yup. Got a job for me, Commander?” he asked.
Dreadwing reached out and pinched the end of the cyg to put it out. “Not the one you’re hoping for.”
Deadlock’s optics narrowed, and he shifted the now unlit cyg to the other side of his mouth. “Damn. Thought you might’ve changed your mind.”
The commander scowled. “My answer remains the same. I will not sanction an assassination attempt on the Prime. And if I have reason to believe you’ll take it upon yourself to do so anyway, I will have you confined to the brig to suffer disciplinary action.”
“Whatever.” He leaned back in his chair until it creaked. “So what do you want?”
Dreadwing pulled up a holo map. “This area, where you encountered two Autobots when you first arrived. Do you recall?”
“Hard t’forget.”
“I’ve been looking through the records and mission reports. There has been more Autobot activity there than in any other region by a significant margin.” He zoomed in on the area in question. “I’m sending you to scout. Thoroughly . Report back with anything that could lead us to their base.”
“Understood.”
“I’m assuming you’ll want to go alone?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Always. Don’t need anyone gettin’ in my way unless they’re plannin’ to get shot.”
“Very well. Begin next solar cycle.” His faceplates wrinkled. “When you’re sober.”
Deadlock nodded and stood to leave, but the commander’s voice stopped him at the door.
“Oh, and Deadlock? If you happen to see Prime and engage, you’d best hope he kills you.”
Chapter 7: Headaches and Their Sources
Summary:
Starting in with more canon deviation! After this things are going to come to a head. As always, thank you for reading! Feel free to come find me on tumblr @such-heroic-nonsense if you'd like to chat! I'm always happy to go more in depth on how I think through characterization and stuff. =)
Chapter Text
Ratchet rubbed his optics, trying in vain to ward off a processor ache. Unfortunately, with the children around, Arcee and Smokescreen going at it about nothing important, and the quiet yet persistent tap taptap tap of Optimus’s fingers on the keyboard, he already had one. And he wasn’t going to waste their limited pain patches on a processor ache.
The din was audible even in his medbay, such as it was. And organizing his tools again wasn’t a very appealing way to take his mind off of things. Having the upper hand against the Decepticons was somehow more stressful than being outmatched, because part of him kept thinking of ways Megatron would tip the scales back in his favor.
Part of him wondered if he should have tried harder to convince Deadlock to leave the Decepticons.
Part of him thought perhaps he should have killed the Decepticon while his guard was down.
Part of him wanted to lay down and just stop for a day or two.
And part of him knew that wasn’t an option.
He sighed and continued his tinkering. At least he could keep his hands busy.
A warble from the door caught his attention. He turned to see Bumblebee entering.
“Do you need something?” Ratchet asked, perhaps too shortly.
Bee looked almost sheepish. He warbled again.
“Copper? We ran out last week. You know that.”
Bee beeped and whistled a confused question.
“Oh. No, I didn’t find any the other day.” Scrap, how had he forgotten about that? “Was there anything else?”
Bumblebee shook his head and waved goodbye on his way out.
Ratchet huffed and continued his work. A short while later, Bulkhead dragged himself in with a smoking hole in one shoulder. “Hey, doc.”
Ratchet sighed and pointed to the slab. “What did you do this time?”
"Eh, ran into our favorite sharpshooter on patrol. He’s getting rusty though, didn’t even hit anything important.” He clambered up onto the slab and let Ratchet poke at the wound.
“Deadlock?”
“Yeah, him. I think he’s been lurking around here more. Don’t know if he’s caught on that our base is here or if he just thinks it’s a normal patrol route, but I told the big bot we should be careful.”
“Agreed.” He got out his tools and began patching him up. Bulkhead was right; the shot only hit plating and a few capillary lines, which had cauterized instantly. It wasn’t even an attempt at a kill shot. It was a warning. But what for?
***
“And where have you been?” Knockout’s voice slid into Deadlock’s audios from down the hall.
“Out,” he snapped, popping the cap off of a new bottle of engex. He knew he shouldn’t be drinking, but…well, the numbness was comforting when nothing else was. And it was much needed. He couldn’t deny it; the Autobot base was in that desert. Bulkhead’s presence, his earlier encounter with Ratchet and Arcee, the human military presence in the area all but confirmed it. He held the key to the end of the war. Yet…the thought of telling Megatron that made his tanks churn.
“Oh, wonderful. Well, while you were “out”,” he did the air quotes before replacing his hands on his hips, “Megatron was looking for you. And he doesn’t sound happy.”
“Knockout, I hate to break it to ya, but Megatron hasn’t been happy…ever. I’ve never seen him happy,” Deadlock pointed out. He drained half the bottle in one gulp.
“Then he was angrier than usual , How’s that? Point is, you should probably get your aft to the bridge before he starts shooting people!”
The old Megatron wouldn’t have shot his own soldiers when he lost his temper. Deadlock wished he could say he still believed that of this new, insane Megatron.
But he couldn’t. So he went to the bridge.
Stopping first at his hab to grab his fuel stash and whatever weapons weren’t already on him. Never hurt to be prepared.
The bridge was busy when he arrived. Soundwave hunched over his console, Vehicons kept the ship running, and Megatron and Dreadwing discussed a shared datapad.
Dreadwing noticed him first. “Deadlock. Anything of interest to report from your surveillance?”
Before he quite realized what he was doing, he shook his head. “Nothin’. At this point I’m pretty sure it was a fluke, with the earlier activity.”
Dreadwing nodded. “In that case, we can continue our search in other areas. Sector 84 looked promising.”
Deadlock nodded and turned to Megatron. “I’m told you wanted to see me, lord Megatron?” Funny, he thought abruptly. Megatron, when he’d pulled Drift from the crowd to christen him Deadlock, would never have suffered to be called “lord”.
Megatron nodded and handed over the datapad. “There is a relic I require. You and I will travel in your shuttle to retrieve it.”
Deadlock glanced over the information displayed. “A tomb? A Primal tomb?”
“Indeed. In theory, grafting a piece of the fallen Prime to my body will allow me to make use of the Forge of Solus Prime.”
“This is a waste of time.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even realized it.
The bridge abruptly fell silent.
It was Dreadwing who broke the silence with a pointed sniff. “This highgrade indulgence of yours is unbecoming of a Decepticon, and I will not tolerate it any longer.”
Megatron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “A moment, Dreadwing. Driven by intoxication or not, I’ve come to value honesty. Tell me, Deadlock. Why is it a waste of time to obtain a power such as this?”
Deadlock scoffed. “If it was about who had the bigger gun, we’d have beaten Prime a hell of a long time ago. This ain’t about winnin’ the war, this is about you and your personal grudge with Prime, and the rest of us are layin’ down our lives for that? Nah. Not what I signed up for.”
Dreadwing’s optics flicked rapidly between Deadlock and Megatron, who stood there in grim silence. “My lord, allow me to discipline him for his impudence.”
“No, no. If Drift here no longer wishes to be a Decepticon, I see no reason why we shouldn’t oblige.” He raised his cannon and aimed it at Deadlock’s head. “That is what you were saying, wasn’t it?”
The violet glow and hum of weaponry sobered Deadlock up right quick, and he struggled to backtrack. “Nah, not at all. ‘M just…sick of Prime runnin around like he’s better’n everyone else because he’s got a relic. Decepticons don’t need relics. Cyberton doesn’t need relics.”
“While that may be true, Prime has evaded us thus far, and more power will give us a greater edge. Surely your processor, fried as it is, can understand that?”
The condescension in his voice made Deadlock’s energon boil. “I’ll ready the shuttle.”
“No, you will not. As Dreadwing has pointed out, your intoxication is making you unfit for duty, and you will be confined to the brig until that isn’t the case.” He stepped forward and hooked a finger under Deadlock’s jaw. “I strongly suggest you take the time to reflect on your actions here. You were one of my best, but clearly that is no longer the case. Figure out why, and fix it.”
***
Ratchet could only be in the base for so long before he felt the walls closing in on him. To be fair, he could bear it a good while longer than the other bots, who needed open roads almost every day or else they started going stir crazy. Ratchet was just thankful they didn’t have a flight frame on their team.
Still, needs must, and Ratchet bridged out to the middle of nowhere for a quiet drive to stretch his wheels and gather his thoughts.
And what pleasant thoughts they were…how Megatron had gotten that sword was beyond him. And he could only fathom what it was capable of if it’d had shattered the Star Saber like it was scrap foil.
Were these normal times, he’d write it off as something that someone else needed to worry about. Prowl would have had a field day readjusting his strategies around such an addition to Megatron’s armory. Jazz would have been chomping at the bit to steal it. Ironhide would have scoffed and carried on as usual. Windblade would dive into the archives to learn more.
But they were all dead, and now it was just Prime and his ragtag team trying to survive. What was the point anymore? They weren’t going to win the war. They were never going to win the war, so why did they keep going?
He drove faster.
Of course he wanted his home back. Of course he wanted to keep it out of Megatron’s hands. But at this point…they were just delaying the inevitable. And who’s to say they were even on the right path? That their cause was just? That their answers were right, and Megatron’s were wrong?
So much for gathering his thoughts, he thought bitterly. That’s all he was. A bitter old mech with too many thoughts.
The ping startled him.
I see you.
Ratchet flipped into root mode and scanned around for the source of the ominous ping. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t take it personally, doc,” the Decepticon said as he dropped his cloaking and stepped out from the trees. “I wasn’t hidin’ from you.”
“What are you doing out here?” Ratchet demanded. “Hunting down a relic?”
Deadlock lit up a cyg. “Nah. Patrol. Do yourself a favor and stay out of this sector for a while. Feel free to send the little shiny one though. I could use some target practice.”
“Still trying to locate our base, then?” Ratchet asked.
He wasn’t expecting Deadlock to chipperly reply, “Nope! Figured that out last week.”
Ratchet’s lines went cold. Something told him that hadn’t been a lie.
“Megatron doesn’t know,” Deadlock continued, casually, like it was a natural thing to say.
“Is he going to?”
The Decepticon (at least, that’s the sigil he was wearing…) blew out a puff of smoke. “No.”
“Not to sound ungrateful,” Ratchet spat, frustrated with this runaround of a conversation, “but why?”
“Dunno yet. Somethin’ tells me it’d be a bad idea.”
“Yeah? Did a syk dream tell you that?”
Deadlock glared at him. “I told you I don’t use anymore.”
“Then let’s get to the point. Are you still a Decepticon?” Ratchet demanded.
“Sure am. Megatron isn’t, though.”
Ratchet sputtered. “That…that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Megatron isn’t a Decepticon…what are you on, Deadlock?”
Deadlock shoved him in the chest, hard enough to dent. “I’m not fraggin’ on anythin’, doc. And if you think Megatron is still a ‘Con, you’re clearly still the same elitist prick who got off slummin’ it in the Dead End. Not that I’m fraggin’ surprised.”
Ratchet stumbled back and felt his energon boil. “It’s not my fault you’re not making any sense. Are you a ‘Con or not?”
“Of course I’m a fraggin’ ‘Con! You think just ‘cause I’ve got an issue with Megatron means I’m gonna prance on over to your shiny-aft Prime and slap on a sad little square badge?”
“Kind of, yes! There’s not exactly a third option! If you don’t like Megatron, then help us defeat him!”
“So what, an upjumped librarian can rule over us all? No fraggin’ way.”
“Are you still too stubborn to realize he’s not like the old Primes?” Ratchet demanded.
“Are you still too stupid to realize he is?” Deadlock shot back. “If he wins we go right back to the way things were. All the Autobots and aristocrats in their high towers, and everyone like me crawlin’ through the slag for their scraps.”
“It won’t be like that,” Ratchet snapped.
“Good to see you’re still great at lyin’ to yourself,” Deadlock said. He turned away and started walking off. “Tell the Praxian to get his aft over here so I can shoot him.”
Ratchet scoffed and drove away.
Once he was a safe distance, he bridged back to base.
“Optimus,” he said gravely, “I need to talk to you.”
“What is it, old friend?” the Prime asked once they were out of earshot from the rest of the team.
Ratchet vented slowly to try to gather his thoughts. “I encountered Deadlock while I was out.”
Optimus’s optics softened. “Are you alright? Did he attack you? Say something to you?”
“What…Optimus, I didn’t call you here so I could talk about my feelings!” Ratchet snapped. “He knows where our base is.”
The information being processed played out on his friend’s face. First shock, then fear, then confusion, and then stress and concern. “He knows, but no one else does.”
Ratchet nodded. “He didn’t give me a clear answer as to why he didn’t inform Megatron, but it’s clear that there’s something amiss aboard the Nemesis . He doesn’t trust Megatron with that information, or he’s waiting for the right time to reveal it, or Primus knows what other kind of game he could be playing.”
Prime glanced at the peaceful scene behind him. Bulkhead was hunched over, listening to a song Miko was blasting from her phone while she enthusiastically strummed an air guitar. Jack and Arcee tinkered with some scrap parts and laughed at a joke made at the expense of one of his fellow students. Bee, Smokescreen, and Raphael raced RC cars in a short loop around the scaffolding, and yelled playfully when Raphael cut them both off at a corner.
“It could be a trap,” Prime said. “He could be trying to lure us out of hiding so they can strike while we’re moving to a new location.”
“Or he could be telling the truth, and we’re all in danger,” Ratchet said.
“Or he could be telling the truth, but we’re not in danger because he won’t disclose the information to Megatron.”
“Not willingly, but a cortical psychic patch won’t allow for any secrets.”
Optimus was quiet for a moment. “We need to be on our guard, but we can’t afford to move needlessly. Not now.”
Ratchet nodded. “I’ll make sure everything is prepared if we do need to evacuate suddenly.”
“Thank you, Ratchet.”
Chapter 8: A Long Way Down
Summary:
Deadlock's disagreements with Megatron come to a head, and the Autobots find themselves in a tricky situation.
Some of the canon blend and headcanon is going to be more apparent and relevant. I'm going to let it stand on its own in the notes for the sake of brevity, but if anyone's interested in my thought process or any details that are referenced, please feel free to ask in the comments or on tumblr @such-heroic-nonsense. I love talking about this stuff and love even more hearing from you guys! <3
Chapter Text
The ping caught Deadlock off guard.
He certainly wasn’t expecting a summons from Megatron, given that his current standing was somewhere between “incompetent moron we can do without” and “active threat”. A summons wasn’t good.
Deadlock had been staying in his quarters if he wasn’t on patrol. With his situation as tense as it was, he reverted back to the habits he’d had when he first joined up. Stay out of the way, keep your head down, don’t frag it up. But it appeared that no matter how out of sight he was, he wasn’t quite out of mind.
He made it halfway to the bridge when he realized the summons wasn’t to the bridge. It was to Knockout’s lab.
Deadlock grumbled and turned around. On the way, he almost ran face first into Dreadwing.
The Seeker glanced down at him. “Deadlock.”
“Commander.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Megatron has ordered me to report to Knockout’s lab.”
Dreadwing hummed in thought. Then he fell into step beside Deadlock. “I may as well see for myself what’s going on.”
“Fair ‘nough.”
Megatron always looked angry, but he certainly wasn’t pleased that Deadlock had taken so long. He stood ominously in the middle of the floor. Knockout was in the background fiddling with some machine or another. He looked nervous.
Megatron looked at Dreadwing. “I certainly hope you aren’t here because you had to drag him by the finial.”
“No, sir,” Dreadwing said. “He came on his own accord.”
“Is there a reason why I should’ve had to be dragged here?” Deadlock demanded.
“Given your recent insubordination, I wouldn’t have put it past you,” Megatron said. He loomed over Deadlock. “Do you know why I called you here?”
"No,” Deadlock said bluntly. “But you called, and I answered.”
Megatron sneered. “The fact of the matter is that I no longer trust you, Drift. But I have figured out a way to remedy that.” He gestured behind him. At Knockout, who held a familiar cord.
“A cortical psychic patch?” Deadlock demanded. “For what?”
“To see what you’ve been hiding. And I know you’ve been hiding things. This, for instance.” He pointed at a monitor, and as if on cue, the screen flickered to a blurry frame of security footage. Grainy or not, it was unmistakably Starscream. “It’s one thing to gossip with Knockout, or propose some ridiculous plan to Dreadwing, even to disable your own trackers and evade Soundwave, but you have crossed a line here. And I suspect this isn’t the only one.”
Deadlock took an instinctive step back. “So to prove my loyalty, you want to invade my mind? Like…like the fraggin’ senate?”
“Flawed as they were, the senate had some decent ideas. This is one of them.”
Deadlock’s tank roiled. He shook his head. “No. Frag, Megatron, I’ve been a Decepticon for millennia and I’ve never seen slag like this. This isn’t what Decepticons do.”
“You dare tell me what Decepticons do or don’t do? You, questioning me ?” Megatron took a menacing step forward and grabbed Deadlock’s throat. “You are nothing without the Decepticons, which means you are nothing without me.” He squeezed tighter, and tighter, until Deadlock felt the delicate inner workings of his neck begin to snap.
“Lord Megatron—“ Dreadwing began.
“Silence!” Megatron roared. He lifted Deadlock up by the neck. “You never deserved to stand by my side,” he hissed. “You never deserved to live , if this is all you are. A filthy, weak, worthless gutter rat .”
Deadlock began to laugh.
Megatron blinked and squeezed tighter. Deadlock cried out in pain, but his mirth refused to be strangled. “You…ya know what, Megs? That’s nothin’ new.”
He shot Megatron in the gut with the gun he’d pulled during the warlord’s rant.
Megatron yelled in rage and pain and dropped Deadlock, but it didn’t take him long to recover. No sooner had Deadlock hit the ground and rolled back to his feet than Megatron fired at him. It barely missed, leaving a smoking hole in the floor.
Deadlock charged him. He dodged a sweeping blow, slid by the warlord’s legs, and rushed headlong into the viewport glass, managing to fire several shots before impact in the hopes that it would break the reinforced material before he did.
It did.
Megatron’s cannon shot caught him in the back, sending him flying. He tried to grab onto the hull, but at the speed he was falling, all his claws could do was scrabble at the plating in vain. Damage warnings lit up his HUD. Severe ones. Ruptured lines, internal damage, T-cog nonfunctioning…
He didn’t have time to read all of them before he made impact with the ground below.
***
Smokescreen fidgeted in his seat, much to Wheeljack’s annoyance. Prime apparently wanted the kid to get more field experience, and foisted him onto the Wrecker for the day. Wheeljack agreed only because Bulkhead had asked him to. He was pretty sure everyone in the base was just sick of the guy with his naive optimism and juvenile hero complex.
At least he had the sense not to bring that up with Wheeljack. Yet.
“So what’re we doing?” Smokescreen asked. “Hitting an energon mine? Stopping the ‘Cons from destroying a human town? Getting an Iacon relic?”
“Asteroid impact,” Wheeljack said.
“...asteroid impact?”
“Asteroid impact.” He flicked on a display. “Humans reported something falling, and found some metal bits they couldn’t identify. Prime’s human friend–”
“Jack?”
“What? No. The other one. Fowler. He’s keeping the rest of the humans away for now. It’s probably a bit of space bridge debris. We’re just gonna go haul it in and melt it down for parts. Doc always needs raw materials.”
“Oh.” He stopped fidgeting and just looked disappointed. “That’s…pretty boring. Sure there won’t be any ‘Cons to fight?”
“Never have been before. Sorry, kid. Welcome to scrap detail.”
Smokescreen pouted, and continued to pout as they made their way to the Western side of North America. Lots of trees, some mountains, thankfully not a lot of humans. One of these days, a lump of scrap was going to land right in the middle of a human town. Not that Wheeljack would be in charge of cleanup if that happened, but it’d be a pain in the aft for Fowler.
He set the Jackhammer down in a clearing. “Should be a little ways North of here. Keep your optics peeled, kid,” he said, taking a couple grenades for the trip.
“Sure thing!” Smokescreen bounded off, ignoring Wheeljack’s warnings to stick together.
Dumb kid. Having someone enthusiastic around wasn’t too bad, though. Kind of a nice change from the doom and gloom that’d taken over the base recently.
The Wrecker followed more sedately, checking his readouts. Yep, something Cybertronian definitely landed here.
“I found some scrap!” Smokescreen called through the trees.
“Good job, kid,” Wheeljack responded. “Find the big ticket yet?”
“No!”
“Keep looking then!”
He poked around, picking up a few fragments. Hard to tell what these little bits came from. Hopefully something they could use.
Smokescreen’s voice crackled over the comm. “Wheeljack?” he whispered.
“What is it, kid?” he asked.
“I found a ‘Con.”
Wheeljack drew his swords and rushed towards the kid’s location. “Don’t engage ‘till I get there! I know you’re thinking about it!”
Smokescreen muttered something, but acknowledged.
The Wrecker saw a glint of metal through the trees, behind a boulder. “You’re outnumbered, ‘Con!” he yelled. “Come on out!”
No response.
“Smokescreen, what’s he doing?” he asked into his comm.
“Just…sitting there. He’s armed though. I think.”
“...is he functioning?”
“I’m not sure.”
Wheeljack sighed and went over to the boulder. “Stay back, Smokey.” He peered around. Yep, that was a ‘Con. Yep, he was just sitting there. Wheeljack poked him. No response.
He went around to get a better look. Not just any ‘Con, but Deadlock. He had massive damage all over, especially on his back and legs. His vocalizer looked crushed. But he was still functioning. Wheeljack raised a sword to finish the job.
Gold optics flickered online, and static crackled from his mangled throat.
“Sorry, Locky. Didn’t get that. You can tell Primus your last words, though.” He raised the sword again.
An urgent ping came into his inbox. One Wheeljack didn’t see too often.
Damn ‘Con was surrendering.
Wheeljack stared for a moment. He could still kill the bastard. No one needed to know. Just pretend he didn’t get the ping and snuff him. They didn’t need a guy like this on the Cybertron they were going to rebuild…
Then again, this was a high-ranking ‘Con. Worth interrogating, at least.
“Smokey, come give me a hand.” He sheathed his swords.
Smokescreen’s head appeared from behind a tree. “What, he’s not dead yet?”
“No. We’re bringing this one in alive. I need you to keep an eye on him while I disable his trackers.”
The kid came over, weapon in hand, more curious than anything else. “I didn’t know we did that.”
“It’s a pretty old policy, but one we gotta listen to if we don’t want a court martial. If an enemy surrenders, we gotta take him in for repairs and interrogation at the very least.” He bent down to fiddle at the damaged wiring on Deadlock’s neck, where every ‘Con had a tracking chip implanted, ignoring the weak bursts of static coming from Deadlock’s throat. The chip was already damaged, but he crushed it to dust anyways. Just to be safe.
“Alright, that should do it.” He stood. “Get his legs, and we’ll bring him in.”
Once they were back in the Jackhammer, with their heavily damaged prisoner strapped into one of the fold-down seats in the back and Smokescreen keeping a close eye on him, Wheeljack opened up a channel. “Hey doc, we’ve got a situation.”
Ratchet’s annoyed voice responded. “What sort of situation could you possibly have when recovering space bridge debris?”
“The kind of situation that comes from it not being space bridge debris. We’ve got a heavily injured POW and need you to prep for surgery.”
Silence for a long moment. “Alright. You’re clear to return to base. Trackers disabled?”
He snorted. “Of course.”
“Then we’ll see you soon.” He cut the transmission.
Thankfully, the trip back was uneventful, with the only scares being Smokescreen panicking because he “saw Deadlock move”. Despite the ‘Con in question probably not being able to do anything but spit static and maybe twitch a finger. They landed on the mesa above the base and took the freight elevator down.
On the way down, with the old machinery creaking under their weight, Smokescreen kept looking at Deadlock’s injuries. “We didn’t do this, right?”
“Nope.” Wheeljack tapped a scorch mark on the ‘Con’s shoulder. “This is fusion cannon damage. Whatever he did, Megatron wasn’t happy about it.”
“Well…what are we supposed to do with him? It’s not like we can just keep him in the closet or something.”
“Trust me, kid. I’m hoping he dies under the knife. But if he lives, then it’s Prime’s decision what to do with him. We did our part.” The elevator ground to a halt, and he shifted the ‘Con’s weight to free up a hand and throw open the grate.
Ratchet was already there. He took one look at the ‘Con and glowered at Wheeljack. “You didn’t tell me it was Deadlock !”
“Didn’t think it was relevant, doc,” he snapped. “Where do you want ‘im?”
“Medbay. Quickly, now.”
They got Deadlock strapped to the slab and Ratchet got to work stemming the energon flow. “Heavy damage from fusion cannon fire, localized on the upper back,” he reported to his log as he worked. “Blunt force trauma on the throat from servos, and on lower body from falling. Ruptured fuel lines in multiple locations…”
Wheeljack tuned him out and turned to Prime, who’d been pulled away from his decoding work by the commotion. “We found ‘im at the crash site. He sent the surrender ping right before I snuffed him.”
“No other Decepticon presence?” Optimus asked. He watched Ratchet work with an indiscernible expression.
“Nope.”
“Then we can assume Megatron thinks he’s dead.”
“He should be dead,” Ratchet interrupted. “It’s a good thing Wheeljack found him when he did.”
“Is it?” Arcee demanded from the doorway. “This seems pretty suspicious.”
Optimus frowned. “How so?”
“We don’t have all the information. A high-tier Decepticon falling from the sky and surrendering ? It doesn’t add up, and it feels like a trap. There’s a lot of things we don’t know, and it seems like Megatron and this guy might be playing Ratchet.”
“Play or not, I still need to do my job,” Ratchet snapped. He pointed one energon-covered finger towards the door. “Everyone out! Except Optimus. This is a medbay, not a circus.”
There was a bit of grumbling, but Wheeljack herded Smokescreen out. Arcee stomped behind.
***
Optimus sat on the unoccupied slab and looked at Deadlock, now fully repaired and in medical stasis. Ratchet had hooked him up to an energon drip to replace what he’d lost. They’d confiscated his weapons as well, and Wheeljack had taken the whole pile to the armory, grumbling about how it was unfair that the ‘Cons always got the good stuff. By “good stuff”, he probably meant the guns that were illegal in at least twenty different sectors. There was nothing more to do until Deadlock woke up.
Well, almost nothing.
“Bumblebee tells me you ran off somewhere the other week,” Prime said. “Would you mind telling me what that was about?”
“It’s private,” Ratchet grumbled.
“If it threatens security, I need to know,” Optimus reminded him.
The medic sighed. “Fine. Deadlock pinged me. Requested a meeting. I still don’t really know why. I think he needed someone to listen.”
“Listen to what?”
“His thoughts about how Megatron’s gone off the rails. Between that, the later conversation I had with him regarding our base’s location, and this,” he gestured to the unconscious mech, “I can only assume that his disagreements with Megatron came to a head.”
“Do you think he’s a threat to us?”
Ratchet looked at Deadlock for a long moment. “I want to say he isn’t, because he seems to have been removed from the Decepticons, but it’s him. And he’ll always be a threat.” He paused. “And frankly, Arcee is correct. Deadlock knows about our shared history, and therefore so does Megatron. This could be a ploy.”
Optimus stood. “Alright. Keep him restrained, and let me know when he wakes. I need to get back to the database.”
“Of course.” Ratchet settled down at his desk to wait.
***
“So what’s the plan, Optimus?” Arcee asked the Prime as he came back into the main silo. The rest of the Autobots, Wheeljack included, were waiting for answers.
Prime turned to Wheeljack and Smokescreen. “You mentioned he surrendered?”
The Wrecker nodded. “We found ‘im at the reported crash site, you know the one we thought was gonna be space bridge debris?”
“Instead it was Deadlock debris,” Smokescreen quipped.
The rest of the group just looked at him.
He sighed. “I know, I know. Place and time.”
“Anyway,” Wheeljack continued, “he was alone, barely alive, and sent the ping right before I finished the job.”
Bulkhead groaned. “He’s practically dead, why can’t we just finish the job?”
Arcee shook her head. “The law says we have to provide life-saving medical treatment. And then we can’t kill him unless he does something to revoke his own amnesty or we don’t have another choice.” She tried her best to keep her tone level, but her engine’s consistent growling made her anger apparent.
Bee warbled out his frustration.
Prime sighed. “I know we don’t exactly have a good place to put him. But the law is the law, and we must follow it.”
There was a brief round of grumbling.
“So then what’s the plan?” Arcee asked again.
“For now, Deadlock is in stasis and recovering from his injuries. Ratchet believes he will pull through.”
“That’s all fine,” Bulkhead interrupted, “but I think we’re all a little more concerned about what’s gonna happen when he’s up and about.”
“It largely depends on Deadlock’s intent,” Prime told him. “I would like to offer him a chance to defect, but we cannot discount the possibility that this is a setup. There will be a thorough interrogation before any long-term decisions are made.”
Arcee sighed. “I don’t like it. He’s an old school, high-ranking Decepticon, it’s not like he’s just going to switch sides. It feels like a trap.”
The others nodded in agreement
“Be as that may," Prime continued, "we cannot judge his motives until we hear from him directly. It should be within the next few days. Until then, I expect you all to keep the children away from him.”
Bulkhead let out a preemptive sigh. “I gotta watch Miko like a cyber hawk.”
***
Deadlock’s vision came in blurry. Thankfully it cleared up shortly, but was quickly blocked by several thousand messages from his systems. It seemed he’d been repaired. Built in weapons were locked down though, as was subspace, his comms, and his t-cog. And he ached all over. But it appeared he was alive, so he’d count that as a win.
“Follow the light, please,” a familiar voice directed, right before flashing a light in his optics.
Deadlock blinked and followed it around a little bit before it shut off.
Ratchet’s face appeared in his periphery. Deadlock turned his head (the only part of him he could currently move, thanks to the heavy restraints he felt around his wrists and ankles) to see him better.
“You sustained heavy damage,” the medic said. “But you lived, so count yourself lucky.” He cleared his throat. “In compliance with the Tyrest Accord, your surrender was accepted, and you are now in Autobot custody. Any hostile action on your part will result in the removal of asylum you’ve been granted…blah blah blah. You knew what you were getting into when you sent that ping.” He set aside the datapad he’d been reading from. “Now, is anything hurting? You’re probably in some mild discomfort, but…oh, what am I saying. You’ve been shot more times than I can count over the course of this war, you know what it’s like. Do you feel alright?”
Deadlock reset his vocalizer several times to clear out the static. “Feel like slag, doc,” he said with a grin. “You’re terrible at your job.”
Ratchet huffed and made a note. “Cute. We’ll carry out a full assessment later. Right now I need to call in Optimus, and he’ll want to hear what happened. Do you want me to stay or leave when he’s here?”
“You can stay. It’ll save me from havin’ to explain it to you later.” He coughed out more static. “Did you take my cygs?”
“Yes. And you’re not getting any. At least,” he conceded, “until your throat heals.”
“Fair ‘nough. Might as well call in the big guy.” He tested the restraints briefly before settling back.
After a few minutes, a set of much heavier footsteps entered, and Optimus Prime sat down next to him. He was a little less intimidating up close and with the battle mask off, but Deadlock was still very much aware of how quickly he could end up dead.
“Ratchet tells me you’re feeling well enough to talk,” the Prime said. “How’s your condition?”
“‘M fine,” he answered, still hoarse from the mangled vocalizer. “Guessin’ you want the story?”
“You guess correctly.”
“There’s honestly not much to tell.” He stared at the ceiling to avoid staring at Optimus. “Left for a bit, came back, turns out Megatron’s insane. Didn’t like some of the things I did, so he shot me. I lived, and here we are.”
“Care to elaborate on your disagreements?” Prime asked. There was the sound of a finger tapping on a screen. Of course he was taking notes.
“I didn’t want to let him go dig around my mind to soothe his paranoia. It just ain’t for me.”
Prime and Ratchet shared a look. He made a note and moved on. “That doesn’t seem like enough to merit expulsion, even with Megatron’s recent…thought process. What is it that you didn’t want him to find?”
Deadlock shifted a bit, not that he could move much. “I lied ‘bout killin’ Starscream. He’s still alive.”
“That’s awfully risky. Especially since you don’t have a reason to help Starscream.”
“I don’t, but I have no reason to kill him, either.” He shifted again, more out of discomfort with the conversation than the slab. “He’s got a complicated thing goin’ on with Megatron, but he…he has the right of it with some things. I wasn’t gonna kill him for questionin’ Megatron’s methods. Not when I was doing the same. So we made a deal. I’d let him live, I’d support him if he made his way back into a position where he could assume leadership, and in return he’d lay low for a while and give me,” he snorted, “an extra head and spark chamber. Completely identical to his own. And no, I don’t know how he got those, just that he mentioned something about clonin’.”
Prime made more notes. Ratchet had migrated over to his tools and was, from the sound of it, organizing them. Prime looked over again to Deadlock. “Can you tell me Starscream’s location?”
“Is my treatment contingent upon answerin’ that?”
“Medical treatment is not, but if you’re cooperative, I’m more willing to give you options for what comes next.”
Deadlock hesitated. It was a wonder they hadn’t found Starscream already, but that didn’t make him particularly willing to rat him out. Especially not for an unknown exchange with his captors. “If it’s relevant to my safety or this base’s, I’ll tell ya. But right now? No.”
"Very well.” More typing. The sound wasn’t doing anything good for Deadlock’s headache, but it couldn’t be helped. Then came the question Deadlock had actually been expecting. “Does Megatron know our base’s location?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“‘Cause I left as soon as he tried to do a cortical psychic patch,” Deadlock said matter-of-factly.
“Seeing as we’re still alive, I am inclined to believe you. But why did you keep that information hidden from him?”
It was a damn good question. Deadlock looked away as best he could. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
There was silence for a long moment. Then a bit more typing. “Do the Decepticons think you’re dead?”
“Can’t confirm. A shot and a fall like that probably should’ve killed me, and they didn’t come lookin’ for me before your mechs showed up, so yeah. They’re probably assumin’ I’m dead.”
“Are you in possession of anything that merits retrieval?”
“Not unless they want my guns or a trophy.”
Prime opened his mouth to speak, but a loud, undoubtedly organic voice interrupted him.
“Just what in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing, Prime?!”
Deadlock turned his head to look at the intruder. A human. Older, heavier, louder than what Deadlock had gathered was the average, but not nearly old, heavy, or loud enough to merit the guts he had to talk to a massive war machine like that.
That didn’t stop him.
“You can’t just bring some killing machine ‘Con here! And you certainly can’t keep it! We have policies in place for this sort of thing!” He planted his hands on his hips and glared right at the Autobot leader.
Deadlock looked over at Prime, one optic ridge raised. “You really let this little guy talk to you like that?”
Optimus sighed. “Agent Fowler, I apologize for failing to provide you with prior notice, but the circumstances were…out of the ordinary. Rest assured that Deadlock here is contained and does not pose a threat to your people.”
“Sorry, Prime, but that’s just not good enough. We need to transfer your prisoner to a more secure facility. One that’s properly equipped and designed to contain things like him. There’s one a couple states over…”
“That won’t be happening,” Ratchet interrupted.
“Now listen, doc, I’m not trying to fight with you here. This came from on high.” The human crossed his arms and put on a stance that was probably intimidating to beings that couldn’t crush him without even noticing.
Ratchet looked over at Optimus. “We can’t allow that. Unarmed or not, wounded or not, Decepticon or not, Deadlock still classifies as both Cybertronian citizen and Cybertronian weaponry, with his upgrades. It’s not legal to turn him over.”
Prime turned back to the human. “Ratchet is correct, Agent Fowler. We have strict laws forbidding us from giving you custody, regardless of your laws or intentions. It is for your protection as well as ours.”
“Considering that you guys brought your war here, and considering M.E.C.H already cracked your tech, I’m pretty sure you can make an exception,” the human argued.
Prime hesitated.
Deadlock snarled, and suddenly felt a rush of fear as all he could think of was Cylas, nestled in the shell of Breakdown. “I didn’t surrender to them . You hand me over to get torn apart by them ‘n I’ll make sure to burn every last one of ‘em if it kills me .”
“Be silent,” Prime snapped. “Threats will not help you.” He addressed the human once more. “I will need to discuss this with you and your superiors. We cannot give you Deadlock, but I’m willing to work with your people to compromise.” He crouched down to let the human hop into his hand, and left the room.
Once they were out of earshot, Deadlock turned to Ratchet. His spark thudded with fear, and he hated himself for it. “Give me a gun.”
“Absolutely not! Why would I—?”
“Give me a gun so I can blow out my processor,” he snapped. “‘M not letting them do that to me. ‘M not gonna let them take me apart and rip me out to put somethin’ else in there!” He pulled against the restraints to no avail, succeeding only in denting his wrist plating.
Ratchet hurried over to the slab. “Deadlock, I need you to calm down. Optimus is not going to let that happen. I’m not going to let that happen.” He rested a hand on Deadlock’s shoulder, but removed it after the ‘Con flinched. “Okay, listen. You know me, you know I’m a doctor. You know I’d never hurt my patients. And right now, you’re my patient. So I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Okay? Vent for me; you’re starting to overheat.”
Deadlock completed a few stuttering vent cycles, managing to calm down a bit. This was Ratchet. Ratchet wouldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t let that happen. “Okay…okay. Yeah. I trust you. Just…if it comes down to it, promise me you’ll kill me.”
Ratchet looked at him without understanding. “It won’t come to that.”
“ Please .”
“Alright. Don’t think about it too much; you’re overclocking your systems. I’ll do it. If there’s no other option, I’ll make sure…that nothing will happen to you.”
Deadlock sighed in relief and sagged back down to the slab. “Thank you.”
Ratchet looked at his medical readouts. “That wasn’t good for your injuries. Try to rest until Optimus comes back. I’ll stay with you.”
Deadlock nodded, hating himself for being so weak, for needing an Autobot to stay with him to keep the fear at bay. He knew he couldn’t recharge without some sort of horrible nightmare, so he contented himself to stare blankly at the ceiling.
***
It was several hours before Optimus returned with the human. Fowler. Ratchet had told Deadlock that Fowler was a sort of liaison between the local government and the Autobots.
Deadlock mostly wondered how the little guy avoided being stepped on.
Prime sat beside the slab again, and set Fowler on the corner of it. Out of Deadlock’s limited reach but far too close for comfort.
“In the interest of informed consent,” Optimus said, “Agent Fowler and I have agreed upon the following. You will remain here in our custody.”
Deadlock felt himself relax.
Prime continued. “The humans are providing us with containment equipment that fits their standards, giving agent Fowler assurance that you will not pose a threat to his people. Fowler will complete routine inspections to make sure everything is in working order. In the event that my team and this base cannot provide sufficient security with you conscious, you will be put into medical stasis and monitored by both Ratchet and a human representative. Do you take any issue with these terms thus far?”
Deadlock turned the words over in his head, searching for a trap. “No. That sounds reasonable.”
“Good. Any attempt to harm an Autobot or human will result in the same. Any attempt at escape will be considered a rescindment of your surrender, and if you are taken alive you will be put into stasis indefinitely, but we will use lethal force if necessary. Do you take any issue with these terms thus far?”
“No.”
“Do you understand the terms as they have been laid out?”
“Yeah.”
Prime nodded. “As part of our agreement, Agent Fowler will be present for any interrogations, and we will share previous interrogation results with him. In compliance with the Tyrest Accord, these interrogations will not include discussion of any technology or weapon designs or specifications. If you give agent Fowler or any human representative technology or weapon designs or specifications, you will be held in violation of the Tyrest Accord and tried at the earliest convenience by the Chief Justice. Do you understand?”
Deadlock eyed the human. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.” He sat back and took out his datapad.
***
Several hours of interrogation later, it was clear Deadlock was exhausted and didn’t have much more to give. Prime called a stop and left soon after with Fowler in tow. Deadlock shuttered his optics and let out a deep vent.
“Time for a medical assessment, then?” Ratchet joked from his desk.
“Frag off,” the ‘Con grumbled. “I need a smoke.”
Ratchet huffed. “Your throat is too damaged. Why don’t you try meditating or something?”
“‘M not interested in that hippy slag,” he snapped. “Didn’t think you would be either.”
“It was meant as a joke.”
Two pinpricks of gold eyed him. “Sure, doc.”
“So are you going to rest, or do I need to induce stasis?” His hand hovered over the controls, fully expecting to use them.
“Nah, don’t put me under. I’ll recharge on my own.” The pinpricks vanished as he shuttered his optics again.
Ratchet’s hand lingered, briefly toying with the idea of inducing stasis anyway, knowing full well that Deadlock would never let his guard down in an enemy base, whether he chose to be there or not. He’d only recharge once his frame left him no choice. But it would be a major breach of trust. And if both of them were going to survive everything to come, there would need to be some trust. So he went back to his tools.
“I’d recharge better after a cyg,” the brat said after a moment.
Ratchet grumbled. “Deadlock, if you smoke now, you’re going to sound like you’ve got a bucket of nails caught in your vocalizer forever .”
“My voice was never pretty to begin with,” he pointed out.
“I’m not letting you smoke. I can give you medication for withdrawals, if that’s what the problem is.” Not that he’d seen anything on the readouts, but if Deadlock didn’t rest, his self-repair wouldn’t do what it needed to do.
“‘M fine,” he insisted.
Ratchet shrugged. “Alright. I’ll be here if something starts acting up.”
“Somethin’ like me, or my injuries?”
“Both.” He patted his gun holster.
“And here I thought you wouldn’t harm a patient,” Deadlock said snidely.
“If the patient decides to keep bothering me when he should be sleeping, then all bets are off.”
“There he is! Ratchet the Hatchet.”
“Go to sleep, kid.”
“Sure thing, doc.”
He pretended to recharge for almost an hour before actually recharging, but Ratchet counted that as a win. For a moment, he could almost see the walls of his old clinic, see Drift laying there instead of Deadlock, with a smart-aft comment on his tongue and syk in his systems. And Ratchet would be there with enough energy to banter with him and every other leaker that came in for repairs. Cybertron was whole. Rotten to the core, but whole, and he was trying to make a difference.
Ratchet shook those thoughts away and searched for some inane task to complete.
The medic was in the middle of taking inventory (again) when a familiar bot appeared in
the doorway.
“If you’re here to cause problems, Arcee, you can turn right around,” Ratchet said, pointing with his stylus.
“I’m here to check on you , jerk,” she snapped. She eyed Deadlock for a moment before stepping into the medbay. “Wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.”
Ratchet scoffed. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because the past few days have been a lot and I know you put everything on yourself? And with this,” she gestured at the sleeping ‘Con, “slag sucker throwing a wrench into everything…”
“Your concern is appreciated,” Ratchet said. “But unnecessary. I’m fine. It’s just been busier than usual around here, and I’m tired.”
“Then you should rest. Let one of us take a guard shift.” She folded her arms. “Inventory doesn’t need to be done, and there are four of us loitering outside with nothing to do. And I know you just hate that.”
“I’m fine.”
“ Ratchet .”
Ratchet ignored her and counted his mesh patches again.
“No one’s going to hurt him, Ratchet.”
He paused.
Arcee continued. “I know you two have some history, but just because the rest of us don’t share that doesn’t mean we’re going to rip his spark out at the first opportunity. We’re all Autobots, here. And you know none of us would do something like that. Even if it is a trap and he’s planning to call Megatron’s armada here as soon as he can, right now he’s bolted to a slab and too injured to do anything except sass you.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Take a break. Sleep on the other slab, if you want. I’ll get Bulk and we’ll shoot the slag for a few hours while you rest up.”
Ratchet shuttered his optics and set down his tools. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was…unfair of me. Right now it seems like I don’t know what to believe.”
“Oh, you know. War does that, sometimes.” She guided him over to the empty slab. “And we’ll wake you if anything happens. Promise.”
He sat down, suddenly very, very tired. “Thank you, Arcee.”
She smiled. “That’s what teammates are for, right?” She patted his shoulder. “Get some rest. Then you can get back to your third inventory count of the day.”
Chapter 9: Nothing Good Comes From Conversations Like These
Summary:
The Autobot base has a new resident, and no one is happy about it.
TW for referenced drug addiction, death, medical malpractice.
Chapter Text
The humans wasted no time in delivering their required equipment, and a crew to install the containment cell in the Autobots’ basement. Bulkhead and Smokescreen watched them set everything up. From a distance, of course. To avoid smooshing anyone.
“Not to be that guy,” Smokescreen, who happened to almost always be “that guy”, started, “but I’m a little insulted. These guys don’t think Prime can contain one ‘Con?”
“They’re just scared,” Bulkhead explained. “We’re a lot bigger than they are, and they want to be in control of something.”
Wheeljack walked by and paused, bouncing a grenade in his palm. “But they’re not. They get that, right?”
The three of them watched the crew for a minute.
“Nope,” Bulkhead said. “I don’t think they do.”
“They’re a lot like us,” Smokescreen noted. “We like control, too. Fighting a whole war over it.”
“That’s different,” Wheeljack argued. “Our war is for like…peace and freedom and whatever. These guys are just little. They fight little wars.”
“Over peace and freedom and stuff! Have you even looked at the internet yet?” Smokescreen demanded.
Bulkhead didn’t want to know what Smokescreen was finding on the internet besides wikipedia. “The scale is different, for sure,” he said, trying to find a middle ground. “But yeah, most of it’s about the same stuff. They just haven’t destroyed any planets yet.”
“Think they will?” Smokescreen eyed the activating energy bars. “They’re learning a lot from us.”
“We’ll just have to wait and find out,” Wheeljack said. “We’d win in a fight, though.”
“Oh, totally.”
“Definitely.”
The install crew finished their work and left the base, much to the relief of everyone else there. Having strange humans around just made them antsy. Too much activity, too many risks. Bulkhead wandered back up to the main silo and paused in the door of the medbay, where a disgruntled Ratchet was implanting an inhibitor-deterrence chip into an even more disgruntled Deadlock. The two of them seemed to feed off each other; Deadlock making a snide comment, and Ratchet answering with a snappish one, making Deadlock growl back.
It was almost funny.
“You two need anything?” Bulkhead asked from the door.
“Yeah. My cygs,” Deadlock snapped, his voice muffled due to the fact he was strapped face-down on the slab to give Ratchet access to the back of his head.
“I swear to Primus if you keep whining about that…” Ratchet started.
“What, you’ll put an I.D chip in me? Oh wait!”
“We’re fine, Bulkhead,” Ratchet grumbled. “Someone’s just being difficult about basic prisoner containment.”
“Since when did a bomb in my head become basic ?” Deadlock snarled.
“I told you, it’s not a bomb! The most it can do is initiate stasis lock.”
“Yeah, right.”
Bulkhead backed away slowly. “I’m just…gonna go do something else.”
“Good!” the ‘Con yelled. “Surgery shouldn’t be a sideshow, anyway!”
“Keep screaming and it’ll be the main attraction!” Wheeljack called, walking past.
Bulkhead hurried away from the ensuing shouting match.
The main chamber wasn’t much better. Prime was hunched over the console, working on decoding the next set of coordinates. That was fine. Bumblebee was watching videos with the children, his big optics whirring as he saw something that caught his interest. That was fine. Arcee was arguing with Smokescreen about his reckless driving on their last patrol. That was not fine.
“Traffic laws aren’t suggestions , Smokescreen! If you keep breaking them, you’ll lead the ‘Cons right to us!” she yelled.
“I told you already, I had the right of way! That jerk pulled out right in front of me! It wasn’t my fault , no matter how much you want it to be!” Smokescreen yelled back.
“Then you should’ve done something besides running him off the road!”
“Maybe you should’ve done something besides harp on every little thing I do!”
Bulkhead had to get out of there.
He made his way, practically tiptoeing, over to Bee and the kids. “Want to go for a drive?”
“Yes please,” Miko said, miserable enough to be almost quiet. “All this shouting is giving me a headache. And Prime won’t even let me see the Decepticon!”
“You’re not missing much, he’s yelling right now too,” Bulkhead said. He folded into alt mode and let her and Jack clamber in. He drove out as quickly as he could without being obnoxious about it, Bee trailing close behind with Raf.
He felt his mood improve the moment he hit open air, and rolled down his windows to let in the breeze. “So, who else was getting sick of base?”
A miserable chorus of agreements sounded from both cars and their occupants.
“I get everyone’s tense,” Jack said. “But screaming at each other doesn’t help. I don’t think Arcee knows how loud she can get.”
Miko nodded. “How is Prime supposed to work with her and Smokey at each others’ throats?”
“Do you think they’ll settle down soon, Bee?” Raphael asked through the open channel.
Bee warbled a negative.
“I doubt anyone’s really going to relax until we get the rest of those relics,” Bulkhead guessed. “There’s a lot on the line right now.”
“Sure, but shouldn’t you all be working together?” Jack asked. “I mean, it’s not like you guys haven’t faced worse. It feels like the team is falling apart a little.”
“Yeah! I miss the good times…” Miko sighed.
“Hey, we’ll have good times again! Team Prime just needs to be a little more serious right now,” Bulkhead said. He flicked his blinker on to take the freeway down one of the more scenic routes.
“Serious Autobots are angry Autobots?” Miko asked dryly.
“...kinda.”
“That must suck. You guys didn’t have any fun for most of the war?”
Bee beeped and whirred in protest.
“Fun moments, huh?” Raf asked. “Like what?”
Bulkhead thought for a moment. “Well, there was that time Rodimus hid all of Prowl’s engex in a puzzle box.”
“From what Arcee told me about Prowl, I don’t think a puzzle box would’ve held him off for long,” Jack said.
“True. A real puzzle box wouldn’t. But Roddy’s clever. He found an old ununtrium lockbox and got Sunstreaker to help him disguise it as a puzzle box. The two of them were, thankfully, shipped across the galaxy when Prowl finally figured it out.” He chuckled at the memory of Prowl’s face, bright pink with barely-contained rage. “Ratchet had to sedate him to keep him from blowing his fuses.”
That got a little laughter. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
***
Deadlock paced around his new quarters. After a few days in the medbay, they’d moved him down to this cell in the basement. Human-made, apparently. The energy bars shocked like Cybertronian ones.
He’d found that out pretty quickly.
There was a slab built into the back wall, and that was it. Bars, slab, walls.
At least he had this one to himself. Cells in Rodion had always been overcrowded to the point where the inmates could barely move. He remembered that stifling heat well. The heat and the pressure and the fear.
He shook those thoughts away and dragged a claw in a long line down the wall. It made a satisfyingly horrid sound.
It was too quiet down here. He heard the steady plink of a leak from further down the hall, and the gentle hum of distant machinery. But that was all, no matter how his audials strained for more.
He scraped the wall again.
Too quiet, too small, too empty. Just him alone with his thoughts.
That was dangerous. Always had been. But now it was even more so.
And the damn medic didn’t even return his cygs.
“Another week,” he’d said. “Any sooner and you risk more permanent damage to your vocalizer. I know you don’t care,” he’d said before Deadlock could begin his usual protest, “but I can’t allow you to harm yourself.”
He’d given the ‘Con something for withdrawals. It didn’t do much, and his processor ached something fierce. But withdrawal from cygs was sparkling’s play compared to the shakes, hallucinations, and joint lock he’d gotten during a syk detox. And he dealt with that without any fancy meds, thank you very much.
He was bored. He was angry, and bored, and scared, and he hated himself for it.
This whole situation was ridiculous. He should’ve just taken his ship and booked it. Never even gone to the damned lab. Never even come to this planet. He’d been perfectly fine on his own. He’d done every high-paying bounty the ‘Cons had listed, and gotten enough of a reputation that he could walk into any dive bar anywhere and no one would even look at him the wrong way.
It had been great. He’d had fuel, firearms, freedom…what else could a mech want?
But no, he had to go scampering after Megatron. Stupid. Stupid!
Turmoil was right. He really was a moron.
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
He whirled to face the ‘Bot who’d snuck up on him. The kid. Little race frame, shiny and naive. Like the old rich mechs on Cybertron. “Get outta here,” he snarled.
“Wow, rude.” He sat down on the chair (roughly welded together from human scrap metal, clearly something one of the Autobots had made while bored) that’d been placed outside. Turned it around and sat in it backwards. A completely innocuous action, but it made Deadlock’s fuel boil. “I wanted to talk.”
“I ain’t talkin’ to you,” Deadlock snapped. “Get outta here.”
“No can do! I live here. Well, not here in the basement. That’s your new home. I live upstairs,” he said, with a stupid slag-eating grin on his stupid slag-eating face.
Deadlock harrumphed and sat down on his slab.
“I’ve never really met any ‘Cons,” the kid said. “But Optimus says it’s a good idea to know your enemy, so.” He gestured. “Here we are.”
“Oh, you wanna know me, ya little fragger?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Well, I’m Deadlock. You can call me Deadlock. I’m a ‘Con. ‘N I want my damn cygs.”
“Ratchet said–”
“Ratchet can frag himself sideways,” he snapped. “So can you, and your Prime, and the rest of his merry band.”
“Are all Decepticons as pleasant as you?” the kid asked.
Deadlock snorted. “Frag you, I’m bein’ polite. Haven’t even threatened to kill ya yet.”
“Yet?”
“Yet.”
“You know it’s an empty threat, right? You can’t break out of there to act on it.”
Deadlock had nothing to say to that.
The kid looked at him for a long moment. “So…your plan is to sit here and yell at anyone who comes by?”
“‘M not gonna sit here and tell you my life story so you can get off on bein’ some sort of understandin’ Autobot.”
“Consider it repaying me for that time you ripped out half my throat with your teeth ?”
Deadlock stared at him wordlessly.
“Alright, so let’s trade,” the Autobot said. He rested his chin on his hands, which were clasped over the back of the chair. “I can’t get you cygs, but maybe I have something else you might want. What’ll you trade me for your sad ‘Con story?”
Deadlock thought for a long moment. This kid clearly wasn’t giving up. Deadlock didn’t owe him anything, but if he was going to be stuck in this box…
“Somethin’ to read,” he said. “Don’t care what. Just as long as it’s interestin’ enough to keep me from wantin’ to blow my brains out, sittin’ here. Then I’ll tell you all about my sad, stupid little ‘Con life.”
The Autobot considered for a moment. “Heh. And here I thought ‘Cons couldn’t read. I’ll see what I can do. Don’t go anywhere!” He bounded off.
Deadlock snorted and laid back on the slab. Maybe if he slept enough, that’d take his mind off…well, everything. Can’t really think while in recharge. He shuttered his optics. That was almost worse. The silence closed in on him until the ringing in his audials was all he could hear…
“Got something!”
That voice was worse than the silence. “Yeah? Is it the Autobot code or some slag?” He cracked his optics open and looked at his visitor.
The Autobot shook his head and oh so carefully slid a datapad through the bars. “Prime said it can’t hurt to give you some stuff about Earth, so I compiled a bunch of their…encyclopedias? I think that’s what they call ‘em. Enough useless information to keep you busy for another four million years of jail.” He was evidently very pleased with himself for the idea.
Deadlock sat up and picked up the pad. He turned it on, scanned the contents, and raised an optic ridge. That was certainly a lot. He sighed and set it aside. “Alright, kid. Deal’s a deal. What do you want to talk about?”
“My name’s Smokescreen. Not “kid”.” He sat down in the chair. The correct way, this time. “I guess I wanna know about Cybertron. I was forged during the war, so I don’t know what it was like before that. Since you’re in the records as one of the original Decepticons, I’m figuring you do.”
“Jumpin’ right in, huh?” he muttered. “Alright. Well, it wasn’t pretty. Least not where I came from. You were probably forged in, what, Iacon or somethin’? Praxus?” He looked Praxian, what with those doorwings.
“Praxus, yeah. Enlisted in the Elite Guard as soon as I could.”
“War was in full swing, then?”
Smokescreen nodded. “Training was cut short to get us into active duty faster.”
“But you were taken care of. There were forces that had your best interests in mind, right? Makin’ sure you were prepared, that you were fit and fueled?”
“I mean…yeah. I did a lot of training and stuff.”
“Alright. So…” He rested his chin in one hand. “I was forged in Rodion. As far as I know. I can’t tell you my earliest memory; it’s too corrupted.” He tapped his helm. “Processor damage. Boosters. You know what boosters are?”
“I’ve heard of them, yeah.”
“Yeah, so I was hooked on boosters. And syk, and probably like five other things I don’t remember. It was the best option, ya see. Rodion was a pit. Might as well have been the Pit. And the Dead End was the worst. That’s where I’m from. Cybertron’s aft port. It was every mech for themselves. None of this teamwork thing, no one to make sure you were alright. If you had friends, you learned to live without ‘em pretty quick once they died off. You were on your own, and if you were too slow, or too dumb, or just plain unlucky, then your parts ended up in a chop shop. Mechs would get fuel from other mechs’ lines or claw through the refinery slag, because there was nowhere else to get it. You get the picture?”
“...yeah. I think so.”
Deadlock nodded. “So you Autobots talk a lot about Cybertron. How great it was back then, and how the ‘Cons ruined it for everyone because they wanted power. Your Cybertron wasn’t the same as mine. Not by a long shot.” He thought for a moment. “I won’t say Megatron was right, ‘cause if he was then I wouldn’t be here. But he sure as slag wasn’t wrong. I joined up early on, got his attention pretty quickly. He wanted radical change, and he understood where mechs like me came from. I don’t think Orion did. He saw it, sure. But he didn’t get it. Some mechs think that if ya throw enough money or pretty words at somethin’ then it’ll fix itself, but that ain’t how it works. A hundred shanix might’ve gotten me fuel for the week. But it wouldn’t get me an education, it wouldn’t take the accent outta my mouth, and it wouldn’t get me a job. It definitely wouldn’t stop the enforcers from shooting me ‘n my ilk because they were bored. ” And oh, how Gasket’s death still hurt…”There wasn’t a way out. So yeah, when Megatron proposed we tear it down, I was first in line.”
“Because you wanted a better Cybertron for yourself,” Smokescreen surmised.
“Sure did.”
“And everyone you killed along the way?”
Deadlock stared right into his optics. “You ever kill a mech?”
“No. First time on duty I got knocked out and captured.”
The ‘Con snorted. “Fancy that. First time I killed was when a cop shot my friend’s brains out. For the unforgivable crime of bein’ a Dead End leaker. So I killed ‘em for the unforgivable crime of stompin’ all over us Dead End leakers. Well kid, where’s your line? What wouldn’t you do for your Prime, and the promise of a new Cybertron? What wouldn’t you do, when a big mech kills your friend right in front of you because it made him feel important?”
Smokescreen looked away. “We’re not the same, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Deadlock had to chuckle. “Nah. We’re as different as they come. But my point is that you’d do a lot for your cause. I did a lot for mine. Difference is that my cause ended up bein’ a lie. But who knows.” He smiled, baring his fangs. “Maybe yours is, too.”
“Well, at least I’m not a drug-addicted murderer,” the kid snapped.
“And I’m not a naive little brat. Did you listen to a word I said?”
“Yeah, yeah. Bad neighborhood, change wasn’t coming fast enough, whatever. I just don’t think it’s an excuse for what you did.”
“It’s not an excuse, and I ain’t lookin’ for your pity. You wanted to know what Cybertron was like, and there’s my sterilized version for your delicate Elite Guard tanks. If you didn’t like it, maybe you shouldn’t’ve asked to hear it.”
“‘Sterilized’?”
“Do ya want the unsterilized version?” He leaned forward. “The one where I tell you ‘bout the mechs who didn’t wait till you were dead to take your fuel pump, and the state I found Breakaway in when they were done with ‘im? How about I tell you about Dredge, who died from an infection that could be treated but got turned away from every clinic ‘cause they thought he was just there for drugs? Or what the enforcers did when Lowlight an’ I went to them for help when Turnabout went missin’? Maybe you wanna hear about Filament and how I thought she got away until I found her fraggin’ corpse stuffed down a storm drain? You don’t wanna hear ‘bout that. ‘Cause you don’t want to think that maybe Megatron had a point .”
Smokescreen stood quickly enough to knock the chair over. “This was a mistake.” He stalked away.
Deadlock didn’t respond except to make a rude gesture.
After the kid’s footsteps faded, Deadlock sighed and picked up the datapad. Time to learn about…he squinted at the screen. Aardvarks.
***
Arcee turned as Smokescreen came stomping into the main silo. “Told you so,” she said. “It’s no use talking to ‘Cons; they’re all the same.”
He flopped dramatically against the wall and slid down until he was seated on the floor. “I just don’t get it. Megatron is insane! Insane and pure evil. How can anyone look at what he’s done and defend him?”
“‘Cons don’t think like us,” she said simply. She took a seat next to him. Prime had given her a bit of a talking to for arguing constantly with Smokescreen, so she needed to make an effort to…not do that. So she probably shouldn’t taunt him any more for being dumb enough to think he could actually have a meaningful conversation with a Decepticon. “For them, the ends justify any means. That’s what makes us different; we draw the line somewhere, they don’t.”
Smokescreen didn’t have a response for that. He glared at a point on the floor for a moment. “He asked me if I’d killed anyone.”
“Okay. So?”
“Well…I haven’t. Not yet. I just got here and there hasn’t been a ton of combat. But I know at some point I will. So where’s the line, if I’m going to snuff someone’s spark for the sake of my goals?” He looked over at her. “We’re the good guys, right?”
Arcee huffed. “He’s just trying to get into your head.” She went through her files and, after digging through countless photos and old novels, found what she was looking for. She held out a hand. “Here, give me your hardline,”
Confused, he handed her a cable. She plugged in and transferred a copy of the file. “You said your training was cut short, right? So odds are you never got the chance to slog through this thing.”
“The Autobot code?” he asked. “I read summaries.”
“This is the Ultra Magnus annotated edition. You want to know what the line is? Here it is. The ‘Cons don’t have anything like this; if Megatron won’t shoot you for it, then it’s okay for them. But we have rules for everything .” File transfer complete, she unplugged and stood.
He got a glazed look in his optics as he looked through the dense volume. “Why do you even have this? The annotations are longer than the actual code!”
“I lost a bet with Cliffjumper,” she said, smiling sadly. “Now I’m cursed to carry this thing around my memory core for all of eternity.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t let the ‘Con get to you.”
He looked up and gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Arcee. Let’s see if I can read this before the war ends…”
“Good luck with that.”
***
Ratchet didn’t mind Ms Darby. She was…fine. Overbearing in some ways to the children. Curious, but not terribly helpful. Not to him, at least. Her concern was, and always would be, the children. Ratchet could respect that, so he never said anything about her meddling. It wasn’t a surprise when she dropped by the base. It was a surprise when she went right up to where Ratchet and Prime were going over the results of a long distance scan of an energon mine and immediately went into a rant.
“Miko tells me you’re keeping a Decepticon here!” She shouted incredulously. “What could you possibly be thinking! Those things have nearly killed all of us five times over and you just want to stick one in the basement? Where the kids could find it?!”
Ratchet sighed and opened his mouth, but Prime cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your concern, Ms Darby. Rest assured that our prisoner is contained, and measures to keep the children safe are in place.”
“I don’t care what measures you have in place,” Ms Darby snapped. “If that thing is in this building, everyone here is in danger. Does Fowler know about this?”
“Agent Fowler and his team assisted with containment procedures,” Optimus explained. “Perhaps you would prefer to inspect them yourself?”
Ms Darby was already halfway down the hall.
Ratchet sighed again and hurried after her with Optimus on his heels.
Neither Deadlock nor Ms Darby were impressed by the other. Deadlock was mostly just miffed about being woken up from a nap. Ms Darby thought the bars were spaced far enough apart that the children could squeeze through.
“Fraggin Pit, I’m not gonna squish the squishies!” Deadlock yelled in the middle of her tirade.
“They’re children !” June shot back.
“The children aren’t allowed down here,” Optimus said in an attempt to defuse the situation. “Deadlock is contained and monitored at all times by one of Fowler’s team.” He pointed up at a set of cameras mounted high on the wall.
“And he’s been implanted with an inhibitor chip that will allow us to immobilize him if needed,” Ratchet added.
Ms Darby eyed the control panel and energy bars, and Deadlock behind them, who yawned and made no effort to hide his irritation.
“The other guys were already here,” he reminded Prime. “What’s the deal with this one?”
“That’s none of your business,” Ratchet interrupted.
Deadlock rolled his eyes and sat back down on his slab. “Fine.”
Ms Darby evidently concluded her study and looked back up at Prime. “And you’re sure he can’t get out?”
“D’ya want me to demonstrate?” the resident Decepticon drawled. Without waiting for a response, he was on his feet and threw a punch at the bars. Ms Darby jumped back at the resulting crackle of energy as the field compensated for the force of Deadlock’s attempt.
“Enough,” Prime ordered. He stepped between Ms Darby and the cell. “Deadlock cannot harm you, and he cannot escape.”
“So all he really can do is try to scare you,” Ratchet added. He shot a glare at the mech in question, who just rolled his eyes again and leaned against the wall.
Ms Darby collected herself. “Fine. I suppose if anyone knows how to deal with Decepticons, it’s you guys. Just…keep him away from the kids.”
Prime nodded, and led her back up to the main silo.
Once they were out of earshot, Ratchet spun to face Deadlock. “That was uncalled for,” he lectured.
“Maybe I was tryin’ to be helpful,” the brat said with a smirk. He shook out his punching hand, which Ratchet knew must be tingling and aching from the effects of the bars.
“You weren’t and you know it. You’re not doing yourself any favors by intimidating humans,” Ratchet pointed out.
He shrugged. “So? We both know this is it for me. One cell or another until my spark finally decides to cut its losses and give out.”
“You could defect,” Ratchet felt compelled to offer.
Deadlock snorted. “I’ll take the prison rations.”
“Why? Like you said, your only other option is to bounce from cell to cell until you die. It’s not like you can go back to Megatron even if you escape.” He leaned against the wall opposite Deadlock.
The Decepticon raked his claws down the wall next to him. Ratchet winced at the resulting screech. “I wasn’t plannin’ to.”
“Then why not join us?”
“You know why.”
And damn it all, he did. He knew Deadlock would never, especially on the heels of a falling out with Megatron. There was too much emotion right now. Deadlock needed to cool down, heal up…and do some thinking.
Ratchet sighed and nodded. “Alright. While I’m here, do you want to get the check-up out of the way?”
“I don’t need a check-up,” Deadlock snarled. His plating rattled a bit in warning. “I’m fine.”
“You know as well as I that issues can sneak up on you. Come on, let’s just get it over with.” He did his best to speak kindly, but it didn’t have the desired effect.
“Don’t fraggin’ patronize me,” Deadlock sneered. “Like I’m one of your fraggin’ cadets or somethin’. I’m fine, I don’t need your coddlin’. ” Threat displays were all he had right now, and he was making use of all of them, whether it was consciously or not. Claws flexed, optics flared, fangs poked out from his lips, and plating rose away from the protoform to make him look bigger.
Ratchet raised his hands placatingly, unbothered by the display but wanting the other mech to calm down. “Look, we can do it later, but it needs to be done. Since you’re in Autobot custody, law dictates we keep records of your health and perform regular maintenance. Especially after the damage you incurred.”
“So what. Are you gonna just knock me out and go rootin’ around my insides anyway?” he challenged.
“If I need to,” Ratchet said sternly. “It needs to be carried out, and while I would greatly prefer to have your consent, I am permitted under the law to induce stasis without it.”
“Great. Why not just harvest me for parts while you’re at it? Fraggin’ Autobots…” He raked his claws again, deeper and louder this time.
“Deadlock…”
“Either knock me out or leave me alone.”
Ratchet could knock him out. It would only take a brief command to the chip and the other mech would be out cold. Ratchet could complete his diagnostics and wash his hands of the situation, and Deadlock could just deal with it. If he wanted to be difficult, fine.
But…trust. He had to build some trust.
Ratchet sighed and moved from the wall. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check in and perform the diagnostics. It’s up to you whether or not you want to be awake for it.”
Some hours later, Deadlock begrudgingly let Ratchet carry out the mandated exam. Even with the complaints, Ratchet counted it as a win.
Chapter 10: Home is Where the War is
Summary:
Adjustments and compromises are being made.
Notes:
Hi everyone! Sorry about the lack of update last week. Life, ya know? Please enjoy this chapter full of more chit-chat.
Chapter Text
One Omega key in hand, two with the Decepticons. Ratchet didn’t like their odds, especially with the Star Saber now put beyond use. Optimus was putting on a brave face and had gotten back to work decoding as soon as he’d returned, but Ratchet knew better. He knew what fear looked like.
He fled the room when Arcee and Smokescreen began arguing. It wasn’t anything he wanted, or needed, to hear.
Inexplicably, he found himself on the way to Deadlock’s cell. If nothing else, the Decepticon made for a decent distraction.
Deadlock was laying on his back, reading a datapad. He wasn’t engrossed enough to ignore Ratchet’s approach, though, and glanced over. “Somethin’ happen? You look upset.”
“My face is just like that,” the medic grumbled. He’d been told that often enough.
“More upset than usual, then. I’m guessin’ key retrieval didn’t go well. That’s a shame.” He turned back to his reading.
“What, you want Megatron to be the one to remake Cybertron?” Sure, Deadlock was in his rights to disagree with Autobot politics, but even he should’ve been able to tell the situation was well past that.
“No. But that doesn’t mean I want Prime to do it either. Honestly? I wasn’t even too sad to see that sorry ball of tin die in the first place.” He scrolled down.
Ratchet’s temper flared. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, actually, I do.”
“It’s our home .”
“No, Ratchet, it’s not.” He set down the pad and sat up. “You ‘Bots keep sayin’ it’s home, but you know what? For a lot of us, we never felt safe there, and we were certainly never happy. So it wasn’t home. And with you fraggers reminiscin’ about how great it used to be and how much you want it back…who d’you think died to keep you all in luxury? And who’s to say it won’t be that way after you rebuild it?”
“You’re acting like we’re as bad as the old senate!” Ratchet snapped. “We won’t repeat their mistakes.”
Deadlock snorted. “Keep tellin’ yourself that. One day you’ll wake up and realize we came full circle.”
“So what, you think Megatron should rule?”
“Honestly, I think we should just let the dead planet rot out there. I was perfectly happy without it, and if it’s rebuilt, things are just gonna get worse.”
Ratchet folded his arms and glowered. “That isn’t an option. You might want that, but I have a feeling you’re in a minority.”
“Right. So I don’t matter. Go on, then.”
“That’s not what I–”
“No, but it’s how old Cybertron operated, isn’t it? If you weren’t part of the club, you didn’t matter. Unless they needed someone to mine, or they needed someone to take the blame for the whole world’s problems. Well, I wasn’t part of the club, and I won’t be when your Prime remakes it.”
“There doesn’t need to be a club. Like it or not, peace is possible. But it’s not possible under Megatron.”
“I know! I don’t want him to win, why do you keep actin’ like I do?” he yelled, rising to his feet in anger. “I left him. Got it? I left him, and I’ll kill him if I ever get the chance.”
“Then why are you still wearing that ?” Ratchet asked. He pointed one accusing finger at the Decepticon brand on Deadlock’s chest.
He folded his arms and glanced away. “What do you want?”
The medic sighed and sat down in the chair someone had left down here. “I wanted to know if you’d be willing to give us any information about the Nemesis . There’s a strong possibility that we’ll have to infiltrate and recover the two keys Megatron has.”
“I wasn’t there for long,” Deadlock pointed out.
“But you still know it better than anyone else here. So will you help or not?”
The ‘Con stared right at Ratchet for a long, long moment. Long enough that the medic had to fight the urge to shift in discomfort, or look away.
“I’m not helpin’ you,” he said. “I’m stoppin’ Megatron.” He sat back down. “Get me somethin’ to draw on, and I can make you a map.”
Ratchet held back a rare smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t,” Deadlock said gruffly.
Of course, as soon as Ratchet mentioned that Deadlock was willing to provide some intel, the whole team wanted to hear it directly. The ‘Con begrudgingly agreed to present the information to the gathered Autobots, on the condition that it be done in the main silo. He said it’d be too crowded in the basement, and Ratchet had to agree. Thankfully, the children were still at school and would be for a while longer.
In short order, their prisoner had sketched out a rough map of the Nemesis with an old tarp, a mop, and several buckets of paint they found in a closet. He looked at the Autobots, crouching in a loose circle around the map, and tapped the mop on the floor. “There are three places where you’ll probably find the keys. Megatron’s quarters, Knockout’s lab, and the vault.”
“You can’t narrow it down any further?” Arcee demanded. “Splitting the team three ways is too risky.” She had her weapon out and primed, and Ratchet knew if Deadlock even twitched in a way she didn’t like, she’d blast his head off. Thankfully, it seemed Deadlock knew that as well, and wasn’t interested in causing problems.
“Not without goin’ into speculation,” Deadlock said gruffly. “And if I tell you the wrong place, you’re gonna come back and do a little jig on my brain module. So you get three potential spots.”
“Fine,” Arcee relented.
“So Megatron’s quarters are here.” He circled an area near the bridge. “There aren’t any guards, ‘cause he doesn’t need them. But if he’s storin’ the keys there, he might post a couple. Only outside, though. No one’s ever allowed in.”
“How likely is he to be in there?” Bulkhead asked. “I’d rather not barge in to wake him from his beauty sleep.”
“He needs a lot more of that,” Wheeljack quipped.
“Focus,” Prime admonished. He turned to Deadlock from his spot in the circle next to him. “Is it safe to assume that Megatron only uses his quarters to recharge?”
The ‘Con nodded. “He doesn’t recharge much, either.” He moved the brush to circle another area. “Knockout’s lab. The doctor’s always in, but if you’re lucky, he’ll be busy with some project or another. The keys, if they’re there, will be held in suspension off to the side. Presumably, Knockout will be runnin’ some tests on them, so be prepared to remove them carefully, or else alarms’ll sound.”
“And if he’s not busy?” Arcee asked.
“I’m sure the usual methods of killin’ or maimin’ will work fine. And he doesn’t get out much, so he won’t be missed for a few hours if you’re careful about it.” He moved on and circled a third area, pretty much in the center of the ship. “The vault is always guarded with at least three vehicons. Maybe an insecticon or two; tough to say how much Megatron’ll ramp up security with the keys.”
The Autobots stared for a moment, thinking. Prime tapped the bridge. “What about Soundwave?”
“Soundwave’ll notice if the vault is opened, or if anythin’ is forced, triggered, or shot. Other than that he should be glued to the console on the bridge.”
Wheeljack grumbled. “Guess that means no grenades.”
Arcee looked at Prime. “Bee and I are your best bet. Clearly stealth is our only option, unless we want to try shooting the whole thing down and sifting through the wreckage.”
“What about me?” Smokescreen asked. “If we have a team of three, we can split and cover each possibility.”
Ratchet looked at Optimus, who was probably having the same thoughts he was. Smokescreen was green, and untested in stealth operations. But the other options were Bulkhead, who was about as sneaky as a herd of cyber-bulls, and Wheeljack, who simply couldn’t be relied upon to follow mission parameters.
“I’ll consider our next course of action,” Prime said. “For now, is there anything else you can tell us, Deadlock?”
The ‘Con ended up marking patrol routes and guard stations, but was hesitant to give much else, citing his theory that security measures had changed since his departure.
“It’s either going to be the tightest run warship you’ve ever seen,” he said, “or it’ll be a madhouse of infightin’. I can’t rightly tell you which.”
“There’s nothing more you can say with certainty?” Ratchet asked.
“Nothin’. Like I said, I wasn’t there for too long.” He set down the mop.
Optimus stared thoughtfully at the map for a while. “This will set us on more even ground with Megatron. Thank you, Deadlock.”
“Don’t,” he muttered. “I’m not with you, but Megs doesn’t deserve those keys.”
“On that we can agree,” Prime said, rising from his crouch. “Still, your contribution is appreciated.”
“Don’t need your appreciation,” the ‘Con snapped.
“Well, you get it anyway,” Wheeljack said, with no small level of amusement. He took a set of cuffs from his subspace and bound Deadlock’s hands as they had when bringing him up from the cell. “Might not want to argue about it.”
The room cleared, but Ratchet stayed behind with Prime, who was already drifting back towards the console where he’d been working on the Iacon database.
“Do you think we can trust him?” Optimus asked.
Ratchet sighed and ran a hand down his tired faceplates. “I want to. I truly do. But at the end of the day, he’s not the mech I knew before the war. I don’t know what to think when it comes to him.”
“You haven’t spoken much to him, outside the medical setting,” Prime noticed. He rested a hand on the keyboard, but held off on activating it while he spoke to his friend.
“No, I haven’t. He’s…bitter. Lashing out at everything. I simply don’t want to talk to him if he’s going to yell at me. Especially if he blames me for all his problems,” he added.
“He does that?” Prime frowned.
“I think he blames the Autobots, and I happen to be the only Autobot he knows from before the war. Maybe once he cools down he’ll stop, but…” He sighed. “I can’t blame him for being angry about what happened back then, but I also won’t stand to be accused of all the corruption of the old senate.”
Prime hesitated for a moment. “It wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t feel any guilt.”
Ratchet cursed his friend’s perception. “I don’t . The Dead End wasn’t my creation.”
“But you feel like you could have prevented Deadlock from falling in with the Decepticons.”
Ratchet sighed and sat down on a nearby crate. “He was just a kid when we met. Younger than Smokescreen, probably. I found him collapsed in the street, beaten within an inch of his life and with a damned booster sticking out of his head. I don’t know if he’d tried to kill himself or if someone else did, but I saved his life that day. Told him to clean up and go to the Functionists to see if he could get a job…how stupid was that? They wouldn’t have helped him. But I could’ve. Trained him as an assistant, maybe even a tech or a nurse, put in a word for him somewhere…instead I figured the only thing standing in his way was himself.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Prime said gently.
“But if I’d done more, he might have never joined Megatron. He might have stayed Drift. He needed a friend, not a doctor.” Ratchet remembered it well. How proud he felt to be helping the less fortunate. He was so wonderful! So charitable! Now he wondered what that was worth, when all he did was fix up the guttermechs to go back out and die a little slower.
“The only thing that could have prevented that was a capable government,” Optimus pointed out. “The one we had failed him and thousands of others. The only thing we can do now is work for a better future.” He fixed Ratchet with a firm stare. “Sometimes that means facing our old haunts.”
Ratchet huffed and stood. “I’ll leave you to your database.”
“Alright. I am here if you need to talk.”
“Thank you.” Not that he would bother Prime when there were more important things to do, but he appreciated the offer.
***
Arcee tapped one of the many pipes running through the base lightly with her toe. The low clang reverberated through the long, seldom-used hallway, but that was all. She glanced down at Jack and tried not to sound too smug. “See? It’s fine. It was just a bit of surface rust you saw.”
Jack begrudgingly checked the item off his list of things around the base they needed to look at. “Fine, fine. You were right, I was wrong. Happy?”
“I’m never happy,” Arcee joked.
The two of them continued down the hall towards the next item on their list; a fuse box that Bumblebee said had been emitting an odd buzzing sound. The silo wasn’t the worst base Arcee had ever been posted at, but the place was quickly falling into disrepair and needed constant inspections lest something fail when it was needed most.
Smokescreen joined them at an intersection, armed with his own list. “Hey guys. You got the sprinkler system already?”
“Yeah. Just checking out that fuse box now,” Arcee said.
“Cool, that’s next on my list as well.” He paused, squinted, and chuckled. “Heh. Ratchet must be tired if he accidentally gave us both the same thing to inspect.”
“Cut him some slack,” Arcee said, making sure not to snap at the kid. “He’s mostly been on ‘Con duty.”
Jack looked up at her. “Speaking of…?”
“No.” That was a snap. “We’ve been over this, Jack. You’re not going to stop by for a little chat with a Decepticon.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen one up close,” Jack pointed out. “I mean, we had Megatron here not too long ago. This guy can’t be worse than him!”
“Eh, they’re all the same,” Smokescreen said dismissively. “Violent lowlife morons who kill people to get what they want.”
“Really?” Jack asked skeptically. “Then why did Optimus tell you to talk to him?”
Smokescreen snorted. “To bolster my dedication to the Autobots, duh! That guy we have locked up just goes to prove everything we already know about the Decepticons. They were all just looking for an excuse to kill everyone.”
Jack shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like something Optimus would do, but ok. Oh, here’s that fuse box.” He wrenched open a rusty box mounted to the wall. “Ugh. Do you think Ratchet knows how to fix this kind of thing?”
Arcee peered down at the mess of scorch marks. “We might be better off asking Raf. This isn’t exactly bot-sized.”
***
Arcee and Jack went with Raf, who was reluctantly pulled away from his racing game to take a look at the fuse box. He wasn’t exactly a certified electrician, but the hope was, as Arcee put it, he could keep the thing from catching fire until one of Fowler’s people could come give it a proper fix.
Smokescreen loitered in the main silo as the rest of the Autobots went about their business. Someone had managed to nag Optimus into taking a break from the database, and he was making the best of it by watching over Ratchet’s shoulder while he tinkered with some scrap.
Smokescreen wondered if Primes had hobbies. Or senses of humor.
“Hey, Optimus?” he asked.
“Yes, Smokescreen?” Optimus turned to face him. “What is it?”
Smokescreen hesitated for a moment. “Um…I was wondering why you told me I should talk to the ‘Con. Not that I’m questioning your orders,” he added hastily. “Just…confused. I already knew he was scum, so I’m not sure what I could’ve learned.”
Optimus hummed in thought and came a few steps closer. “Deadlock would have given you a different perspective on how life was before the war. I thought it might help you to understand how we came to be where we are now.”
“I mean, yeah, I guess?” He folded his arms. “He said he was from the Dead End or whatever. Different from Praxus, sure. I just don’t see how it excuses him for being a Decepticon.”
The Prime was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, it was slowly and clearly, without emotion but meant to be heard and heeded. “When I was young, I thought the same. We were all under the same system, and I had no taste for violence, so why would anyone else, unless they had a depraved lust for such things? But over time, and by speaking with others and hearing their stories, I understood. My work would never have killed me. I was never in danger of starving, and I was not put in a position where I had to choose between my life and someone else’s. But those of different casts, different lives, they were. They had to make that choice constantly, and I could not judge them for what they did and how they managed to survive when there were forces at work that were, at best, indifferent to their lives. Deadlock had a very different life from you, and me, and the rest of our team. I may not agree with his actions, and I may not condone them, but I cannot fault him for what he did on Cybertron to survive, nor for choosing the Decepticons, a faction comprised of people who intimately understood him and those like him, instead of the Autobots.”
Smokescreen mulled over the Prime’s words. “What is it you want me to do, then? At the end of the day, he’s still the enemy.”
“All I ask is that you do not write him off. Deadlock has helped us, and he may continue to help us. If we want to rebuild Cybertron, it will be a Cybertron where all of us can find peace, not just Autobots.” He turned back to his console and brought up the Iacon database. “I understand it is difficult, but I am asking you nonetheless to try.”
“Of course,” Smokescreen said. If Prime was asking him to do something, there was no other response. It was just…gonna be pretty difficult.
***
In the end, it was indeed a team of Arcee, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen picked for the mission aboard the Nemesis . With Deadlock’s help, they were able to pinpoint the warship’s location, and Ratchet opened a bridge as close as he dared.
The mission was simple. Get in, get the keys, get out. But it was half of the Autobot combatants being sent, and if something went wrong…
Ratchet brought a toolbox to reorganize over to the console so he could monitor the comm channels.
A chime sounded, heralding Agent Fowler. Ratchet sent the elevator for him.
“Here for inspection?” he asked once the agent stepped out onto the main floor of the silo.
“Yep.” Fowler sighed and looked at his clipboard. “This Deadlock guy is causing a lot of paperwork to end up on my desk.”
“Don’t tell him that; he’ll try to get you more.” Ratchet looked over to where Bulkhead was loitering near the ground bridge. “Watch the communication channels, will you? I’ll accompany Agent Fowler.”
“Sure thing, doc.”
Ratchet slowed down considerably to keep pace with Fowler. “Any more issues on your end of things?” he asked.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual surveillance, news wrangling, and bureaucrats. How about you?”
“The usual Decepticon threat, cabin fever, and PTSD.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It’s always a delight.” They came to Deadlock’s cell. The ‘Con inside looked up from his reading.
He smiled, baring his fangs at Fowler. “Ah, the squishy. And a rather bland squishy, considerin’ all the other more interestin’ life forms on your planet.”
Ratchet ignored him. “Agent Fowler, do you need to gain access inside?”
The human was already poking at a control panel set at a reasonable height for him. “No, I’ll be fine right here. And we humans aren’t “bland”, thank you very much.”
“Compared to platypuses, you’re flat out borin’,” Deadlock said.
Fowler looked up at Ratchet. “Why is he talking about platypuses?”
Ratchet shrugged. “Smokescreen got him hooked on nature encyclopedias. We had to give him more to keep him from literally bouncing off the walls.”
“And I’ve kept my end of the bargain,” Deadlock said. “So now I know about all the fragged-up stuff on this dirtball. Like this.” He pulled up an image of some sort of jellyfish and showed Fowler. “Explain this. A “man o’ war”. It ain’t a man, it ain’t smart enough to fight wars. It ain’t even a single creature. It makes no sense.”
Fowler seemed pretty taken aback. “I can’t explain sea critters to you. They’re weird and I stay away from ‘em.”
Deadlock harrumphed and pulled the data pad back. “You really gotta put together a visitor’s brochure if you wanna be able to host galactic travelers. Everyone else sends you a packet on what local slag to avoid.”
Fowler looked up at Ratchet. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Ratchet forced back a chuckle. “Deadlock, stop harassing Agent Fowler. You’ll only prolong his stay.”
The ‘Con scoffed and settled back down on the slab to continue his reading. About strange ocean life, apparently.
Fowler poked at some settings on the control panel and marked things on his clipboard for several minutes while silence reigned. Ratchet leaned on the wall to keep an eye on things and rubbed at a spot of wear on his finger. There wasn’t enough touch-up paint to merit fixing it, and it irritated him.
Fowler closed the panel with a decisive click . “That should do it. I’ll be back in a couple days to check up again. I trust you’ve been keeping the kids away from him?”
Ratchet scoffed. How irresponsible did Fowler think they were? “Of course. The children stay upstairs, Deadlock stays down here.” Bulkhead had to stop Miko from sneaking down to deliver some trash talk a couple times, but the agent didn’t need to know that.
“Alright then. You know where to reach me if the tech starts acting up.” He tucked his clipboard under his arm and left, whistling a cheerful tune.
Deadlock scrolled down on his data pad. “I don’t know why you bother with him and the rest of his kind. Seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”
“If we weren’t working with them, we’d end up fighting the humans and the Decepticons,” Ratchet pointed out. “A little inconvenience is a small price to pay. And,” he added, “not all of them are like Cylas.” He’d managed to pry that sorry tale from Deadlock a couple days ago, when he finally confronted him about why he was so petrified of being in human custody.
“If you say so,” the ‘Con said, the doubt evident in his voice.
“How are your injuries?” Ratchet asked. Even though they had just done the final post-op checkup a couple hours ago. Thankfully, after the first one, Deadlock had accepted them with little more than a few grumbles and Ratchet was able to ensure his injuries were healing nicely. Still, it was always good to get the patient’s side of things.
“Can’t complain. Things seem to be fine, but I won’t know for sure until I can give the old t-cog a whirl.” Ratchet opened his mouth, but the ‘Con waved him off. “Don’t worry, I know that’s not in the cards.”
“It’s not. Our deal with Fowler is fairly restrictive. These, however, weren’t discussed.” He pulled a pack of Deadlock’s cygarettes from his subspace, along with a lighter.
“Primus, finally .” He took them as Ratchet passed them carefully through the electro bars. “I thought for a minute you were gonna make me quit.”
“I might not agree with your choices, but that doesn’t give me the right to change them for you,” the medic said. “But what I will do is strongly recommend you stick to less than three a day. And if you have any difficulty venting, let me know right away.”
“Sure thing, doc.” He lit one up and sat back with a satisfied sigh. “You know, it could be worse. I could still be on syk. Or boosters. That’d be a lot more work for you.”
“Can you even get syk and boosters anymore?” Ratchet asked.
“Oh, yeah. Just gotta know where to look. Hedonia’s always a good spot. And you can find anythin’ on Troja Major.”
“I’m guessing that’s where you made a lot of your weapon purchases?”
“Yep. As long as you’ve got cash, no one asks any questions. That’s how I like it.” He took a long drag and blew it out slowly. His optics dimmed to barely-on as he relaxed.
Ratchet sat down in the chair outside the cell. “You were gone for quite some time.”
“I was,” Deadlock confirmed cautiously.
“Just out there on your own? No team or place to go back to? No one giving you orders?”
“Pretty much. It was nice, after havin’ to deal with Turmoil’s slag.” He tapped some ash off the end of his smoke. “Wonderin’ if maybe that little taste of freedom is what pushed me over the edge with Megs.”
“Could be. He expects absolute obedience, and you weren’t willing to give that.”
“I swore I’d die for the cause,” Deadlock said. “But I never swore I’d give up everythin’ I was.”
“And he demanded it anyway,” Ratchet finished.
“Not all at once, but yeah. Just…a little bit here, a little bit there. Then ya turn around one day and see yourself doin’ things that would’ve made the old you purge your tanks.” He hesitated for a moment. “He said I should’ve killed you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I thought about it. Tried to rationalize it. But I never signed up to kill good mechs. The old senate? Yeah. Ex enforcers? Sure. Rich tower mechs who turned their noses up at us just for existin’? Why not. But you’re a good mech, doc. You tried to help us. You helped me and you didn’t demand anythin’ in return. There needs to be more mechs like you, and I ain’t gonna kill any who’re left.”
Ratchet bit back that he knew many good mechs who had been killed during the war, and that Deadlock was likely responsible for a great deal of them. But his perception was limited, as was Ratchet’s. How was Deadlock, who’d lived his whole life with the understanding that the rest of the world didn’t care whether or not he suffered, to know that there were mechs who tried just as much as Ratchet to help? He wouldn’t. Because their help never reached him. All the funds raised went to raise enforcer presence in the area, no matter that it wasn’t what they were meant for. Maybe there had been a charity center or two, but who’s to say the guttermechs knew where to find them, that help was available?
And Ratchet had similar limitations. Maybe there were Decepticons who truly wanted a fair and just world, and that dream had been corrupted over time by Megatron’s greed and insanity? There was no reason the mechs who had tried to help the Dead End couldn’t have joined the Decepticons. And that choice didn’t make them terrorists, or criminals, or whatever Prowl wanted to call them. It just made them stand on the opposite side of the battlefield.
Their war had never been cut and dry. And sitting across from Deadlock, knowing how easily things could have been different, that had never been more clear.
Deadlock took Ratchet’s silence and gazed at him thoughtfully. “Do you regret savin’ me, Ratchet? Back then, in Rodion?” he asked quietly, voicing the question that the medic feared most.
Because part of him did. Part of him knew that if he hadn’t saved Drift, then Deadlock never would have gone on to kill so many. But if he’d known what Deadlock would do back then, when he’d dragged Drift into his clinic and worked feverishly to keep him alive, he knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. He couldn’t have left that gutter mech there, alone and suffering, to die thinking that those rich mechs were right; he was worthless, and the world was better off without him. That no one cared.
But how could he tell Deadlock that? That he regretted it and at the same time not? That he saved Drift, but hated what he became? It wouldn’t help either of them.
As he opened his mouth to give a non-answer, Bulkhead’s voice crackled over comms. “The away team is back. Optimus wants you up here for the debrief.”
Ratchet stood. “Three a day,” he reminded Deadlock. “I don’t have the equipment here to replace your vents and intake if something happens.”
He hurried upstairs, away from his past and his thoughts.
Chapter 11: Lob Ball and Ostriches
Summary:
Conversations, games, and compromise.
Chapter Text
“The ‘Con gave us bad intel,” Arcee snapped. “We only found one key, and we checked every location he gave us.” She paced back and forth across the silo floor, which wasn’t helping anything. “He knows more and he’s not telling us.”
“He doesn’t have a reason to lie,” Ratchet pointed out. “He doesn’t want Megatron to have those keys.”
“Sure, but I doubt he wants us to have ‘em either,” Bulkhead said. “He might be playing us to keep the things separate.”
“All three of the keys were located after Deadlock was taken prisoner,” Optimus reminded them from near the console. Ratchet could see his hands twitching, wanting, needing to get back to finding the fourth. “He has no way of knowing how many each of us have, and therefore lacks the necessary information to make a play like that.”
“Unless he still has contact with the Decepticons,” Arcee muttered.
“His comms are completely disabled,” Ratchet informed her briskly. “And we have an interference field around the base. No foreign signals can get in or out without going through the console. I don’t think there’s anything more at work here than the fact that someone else has the third key.”
“We haven’t seen M.E.C.H in a while,” Bulkhead said. Bumblebee warbled in agreement.
“According to agent Fowler, there hasn’t been any M.E.C.H activity since Cylas’s demise,” Optimus informed them.
“Well, who else is there?” Bulkhead demanded.
There was silence for a long moment.
Bee broke it with a warble.
“Starscream?” Ratchet scoffed. “I doubt he has the resources to pull off something like that.”
Bumblebee argued with a series of whistles and beeps.
“Bee’s got a point,” Arcee said. “Screamy’s gone after artifacts before. Even without the apex armor, he’s a threat.”
“Well, then let’s go get him!” Smokescreen finally rose from his pout in the corner. “It’ll be a lot easier getting one key from one creep than getting one from a whole ship of creeps.”
“We’ll need to find him first,” Bulkhead said. “He’s stayed hidden for a long time.”
Ratchet shared a look with Optimus. The Prime sighed. “We may have a lead.”
***
Deadlock paced in his confinement, though it wasn’t large enough for him to get much momentum. He really was going stir-crazy. “So y’think Starscream took the third key? And now you want me to tell you where he’s at.”
“As you said when we first spoke, you would tell me his location if he posed a threat to this base or anyone in it,” Prime reminded him. “And now he does.”
“No.” Deadlock swung a finger at the Autobot. “He doesn’t pose a threat to you . He’s a threat to your grand Cybertronian revival scheme. It’s different.”
“So you won’t tell us?”
“I won’t.”
Prime folded his arms. “Withholding this information doesn’t benefit you. Whatever deal you made with Starscream, he won’t keep his end of it.”
“Obviously,” Deadlock snapped. “He said he’d lie low. Not go after artifacts. Far as I’m concerned, he broke our bargain.”
“But you’re unwilling to give us his location.”
“If he posed a threat, I’d tell ya without issue. But he doesn’t.”
“His very existence is threatening, Deadlock.”
“So’s mine.”
Prime sat down, wincing as the chair creaked under his weight. “Will you wait for him to make the first move, then? Is that your plan?”
“This may come as a shock to ya, but I ain’t particularly interested in helpin’ you kill my old comrades,” Deadlock snapped. “Megatron is the one I’ve got issues with. Not Knockout, not Dreadwing, not Soundwave, and yeah, not Starscream.”
“They are not innocent,” Prime pointed out.
“Neither are you.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Deadlock moved first, lighting a cyg. He set it between his fangs and took a long drag. “I get it,” he said. “You’ve got a goal, and Screamer’s in your way. But our goals ain’t the same. I don’t want Megatron to remake Cybertron, but I’m not too fond of the idea of you doin’ it instead. What’s dead should stay dead.”
“It’s a second chance for our species. A second chance for you , if you’re willing.”
There’s the gamble. Deadlock bared his fangs.
“We don’t deserve a second chance, Pax . We got ourselves into this fraggin’ mess, we gotta live with it. I ain’t interested in whatever redemption you’ve gotta offer ‘cause it ain’t yours to offer. You don’t get to make all the decisions for me, or Cybertron, not even with that fancy trinket in ya.” And oh, how it had smarted when he’d heard the librarian had been named Prime. For his eloquent, educated speech that never knew suffering. The council hadn’t chosen him because of his inherent “goodness”. They’d chosen him as the lesser of two evils. A clerk as a Prime was unheard of, but a miner ? That could never be allowed. Pax was so blind to that privilege that he actually thought he deserved to handle the fate of an entire species. Just because he made a pretty speech.
“And yet someone has to make a decision. I didn’t want this.”
“No, but you sure jumped in headfirst, didn’t ya? Don’t play that game with me, Prime. I know exactly what you’re about, and I ain’t here to play along with whatever heroic delusion you’ve got goin’ on in that thick head o’ yours.” He blew a puff of smoke towards Prime’s face. “So try a different angle, ‘cause I ain’t tellin’ you where Starscream is. Not for you, not for the Autobot Cause, and not for your Cybertron.”
Prime sat for a long moment, considering. Then he shifted and folded one leg across the other.
“I don’t think “deserving” has anything to do with it,” he said. “I understand where you’re coming from. You barely got a first chance, so why do the rest of us get a do-over? But this wasn’t ordained by anyone. It wasn’t the decision of the Senate, or a Prime, or a Lord. It just is. And I agree, we don’t deserve a second chance for our planet. We killed it, and we knew exactly what we were doing. What we deserve is to drift around the galaxy, killing each other until there’s nothing left. If there was justice in the universe, that’s what would happen.” He paused a moment, trying to catch Deadlock’s gaze. “But by some mercy, we have received a gift . We don’t even have to accept it, but it’s there. It’s not payment, it’s not a reward for our actions. A gift. Have you ever received a gift, Deadlock?”
A half can of fuel from Gasket. A thermal tarp from a charity mech. A place to sleep, just for the night, from a bunkhouse keeper who thought Drift was just pathetic enough to merit it. Treatment, warmth, kindness, and fuel from a medic in the Dead End. A taste of what life could be. What life could have been, if he’d been forged lucky. He recalled asking what he owed, and his shock at Ratchet’s reaction of sadness, vague repulsion, and a firm hand on his shoulder with the assurance that the only payment he wanted was for Drift to believe life was worth living.
A pair of pistols, shining with deadly promise, and a new name from Megatron himself.
Deadlock shook the thoughts free. “Yeah, what of it?”
“Did you feel like you did anything to deserve it?” Prime asked. Not in judgment, just a question. Somehow that frustrated Deadlock more. He could deal with judgment, but this conversation was making him twitchy.
“...no.” Just stuck a booster in his head. What he deserved was to die. Instead he got life at the hands of a charitable medic.
“But you accepted, because someone had offered you a kindness. Regardless of whatever situation you were in, whoever you were at the time, someone decided to be kind to you.” He leaned forward. “Someone has chosen to be kind to us, and given us this gift. Even though it’s the last thing in the universe we deserve. And no, it’s not for me to decide what’s best for Cybertron. It’s not even up to the Autobots. It’s a burden all of us share. And if we’re to make it better than it was, to make sure no one suffers under the weight of someone else’s failure, then we need everyone. Even the Decepticons. Even you.”
Deadlock looked away from the weight of the Prime’s gaze.
“I’m not asking for your surrender, Deadlock. I’m asking for your help.”
***
Prime tapped an area on a global map of Earth. “He’s hiding out in an old Decepticon warship. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and I will move out tomorrow to get the omega key.”
Smokescreen threw up his hands. “Why can’t I tag along? I was plenty good on the Nemesis mission!”
Arcee rolled her optics. “Because we have a fourth key to recover.”
“Correct,” Prime said. He dismissed the map and pulled up the database. “As soon as I decode these coordinates, Arcee and Smokescreen, with the possibility of Wheeljack as backup, will set out to retrieve it.” His fingers flew across the keyboard. “If there are no questions, I believe the children need to be picked up from school.”
The room cleared with some excited chatter. Ratchet lingered behind to keep an eye on the communications.
After a long moment, Prime spoke. “I’d like you and Smokescreen to let Deadlock out of his cell for a while.”
Ratchet paused in his busywork. “That’s…a bit of a risk.”
“Just around the base,” Optimus explained. “In cuffs if you think he’s going to cause trouble, but he won’t be able to get far if he decides to run. Not with the I.D chip.”
“Can I ask what brought this on?” Ratchet asked cautiously.
“We’re going to attempt to rebuild Cybertron. In order to avoid repeating past mistakes, we need to foster trust and understanding, not treat every Decepticon like a rabid turbofox.” He didn’t pause with his work as he spoke.
“Very well,” the medic said. He closed out of the completely unnecessary diagnostic he’d been running. Prime was correct, he usually was, but…it hadn’t been something they’d considered before. Working with the Decepticons, instead of assuming the war would only end once every last one was dead.
It opened up quite a few possibilities, and more than enough areas for debate.
Right now, they’d start small. Trust, right?
Ratchet started downstairs. “Smokescreen! I need your assistance.”
The kid came skidding around a corner. “Sure, doc. Do you want to rearrange the medbay again?”
“Nope; guard duty. We’re going to let Deadlock stretch his legs a bit.”
“It’s never anything fun around here…” he grumbled.
“Well, maybe someday you’ll get a fun assignment. Like scrap detail.”
“Oh ha ha.” He fell into step beside Ratchet. “I’ve been talking to him a bit, you know.”
Ratchet grunted an inquisitive sound.
“Yeah. Prime told me to listen to him. Figure out kinda where he’s coming from, what he’s like, all that. He’s real rude. But like…thoughtful, kinda. Kept asking me about the Elite Guard Academy. Apparently the ‘Cons don’t have anything like it.”
Ratchet made a noncommittal noise in response, and they kept walking.
Deadlock was dozing on the slab when they approached, an arm flung over his optics to block out the harsh fluorescent lighting. “‘M not givin’ you any more intel today,” he grumbled when he heard their approach. “Well’s dry. Got nothin’ left. Primus damned siphonists, the lot of ya, takin’ all my fun ‘Con secrets.”
Ratchet went over to the access panel. The ‘bot sized one, installed higher up the wall than the human one. “It’s a good thing we’re not here for information, then. We’re going to let you walk around the base a little.”
“Fraggin’ finally.” He swung his legs over the side of the slab and stood. “Gettin’ real sick of this box.”
“Ground rules first,” Ratchet said. “You do whatever Smokescreen tells you, no questions asked. You stay within sight of him at all times. If you leave our sight, I’m activating the I.D chip to put you in stasis lock. You don’t touch anything, you don’t antagonize anyone. At the slightest sign of trouble from you, I’ll put you in stasis lock and we won’t be trying this again. Understand?”
“Loud ‘n clear, doc.” He folded his arms and waited for Ratchet to deactivate the bars.
Once they were down, Smokscreen took out a pair of cuffs. “Hands.”
Deadlock grumbled something Ratchet couldn’t quite hear and let the kid bind his hands in front of him.
“So do we have a route, or…?” Smokescreen asked the medic.
Ratchet shrugged. “We’ll just stroll around until one of us gets bored.”
“Alright, then.” He took Deadlock by the elbow and started down the hall.
The ‘Con shook him off. “Can handle walkin’ just fine, kid.”
“I told you, my name’s Smokescreen.”
“Shiny, then.”
“Smokescreen.”
“Boy-wonder?”
“Still Smokescreen.”
“Killjoy,” Deadlock grumbled. Ratchet almost chuckled. He must’ve been more bored than he let on, to try bantering with a shiny Praxian Autobot.
“Excuse you, I’m the most fun ‘Bot in this base!” Smokescreen defended.
“Yeah, ‘cause the competition is Ratchet the Hatchet.”
The racer’s face broke into a grin as he looked back at Ratchet. “Ratchet the Hatchet?”
“That nickname is older than you are,” he snapped.
“How’d he get it?” the brat asked Deadlock.
“‘M not sure. Probably one of his old students. I first saw it graffitied on one of his med kits. Been usin’ it ever since and he hates me for it.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Ratchet said defensively.
“Loathe, then.”
Smokescreen laughed. “He’s got a little bit of loathing in his spark for everyone. It comes out when they break something.”
“If you morons stopped bumbling into my custom built life saving equipment then I’d be more willing to forgive all the other irritating things you do,” Ratchet snapped.
Deadlock looked over his shoulder at the medic. “Ratchet, no matter where you are or who you’re with, you’ll always think you're surrounded by morons.”
Ratchet huffed. “Stop proving me right.”
Smokescreen grinned. “Nah, this is more fun. Say, ‘Con, you ever play lob ball?”
By the time Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee returned with the children, Smokescreen had both gotten over the fact that Deadlock had neither played lob ball nor seen it played, and explained the rules of the game.
With the cuffs off and too much pent-up energy, Deadlock was more than making up for his lack of experience and giving Smokescreen a run for his money. Ratchet stood off to the side and kept an eye on things. Thankfully, the ‘Con didn’t seem interested in trying to escape or sabotage anything; he just enjoyed being able to move around. Speedster frames were like that; keep ‘em cooped up for too long and they start bouncing off the walls.
Smokescreen called a pause to the game when he heard Bulkhead’s engine rumbling through the access tunnel. He tucked the ball against one hip. “Incoming.”
Bulkhead transformed as soon as Miko exited his cabin to keep her from running right over to Deadlock. “You sure about this, Prime?” he asked.
“‘M not gonna hurt your squishies,” the ‘Con grumbled. “Nothin’ to gain from that.”
“The children are safe,” Prime affirmed. “We can have Deadlock in stasis lock in half a second should he try anything.”
“Which I’m not,” Deadlock said. He sat down on the floor and lit up a cyg. “Stayin’ right here ‘till your nerves settle.”
Bulkhead exchanged a look with Arcee and Bumblebee, and after a moment moved aside so Miko could pass. Raf and Jack hung back as she ran over and stared down the ‘Con. He considered her and blew out a puff of smoke.
“I didn’t think Cybertronians could smoke,” Miko said.
“I didn’t think humans could be so…” He held his thumb and forefinger close together near one optic, as if measuring her.
She huffed and folded her arms.
He took another drag on his cyg.
A couple tense moments passed before Deadlock flicked some ash into the corner. “So what can you tell me about these bird things you have?”
Miko blinked.
A couple minutes later, and Deadlock was listening, rather engrossed, to the children telling him about Earth’s strange wildlife. The ‘Con seemed particularly stumped by flightless birds.
He pointed at Raf’s laptop, currently displaying an image of an ostrich. “I don’t get it. Why did it choose to stay grounded? I mean, grounded’s fine n’ all, but why make that decision?”
“It was less of one ostrich saying they didn’t want to fly anymore,” Raf explained, “and more of hundreds of generations of ostriches breeding out the traits that would let them fly, because it wasn’t working for them.”
“That’s…slow.”
“Very.”
Deadlock moved his cyg to the other side of his mouth. “So the individual thing can’t make that choice for itself, it just kinda…sets the framework for its kids?”
“It’s not really a choice,” Jack said. “It’s all dictated by which individuals survive to reproduce, so it’s mostly the environment, and who has the best traits for survival.”
“Huh.” He took the smoke from his mouth and leaned forward in interest. “How many generations d’you go through? Just to get rid of wings?”
“Oh, hundreds,” Raf said.
“…how long d’you things live?” Deadlock asked.
“Like…a hundred years or so?” Miko provided. “Max.”
The ‘Con reset his optics. “Huh.”
“Guessing you guys live a lot longer?” Jack guessed.
Arcee nodded from where she’d taken up position a few feet away from Deadlock. Close enough to shoot him point blank if it came down to it. “We don’t die from old age. I’m a few million, so is Bee. Bulkhead’s a little older.”
“Doc is ancient,” Bulkhead said with a grin.
“When were you activated, ‘Con?” Arcee asked in a tone that barely deviated from what she used for interrogation.
Deadlock popped his cyg back in his mouth and glanced up at her. “Can’t give you the date; too much damage up here.” He tapped his head with one finger.
“Millions of years…” Raf mused. “Don’t you guys get…I don’t know…tired?”
“Form fatigue exists as an ailment,” Ratchet explained. “But it’s not necessarily within us to be content and eventually ready to depart into the Well.”
“But it’s so much time!” Miko said. “How do you…like, not get bored?”
“There’s the whole war thing,” Deadlock pointed out.
“Yeah but before the war!” She pointed around the room. “Optimus was a librarian book nerd. Arcee was a cop. Bee was a mailman. Bulk was in construction. Smokescreen is too baby to have had a job—“
“Hey!”
“— and Ratchet was doing the same thing he is now. I can’t believe you guys can do the same job forever !”
“We weren’t given a choice,” Deadlock said bitterly. “You were given a job when you were brought online, and that was it. You either learned to live with it, or you didn’t.”
“That’s dumb,” she huffed. “What was your job?”
“Didn’t have one.”
“But you said—“
“There was a lot wrong with stuff back then,” the ‘Con said with more patience than Ratchet expected. “I didn’t get a job, or I wasn’t fit for the one they gave me. Somethin’ like that. I ended up in the Dead End with all the other rejects.”
“Which the kids don’t need to hear about,” Arcee interrupted.
“Sure. Which you don’t need to hear about,” Deadlock acquiesced.
Miko pouted and opened her mouth, probably to protest, but was interrupted by Optimus, whose furious typing had come to an abrupt halt. He minimized the window and turned to the others in the room.
“Bulkhead, return Deadlock to his cell. I’ve decoded the coordinates.”
***
“If Smokescreen is carrying the key, we need to make sure it’s safely removed,” Ratchet said. “Immediately.”
“Now’s not exactly a great time for surgery, doc,” Bulkhead pointed out.
The medic wasn’t hearing any of it. “Alpha Trion may have been willing to risk storing a foreign body in a cadet’s chassis, but I am decidedly not. It’s coming out of Smokescreen today. Now, if possible.”
The Autobot in question gaped at the image of himself on the monitor. “So…what, Alpha Trion knocked me out to get captured by the Decepticons?”
“That is likely the case,” Optimus said. His fingers twitched over the keyboard as if they couldn’t comprehend the lack of decoding work. “He was always one to plan ahead.”
“Whatever his plan was, it’s not a good idea to leave this thing in Smokescreen’s chest,” Ratchet said. He ran a scanner over the young racer and frowned. “I can have it out in two minutes.”
“I don’t know,” Bulkhead said. “Why not leave it in? It’s pretty safe in there.”
“But it’ll paint a target on him,” Arcee pointed out. “Odds are the ‘Cons have figured it out as well. I’m with Ratchet on this one.”
Bee warbled in agreement.
Prime nodded. “Then it comes out. Ratchet, prep for surgery.”
Chapter 12: Kiwis
Summary:
Omega keys are stolen, the Forge of Solus Prime is returned, and Deadlock comes to a realization when Dreadwing makes him an offer.
Notes:
Short chapter today, sorry guys!
Chapter Text
Deadlock fought the urge to light another smoke. Ratchet was right; he needed to cut down on the things. To ration them out, if nothing else. But Pit, being cooped up again was frustrating. Being cooped up with his own thoughts, that was the real problem. If he’d been blissed out on syk, it wouldn’t have been that bad. But alas. No syk, only thoughts of the future and how to change it to best suit the needs of the species.
Damn organics and their good points.
A light rustle dragged him from his thoughts. He stood and peered past the bars as best he could, but what he could see of the hallway was empty. Probably one of those little skittery organic pests had gotten in from outside. Deadlock couldn’t guess what kind, since he didn’t know where the base was. Just that it was dry. And for that he was thankful. Dealing with rust would have just been the…berry? Cherry. It would’ve been the cherry on top of his whole damn situation.
He huffed and sat back down.
Another rustle. This time he ignored it.
And then the bars powered off with a hum.
He reset his optics and began to stand. Yet somehow, without seeing or hearing anything, something struck him. Pain exploded in his optic as the glass cracked, then something slammed into the back of his head. He felt himself hit the ground before the world went dark.
***
Arcee was going to wear a trench into their floor with her pacing. “Starscream!? We can’t leave the future of Cybertron with Starscream .”
“But we cannot risk another infiltration of the Nemesis ,” Prime said. “Megatron will know we’re coming.”
“So what in the Pit are we supposed to do?” Ratchet demanded. “We fell for his trap, he has the keys. He might not even go back to the Nemesis !”
“He will,” Deadlock said as he dragged himself into the main silo. When four sets of guns immediately aimed at him, he raised his hands pacifingly. “Relax. Somethin’, thinkin’ it’s Starscream by the sound of it, opened my cell and beat the slag outta me,”
Ratchet noted the cracked optic and waved the others to stand down. “So you think he’s going back to Megatron?”
“I know he is,” Deadlock growled. “If he wasn’t, he would’ve freed me so I’d join his crusade. Leavin’ me here, damaged, is his fraggin’ way of sayin’ our deal is off. He’s goin’ back to Megatron, and he’s gonna use the keys to get back in with his plating intact.”
“Then we have no time to lose,” Prime said. “We go to Cybertron, and we fight Megatron at the Omega Lock.”
“ How ?!” Ratchet demanded. “The bridge cannot possibly reach all the way there. Not without years more research and equipment and materials that I don’t have!” He stomped over to Deadlock. The ‘Con bristled as he got in his face. “Stay still and let me look at that optic,” the medic snapped.
Deadlock huffed but allowed the poking around his face.
Arcee tapped her chin in thought. “It’s not ideal, but our best bet might be to raid the Nemesis .”
“Megatron will slaughter us with that weird sword of his,” Bulkhead pointed out. “Like Prime said, he’s gonna know we’re coming.”
“But we don’t have another choice!” Arcee snapped. Bumblebee chirped in agreement.
The console beeped, signaling an incoming transmission.
“Perhaps we do,” Prime said.
***
Ratchet was finishing up on Deadlock’s optic when Prime came back through the ground bridge, inexplicably holding the Forge of Solus Prime. The others watched as he carefully set it down, didn’t close the bridge, and strode over to where their prisoner was waiting to be returned to the basement. The ‘Con scowled as Prime held out a hand to help him off the slab. “Come with me.”
Deadlock ignored the hand and stood. “Where?”
“An old colleague wants a word,” Optimus said, and led the way through the bridge.
The ‘Con shrugged and followed, half convinced this was his execution, and that Prime just didn’t want to do it in front of the others. He’d be able to talk to many old colleagues in the afterspark, after all.
But when he emerged from the ground bridge portal, there was Dreadwing standing in a clearing. Optimus stepped off to the side where he could watch without being awkwardly in the middle of whatever conversation would ensue.
“Deadlock,” Dreadwing said by way of greeting.
“Commander,” Deadlock replied. He lit a cyg and shoved it next to a fang. Rationing be damned, he needed one for this. “Big guy here says you wanna talk.”
“Mostly I wanted to see if you were still alive,” the jet said.
“Which I am.”
“Which you are. And working with the Autobots.” His tone was carefully neutral.
“What can I say? Once a self-preservin’ piece of gutter trash, always a self-preservin’ piece of gutter trash.” He blew out a puff of smoke.
Dreadwing gazed off somewhere to the left. “On the Nemesis , you told me something was wrong. Asked me what was happening.”
“You told me to shut up and mind my own business,” Deadlock recalled.
“I was unwilling to see what you did. But you were correct. Megatron has descended into madness. He no longer cares for honor, or the soldiers he once fought to protect.”
“He’s just in it for himself,” Deadlock agreed.
“He saw the atrocities Starscream committed against my brother and did nothing . Said nothing and simply accepted that traitor back into our fold.” His fists clenched, and something clicked in Deadlock’s processor.
“You’re going to kill him,” he surmised. “Starscream.”
“I am. And if I can, I will convince Megatron to step down. He is no longer fit to lead us.” He locked optics with Deadlock. “I will likely die in the attempt. But I would have you with me, if you are willing.”
Deadlock thought for a long moment and took a seat on a nearby rock to gather more time. It was a tempting offer, to die doing what might be the right thing. But…
“You ever hear of kiwi birds, Dreadwing?”
“…no and I fail to see the relevance.”
The assassin shifted his cyg to the other side of his mouth. “It’s this dumb little squishy thing. They call it a bird ‘cause it’s in the same realm as things like eagles or swallows or whatever. Except these things don’t fly. They don’t fly, they run all weird, they can barely see a thing, and they’re just full of useless organs left over from evolution. Somehow they’re still survivin’ as a species, but I mean…what a mess.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Dreadwing demanded. “Did you suffer processor damage when you were exiled?”
“Probably but that’s not the point. The point is, through all these thousands of generations of kiwis, each of ‘em contributed to the way the species is now. Just a small bit of a larger picture, and they never get to see the result. Just make whatever choices they can in life and leave the next generation to do the same. And they ended up a disaster. They’re alive, but a disaster of biology.” He blew out another puff of smoke. “So we don’t know how the future’s gonna be once we’re gone. Or while we’re still here, for that matter. But everything we do is gonna have an effect on the future of us and Cybertron, for better or worse.” He paused a moment to tap some ash off the end of his smoke. “It’s all down to us, but at the same time it isn’t. I never got to think about my future, y’know? Let alone the future of Cybertron or how I fit into it. I don’t think any of us have thought about any sort of future in the past four million years, ‘cause we were too busy thinkin’ about how to survive. But now we’ve got choices, and those choices are gonna have consequences. I’m not gonna be able to kill Megatron. I don’t think you can, either. That’s not somethin’ I’m built for.” He pointed at Prime, still waiting off to the side. “He can. And he’s got a better chance of making a Cybertron that’s worth livin’ in than Megs does. So that’s my gamble. Megs’ll turn us into kiwis. Flightless, powerless, struggling to get by. ‘N I don’t trust Prime. But I trust Megatron to do only what’s best for himself, and the rest of us are gonna flounder around just tryin’ to survive. And maybe if we just kinda think beyond ourselves and our base desires and instincts, we can make the right choice for us now, and the future, since that’s a gift we've been given.”
“So you’re staying with them,” Dreadwing surmised.
“I am. Goin’ with you is something I want, and it might even be best for me. But I think what’s best for the future is if I stick around. Do my bit for a new Cybertron. Maybe one day I’ll get to see what it is you rich bastards think is so great about it.” He smiled dryly.
Dreadwing was quiet for a moment. “If I live, I will assume command of the Decepticons,” he said.
“That’d be how the chain of command works,” Deadlock agreed.
The jet turned to Optimus. “I will not join you, as you’ve asked me to do before. But if our species is to remain proud and uncrippled by the weight of our mistakes, then it may be time to attempt a peaceful resolution.”
“I’ll gladly negotiate a treaty with you,” Prime said.
“Then I’ll contact you if my mission is successful. And if not, I’ll see you both in the Pit,” Dreadwing said. He flipped into alt mode and took off in a roar.
Deadlock watched him vanish and put out his cyg. “He ain’t comin’ back.”
“No,” Prime said with a sigh. “He will not.”
And he didn’t.
Chapter 13: A Quiet Place to Rust
Summary:
Shit hits the fan at the fight for the Omega Lock, and Ratchet is left reeling.
Notes:
TW for animal death. Skip from "Ratchet went quiet again." to "The hours ticked by" to avoid.
Chapter Text
Ratchet drummed his fingers on the console and stared at the comm channels. No chatter, not at this range. It was infuriating. He hated being stuck on the sidelines, and hated even more not knowing exactly what was happening in real time.
He was scared, he finally admitted to himself. He was scared that the team would fail and lose their one and only chance at renewing their home. The remaining Autobots were all capable, but…
Ratchet would have preferred at least ten more heavy hitters. Some of his old friends, who could be relied upon to complete the mission regardless of the challenges posed to them. At least until they were killed.
They’d lost so many. He’d lost so many, and those friends would never be returned. He only hoped their sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain, and the Omega Lock was that chance to end the war and begin anew. And it was a chance for Megatron to desecrate anything and everything they had left.
He drummed his fingers.
He toyed briefly with the idea of bringing Deadlock upstairs to wait with him, as a distraction from his own thoughts. But if something went wrong, he didn’t need to have a prisoner underfoot. So alone with his thoughts he stayed.
The comms beeped.
“Optimus?” Ratchet demanded, barely daring to hope.
“No, Ratchet,” a human voice said. “It’s June. I was wondering if you still have the kids? They’re usually home by this time and the other parents are getting worried.”
Ratchet shoved down his annoyance as best he could. “Ms Darby, I have to keep the comms clear in case Optimus calls. I’m afraid I don’t know where the children are.”
“Oh…Well, alright then. Call if you find them?”
“Yes, yes of course.” He hung up.
He drummed his fingers on the console.
Half again an eternity later, he got the ping to open the bridge.
Ratchet’s spark thudded in his chest as he saw Optimus leading the team back. “Well? Were you successful?”
Optimus shifted back to root mode, but he said nothing. The others did the same, and Ratchet was shocked to see the children there as well, but more important things needed to be addressed.
“Optimus?” Ratchet demanded, trying to quell the fear, the rage, and the sadness that bloomed in his tanks.
The Prime didn’t even meet his gaze.
“Optimus broke the Omega lock,” Bulkhead said, carefully neutral. “To stop Megatron from cyberforming Earth.”
A million thoughts swarmed in Ratchet’s processor, and he stumbled over his vocalizer. “Optimus…we…we needed that.”
A transmission crackled over the comms. Agent Fowler’s face appeared on the screen. “Prime! What did you do ?!”
“What is it, Agent Fowler?” Optimus asked.
Fowler showed them the view just outside their base, and Ratchet took a step back in shock. Where there was once empty desert now stood a Cybertronian fortress, dark and foreboding. And full of Decepticons.
“They found us,” Arcee said unnecessarily.
“We must retreat,” Prime said. “Scatter the team, so Megatron will not deactivate us all.” He activated the ground bridge. “Arcee, take Jack and go.”
“Good luck, Prime.” She flipped into vehicle mode and vanished.
Optimus shut down the bridge behind her and opened up a new one. The fortress shook. “Bumblebee, now!”
With a mournful warble, Bee collected Raf and took off through the gate.
“Optimus,” Ratchet started, but Prime ignored him and opened a new gate.
“Bulkhead.”
The Wrecker nodded, and with a last glance at the shuddering base, was gone with Miko.
“Optimus!” Ratchet snapped, but was ignored again.
“Smokescreen, stay safe,” Prime said instead.
The young Autobot saluted, and then it was just the Prime and his medic left.
“Ratchet…” The one word, or rather, the grave tone in which it was said, full of a deep sadness that echoed within Ratchet, spoke volumes.
“I know, Optimus,” he said. He rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know.”
The fortress shook again, dust crumbling from the ceiling.
“You have to leave,” Prime said.
“No. I’m not going to let you stay behind for him to find,” Ratchet snapped. “I’ve never abandoned you before, I’m not starting now.”
A chunk of the ceiling fell and shattered on the floor.
Prime opened another gate. “You need to leave, Ratchet.”
“I already told you! I’m not fragging leaving you!” he yelled. “You don’t get to do this!”
A clawed hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.
“Sorry, doc, but we gotta go,” Deadlock said. Optimus must have remotely opened his cell. And the weapons locker, judging by the amount of artillery bristling from the ‘Con’s frame.
“I’ll find you when it’s time to regroup,” Prime said. He prepped his weapon. “Till all are one.”
Deadlock gave Optimus a grave nod, then flipped into alt mode and sped off through the ground bridge.
“Till all are one,” Ratchet echoed bitterly.
He drove through the bridge as his home crumbled around him.
***
The landscape crawled by. It was pretty enough, Deadlock decided. Trees and…more trees. Just a lot of trees, which were fine. It was a sight better than the grey walls of his cell and he desperately wanted to let loose and speed down the road as fast as his engine would take him. But apparently they had to take it slow, otherwise they’d get “pulled over”.
Deadlock wanted to deal with that on top of everything else.
Ratchet stayed quiet as they drove. He never was much of a conversationalist, but this was too quiet, even for him.
Probably a side effect of losing one's dream of a new home.
“Cave up ahead,” Deadlock said over comms. “We should stop and recharge.”
Ratchet said nothing, but he turned off the road.
They came to the cave. It was small, and damp, but it would keep them hidden for a few hours, away from the road and shielded from aerial view. Deadlock shifted into root mode and drew his assault rifle. “Take the first rest. I’ll keep watch.”
“I don’t see why I should trust you to watch my back,” Ratchet grumbled. “Aren’t you going to run back to Megatron now that he’s won?”
“Frag off,” Deadlock snarled. “If I was gonna shoot you and scamper off back to Megs, I would’ve done that a hundred miles back instead of dealing with you and your…” He gestured. “Whatever mood you’ve got goin’ on.”
“Oh, my “mood”?” Ratchet demanded. “You’re tired of dealing with my mood? Well I’m sorry , but I’m entitled to at least some grumpiness when my home was destroyed before it was even built !”
“That doesn’t even make any sense!” the ‘Con snapped. “You can’t mourn somethin’ that never existed!”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“Oh? And what the frag’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like you don’t know! All you do is mourn the life you never had on Cybertron! All day every day just “woe is me, I never got to live a full life”.” Ratchet folded his arms and slid down the wall of the cave to sit on the ground.
Deadlock was quiet for a long moment. “You don’t mean that,” he said.
“Maybe I do!”
“You don’t. You’re better’n that.” He turned to face the woods beyond the cave.
Ratchet went quiet again. Deadlock took that as a good sign and flipped down his visor to scan the area a bit more thoroughly. A flash of motion caught his eye, and before he knew to think otherwise, he shot.
The animal died instantly and lay there with a smoking hole in its head.
Deadlock flicked his visor back up. “Oops.” He walked over to it and crouched to examine it. A rabbit. At least, he thought it was a rabbit. Four legged squishies blurred together sometimes. Still, he shouldn’t have shot it. He was on edge, but he shouldn’t have shot it.
He stood and returned to his self-appointed post, stamping down the guilt that threatened to rise in his chest.
The hours ticked by, and eventually the sun began to set. Deadlock was inspecting the trigger on one of his pistols when Ratchet’s optics flickered online. The medic stood up slowly, giving away his fatigue and stiff joints, and came over to Deadlock.
“Might as well get some rest while you can,” he said.
“Alright.” He held out his rifle. “Want to borrow some firepower?”
“No.”
“You just have your built ins and that dinky little pistol…”
“I said no,” the medic snapped.
Deadlock shrugged and moved further into the cave to sit down against the wall. “Suit yourself.”
He offlined his optics, but didn’t go into recharge. He didn’t need to, for one. The past couple weeks in the Autobots’ basement had given him ample chance to catch up on rest. And he didn’t want to get caught unawares if the Decepticons found them.
So when Ratchet folded into vehicle mode and made to drive away, Deadlock was awake enough to follow.
He let the medic get a little ahead, so as not to embarrass him. But when he showed no signs of stopping and turned onto the empty freeway, Deadlock sped up and turned to cut him off.
“We need to stick together,” he reminded Ratchet.
“No, we don’t,” the medic snapped. “I’m going to go rust in a human scrapyard. You can go live your life and…I don’t know, be a bounty hunter or something.”
“I’m not gonna let you die in the company of some non-sentient machinery,” Deadlock said with more patience than he thought the medic deserved.
“What do you care? You got what you wanted, now get outta here! I don’t even know why you stuck around for this long…” he added bitterly.
“Good point! You’re a grumpy old mech who’s spent four million years chasin’ an idealized version of the past. But—hold on, I can’t talk to you like this.” He shifted into root mode and pointed angrily at the ambulance in front of him. “Look. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me, an’ I’m stuck with you. Right now, Megatron is on the verge of planetary control. We’re both on his slag list. You can fix, I can shoot, we’re better off stickin’ together.” He left out the fact that Prime had made protecting Ratchet a condition of his release and the fact that he’d’ve done so anyway.
“Well maybe I don’t care about surviving anymore! Maybe I’m just too old and grumpy to give a frag! I’ll just stay as a car until my systems give out and that’ll be that!”
“You’re bein’ ridiculous!”
“And you’re being a pain in the aft!”
Deadlock ran a tired hand down his faceplate and looked up at the sky. “Okay. Okay. How ‘bout a compromise. You’re tired of life? Well, we just got handed a chance to actually see this stupid planet without bein’ at someone else’s beck ‘n call.”
“Your plan is to go on some sort of road trip in the hopes that I’ll forget how upset I am?” Ratchet asked, incredulous.
“The other option is for us to stand here ‘n yell at each other. But it’s been four million years since either of us have done anythin’ fun. We’ve got nothin’ to do until someone calls us, so let’s do somethin’ fun.”
Ratchet was quiet for a long moment. “You’re not gonna leave me alone, are you.”
“Nope.”
He sighed. “Alright. Where to first?”
“The “National Parks” look pretty interestin’.”
“Alright then. Let’s go. And after that, I’m finding a nice junkyard.”
Deadlock grinned and folded back into vehicle mode. Smoke welled up from his tires as he sped down the freeway, and Ratchet followed, albeit more sedately.
Chapter 14: A Question of Bison
Summary:
Deadlock drags Ratchet to a couple National Parks to keep them on the move while the team is scattered. Ratchet is not happy about this course of action.
Notes:
Kalolatformers did some amazing art of this fic!!! Check it out and drop them a reblog for their fantastic work!!! https://www.tumblr.com/kalolatformers/790337844229160960/some-scenes-from-chapter-14-a-question-of-bisons
Chapter Text
The humans called it “Yellowstone”. Ratchet didn’t see any stones that were yellow, but maybe it was metaphorical or something.
What he did see were tall mountains in the distance, with sheer cliffs and tree-covered slopes alike. Plains covered the miles between them and the shady spot where he and Deadlock were parked. A herd of…somethings…grazed nearby. All in all, it was peaceful, but Ratchet didn’t really see the appeal.
Deadlock apparently did. “I’m gonna walk around a bit.”
“Are you insane? There are humans everywhere! ” Ratchet snapped. “If you go strolling around we’ll have either their military or the ‘Cons or both on our afts in two seconds!”
“‘M not stupid,” Deadlock grumbled. His driver side door opened and out stepped a holomatter avatar. Medium height, slim build, with gray-streaked black undercut hair pulled into a tail. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his dark canvas jacket and put them over his gold eyes. Slightly too sharp teeth flashed in a grin at Ratchet. “Comin’?”
Ratchet sighed and activated his own avatar; a stout man with graying hair and an old bomber jacket. Comfy shoes. He had the avatar exit through the door, keeping with the illusion, and slammed his own door shut just to let Deadlock know what he thought of this whole thing. “Fine.”
They started down the slope they were parked on. Ratchet grumbled something about twisting a fake ankle as he stumbled on a particularly steep bit. Deadlock, judging by his quick ghost of a smile, found the whole thing amusing.
Of course he would. Brat.
“So what’s so special about this place?” Ratchet muttered. “Just some rocks and trees. Just like everything else on this planet. Rocks and trees and mud…” He smacked away a buzzing insect. “And bugs.”
Deadlock opened his backpack and took out…yep. An encyclopedia. “I’m not sure, honestly. I think the humans just wanted to protect it from themselves. A bunch of ‘em kinda ruined the rest of the country.” He flipped through the pages and pointed at the herd of large furry somethings. “Those are bison. Apparently they’ve been hunted almost to extinction.”
“So what, those are the last ones?” The concept was sad, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything. Not when everything seemed so…gray. And empty.
“No, but they’re protected. So no one gets to eat them.”
“They…eat them?” He wasn’t sure how a small human could do that. He stopped and squinted at the things. They were large. Probably smelly. They didn’t look edible, and they certainly didn’t resemble any human food he’d seen.
Deadlock raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here a lot longer than I have, and you haven’t figured out eating?”
“The kids never brought one of those as a snack,” Ratchet grumbled.
“Yeah, ‘cause they’re an endangered species.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Ratchet sighed. “I think we’re both missing something here.”
“...me too. Let’s just keep movin’.”
They couldn’t project their avatars too far, for fear of overdoing it with the energy consumption or overclocking their processors, but much to Deadlock’s delight, they were able to make it to one of the geysers the park was known for. There was a decent crowd gathered to wait for its eruption. Apparently not content to wait at the back, Deadlock grabbed Ratchet’s hand and pulled him through the human crowd to get a better look. It wasn’t exactly impressive. Just a pool, a hole in the ground, some steam. Definitely not worth standing around and waiting for it to do something.
Deadlock consulted his book. “It erupts every hour and a half or so. That’s kinda cool.”
“We had something similar back home,” Ratchet pointed out. “On the edges of the Sea of Rust.” He’d seen them a couple times, when he finally took the time off his subordinates kept heckling him about. He was a workaholic, no doubt about it. One with no use for tourist attractions, alien or otherwise.
“Well, maybe this’ll remind you of that,” the assassin said.
Ratchet grumbled under his breath. Sure, Deadlock didn’t give a frag about the destruction of the Omega Lock, but did he really have to go around all chipper like a sightseeing tour would make Ratchet forget about it? The old medic didn’t want to see anything new; he wanted to go home , and he’d wanted to do so ever since the exodus.
Part of him was jealous of the Decepticon. Deadlock didn’t have a home to go back to, so he’d never know the ache that came with knowing he never could.
That part of him really needed to figure out that comparing his experiences to those of Deadlock just made him sad.
He huffed and checked the watch that his avatar had on its wrist. “So when is this thing—“
With a roar, superheated water erupted from the geyser and shot high enough into the air that it would’ve hurt Ratchet’s neck to look up at it, had his holomatter neck had the proper pain-receiving equipment. Steam roiled everywhere, catching the light of Earth’s sun. For a few moments, there was a rainbow suspended in the vapor until it came crashing to the ground.
The next launch caught him a little less by surprise, and so he tried to appreciate it. Tried to appreciate the magma far below heating the water, tried to appreciate the sun that made the steam dazzle.
It didn’t work too well. Not with the knowledge that this planet was saved while his own home rusted away in cold, dead space. He stole a glance at Deadlock to see if the Decepticon was as unimpressed as he was.
He was taken aback by the grin on the assassin’s projected face; open and honest. Not a sneer, not a snarl, just a smile as he watched the geyser.
Ratchet…could appreciate that.
They strolled around for a while longer after the geyser display. Deadlock, seemingly forgetting their current situation with the war and all, or perhaps simply not caring, took great pleasure in pointing out all the local flora and fauna.
“They reintroduced wolves here a few years ago,” he explained at one point, after Ratchet heard a lonesome howl in the distance. “Well, maybe a bit more than a few. Not long, by our standards.”
“Nothing’s long by our standards,” Ratchet pointed out.
“Fair ‘nough. But in that short time, just ‘cause the wolves came back, the entire ecosystem changed. Flora and fauna, and now the wolves ain’t on the endangered species list.” He looked wistfully in the direction of the howl.
“Why do you even like this stuff?” the medic wondered. “It doesn’t affect you at all, and there’s no point in knowing the status of wolves in this park on this random planet.”
Deadlock shrugged and sat his avatar down on the grass. “Started from boredom. Didn’t think much of it when I asked Smokescreen for somethin’ to read, and he brought me these. ‘Cons don’t care much for organics.”
“I’m well aware.” Hundreds of desolate planets made that abundantly clear.
“Not sure where that came from. I didn’t like ‘em just ‘cause they’re gross, y’know? But I read about ‘em, and then I kept readin’, and eventually it became less of somethin’ to do to pass the time, and more of somethin’ I was interested in.” He plucked a few blades of grass and twisted them idly in deft, calloused fingers. “Not all of us got to enjoy learnin’ things. Last thing I learned before comin’ here was how to defuse a C-237 bomb. Figure the last four million years was about the same for everyone.”
Ratchet sat down next to him. “There wasn’t any opportunity to expand our horizons. I nearly lost a patient because of that. The lack of opportunity, and my unwillingness to learn.”
Deadlock nodded. “Right. So I got the chance, and I wasn’t gonna waste it. And it’s just…” He gestured around vaguely. “It’s so different from our world. Everythin’ changes all the time. There are so many different things here, and they change , Ratchet! They learn collectively, instead of individually. Takes a while, but they do. And they usually end up better ‘cause of it.”
“Except when they don’t,” Ratchet said. He’d been rather confused when Optimus told him about Deadlock’s conversation with Dreadwing, but maybe the kid had a point.
“Right, ‘cept when they don’t. An’ history’s gonna look at us and say we failed as a species. As a planet. ‘Cause we couldn’t agree on a way to make things better. But we worked together, collectively, to make everythin’ worse.” He set down the grass he’d been fiddling with. “That’s why I stayed. And why I agreed to keep an optic on you, and why I’m not lettin’ you give up just yet.”
“Because…you don’t want to be a kiwi?”
Another smile, another glint of fangs. “‘Cause we’re a collective, but change can rest with the individual.” He didn’t look at Ratchet, instead gazing at the distant mountains. “‘M tired of makin’ things worse, followin’ false promises, chasin’ a half-formed dream. I dunno what I want anymore, but it’s not ‘bout me. ‘M already goin’ to the Pit, there’s no reason to drag the rest of Cybertron down with me.”
There was a lot Ratchet wanted to say to that. He wanted to argue that an individual couldn’t change the fate of a species, that he didn’t need a babysitter, that if he was ready to give up then that was his choice. He wanted to argue that if Deadlock wanted to make things better, then why did he stay with the Decepticons for so long? Why did he kill so many, if he was so concerned with the fate of the species? Why couldn’t he have had this revelation four million years ago, and stayed Drift? Ratchet wanted to shake him, yell at him. He wanted to break down in front of him and let out all the pain that just wouldn’t make itself coherent.
And he wanted to tell Deadlock how proud he was, most of all. That he was so proud of him for thinking past himself, for wanting to do better, for letting go of some of the anger that’d held him for so, so long. He wanted to tell that kid that he didn’t regret saving him that day, and that he would do it all over again.
Instead what he said was, “We should stop projecting. It’s not healthy to have an avatar up for more than a couple hours.”
Deadlock nodded and stood. He brushed some stray grass off his cargo pants and held out a hand to help Ratchet to his feet. The medic accepted, though he didn’t need it.
They made their way back to their bodies. Deadlock stopped every once in a while to inspect a plant, or listen to a bird call. Ratchet let him. At least one of them could enjoy themselves. By the time they got back, the sun had dipped behind the horizon.
“We should find a place to recharge,” Deadlock said as he disengaged his avatar. “We can probably park here overnight, but I’d rather keep movin’.”
“I saw some cliffs a while back, South of here,” Ratchet said. “That should give us a little shelter.”
“Alright. Lead the way, doc.”
***
A few days later, and they were at another park. Deadlock’s holomatter avatar circled an absurdly large tree, gazing up at the canopy. Curiosity was writ on his sun-dappled face. Ratchet folded his holomatter arms and stood off to the side.
“It’s a tree ,” he grumbled. “You’ve seen them before.”
Deadlock was too enthralled to be mad at Ratchet’s tone and lack of enthusiasm. “Yeah, but those were trees. This is a tree .” He reached out and ran a scarred and calloused hand over the bark. “It might be almost as old as Smokescreen.”
“Doubtful.”
“But look how big it is! They don’t grow like that overnight.”
“Right, but Smokescreen is still older than the human race.”
“That’s a scary thought,” Deadlock mused. He crouched down next to a root and peered closely at the soil.
After a few minutes, Ratchet sighed and gave in. “What’s so special about this tree, then?”
“Oh, nothin’ really. It’s just big.”
“...we drove all the way here. For you to see a big tree.” It was too ridiculous. The tree had better be something more impressive than just larger than its cousins.
“Yep,” Deadlock said.
Or not.
***
“Okay, we saw your big water show, we saw your big tree,” Ratchet said. “Now, is this big hole in the ground something special, or is it just a big hole in the ground?”
Deadlock leaned over the edge of the observation platform, suspended over the Grand Canyon. “It’s the biggest hole in the ground in the world.”
“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” the medic snapped.
“It’s not and you know it. Now be shoosh and enjoy the big hole in the ground.”
Despite himself, Ratchet had to admit the view was impressive.
***
Ratchet peered at the strange object. “So if trees are around long enough, sometimes they turn into stone?”
Deadlock consulted his book. “Somethin’ like that. It’s some sciency stuff I don’t understand that does it. But not every tree. It’s kinda specific, which is why this place is special.”
“I like it better than the big tree,” Ratchet said.
“Really?” He looked around. “I’m not sure if I like it here. It’s so…dead.”
“So you prefer live trees?” Ratchet teased.
“I do. I prefer my trees alive and un-petrified, thank you very much.”
“You were fine with all the rocks in the canyon though,” he pointed out.
Deadlock shrugged. “Those rocks were never alive. These ones were.” He crouched down next to Ratchet. “Most things decay when they die, and they feed the next things. But these…they’re stuck. They aren’t benefitin’ no one, and…it’s dumb, but it feels like they’re stuck. They never finished the cycle, y’know? Life, death, decay, rebirth. These got trapped in death. It feels sad.”
Ratchet looked over at him, trying to figure out what to make of all…this. Deadlock’s face wasn’t giving him any clues, especially with the sunglasses.
“Alright,” he said. “We’ll stay for another hour and move on. You can go look at the other rocks if you want; no one’s going to come up and shoot me here.”
“Nah, I better stick around. I’ll be just over there.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away. “I think I saw a lizard.”
Chapter 15: Don't Lick the Rock
Summary:
Ratchet's and Deadlock's road trip comes to an abrupt end as the biggest killjoy in the galaxy shows up on Earth.
Chapter Text
The roads were empty at this time of night. Just as well; it was pointless for them to sit in traffic since they didn’t adhere to human schedules. They drove through some long stretch of highway towards Deadlock’s next itinerary park.
“Look, I’m not sayin’ the red and white’s bad,” Deadlock was saying. “But don’t you get sick of the same old colors? You’ve been red and white your whole life!”
“I had bigger things to worry about than my paint colors,” Ratchet grumbled. “Being a doctor isn’t exactly an easy job.”
“Nah, but it pays well, don’t it? Just sayin’ you could’ve experimented more when you had the chance.”
“Could’ve. Didn’t. I wasn’t like one of those senators that got new paint every week.”
“Did you actually know any of ‘em?” Deadlock sounded genuinely curious. “I mean, I knew of ‘em. And I mocked ‘em day ‘n night. But I never met one.”
“I knew a few,” Ratchet admitted. “None closely, but some of them sponsored my research.”
“That where you got the money for the clinic?”
“Yep. If anyone ever asks, I had you fill out a survey on your processor functionality when you came in.”
“We kinda did that. You told me I was lucky it functioned at all.”
“That sounds right. Sticking a booster into your brain is recommended by exactly zero medical professionals.”
“Not true! Knockout told me to do it once after I accidentally scuffed his paint.” He didn’t have a visible face, but Ratchet could hear the grin in his voice.
“I’m not sure I’d consider Knockout a medical professional,” Ratchet scoffed.
“Really? He graduated with honors from Tetrahex U. Still has his diploma. Shoves it in the face of anyone who says he ain’t a real doctor.”
“Huh.” Diplomas were easy to forge, but…maybe it was time to rethink his assumptions about the Decepticons. “What about Starscream? Is he as sleazy as he seems?”
“Oh him? Yeah. He wasn’t that bad early on in the war, once he figured out he couldn’t be all passive aggressive with us gutter trash.” He paused for a moment. “Things changed once his trinemates died. Suddenly leadership over the ‘Cons was all he wanted.”
“War makes us all do crazy things,” Ratchet mused.
“Yeah, I heard you were on ‘roids at one point?” The brat let out a whistle. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”
Ratchet bristled. “It was one time! And it was for science…”
“Suuuure. Still something I’d’ve paid to see.”
“Well, you missed your chance. I won’t be doing that again.” Certainly never again. It was almost terrifying to think that anger had been lurking inside him for four million years, if not longer. And what he’d been capable of with his rationale oh so slightly inhibited.
He wondered if Deadlock could relate.
Best not to ask.
They drove in silence for a few miles. Deadlock finally broke it after they passed a rural settlement. “So. Still thinkin’ about that junkyard?”
As if Ratchet was going to admit defeat like that. “As soon as we’ve finished with your little tour, we’re going straight back to the middle of nowhere to find me a nice place to rust.”
The pest didn’t fall for it. “Uh huh. And you didn’t enjoy the petrified forest at all.”
“I certainly did not. It was very sandy.”
“Uh huh. And I definitely didn’t catch you lookin’ all big-eyed at the canyon.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Sure.” There was that smirk again. “Admit it; you’re not quite ready to give up just yet.”
“I will not be doing that.”
“Yet.”
“You know, Deadlock, I’m beginning to think the only reason the Autobots were so scared of you is because you never got the chance to annoy any of them with this scrap.”
“Oh I’m plenty scary!” the ‘Con said defensively. “I just don’t see the point in scarin’ you.”
“Me or anyone else on the team.” Even though Smokescreen was prime target material.
“No point,” he said. “You wouldn’t let me stretch my legs if I scared the frag outta your crew.”
“Uh huh,” Ratchet said with a grin he didn’t currently have a mouth for. He was about to ramp up his teasing when a little blip appeared on his sensors. “Hmm…looks like an energon deposit.”
“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that too. Might be a good idea to stock up. We’re almost through my stash.”
“Your stash of mostly expired half-full cubes?”
“Fuel’s fuel, doc.”
Ratchet considered it. “We don’t have the equipment to refine it. Or even harvest it properly.”
“We can just break off chunks and eat it.”
Ratchet pulled over. “I’m sorry, you want to what ?” He must have misheard.
Deadlock pulled over just ahead. “I said we can break off chunks and eat it,” he said, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with his suggestion.
Ratchet took a deep vent to calm down. “Deadlock, consuming raw energon crystals is very very bad for one’s tank. Even if it manages to process, whatever buildup is left over stays there!”
“Ratchet,” Deadlock said with a frustrating amount of patience, “processed energon is a lot more expensive than raw crystals. And no one throws out the good stuff. So when you’re diggin’ through mine slag to find fuel, all you’re gonna get are crystals.”
Ratchet should have known that. He should have! But he never thought to ask where the Dead Enders were getting their fuel, let alone if it was processed. If anything, he figured it had been over processed, as a result of it being from another mech’s lines. If he’d thought to look for something like buildup in tanks, how many others could he have saved…?
“We’re not doing that,” he said firmly.
“Alright. Where are we gonna get fuel, then?” Clearly he didn’t see what was so objectionable about his idea, and likely figured Ratchet was being a delicate little Autobot.
Not a fight Ratchet wanted to have. But he made a note to look at Deadlock’s tanks at the next available opportunity. “I can rig something up to refine it a little. At least we’ll get out the worst of the impurities.”
“Alright,” he said, still patient. “Let’s go, then. But I’m not waitin’ around for your homemade refinery if we run out.”
He sped off. Ratchet followed towards the signal at a slower pace. There was…a lot to unpack from that conversation. But he certainly wasn’t equipped to do so, and he wasn’t even sure if Deadlock wanted to take that step. Best to just…not.
He caught up to the speedster on a dirt road leading towards the signal. Deadlock shifted into root mode and took out his sniper rifle. “Lemme scope it out first. Don’t need you bumbling into some trap.”
Ratchet grumped something unintelligible and stomped away to hide behind an outcrop. “Happy?”
Deadlock gave him a thumbs up and darted away.
Ratchet, of course, had no intention of staying put while his…prisoner? Recently released prisoner turned bodyguard turned road trip guide? He had no intention of staying put while Deadlock nosed around looking for trouble or doing more damage to his tanks. He waited until the assassin’s soft footsteps faded completely and crept towards the energon signature.
The sound of a gunshot cracked through the air, and he picked up the pace, getting his med kit ready. It was, after all, never a sound that boded well.
By the time he reached the ditch full of energon, he was almost ready to let his nerves get the best of him. He ducked behind a boulder and peeked out to get a lay of the situation.
Deadlock was crouched next to one of the larger crystals and examining a small wreckage. No other energy signatures were around. Ratchet slid down the side of the ditch to join him. “What was it?”
The ‘Con glowered up at him. “Told ya to stay put.”
“And clearly I did not.” He pointed at the wreckage. “What was it?”
Deadlock sighed and hauled himself to his feet. “‘Con surveillance drone. This deposit ain’t big enough to merit excavation, but my guess is Megs wanted to keep an eye on it in case any Autobots showed up. So we’d better move quickly, ‘cause they’ll be on us any minute now.”
Ratchet nodded and set to work breaking off chunks of crystal while Deadlock did the same. “Do you think he’s found any of us yet?”
“Couldn’t tell ya, doc. That chip still keeps me locked out of ‘Con radio.” He snapped off a large piece of energon and licked it. “‘S good stuff. Could probably eat it raw.”
“We’re not eating it raw,” Ratchet snapped. “Who knows what else licked it before you did.”
The brat locked optics with him and popped a chunk of crystal in his mouth. He chewed it loudly, without breaking eye contact.
“You’re a menace,” Ratchet said.
“Guilty as charged.” He shoved a few more pieces into his subspace and glanced up at the sky. “We’d better scram.”
“That’s the only good idea you’ve had today.” He inspected a couple more crystals and stowed them away. “Staying on course or should we detour somewhere else?”
“Might be smart.” He opened up a map and turned to start walking back towards the road. “We’re a few miles out from a decent city. Could lay low, sit in a parking lot for a bit, raid some human place for equipment for your fancy-dancy refinery?”
Ratchet jogged up next to him and glanced at the map. “Minus the crime part, that sounds good.”
“The crime is the best part and you know it.”
“Like I said. Menace.”
Deadlock winked at him.
Ratchet huffed and checked the road for any oncoming traffic. “Looks clear. Let’s—“
“Get down!”
Deadlock slammed into his back and knocked them both to the ground. Missiles flew by overhead and exploded in the treeline. Ratchet grabbed his pistol, but Deadlock had him pinned to the ground. The ‘Con fired three shots behind him, and there was the sound of three bodies dropping.
He pushed himself off the medic and grabbed Ratchet’s hand, dragging them both to cover behind a boulder.
“Old friends of yours?” Ratchet grumbled.
Deadlock peered around their cover. “You could say that.” He pulled a second pistol from his arsenal and turned to Ratchet. “Stay. Here,” he said in a tone that probably kept most ‘Cons in line. Without waiting for a reply, he vaulted over the rock to confront their attackers.
The roar of interstellar engines drowned out the sound of anything Ratchet may have yelled in warning, and in less than half a spark pulse, explosions sounded overhead and fragments of dead Decepticons rained down.
Deadlock stopped, and looked almost disappointed. He scowled up at the ship hovering above them. “Hey Ratch? I think this is one of yours.”
Ratchet went to his side as the craft landed nearby. “Sure is.”
“Am I gonna like this one?”
“Not even a little.”
A huge, imposing bot came down the ramp. He aimed a primed canon right at Deadlock’s face. “Step away from the medic.”
“Ultra Magnus!” Ratchet hurried forward before Deadlock could escalate the situation. “Stand down, he’s not a threat.”
Ultra Magnus did no such thing. “I said, step away from the medic,” he repeated. “I will not ask again.”
Deadlock’s self preservation programming finally kicked in, and he dropped his guns and stepped slowly to the side. “Easy there, big guy. Doc’s right, I ain’t a threat. To him.”
“To any of us,” Ratchet said quickly. He got in between the other two mechs. “Ultra Magnus, what happened? How did you get here?”
“I flew,” the commander said matter-of-factly. “Why are you with a Decepticon, if he’s not holding you hostage?”
“It’s…a long story. Just don’t shoot him. We should get out of here before more ‘Cons show up.”
Ultra Magnus, clearly caught between trusting the CMO and not trusting a Decepticon assassin, finally nodded after a tense internal deliberation. He flicked the barrel of his gun towards his ship. “Let’s go, then.”
Deadlock, after a sharp word from Ratchet, begrudgingly let Ultra Magnus slap a pair of stasis cuffs on his wrists and strap him into one of the fold-down seats in the back. Ratchet rested a hand on his shoulder briefly before Ultra Magnus instructed him to come to the cockpit.
There was silence between them as they took off. Then the commander broke it with a simple, “I require a briefing on recent events.”
Ratchet sighed. “I thought you might.” He went on to explain, in as straightforward terms as possible, everything that had happened since Megatron arrived on Earth. Magnus, to his credit, didn’t interrupt.
When he was finished, Magnus was quiet for another moment as he parsed through the information. “This is all very unorthodox,” he said finally.
“What, the part about the undead army? Or Unicron being quite real and sleeping at the core of this planet?” Sometimes Ratchet would find himself contemplating how ridiculous everything would be, if only he hadn’t experienced it all first hand.
“Everything,” Magnus said. “I was expecting a more…put together operation.”
“Well, you got this.”
“And have you made contact with any other Autobots since the destruction of your former base?”
“No. We’ve maintained a strict radio silence, as all channels are likely being monitored by Decepticons.”
Magnus nodded. “I am picking up four Autobot energy signatures on this planet.”
Ratchet’s spark dropped into his tank. Only four? Who was missing? And if they weren’t showing up…either they were dead, or very well hidden.
Ratchet could only hope it was the latter.
“I’m interested to hear your explanation in regards to why you appear to be working with a Decepticon war criminal,” Ultra Magnus said.
Ratchet sighed. “It isn’t that simple, Magnus. Deadlock had a falling-out with Megatron and surrendered himself to Autobot custody. He’s practically defected at this point.”
“Being a prisoner of war does not count as a defection,” he said matter-of-factly.
“No, it doesn’t. But he’s cooperated, given us valuable intel, and Optimus saw fit to release him when we scattered.” Ratchet left out the part about Deadlock’s personal growth. Magnus dealt in absolutes, not feelings.
The commander adjusted their flight path to avoid flying over a city. “So I’m assuming you’d rather I execute him rather than do the job yourself.”
Ratchet made a noise of surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“The Tyrest Accord permits execution of any prisoner if we lack the resources to safely contain, fuel, and guard them. Therefore, the safest course of action is a bullet in his head.”
“Absolutely not.”
Magnus glanced at him sideways. “Last time I checked, I still outrank you, doctor.”
“And that’s all well and good,” Ratchet said. “But in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t exactly a well-oiled military operation. Optimus’s last command still stands; Deadlock is allowed his weapons and freedom of movement. He currently acts as my bodyguard.”
“That is extremely unorthodox, not to mention irresponsible. That back there,” he pointed with one huge finger, “is a Decepticon war criminal responsible for the deaths of countless Autobots. His usefulness in recent months does not change that.”
“We cannot determine if we meet the requirements for execution without first gathering the rest of the troops and taking inventory,” Ratchet pointed out. A flimsy excuse was still an excuse. “He’s been implanted with an I.D chip and has exhibited good behavior thus far. It would be skirting the rules at best to execute him now.”
Ultra Magnus was quiet for a moment. “Very well. We’ll reassess the situation after establishing a base of operations.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to work with for now. Ratchet looked at the readings on the console. “Arcee is closest. She’ll have Jack with her.”
“Wheeljack?” Ultra Magnus asked with distaste.
“No no no, the human Jack ,” Ratchet clarified.
“Ah. Yes, the children you mentioned. Tell me, medic Ratchet, is there anyone this team hasn’t adopted?”
“That’s “Chief Medical Officer Ratchet” to you, Commander,” Ratchet said with a straight face, holding back a smirk.
Magnus huffed and kept flying.
***
Arcee was more than relieved to see Ratchet still alive, unpleasantly surprised to see Deadlock alive as well, and pleasantly surprised that Ultra Magnus had joined the fight. Jack seemed less than impressed with the commander and his by-the-book attitude.
Deadlock called that attitude something somewhat less polite, involving exhaust pipes and turborats crawling up them to die.
The four of them sat in the back of the ship as they flew towards Bulkhead’s signal. Arcee pored over the pile of weaponry Magnus had confiscated off of Deadlock. “You willing to part with any of these, ‘Con?” she asked, picking up a rifle of some sort.
“That depends. Can you shoot it, or are you just gonna waste ammo?” he inquired from where he still sat restrained to the furthest seat from the pile.
“Oh, I can shoot. Don’t you worry about that,” Arcee said with a smirk.
The ‘Con shrugged. “Take it, then. Just don’t let Commander Clogged Tailpipe see you with it; that thing’s illegal in four sectors.”
“You have illegal guns?” Jack asked. He peered down the barrel of a sniper rifle.
Ratchet shooed him away before the thing went off. “Deadlock likes his guns. Rules are for other people, apparently.”
“Bingo, doc. I still abide by ‘Con laws.”
“‘Cons have laws?” Arcee asked dryly, unloading and reloading her new rifle. “Like what?”
“Like if Megs don’t shoot you for it, it’s ok,” Deadlock laughed. “Much more fun than the Autobot Code.”
“I should take your nature junk and give you that to read instead,” Ratchet grumbled. He scraped a tool around the seams on his hand. “At least that interest would lead to less mud in my joints.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t have fun,” the brat said. “After this is over, we’re driving up to see the glaciers.”
Jack hopped up onto an armrest. “What, did you guys go sightseeing or something?”
Deadlock nodded. “We hit a couple o’ your “national parks”. Had to keep movin’, after all. Might as well enjoy the view while we were at it.”
Jack frowned. “Wait, cars aren’t allowed most places in national parks, and this guy,” he jerked a thumb at the ‘Con, “isn’t exactly an all-terrain vehicle. Did you…just see the parking lot?”
Deadlock raised an eyebrow at Ratchet and Arcee. “You never told ‘em about holoforms?”
Ratchet shrugged. “It never came up.”
Arcee looked up from where she was counting her ammo. “I just use mine as a decoy when Jack’s not around. It’s creepy to pretend it’s me.”
“Eh, whatever. Hold on, squishy.” The ‘Con shut down his optics, and soon his holomatter avatar appeared perched on the armrest with Jack. He waved. “See? We hiked around in these. Do it right and no one can tell the difference.”
“Whoa.” Jack walked around the hologram and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Is it solid?”
Deadlock smirked and smacked his hand away. “Solid enough.”
Arcee glared. “Stay away from Jack,” she snapped.
Deadlock rolled his holoform eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt the squishy.” But he moved back a couple feet anyway.
Jack huffed and turned to his partner. “‘Cee, we gave him a lecture on ostriches, and he’s been running around with Ratchet for weeks. Besides, you know I can take care of myself!” He puffed out his chest.
Arcee glared at Deadlock’s avatar for a long moment before venting deeply. “Fine. But one wrong move and I blow your head off. Your real head.”
“And I prefer to keep that intact,” Deadlock said wryly.
Jack sat down with a grin. “Great. I need someone my size to play cards with. They get stuck in Arcee’s seams.” He pulled out a deck and began shuffling.
Deadlock’s avatar followed suit, and soon the two of them were engaged in a game Jack called “go fish”, despite the fact that there were no fish involved whatsoever.
Arcee sat down next to Ratchet and watched them for a moment. “Are you ok, Ratchet?”
“Hm? Yes, I’m fine,” he said absently, still working on the gunk in his fingers.
“I know you were really hopeful about the Omega Lock…”
“I’m fine , Arcee,” Ratchet snapped without looking at her.
She fiddled with her built-in weapons. “Did you…enjoy your trip? With him?”
The question took him somewhat off guard. “Hmph. No. It was ridiculous. We spent hours looking at a tree. And then he dragged me off into the woods because he saw a “bear”. And we ended up watching the bear and its…smaller bears…for even longer than the tree!” Apparently holoforms, being as they didn’t have any smell and didn’t have to make noise, made for very good tools for animal watching. Deadlock had been absolutely transfixed by the mother bear caring for its young.
Arcee’s lips quirked into a stifled smile. “I take it you didn’t like watching bears?”
“No, I did not.”
“But you were safe, weren’t you? No fights?”
Ratchet shook his head. “Not until Ultra Magnus found us. The parks Deadlock took us to were fairly remote and sparsely populated. It actually wasn’t a bad place to lay low for a while.” He glanced up at her. “And no, at no point did Deadlock try to turn me in to Megatron.”
“Hm. You think he’s really on our side, then?”
“I think if this was a trap, it would have been a perfect time to spring it. He’s not an Autobot, but…his goals seem to align with ours. For now.”
She sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, watching Jack explain a nuance of “go fish” to Deadlock’s attentive holoform. “Alright. I don’t trust him, but I trust you. And right now, we need all the help we can get.”
***
“We’re approaching Bulkhead’s signal,” Ultra Magnus said over the intercom. “Arcee, be ready in case they have company.”
“On it,” Arcee said. She posted up near the door and primed her weapons.
Deadlock snorted from his seat. “If Starscream managed to find them, I’ll eat my tires.”
“He’s not the most competent lieutenant, is he?” Arcee asked.
“Not under Megatron he’s not,” Deadlock said.
“I’ll ask you to elaborate on that later,” Arcee said as she hit the door controls.
Before it could open, Magnus yelled for them to brace, and the ship swung into rapid motion that sent Arcee stumbling into the wall, Jack hanging on to an armrest for dear life, Ratchet swearing like he hadn’t since med school, and Deadlock yelling for someone to let him out.
Ratchet stumbled up to the cockpit. “What is it?” he demanded. Then he got a good look out the viewport.
A giant, flying…. something. Something hostile, judging by how Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and Miko were bolting away from it.
Magnus opened fire and brought the ship down low enough for their comrades to jump in. Ratchet took up the secondary gunner position and attempted to help, but all their shots, even if they hit, bounced harmlessly off the creature.
“Brace!” Magnus roared again, and tried his best to steady the ship as the creature landed on the roof. Ratchet did just that, and Magnus flew his ship right into an impossibly narrow canyon.
“Are you trying to kill us?!” Ratchet demanded as sparks flew where the ship’s plating met canyon walls.
“I’ll assume that is a rhetorical question meant to highlight the absurdity of the situation and my unorthodox approach!” Magnus yelled back, and yanked the controls so the ship slammed, creature first, into an outcrop.
It roared as it fell, and there was a distant thud.
The ship’s occupants breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Magnus adjusted their course. “Judging by your surprise, I’m guessing you didn’t know about that creature.”
“No,” Ratchet said, and because he knew Magnus, “and before you ask, no, Deadlock didn’t know either.”
“How do you know that?” Magnus demanded.
“Because if he knew something like that could be hunting us, he wouldn’t have taken us galavanting around the nature preserves.” He began compiling a damage report. “Probably would have hidden in a cave the whole time.”
Chapter 16: Killing Machines
Summary:
The Autobots make a move on Darkmount, and Deadlock has his own monster to deal with.
Chapter Text
“That’s everyone?” Magnus asked in something near disbelief.
“Everyone except Optimus and Smokescreen,” Bulkhead said. He left out the part that they could both be presumed dead. Everyone knew that already, and they didn’t need a reminder.
Magnus huffed. “Megatron holds this planet hostage, and all we have is my ship, three juvenile native life forms, and six Autobots.”
“And me,” Deadlock grumbled.
“Speak when you’re spoken to,” Magnus snapped. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Shove it up your tailpipe, cop,” Deadlock sneered. “If you can fit it in with that stick.”
Ratchet interrupted before things could get ugly…-er. “We don’t have a choice. We need to make a move before Megatron decides he’s tired of humanity’s existence.”
Bumblebee warbled.
“A ground bridge?” Arcee asked. “That’d be a huge advantage. Or at least put us on more level ground with Megatron.”
“I’ll see if I can get it working,” Ratchet said. He crouched down and held out a hand. “Raphael, I could use a hand.”
“Sure!” He climbed into Ratchet’s palm. “I think we almost got it, but my Cybertronian isn’t great…”
Wheeljack piped up. “Ey, Locky. Anything good on this wreck that the ‘Cons forgot about?”
“This was Starscream’s stompin’ ground,” Deadlock said. “I wouldn’t put money on it, but he might’ve left somethin’ behind.”
“Bulk, let’s take a look around,” Arcee said. “And maybe Wheeljack can see if he can fix up Magnus’s ship a bit?”
“I’ll get right on it,” Wheeljack said, and made his way outside.
Then it was just Magnus, whose scowl had deepened at the fact that the crew dispersed without him having issued a single order, and Deadlock, who found the whole thing very amusing.
“Well big guy,” he said with a smirk. “What’s left for you to do?”
“How about a summary execution for a prisoner who doesn’t keep his mouth shut?” Magnus snapped.
“Go for it,” Deadlock taunted. “After all, you definitely don’t need another gunner with you. One who’s a better shot than the rest of you combined. Who has enough knowledge of Decepticon weaponry to take down those cannons without spending the resources to completely demolish them.”
Magnus scoffed, not even looking at the other mech. “Don’t take me for a fool, Decepticon. I know your kind. I know you’ll turn on us the moment Megatron is looking.”
“You don’t know me. You know your idea of me. And it’s dead wrong.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Will you, now? And if you’re wrong?”
“Then I’m wrong. Be silent.”
“Glad to see nothing’s changed,” Deadlock said. “You cops are still willin’ to let everyone else die so you can be right.”
“I told you to be silent ,” Magnus snapped.
“And I’m telling you that like it or not, we’re fightin’ for the same thing. And if you’re too stupid to make use of an asset, fine. But lettin’ good mechs die because of your stupidity? That’s what ruined Cybertron in the first place.”
Magnus wasn’t the type to lose his temper and shoot Deadlock through the optic. He simply turned on his heel and strode back to the cockpit, letting the door slide shut behind him.
After a few hours, everyone was back on the ship. Magnus scrolled through a data pad. “Alright, here’s the plan. We can’t go anywhere near the Deception base with their armada at large. Thanks to Arcee and Jack’s slip up with the cell phone, we know Megatron is closely monitoring all communications. We’ll use that, along with the ground bridge, to divert the armada from defensive positions.”
“And the Predacon?” Bulkhead asked. “Uh, sir.”
“We’re just going to have to risk it, and hope we disable the cannons before Megatron unleashes it.” He went on before anyone could object. “The cannons are our top priority. Secondary priority is to find the missing Autobots: Optimus Prime and Smokescreen. Tertiary priority? Cause as much damage as we possibly can before we need to retreat.”
“We were able to contact Agent Fowler,” Ratchet said. “As soon as we disable the canons, his forces will move in to provide aerial support.”
“Good. Then here’s the lineup. Stealth team of Arcee, Bumblebee, and Ratchet will sabotage the fortress from within. Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and I will take point and distract Megatron’s command team.” He set down the data pad. “Any questions?”
“If that Predacon comes after us when we don’t have your ship to hide in, we’re done for,” Wheeljack said. “No offense, sir , but we need something better than “hope it won’t come after us”.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Deadlock said from the back of the ship.
There was a beat of silence. Magnus scowled preemptively, and Ratchet took a small step forward, ready to jump in if Deadlock decided to provoke Magnus to the point of losing his rapidly thinning patience. The others shared a glance, ranging from annoyance to thoughtful consideration.
Deadlock shrugged and continued. “What? If Megs finds out I’m not dead and working with you mechs instead, he’s gonna have a fit . And what better way to get rid of a traitor than to have them get eaten alive by some science experiment?” He leaned forward as much as the restraints would allow. “Look Mags, I know you don’t trust me. But that thing is a killin’ machine. You’re gonna need another killin’ machine to take it down.”
“And who’s to say you won’t run right back to Megatron’s feet?” Magnus demanded.
“You think the Predacon’ll accept a surrender? No. One of two things’ll happen. Either it dies, or I do, and either way it’ll have bought you time.”
“Fine by me,” Wheeljack said, moving to unlock the stasis cuffs.
Magnus blocked him. “That’s not your decision to make, soldier. Arcee, Bulkhead, come with me. I’d like to speak with you.”
“Ratchet’s probably better on this topic…” Bulkhead pointed out cautiously.
“Ratchet is clearly biased on this topic.” He gestured to the cockpit door. “As I said, I’d like to speak with you. ”
Ratchet’s indignant yell was cut off by the door closing.
***
“You’re sure about this?” Ratchet asked, giving Deadlock’s knee one final look-over.
“Aw doc, are you worried about me?” the little fiend asked with a grin.
Ratchet did not dignify that with a response. He closed his diagnostic tools and stood. “You’re good to go.”
“And we’re clear on the plan?” Magnus asked.
Deadlock rolled his optics. “Get the thing as far away from human civilization as possible, preferably out into the desert where Fowler can run cleanup easily. Beat the slag out of the thing, try not to die because my sole purpose in life is to cause you headaches.”
Magnus scowled. Apparently Arcee and Bulkhead had managed to convince him to send Deadlock to take care of the Predacon problem, but he was none too happy about it. Odds are, Deadlock thought, that the three of them had decided that if someone was going to die to ensure mission success, it should probably be the local Decepticon traitor.
“Opening the bridge now!” Bulkhead called.
Deadlock stood from his seat and checked his weapons, begrudgingly returned to him by Ultra Magnus for the express purpose of taking down the Predacon. “Alright then. Well, doc, it was nice knowing you.”
“Shut up and come back alive,” Ratchet snapped. “You owe me a trip to the glacier park.”
The ‘Con gave a jaunty salute, then back flipped into his alt mode and sped through the ground bridge.
The desert was as dry and empty as ever, though the dark clouds above threatened a storm. Deadlock slid to a halt near a tall rock formation and checked his guns one more time. Then he opened up a comm channel to the Nemesis .
“Hey Soundwave, tell me the bettin’ odds. Who put money on me still being alive, and what lucky bastard put money on me working with those slag-suckin’ red-branded morons, ‘cause they’re gonna get a huge payout, and I can hardly believe it myself.”
There was a strut-chilling roar in the distance.
“Bingo,” Deadlock muttered. He launched a grappling hook into the face of the rock formation and began to climb.
A shadow fell over him as the Predacon circled above. A quick analysis showed tough plating, tougher claws and teeth, a flamethrower built into its throat, and, presumably, a bad temper. It dove towards him, teeth bared and claws unsheathed. Deadlock, clinging to the side of the rock like a spider, adjusted his legs under him and waited.
Waited. The Predacon’s throat began to glow.
Waited. A few eager flames licked out between its teeth.
Waited. The heat emanating from it was almost overwhelming.
It blew a gout of flame towards him and tore into the rock with its claws, but its prey was no longer there.
Deadlock kicked off from the rock face, swinging by his grappling hook. The beast’s leg caught the line and yanked it down, sending Deadlock upwards. A quick flare of his thrusters and he was falling towards the Predacon as it demolished the space where he’d been not a half a second ago.
He grabbed onto one of the spines on its back and hung on with everything he had as the Predacon veered away from the rock. It roared in anger, but Deadlock had gotten right between its wing blades where it couldn’t reach.
First rule of fighting fliers; bring them and their egos down planetside.
The join between its body and wings was heavily reinforced. Cutting through wasn’t an option. But there were more, better ways to ground a flier.
Deadlock grabbed two palm-sized disks from his subspace and planted them as close to the joints as he could. As the Predacon veered into a turn to try and throw him off, he launched another grapple anchor into a gap between its back plates and jumped off, just in time to avoid the powerful EMP burst from his planted charges.
The beast shrieked as its wings spasmed and failed. It clawed at the rock face in an attempt to slow its crash down to earth. Deadlock took the opportunity to whip out a rifle and, as he swung around the flailing monstrosity, shot armor-piercing rounds aimed at its optics, throat, and right shoulder joint.
One shot to the optic hit home, the other glanced off its cheek plating. Both shots to the throat hit but Deadlock wasn’t confident they’d gone deep enough to disable its fire breath. Its shoulders were too well-armored for his weapon to do anything. But an optic was an optic, and the Predacon didn’t take well to having one shot out. It screeched and snapped at him, its claws finally hooking into the rock to stop its fall. Deadlock dodged the teeth and swung around to its other side. His HUD helpfully informed him that the beast’s armor was far denser than typical plating.
Alright, time for plan B.
He stowed the rifle and brought out an auto. One with a nice bright muzzle flash, a loud rat-tat-tat-tat-tat noise, and the biggest clip capacity on the market. And with the other hand? Acid grenades.
The Predacon found its bearings and let out a deafening roar as it swiped at Deadlock with razor sharp claws. The assassin pushed off his perch and fired wildly at its wings and tail. Hopefully the more sensitive spots. The plasma bolts weren’t nearly strong enough to do any damage, but it sure ticked the thing off. It curled and coiled around to defend itself, jaws snapping.
Big mistake. Deadlock pulled the pin on a grenade, propelled himself forward, and shoved the charge right into its maw, firing at its eyes all the while.
Teeth gouged into his forearm and energon spurted out, mingling horrifically with the acid gushing from the grenade. Deadlock yelled in pain and nearly ripped his arm off freeing it from the Predacon’s mouth.
It roared as the acid, green and steaming as it melted through wires, plating, and nanites alike, squirmed its way down its throat and into its chest. It released the rock face and tumbled down to the dusty ground. Deadlock vaulted off its back and rolled into his landing, doing his best to keep his mangled arm cradled tight against his chest.
The Predacon was in bad shape. However dense its protective plating was, its inner workings were just as fragile as anyone else’s. Deadlock took out a pistol. One he rarely pulled from his subspace, and a round that he’d looted off a merchant so shady they made Swindle look like an upstanding citizen. Cosmic rust, they’d said. A mutated form that would die off nanokliks after it ran out of Cybertronian alloys to feed on, instead of spreading indefinitely like its naturally occurring cousin.
The Predacon’s spark wasn’t exposed yet, but that was fine. The rust would do its job. Deadlock crouched next to it and pressed the barrel of his weapon against its spark chamber.
“Apex predator, eh?” he asked it. “Guess you got some catchin’ up to do.”
He pulled the trigger.
***
Smokescreen clapped his hands together. “Okay! Just to recap, and to make sure none of this is a messed-up fever dream…”
He pointed at Optimus Prime. “You’re back from the brink of death, now with some upgrades courtesy of the Forge of Solus Prime, which has been depleted of all its Prime-ly energy.”
The finger swung to focus on Bumblebee. “You managed to evade Decepticon detection just by reversing your colors and found an old ‘Con warship.”
Now to Arcee. “You and Jack were just driving around randomly until this guy,” over to Ultra Magnus, “picked you up. And you, the guy who wrote what can only be described as literary torture into the Autobot Code, came out of nowhere to put a crashing halt to their,” he pointed at Ratchet and Deadlock, “vacation? That they decided to take. Then you all met up with these guys,” being the Wreckers, “and found out the ‘Cons had some super powered Predacon thing.”
He gestured back to Deadlock. “So you beat the slag out of it while all the rest of us charged Darkmount, blew it up, and sent Megatron packing. Does that sound right?”
After a beat, Arcee shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“‘Literary torture’?” Ultra Magnus asked flatly.
“He’s barely out of cadet-hood and Arcee gave him a copy of your annotated code to review,” Ratchet explained. He finished welding up the gashes on Deadlock’s arm. “But I hardly think that’s a priority.”
Optimus nodded. He turned to Deadlock. “What do you know about the Predacon?”
“I know it’s dead,” he snapped. “Clogged Tailpipe already grilled me on how Megs got his hands on one, and I’ll give you the same answer I gave him; I got no fraggin’ clue.”
“Shockwave was present at Darkmount,” Arcee remarked, as casually as one could when discussing the Decepticons’ chief scientist.
“Fine then. I do have a fraggin’ clue about where it came from and that’s just that it involves Shockwave, who is apparently not dead, somethin’ I didn’t know about either.” He yanked his arm out from under Ratchet’s inspection. “But here’s what I do know. If Shockwave made one, he can make more.”
“That’s hardly a grand revelation,” Ultra Magnus muttered.
“Oh frag off !” Deadlock snarled, rising to his feet. “I killed that fraggin’ thing. Somethin’ you couldn’t do with all your high ‘n mighty attitude and red-branded delusion. But is that good enough for you? No, of course not! Of course you decide you want to try me for war crimes because of how I solved your problem for you !”
“Cosmic rust is top of the banned weaponry list for a reason,” Ultra Magnus snapped. “You endangered every single being on this planet just by having it! Let alone using it!”
“Know what I think? The real reason you’re mad is ‘cause you didn’t find it when you went through my stuff!”
“Because no one in their right mind keeps an illegal chemical weapon shoved up their—“
“Enough!” Prime boomed.
The room fell silent. Prime vented deeply before continuing. “Deadlock, your actions were reckless and put many lives at risk. However,” he continued, looking at Magnus, “his actions also prevented the loss of many lives. We do not have the luxury of time to go through his entire history, armory, and questionable substance use right now, or likely any time before the war ends. That is not to say your actions don’t have consequences, Deadlock,” he said to the assassin. “And for the time being, Ultra Magnus has full authority to contain, search, and monitor you. You have my appreciation for protecting Ratchet, and my gratitude for dispatching the Predacon, but for the last four million years, you have much to answer for. Do not forget that.”
Deadlock regarded him coldly and lit up a smoke. “Just as I was startin’ to think you weren’t a complete glitch.”
The two stared at each other for a long moment. The rest of the room shuffled awkwardly.
Then Deadlock smiled and put out his smoke right on one of the fresh welds on his arm. “Alright, Prime , I’ll play your game. Just as long as you remember this; you and yours have a lot to answer for the past eight million years. Don’t forget that, ‘cause we sure won’t.”
Chapter 17: Bones and Ghosts
Summary:
A couple weeks after Darkmount, and tensions are high in the Autobot base.
Chapter Text
“So it’s confirmed then,” Ultra Magnus said. “Shockwave is using fossilized remains of Predacons to clone new ones.”
“Didn’t someone make a movie about this?” Bulkhead asked Miko. “It feels really familiar…”
“Oh! No, that was blood samples from mosquitoes, not bones.”
“But the dinosaurs still ate everyone, right?”
“Yep!”
“I think that’s too much to hope for in Shockwave’s case,” Arcee sighed.
“I think the bigger question here is this; what is Megatron going to do with an army of Predacons?” Ratchet asked. “He can’t exactly use them to rebuild the Omega lock. Is his plan really just mindless destruction until he’s satisfied?”
Optimus didn’t turn from the monitor showing an image capture of the relic Shockwave obtained. “He hasn’t acted logically in a long time. We should not expect it of him now.”
“In that case he’s vulnerable,” Wheeljack surmised. “He’s insane, he won’t exactly be a capable leader. Which means Starscream will be in charge of military operations. This whole bone-chasing thing feels like a diversion. We won at Darkmount, we should go for the kill.”
“But if he gets more Predacons, he’s going to unleash them on Earth,” Ratchet pointed out. “We’re still on the defensive, despite our long-standing advantage of sanity.” He gestured towards the chemistry project he had on his desk. “Even more so now that we lost our energon supply.”
“Where were you getting it before?” Ultra Magnus asked.
“For the most part, Wheeljack raided Decepticon mines and stole shipments,” Bulkhead informed him.
“Without my ship that’s no longer an option,” Wheeljack said. He bounced a grenade in one palm. “We can try to use the Iron-whatever, but she’s…well…big. An’ slow.” He glanced sideways at Magnus.
“So…this synthetic energon,” Magnus ventured, ignoring Wheeljack and picking up a bright green sample. “Is it viable?”
Ratchet snatched it back. “It will be, once I’ve figured out the rest of the formula. It successfully powers a mech now, but with…undesirable side effects.”
“Roid rage,” Miko supplied unhelpfully.
“Then that will be your main priority, Ratchet,” Prime said. “The rest of us will carry on as we have; disrupting Decepticon operations and working when we can to find a way to recharge the Forge.”
The team dispersed. Ratchet returned to his project. Ultra Magnus wandered over. Well, as much as Ultra Magnus could wander. It was more of a purposeful stride that decided Ratchet was the destination at the last minute.
“Is there something you need, commander?” Ratchet asked. He ran another simulation with an additional hydrogen element, instead of neon. It started running. Damn human technology would take almost twenty minutes to run these…
“I am merely curious about your work,” he said, glancing over the formulas Ratchet had scrawled on a data pad. “Where did the original formula come from?”
“An Iacon relic that held a vast database of such things. Unfortunately, the knowledge was lost before the complete formula was transferred.” He started queuing up another simulation if the hydrogen didn’t work.
“Lost how?”
“Destroyed, Ultra Magnus. It’s gone. And wishing after it won’t help us now,” he snapped.
“I see. Well, when you hit a good stopping point, I’d request that you join me for today’s interrogation. The prisoner is generally more cooperative when you’re present.” It wasn’t an order, and it was the closest Ultra Magnus would ever come to asking for help, but it made Ratchet’s fuel boil.
He slammed down the data pad. “He doesn’t know anything, Magnus! He’s been with us for months! No matter how many times you ask him what Megatron’s next move is, or where Shockwave’s lab is, or what polish Starscream uses, his answer won’t change. And I am not going to play a part of your…harassment of him!”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, doctor,” Magnus said coldly. “Deadlock may still have information to offer, and your defense of him grows concerning.”
“Oh, you don’t appreciate my tone? Well I don’t appreciate you breathing down my neck while I’m trying to work! I don’t appreciate these mindless protocols you’ve put in place for the field team that clog our hard drives full of useless reports! And I certainly don’t appreciate you treating a mech who has proven himself to be trustworthy like a rabid turbofox!” He angrily punched in another formula, not trusting himself to look at Magnus lest he truly lose his temper. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sir , I have work to do.”
He didn’t watch Magnus leave, and was only thankful that he did.
Inexplicably, some hours later, a familiar clawed hand picked up a beaker from the table. Ratchet startled and glanced up.
Deadlock smirked. “Hey Doc. Guess who got promoted to be your assistant?”
“Put that down,” Ratchet snapped. “What are you talking about?”
The fiend complied, but picked up a stirring stick instead and gestured with it. “Well, the two big guys had a little chat. Sounds like you mechs are short staffed, my cell takes up too much power from the grid, and figurin’ out this little science project will go faster if you have someone you can yell at who will also wash your beakers for you.”
“So what, Magnus just let you out? What about the whole war crimes thing?” Ratchet grabbed the stirring stick from him.
“More or less. Prime made a pretty speech like he always does. I think Magnus is havin’ some sort of mental breakdown ‘cause he barely even cited regulations they’re violatin’ by lettin’ me out.” Stirring stick now gone, but with pent-up speedster energy still there, he poked around the other equipment on the table. “Anyway, I can’t go outside or nothin’ and my t-cog’s locked, but I’m supposed to help you with whatever this is.”
There was more to it than that. Of course there was more to it than that. But this was important. Far more important than whatever game Optimus, Magnus, and Deadlock were playing. “Fine.” He pointed to a crate of scrap metal. “Sort those out by elemental composition. Here.” He tossed over a portable scanner. “This will tell you what everything’s made of. And don’t let the children near anything that shows up with a warning. Got it?”
“Sure thing, doc.” He bounced the scanner in one palm, plopped himself next to the crate, and started digging through it.
A few hours ticked by. Deadlock sorted scrap, washed beakers, and overall acted as a fairly helpful assistant. Ratchet was also grateful for the lack of interruptions from Magnus. Instead, it was just Optimus who stopped by every once in a while to check on how things were going.
After one such visit, Deadlock stared at Optimus’s retreating form for a moment and then turned back to Ratchet. “So this thing is important?”
“Very,” Ratchet said. He scratched out a few equations, trying to make sense of the jumble of half-completed formula.
“Well…what is it? Sure doesn’t look like a weapon or anything.” He leaned in and examined a sample.
“It’s synthetic energon,” Ratchet explained. “Evidently, Alpha Trion had the formula for it and sent it off with the rest of the Iacon relics. Unfortunately, we only have an incomplete formula.”
“This was the data stored in the relic that was lost?” Deadlock asked.
Ratchet nodded. “Yep. Now we have to fill in the blanks.”
They continued to work in silence. Then, “Ratchet?”
“Hm?”
“How…old…is this formula?”
“Eh? Oh, um…definitely pre-war…I’d say late Golden Age, but it could be as old as the Thirteen.” Not that it mattered.
More silence. Ratchet wrote down more equations.
“And it was just sitting on a drive in Alpha Trion’s closet?” Deadlock asked.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Ratchet said absently.
A beaker shattered.
Ratchet whirled around to see Deadlock clutching the remains, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. “Deadlock? What’s wrong?”
“It was just…there. All along,” he muttered. His optics suddenly snapped to focus on Ratchet. “Did you know?”
“What? Did I know what? What’s wrong?”
“Did you know,” Deadlock repeated, annunciating every word, “that the formula existed.”
“No, not until Bulkhead began spouting gibberish. Why? What’s wrong?” Even without running a scan, Ratchet could tell the other mech’s systems were throwing themselves into disarray in a stress response.
Deadlock just stood there, oblivious to the broken glass in his hand. Ratchet could swear he was trembling. “I…”
Ratchet set down his stylus. Something was very clearly wrong. “Deadlock…”
“I need to…I need to go,” Deadlock stammered. And he strode off without another word, going deeper into the base.
Ratchet commed Optimus. “Optimus, Deadlock just froze up and walked away. He’s still in the hanger. Do you want me to go after him?”
A pause before Optimus answered. “No, I’ll take care of it. Keep working on the formula.”
“Alright. Let me know if you need me.”
***
Deadlock stumbled to a quiet corner away from the Autobots and slid down the wall until he sat on the ground. He clutched his finials and tried to stop the shaking.
Gasket, Lowlight, Filament…
If it wasn’t drugs, it was starvation.
Breakaway, Turnabout, Dredge…
If it wasn’t starvation, it was other mechs.
Killing for fuel.
Siphoning.
Selling their own parts.
Clawing through mine slag to find the barest scraps of fuel.
The leakers, the miners, the gladiators, the obsolete…
How many died because the key to unlimited fuel was hidden away somewhere in Iacon?
Pain lit up his sensors as he clutched his finials too hard, but he didn’t care.
It was still happening. It was all still happening . The Senate was gone but they wouldn’t leave him alone. They were still killing people. They were using a fake fuel shortage for their own gain…
A starving population would be too weak to fight back.
A desperate population would never dare hope for better.
“Deadlock.”
Optimus. Optimus Prime .
“Get the frag away from me,” Deadlock snarled, well aware that he wasn’t exactly cutting an imposing figure, curled up as he was on the floor. But he didn’t care.
“You were supposed to stay within sight of Ratchet,” Optimus reminded him.
“Frag off,” Deadlock snapped.
“No.”
Deadlock jumped to his feet and stabbed an accusing finger at him. “You knew . You had it all along! You had it all along and you did nothing ! You let us die!”
Optimus looked taken aback. “What…?”
“You were in the archives! You were his protégé! You had the formula and did nothing!” Deadlock screamed at him. “They’re all dead because of you! You and the rest of them! You saw them starving and you didn’t even pretend to care until it benefited you!”
Optimus took in the tirade without expression, which just made Deadlock even more furious. His fists clenched, and he whirled and slammed a punch into the wall so hard the metal warped into the shape of his fist.
Deadlock vented heavily. “So many of us starved,” he whispered hoarsely. “For nothing. There was never a fuel shortage. Not with that formula.”
There was silence for a long moment.
“Alpha Trion kept many secrets,” Optimus said. “And I do not know why he kept the formula as one of them. Even from me. I did not know about it until it crashed here on Earth.”
“He was with them. The Senate,” Deadlock snarled. “The Primes.”
“I don’t claim to know his reasons. All I know is that you’re right; the solution to the energon shortage existed, and was never employed.”
“Why,” Deadlock demanded, still facing the now dented wall.
“I don’t know.”
“You should. You’re Prime, aren’t you?”
“That does not mean I have the answers. You know this.”
“Someone should,” Deadlock muttered. He pulled his fist from the wall and looked at his scuffed knuckles. “Someone has to be responsible.”
“I believe those who were responsible are all dead,” Optimus said. “Some, I’m sure, by your hand.” It wasn’t an accusation. Just…fact.
“Then how are they still findin’ ways to walk all over us. Just…lettin’ me know that I never meant shit. Me or anyone else like me. We weren’t…useful to them. So we died. And they could’ve stopped it by just releasing the formula. But they didn’t. Because we don’t matter.” He caught his claws on the dent in the wall. “Was it too much to ask? For just…decency? For them not to…to make up a fuel shortage so they’d have an excuse to let us starve? And you in your archive. With Alpha Trion just…sitting on that formula, choosing not to use it, and for what? Why? Why weren’t we…” His voice failed him in a bout of emotion and ended in something too close to a wail. He didn’t mean to say so much. He didn’t mean to break down. He couldn’t. He couldn’t break down in front of Prime. The Prime. The Prime the senate had made…
What made Orion Pax worthy of the Matrix? And even beyond that, what made so many others unworthy of life?
Optimus didn’t have anything to say to that. To Deadlock’s surprise, he just sat down across from him.
“What are you doing?” Deadlock demanded.
Optimus had already taken out a datapad and started typing away. “I don’t have anything I can say that will erase what the Senate did. All I can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Deadlock stared.
Optimus handed him a datapad without looking up. “Here. We intercepted a transmission yesterday, but I can’t seem to break the encryption. Perhaps you can.”
Deadlock didn’t know what else to do besides take the datapad, sit down, and lose himself in the work.
Chapter 18: Cause and Defect
Summary:
There's no going back, now.
Notes:
Just wanted to send a quick thank you to everyone who's reading this! I wasn't expecting nearly as much interaction or this many readers and you've all blown me away by the thoughtfulness, sincerity, consistency, and sheer amount of your comments! You've truly kept me motivated to keep posting and writing and I can't thank you enough!!!! If anyone would like to chat, please feel free to hit me up on tumblr at such-heroic-nonsense.
Thank you again!!!!!!
Chapter Text
Ratchet was a little surprised to see Deadlock sorting scrap at his workstation before most of the team was out of recharge.
“Couldn’t recharge?” he asked.
Deadlock grunted.
“Do you…want to talk about what got you so freaked out yesterday?”
“No.”
“Ok.”
They worked in silence until Optimus came over to make Ratchet take a break. “I can tell you’re tired,” he said. “Your handwriting slants left when you’re tired.”
Ratchet grumbled, probably because he knew Prime was right. “Fine. I’ll just run the diagnostics on communications and then—“
“We all know how to run diagnostics on communications,” Prime said. “Go recharge.”
Ratchet scowled and stomped off.
“For a doctor, he’s not great about takin’ care of himself,” Deadlock said. He finished drying off the beaker he’d just washed and put it with its fellows.
“He never was,” Prime mused. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m done. Ready to go back to my cage or whatever. Does Ultra Aftplate want to put me in stasis again? So I don’t do any dastardly Decepticon deeds while he sleeps?” He rolled his optics.
“No. But I’m going to take a walk outside, and I’d appreciate some company.”
Deadlock’s optics narrowed. “And if I say no?”
Prime shrugged. “Then I’ll bring you back to your cell to recharge.”
The assassin huffed. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The new Autobot base was situated on a human military facility. Certainly not as hidden as the old one, but with considerably more protection. Most of the humans were resting at this time of day, with the sun down and the area illuminated by harsh white lights. But there were still a few milling about who gave the two mechs a wide berth.
“Ratchet seems to be making good progress on the formula,” Prime said eventually.
Deadlock snorted. “If more swearin’ means good progress, then he’s almost done.”
“You’re fond of him,” Prime noted.
“Sure, you can call it that.”
“What would you call it, then?” he asked. “If not fondness, why do you stay close to him?”
“Why do you stay close to this bunch of morons?” Deadlock retorted.
“Loyalty. As loyal to them as they are to me,” Prime answered. “We didn’t make it this far with rules and military discipline.”
“Something Ultra Magnus doesn’t seem to understand,” Deadlock grumbled.
“Which is why we’re here.” Optimus stopped walking and turned to face him directly. “We cannot afford to dance around this any longer. I need to know your intentions. I need to know where your loyalties lie.”
“Not with you,” Deadlock snapped. “Sorry if that’s not what you were hopin’ for.”
“On the contrary, if you said you were loyal to me, I’d know it to be a lie,” Prime said. “You don’t trust anyone, Deadlock. You’re a survivor, and a killer. But you’ve stayed with us for this long, and made no play against us. So what are your intentions?”
“You said so yourself. Survive. Probably kill here and there.”
“If you wanted to do that, you could have hijacked Ultra Magnus’s ship and vanished into the stars,” Prime pointed out. “If you wanted that, you would have told Megatron our base’s location. The war would have ended in a moment, and yet you hid that information from him. You chose exile, possible death, even, over having the information ripped from your mind. You told me before that you don’t know why you did so, but I believe you know as well as I why you betrayed him in such a way.”
Deadlock threw up his hands. “What do you want me to say, Pax? That I believe in your cause? That I want to see Cybertron remade? I don’t. I want to make sure there’s no more of me after I’m gone. Beyond that, I don’t care.”
“And Ratchet?”
He looked towards the base. “Ratchet saved my life. I’m just returnin’ the favor.”
“You’re not a very good liar.”
Deadlock just stared at him.
Prime stared right back. It occurred to Deadlock, dimly, that Optimus seldom, if ever, showed his face to Decepticons. It was always hidden behind a battle mask. There was no battle mask now. “I want to trust you, Deadlock. I want your help to make sure the next Cybertron is better, and that what happened to you and so many others doesn’t happen again.”
Deadlock looked away. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?” he asked softly.
“Because you’re one of them. The senate, the cops, the rich mechs…they chose you. So you’re one of them. Who’s to say you won’t be exactly like them when all’s said and done?”
Prime didn’t answer right away. He turned and sat with his back resting against a building. Then he patted the spot next to him. “Here, sit down.”
Deadlock begrudgingly did so.
Prime looked over the horizon. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me. For a very long time, I didn’t trust myself for those same reasons. Power corrupted the old senate, the Primes who came before me, why wouldn’t it corrupt me as well? But over time I realized that it’s not just me, it’s also the people who surround me. I am their leader, but I depend on them. They believe so strongly in the Autobot cause, in a better Cybertron that is fair and equal to everyone, that if I deviate from that, they will not hesitate to leave me. If Arcee, or Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Ratchet, anyone thought I wasn’t going to do what was best for them and Cybertron, they certainly wouldn’t be shy in correcting my path. We keep each other in check. That’s what new Cybertron will be like as well. No one has absolute power, not even a Prime.”
Deadlock picked at his claws. “I left Megatron for that reason. He…was so far gone from our cause, and wouldn’t listen to any of us. Even Dreadwing left him in the end. He’s rulin’ with fear, and that’s…not what I signed up for.”
“What did you sign up for, then?”
“A home,” he said quietly. “A place to belong. And if I had to take it by force, so be it. That’s all any of us ever wanted. Safety, purpose, and belongin’. And it was placed so far out of our reach that the only way we might be able to get it was to rise up.”
“But things changed.”
“Things changed. On both sides, don’t deny it. It wasn’t selflessness that made you kill our planet, it was fear.”
“It was,” Prime agreed. “I let my fear of Megatron sway me, and I will forever regret it. That’s why I’m doing everything I can to fix it. The planet and our people cannot pay the price for my mistakes, or the mistakes of any Prime. Not again. Not ever again.” He stared at the horizon for a moment. “I told you before I’m not looking for your surrender, I’m asking for your help. And I need to know your intentions for the outcome of the war. Who do you want to win; the Autobots, or the Decepticons?”
Deadlock stayed quiet for a while. He leaned back and stared up at the stars. “I’m guessin’ you want a straight answer, and not more poetic waxin’.”
“Correct.”
Deadlock’s clawed fingertips brushed over the purple insignia branded on his chest. “And if I give you an answer you don’t wanna hear?”
“I’m not looking for an answer I like,” Prime said. “I’m looking for the truth.”
“‘Truth’.” The word tasted like the barrel of a gun. “Truth’s complicated.”
“It is, but it is what I’m asking of you.”
“And what about all that you said the other day? Havin’ a lot to answer for and whatever. You plannin’ to treat me like a criminal and drag up everything I did as a ‘Con?”
Prime shook his head. “Ultra Magnus and I discussed it. We agreed that if you officially renounce the Decepticons and make an honest effort to win the war and support the Autobot cause, your record will be scrubbed clean. All of it.” His tone turned colder. “But that requires you to abide by the Autobot code from now on. And if you turn on us, your amnesty will be revoked.”
Another long silence, broken only by the soft scrape of Deadlock’s claws against his brand.
“Damn you,” he finally breathed. “And damn me. I’ll stand with you, Prime.” With a decisive flex of pistons and cables, he ripped off his insignia.
They both stared at the crumpled metal.
Deadlock shoved it into Prime’s hand and stood. “Here. Do whatever you want with it. Just as long as I don’t see it again.”
He trudged back to base, wondering if any of the Autobots had thrown away his nightmare fuel yet.
Chapter 19: Rules and Inadequate Hiding Places
Summary:
Deadlock attempts to settle into his new role as an Autobot. Some things are easier to deal with than others.
Notes:
Hi everyone! Please check out the amazing mini comic linked in "A Question of Bison"!!!
Also just a heads up I won't be updating next week, cuz life. I hope this longer chapter makes up for it somewhat!
Chapter Text
“Soldier!”
Deadlock barely glanced up from his datapad with the Autobot Code loaded up. Ultra Magnus had made it clear that, as a condition of the “Reintegration Act”, Deadlock had to learn and abide by Autobot law. “What?”
Magnus stood there, arms folded. “What is that in your hand, soldier?”
Deadlock looked at the offending hand. “A cyg?”
“And what compels you to think it’s permitted to smoke that indoors?”
Drift held up the datapad. “It doesn’t say in there that I can’t.” And frankly, he needed one. The shiny new badge on his chest itched something fierce.
“Section 19, article 8,” Magnus snapped.
“Haven’t gotten that far yet,” Deadlock snarked.
Magnus glared down at him. “Then let me inform you that smoking is not permitted on base save for designated areas. This is not a designated area.”
Deadlock stared at him and put out his smoke. “Fine.”
“Before our next meeting, make a list of all recreational activities prohibited on an Autobot base,” Magnus ordered. “So we don’t have any more incidents.”
“Fine.”
“Is that how you address a commanding officer?”
Deadlock sighed. “No. Sir.”
“That will be your only warning,” the commander said. “Given that we reviewed disciplinary measures this morning, and the conditions of the Reintegration Act, I expect there to be no more instances such as this. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Deadlock grated.
Ultra Magnus turned to leave. “Bulkhead could use a hand with some modifications to the base. Report to him at noon.”
“Yes, sir,” Deadlock grumbled. He took out a blank datapad and created a new document for Magnus’s list. “Smoking” was at the top.
Ratchet, who was working nearby, wandered over. “How are you settling in?” he asked.
“I’m still tryin’ to find Wheeljack’s engex stash,” he said. “I’ll feel better after gettin’ good and sloshed for a day.”
“What makes you think Wheeljack would be the one with a stash?” Ratchet asked.
Deadlock raised an eyebrow. “What, are you tellin’ me he doesn’t?”
“Not in so many words. But…you may be better off bartering with Arcee.”
The assassin smirked. “Alright then. And I didn’t hear that from you.”
“Absolutely not.” Ratchet started back towards his lab area. “Have fun fixing the roof.”
***
Fixing the roof was not fun.
It wasn’t so much the work. That was fine, Deadlock didn’t have an issue with making repairs. The problem was Bulkhead, who couldn’t figure out if he should treat Deadlock like a Decepticon, or a fellow Autobot.
“Pass me the rivet gun?” Deadlock asked. Due to his smaller size, he was able to get up high into the corner where the leak was. Bulkhead was giving instructions from below.
“Right. I’m not giving you a gun,” he said immediately.
Deadlock thunked his head against a beam. “We’ve been over this. I don’t need a rivet gun to kill you. I do need a rivet gun to fix this leak. Just like I needed a welder to secure that support we fixed. And just like I needed a hammer to get rid of the dent in the wall.”
“Right, right.” He sighed and passed over the relevant tool. “Sorry. It’s just…weird. Sending you off to kill a Predacon is one thing, having you wandering around the base is another.”
Deadlock contorted himself to get the right angle, flipped down his visor, and continued his work. “‘S fine. Weird for me, too.”
“Well I’m glad this is awkward for everyone involved!” Miko said from her perch on Bulkhead’s shoulder. She’d just…shown up at some point and became a constant source of chatter. “ I still think it’s weird that the ‘Cons got a dragon! And now Shockwave’s making more dragons! Why don’t we get a dragon?
“Really?” Bulkhead asked. “You want one of those hanging around base?”
“I’m just saying it couldn’t hurt to have one on our side. Our Decepticon Rehabilitation Program is working great so far!” She gestured up at Deadlock.
The assassin flipped up his protective visor and arched an eyebrow at her. “Don’t call it that in front of Clogged Tailpipe. He’s real insistent it’s called the “Reintegration Act”.”
“But…it’s not RE-integration, because you were never an Autobot before. It’s just plain old integration,” Miko pointed out.
“Don’t try to debate semantics with Ultra Magnus,” Bulkhead warned. “With anyone else it’d just be a loss, but he’d probably get an aneurysm trying to argue with you.”
“Awwww thanks, Bulk! I’m so glad to have a friend who gets me.”
***
A few hours later, repairs were done, and Deadlock was back to slogging through the Autobot Code. Just in a better hiding spot so no one else would bother him with chores.
Unfortunately, there were apparently other reasons to bother him, and his hiding spot was terrible.
He barely heard Arcee approach until she was right in front of him, shoving aside the boxes of miscellaneous human stuff he’d hid behind. “Hey.”
“Busy,” he snapped.
“Don’t care. Patrol time, come on.”
He grumbled and stowed the data pad. Again. “Gonna at least let me have my guns back?”
“Nope!” Smokescreen said chipperly, coming into view and dusting off his servos. “Commander’s orders; all weapons and munitions deemed non compliant with the Autobot Code have been summarily destroyed.”
Deadlock must’ve heard wrong. “Say that again?”
“We trashed all your stuff,” Arcee clarified.
“You wouldn’t,” Deadlock growled. “That was a collection four million years in the making! Worth enough to feed a hive of insecticons for a decade! And you just smelted it?!”
“Yup,” Smokescreen said, popping the p obnoxiously. “Which leaves you with…” He held out a small cache of knives, a single standard issue grenade, two tarnished pistols, and an Autobot standard issue assault rifle.
He whirled towards Arcee. “What about that rifle you took? I’m gonna need that back.”
“Nope, that’s gone too. I didn’t want to set a bad example,” she said with a distinct lack of expression that came from someone trying to hide a laugh.
Deadlock stared.
The Autobots stared back.
Arcee shrugged. “Take it up with Magnus if you want to. Otherwise, gear up and get to work.”
He geared up.
The three of them ended up patrolling around an old Decepticon mine. Long abandoned, but it was a location that could be easily repurposed into an outpost if Megatron felt the need.
Which, apparently he didn’t. At least not from Deadlock’s vantage point on a nearby outcrop of rock.
Deadlock retracted his visor and commed Arcee and Smokscreen. “Nothin’ over here,” he reported.
“Same here,” Smokescreen’s voice crackled through. “No ‘Cons, no energon, no point in us being here.”
“Alright, let’s pack it in and move to the next location,” Arcee said. “It’s only a few miles away so we can drive.”
They met up near the road. Arcee took point, Deadlock in the middle, and Smokescreen brought up the rear.
Smokescreen was the type of bot who liked to fill silence, unfortunately.
“So are you going to keep being Deadlock, or are you going to change your name to something less edgy?” he asked.
Deadlock didn’t dignify that with a response.
Smokescreen continued anyway. “‘Cause like…it’s just not fitting in with team Prime right now. You’re throwing off the vibe.”
Deadlock didn’t respond to that either.
“While we’re at it, I should tell you that Magnus isn’t exactly a fan of your smoking habit. He grumbles a list of negative health effects whenever you light up.”
“It’s not against the law to smoke, as long as it’s in a designated area,” Deadlock snapped.
“No but it’s not really a good look is all. Just saying.”
“Noted.”
“Great, so let’s talk about your paint job…”
“Let’s not.”
“Nah, we should! So we’ve already got too many blue bots in the base, how about you go all red? Or…oh! Yellow, now that Bumblebee’s mostly black.”
“No.”
Smokescreen continued on undeterred. “Or you could do like a burnt orange. I think we can commandeer some paint from the humans…”
“If I come out of recharge painted orange, I’m going to kill you.”
“Ep ep ep! You can’t threaten me anymore.”
“Sure I can. Nothin’ in the code says I can’t.” That would be ridiculous, even for Autobots. How could they possibly keep subordinates in line and comrades out of their stuff without threatening them?
“Wrong!” He sounded far too smug. “Section 9, on-base protocol, article 18: incendiary statements. All threats upon an Autobot’s life by another Autobot are prohibited. Magnus noted that casual threats on someone’s life are unbecoming of an Autobot, and can create disagreements and conflict in the barracks.”
“Really,” Deadlock said dryly. “Did he comment on the legality of retaliation for verbal harassment?”
“Yeah, you’re supposed to go to your assigned psychologist for that. Not tear off someone’s limbs like the ‘Cons do.”
“We don’t have a psychologist.”
“In that case you file a low priority report with your commanding officer. Still no limb-tearing.” He called up to Arcee. “Hey Arcee! Are there any situations outside of active combat where violence against another Autobot is allowed?”
“None,” she said snidely. “So keep your threats to yourself.”
“The two of you are tryin’ to kill me,” Deadlock grumbled.
***
When his recharge shift finally rolled around, Deadlock flopped onto his slab and stared hatefully at the Autobot code data pad next to him. So many rules. So many pointless rules, all buried under layers of legalese that made Deadlock’s processor ache. And Magnus had made it very clear he needed to learn and obey them.
He grumbled to himself and rolled to his other side so he didn’t have to look at the thing. The best course of action right now was to try and get some rest. His processor desperately needed a good defrag.
There was a knock on the nearby wall, since his quarters didn’t have a door.
With a growl, Deadlock threw himself off the slab and over to the source of the disturbance. “ What the frag do you want?!”
Bumblebee’s big optics whirred and he warbled haltingly.
“Spit it out,” Deadlock snapped.
The scout pushed a data pad into his hands and chirped.
“What do you mean, this’ll help? I already have twelve different versions of the fraggin’ code…” He tapped the screen and was briefly taken aback by the glyphs.
Bee warbled.
“Personal notes, huh? To cut through all the slag and legal crud?”
He nodded.
Well damn, that actually would probably help. “…thanks.”
Bumblebee waited expectantly.
Right. Autobots. “Uh… ‘m sorry for yellin’ atcha. Been a long day, you know?” A shit excuse if there ever was one.
Bee seemed to take it in stride. He waved dismissively and, with a cheerful goodnight, made his way to his own berth.
Deadlock sat back down on his slab and set the data pad aside with the others. Something to tackle tomorrow. He laid back and shuttered his optics, hoping he’d slip into recharge before his processor began oh-so-helpfully spiraling into some crisis or another.
***
No such luck.
Sunlight pierced through the hanger windows far too soon, letting Deadlock know he didn’t have much time before he had to report to Ultra Magnus.
Primus, he missed being at the top of the food chain.
He hauled himself up in a seated position and reset his optics a couple times, trying to shake off the last bits of a fitful recharge. For whatever reason, defragging had come with a fun dream of being surrounded by everyone he’d ever known, each telling him he was wrong about one thing or another. Joining the Autobots, joining the Decepticons, ditching Turmoil, slaughtering the enforcers who’d killed Gasket…
Pointless. All these dead bots needed to stop bothering him. He had plenty of live bots doing that.
Apparently, Magnus wasn’t able to flex his authority with the rest of “team Prime”. They were too used to how casual things were without him. Fortunately for Magnus (and unfortunately for Deadlock), he could treat their newest recruit like a cadet straight off the assembly line in an effort to assimilate him into Autobot culture.
And destroy whatever sanity he had left…
“…to section 12, article 7: regarding the legality of chemical weaponry and its use against organic civilizations,” Magnus droned on. “Chemical weapons are categorized by lethality, ease of contamination, and—soldier!”
Deadlock’s head snapped up from his data pad. “What?”
“Are you even paying attention?” Magnus demanded.
“Yup.”
“Really. Then what article did I just begin to cover?” He set down his own data pad and folded his arms.
“The one about Autobot moral superiority and how I deserve to be locked up forever for sneezing in the wrong direction. Sir,” Deadlock snapped.
In hindsight, he probably would’ve been better off admitting he’d dozed off.
“Do I even want to know?” Bulkhead asked as he walked by.
Deadlock continued his push-ups. “No,” he grated out.
“You sassed the commander again, didn’t you?” Bulkhead guessed.
“Frag off,” Deadlock snapped.
“Another twenty for profanity,” Magnus ordered.
Deadlock bit back a profanity-laced retort and added twenty more to the little display on his HUD. His pistons were starting to ache.
***
It was a relief when Magnus was called away to do…whatever it was Magnus did when he wasn’t assigning push-ups or being a pain in the aft. Deadlock got sent to weapons maintenance. Which, thankfully, meant peace and quiet.
He fiddled with the trigger on one of Arcee’s pistols. It was sticking and making a grating sound he didn’t like. Probably something caught in it.
His hands moved almost on their own, happy to have a familiar task. Disassemble, clean, repair, oil, assemble. Repeat with the next one he grabbed from the crate. Nice and simple. Nice and mindless.
Until his hand closed around a grip so familiar, it was as if he’d grabbed the hand of an amica.
Startled, he pulled out a pistol from the crate. It was old, and so worn in places he couldn’t even make out the glyphs with the make and model. But he knew it. And it knew him. The grip he’d replaced hundreds of times was molded to his hand. The trigger had a groove from his finger.
He turned it over in his hands. It wasn’t broken. He hadn’t used it in a long, long time. Weapons were better now. He used the best he could get his hands on, and these were old. Worn. But well-maintained. Of course they would be. This pistol, and its twin in the crate, were what separated Drift from Deadlock. From the moment Megatron had pressed these into his hands with a promise of a better future, Deadlock reigned.
That was how he wanted it. That was how he needed it. Deadlock, and the weapons he carried and the fear he wielded, were his keys to freedom. His way out of the Dead End. Out of the drugs and the filth and the stink and despair, and away from Drift, who was only ever weak.
And now? a small voice inside him asked. What about now?
Instead of answering, he dropped the pistol into the “finished” crate.
***
Ratchet came by when he took a quick break. The first thing he said was, “Your hands are shaking.”
Deadlock blinked and held up a hand, trying to keep it steady. It was indeed shaking. “Sure is.”
“Have you fueled lately?”
“Define “lately”, ‘cause I guarantee we’ve got different ideas of what that means.” He continued with his task.
“Today. This solar cycle. Between when you came out of recharge and now,” Ratchet said, rolling his optics. As if that should be obvious.
“No,” Deadlock answered. “You guys confiscated my stash.” He wouldn’t say how much it bothered him not to have guaranteed easy access to fuel.
“Your “stash” was expired energon and a bottle of Nightmare Fuel,” Ratchet grumbled. “Come on, we’ll take lunch outside.”
A few minutes later, they both sat on the dusty tarmac with their backs leaning against the wall of the hanger, watching humans scurry about with their daily tasks on base.
Deadlock sipped his cube. He hadn’t even noticed he was hungry, and still didn’t feel like his tank wanted fuel. Best to take it slow.
Ratchet, meanwhile, gulped down his ration. “So how are things?” he asked, wiping his mouth.
Deadlock lowered his cube. “Ratchet?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s not talk. Let’s just sit for a minute.”
Ratchet’s mouth quirked into a slight smile. “Sounds good to me, kid.”
So they sat. Deadlock sipped his ration, Ratchet took out a small detailing kit and cleaned his hands, scraping out whatever gunk got in his seams. It didn’t take him too long, as almost all of his work lately was on a console. So he gently took Deadlock’s grease-stained hand and began cleaning it.
Deadlock watched, holding his cube with his free hand. “It’s just gonna get dirty again,” he pointed out.
“I’m aware,” Ratchet responded.
And that was that.
After a while, Ratchet released the hand he was working on and made a grabby motion for the other. Deadlock sighed, made the necessary adjustments, and gave it to him. With the ration now in his tank, he watched Ratchet work. Skilled fingers worked a small tool into the tiniest places Deadlock forgot were itchy, pulling out grease and grime, and after the seam was clean he’d manipulate the cables and gears to flex out the stiffness. Probably basic maintenance for a medic, but Deadlock had never really done much more than a soak and a scrub to get himself clean. It was…nice. Being taken care of.
He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Ratchet was shaking him awake. “Kid? You alright?”
Deadlock reset his optics a few times. “Huh? Yeah…I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Aren’t we all.” He stood and stretched. “We better get back to work though. You especially.”
Deadlock hauled himself to his feet and grunted an affirmative. “Thanks for the detailing.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for the company.”
Deadlock arched an eyebrow. “We barely talked.”
“Yup!” Ratchet walked back into the hanger.
***
The rest of the day was spent tuning up Magnus’s ship with Wheeljack. Not that it needed much tuning up.
“Seriously, did he detail clean under here?” Deadlock asked, shining his wrist-mounted flashlight around the engine compartment. “There’s barely even any grease.”
“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Wheeljack said from behind him. “Do you see the leak or not?”
“I’m lookin’! Don’t get your mudflaps in a twist,” he muttered. He shimmied further in and shined his light around. There. Not a big leak, but certainly a leak. “Got it.”
He flicked down his visor and neatly patched the crack in the coolant tank with a weld. Wheeljack whistled a jaunty tune while he worked.
It took longer for Deadlock to shimmy and shuffle his way out than it did to fix the problem, but eventually he pulled his head and shoulders out from the removed panel under the console. Wheeljack was seated in the pilot’s chair, fiddling with some wiring on the steering controls. Deadlock sat back against a nearby bulkhead. “Anythin’ else?”
“Nope. Just sit tight while I finish this,” the Wrecker said.
Deadlock shrugged and picked some of the gunk out from under his claws. Already dirty, just like he’d said.
After a moment, Wheeljack piped up again. “So you and Ratchet.”
Deadlock arched an eyebrow. “Eh?”
“You and Ratchet. What’s the deal? You two got some history or somethin’? Doc shuts up like a clam whenever it comes up, but I mean come on.” He rolled his optics. “He defends you like you’re a lost turbopuppy he found in a dumpster.”
Not so far off from the truth… “Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Deadlock snapped. “‘Specially if Ratchet hasn’t told you.”
“Heh. Alright. So it must’ve been rumor that he found you out of your mind on boosters in the middle of the street.”
Deadlock said nothing.
Wheeljack went on. “And so it must’ve also been rumor that the two of you were pretty tight before the war broke out.”
Deadlock kept on with his claws.
“And it was definitely rumor that you told Ratchet you were going to join the Decepticons and threw all his effort trying to help you back in his face. And that you had him convinced that his clinic didn’t do a damn thing, and that just because he happened to be born into a class above you that he deserved to—“
Suddenly, Deadlock was on top of him with one hand grabbing his neck and the other poised to claw out his optics. “ Shut your damn mouth ,” he snarled.
Wheeljack spat right back, “What gives you the right, huh? To come crawlin’ back pretendin’ like you did nothin’ wrong? Like you didn’t hurt him? Like you didn’t nearly kill him countless times?”
“I never—“
“Yes, you did. Every bombed hospital, every raid for supplies, every leveled building could’ve ended with him dead. And you knew it. And you did it anyway.”
“It wasn’t about him,” Deadlock snapped. “It was about Cybertron.”
Wheeljack rolled his optics, unconcerned with the claws mere inches from his face. “Sure it was. It was never about how you felt slighted by every damn thing, including him.”
“He didn’t understand. You don’t either, apparently.”
“Don’t understand what? You’ve got so much energon on your hands, and you think you can just forget it all ever happened and be one of us?” He threw Deadlock off and pinned him against the bulkhead. “Ratchet should’ve let you die.”
Deadlock threw the first punch. He usually did.
By the time Magnus barged in to investigate the commotion, Wheeljack sported a set of scratches on his face, and Deadlock’s finial was bent, and both of them were covered in dents.
Magnus wasted no time shoving them apart, pinning them to opposite sides of the ship with one hand each. “Explain,” he snapped at Wheeljack.
To Deadlock’s surprise, Wheeljack just shrugged. “Eh, you know. Workplace banter.”
Magnus narrowed his optics and turned to Deadlock. “And your excuse?”
Deadlock glanced at Wheeljack and then stared right at Magnus. “Workplace banter. Sir. Got out of hand.”
“I should cuff the two of you together and throw you in the brig,” Magnus snapped. He turned to Wheeljack. “We can’t afford infighting. I expected better of you.” He turned to Deadlock. “And you. I can’t say I expected better of you, but it’s clear the Autobot code hasn’t been sinking in. Perhaps some extra review will help. Report to my office an hour before sunrise tomorrow, and we’ll cover section 9. Again. Remind Wheeljack what section 9 covers.”
Deadlock sighed. “On-base protocol, including brawling, unsanctioned sparring, single-incident infighting, and incendiary statements. Sir.”
“Surprisingly correct.” Magnus let them both go. “And I expect both of you to clean up whatever mess you made of my ship during your “workplace banter”.”
With that, he left. Deadlock stared at Wheeljack and wrenched his finial back into place. “Could’ve let him throw me in the brig,” he pointed out.
“Could’ve. Didn’t.” Wheeljack dabbed at the energon dripping down his face. “Magnus would be fooled into thinking you attacked me for no reason, but Ratchet wouldn’t. And I’ve got no intention of getting on the doc’s bad side.”
“…me neither,” Deadlock said.
“I’ll hold you to that.” He stepped up and poked Deadlock in the chest. “I dunno what your game is, if you even have one. But if you hurt anyone here, especially Ratchet, I’ll beat you into a pulp not even Shockwave could revive. Got it?”
Deadlock studied him for a moment. “Got it.”
***
Deadlock quickly found that there was no hiding from the children. Miko especially seemed to have a particular talent for finding him when he wanted a moment of quiet for his reading. They were a constant presence at the base, now that their home town was…off-limits. Apparently Fowler had to spew some story to the public about a radiation leak or something. Whatever kept the humans out of the way…
Eventually he gave up trying to hide and just did his reading in the common areas.
Presently, Miko was clambering up onto his shoulder. Uninvited, of course, but she’d learned very quickly that she could walk all over him. Literally and figuratively. Ever since she caught him carefully catching a robin that’d gotten stuck in the hanger and releasing it outside.
“So what is all this, anyway?” she asked, squinting at his datapad. “Looks boring.”
“I heard Ultra Magnus say it was the “Autobot Code”,” Jack supplied from where he was seated on the couch with Raf. The two of them were playing a racing game, and Jack was losing. Badly.
“What’s that, like an instruction manual on how to be an Autobot?” Raf asked.
Deadlock waved a hand. “Sorta. It’s more like a big book of rules I gotta follow so the commander doesn’t throw me in jail.”
“What kinda rules?” Miko asked. She managed to find her way onto his helm and leaned over his crest to get a better look at the datapad.
“Uhh…a bunch.” He tapped the screen. “This section is on relations with alien species. And I don’t think it says I have to let you use me as a jungle gym.”
“Flick me off, then,” she challenged. “So the ‘Cons didn’t have this sort of thing?”
“Not really. It was more relaxed. There were a couple rules you didn’t break, but overall, none of us wanted a bunch of rules to follow. We dealt with our issues in whatever way we wanted, most of the time.”
“Rules are stupid,” Miko agreed.
“But they’re important,” Raf pointed out. “How would everyone work together if they all just did whatever they wanted all the time?”
Deadlock smirked. “Exactly. That’s why I was a solo operative. I didn’t want to work with anyone, and no one wanted to work with me.”
“Sounds kinda lonely,” Jack said. “And dangerous. What if you got into trouble?”
Deadlock shrugged, careful not to dislodge Miko from where she was now balancing on his long shoulder kibble. “It was what it was. If I got myself into a mess, I got myself out. That’s just how it was.”
“Is that why you were mean to Bee the other day?” Raf asked. “Because you’re not used to people helping you?”
Deadlock winced internally. It would’ve been too much to hope that no one would hear about that. “I apologized,” he said, more defensively than he intended.
Miko sighed dramatically. “Sounds like that’s a “yes”, Raf.”
“I guess you’re just gonna have to get used to it, then,” Jack said with a shrug. “Everyone on Team Prime is there for each other, no matter what.”
Raf nodded in agreement. “Yeah! And that includes you, now.”
Deadlock modded, not wanting to argue. But something inside of him scoffed at the very idea of any of the Autobots being there to save his skidplate if it really came down to it. And he wouldn’t expect it of them. They should all be on the same page; Deadlock was an Autobot asset, but he wasn’t really an Autobot, and he probably never would be.
He was saved, surprisingly, from any further awkwardness by a bark from Agent Fowler. “Miko! Stop climbing on the Decepticon!” he ordered from the catwalk above them.
“ Ex- Decepticon,” she pointed out, but reluctantly stepped onto Deadlock’s offered hand so he could place her closer to the ground. The children, sensing a boring conversation quickly approaching, retreated to another part of the base.
“Did you need something, Agent Fowler?” Deadlock asked as politely as he could manage. He honestly wasn’t sure where Fowler fit into the chain of command here, or if Fowler still wanted to put him in a human laboratory.
“Yeah, actually. Prime said you might know a bit more about ‘Con encryptions than the other guys here.” He turned around his tablet to show Deadlock.
Deadlock set down his own datapads and squinted at the display, but it was so tiny his optics couldn’t lock on. “You can’t make that any bigger?”
Fowler snorted and beamed the image over to the larger monitors with a couple tapped commands. Deadlock stood to get a better look at it and folded his arms.
“You really haven’t been able to crack this yet?” he asked. “I thought humans were pretty on top of Cybertronian tech by now.”
Fowler descended the stairs to stand on the platform next to the monitor. “You mean M.E.C.H? Prime said you had a run-in with them.”
“I saw what they did,” Deadlock muttered.
Fowler squared his stance and stared coldly at the assassin. “Let me set things straight, then. M.E.C.H was a bunch of butchers with too much engineering knowledge and not enough ethics. Anything they obtained from you guys through their “experiments” and whatever is something that was lost when the organization imploded. Even if we did have access to that kind of information, we wouldn’t use it. We have standards, here. Not to mention a longstanding agreement with Prime.”
Deadlock snorted. “You’re tellin’ me that you’d pass up on Decepticon weaponry if it was tortured out of someone?”
“Any information we keep has to have been freely offered,” Fowler said. “And only Prime and his team get to conduct interrogations.”
“Ridiculous. Ethics won’t save you when you get caught in the crossfire.” He kept his gaze on the signal data.
“It was a term Prime wasn’t gonna budge on. We talked about it at length when he first landed here,” Fowler explained. “And then we talked about it again when you came along.”
There was a beat of silence.
Deadlock pointed at a section of the signal. “This is a patrol unit in distress. Apparently he dozed off and woke up with a raccoon in his back seat.”
Fowler snorted. “They get into my car, too. Well, this was a waste of time.” He pulled the image from the monitor and began to walk away.
“Fowler,” Deadlock interrupted.
The human stopped and glanced over his shoulder with one eyebrow raised.
“I’m not interested in fightin’ humans,” Deadlock said. “But damn it all to hell if somethin’ like what happened to Breakdown happens again. You wanna protect your people, and I’m gonna protect mine.”
Fowler mulled over that for a moment. “Hm. Well, alright then.”
Chapter 20: A Shot, Not From a Gun
Summary:
Big TW for:
-drug use
-non-consensual drug use
Notes:
Thank you all for your patience and your very kind comments and kudos! As always, feel free to hit me up at such-heroic-nonsense on tumblr if you'd like to chit chat!
Chapter Text
It wasn’t necessarily surprising when Wheeljack's and Magnus’s disagreements came to a head. Deadlock was just glad it mostly happened while he wasn’t looking. In fact, he was minding his own business mopping up the base, thank you very much, when Wheeljack stormed through the ground bridge without Magnus, Bulkhead, Magnus’s ship, or Miko.
“Where are the others?” Ratchet demanded.
“Taking the long way home,” Wheeljack snapped.
“Did…something happen?” Raphael asked from where he sat cross legged, laptop balanced on his knees, helping Ratchet with one thing or another.
“Doesn’t matter,” Wheeljack snapped. He stomped his way over to Deadlock with his swords drawn. “This piece of slag lied to us.”
Deadlock dropped the mop and deployed a built-in blade mounted on his wrist. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
“The Predacon!” Wheeljack growled, circling around the assassin. “It’s alive and kickin’. You told us you killed it.”
“I did . Check the footage from my report if you need to. The thing’s dead.” If it came down to it, Deadlock wasn’t sure if he’d win in a fight against the Wrecker. Not barely armed as he was.
“It almost slagged us!” Wheeljack rushed forward.
Deadlock braced to defend himself, but in a blur of blue, Arcee jumped between them. “Back off, Wheeljack.”
“You’re seriously defending this slag-sucker?” the Wrecker demanded.
“We don’t have all the information,” she said. “But what we do know is that Optimus and Magnus visited the Predacon corpse. It was dead, and Deadlock didn’t lie. So you need to cool off.”
Wheeljack looked about to argue when Ratchet interrupted. “If you’re all quite finished, we got another hit on a Predacon bone.”
“Sounds perfect.” Arcee nudged Wheeljack. “Come on, maybe some Vehicons know how Megatron’s dragon cheated death.”
Deadlock tried not to be too relieved once Wheeljack was gone. He had a short fuse and a love for explosives, and apparently a grudge against Deadlock. It just wasn’t a good combination. Arcee coming to his defense though…not something he’d expected. She was chilly towards him, having graduated from outright hostility when he was first brought in. Of course, Deadlock held no illusions that she trusted him, just that she thought he could be useful. It was a common feeling among the Autobots, he thought. Wheeljack was waiting for an excuse to skewer him, Arcee and Smokescreen were cautious around him, the only difference between them being that Smokescreen actively tried to get on his nerves. Bulkhead was fairly indifferent. Bee seemed to be attempting a friendship, but who had the time? Prime was… Prime. Ultra Magnus was having a lovely time enforcing his rules. And Ratchet, of course, was Ratchet.
He wandered over to where the medic was working on running another scan and watched over his shoulder. Neither of them said anything, but Jack and his parental unit “mom” (though only Jack called her that. She was introduced to Deadlock as “Ms Darby”, and the Autobots all called her “June”) were doing enough arguing to fill the silence.
Raphael piped up just as Deadlock was starting to get bored enough to go back to mopping. “I found another Predacon bone! This one’s in a museum.” He turned his laptop to show everyone.
“So…what, they just dug it up somewhere and couldn’t figure out what it was?” Deadlock asked.
“Pretty much. And I guess the paleontologists got bored with it so now it’s just sitting in a museum basement.”
“We should assume that since we found it, the Decepticons will be en route shortly,” Ratchet said.
“But we’re fresh out of Autobots; everyone’s in the field,” Jack pointed out.
“Eh, it’s about time I pulled my weight around here,” Fowler said, straightening his tie. “And it’s not like it’s in a Decepticon mine. It’s practically a milk run. In fact,” he turned to June, “why don’t you come with me, Ms Darby?”
“What?” Jack demanded. “No, it’s too—
“Were you about to say “dangerous”?” June snapped, incredulous. “My son gets to go to Cybertron, but it’s too dangerous for me to go on a…a milk run?”
Jack stammered. Deadlock, while he enjoyed watching human drama, felt the need to point something out. “‘S not a good idea for humans to go alone. The ‘Cons never do anythin’ quietly, at least, not with me gone. They should have an escort.”
“Good, because I was just about to suggest you accompany them,” Ratchet said.
“No, absolutely not,” Deadlock snapped before any of the humans could say anything. “Magnus’ll have my platin’ if I go out alone.” Not to mention he didn’t love the idea of humans being…inside his cab.
“Magnus isn’t here,” Ratchet retorted. “And I can’t go; I have to operate the ground bridge. It’s not safe to send the humans alone, and everyone else is in the field. Besides, it’s just a precaution. The Decepticons are probably too busy to pick up this one anyway.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I mean, I’m ok with it,” Fowler said. He glanced sideways at Deadlock and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. “If this guy was gonna smoosh us, he would’ve done so instead of mopping your floors. Besides, have you seen his car mode? That is a sweet ride.”
Everyone looked at Deadlock, who weighed his options and then turned to Ratchet. “Make it an order,” he said.
“What?”
“Give me a verbal order, followed by a written memo cc’d to Magnus and Optimus, to accompany the humans on the…dairy dash?”
“Milk run,” Raphael corrected.
“Whatever. Just make it an order as a commandin’ officer so I’m not the one gettin’ my paint stripped.”
Ratchet huffed. “I cannot believe you’re demanding I do paperwork.”
Thankfully, paperwork didn’t take long, and soon Deadlock drove through a ground bridge with two humans in his cab. Which was weird.
“Don’t touch that,” he snapped at Fowler for the fiftieth time in the past two miles.
“It’s just the radio!” Fowler argued.
“To you, but how would you like it if someone was rummagin’ ‘round your kidneys?”
“Oh please, it’s just a radio! I’m not stickin’ my hand up your tailpipe or anything!”
“If you go anywhere near my tailpipe, I’ll—“
“Can it!” June interrupted. “Museum’s up here on the left.”
Deadlock pulled into the empty parking lot and opened his doors for the humans. “If something goes wrong, just…start screamin’ I guess.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” June assured. “Besides, the only interference you can run is the building-leveling sort, and I’d rather not destroy a museum.”
“No museum destruction tonight,” Fowler confirmed, straightening his tie. Again. “You just sit tight here while we have a chat with the curator.”
Deadlock closed and locked his doors, and even turned off his headlights. “A’ight. Waitin’ here.”
Fowler patted his hood, and the two of them went inside.
It was a quiet night, all things considered. A quiet night in a quiet town. Idly, Deadlock wondered if there were quiet nights like this on Cybertron. Quiet nights in quiet towns. The Dead End had never been quiet. In a way, the silence put him on edge. Like either something was about to happen, or something was happening and he was just too far away to do anything about it.
His sensors picked up a signal. An unfortunately familiar one.
Deadlock rolled into root mode and pulled a knife and a pistol. “Get outta here, Knockout.”
The doctor transformed languidly and gave him a cocky grin. “‘Bots let you out of your cage, eh? You their little errand drone now?”
“‘M not gonna ask again,” Deadlock snapped. “Get outta here.”
“Or what?” Knockout took a step forward, and the grin was gone in an instant, replaced by stoney anger. “You’ll kill me? It’s not like you can betray us again. And for what? What did Prime promise you?”
“He didn’t promise me anythin’. Now get outta here before I ruin your finish.”
“Slag my finish!” Knockout roared. “And slag you! Do you even know what you did? You left, then Starscream came back, then Dreadwing got himself killed, and now I’m stuck sharing a lab with Shockwave and Megatron is executing anyone who looks at him funny! We could’ve won the war if you didn’t get cold peds!”
“We were never gonna win,” Deadlock snapped. “If we destroyed the Autobots, we’d be left with a mess of infightin’ over scraps of a dead planet! You think Megatron cares about what happens when the war is done? He’s barely thinkin’ at all, let alone thinkin’ ahead!”
Knockout looked away for a moment, his usually snide voice dull and cold. “You know what? I don’t care. Got no reason left to care except my own plating, and it looks like I need that Predacon bone to keep my plating intact.” He gestured behind Deadlock to where Fowler and June just emerged from the museum. “So hand it over, and no one gets hurt.”
Deadlock stepped firmly between Knockout and the humans. “Back off. I don’t want to hurt you, but you know I can.”
“But will you?” He lunged.
Deadlock stowed his pistol and tackled Knockout to the side. He threw the smaller mech further away and rolled to his feet. “I told you to back off!”
“I’m not listening!” He made another grab for the humans, this time jabbing Deadlock with his electro-staff to knock him off balance.
Deadlock barely intercepted before he reached Fowler, who was holding the Predacon bone. “Damn you, just walk away!”
“Make me!” Knockout yelled gleefully, ramming his staff into Deadlock’s torso.
Deadlock howled in pain and took a wide swipe at Knockout with his knife. The doctor dodged smoothly and came back, this time zapping Deadlock’s neck cables.
“Is that all you got?” he taunted.
“You know it’s not,” the assassin snarled, regaining his footing. “But my problem’s not with you. It’s with Megatron.”
“Oh, too bad. Because my problem is with you!” He rushed forward again and knocked Deadlock off balance. The pavement cracked when he landed, and cracked more when Knockout planted a foot on his chest and pressed down hard. “So are you planning to fight back, or should I deliver a Predacon bone, two humans, and a traitor to Megatron, and make myself Decepticon of the year?”
Deadlock threw him off and folded into alt mode. He opened his doors for the humans. “Come on, get in!”
Thankfully, they listened, and Deadlock sped off before they finished closing the doors.
“Should I call Ratchet for a bridge?” June asked. She glanced behind them at Knockout, now in hot pursuit.
“He’s too close, we need to put some distance between us first,” Fowler insisted. “Step on it, Locky!”
Deadlock didn’t even snap at him, just put pedal to the metal and sped off. He was a high performance speedster, but unfortunately so was Knockout. And Knockout didn’t have the heavy armor mods that Deadlock did.
“‘S no use,” Deadlock said, seeing Knockout closing the gap quickly. “Call for backup, I’ll stall ‘im.”
Without any more warning, he rolled into a transformation sequence, deposited the humans to the side at a reasonable non-lethal velocity, and whipped out two all-too-familiar pistols. He spun towards Knockout and shot at his tires, hoping to scare him off.
Unfortunately, Knockout didn’t seem to be scared of Deadlock. He ran straight into his legs and knocked the assassin to the ground.
The doctor shifted into his root mode and looked around as Deadlock clambered to his feet. “Hmmmm. Now here’s a fun question. Do you have the relic, or did you leave it with the fleshlings?”
Deadlock ignored him and fired a shot that glanced off of Knockout’s shoulder.
Knockout just laughed. “Oh come on. You’re not even trying! What’s wrong, Drift ? Lost your taste for energon?”
“Don’t test me,” Deadlock growled. He stowed his pistols and rushed forward to tackle the Decepticon.
Knockout’s laugh barely faltered. “This is a joke! Now you want to wrestle me in the mud? What happened to our favorite “one shot, one kill” mad turbo hound?”
“He got a rabies shot,” Deadlock snapped. He punched Knockout square in the face.
The doctor jabbed him in the gut with his electro staff and pushed him off. “Really? The face? Fine! I can play dirty, too.” He darted forward and threw them both against the side of an overpass. Deadlock reached for a knife—
And then felt the needle jab into his neck cables.
He stumbled back, fumbling at the injection site, knowing what it was that was pushed into his lines and praying he was wrong.
“Syk doesn’t have too many medicinal uses, you see,” Knockout said. He twirled the empty syringe and tossed it aside. “But it is particularly nasty to an ex-addict like yourself. So I whipped up a batch in case of…well, in case of situations like this.”
Deadlock collapsed as his plating shuddered and vision fritzed. Everything was blurry, spinning, and the drug was dragging him deeper and deeper into a haze.
Knockout’s voice sounded as if he was underwater. “So tell me. Where is that relic?”
“F-frag…off-f-f,” Deadlock stuttered out. He purged his tank as the drug continued to ravage his systems.
“Oh, well. I’m sure Megatron will be pleased with just your spark chamber.” The click of a gun sounded right next to his audial. “Nice knowing you, Drift .”
Then there was another voice, more distant.
“Hey, creepo!” June yelled. “Looking for this?”
Deadlock’s vision was blurry and staticky, but there was June, barely the size of Knockout’s finger, standing on the overpass with the box from the museum held high.
Knockout laughed. “A human coming to the rescue! How sweet.” He stalked towards her. “Just hand it over, little fleshling, and I won’t even bother to squish you.”
June turned and started running.
Knockout sighed. “Fine, we’ll do the whole song and dance.”
“Over here, ugly!” Fowler called from the other side of the overpass. He had his dinky little human pistol out, and shot twice.
One of them hit Knockout’s optic. He staggered back. “Agh! You little…”
“There’s more where that came from!” Fowler yelled. Then he, too, ran off.
Knockout sighed. “Hmmm…alright. Stay right there, ‘Locky. I’ll pick you up after I get the bone.” He transformed and drove off after June.
Deadlock ignored the warnings his systems were giving him and tried to push himself to his feet. His legs weren’t cooperating. Nothing was. Everything was just sounds and colors blurring together, overwhelming his processor with information it couldn’t make sense of and leaving him reeling. Unable to think, unable to feel. A state he’d once craved more than anything and now was trying desperately to stay free of it.
He blinked. He was on his feet, stumbling after Knockout.
Blink. He had a gun in his hand and struggled to hold it steady.
Blink. June and Fowler were there, exhausted, but unhurt.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
“Drift?”
Blink.
“Drift!”
Drift blinked.
He looked at a dingy ceiling, and the flickering lights that hung from it. It smelled…clean. Like antiseptic.
“…through the ringer, kid. You alright?”
Drift’s vision swam as he tried to focus on the blob of red and white standing over him. Medic , his systems told him. Safe , his systems told him. But mechs who pretended to be doctors, especially if they were focused on him, were not safe. They were just chop shop workers trying to lure in unsuspecting leakers. Drift had fallen for it just once and had only escaped because Gasket found him before they’d started disassembling him.
Drift panicked, he lurched upright and immediately fell backwards as his head spun and his body refused to balance.
Strong hands caught him. “Easy, kid,” the blob said. It held Drift upright and spoke softly. “I got you. You’re ok.”
Deadlock blinked.
Ratchet shone a light in his optics. “There you are. You’re ok, kid, just take it easy.”
“Wha…what happened?” He tried to sit up on his own, but his vision swam.
“Ep ep ep! Not yet. I need to finish flushing that slag out of your system.” He gently laid him back down and adjusted the lines going in and out of Deadlock’s arm.
Deadlock grabbed his hand. “Ratchet. The humans, Knockout…” The words didn’t make sense, but they were important. Somehow.
“Everything’s fine. June and Fowler are safe. Just rest.”
Rest? No, that wasn’t right. “Ratchet, I didn’t…it wasn’t me…”
“I know, I know. June said Knockout injected you with something. Thankfully, I’m quite well-versed in helping patients through an overdose, as you well know.”
“The….the relic?” There was a relic, right? That was the whole point of this? Or was it something else…
“Don’t worry about that. I’m going to induce stasis to take some stress off your processor. It’s spinning up like a jet engine right now.” With his free hand, he hit a few buttons. “Just rest. I’ll make sure you’re ok.”
Drift didn’t let go of his hand as he plummeted back into oblivion.
***
His next waking was…somewhat more coherent. But less pleasant because of it.
The first thing he noticed was the horrendous pain in his…everything. But mostly his head. He groaned and shielded his optics from the light.
“Ratchet! He’s awake!”
That was one of the children. Raf. Ratchet’s favorite, though he would never admit it.
“Thank you, Raphael. Can you bring up his diagnostics?”
“Sure!”
There was a tap on his shoulder. “Good morning, Deadlock. Sleep well?”
“Frag off,” he grumbled.
Ratchet chuckled. “Someone’s feeling better. Come on, we’re going to sit you up and get a better look at you.”
Deadlock suffered through several minutes of poking and prodding as he sipped a cube of medical grade energon. Apparently Raphael was helping with some of the more basic things, and told Ratchet some of Deadlock’s stats when asked.
“Core temperature looks normal, I think. You said he’ll be a bit colder than average?” He adjusted his oversized glasses.
Ratchet nodded and stepped away from where he was looking at a scan of Deadlock’s processor. “Speed frames like Deadlock don’t hold heat well, so he’s always going to be a bit colder at rest than, say, Bulkhead. It helps keep them from overheating during a race.”
“I thought you said you were done with teaching,” Deadlock said. He took another sip of energon and tried to ignore the way his tank churned as the fuel squirmed down his intake.
“No, I said I was done teaching ingrates. Raphael is not an ingrate.”
Deadlock glanced over at the small human and fake whispered, “That’s the greatest compliment he’s ever given anyone.”
“Oh, hush. You’re a bad influence.” Ratchet unplugged his diagnostic cords and helped Deadlock to his feet. “You should be all set. You know what to watch for though. I’m assigning you to light duty for the next couple days, just in case. Don’t be stupid.”
Deadlock knocked back the rest of his energon and set the empty cube down. He paused a moment to make sure the fuel wasn’t coming back up. “Thanks, Ratch.”
Ratchet looked him up and down. “Let me help you to your quarters.”
Against better judgement, Deadlock waved him off. “Nah, I got it. I’ll be fine.”
The doctor didn’t seem to buy it. “You sure?”
“Uh huh. It’s not far.”
Ratchet huffed and turned back to his console.
It wasn’t a long walk, but it sure as Pit felt like it. Deadlock ended up pausing with one hand on the wall, not five paces from his berth, trying to get the world to stop spinning.
A strong hand wrapped around his torso, and Deadlock couldn’t muster the strength to protest as none other than Optimus Prime helped him to his recharge slab.
Once Deadlock was seated and his tank stopped trying to jump out of his frame through his throat, he expected Optimus to go do whatever Primes do and leave him be. Instead, he sat on the edge of the berth.
“Here to chew me out?” Deadlock growled weakly. He pressed a hand against his head in a vain effort to ease the pain behind his optics. “‘Cause I’d rather you just shot me at this point.”
“Hardly,” Prime said. “How much do you remember of what happened?”
“Not much,” Deadlock admitted. “It’s…pretty hazy after Knockout jabbed me.”
Optimus nodded. “Fowler said you were rather out of it.”
“So what happened?”
He sighed and crossed one leg over the other. “Well, it seems that after Knockout left to chase after Ms Darby, she and Agent Fowler led him to an empty train yard and attempted to hide the relic from him. Very courageous of them both.”
“Did it work?”
“Sadly, no. Knockout found the relic, and he was planning to kidnap our human allies as well. Apparently they gave him quite a bit of trouble. That was when you showed up.”
“Let me guess, I ripped Knockout to shreds?” He braced himself for the worst. He’d tried his best not to kill the Decepticon, but…the thought of doing so, even when he wasn’t in his right mind, made his tank try to squirm up his throat all over again.
“Hardly. You shot him non-fatally, and you did tear off one of his doors, and he finally got the hint and drove off. You then, reportedly, attempted to convince the humans to go with you to “see this really cool tree in Madagascar”.” Damn the Prime, he was clearly a bit amused. “Fowler pointed out that you were barely standing, and that’s when you crashed.”
“Not my worst trip, surprisingly,” Deadlock grumbled. “So what’ll it be?”
“Pardon?”
“I left base without permission,” Deadlock pointed out. “I also put two humans in danger and I lost the relic. So is it brig time or a beat down?”
“We don’t operate like that here,” Optimus said, sternly, but not unkindly. “And you’re mistaken. Ratchet signed off on your departure, and it was not your fault that the humans were in danger. In fact, they both expressed concern for you, and said that you did your best to protect them and the objective.”
“Then why save me? Why wouldn’t they just take the relic and run?” he demanded.
“As I said, we don’t operate like that here. You did well, Deadlock. And I think it’s rather telling that, even when incoherent, you acted to protect, rather than to kill.”
“The Pit’s that supposed to mean?” Deadlock snapped.
“It means you’re a good mech, despite what you’ve been taught to believe.”
Chapter 21: Feelings (Assorted)
Summary:
Deadlock's recovery continues, and the energon shortage is becoming dire.
Notes:
Hello everyone! It's been a busy week, so unfortunately I haven't had time yet to go through and reply to everyone's comments, but I have read all of them and as always have been blown away by your enthusiasm, thoughtfulness, and kindness! I'll reply as soon as I can but in the meantime, as always, thank you all so much for reading and commenting!!!!!
Chapter Text
The next few days were awful. The syk sickness hit Deadlock harder than anticipated, and he spent most of those days curled up on his berth and purging out any fuel he tried to drink. Given the energon shortage, it didn’t take long for him to stop trying and just let himself dry heave, much to Ratchet’s annoyance.
The medic took another scan. “It’ll go away faster with some fuel in your tank. I can try a direct line…”
“Don’ bother,” Deadlock grunted hoarsely. “I’ll just toss it back up.” He curled up tighter as another round of shakes started.
Ratchet sighed and sat down next to him. “It’s hitting a lot harder because you were clean for so long. And Knockout gave you a hefty dose, probably about what you were using at your peak.”
Deadlock grunted, unable to vocalize any sort of coherent response.
Ratchet continued. “It should pass soon, though. The syk is out of your systems, now they’re resetting.”
“…fraggin’ kill ‘im…” Deadlock muttered.
Ratchet chuckled. “Yeah, I get the sentiment. Trust me, I’m not happy with him either. It’s one thing to shoot a mech but this was a low blow.”
Another inarticulate groan.
Ratchet reached out slowly, hesitantly, because he knew just how touch starved the other mech was. He rested a hand on Deadlock’s back and moved it in slow circles.
Deadlock tensed up at first, clearly not expecting it. Then it was as if he forced himself to relax.
Ratchet continued rubbing his back through the next round of dry heaves until Deadlock’s cables and pistons slackened out of exhaustion. He would probably drift off to recharge soon. His systems needed it.
Once his vent cycles evened out, Ratchet slowly lifted his hand. A quick scan showed that the worst of the withdrawals should fade within the next couple of hours. Hopefully the kid would sleep through it. He’d try to get Deadlock to drink some fuel once he woke up, he decided.
As he stood to leave, he glanced down one more time at the sleeping mech. He looked so different than he did back when they’d first met. Bulky armor, countless weapon mods, a darker paint job…he was dangerous, now. But Ratchet couldn’t help the fondness that prickled in his spark, seeing that face relaxed in slumber.
No, that wouldn’t do.
He fled before any more ridiculous feelings could catch him by surprise.
***
Ratchet was too old for this.
“Magnus, he’s on light duty,” he repeated. Again. “Until he’s medically cleared, you are not to send him on patrol.”
Magnus, of course, remained unmoved. “It is causing dissension among the troops. Deadlock needs to pull his own weight. Arguably more so than the others.”
“He can pull his own weight after I’m sure his processor doesn’t shut down on him!” Ratchet snapped. “This isn’t up for debate.”
Magnus was quiet for a long moment. However, being in possession of one of the worst poker faces Ratchet had ever seen, he obviously wanted to say something.
Ratchet was far too old for this. “Spit it out,” he barked.
“I want a second opinion,” the commander said. “I have reason to believe you are biased, and giving Deadlock more leeway than is needed.”
His vision blurred red at the edges. “How. Dare. You,” he grated, spitting each word out as he struggled not to lash out physically. “Questioning my integrity as a medic? As the only medic we have? You are out of line, commander . Out of line! And I won’t stand for it! You think you can just barge in here and stomp all over us because you have a rank? News flash, I have a rank, too! And when it comes to medical intervention, what I. Say. Goes.” He jabbed a finger at Magnus’s chest with the last three words. “Got it?”
Magnus stared down at him. “Very well, doctor. But I am making a note of your behavior.” He turned to walk away.
“Insult me like that again and you can make a note of my wrench smacking some sense into your thick head,” Ratchet muttered. He returned to the work at hand. Waiting for a simulation to run.
“Ratchet?”
The medic startled. Raphael. Frag, he’d been there the entire time. The kid was so small and quiet, Ratchet had completely forgotten he’d asked him to help try to speed up the simulation processing.
“Oh. Raphael. I am…sorry you had to hear that,” he said, only stumbling a little bit.
“That’s ok,” his friend said. “But…is everyone going to be alright? You all seem pretty…uh…tense.”
“Tense? No one is tense. Everything’s fine!” Ratchet tapped a couple keys to bring up a diagnostic he didn’t need. “Don’t worry, Raphael. Everything will be alright.”
Raphael also didn’t have a good poker face.
Ratchet tried to ignore the worry and continued his work.
***
Deadlock tapped an area of the map projected on the weathered concrete floor of his quarters. “The Vehicons aren’t going to go here. Too many storms, too unpredictable,” he said. “I doubt there’s anything there anyway.”
Bumblebee warbled. He’d been shy with his idea of discussing potential energon deposits, but in this quieter spot, away from the louder mechs, he was growing more confident.
“True…I guess with the weather, they wouldn’t have checked there at all,” Deadlock admitted. He sat back against the wall, trying to keep his head from spinning. Everything hurt. Less so than it did right after the…incident, but still. He was feeling well enough to do something. Make himself useful.
“We’d need an aquatic to look there anyway,” Arcee pointed out from her perch on the slab. At Bee’s sad series of bloops, she patted his shoulder. “No, it was a good thought. Let’s keep at it along those lines. The dangerous places are our best bet for untapped energon deposits.”
Bee nodded and changed the map projection.
“The arctic?” Arcee asked. “There was a deposit there…we couldn’t get to it through all the ice.”
“Might be easier to rig up a thermal resistance thing than it is to get the synthetic energon finished,” Deadlock said cautiously, unsure if his suggestion would be shot down because, well, it was his.
But Arcee tapped her chin in thought. “Maybe if we were able to set up the Iron Will for a bit of drilling…after all, it’s space worthy. It can handle temperatures way more extreme than what Earth has to offer.”
Bee warbled.
“True,” Arcee sighed. “It wouldn’t be worth it unless we can confirm there’s a viable deposit.”
“Could do a preliminary flyover with the scanners tuned for deposits,” Deadlock suggested. “Optimus might be able to do that with a portable scanner. It’d be less conspicuous than the whole ship flying around.”
Bee chirped an agreement.
Arcee thought for a moment. “I’ll pitch it to command. We’re getting pretty desperate, after all…” She shot a glance over at their dwindling supplies situated nearby.
Bumblebee followed her gaze for a moment, then turned back to his projection and changed the view. He questioned its viability, and the work continued.
***
“We need fuel,” Bulkhead muttered, looking over his inventory numbers for their supply.
“You don’t say,” Wheeljack said. “Hey, ‘Con! Where do you slag-eaters keep your fuel?”
Deadlock didn’t bother glancing up from his nest of data pads in the corner. “In our tanks,” he said snidely.
“What Jackie means to say,” Bulkhead stepped in, “is do you know of any caches Megs has that we can swipe?”
Deadlock set down one data pad of notes and picked up another. “Not if you’re lookin’ for an easy target,” he said, scanning over a section of assassination regulations that was almost too stupid to understand. “Most of the mines ran dry before I got here. Everythin’ left is probably heavily guarded, and it’ll take a full attack to get enough to make any effort worth it.” He made another note in his first datapad. Who in their right mind would leave such a paper trail with assassination orders?
The two wreckers glanced at each other. Bulkhead sighed. “And Ratchet says he’s barely made any progress with the synthetic energon formula.”
“Can you blame him? He’s only got human tech to work with. It’s just not cutting it,” Wheeljack said, frustration evident in his voice.
“We need a win,” Bulkhead grumbled.
“You can say that again,” Wheeljack grumbled. He shoved a data pad under Deadlock’s nose. “Mark the active mine locations.”
Deadlock glowered up at him as he snatched the datapad. “Fine,” he snapped. “But you’d better find someone else to help raid it because I’m not in the mood to get shot.” He started marking locations he knew of.
“No way we’d take you on a mission that’s actually important,” Wheeljack said.
“Jackie…” Bulkhead sighed.
“What? You can’t tell me you’d actually trust him to have your back when slag hits the fan.”
“That’s not our call to make,” Bulkhead pointed out. “But if Prime trusts him, well…I trust Prime.”
“Frag that,” Wheeljack snapped. He pointed at Deadlock. “If I’d known this slag-sucker was goin’ to try to join the team, I would’ve shot his head off and pretended I never got that surrender ping. He’s a ‘Con . Good for nothing once we’ve got all the intel we can outta him.”
“You really know how to make a mech feel appreciated, ‘Jack,” Deadlock said dryly as he gathered up his data pads. He shoved one, displaying a map marked with mine locations, into Bulkhead’s chest. “I got better things to do than listen to you whine.”
The two wreckers watched him stomp off. Bulkhead turned to his friend. “Look, I know it’s weird, and I know he’s a piece of slag, but we don’t need to like him, we just need to tolerate the fact that Mags and Prime are gonna use him to their advantage. He can shoot, that’s why he’s still alive.”
Wheeljack huffed. “Doesn’t mean I’m lookin’ forward to havin’ him on the field. He could turn on us any minute.”
“He could,” Bulkhead agreed. “But I don’t think he will.”
“Why’s that?”
Bulkhead snorted. “Where’s he gonna go? You think Megatron will welcome him back with open arms? No way, not after he made his alignment clear with Knockout. He needs us more than we need him, and he knows it. Because without us, Megatron won’t have too much trouble finding him.”
“Huh.” Which was about as close as Wheeljack would ever get to admitting someone had a point. He grabbed the marked datapad. “Alright, Bulk. Which one should we hit?”
Chapter 22: Trust, One Near-Death Experience at a Time
Summary:
Ultra Magnus and Deadlock head out on a patrol together, and a certain Predacon makes a reappearance.
Chapter Text
It took a couple of agonizing days of checkups, medical-grade energon, and sitting around doing mostly nothing, but eventually Deadlock got the all clear from Ratchet to go back on active duty.
Good, Deadlock thought. Maybe Magnus would quit grilling him so much on the code. He hadn’t even bothered trying to explain to the commander that his memory cores were still malfunctioning a bit. Why bother? Magnus would just find another reason to harass him.
Still, he was looking forward to getting out of the base, even if it was just for patrol. Everyone, for one reason or another, was getting on his nerves. And it wasn’t their fault, Deadlock had to admit. He was just antsy. Embarrassed. Angry. But Ratchet hovered. The children were concerned, but confused, since no one wanted to explain Syk to them. Arcee was checking in when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, but he saw her glancing over at him. He couldn’t tell if it was concern for his health, or surveillance. Bumblebee was the kindest, trying his best to help, always rushing in if he saw Deadlock stumble. The assassin tried not to snap at him, but he didn’t need help. He didn’t want help. He wanted for this to never have happened and he shouldn’t be relying on anyone to keep him from tripping over his own feet while his gyros recalibrated…
Bulkhead avoided the subject entirely while he was in earshot. But Deadlock was sure he and Wheeljack talked about it. Wheeljack, to his credit, didn’t take advantage of Deadlock’s recovery, and kept his distance for the most part. Deadlock didn’t want to know what the Wrecker thought. He didn’t care. Magnus argued with Ratchet when they thought no one else could hear. It was Smokescreen who told him that. The young racer seemed caught between wanting to be kind, and not understanding what happened. How could he? All he knew is his commander wasn’t happy, and he wanted to fix it. So he’d come over to invite Deadlock on patrols. Patrols he knew very well that Deadlock couldn’t go on. Rules, apparently, didn’t apply to Smokescreen. For him, breaking the rules was a good thing. Something cool and admired, a chance to go above and beyond.
Deadlock got tired of explaining to Smokescreen that he couldn’t just run off on a patrol. Even if it would show Magnus that he could. Even if it would get Ratchet off his case. He couldn’t. It wasn’t worth the consequences outlined in section 2 of the Reintegration Act.
Prime was, by far, the most tolerable. And that just ticked Deadlock off even more. Prime didn’t hover, he didn’t rush in to help with everything. He didn’t quiz Deadlock on his symptoms or press him on when he could get back to work. He asked Deadlock how he was feeling, every morning like clockwork, and accepted the answer, even if, on a couple occasions, it was a muttered “frag off”. He would talk about encryptions, or make a comment about Decepticon activity in certain areas. Never asking for Deadlock’s help with anything, but…leaving an opening.
It was all infuriating. All Deadlock wanted to do was crawl in a hole and hide until everyone’s memory files of the incident were corrupted. But he couldn’t, and now they all saw how easy it was to bring him down. They all just saw him as…well, Drift.
He shoved his thoughts down and checked his weapons one more time. Patrol in sector 113, a quiet area with a low but noticeable probability of having Predacon remains buried there.
He checked the assignment on his HUD and frowned. It had originally been Arcee listed as the other unit for the patrol, but now the slot was blank. He sighed and made his way to the ground bridge. “I’ve got a patrol in sector 113,” he told Bulkhead, who was operating the bridge today. “Any idea who’s with me?”
Bulkhead looked vastly uncomfortable, which told Deadlock everything he needed to know before a stern voice sounded from behind him.
“That would be me, soldier,” Ultra Magnus said.
Fantastic.
The sector was remote, and cold, and had no roads to speak of, which was a shame, because while Deadlock could easily outpace Magnus in vehicle mode, he struggled to keep up with the commander’s stupidly long steps in root mode.
The only plus side was that he could smoke. And he took full advantage of that.
Magnus frowned at him. “I am surprised you’re back to using. Given the recent developments.”
Deadlock nearly choked on his cyg. Once he recovered, he barely managed to keep his voice level. “Cygs aren’t nearly as addictive as Syk, sir. Nor do they impair a mech as much. These are…stress management.”
“Stress management,” Magnus repeated, doubtfully.
“Stress management,” Deadlock confirmed. “Sir.”
Magnus hummed in a way Deadlock figured meant disapproval. Because what else would it be? He could get off his high horse though. Deadlock was going to smoke and there was frag-all the commander could do about it.
They continued walking. The scenery was beautiful, and one of the reasons Deadlock was eager to go on patrol here. The Torngat Mountain park was remote, and hostile to humans, but had a beautiful variety of native life and geologic formations. Bumblebee had suggested there might be energon deposits or Predacon bones here that hadn’t been unearthed by humans, given how sparsely inhabited the area was. Nothing was showing up on the scanners though. At least, nothing in terms of energon or Predacon bones.
Deadlock halted and held up a hand. “Hold on a minute, sir,” he said quietly, ducking behind a large boulder.
Magnus looked around. “Hostiles?”
“No, not hostiles. Just…hold on a minute. And keep your voice down. Sir.” He waved the commander over to his hiding spot.
Magnus looked around and completely ignored Deadlock’s request. “I only see the organics,” he said.
Deadlock sighed. “Yes. Those are polar bears. And if we get too close, the mother, the big one, will probably attack.”
“Are you concerned about an attack from an organic a quarter of your size?” Magnus demanded.
“I’m concerned that provoking her is more trouble than it’s worth, and we might hurt her,” Deadlock replied, using every ounce of his self control not to snap. “It’s best if we just be quiet and stay out of her way so she doesn’t feel threatened. Sir.”
Magnus stared for a long moment at the mother bear leading her two cubs vaguely in their direction. Then, finally, he joined Deadlock behind the boulder. “This is not conducive to our objective, soldier,” he informed Deadlock.
“I am acting in accordance to section 25, article 87 of the Autobot code, sir,” Deadlock said in his least argumentative tone. “Avoiding violence against indigenous life forms.”
“You were not concerned about the other ones,” Magnus pointed out. “The…caribou?”
“Those just run away, sir,” Deadlock said. “These ones are at the top of the local hierarchy, and fiercely protective of their offspring. If we simply stay out of their way and leave them be, we can avoid an altercation.”
The commander was quiet for a long moment as he watched the mother bear and her tangle of wrestling cubs meander their way towards a riverbank. “I find it odd that you know anything about Earth lifeforms,” he said matter-of-factly. Not accusing, just an observation.
Deadlock kept his optics on the bears and saved a couple of images for his growing bank. “They’re interesting. Sir. I’ve been…studying them. In my spare time.”
“Miko mentioned you had a…how did she put it…”soft spot”. For birds, specifically.”
“I like birds.”
“And Ratchet had some complaints about how long you stared at a tree.”
“I like trees, too. Sir.”
“And these are…?”
“Polar bears, sir.” He hesitated. “I have…something of a growing database of information and personal observations of the flora and fauna here. I…can provide you with a report. If you want. Sir.” He kept his gaze on the bears, who at this point were almost past them.
Ultra Magnus didn’t respond immediately. In fact, Deadlock theorized that he was giving him just enough time to worry that he’d done something wrong. But eventually he replied with, “Yes, that would be useful information to have. Send it to me before the end of your shift today.”
“Yes, sir.” He made a note in his HUD.
In the end, there were no energon deposits, and no Predacon bones. Just mountains, rivers, caribou, and polar bears. Deadlock cleaned up his partial database and sent it to Magnus before the end of his shift.
Later, he held back a grin when Miko complained loudly to him that Ultra Magnus was asking her all these questions about insects that she didn’t know the answers to.
***
“We’ve got an exposed energon signature!” Arcee called.
The whole base perked up. Even Ultra Magnus stood up immediately. “Where?”
“Sector ninety-two, in the mountains,” Arcee reported.
“We can’t afford to ignore it,” Prime said in his annoyingly magnanimous way. “Everyone, prepare to strike.”
“Everyone, everyone?” Deadlock asked. “Or “everyone but Deadlock” everyone?”
“Everyone everyone,” Prime said. “Gear up.”
They groundbridged in, and dispatching the Vehicon guards was almost laughably easy. So easy, in fact, that Deadlock’s processor tingled. Something wasn’t quite right.
“Check out all that sweet, sweet fuel,” Smokescreen said, picking a chunk of energon from a crate.
“Arcee, Bumblebee, Smokescreen, begin transport back to base,” Prime ordered. “Wreckers, and Deadlock, scout the rest of the mine.”
Deadlock cocked his standard issue shotgun. “Finally, an order I don’t feel like complaining about.”
“Can I go too?” Smokescreen bounded up to Prime. “I’ve always wanted to roll with the Wreckers! Uh, sir!”
They moved through the mine slowly, carefully sweeping every crevice they came across. Nothing, not even equipment. The tingling got worse. When they came to a fork in the tunnels, Magnus signaled a stop.
“Smokescreen, Bulkhead, take left. The rest of us will continue this way.” He gestured with the Forge of Solus Prime, which he’d…inexplicably brought and used as a plain old hammer.
Magnus took point, Wheeljack brought up the rear, and Deadlock was in the middle as they made their way through the tunnel.
“Somethin’ doesn’t smell right,” Deadlock muttered. “There’s nothin’ here that says this is an active mine.”
“Are you suggesting it’s a trap?” Magnus asked.
“‘M not sure. Could be. Sir.”
“Keep your optics peeled, then.”
Deadlock rolled his optics instead. Magnus probably thought they wouldn’t refill on coolant unless he told them to.
The tunnel abruptly opened up into a cavern. A big one. And it was full of incubation tanks with fledgling…things.
“Predacons,” Wheeljack said, leaning closer to inspect one. “And it looks like they’re almost fully grown.”
“Shockwave must’ve used this place to restore the first Predacon,” Deadlock guessed, pointing to a much larger, yet empty tank.
“Quiet,” Magnus whispered. “I think I hear someone.” He motioned Deadlock to flank.
Deadlock darted around the tanks to get a better look at the large platform on the other end. Yep, someone was there. A big one-opticed someone. He signaled a bogey to Magnus and took aim with a longer-ranged rifle. Still standard issue, but it’d get the job done.
Magnus evidently wasn’t a fan of making things easy. He and Wheeljack charged forward, startling Shockwave from his console. He ducked for cover out of Deadlock’s scope.
“Damnit, I had the shot!” Deadlock snapped. He stowed the rifle and brought out the shotgun again.
Magnus ignored him, instead opting to fire at Shockwave. The Decepticon scientist hurriedly punched a command into his console, and a ground bridge opened up as fluid began to drain from the Predacon capsules. Shockwave stumbled his way through the portal, leaving the three mechs in a growing puddle of fluid.
The Predacons in their capsules began to shriek.
Wheeljack bounced a grenade in his hand and looked at a stack of energon cubes near Shockwave’s console. “Permission to employ a grenade in a confined space?” he asked.
“Do it!” Magnus ordered.
The explosion was loud, firey, and tinged with the shrieks of Predacons. And…something else. A t-cog.
“ What have you done ?!” an unfamiliar voice roared.
“Time to go?” Deadlock asked, backing up towards the way they came.
“Affirmative,” Magnus said.
The three of them raced through the tunnels with an explosion and some unknown mech behind them. Deadlock almost had hope they’d make it when something hit him and sent him flying into the wall of the cavern.
A hulking mech stood before them. Huge, dark, spiky, with a familiar emblem on his chest…
“It’s the Predacon!” Wheeljack shouted.
“Preda king !” the mech roared. He flung Wheeljack into the wall opposite Deadlock.
Magnus charged and landed a heavy blow with the Forge, but it barely seemed to phase the thing. Deadlock peeled himself out of the wall and fired a shot at its optic to distract it from retaliating against the commander. The shot glanced off and lodged in the rock.
“This is bad!” Wheeljack said unnecessarily as he dug himself out of the rock. “How’d you kill this thing last time, ‘Lock?”
Deadlock fired more useless shots at it. “I used a chemical weapon explicitly banned in Section 12, Article 7!” he yelled back. “And I don’t have another!”
The beast turned towards him. “So it was you. The traitor. The one who tried to extinguish my Spark. Megatron told me about you.”
“Did he tell you what a pain in the aft I am?” Deadlock asked. He tossed aside his empty rifle and pulled out his pistols.
“Yeah, that’s probably the only thing you can say about him!” Wheeljack said. He took the opportunity to lash an energy whip around its leg and try to pull the thing down.
The Predacon shook it off like it was an errant insect and swiped a massive claw at Deadlock. To his shock, Wheeljack anchored his whip around the Predacon’s arm just as it was about to hit him and yanked it away.
“Don’t just stand there,” the Wrecker snapped. “Do something!”
Deadlock leapt up and clung to the back of the Predacon’s shoulders, frantically searching for a weak spot. He drew a serrated knife and plunged it deep into the narrow exposure between his wings and his back, and twisted.
The Predacon howled and reached back to grab Deadlock by the head and throw him off. He skidded to a halt near Magnus.
“Openin’s in the joints,” he said in a rush. “Armor’s too tough for anythin’ else.”
Magnus helped him to his feet. “Take advantage of the wound you made. I’ll distract him.”
They rushed forward to join Wheeljack as he struggled to keep a hold on the whip still wrapped around the Predacon’s wrist. Magnus went for the left side, and Deadlock moved to try to get a good shot at the thing’s back.
The Predacon tore free from Wheeljack’s whip and caught all three of them in a devastating swipe of his claws.
“And now you have killed my kin. Destroyed our chance of rebuilding my species. You will share their tomb!” With one massive hand, he broke off a hanging stalactite and hurled it towards them.
Only Magnus was able to dodge in time. Deadlock and Wheeljack were thrown into the wall again, and this time the rubble was too heavy to simply shove aside.
Magnus swung the forge again, but the Predacon simply grabbed it and flung it away. He knocked the commander down with a heavy blow. Magnus reached for the forge—
There was a loud crunch as the beast stomped on his hand, and then a screech as he ground Magnus’s fingers into the stone. Magnus roared in pain.
Deadlock struggled against the rocks pinning him, but it was no use. Warnings blared on his HUD, informing him of internal injuries and the crushing weight of the rubble.
In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Optimus fraggin’ Prime swooped in at the last second to save all three of them, because it was Optimus and that’s what Optimus did. In the moment, however, he very nearly stabbed the Prime out of a shocked reflex.
Not much was said when they arrived back at base. Ratchet tried frantically to save Magnus’s hand, and everyone else stayed out of his way. The Forge had been recovered, but apparently drained of its Prime-y energy, it was next to useless, and Ratchet hadn’t even considered using it for Magnus’s hand.
Deadlock’s self-repair was doing its thing with his injuries, boosted by a quick dose of extra nanites that Ratchet injected. So all he had to do was pop some dents and make a few small welds.
Wheeljack sat nearby and did his own maintenance. Neither of them called the other out on glancing up frequently to see if Ratchet was making any progress.
Of course, Wheeljack wouldn’t stay quiet for long.
“So how come you couldn’t put a scratch on Preda-whatever?” he demanded. “You did plenty of damage last time you fought it.”
“I wasn’t exactly sportin’ the firepower I had that time,” Deadlock pointed out. “An’ explosives would’ve killed us all.”
“And no cosmic rust this time.”
“I only had the one round.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“You ever go up against the Wreckers in their heyday?” Wheeljack asked.
Deadlock arched an eyebrow. “Nah. Saw your work from a safe distance. An assassin like me goin’ up against the whole team? Wouldn’t’ve ended well for me.”
“Damn right it wouldn’t have.” He watched Ratchet work openly now. “Things calmed down after Magnus took charge though.”
“Yeah, d’you have any idea what a fraggin’ pain in the aft that was? You were bad enough as a loose canon, but an organized unit fragged up almost our whole ground force.” With a grunt, he pulled another dent out of his kibble. “I got assigned a hit on Magnus to try to stop it.”
Wheeljack snorted. “Lemme guess. You couldn’t even get close.”
“Every fraggin’ time I did, a sniper would shoot right here,” he said, pointing at a scar on his neck cables. “Stung like a glitch. The fragger was just showin’ off.”
“That’d have to be Percy. He was a crack shot.”
“‘Percy’?” He quickly ran through his database. “As in Perceptor? The skinny red microscope from Helex? The chief scientific officer?”
“The very same. Turns out he was one hell of a sniper as well as a genius.”
“Huh.” He rubbed the spot that had been shoddily welded over and over again. “And he didn’t just kill me?”
“He was close with Ratchet,” Wheeljack said. “And he had an interesting sense of humor. He probably thought it was funny.”
“Right.” He flicked on his crappy built-in welder again and patched up a gash in his ankle.
Wheeljack pulled a dent out of his forearm and glanced over. “You got a good sized dent on your back,” he said.
“Yep.” He’d get that one later, if he could manage to reach it. Damn thing was right between his shoulder blades and it didn’t hurt, but that was just because the sensors were having trouble getting pain signals out. So it just tingled and itched.
“I’ve got a slash I can’t reach,” Wheeljack said.
Deadlock glanced over at him. “Trade?” he asked cautiously.
Wheeljack turned so he could see the cut, and waited.
Deadlock hesitated for a moment before reaching over and neatly soldering it closed.
Wheeljack straightened and readied his own tools, the implication clear.
Deadlock paused for longer this time. He’d barely let medics assist with repairs, especially with wounds that weren’t lethal. Other mechs…that was dangerous ground.
But Wheeljack had trusted him. He was expecting the same.
He turned so the Wrecker could access the dent.
Deadlock swore when Wheeljack popped the bent plating back into place, and nerve clusters suddenly remembered they’d been crushed.
“If Magnus were awake, he’d assign you push-ups for swearing,” Wheeljack quipped as he pulled back.
“‘M not doin’ any more fraggin’ push-ups,” Deadlock grumbled. He gently massaged feeling back into the cables that had been pinned by the bent plating. “Not unless he assigns them himself.”
They both looked over at where the commander was still out cold.
“He’d better,” Wheeljack said.
Chapter 23: Red's Not Your Color
Summary:
Tensions boil over at the Autobot base when Soundwave is brought in.
Chapter Text
“The Decepticons are building something,” Fowler announced, striding into the main area of the hangar and letting the door swing shut behind him. He folded his arms and looked over the Autobots, who’d reacted in a range of stopping what they were doing and giving Fowler their full attention (Optimus), and snorting as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and continuing as usual (Ratchet).
“Is it Insecticon barracks? Maybe that’s where the bugs have been hiding…” Bulkhead wondered aloud.
“Not unless barracks need twenty tons of control rods,” Fowler said. Then he hesitated. “They don’t, right?”
“They do not,” Prime confirmed. “Agent Fowler, what other facilities are at risk?”
“Not sure. Unless we know what they’re after, there’s too many places to choose from.” With a few taps on his laptop, he brought up a map of potential targets on the big screen.
“We cannot predict what they’ll need without knowing what they’re building,” Prime surmised after studying the map for a moment.
“Don’t you fraggin dare look at me,” Deadlock snapped from where he sat in a corner, cleaning his weapons. “I’m an assassin, not an administrator. You’re lucky I knew as much as I did when I first crashed at your doorstep.”
“Fifty push ups, soldier,” Magnus snapped tiredly. “First warning.”
“Oh shove it up your—“
“One hundred.”
Deadlock placed the rifle he’d been cleaning very deliberately against the wall and, with a glare, began his, as he’d coined them, “Duly Enforced Profanity Push-Ups”.
Magnus turned to Prime. “Do you think it’s a weapon?”
“More than likely,” Prime said. “And using human technology as a base will be faster than building from scratch.”
“Agreed.”
Miko peeked over from where she sat with Jack and Raf. “So what, like a big gun? To blow up the moon? Oh! Or to blow up the sun?”
“Doubtful,” Arcee said. “If Megatron wanted to destroy Earth, he could’ve done so a long, long time ago. He wants something else.”
“Something like what?” Miko asked.
Just then, the console blared a warning of an in-progress attack.
“We’ll find out soon,” Prime said. “Roll out!”
***
Ratchet wasn’t called in immediately for interrogation. In fact, he mostly dealt with shoo-ing the children away into Fowler’s office, and…well, dragging a protesting and confused Deadlock outside before the rest of the team ground bridged back.
“Ratchet, I swear to frag if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m gonna—“
“Going to what, Deadlock?” Ratchet asked smugly.
Deadlock stopped mid-rant. “I’ll…pour that ugly reflective paint all over your quarters,” he said lamely. “Or something.” He sat down on the dusty ground outside the hanger. “Really though, what’s going on?”
Ratchet sat down next to him. “They caught Soundwave.”
Deadlock didn’t respond. In fact, he noticeably stiffened in an effort not to respond.
Ratchet sighed. “It’s not that you can’t be trusted…”
“Really? Then what is it, Ratchet? Why was I just thrown out of there like a stray turbo hound?” He ground his teeth. “What more do I have to do to prove that I’m not about to run back to Megatron? Pit, if I freed Soundwave, he’d probably shoot me!”
“Deadlock,” Ratchet said calmly, “just relax. No one’s shooting you, no one’s turning on you.”
“Then tell me why Prime told me I can’t be in the base,” Deadlock snapped. “He asked for my answer and I gave it.” He, in a concentrated effort not to be too aggressive, tapped his Autobot badge. “I’m on your side. I trust him with my life and more, why doesn’t he trust me not to betray him?”
“It’s not about that,” Ratchet said.
“Then what is it?”
“We may have to hurt Soundwave to get what we need, and Optimus doesn’t want you to have to see that,” Ratchet said bluntly.
Deadlock froze again.
“I don’t know what your relationship with Soundwave is like,” Ratchet continued, “but it’s not fair to make you stand by and watch your friend…go through that. Just as we would never ask you to do that to him.”
“So…Prime is trying to, what, protect my delicate little feelings? He thinks so little of me?” he demanded.
“Yes, he’s trying to spare you that experience, but having feelings doesn’t make you weak, Deadlock. And being considerate doesn’t make Optimus weak either. It’s not about some backhanded insult, or power grab or anything like that. You’re a member of Prime’s team, and he doesn’t want to see any of us hurt. Whether that’s on the battlefield or off.”
Deadlock stared at the dusty ground at his feet and stayed silent. “So that’s why he didn’t chew me out after I spared Knockout,” he said after a long moment.
Ratchet nodded. “Just because you changed badges doesn’t mean what came before never happened,” he said. “They were your comrades for four million years, and Optimus is considerate of that fact. He trusts you, and he doesn’t want to make this more difficult than it already is.”
Deadlock was quiet for a moment. Then, “I didn’t ask you to care about me,” he said heatedly.
Ratchet was taken aback. “What?”
“I didn’t ask you to care about me. I don’t want you to…protect me. I can protect myself. What are you tryin’ to do, huh?” he demanded. “Tryin’ to make sure I never leave? Tryin’ to keep me here by…what, by pretendin’ I’m anythin’ more than another walkin’ weapon?”
“Deadlock, that’s not—“
“That’s right; Deadlock! Not Drift, Deadlock. Deadlock isn’t some stupid little addict who needs someone to believe in him. Deadlock is a killer and a soldier and why do you pretend I’m anything else?” He wrenched away and stood up. “I don’t need any favors from you, Doc. I didn’t then and I didn’t now.”
“It’s not a favor,” Ratchet snapped. “Or a ploy or whatever the hell you think it is. Is it that difficult to fathom that someone might just care about you without thinking about what you could give them in return?”
“Oh, so now I’m stupid for wonderin’ what all this is about?”
“Where did this come from?” Ratchet demanded as he stood. “We’re nearing the end of the war and now you have a crisis of faith?”
“Faith?” he laughed. “Sure, we can call it that. Appeal to your righteous Autobot sensibilities.”
“Take a look in a mirror,” the medic snapped. “You’re wearing the same badge I am.”
“Sure! And when the war’s over and I ain’t useful anymore, what good’ll it do me? This whole thing is a farce, just admit it! I’ll always be a ‘Con, and whether it’s to protect me or not, I’ll end up back in the gutter, won’t I? So I don’t have the burden of engaging with the brand new shiny Autobot society and you can forget about the mistake that’s me!”
Ratchet opened his mouth to shout back, but was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
Smokescreen stood there sheepishly. “Uh, Ratchet? Prime wants you. He thinks we might have to run a cortical psychic patch.”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Ratchet said. “Let me just—“
“Don’t fraggin’ bother,” Deadlock said. “I’ve said what I need to say.” He stomped off towards the Iron Will.
***
Ratchet paced around the hanger. Smokescreen and Bulkhead hung back, not sure what to do but sure that getting in the doc’s way wasn’t it.
Interrogation couldn’t have gone worse. Ratchet knew Soundwave would be tricky, but crashing his own drives to avoid disclosing anything? That wasn’t something Ratchet had seen before. Then again, he was far from an interrogator. Prowl would have been able to do better…
Smokescreen’s restlessness finally got the better of him, and he poked around Soundwave’s motionless form. “He gives me the creeps. Like…more than most ‘Cons.”
“Most ‘Cons don’t peel off their own faces,” Deadlock’s gruff voice came from the door. He leaned against the wall, apparently done pouting in Magnus’s ship. Ratchet had ignored him so far, still mad about their earlier conversation. He planned to keep ignoring the assassin until…
Well, until something. Until he stopped being mad.
“Do most ‘Cons crash themselves to get out of conversations they don’t want to have?” Bulkhead quipped. “Like discussing why Megatron needs enough power to destroy a world?”
Then it clicked, and Ratchet cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. “Or create one. It’s the Omega Lock. He’s rebuilding the Omega Lock!”
“What? Why? How?” Bulkhead stammered.
Ratchet ignored him and opened up a comm to Optimus. “Optimus, I think Megatron is trying to rebuild the Omega Lock. Do we…let him?”
There was silence on the other end for a long moment. Then, “No,” Prime said. “If he rebuilds it, he’ll only attempt to Cyberform Earth again.”
Ratchet’s spark fell. He’d known the answer, but still…it hurt. “I understand,” he said, and closed the line.
“For someone who cares about rebuilding “home” so much, you mechs sure seem to want to stop it,” Deadlock said snidely. Ratchet ignored him.
“Hey!” Smokescreen protested. “We’re just trying to protect Earth! Everyone who lives here shouldn’t have to suffer just because the Decepticons destroyed Cybertron.”
Deadlock snorted. “Sure, kid. Keep tellin’ yourself that’s the case.”
“Will you get out of here?” the racer demanded. “You shouldn’t be in here with him.” He jerked his head towards Soundwave.
Deadlock rolled his optics. “Please. Either trust me or don’t. I’m sick of this limbo slag.”
“Fine!” Smokescreen snapped. “I for one don’t trust you! Especially now, here, with you questioning Prime and lurking around Soundwave!”
“Enough!” Ratchet roared.
The room fell silent.
Ratchet continued. “If the lot of you can’t be civil, go settle your differences some other place, some other time. Here and now we need to stay alert, and we need to focus on the real enemy!” He pointed at Soundwave.
Just then, Fowler opened the door. “I heard shouting, is everything—“
The window shattered, glass flying everywhere as something flew through. Laserbeak. Ratchet’s processor scrambled to keep up. “Keep him away from Soundwave!” he shouted.
Deadlock already had a gun in hand. “I got ‘im!”
Two shots fired simultaneously; one from Deadlock, one from Smokescreen. Smokescreen’s hit first, but it only took a chunk out of Laserbeak’s wing. Enough to knock him aside out of Deadlock’s line of fire.
While the team rushed to regain composure and protect the humans, Laserbeak locked into his place on Soundwave’s chest. Ratchet yelled and shot, but Soundwave was already on the move. He knocked Ratchet aside, and then with hardly any effort threw Bulkhead into Smokescreen, sending them both into the wall.
Deadlock roared and charged forward with a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. He slashed at Soundwave’s faceplate, but his hand was knocked aside. His shot went wide as Soundwave caught his arm and flipped him over his shoulder.
“Ratchet, get out of here!” Deadlock yelled. He wrestled free of Soundwave’s grasp and rolled out of the way of a tentacle, drawing another knife from a sheath on his ankle. “Now!”
Ratchet was doing no such thing. He lunged at Soundwave while the Decepticon was occupied with Deadlock, hoping to distract him or catch him by surprise or something.
Instead, Soundwave struck him in the neural cluster, hard, and everything went black.
***
Deadlock’s optics snapped open, and instinctively he lurched as he felt energy bonds flare to life around his wrists.
His processor reeled and he kicked a Vehicon in the chest as he secured Deadlock’s wrists above his head. The Vehicon stumbled back and swore, pulling out a prod.
A clawed hand pushed it down. “Now, now,” Starscream’s mocking voice crooned. “That’s no way to treat a guest, no matter how poor his manners are.”
“Starscream,” Deadlock sneered. “Frankly I’m surprised to see you still have your head attached.”
“Yes, well, contrary to your rather…shall we say, uninformed opinion, I can be loyal.” He took the prod from the Vehicon and tapped it against his other hand. “The same can’t be said for you, now can it?” He reached forward and traced his claws around the slightly raised Autobot badge on Deadlock’s chest. “Red is really not your color.”
Deadlock twisted away as much as he could, suspended as he was by his wrists. His shoulders were already starting to ache. “The Pit do you want, Starscream? I sure hope you don’t think I’m gonna cut another deal with you.”
Starscream snorted and idly tapped his claws against the handle of the prod. “The fact that you were stupid enough to believe any of that…you’re a rather hopeless case, aren’t you, Deadlock? Good for nothing, really. You’re here as leverage. And if you’re not good leverage, I’m sure you’ll make for an excellent punching bag.”
Deadlock barked out a laugh. “Leverage? Against who? Is someone out there claimin’ to be my spark mate or somethin’?”
Starscream smirked and jabbed the prod into Deadlock’s stomach. Deadlock grit his teeth and bit back a scream. This was nothing. This was a tickle. He’d had so much worse…
“Not quite,” Starscream said. “But that medic seems rather fond of you. Perhaps fond enough to want to protect you, hm? Shall we show him what will happen if he doesn’t cooperate?”
Deadlock spat out another laugh. “Ratchet? Are you serious? Do you know what kind of trust issues that mech has? Magnus warmed up to me faster than he did.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. It can’t hurt to torture you a bit to see how he reacts.” He twirled the prod and pressed it hard into Deadlock’s neck cables. His free hand grabbed a finial and held him still so he couldn’t thrash away.
Deadlock gritted his teeth against the pain, telling himself that Starscream of all mechs wouldn’t be the one to elicit a scream.
The Seeker finally pulled back, only to seize Deadlock’s jaw and tilt his head up as he hung there, venting heavily.
“Do you know what the most amusing part of this is? The fact that you really thought you could be an Autobot. How ridiculous, really! Have they seen your records? You have the lifeblood of more of their comrades on your filthy hands than even I do.” He pressed the prod between Deadlock’s neck cables, finally getting that scream he’d been after.
“Praxus,” he said snidely. “Helex. Iacon? Not to mention your most impressive freelance career. Prime must be desperate…what did he promise you, Deadlock? Redemption? Freedom? A place in his new world? It’s just sad.” Another shock placed just so Deadlock’s vocalizer burned with pain but couldn’t short out.
Starscream released him with a snort of disgust. “You’re pathetic. Always crawling after someone else’s approval. Someone else’s attention. As if you need permission from a higher power to live. So, do you have the good doctor’s permission? Or shall we end your miserable existence here?”
He waited for a moment, clearly for dramatic effect, and then chuckled. “Well, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” He turned on his heel and shoved the prod to a Vehicon. “Zap him if you get bored.”
***
The screen flickered off, and Ratchet carefully regulated his venting. It wouldn’t do to show any emotion. Not now.
Megatron turned to him. “Now that wasn’t so difficult. It’s truly a shame that we had to resort to this at all, Ratchet. But very well. Complete the synthetic energon formula, and you’ll receive a revived Cybertron, unharmed Autobot comrades, unharmed human pets, and a mildly harmed assassin.”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Ratchet spat.
“Oh, I know. You’re doing it for Cybertron. A new Cybertron, rebuilt from the ashes of this petty war. At least we’ll have an actual planet to fight over, once your work is done.” He tapped his huge claws on the keypad to bring up the synthetic energon formula and waved over Shockwave. “Now, let’s get to work, shall we?”
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