#if vortex is a helicopter and gets to be a mech

[bam-stroker]

Hey @miragetheshadow, as a cywhirlgate truther - you better believe they are (to me)

I got possessed by the opportunity for silly in @keferon's Texaid mech au and ended up with a slice of serious as well. Oh well, Bone Apple Teeth! - - - - -

Every muscle and joint in First Aid’s body aches. Flopped over the official break room lunch table, his face has been buried in his arms for at least twenty minutes. He’d taken one tired bite from a sad little sandwich at the start of his break, and now it’s just wilting beside him before he officially decides to just trash it. To be honest, he can’t find the energy to actually care. After months of cleaning up the messes left behind by that thing, lunch has become a “me time” escape for him as opposed to an actual meal. 

Well, to an extent. It can only be so much of a solo time with the cross over of employee lunch breaks. 

“You know, it’s not good to skip a meal when you work as hard as you do.” 

The sentiment is entirely sincere. Even face down, he can see the exact sad little face across from him. Those familiar blue eyes always twinkling with feeling. First Aid only grunts in acknowledgement. Why does Tailgate always have to be so… caring? He thinks to himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the memory of harsh laughter echoes at his thought. But it’s mechanical. As if that… machine is now a part of him. Haunting him. Or maybe it’s like a disease? But he can’t think of any illness where something like that can listen and watch to see the world through his eyes. Haunting it is then.

Whatever. He’ll take more time to care about that when he’s able to lift his head back up. Below his breath First Aid mutters, “I bet you like that, huh? Wearing me out. Must be so funny.” 

The voice in his head has nothing to say. 

First Aid huffs. Jerk.

Tailgate on the other hand, continues to pry. “So… Were you talking to him just then?”

Great. He’s saying shit out loud. Stellar! Amazing! This is going to do great things for his crumbling people skills. First Aid musters up that one sandwich bite’s worth of energy left in him to sit up. The popping of his joints should be concerning, but on the priorities list—stepping into a death trap daily as a new career—it’s hardly the top of it. 

“Look, Tailgate, I’m sorry. Yeah… I was talking to—” he starts to reply, and then cocks his head in confusion. “Wait, did you just say ‘him’?”

And there goes the old Tailgate big wet eyes shine. He nods his round little pale face, the short crop of his bleached white hair bouncing with the movement. “Well, yeah! Vortex is the one haunting it, right?” 

First Aid can’t help but sigh, slumping back into the uncomfortable break room chair. “Come on,” he replies. “Don’t tell me you’re another ghost believer?” 

He tries to keep the shake out of his voice. He tries to keep up the act, because if he admits it… if he admits it then it all becomes real.

Tailgate nods, giving a thoughtful hum as he eyes the sandwich waiting patiently to be eaten. “There’s a lot of stuff I don’t understand. But, it feels easier to talk about it like that,” he says. Looking back up to lock eyes with First Aid, there’s a weight behind his gaze. “You’re not the only one cleaning up the messes around here. So let me be a little superstitious to help me get through the job.”

With a heavy sigh, First Aid breaks the eye contact. It’s too much. 

He crosses his arms, staving off a shiver from the memory of the first time he ever cleaned up the mech. Of the look on Tailgate’s face, so scared, when he’d handed him the remnants. 

The janitor and the wannabe medic. What a sad sorry pair.

All First Aid can offer is a nod of his head in acknowledgement, before he changes the subject. “So yeah, I’ve been talking to…him. It’s about all I can do, since he’s the one, ugh, actually driving.” 

Tailgate gasps loudly, as he leans forward. “It’s like reverse Ratatouille!”

“What??” 

“He’s the rat, and you’re the chef.” Tailgate continues, an entirely too excited smile on his face. 

“No!”

“Yes!!” 

First Aid groans, rubbing his palms against his eyes. “Tailgate. Please. How is this anything like ratatouille?” He pleads.

Between the cracks of his fingers, he watches Tailgate gleefully lay out his vision. “Everybody thinks it’s you—but it’s really him driving. So you’re like the chef, but instead of being on the outside, you’re on the inside—that’s why it’s reverse—because the rat is in the hat driving the guy like some kind of chef mech suit in the movie. But the ghost mech is driving you. So you’re reverse ratatouille!”

There are no words. There’s absolutely nothing he can say in response to the nightmare of his new life being summed up as accurately as “reverse ratatouille”. 

With a weary sigh, First Aid leans forward on the table, staring down as if some other answer to what his life has become will appear like a magic eight ball in the scratched up countertop. 

No such luck. It’s the same table he’s looked at day after day. 

“Reverse Ratatouille…” First Aid murmurs. A haunted look in his eyes.

“Reverse Ratatouille.” Tailgate chimes back chipperly.

Far off in the haunted abyss of his mind, First Aid hears the crystal clear laughter of the mech at the revelation. 

Reverse Ratatouille.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

For the February 2025 prompt on the TF creatives server! A song of love <3

First Aid just can't seem to let that tall, handsome soldier go <3

Song prompt (approached as if it’s Every Breath You Take by The Police);

It only happened once a vorn, and every time First Aid would set it up so he was guaranteed the evening off. Trading shifts, cashing in favours - whatever it took, he’d do it. His colleagues always responded with bemusement, completely perplexed as to why he went to such lengths to secure that slot of free time.

It was quite simple, really. Vortex was around.

The festival was the one time of vorn that he was guaranteed shore leave. He’d explained that it was an ancestral right, that the festival originated in his citystate and it was a requirement that he could attend, if feasible, and he always managed to tip the scales in his favour. Missions far out in the depths of the galaxy miraculously finished ahead of schedule. Chases after adversaries always ended up swinging within spitting distance of Cybertron. That kind of thing. There had been one worrying vorn where he’d almost missed it - Vortex had quite literally sprinted over to him still pockmarked from a fight to not miss the final song.

“I’m off now!” He called out as he tapped his badge on the scanner. “Don’t call me if anything comes up - I won’t answer!”

“Enjoy your date!”

First Aid scoffed at them and quickly left, hoping he didn’t seem too eager to leave. His flat wasn’t far - he’d quickly stop off there and freshen up before heading over to the festival. Vortex had been in touch - he was going to be around earlier than usual. His commander was feeling generous that cycle and had released him early.

Giddiness overtook him as he examined his finish in the mirror. He’d got a new wax recently – would Vortex notice? Would he like it?

The walk to the festival seemed to take forever. There was no point in driving – the streets were so crowded you’d be getting nowhere. He could feel the music pulsing through the floor, he could smell the stalls and the vendors and hear singing and laughter.

Vortex was already there waiting for him. He picked up the pace.

He spotted Vortex before the helicopter had noticed he was there. He was talking to someone, tall and green with turrets on his back. He looked mean. Did they know each other? Suddenly, they were looking at him – they nodded their head towards him, and Vortex turned.

“Aid!” He was waving at him, rotors happily spinning. First Aid waved back, looking for a break in the crowd to make his way over to him.

Vortex was taller and broader and found much less issue in making his way through to him.

“You got a new wax!” Vortex immediately commented, bounding over. “Here, let me take a look at you.” He stepped back and looked him up and down appreciatively, rotors clicking together on his back. Gesturing for First Aid to spin, the medic rolled his optics and obliged. “Very nice.” He purred.

“I’m surprised you even noticed.”

“When it comes to you, I always do.”

“Who’s your friend?” He curiously asked, nodding behind him to where the tall green mech had been.

“Nobody important.” Vortex easily replied, waving him off. “Come on, lets dance.”

It was easy to fall into the routine with him, as practised at it as they were. Hands fell into place on hips, on palms. The movements were second nature, using the beat of the music guide them as they felt it pulse through the floor.

It gave First Aid time to think, for his mind to wander a little. He didn’t want it to, he was trying and he was fighting it – he wanted to spend time with Vortex and enjoy his company, not think about work – but he couldn’t help it. Seeing the soldier in front of him was trigger enough for the thought process and he chewed his bottom lip.

“You’re distracted.” The helicopter lead them into a spin. “Something bothering you?”

It took him a moment to answer.

“What’s going to happen? With the riots, I mean.”

He laughed. “I can’t tell you that. Who knows? Maybe it will die down before it catches and becomes something bigger.”

“I hope so.” He frowned. “The injuries coming from them are awful.”

“Don’t think about that right now, yeah?” Another turn, a calculated spin that took them to the edge of the crowd. “Here, you’ll like this - we’re back in range of Cybertron again in three groons. Why don’t I pay you a visit then?”

“Really?!” First Aid gave an excited bounce. “You never get to come back so soon!”

“I know. Lucky me.”

Usually, if Vortex was coming back to Cybertron it meant either someone was injured or there was something they needed to be on the planet for. Their most frequent rendezvous happened because someone got hurt - usually Vortex, now that he thought about it - and they’d had to seek medical attention. He’d never met the rest of his team, but if it was ever Vortex who was hurt he was always the one treating him. Apparently he just preferred his bedside manner, but First Aid wasn’t entirely convinced.

The night slowly drew to a close. Three groons was both no time at all and an age. The tips of his digits danced up thick armoured plating, up a broad chest and to his shoulder. Vortex watched them dance, rotors twitching in time.

“My flat’s free. If you’ve got time.”

Vortex seemed to be seriously considering it, mulling it through in his head, weighing up the pros and the cons.

“Ah, fuck it. They can miss me for the night.”

------------------------------------------------------------------ The riots had set the flames of war. The last festival they’d managed to attend was tense, and ended early. Not long after, Vortex had started crashing into his flat injured and bleeding and dying more times than he could count, gaining in rapid frequency until he suddenly just stopped. Their comm channel died down too - too dangerous, Vortex had said. Not secure. They couldn’t lay themselves so bare when optics were on them.

Eventually, First Aid only saw him on the skyline, a distant blur that could easily be anyone else but was far more comforting to think of as Vortex. And then, he saw him in reports that wound up in his servos as he stood in the middle of Autobot medical bays.

He hadn’t known he was so violent. How could a mech who’d only ever been so gentle with him be capable of what he was seeing?

Trouble came with an archivist. Unbeknownst to First Aid, they also attended the festival - each and every vorn. And they’d seen them together. They had proof of it. Apparently they’d caught his attention because of how unseeming they were - what was a mercenary doing with a doctor? The helicopter had already been on the radar of law enforcement. The medic was completely unknown to them, his record squeaky clean. In the interests of safety, he’d made some recordings that focused on them. Just in case.

They hadn’t thought about it again until they’d seen him in the medical bay and instantly recognised him – they’d been invited by pure chance to film a thinly veiled propaganda piece, and First Aid just so happened to be on shift when they came to the medical bay.

First Aid awkwardly squirmed under the faint glow of the screen, feeling like his dirty laundry was being aired. He didn’t realise they’d looked that strange together, that Vortex had to stoop that much to kiss him, that he’d gone that red when he picked him up to twirl him. Prowl was very still next to him, arms folded under his chest. Not even his doorwings twitched.

“The last time I saw him was vorns ago, not even a decacycle before I enlisted.” First Aid wanted to turn his armour inside out. Maybe that would help with the feeling that crawled under it. “His spark was guttering.” The truth. “I thought he died.” A lie. He’d stabilised him, he’d begged him to stay, to go to a bigger hospital that had the proper equipment. He’d left, saying something about Brawl, sharp digits leaving holes in the wall as he gripped it for support. His comm link was still active, was still pinging, telling him he was alive. Every cycle, like clockwork.

“I didn’t know he was like this.” The truth. The absolute truth. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, a paragon of virtue; it was obvious he had seen some things and was already slightly jaded. He was possessive in a way that made him feel giddy and had a quick temper, but he’d never done or said anything that made him feel like he was in any danger. He’d always been the first to warn him of any trouble, to keep him out of harms way. It just didn’t make any sense.

Unless it was all just an act, a lie. It twisted awkwardly in his tanks. Had he been played for a fool?

They believed him. His persona as the staunch pacifist had worked in his favour – it was clear that he did not condone the mechs actions, that if he were to be put in front of him now, that he wouldn’t ever engage with him. That he was disgusted and dismayed. He left the room with trembling legs and weak knees.

The next time he saw him, that awkward conversation was a distant memory. They weren’t even on Cybertron any more, the war having moved to foreign galaxies. The planet they found themselves on was red and oxidised, the organic life sparse and clinging on at the edge of the vast single continent. An energon source had been identified; the endless fight for resources continued.

Defensor had been blown apart by something. First Aid didn’t remember what - he just remembered falling into the water and being ripped away by a strong current.

Salt water burned at his sensitive circuitry, and he coughed and choked as he crawled up the slope to dry land. Hauling himself over the ridge the waves had created, he sagged down into the baking hot sand and fought to catch his breath.

God damn it. He hated it when that happened – it was so disorientating and painful, and it just added insult to injury that he’d ended up in the sea after. He’d need to take care to clean himself thoroughly after – he was sure to rust.

He wasn’t alone.

A lone Decepticon slipped down the sand, wheezing as they caught their breath. They cursed and kicked at the sand in annoyance, quietly muttering to themselves as they made a scouting report. First Aid held himself as still as he possibly could, hoping that they couldn’t hear the sound of his plating popping and pinging or the sound of his internals hissing as the last of the water boiled off.

He didn’t have his gun. He’d lost it when they had formed Defensor - he didn’t have anything to defend himself with.

The scout turned and they locked optics. A grin slowly spread on their face as they saw the Autobot symbol on his chest.

“I’m a medic!” First Aid quickly shouted. Their laws still applied on foreign soil. Medics weren’t to be considered combatants, they weren’t to be harmed. Their skills were precious and in demand, and easy to exploit, their spark-deep coding to protect and save a boon to an army without any of their own.

“And?” The Decepticon replied. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Uh oh.

“Y-you’re not supposed to hurt me?”

“I can hurt you just a little bit.”

No, you can’t! First Aid tried to push himself up, back slamming into a red sandstone block. He gasped, his spark thudding in his chest sounding suspiciously like the whirring of helicopter blades.

Something big and grey hit the sand. First Aid winced as granules scratched over his plating. He dared to take his optics from the Decepticon to see who the newcomer was, his spark leaping in his chest when he recognised them. Vortex. He suddenly felt breathless, everything he’d felt for the past vorns threatening to spill out at once. He cast a dark shadow, stalking towards them. His visor was bright and narrowed in on the other Decepticon, rotors trembling as he aimed a gun directly at their shocked face.

“I don’t think so, sweet cheeks.” He squeezed the trigger, and First Aid flinched as he was splattered with the internal workings of the mech’s head.

Vents working hard, he slowly turned to watch them slump down, a gap where their head used to be. His processor couldn’t make sense of it. It should be there. Vortex wouldn’t shoot one of his own. Would he? He wouldn’t. What kind of maniac engaged in friendly fire to save the enemy?

He jumped when he realised Vortex was knelt down next to him, far too close for comfort. Oh, no. When did he start thinking about him like this? That wasn’t right. Hesitantly, he reached forwards to wipe energon from his faceplate. He ended up smearing it around instead, but Vortex didn’t seem to mind - he leaned into his hand, visor dimming and engine purring. Was this allowed? Was this okay? Were they going to get into trouble for this?

“You’ve gotten taller.” Was all he could think to say.

“You’ve gotten shorter.” The war frame looked him up and down. “Or maybe it just looks that way.”

“What-“ he swallowed and tried again, not trusting his vocal cords to comply. “What’re you doing here?”

A distant deep rumble from an explosion reached them, and even through the visor his raised brow was obvious.

“Uh. Fighting?” He tapped his chest. “Soldier. Remember?”

First Aid swatted his shoulder. “You know what I meant!”

“Careful.” His facemask snapped back, revealing sharp teeth and heavy scars. The hand that wasn’t tightly holding his gun reached up to hold his jaw, pressing his thumb into First Aid’s mask where his chin would be. “I’m not as nice as I used to be.”

“Me neither.” He retracted his own mask, ignoring the scrape of metal fragments inside the mechanism. He chewed his bottom lip, eyeing the bright purple insignia on his chest. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

“Depends how nicely you ask me to.”

“I won’t be doing that.” First Aid frowned. “I don’t like being in pain.”

“Shame. Your face looks good when you’re screaming.” Vortex pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, gently rubbing it along it, mapping out its surface. His helm was tilted, his visor dim. “Real shame, that.”

“How do you even-“ he gasped in realisation, pushing Vortex’s hand away from his face. “You’ve been watching me! And you didn’t come and say hi?! Vortex!” He whined. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? You’re so cruel!”

His laugh was loud and frame rattling.

“Babe, it’s not like I can just drop down next to you!” He cupped his cheeks in his hands, visor glistening. “Fuck, you’re so cute. You missed me? Really? Truthfully?”

“Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, but First Aid was willing to overlook it. Just this once.

“What made you decide to make yourself known?” He leaned into his hands. They were rough but warm, strong and steady. His visor dimmed in comfort.

“Little mister dead over there got too close, and there’s nobody around for miles. Couldn’t have anyone getting their hands on you, could I?”

“You’re too kind.” First Aid reached up to knot his fingers together with Vortex’s. “Any injuries you want me to take a look at?”

“Nah. Got better at dodging strays.”

“Guess you don’t need me anymore, huh?”

Vortex’s hand twisted around, pushing First Aid down into the sand with his frame as he pinned his hand above his helm. “I want you for the rest of my life, First Aid. Of course I’ll always need you.”

His engine loudly stalled as Vortex leaned down.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Coincidence or not, after the encounter on the prehistoric beach Vortex wasn’t shy about making himself known. Every available opportunity, he was there, like his shadow. If First Aid ever found himself captured, Vortex was miraculously tasked with his interrogation. It was almost like the Decepticons were turning a blind optic to it – that they were accepting it as a quirk of Vortex. That he’d found a fun toy to play with and they were happy to let him indulge so long as it got him out of their hair. Other Autobots were starting to notice, and rumours were spreading. First Aid had clamped his hands down over his audials, not wanting to hear any of it.

What would he even say? Could he even deny any of it? He didn’t think that he could, he’d lied enough about it already.

It had been a groon after he’d last seen him – he’d managed to corner him on the battlefield and steal five kliks alone with him before Hot Spot noticed First Aid was gone – when First Aid saw him again. Only this time, he was going to him. He’d seen a helicopter get shot down from the sky, and with a sinking feeling in his tanks and a tightness in his throat, he realised that he recognised the helicopter.

Vortex wasn’t moving. He was smoking, his visor flickering as he tried to stay online. His engine was misfiring, and the ground around them was slowly being stained by leaking fuel, coolant, and oil.

First Aid panicked, quickly breaking into a sprint.

“Well, well.” Vortex coughed, energon wetly bubbling in his throat. “We just can’t help but bump into each other, can we?”

“Jesus Christ – don-don’t talk, okay? Please?” First Aid skidded to his knees next to him, hands hovering over him as he remotely scanned and assessed the damage. Everything was leaking and coming back red on his scans and screaming at him for attention now now now- he swallowed and mentally triaged.

Bleeding. He was haemorrhaging energon from a cable in his midsection. He needed to stop that in the next thirty seconds, or he’d lose enough pressure that his pump wouldn’t work anymore. The cable had been clamped before he’d finished the thought, hands coated and glowing a faint pink.

“What did you do?!” First Aid demanded. “Why- why aren’t you with your gestalt?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Vortex’s voice was staticky. “They’re somewhere.” He gestured vaguely in the direction First Aid assumed he could feel them in. “They’re fine though. Thanks for asking.”

There was a thick fragment of metal sticking out of his midsection that was keeping a lot of energon inside. He’d leave it for now – wait until they were in a brick and mortar medical bay with the proper equipment and more than just his two pairs of hands to remove it. It wasn’t causing him any harm.

“Did you get blown up again?”

“I did! How wonderful you noticed.”

“I am begging you to take care of yourself.” His hands shook a little as he tried to soak up the energon that had pooled in the gaping wound in his chest. He could hear his spark, could see faint whisps of light from the cracked casing. This was where his scans had indicated the most damage – and he couldn’t repair it. Not here, not without the help of Ratchet or the proper tools. His were too big, too clumsy – sparks needed refined, specialist care. Delicate instruments for delicate parts. If he went in gung-ho with his tools now, he’d kill him, he was sure of it.

But his spark was failing. Again. He was always having to keep his spark going, it was if its owner didn’t want it to, as if Vortex were always trying to find new and interesting ways to snuff himself out. It had been okay when he had his place on Cybertron. It wasn’t okay when they were on a planet 70 million lightyears away.

He needed to think of something before his spark gave out. What would keep it going? Could he jump start it? He’d done it before. He needed something to act like a battery, he needed jumper cables. He didn’t have either, and he felt dizzy when he realised what he could use instead.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No.” First Aid’s fingers gently traced over the gaping wound in his chest, dragging the tips of them over shorn and twisted metal. “I’m a pacifist, so I’m going to do something much worse.”

His visor flashed in excitement. “Oh? Watch as my spark splutters out? Oh, Aid, you tease. You should have shown me this side of you earlier.” He sighed and his visor briefly flickered offline. “Such a shame. All the things we could have done together.”

“Don’t be too eager to die, you’ll take me with you.”

“Wh-?”

He was cut off by First Aid roughly forcing open his chest plates. He gasped and choked on the energon gathering in his intake, fresh glowing energon splashing down his cheek as his ankles dug into the ground and his sharp digits left deep grooves in their wake. They had one shot at this, one chance, and First Aid wasn’t leaving any of it up to fate. Ignoring the voices in his head screaming at him – the ones telling him this was an awful idea, the ones insisting that there had to be another way, the ones decrying his unsanitised hands, he reached in and manually overrode the lock on Vortex’s spark case whilst he sent the command for his own to open, and leaned down to press their chests together. Sharp metal scratched against the delicate inner workings of his chest, energon beading along the surface, the pain sharp but a background sensation in the face of the pure panic that was bubbling underneath the surface.

Vortex could die. He was going to die if this didn’t work, and he couldn’t let that happen. What was he supposed to do if he died? It felt unnatural to consider a world that he did not exist in, he couldn’t even remember what his had been like before they first met. Dark, lonely, not worth remembering.

“Woah, woah, woah-” Vortex was in a state of conflict, fighting against two sides of himself that First Aid could see quite clearly as their sparks reached out towards each other and tangled together, his stronger one supporting Vortex’s weakened one. One side of him was rejecting it, wanting to shove him away and bury him in the dirt, to kill him for even thinking of doing something so stupid, so dangerous, so Autobot. The other side of him was on cloud 9, eager to get under his skin and have their sparks nestle against each other forever, whatever it took. To make First Aid carry a piece of him forever, just as much as he would be forced to do the same – the kind of agony that you never got used to, that you would constantly feel scratching against your very being – that a claim had been staked, and there was no going back now. That he had just as much claim over him as his gestalt did, that his commanding officers did, if not more, for when they were gone he’d be all that he had left.

First Aid leaned into the side that was trying to cling onto him, feeling their sparks latch onto each other firmly.

“Careful, you’re still bleeding a lot.” First Aid’s hand reached up to cup his cheek. “If you die whilst we’re connected, I’ll die too.”

He was essentially an oversized life support machine in that moment. He could feel the strain on his systems, the dull ache in his chest and the awkward pull in his spark. Vortex was mentally leaning heavily on him, piggybacking off of him. His legs started to go numb, his arms weak – or was that Vortex? He didn’t know any more, their psyches were mashing together, wires were crossing and-

Chest plates suddenly snapped shut, and First Aid fell back with a gasp. Vents working overtime, his frame suddenly exhausted, he reached up and placed a hand over still-warm metal.

His spark whirred aggressively. It felt heavier.

“Wooooooow~.” Vortex drawled. “Aid. You’ve got something sinister in you.”

“Does it hurt?” First Aid fretted. He could feel pain that wasn’t his radiating from his spark, tingling down his limbs.

“Just where I got blown up.”

“Oh, thank Primus.” He sagged down in relief. “I didn’t know what I’d do if I caused more damage. Okay, okay, stay still.”

“You should have taken the chance to kill me whilst you had it.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it.” First Aid was fast at work, hands flying over his frame to finish up the rest of the damage. Critical fuel lines were sealed, the clamps removed and adjusted. Exposed circuits and cables were covered over and hastily welded – he’d have better materials on base, so he just had to make sure he was stable enough to make it. Vortex watched him silently, hands twitching. He felt the fresh bond ache with each movement.

“Bonds are permanent, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because.” First Aid patiently began. “You said that you wanted me for the rest of your life, didn’t you? Well, I’m the same. So it’s obscene to even consider letting you die. Because you would have otherwise – you know that, right? So don’t go doing anything else stupid.”

A bubbling sense of pride and affection came through the bond. Vortex obediently stayed very, very still while First aid finished, waiting for his command to move again. The moment First Aid sat back to wipe his hands, he glanced up on the ridge and a smirk pulled on the corner of his lips. The medic blinked as he was suddenly slammed onto his back, arms pinned above his head whilst another hand ran sharp claws across his chest plates.

“Thank you, honey. My turn.”

Rotors twitched on his back, flicking towards the ridge. First Aid followed them and saw the outlines of figures stood there and felt his tanks drop. They had an audience.

“Make it look like it wasn’t me?”

“I’ll get off so much lighter than you will if they knew otherwise. I couldn’t have my sweet, sweet little medic kept away from me, could I?”

“Together forever?”

“Together forever.” His engine purred, and his hands forced their way into his chest.

[anony-man]

So glad to be back! And thank you 🥹 had lots of fun with this request!

Chubformers drabble #90!

Character: First Aid

Word count: 786

The most important thing about working in such a fast paced environment was always to keep his helm level, but lately, First Aid was starting to cause some issues… and it wasn’t even his fault.

Sneaking between a Decepticon gestalt for his beloved helicopter and back to the medibay where he would work for hours on end and snack between the minutes was doing awful things for his frame, as Ratchet so kindly put it. Bedding with a Con was one thing, and slacking on the job was another, but distracting the patients while they were in the middle of their shifts was the dealbreaker.

First Aid couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe it. How the hell was he supposed to control what did and didn’t bring bots into their medibay?

The way he saw it, Ratchet was just jealous. It wasn’t exactly a good look for the CMO, but First Aid could understand. After all, it was impossible not to be jealous when nearly every patient who staggered through the doors with supposed life-threatening injuries had enough energy in them to stop and state that it was First Aid they wanted to see and not Ratchet.

At first, the soon-to-be-CMO had thought it was his empathy and bleeding compassion that affected his work so positively. He was down to earth, understanding, a bit snarky but hardly not as prickly as his mentor… what was there not to love?

However, lively conversations between welds and concerned tones explaining detailed step-by-step instructions to delirious patients seemed to have little to do with everyone’s sudden enamored state. The more patients he saw, the more annoyed First Aid got with bots brushing off his words to instant stare at his chest as he put them back together.

It was all so embarrassing! Here he was, thinking he’d finally proven himself to the ship, only to have them brush aside his careful orders before coming back into the medibay days later for similar ailments. First Aid was practically convinced it was some sort of prank the ship had gathered together to pull on him, but even he wasn’t popular enough for something like that.

The explanation was upsetting, if not reasonable, and he was willing to put it to rest and get on with his life until Ratchet brought it to attention—and Primus, was he embarrassed.

“I’m not about to tell you what you can and can’t do in your free time,” his mentor had said, busying himself with cleaning tools and sorting datapads and wiping down tables at the end of the day. “But, ah…”

“But what?” First Aid pressed. If this was about his visits to Vortex…

“It’s just—you’re…” Ratchet groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, how the hell do I put this? I’ve been getting some complaints from Ultra Magnus about you, er… distracting our patients.”

“Um,” First Aid’s visor narrowed. “What?”

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to ask, as Ratchet’s face had gone three full shades darker than it already was. First Aid’s… well, his assets, as his mentor so eloquently put it, were causing quite the stir amongst the ship as of late. Given that most of his time was spent tending to patients in the medibay, it seemed obvious that most of the bots curious for a few extra peeks would come looking at the source.

“So what,” First Aid finally said. “We’ve got a bunch of horny mechs aboard the ship. That’s not anything new, is it?”

He supposed he couldn’t blame them. Most medics were known for their allure, after all… it’s what had gotten Vortex so caught up with him in the first place. Still, to think the only thing drawing the crowds in for his care was the jiggle of his aft as he walked or the way his belly squished against the side of the table during examinations was a little disappointing.

There was only one thing to do, and that was to make the most of it. Complaints be damned, First Aid was happy with the extra attention. It meant he and Vortex were doing something right, at least, and if mechs wanted to come in and ogle his soft, pudgy frame while he worked… so be it.

He had all the time in the world, and he wasn’t about to stop snacking on shifts or sneaking off to visit his Con anytime soon.

“Well, by all means,” he said, a shy smile lighting up his face beneath the mask. He gently rubbed at the swell of his belly protruding from the seams of his metal, and he could’ve sworn Ratchet’s face flushed even deeper. “I say let them look.”

[they-hermes]

tf hyperlink vortex lore..

vortex of polyhex used to be a cargo transporter for medical equipment, and hated it. he even had a red and white paintjob! after a couple of centuries, he eventually managed to turn on his boss and escape, going on the run. but soon after, blades was born, a more advanced model of helicopter that was faster than vortex, and took up his place, so no one bothered to look for vortex. his data was overwritten, and vortex was a forgotten mech, meaning he was free.

while on the run he picked up fighting and pickpocketing and mild impersonation here and there. he got a new paint job and helm. he also learned mnemosurgery from another mech, also on the run, and after killing him (they had minor disagreements) took up a job as an assassin. he got a reputation for being able to recieve accurate testimonies and information out of his targets through unorthodox tortue methods.

one day he was recruited by swindle to get rid of his demanding boss for the company he worked at. but after killing the guy, he found swindle had bailed off, and had even snitched to the cops, pulling some sob story about how vortex was the real agressor. vortex spend a while in prison, escaped, and managed to track swindle soon after. once he found the little traitor, he actually brushed off the whole snitching and bailing thing, and instead made himself swindles newest partner, since he claimed to have a liking to the mech (swindle still doesnt know what exactly made vortex like him so much)

so then it was just swindle and vortex as on the road salseman and his bodyguard. they got a plethora of clients, some worse than others, until one day their client was onslaught, who hired them for to help him with obtaining various weaponry. he was impressed by their skills and compatibility with his comrades blast off and brawl that he made them permanent members of the combaticons

[siberat]

Kissing Lessons

so, Blast Off wants his upcoming date with Onslaught to be the best possible…he just needs some help with one aspect… poor vortex got suckered into helping. Hints at on/off. Silly humor.

“You promised, Tex!” Blast Off pouted as he stomped a pede and thrust clenched fists to his hips. “I completed your chores this morning!”

“I had NO clue that you would need this kinda help!” Vortex spat, holding his servos up as he took a few steps back. “It’s not fair!”

“Not fair? You going back on your word! Vortex, please!!!” The shuttle's face twisted in his plea. He really needed this help! “There’s only so much online tutorials will help…”

Vortex looked as if he was glancing at a horde of unruly, filthy kids. “Ah man, come on Blasty…. For real?”

“Oh my gawd, Tex, I’m serious here!” Blast Off desperately took another step forward, trapping the other member against the wall. “You’re the only one I can come to with this! You just gotta help me!”

“Okay! Okay,” Vortex caved, scared at how persistent the shuttle became. “Slag, it’s my lucky day, huh?”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” His hands flapped as a joyous tip-toe dance was performed.

“Calm yourself there, buddy. And give me some space. You’re suffocating me here.” Vortex relaxed a smidge as the other stepped back. “Now, just why do you need to do this?”

“Onslaught and I are going on a date tonight, and I just don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Well, I doubt that’s possible with your over-enthusiasm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nevermind. So, you need to learn how to kiss, huh?” Of all the things his geslaltmates could need assistance with… kissing was not on the list. Primus, this was so awkward!

“Yes! I don’t want to disappoint-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got that. You really think Onslaught has much experience?”

“What do you mean? Who wouldn’t wanna make out with him?” The brown and purple mech tilted his helm.

“Me. But whatever.” Vortex huffed. “Ok, so… let’s see what you got.”

The helicopter leaned in, lips slightly puckered, and was greeted with something wet jabbing at his lips. The grossness of this caused him to jump back. “What the slag?” Opening his optics, he caught Blast Off staring at him with his tongue out.

“Aw man, Blast off, what the fuck was that?���

“I’m kissing you… like in those romance holovids-“

“You don’t just shove your tongue everywhere! You gotta work your way up to that!” The teal mech shook his helm- just what did he get himself into? “Got it?” Once the other nodded yes, the pair went at it again.

This time, their lips pressed together, gently rubbing against each other. However, the shuttle's lips were so wet and slimy that saliva smeared everywhere as if he were consuming a tasty hard candy. 

“Hmmnnggg….” Vortex balked, pulling his helm away again, breaking off strands of saliva. “Aww gawd!” His servo quickly wiped the wetness away from his lips and cheeks. “Blast Off! What the hell?”

“What? What am I doing so wrong?”

“It felt as if you kissed me with a mouth full of energon!” The flier gagged. “Swallow your spit before going in for a kiss! That was gross…”

“S…sorry!” Blast Off’s optics turned to shaky, wide orbs as he wiped his lips. “I’ll do better! I promise- just please…. Can we try again?”

“Fine…. Just… don’t slobber all over me…” He rolled his optics and reluctantly leaned in for another kiss. Thank Primus it wasn’t wet. Or have a tongue stabbing at his mouth like a movie maniac killing their victim. This time, those lips gently slid against his, mimicking the actions he did. And when the kiss deepened slightly, Vortex peeked at the other.

And was met with open optics.

“Gahh…” Vortex startled. 

“What now?” Blast Off whined.

“Why are you kissing with your optics open?” The shuttle shrugged, looking confused. “Look…. Just close them…it’s creepy!” Blast Off nodded, and then the pair resumed. The kiss, while a little sloppy, went relatively smoothly. Lower lips were gently sucked and nibbled, and Vortex even brushed the tip of his tongue across them.

And that’s when he felt it. Something pressed against the back of his helm. And he knew just what it was! Quickly, the interrogator pulled the other’s servo away. “Don’t do that…” The shuttle’s wrist was restrained. “Just… keep your servos to yourself.”

“But I wanna rub my hands all over Onslaught-“

“I’M NOT ONSLAUGHT!” The outburst caused the shuttle to flinch and shy away. “Okay, look… one last go at it, ok? Don’t slobber. Don’t touch. Don’t jab… got me?”

“Yes….”

Once again, lips pressed together, gently gliding over each other, eventually leading to more. Vortex’s tongue gently slipped inside, parting those lips and brushing over the other’s glossa. Blasty’s tongue gently entwined with his, and for a moment, the kiss was decent.

Keyword: moment.

No sooner did the helicopter think perhaps the shuttle got the concept did that mouth suck his tongue deeply as if slurping up spaghetti noodles. And when the feeling of teeth became apparent, Vortex groaned in displeasure.

But Blast Off took this as encouragement and only sucked harder, pressing his frame into the other fliers and moaning. And when the tongue sucks relented, the shuttle’s tongue barged in, nearly ramming itself down the back of the teal mech's throat. Vortex couldn’t resist coughing at that intrusion and, thankfully, was able to break free.

“Ah…. sorry!” Blast Off cooed. “I-“

“It’s alright!” Tex fibbed as he nudged the other away. 

“So, how’d I do?”

Primus, what did his gestaltmate want- a detailed report? And would he really enjoy hearing the low remarks? “You…. You got this, Blast Off…”  He patted his comrade’s shoulder.

“Really?” The shuttle’s optics beamed. “Was I good?”

“Ah…. well….” Vortex rubbed a servo over the back of his helm. “It’s like anything else… ya know? Take practice to perfect…. But you got the gist of it…. Really!”

“Really? You’re not just saying that, are ya?”

“Let’s just say Onslaught is in for a real treat tonight, yeah?”

“Oh golly, is he!” The shuttle's optics went all dreamily. “We are doing the whole dinner and a movie date. And afterwards…..” He bit his lower lip as his cheeks flushed a tad. “Well, some things are best left unspoken.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Vortex quickly added. “Look, we done here?”

“I suppose.” Blast Off stepped back. “Wait…. I have one more question.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal-“

“Got any advice on how to suck sp-“

“NO!”

[helicrazy]

💬

Send a ‘💬’ to catch a glimpse of a memory my muse has.

Vortex approaches the Combaticon mansion exhausted and completely out of it. His servos are covered in dried-up blood and he's dragging his rotor blade on the ground with an energon stain at the tip. He stops as he reaches the entrance, debating whether to go in or head somewhere else to clear his foggy helm.

In all honestly, he doesn't know what he needs right now. It's hard to think and the last hour has been puzzling. He's uncertain how he managed to fly back with his processor in this state, but he made it here in one piece. Now it's just a matter of walking through the entrance and finding his way to the wash bay without seeing any of his gestalt mates.

A small wish he hoped for once would be granted, but he meets a certain brown and purple shuttle the moment he steps inside.

"What happened to you this time?" Blast Off questions after coming to a stop when noticing the copter. It's not uncommon for him to show up like he started multiple bar fights, but the silence and avoidance of optic contact slightly concerns Blast Off.

Vortex wants to answer, the words on the tip of his glossa, but instead shifts his helm toward the shuttle. His visor is dim and his frame feels stiff, something he knows his teammate has already noticed.

"Are you alright?" Blast Off asks while approaching his teammate, and is met with an unsure look that gives him a clear response. He doesn't need the gestalt bond to tell him something is up when he's known Vortex for centuries and can easily read his body language. The shuttle holds out a servo for Vortex. "Here. Let's get you cleaned up for starters."

The teal mech reaches out to grab the servo, although he doesn't move when the shuttle turns to the hall where the wash racks are. Another look is given to him along with tugging the servo in the opposite direction, specifically toward Blast Off's room.

Understanding what Vortex wanted, Blast Off brings him to his quarters while ensuring the empty halls, and straight into his private washbay to clean up the helicopter. He tries to get answers- hell any conversation out of him as he washes him, but it's like the mech has completely shut himself down. What happened deeply troubled him, and Blast Off knew he needed help. He couldn't leave his fellow gestalt mate like this for someone else to deal with and possibly make things worse.

After cleaning, Blast Off leads Vortex to his berth where he sits down, brings the smaller mech into his lap, and leans his back against the wall. He moves a servo to place a digit under Vortex's jaw to lift his helm and watch the constellation ceiling. A map of the galaxy with shooting stars and colorful nebulas occasionally appears.

Although Vortex has seen it many times, he stares at the ceiling finding himself mesmerized by the view. Maybe it's because Blast Off rarely holds him like this and it's a nice feeling, or the stars are just that distracting, but it's enough to bring some life back into the helicopter. He leans into the shuttle, huddling up while venting a small thank you to him.

Blast Off hums in return. He still wants answers but can wait until Vortex has settled in more.

Besides, he doesn't want to ruin the moment.

[helicrazy]

Blaze's stiff and unresponsive behavior begins to make Brawl anxious. It's disturbing to watch, yet he can do nothing about it besides keeping an optic on him. Especially to prevent him from attempting to tear apart his back, which still needs care. Hopefully, it's something they can do after checking up on Vortex.

The repair bay has two rooms. The first is where Brawl carries Blaze in and sets him down on the berth. There is a simple setup of medical equipment and scanners for minor injuries and check-ups, while the surgery room is beside them, where the rest of the Combaticons wait for their teammate to come online.

"You can come in when you're ready." Brawl informs the helicopter, although he knows he won't get a response; he simply wants the mech to understand he can take his time. He's about to place his servo on Blaze's shoulder but retreats back, giving him space as he heads through the doors with etched windows to the surgery room.

Inside, Swindle is sitting next to the table Vortex is lying on, watching the mech's systems stats on the datapad he's holding. "A couple more reboots, and he should be up in a few minutes." he states before setting the pad down and reaching to place a servo on Vortex's arm.

Onslaught stands on the other side with his arms crossed over his chassis, having not left Vortex out of his sight once he found him in Blaze's ship, and Blast Off is leaning against the wall next to the doors.

The shuttle glances over to Brawl as he enters. "How's Blaze?"

Brawl stops and looks over at his teammate. "He's..." There's a pause while peering away. "Not talking. Not reactive at all. I've never seen him so..."

"Guilty?" Onslaught vents out while flaring his visor. Finally, he takes his optics off Vortex to focus on the other Combaticons in the room. "This is his fault after all."

"We don't know that." Blast Off claims as he pushes away from the wall. "Vortex could have taken the torture so that Blaze didn't have to; he's done it for us before."

"This." Onslaught points down at Vortex, his voice harsh with every word. "Feels different. Like Blaze has become far too troublesome with his bounties and chaotic behavior."

"Vortex is no different." Swindle slips in, refusing to look at his commander knowing what the expression would be.

"The cave incident where we almost lost Vortex once? Blaze's ship getting stolen and everything after that? He is nothing but a disaster, and he is dragging Vortex along with him to the pits." Onslaught growls while pressing a servo against the teal helicopter. "We nearly lost Vortex today, and I will not allow some unstable, broken vermin to continue to use my team if he wants to keep having the whole universe after him."

"But Blaze is—"

"He is not one of us." Onslaught's crimson visor glows. "He is a stray that Vortex brought in because he couldn't kill him. Nothing more."

Silence fills the room for a moment, and the two things that break it are the sound of Vortex's systems coming back to life and a door closing.

...Was Blaze....

Yeah...

....

What was he to make out of this?

The person he's sworn to hunt down was him all along. Each moment that passes, new past memories emerge in a clear picture. He denies those are his, those can't be his. They must be figments, some corruption brought by the device, perhaps carrying memories from previous wearers.

Those are his servos.

That's where he chased Vortex.

They've always told Blaze he can be a persuasive mech. Stubborn and assertive in his own way. That alone could put him in position of power if he were to have such motivation. To Blaze, this primarily meant one could hardly convince him to pick a side when Blaze stood by his own.

He thought this had extended to physical contraptions such as the device still hanging off his back.

Was there anything he could have done to turn the tides against Menticide back then?

Truly, he wishes he had an answer.

He feels powerless.

He can't even think, besides briefly replaying those dreaded memories that almost have filled in the entire void.

Powerless, worthless bafoon, can't even gain control of his own body and mind—

Blood mixes with clear water, getting sucked in the drain. He stares dead ahead at the walls of the bathroom. Anything Brawl says reaches deaf audials. Any touch is left ignored, unaddressed. There's not a single fight in Blaze's spirit, even when he is pulled out from the bathroom and carried off to meet the other Combaticons.

Really, tell him, what was he supposed to do?

How can he look at Vortex after all of this?

Will he forgive him?

All he can do is replay those moments, over and over again, those dim optics staring unblinking at nothing.

Even when the world goes dark again, he can't stop seeing his own servos striking Vortex's repeatedly.

[ultracreativelywritten]

This is a bit of a strange request, but whenever you get around can you do a prompt of swindle and his struggles with greed, one that’s affecting his mental and physical health, even hygiene and the rest of the combacticons notice?

Swindle’s frame shook as he started his recount of his stock. Something was missing, there was something off with his stock. A simple count would fix the the problem. He had a few cycles before his next buyer was supposed to come in, more than enough time to make sure that everything was there.

___________

Onslaught shook his helm as he saw Swindle’s frame shaking heavily, his normally perfectly polished frame was dull. The Gestalt leader could feel the uneasiness and anxiety of his mate.

“He’s been in there for two cycles,” Blast Off said, “I don’t think he recharged at all during that time.”

“Do you think he forgot that he sold a blaster two and a half cycles again?” Vortex asked.

“I think he needs a new datapad that syncs up with his sales datapad.” Onslaught growled, “Brawl, help me grab him.”

“Got it boss!” Brawl said. The two carefully and quietly made there way over to their panicking gestalt mate. Swindle didn’t notice them until the two mechs lifted the yellow mech up.

“Unhand me!” Swindle yelled as he kicked about, “Let me go!”

“Nope,” “Vortex teased, “not until you look at this!” The helicopter held up Swindle’s sales datapad. As Swindle read, he calmed down.

“Everything’s there,” Swindle said softly, “I didn’t miscount.”

“No you didn’t,” Onslaught said, “now let’s go get some recharge.”

“I have a sale soon,” Swindle muttered, optics shuttering off and on. “I have to get ready.”

“You can get ready after recharge,” Onslaught said as Brawl let go of his gestalt mate. Before Swindle could drop to the floor, his gesalt leader collected him and hoisted the con mech over his shoulder.

“Group nap!” Vortex giggled as the members of Bruticus left the storage container.

[anony-man]

A Slice of Comfort

Word count: 7,045

Relationship: First Aid/Vortex

Rating: M

Content Warning: Belly kink, stuffing

The world around him seemed a little bit darker that day, and First Aid wasn’t quite sure if it was from the fact that he’d killed another bot, or if it was just his imagination. He’d turned off his comms long into the walk through Cybertron’s busy streets, having grown tired of the incessant pings from worried acquaintances and an overbearing therapist.

With his mind racing and his thoughts a muddled mess, First Aid wasn’t quite sure what it was that he was looking for, if anything. Tired optics watched the skies for the familiar sight of a dark helicopter whirring into view, and fuzzy audials listened for the sound of rotors beating in the wind. It was better than letting himself slip into the mindset of reliving every second of what he’d done. Just the thought was enough to bring back the cold sting of tears streaming down his faceplates, the helpless darkness that fell over him as he held trembling servos to his faceplates, left to be guided away from the gruesome sight by Rung’s gentle touch.

He wasn’t a bad person. At least, he didn’t think so. Sure, he’d cursed Ambulon to the pits and back every so often, and maybe he’d blown off a few colleagues on nights when he wanted nothing more than to sit curled up in his berth and listen to some of his favorite holovids, but none of that made him a bad person, right? Everyone lost their temper once in a while, everyone chose to put themselves first ahead of others—outside of the operating room, of course, and everyone had done something they lived to forget.

Not everyone had killed a fellow medic in cold blood, First Aid reminded himself. Not even Pharma, who’d done unspeakable horrors in the name of some Primus-forsaken organization who would have thought nothing of throwing him under the bus, would have held a gun to a fellow medic’s helm. Not without good reason, at least. Ambulon was the exception, First Aid reminded himself. Pharma may have sawed him in half, but that didn’t make Pharma nearly as tainted or twisted as First Aid, who hadn’t thought twice about blowing Pharma’s helm to smithereens.

He pushed his way past busy crowds and ducked behind a storefront, heading to one of the dingy alleyways only he and Vortex had ever occupied. At least, that’s what it felt like. He’d grown accustomed to meeting the Decepticon there rather frequently, starting on the premise of “minding his own business” when Vortex showed up to cart him off as a Decepticon captive, and eventually ending up throwing all care to the wind when he had let Vortex take a good, long look at the inside of his panels for the first time.

As an Autobot—an Autobot medic, no less—it had been a little embarrassing to be caught in the act of getting eaten out by a Decepticon while crouched in a dirty alleyway, but Vortex had taken the interruption in stride and shooed the store manager off various threats of violence. Since then, the two had gotten much more discreet in their encounters, and First Aid had even been promised to be taken to Vortex’s own quarters one day, should he stick around long enough for Vortex to make it happen.

As First Aid stepped into the shadows of the alley, his arms wrapped around himself to ward off the imaginary chill that threatened to seep beneath his frame, he threw all caution to the wind. Ratchet had warned him countless times about finding comfort and companionship in the form of a Decepticon’s presence, but in that moment, First Aid didn’t care. He’d lost interest in Ratchet’s advice regarding his intimate relationships a while ago, but now, he couldn’t have cared if he tried. He was still reeling from the fact that he, with his own servos, had ended the life of another mech.

The thought was awful, sickening. He could hardly suppress the lump that caught in his throat as he crept forward, wanting nothing more than to collapse into Vortex’s arms. He’d just barely managed to slip past Ratchet and make it out into the city, having been desperate to meet with the Decepticon interrogator. He really shouldn’t be there—they had plenty of mechs in need of care—but alas, there he was.

Speaking of Vortex, First Aid was a little surprised that the Decepticon hadn’t beaten him there. He stopped in the middle of the alley, standing in place like a newly widowed bot, and looked around.

“Vortex?” he called out, his voice hoarse.

As if on cue, the familiar sound of rotors beating against the wind filled his audials. He stepped back to lean against the building’s wall, giving Vortex ample space to transform back into his root mode. The Decepticon interrogation’s officer took no shortcuts in making an extravagant show of his transformation, shifting in midair and falling to the ground without even so much as faltering in place. He rose up from his crouched position and offered First Aid a cocky smile, as if any wooing was still needed to get into the young medic’s good graces.

“There’s my favorite little Autobot,” he cooed. With extended arms, he beckoned for First Aid to join him. His smile only widened as First Aid surged forward, and he pulled the medic in close for a tight hug. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Had me worried, Aid. Did Ratchet finally confine you to the base or something?”

First Aid buried his helm into the soft mesh of Vortex’s frame, taking a moment to simply relish in the strong, steady presence of his admirer. He didn’t answer at first, despite his desire to respond with something polite and reassuring. It seemed like the right thing to do, after all. They were long past the awkward cordial stage, but First Aid was still a medic, and Vortex had made a statement regarding his safety and overall health. He should respond positively, he thought, and assure Vortex that all was well. but he doesn’t.

The moment First Aid started to speak, his emotions got the best of him. What had begun as an easy, simple response quickly melted into a low, keening sound at the back of his throat, and from there, First Aid just couldn’t help himself. The guilt of taking the life of another mech—one who used to be an Autobot, nonetheless—was overwhelming, and in that moment, it didn’t matter to him what the consequences might be.

“Oh, okay—okay, we’re doing this now,” Vortex grimaced, readjusting his grip to properly support First Aid’s frame as the medic’s legs began to give out from beneath him.

He went slow, but the two were eventually crouched on the ground, and Vortex shifted them both until he was propped up against the wall of the energon goods store, First Aid desperately clinging to his frame. A few minutes passed in which Vortex simply remained quiet, giving First Aid a chance to wear himself out before he tried to push for answers. He wasn’t exactly well-versed in comforting anguished bots, but he had grown to know First Aid well enough to know that one of the best ways he could help was to just sit and wait it out.

As his frame trembled against Vortex’s chassis with loud, pained sobs, First Aid allowed himself to lean into Vortex’s gentle, guiding servos. He didn’t protest—couldn’t protest, really—when Vortex pulled him close, allowing First Aid to curl into his lap and rest his helm against the middle of Vortex’s chassis. The sounds that escape him were like nothing he’d ever uttered before, and despite the morbid shame he felt, he couldn’t put a stop the tears that spilled down his faceplates. To avoid choking on his own anguish, First Aid sheathed the face mask to allow himself a chance breath in the cold air of Cybertron as he hyperventilated.

“Primus, what the hell happened?” Vortex asked, his expression a mixture of discomfort and concern as he ran a servo up and down First Aid’s shoulder plating. “I’m serious, First Aid. Was it Ratchet? Did he do something to upset you like this?”

First Aid choked and coughed, the tips of his fingers digging into the seams of Vortex’s plating as he sucked in shallow breaths. He tried to speak, but failed, a sharp, staticky sound being the only thing to escape him. Vortex gave his shoulder an awkward pat and whispered small encouragements to which First Aid used to try again.

“It’s not—not Ra—atchet,” he huffed out, rewarded with a few steady breaths for his words. His grip tightened on Vortex’s frame as he took a few more shuddering breaths, then continued. “He’s—he’s not—Ratchet wasn’t there. I—I tried to stop, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop thinking about—about Ambulon, and—and—“

“Wha—okay, okay,” Vortex cut in. “Just stop right there, alright. Take a breather, then we’ll talk. Sound good?”

First Aid’s entire frame shuddered in response, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his faceplates. With a soft sigh, Vortex leaned in to place a gentle kiss to the top of First Aid’s helm, his servos never stopping in the gentle, affectionate stroking. It was a little more intimate of a display than he was used to, and it left him feeling ever so slightly uncomfortable—they’d never officially been a thing, after all, and he certainly didn’t want to push any boundaries. However, First Aid didn’t resist, so Vortex took the opportunity to push a little further, and he carefully began wiping the tears from the young medic’s faceplate with his thumb, all while holding First Aid close.

Rung had tried to console him right after it had happened—he’d helped drag First Aid away from the sight, for Primus’ sake—but it just hadn’t helped. The moment he found out what had happened, Ratchet had also been consistently on his case about it during their down-time, but his well-meaning support had only made things worse. Just the sight of his mentor, pouring over him in the cold, empty medical bay after having dragged Pharma’s corpse to the morgue left him feeling worse, not better. Nothing changed the way he felt, the gut-wrenching guilt that overwhelmed him. Vortex, however, had finally managed to break through the cycle of self-loathing First Aid found himself caught in. It took a few tries, but the young medic eventually slowed his breathing, and the tears finally stopped flowing. He remained still in Vortex’s hold, the Decepticon’s chest warm against his shivering frame.

“There’s my little medibot,” Vortex smiled, pulling back just enough to get a good look at First’s Aid’s face. He gently tapped the tip of First Aid’s nose with his free servo, his smile widening at the way First Aid grumbled in response. “Can I asked what happened to you now, or am I gonna send you into another sobbing fit?”

First Aid huffed out in false annoyance, doing his best to mask the embarrassment he felt. He nestled back against Vortex’s chest and began fiddling with the air vents on the flier’s shoulders, his fingers grazing over tender components.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he said, his mouth lifting in a small smile when his fiddling caught the tips of a bundle of tender wires. Vortex pulled back in a knee-jerk reaction, but First Aid was quick to quit before his servos was slapped away.

“Do you expect me to pretend like you didn’t just spend a good portion of our interaction bawling your optics out?” Vortex asked. He stopped First Aid before the medic could shy away from his searching gaze, his free servo cupped under First Aid’s chin. “I’m serious, Aid. What happened? Did someone hurt you?” He paused, searching his processor for any possibilities. “Wait—was it Pharma?”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” First Aid repeated, pushing himself up until he was glaring down at Vortex. “I came here to see you, not talk about… Autobot stuff.”

Vortex had grown accustomed to reading the small cues First Aid gave off through his body language. With a visor to cover his optics and a mask that he wore almost constantly, it was often difficult to gauge his reaction to anything. However, he could easily make out the tension pulling at the edges of First Aid’s frown, and he wasn’t blind to the crease in his visor, something he knew First Aid did subconsciously when he was under great stress, or dealing with another lecture from Ratchet. He hated to give in so easily—especially to First Aid, of all mechs. However, the small medic gave him no choice.

“Fine,” he groaned, rolling his optics behind his visor. “Well? If you’re not gonna talk, what do you suppose we do next?”

Distracted from his biggest problem for the moment being, First Aid smiled at the question. He made a show of thinking it over for a moment, even though he’d already come to a conclusion in his own mind.

“You could… take me back to your place,” he suggested, shifting against Vortex’s frame until he was practically straddling the Decepticon. “We promised to head there the next time we met up, remember?”

Vortex smiled at that, the smug expression returning to his faceplates. “Like I could forget,” he said, his fingers tracing over the Autobot insignia on First Aid’s chest. “We’ll have to fly there—you all right with that?”

First Aid frowned, reaching up to stop Vortex’s servo. “Fly?” He asked. “You’re not going to take me in for another interrogation session, are you? I thought we were past that.”

“No, no,” Vortex assured him. He gathered First Aid’s servos into his own and gave them a small squeeze, offering First Aid the kindest smile he could produce. “It’s not the same as the Decepticon base. Think of it like a dormitory at the academy, or—or a habsuite at that medical school you attended.”

“You rented out your own space?” The ridge of First Aid’s visor lifted over his left optic. “How do you manage to afford it?”

“The specifics aren’t important,” Vortex said, already rising to his pedes. “Come on, let’s get going before Ratchet figures out you’ve gone and snuck off with me again.”

First Aid couldn’t help but laugh at that. If Ratchet found him in such a compromising position—he couldn’t, of course, since First Aid had blocked off his comms—First Aid knew the chief medic would be in outrage. He shouldn’t be there, accepting sympathy and support from who was supposed to be his enemy. It was almost ironic, he thought, the disapproval Ratchet felt in regards to his chosen berthmate. He, as a medic, had killed someone. He had killed a fellow medic, in fact. In the end, it didn’t matter what path Pharma had chosen to take, because in the end, it wasn’t an excuse for First Aid to go back on his morals, and he knew it.

Despite all of this, the one thing Ratchet chose to criticize him for was his decision to continue entertaining a relationship with Vortex. To First Aid, fraternizing with the enemy seemed like a pretty mild offense in comparison.

As Vortex slowly stood up, bringing First Aid with him, the medic stepped back to give the Decepticon room to transform. His alt mode—a beautiful helicopter with the Decepticon colors—always made a flutter of admiration appear in First Aid’s chest. It was putting it lightly to say he’d become attracted to the Combaticon, after all. Still, he kept his expression straight and waited until Vortex was no longer hovering in the air to move forward. He accepted the open cockpit as an invitation to slip inside, and as the doors shut behind him, trapping First Aid in an oddly cozy darkness, he could feel Vortex rising back into the air.

First Aid clung tightly to the inner cockpit of Vortex’s frame as the Decepticon surpassed the tops of the buildings nearby. Through a thin layer of dark glass, the lights of the city below them swirled into a dizzying sight. First Aid closed his optics tightly to avoid the sense of vertigo he had grown accustomed to and simply held on tighter, a flare of indignation prickling his plating as Vortex laughed.

“Don’t worry, little bot,” Vortex teased, his frame swaying ever so slightly as they gained altitude. Seconds later, he was soaring over the city below, his rotors beating loudly against the wind. “I’ll be gentle.”

“You better be,” First Aid said through gritted teeth, too absorbed in his fight with claustrophobia to care much for Vortex’s preferred flight style.

Vortex laughed even louder, the sound light and amused instead of the sharp, cackling noise he would make when they first interacted. The two bots said very little afterwards as Vortex headed for his private home, keeping an audial out for any complaints his passenger might have.

As much as First Aid hated to admit it, he found himself enjoying the view from above the city. He was most certainly still against taking any unnecessary flights, and was more than relieved when they finally landed on an open patio outside of a fairly large sized space at the top of a skyscraper. Fitting for a mech with a flight alt-mode, First Aid thought.

Vortex was sure to let First Aid free before transforming and landing on his pedes next to the Autobot medic. A small small spread across his faceplates as he watched First Aid stare in awe from the middle of the patio before wrapping a servo around his shoulders and directing him towards the door. First Aid was silent as Vortex guided the way inside, the interior of the area lacking much of the impressive feel that the outside gave. As much as he enjoyed having the space to himself, there was always very little time to actually indulge in such a comfort.

“So?” He asked, having waited rather patiently by First Aid’s side for several minutes as the medic took everything in. “What do you think?”

“It’s—it’s nice,” Aid admitted, having finally managed to snap out of his thoughts. “It suits you.”

The long flight over had given him ample time to slip back into feelings and experiences he’d rather not dwell on, but he was quick to focus back on the present. First Aid relaxed next to Vortex, allowing himself a chance to lean into the flier’s side, his helm coming just below Vortex’s shoulders.

“Yeah?” Vortex asked, pressing for more. “Well, don’t just stand there! Take a look around. Make yourself at home—or whatever.”

First Aid stood frozen in place, watching as Vortex headed for the lounge area. A large sofa—just enough to fit at least two bot, if not one very large one—and stretched out. He met First Aid’s gaze from across the room and made a sweeping gesture with his servo.

“You want energon? Should I put on a film? Wanna take a nap or something? The place is yours now, Aid. I’m serious, make yourself comfortable.”

Encouraged by Vortex’s suggestions, First Aid headed for the kitchen. It had been a little over a day since the—well… since the incident, and he was just starting to feel hungry again. As if on cue, his tanks began to grumble beneath his plating, desperate for sustenance. Without much thought, he immediately headed for the storage cabinets and began to search for any snacks he could find. It didn’t take long before he had grown a small pile of Energon treats and other packaged goodies before he was onto a box of bottled high-grade and pulling out two at a time, his search frantic and desperate.

“Wow,” Vortex eventually commented. “Didn’t realize you were so hungry. Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve picked up some of the good stuff while we were still out.”

First Aid paused halfway through digging into another cabinet, his arms full of packaged snacks and a bottle of cheap energon tucked under his chin. As if just realizing he’d been raiding Vortex’s personal fuel rations like he hadn’t eaten in ages, First Aid set everything down, his faceplates bright blue with embarrassment. He looked back at Vortex, who was watching him from where he hung over the back of the sofa, his amusement evident in his expression.

“Sorry,” he stammered, “Sorry, I—I got distracted. Give me a minute and I’ll have everything put back, I—“

“No, no,” Vortex said, having already jumped to his pedes as he rushed over. “Don’t apologize. It’s, uh—it’s great, let me just… here, I’ll help you carry everything.”

Between the two of them, Vortex and First Aid managed to carry the load of snacks and beverages back over to the sofa. Vortex dumped his armful of energon treats onto the floor in front of the sofa and sat back down, one servo discreetly snaking around the backrest as First Aid did the same. From where he sat, he’d grabbed ahold of the console’s remotes and began fiddling with the device, already prepared to set something up for them both. He wasn’t exactly hungry, nor was he in the mood for mindless snacking, but a chance to snuggle with First Aid while they both watched various films for hours on end wasn’t an opportunity he would willingly pass up.

“Any suggestions?” He asked, gesturing to the blank screen as First Aid took a seat on the sofa next to him. “I’ve got a bit of a reputation for my excellent taste in holovids, so I kinda doubt there isn’t one you could suggest that I haven’t seen.”

There was a false sense of security in the act of getting so comfortable with Vortex—his enemy, First Aid reminded himself, and a very, very dangerous Decepticon—and First Aid knew it. It set him on edge to be so comfortable, so vulnerable, in Vortex’s presence, but First Aid couldn’t help himself. In the moment, Vortex was the only one who didn’t know a single thing about his whole killing-a-mech issue, and First Aid wanted to take advantage of that for as long as he could. He snuggled close to Vortex's side on the bot-sized sofa, cushioning himself under one of Vortex’s arms as the Decepticon scrolled through a variety of films on the hologram screen. As they sat together, mostly silent, First Aid made quick work of the first serving of snacks and high-grade he’d collected.

“Something a little light, maybe?” He asked, tearing open a bag of rust-flavored chipss. He stuffed a handful into his mouth and quietly munched as Vortex perused the romance section. If the Combaticon had been trying to convey some unspoken message with the choice, First Aid didn’t question it. “Hm.. Lasso of Lust?”

“Sounds cheesy,” Vortex smiled, pulling First Aid a little closer with his free servo. “I love it.”

First Aid paused halfway through bringing another servo full of chips to his mouth and reconsidered it for a moment before nodding. “It’s perfect,” he said, the statement punctuated by a loud crunch.

“Say no more,” Vortex said, already clicking on the film.

First Aid allowed his helm to rest against Vortex’s shoulder as he worked his way through the bag of chips. Between Vortex’s servo around his shoulders and the mindless drone of the film in front of them, First Aid finally found a sense of relief from the overwhelming weight of guilt that hung over him.

Only a few minutes had gone by before First Aid was reaching into the bag, only to come up empty. He looked down at the empty bag and frowned, a little surprised to see it gone so quickly. It wasn’t exactly a small pack, and it had been sealed before he’d gotten to it. Pushing the thought aside for the moment, First Aid bent down and grabbed a second package of snacks, this time retrieving a sweeter item. He wasted no time in reading the label before tearing the bag open and stuffing a servo inside, then tossed the handful into his mouth.

Unlike the chips, which had tasted light and settled quite easily in his tanks, the second package of snacks was thicker, almost more indulgent. He found it difficult to swallow such a rich mouthful, and he winced as he swallowed down the oversized bite he’d taken. As if just catching onto the fact that his visitor wasn’t fully enjoying the snacks he’d provided, Vortex reached over and grabbed the bag, inspecting it carefully.

“Something taste funny?” He asked, giving the contents of the package a small sniff.

“A little,” First Aid admitted, hesitantly reaching up to take the bag back. It tasted different to what he was used to, but not necessarily in a bad way. “I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“So rich?” Vortex asked, his frown slowly fading into a smile. “You and your fellow Autobots, Aid. One of these days, I’m going to have to have a talk with whoever is providing you guys with your watered down rations. It should be illegal, providing a mech with such nasty snacks.”

First Aid scoffed a bit, shaking his helm in confusion. “I—what? What are you talking about? Our energon supply tastes fine.”

“Oh, First Aid,” Vortex said, having now begun to give the young medic a look of complete disapproval. “You haven’t even scratched the surface of quality snacking material yet. Here, try some of this—“

After shoving the package of dark, oily energon balls back into First Aid’s servos, Vortex reached down to grab one of the large bottles of high-grade. He popped the lid, wincing at the hiss of air that escaped, and handed it over to the medic. First Aid looked at it skeptically at first, his visor furrowed in distrust, but Vortex simply pushed it a little closer.

“Trust me, Aid,” Vortex pressed. “You Autobots don’t know the first thing about quality energon—no offense. When you get a taste of this stuff, you’re gonna be hooked.”

First Aid was still visibly unconvinced, but he took the offered bottle anyway. Taking a long sip, he was almost surprised at the way he could smell the sweet scent of energon wafting up from the container before it had even touched his tongue. As the thick, jelly-like substance spilled over his tongue, First Aid almost moaned aloud. It was good—better than anything he’d ever tasted before, at least. He took another sip, the second taste just as good as the first.

“You’re right,” First Aid gasped, speaking as though Vortex had just revealed some sort of ground-breaking secret to him. “This is—how is it so good?”

“It’s addictive, right?” Vortex laughed in response. He paused for a moment before gently patting at First Aid’s abdominal plating, his expression shifting into something First Aid couldn’t quite discern. “Don’t overdo it, though. I wouldn’t want you feeling sick during our night in.”

First Aid paused, a little startled by the sudden show of affection. He wasn’t exactly put off by it, per se, but he hadn’t expected Vortex to be so handsy. He gently set the bottle aside before focusing his attention back onto the open bag of sweets in his lap, deciding to push the feeling aside for the moment being. He and Vortex were just starting to relax in the other’s presence, after all. It was probably nothing.

A comfortable silence fell over the two as they focused their attention back on the film playing. While First said busied himself with sampling the various snacks and drinks, Vortex had taken to observing him in silence. Halfway through the movie, he shifted again, making more room at his side for First Aid to fall into. At first, the young medic was oblivious to the sudden opening Vortex had left for him, too absorbed in refueling. Eventually though, when his optics drifted from the film to meet Vortex’s gaze, he suddenly realizes what the Combaticon was hoping to receive. To Vortex’s surprise, First Aid pressed himself close, letting his helm come down to rest against Vortex’s chest plating.

From his new position, he could almost hear the steady beat of Vortex’s spark beneath thick meshing. The sound was quite nice, First Aid thought to himself as he reached for another pack of energon goodies. It was nice. It was almost like—First Aid paused, his frame growing tense against Vortex’s side. The thought was quick, fleeting, but it was just enough to send his mind reeling.

Pharma’s spark wouldn’t ever beat like that again, something in his mind reminded him. He was dead—thanks to First Aid, no less. It hadn’t been self-defense; it hadn’t been an Autobot warrior, and it hadn’t been just. Pharma had grown into a monster, of course, but even he didn’t deserve the ending First Aid had given him.

Before he could delve too far back into his feelings, First Aid reached for another, much larger bottle of high-grade. After popping the lid open, he tilted back just a little and drained a quarter of it in one go, wincing as it filled his already-full tanks. He wasn’t about to let such dark, twisted thoughts ruin his time with Vortex. He was here to enjoy himself, not wallow in self-pity. He could feel Vortex’s curious gaze watching him quietly, but First Aid didn’t stop. Once he’d managed to drain another portion of the bottle, he reached for the next bag of energon treats, no longer caring what he finished off next.

From somewhere across the room, First Aid could make out the romance film ending with the familiar sound of dramatic instruments. He tore open the next bag of goodies and popped a handful into his mouth, hoping to stave off the questions he knew Vortex was bound to ask. He was a little surprised the Decepticon hadn’t tried to stop him yet, the servo resting against the side of his frame having just begun kneading into the soft mesh of his belly. Vortex hadn’t said a single word about his sudden binging, and First Aid was desperate to keep it that way for as long as he could.

He had managed to finish a second bag of energon goodies before the pain started to form. First Aid shifted against Vortex’s side with a soft grunt, wincing as the newly devoured contents made room in his tanks. He wasn’t quite finished yet—there was still more energon to drink, after all—but he could feel himself growing close to his limits.

As if to further remind him of the impending capacity of his tanks, the brief shift in position had jostled his tanks just enough to dislodge the gas building up beneath the surface. He hardly had enough time to hold a servo over his mouth before he was stifling a thick, gurgling belch. The growing strain on his abdomen lessened slightly, but he was absolutely mortified by the reaction Vortex would have to such a display.

“Er—excuse me,” he awkwardly mumbled past the servo clamped over his mouth. To make matters worse, Vortex’s servo had stilled against his side, and he could almost feel the way the Combaticon’s gaze bored into him. “I’m sorry, that was—“

“No, d—don’t be,” Vortex quickly cuts in. By the looks of it, his own faceplates were just as flushed and blue as First Aid’s, and he hadn’t known any better, he almost would have believed Vortex actually enjoyed the sight of him gorging on energon. “It’s fine, really. Do you want—I mean, should I put on another film?”

It’s not the reaction he had expected, or even anticipated, but First Aid nodded in agreement. Despite having hit his limit some time ago, First Aid busied himself with drinking another bottle of high-grade as he watched Vortex flip through various film options. He could feel the metal around his middle growing tight from the influx of energon, but he ignored this, and absentmindedly rubbed a servo over the extended metal as he finished off the rest of the bottle.

“How about this?” Vortex eventually asked, having landed on a film with a name neither of them can pronounce.

First Aid wasn’t quite sure if it was the effects of the high grade on his processor, but he was almost certain he could see Vortex’s gaze lingering on his extended middle for much longer than was necessary. He nodded his approval and stretched back against the sofa, his frame pressing even closer to Vortex as he lets out a soft groan. Having thrown his shake aside by now, he rubbed his free servo against his extended abdominal plating, all too aware of the sound of his tanks rumbling pitifully underneath. He’s not finished, though. No, he’s still got a ways to go.

“Perfect,” he said, staring at the screen through half-opened optics. After a moment of silence, in which Vortex sets up the next film with painstaking slow movements, First Aid adds, “Say… Vortex?”

“Yeah?” Vortex asked. He refused to spare a single glance in First Aid’s direction, having grown tense and still on his respective side of the sofa.

First Aid paused before continuing. Despite the hurdles they’d crossed in a single day, he still felt a little uncertain about their respective boundaries. His visor flickered as he caught sight of the fresh bottle of high-grade in Vortex’s servos from where he lay stretched out on the sofa, almost surprised by the way the Decepticon could read him so easily. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew for a fact that eating his feelings into oblivion would do nothing for him in the long run. If Vortex was willing—if, First Aid thought—the comfort of stuffing his tanks to the brim while Vortex held him close was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“D’you think—“ he paused, swallowing down another belch before continuing. “Do you think you could, maybe… you know, rub my belly for me? I wanted to try more of your energon, but I’m starting to feel a little full, and—“

“Sure, yeah,” Vortex immediately said, all but jumping onto the opportunity. “I mean—yeah, if… if you don’t mind. I’d—I’d love to.”

By then, First Aid’s faceplates were burning with embarrassment. One look at Vortex’s expression told him the Combaticon was feeling the same, but First Aid tried not to dwell on it. Slowly, as to avoid upsetting his already stuffed tanks, First Aid sat up until he was turned and leaning with his back against Vortex’s chest. He could feel Vortex’s servos wrapping around to rest against his extended middle, the bottle of high-grade held up for First Aid to take. He mumbled his thanks and, after uncapping it, leaned back against Vortex’s frame and began guzzling.

Given Vortex’s gentle servos kneading the tight metal across his abdomen, it didn’t take long before First Aid had managed to finish the bottle. He let it drop from his servos onto the ground and flopped back against Vortex’s chest with a loud sigh. His tanks, which gurgled in protest at being filled so much, didn’t fail to bring a tentative smile to First Aid’s face. It had taken some effort, but his tanks were filled to their capacity and beyond.

He’d gotten so invested in the overly full feeling of his tanks that he had almost missed the way Vortex stared down at him, his servos having stilled against First Aid’s belly. When First Aid finally realized Vortex had stopped rubbing his abdominal plating, he pulled away, sitting up on the opposite side of the couch.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, you know,” First Aid laughed, reaching out over his middle to give Vortex’s shoulder a gentle pat.

He couldn’t see the Combaticon’s optics from behind the visor, but something about the way he stared down at First Aid’s bulging belly was starting to worry him. It was difficult to discern Vortex’s mood, since the high-grade had already begun making quick work to push him into the realm of intoxication, but even then, First Aid could still tell that something wasn’t right. He began to rub his own servo over the aching mesh and gave Vortex’s shoulder another pat.

“‘Tex, we—mmphk, sorry—we’re alone here, remember? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He paused and stared down at his middle, which had grown to be nearly three times its usual size. As if suddenly realizing that maybe Vortex wasn’t happy with him devouring the entire stock of energon Vortex had stored in the habsuite. He opened his mouth again, ready to apologize, but he was cut short as Vortex suddenly surged forward, completely catching First Aid off-guard.

First Aid fell back against the cushions as Vortex towered over him, leaning in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. As First Aid leaned into the sudden touch, a soft moan working its way up his throat, Vortex dug his servos into the tender mesh of First Aid’s belly, his breathing growing erratic as he moved to straddle the fattened medic. First Aid arched up into the tender, hungry kiss, his servos desperately searching for support in Vortex’s frame. He could feel the heat emanating off of Vortex’s frame in waves, his sensitive sensors picking up on every little motion.

“Holy scrap, you’re hot,” Vortex panted, having broken away long enough to take in the sight of First Aid’s belly between them. “You—you’re cool with this, right? I mean, you don’t mind—?”

“Are you kidding?” First Aid asked, nearly breathless as he pushed back against Vortex’s chest. The Combaticon fell flat on his back, leaving room for First Aid to straddle his prone form. “I could never pass up the opportunity for a frag in your habsuite. It feels—it feels more official.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Vortex huffed out, his helm falling back with a groan as First Aid’s codpiece ground against him.

Within seconds, his panels had clicked open, revealing his fully pressurized spike. First Aid didn’t hesitate to retract his own plating and began grinding the tip of the spike against his entrance, a gush of fluids having already begun to coat the outer lining of his valve. Vortex leaned in and began peppering slow, tender kisses up and down First Aid’s bloated middle as the medic slowly sunk down onto his spike, his mouth hanging open wide in pure ecstasy.

It was a quick pace—much quicker than he would have expected, but Vortex hadn’t exactly planned on discovering a new kink while watching First Aid stuff himself on the sofa next to him. As First Aid emitted soft, breathy groans, his hips grinding back and forth atop Vortex’s spike, Vortex could feel his overload beginning to creep up. The edge of First Aid’s belly rubbed against closed panels, creating just the right bit of friction to push him over the edge—or, at least, close to it.

“Keep going,” he begged, his servos digging into the mesh of First Aid’s belly. He leaned back against the sofa, panting audibly as First Aid moved even faster. “Ohh, yes, yes—faster, yeah, faster—oh, oh frag, oh Primus, Aid, frag—“

All at once, a surge of energy rushed through him in the form of an unbearable heat that spread between his thighs. He clutched the soft metal of First Aid’s belly and moaned aloud, spurts of transfluid pushed deep into First Aid’s valve as the medic jerked against Vortex’s spike. A few seconds later and First Aid was just the same, groaning softly as he fell forward. His valve spasmed as waves of pleasure rolled through his frame, leaving him in a quivering mess against Vortex’s frame.

Both mechs sat in a post-coital silence for some time, relishing in the lasting effects of their overloads before Vortex spoke up. Gently, he pulled himself free of First Aid, careful not to jostle him too much.

“Well—that was,” he paused, staring up at the ceiling as he searched for the right words. “I dunno. That was great. You were great, First Aid. We should do this more often, yeah?”

First Aid huffed out a laugh, shifting until he was lying on his side, his overly full belly hanging in front of him. Without a word, Vortex’s servos reached up to begin gently rubbing the sore metal, his fingers working between the seams to relieve the most sensitive sources of pain.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We should.”

Torn between the relief that came from lying alone with Vortex in the Decepticon’s habsuite, away from the outer world, and dealing with the guilt he still carried from Pharma’s death, First Aid wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Vortex seemed to understand this, however, and was quick to begin rubbing his fingers in a little deeper, receiving a soft sigh of relief for his efforts.

“It’ll be all right, Aid,” he whispered into First Aid’s audials, placing a soft kiss against the side of the medic’s helm. “Whatever it is. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m it’ll all work out in the long run. Besides, when you get the hankering for another feeding session, you know who to call.”

“Yeah,” First Aid said, a small smile lifting at the corners of his faceplates. “I know.”

A familiar heat prickled behind his optics, threatening to bring with it another wave of tears, but for the moment, First Aid fought it back down. With a shuddering sigh, he allowed his optics to slip shut as he turned all of his focus back onto the gentle, rhythmic kneading of Vortex’s servos against his middle and the steady beat of Vortex’s spark beneath him. He wasn’t sure when the weight of taking someone’s life would ever go away, if it would ever go away, but Vortex was right. First Aid knew he could always turn to the Combaticon for support, no matter what.

[bitegore]

So in g1 Scrapper makes art using living or dead mechs, Vortex likes torturing people in horrible ways. I can see this being a fun combo if they can actually get along or just hate fuck though it.

@fireyhotsupertalia wrote something to that effect! and ive been super normal about it since

I think out of everyone, Scrapper (or at least my personal take on him) would be better suited to handling Vortex than the average person, but it's not like Vortex would make it easy, and, frankly, Scrapper has mecha he likes better. So the biggest stumbling block for me is coming up with a reason to shove them together that like, makes sense to the inside of my brain where the ideas come from. Ive got something cooking on the back burner about putting Vortex in his place regarding the like whole fucking sexual harrassment au that spiraled out of one onesided Hook/Vortex prompt a few months back, but I'm not sure how it'll go yet.

I feel like Vortex would make an excellent chewtoy for the Constructicons as a whole, though. I'm not sure about Long Haul specifically, but Mixmaster can use a test subject, I've read a lot of really good fics that have informed a lot of how i write Scavenger specifically where Scavenger is also a giant sadist, just, like, very creepy about it, I think Hook would enjoy having someone to practice on as long as someone else took Vortex's vox out and welded him to a table first (which tbh I feel like he'd agree to as long as he was promised a hard fuck after also), and honestly i have no justification for bonecrusher i just think it would be extremely sexy for bonecrusher to tie him to the ceiling by the wrists and use him as a punching bag while vortex just gets progressively closer to coming behind his panels fhfhfj.

this helicopter makes such a good multitool. everyone can get some kind of utility out of fucking him, or hitting him, which is basically like fucking him. it's great

[helicrazy]

Onslaught nods at the small femme before him, a small but very approving gesture, showing that he appreciates what Wild has done for them. "If you ever need something, you are free to drop by my office anytime." He states and almost turns away before stopping himself.

"Make an appointment, actually. I'm a busy mech." With that said, he gives a small signal to the others, indicating they were free to their own devices for the day while he goes back to his work.

Vortex attempts to leave with Swindle and avoid conversation, but the con mech forces him to stay. The bastard. He turns to look at the doctor; his visor is dim, and the rotors are stiff. "Yeah... really worked out for you." The rest of the Combaticon squad too, yet the words never leave his vocalizer. "Perks of knowing someone who's part of a gestalt, huh?"

A simple mistake he made, trusting someone who in the end wanted to get to the others. To Bruticus. It worked out for both sides, sure, but he feels used, and it doesn't sit well at all.

"I have other things I have to do..." The helicopter declares while turning away from Wild. Pretending to be busy seemed like the best way to exit this, even if he did expect the doctor to not fall for it. "I'll be around."

As soon as the cannon power down Wild relaxes, her falling snow begins to slow until eventually it comes to a complete halt. Shouting at a lethal combiner, not her finest moment and yet something she supposes she can mark as an achievement.

For a moment Wild hesitates, looking at Bruticus' servo. Surely if he was going to kill her, he would have done it by now? Gingerly the small medic accepts his invitation, carefully stepping onto his servo and focusing on keeping herself standing as he raises her up. When his digits curl up Wild uses them to steady herself, her little cold servos holding on as she takes in the view. Everything is so tiny from this height and she can't help but wonder how Bruticus even managed to see her.

Cold winds blow past her frame causing the scarred wing stubs to twitch. Now not only do they ache from pain but from longing and deep rooted desire that they cannot satiate. Wild closes her optics, focusing purely on the feel of the air against her frame. She never realised just how much she missed the freedom of flight until she is almost cruelly reminded of how stuck she is now grounded.

As Bruticus comes to a halt Wild opens her optics, looking up at Bruticus and then following his gaze to the smoking site of the decimated clinic. Instantly she is reminded of the day she had to evacuate and was parted from it for good. A memory just as painful as the day it happened.

Wild returns her attention to the combiner, tilting her helm to the side almost mirroring his movements. She gives him a small smile in return only for the Combaticon's to break apart. Wild isn't quite sure what to do other than let out a surprised gasp until she feels her arm being grabbed as she hangs down.

Thankfully Blast Off gives her enough time to brace herself for landing, allowing her to land on her pedes with no issues. Once she's recomposed herself she lets out a quiet "Thank you." to the shuttle, not wanting to disturb the conversation of the Combaticons.

Wild looks up at Onslaught and gives a slight bow of her helm. "You were never there. You have my word." She responds. "I appreciate your help greatly, all of you. If I can ever be of service to you, please know I will come to your aid."

The medic's focus however can't help but be pulled to Vortex. Something about him still feels off and she's still not sure as to why. Cautiously she approaches the Copter. "Tex.. I wanted to thank you for convincing your team members for this favour." She's almost timid, afraid to make a wrong move and push him away further.

[xiaoyunenigma]

Wrong Era Part 1 (Chase X Charlie)

A thief and cop AU because IF CHARLIE CAN BE A JANITOR, HE SURE AS HELL CAN BE A THIEF IASHWHSHSGSG👏👏😩😩😫

This is a seriously long ass chapter, so I'll split it into two or three, it depends😂😂👌

Enjoy~

___

"Ah Chase, thank you for picking up the parcel." Doc Greene said, handing the mech a brown paper bag.

"No problem, Doctor. Chief is busy at the moment, so I shall take his place for this short delivery." Chase nodded and transformered into his vehicle mode. "Fret not, I will avoid all and every human contact." Chase promised and drove away, taking care of noticed by humans.

"Just to make certain..." The mech said to himself and activated his holoform, driving down the winding road back to base.

"In approximately 12 and a half minutes, I shall arrive to base. Perhaps I should take a shorter route to shorten the time..." Chase murmured and turned into a dark alley, driving down the unoccupied area. His frame jumped up and down due to the uneven grounding and he sighed.

"Such unruly pathway. I must contact Chief about this. We cannot allow such disregard for road maintenance to be put off." he noted.

The vibration cause the item at the back seat tipped and activated, but Chase was still busy on the road to notice it.

By the time his behind was glowing, it was already too late.

"S-Scrap!" the mech yelped as he felt his body being sucked into a black hole and he disappeared, leaving nothing but his tire tracks at the scene.

Tumbling through the swirling vortex, the police bot groaned as he unceremoniously crashed in front of a...police station.

"What in the..."he rubbed the back of his helm, not realising that he had reverted into biped mode.

"C-Chase!?" Blades's voice rang out clear as day, making the blue and white mech stared up at the shocked helicopter. Behind the astonished mech, his familiar crews were behind him... With UNKNOWN human associations.

Stiffening up, the mech activated his visor and pretended to be monotonous as to not blow his cover. "I-am- Chase- the- police-bot-"

"Chase?! W-What...?" Heatwave rubbed his optics, not believing what he was seeing. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Seeing how natural his leader was around these humans, Chase relaxed a little. "I am...undercover? We are not supposed to reveal ourselves to the humans." he said.

"What are you talking about?" Miko asked, tilting her head up. "We've known you guys since day one!"

"Incognito doesn't work at all, remember? We're supposed to be living together with the humans and learn from them, not hiding in disguise of...whatever you're doing." Heatwave grunted.

"GUYS! WE ARE MISSING THE WHOLE POINT!!" Jack yelled, starting the crew. "HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!!"

"I...do not follow? They are my team members. I am a fellow rescue bot member too, young citizen." Chase said, feeling a pang of uneasiness inside his tanks.

The team stared at the mech with disbelief, not understanding the situation either. Blades stepped out first, optics brimming with coolants as he tackled the mech and sobbed into his arms, breaking down before him.

"I don't care! This is our Chase and we're keeping him!"

"Blades, snap out of it! It's not him!" Heatwave growled, yanking away his friend. Glaring at the innocent mech, the firetruck spilled the truth.

"Chase died in mission. This isn't ours; it's an impostor."

___

"D-Died!?" Chase raised his voice and patted his chassis, panicking a little. "I-I don't understand! I need to speak to Chief!"

"Who's Chief?" Raf asked, pushing his glasses up. Behind him, Bumblebee buzzed the same question too.

"You mean the boss bot, Optimus?" Bulkhead offered, jabbing at the red and blue mech behind them.

"Optimus...?" Chase stepped back, getting more confused of this weird timeline. "B-But aren't you supposed to be on mainland?"

"I do not follow?" Optimus replied, watching the mech carefully. "You seemed... different than the Chase we know."

"I believe I must have... Time travelled?" Chase said and picked out the broken item from his cabin. "This parcel from Doc Greene glowed and the next thing I knew, I was transported here."

"Did he say Doc Greene?!" Frankie busted out from Smokescreen's side, staring up at the police bot with water in her eyes. "You know me, don't you!?"

"Yes. You are Francine Greene, or as you would like me to call you, Frankie." Chase replied. The small girl gasped as she started to cry too, making the mech felt even awkward at the situation.

"W-Where's - what- where's my daddy?" she sobbed into Miko's chest.

"I-I- He's at the lab?" Chase tried to answer.

"What lab? There's no lab in Griffin Rock." Boulders said.

"Okay, so we're still in Griffin Rock..." Chase said to himself, placing a digit to his chin. "I am sorry for this....sudden uproar, but I need to get back to my own realm. I do not...belong here." he said, dimming his optics at the last part. "You have my condolences for...my alternate self's death."

"Who's this Chief you were mentioning earlier?" Ratchet gruffedly spoke.

"Chief Charlie Burns, of course. He is the Head police in the island, working together with his four kids and my crew, the Rescue Bots of Sigma Seventeen."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"CHARLIE BURNS?!" All of them yelled.

"HE IS ANYTHING BUT A GOOD MAN AND I GOT THEM SCARS TO PROVE IT!" Agent Fowler yelled.

"HE'S THE REASON MY DAD IS MIA!" Frankie said in anguish.

"He's the cause of your death..." Blades weeped, wiping his yellow optics.

Chase gulped as he quietly took in the scene. Gripping his servos into a fist, he hesitantly asked the crew another question.

"Does he have a family here?"

"Yes, but only one-"

"It's Cody, isn't it?!" Chase cut the Prime off, dropping his usual calm demeanour. The poor fellow couldn't accept the fact that his partner was a murderer, a bad guy.

He could accept Charlie being a janitor because that man was still a good guy.

But this... This is wrong.

This isn't right.

"Yes." Optimus confirmed, blue optics soft and caring, contrasting with the freaking out mech before him. "Easy Chase, we will try our best to get you home."

"No offence sir, but what if he's an impostor? A liar? A mech created by Doctor Morocco?" Heatwave asked, still eyeing at Chase.

"Oh, he's bad in this realm too." Chase noted out loud, earning a snort from Arcee.

"Well, when is he ever not? Giving us quite the helmache, I swear to Primus." she sighed.

"Is Chief-I mean- Charlie, working with him?" Chase questioned, furrowing his optic ridges at the team.

Fortunately, the responds were negative.

"No. He's more of a... Cat burglar. He likes to steal stuff, pretty much." Agent Fowler said. "But I've gotta admit, that man is spry for his age, getting away from our hands like a slippery eel every bloody time."

"I see..." Chase replied, looking down at the asphalt ground. They were still outside of the police station after all.

Before the time-traveller could raise another question, an alarm blared from the station. Raf typed something on his computer before pushing up his glasses, staring at the team grimly.

"The bank has been robbed."

---

Chase's Energon went cold as he sped off, chasing after the only source of his familiarity. He didn't know why or how, but he felt as if he needed to see the man was as bad as the team had perceived him to be.

"I can only pray that Griffin Rock's map is similar to ours." Chase growled, putting metal to the petal. He had left the team in the dust, running off to the Griffin Rock Bank.

Lucky for him, the roads were the same as his realm and he arrived at the location just in time to see the man he was looking for.

Donned in dark blue and white suit(which briefly reminded Chase of Dani's suit), Charlie Burns was sprinting down the alley and away from human's sight.

Clicking his glossa, Chase floor the gas and chased after him, not wanting to loose sight.

Charlie, sensing someone was behind him, turned around only to jump aside as Chase drifted and faced in front of him, blocking his path.

"Charlie!" Chase yelled but stayed in vehicle mode.

The aging thief widened his eyes as his mind clicked with familiarity of the voice. "C-Chase?!" his voice quivered as he took a step back, dropping the sack of money on the ground.

Behind him, the team's siren came closer.

"Y-You're...alive?" Charlie stuttered, shaky hands grazing onto the car door. Chase tensed up for a moment, feeling bad for the man before him.

"DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"

Chase daydreaming was brutally cut short when Heatwave's voice came though the alley. Turning his rear mirrors to see the ashen-face Charlie, Chase went soft.

With a growl, the mech decided to break his code.

"Get in." he said, tone eerily deep. Charlie didn't think twice and dove in, letting the fast police car to drive away.

"WHAT THE FRAG!? CHASE!" Heatwave yelled, watching the alternate reality friend of his scampered away, Charlie Burns in tow.

"Guys! He's with Charlie! He's gotten away!" Heatwave yelled through the comms. Glaring at the now empty alley, Heatwave transformed and balled his servos, gritting his teeth with resentment.

"We'll find you. Both of you."

[helicrazy]

(( Another thing for @photobombingcryptid because these two pretty much live rent free in my head oops

Two drunk silly copters, though Vortex is defiantly more on the stupidly drunk side.

-------

After finishing it, Vortex tosses an empty high-grade bottle as Blaze carries him outside the bar, piggyback style, and drunk out of their processors. A deal was made that if Blaze brought them home, he'd allow him to do whatever he wanted in return. A simple intoxicating offer Vortex slipped out for fun, believing neither would remember it or that they would crash once they returned to his apartment.

Little did Vortex know that the cryptid held his liquor better than he did.

Still, he enjoyed playing with Blaze's antennas and purring sweet nothings into his audial on the way back. Even when drunk, he still took great pleasure in riling up his partners with either dirty talk or rude remarks.

In Blaze's case, he gets both out of love.

Vortex is thrown onto his bed moments after arriving at his apartment with Blaze on top of him in a matter of seconds, placing himself between the teal legs so their groins meet. No words need to be spoken as they get straight to business touching, rubbing, and biting each other. Claws slip into seams or press roughly against sensitive areas while Blaze grinds against Vortex’s pelvic area and bites down on his neck. Almost interfacing but without any of the equipment out, much to Vortex’s annoyance.

Nevertheless, he takes it out on Blaze by scratching up his back plating, leaving marks as memories to relive later or, his personal favorite, claiming the mech as his. Vortex’s treasure. That train of thought is set aside when feeling something wiggling beneath Blaze's back armor, stuck in that area where the plating flares up like a threatening cyber feline.

Vortex pinches his claws around it and pulls it out, revealing a bullet that must have been wedged between the plating without the cryptid knowing.

Or perhaps he did because even Primus knows this mech never properly cleans himself regardless of what he's been through.

"Looks like you need a scrub down again." Vortex grins as he holds the bullet out to the side. "Do I need to track down who left this on you and return it to the messenger?"

"Nah." Blaze responds while pulling away from the Combaticons’s bruised neck to examine it, cables dented from vicious bites and covered in lubricant. "Took care of it myself." He grabs the bullet and flicks it aside to continue rubbing against Vortex more, sticking to a slow but rough pace to provoke the teal helicopter simply because he can.

"Without me." Vortex claims, almost pouting in a way. Although it's all thanks to Blaze prolonging the moment longer than necessary that's making him feel like this. "Blaze, get on with it already."

The other copter gives nothing but a hum, compelling Vortex to grab his face and force Blaze to focus on him.

"Listen here hot stuff, you better start doing something or I'm throwing your aft in the torture room." Vortex snarls with a grin.

Blaze stares at the Combaticon, appearing to be thinking about it as he slightly shifts, only to end up sticking his glossa out to him while smiling.

"I will bite that off."

"Just give me five more minutes till I commit, okay?"

Vortex groans as he moves his servos away from Blaze's face and places them on his shoulders. His claws gripping the plating like he's threatening to push him off. "Frag you."

"You did say I could do whatever I pleased." Blaze purrs while grabbing Vortex’s servos to pin them on the berth. Their frames are both warm, craving that desire and need yet Blaze has an easier time playing around with it than Vortex.

"I didn't think you'd abuse it by dry-humping me all night." The Combaticon vents, though his foul mood is forgotten when noticing a look on the other. It might have been his drunk mind playing tricks on him, but it was far too late to prevent the words from coming out. "You do know our panels have been closed the whole time right?"

"Tch. Obviously. Why would you-" Blaze pauses as he stares at the teal copter, and whatever expression appeared on his face, even if it was his usual plain view, makes Vortex snicker-

"Vortex. No. I-"

-That quickly turns into a roar of laughter.

"You have had far too much to drink tonight."

Vortex waits for the laughter to settle down before responding in giggles. "I'm telling the others about this."

Blaze huffs as he leans over the other, gold optics beaming down with a wicked grin. His claws peirce into Vortex’s servos while he repositions himself. "How about I make you forget tonight ever happened?"

The Combaticon lets out a cackle.

"Try me."

[liaswritesrobots]

Hi! Can I please have a Vortex/First Aid ficlet? Thank you ❤

"Stop squirming!" The medic bot yells out as he tries to attach another wire.

"Frag you!" The combaticon shouted.

"I'm trying to help you idiot!" First Aid says.

"I don't need no stinkin' Autobot's help!" Vortex replies.

"Ok." First Aid removes his servo keeping Vortex's arm attached to his chassis, allowing it to fall and a few cables to detach causing some energon to pour out.

"WAIT HOLD ON!" Vortex shouts, grabbing his arm to hold it in place, "You're a medic! You can't just- you can't do that!"

"Sorry bud, I subscribe to the new code, do no harm, take no shit, let Decepticon's decide their fate." he says starting to stand up.

"Wait!" Vortex reaches out, letting his arm fall again, "Please don't leave me here!"

First Aid sighs and kneels back down, "Ok, I'll help you." He says lifting the con's arm and reattaching his cables with a built in tool.

The two stay there in silence, allowing First Aid to concentrate. He quickly patches up Vortex, reattaching his arm so that it will stay, and patching up every scrape he can find on his chassis.

Vortex watches as the medic bot uses his tools and delicate servos to fix every wound he has. His mind wanders as First Aid works on him, thinking about how he hasn't had someone touch him so gently in such a long time. His cheeks glow a soft pink as he turns his helm, trying to banish those thoughts.

"Scrap," First Aid says under his breath, "Hold on..." He says, removing his mask so that he can place his repair tool between his lips until he needs it again.

'Oh. Oh SCRAP! THIS AUTOBOT IS CUTE!' Vortex thinks. His face glows brighter as he pouts behind his mask and turns to look at that ground, not wanting the Autobot to see his blush through his visor.

First Aid takes the repair tool from his mouth to finish repairing one final scratch, "Alright, all done."

Vortex looks at him, face still glowing pink which can be seen behind his visor, "Thanks..." He grumbles.

"Now," First Aid stands up and puts his mask back on, "We best get back to our teams."

"Uh… yeah." Vortex replies, raising up.

First Aid turns to walk away.

"Hold on!"

"What is it now?"

"Could I uh… have your name? You know, in case there's a battle or somethin'... I can uh… maybe spare you just once as payback or whatever." He says looking at the ground.

"It's First Aid. And You?"

"Huh?" Vortex looks up, surprised that Autobot wants to know his name, "It's… Vortex."

"Vortex… that sounds familiar..." First Aid says rubbing his chin.

Vortex freezes for a moment before jumping up and dashing off "Yeah you better remember it Doc, because it's a name that strikes fear into the sparks of Autoscum!" He says before transforming and flying off.

"HOLD ON I KNOW WHERE I HEARD THAT NAME BEFORE," First Aid says turning around and running towards the helicopter mech, "GET BACK DOWN HERE!"

[lilyswrittenworks]

ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀꜱ ᴘʀɪᴍᴇ || ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Prompt: 

What if a Cyborg was thrown into a different universe where the Autobots reside, and when they do cross paths would they be friend or foe?

        Everything seemed fine, or so you thought. One moment you were helping out your comrades and the next thing you knew you had suddenly awoken out outdoors in the middle of the night. You stood up, dusting off the dirt from the sleeves of your black trench coat and inspected the new terrain. It was a dense forest, owls were hooting above the trees, and the sounds of wild wolves could be heard from afar.

You weren’t certain how you got there and attempted to contact the professor but was met with radio silence. Wasting no time as you began to wander the area in hopes of finding civilization. There, you stumbled upon a town, however, upon further inspection you noted that it had been abandoned for quite some time. Any hopes of finding any sort of communication in this particular area is meaningless.

When you were about to turn around to leave is when you heard heavy footsteps which caught your attention. You followed the sound and hid behind a tree, peeking your head out the corner to see a green robot organism running on the path of the railroad tracks to which lead to a rail tunnel. When the robot entered the tunnel that’s when you followed making sure to keep a low profile.

Halfway inside the dim tunnel is when you find a door where you approach it and twist the handle. Conveniently, it was open as you made your way inside the hidden facility. Along the way you had encountered a few men in suits and easily dispatched them with ease, without killing them of course. Upon arrival, you can see through the crack of the door that there were monitors displayed to your left and moved your gaze to see various suited men taking apart another robot, who was fully conscious. The sight caused you to build up the anger within you, it irked you at how these humans treated other lifeforms like guinea pigs.

One of the men in suits approached the door before you slammed it open with your feet sending the man hurtling towards the monitors. The sudden commotion caused everyone in the room to stop and turn towards you.

“A civilian? How did she infiltrate our base of operations?!” Yelled a man in annoyance.

Two suited men attempted to grab you, in return, you knocked them down with little effort. This caused the men to open fire at you and dodging every bullet that was fired and disarming them in the process. Then you jumped to avoid being grabbed and landed perfectly on the opposite side of the platform. You raised your head and realized that the man with a scar over the bridge of his nose had thrown a grenade towards you. Instantly, you raised your left arm and grab the grenade before crushing it within your grasp which caused it to explode.

The man chuckled. “Foolish girl.”

However, the victory was short-lived when the smoke had dissipated revealing your figure completely unscathed by the close ranged detonation.

 His dark eyes traveled down to your forearm and was taken back by what he was seeing. The sleeve of your trench coat had been torn off where it revealed your mechanical arm, its glistening dark blue hue with a skin-like silicone and metal plating cover both the exterior and interior of your limb. This newfound discovery about what you are certainly intrigued him and the malicious smirk said it all.  

Suddenly, there was a loud and continuous banging coming from further down the tunnel. The monitors were airing a live video feed and it showed the green robot making his way towards where you were.

“More crisp for the mill.” Muttered the man in displeasure as he fled with the rest of his men.

By the time you ripped your gaze away from the video feed, the man had disappeared from the scene along with his henchmen. 

There were heavy footsteps approaching and you simply watched as the green robot finally came into view, with his blaster out ready to aim on sight. Yet, he hadn’t really noticed your presence since his attention was purely directed towards the other unfortunate robot that was strapped on the table. 

“It must be your lucky day.” 

Then he proceeded to rip off the restraints and walk around the table to where his feet were and tears off the others. 

“What are you doing?” He inquired.

Perhaps they’re friends? You thought to yourself and continued to watch silently as the green robot offered his hand for him to take.

“Getting you outta here. Yeah, I don’t believe it either.”

She watched the exchange as they now stood beside each other. Then other robot, who was missing his right eye, turned to her.

“And you, human, thank you for… for saving my tailpipe earlier.” He muttered out through much hesitance, but was undoubtedly grateful for your assistance.

The green one turns to you in disbelief, finally taking notice of your presence. “What—wait, you saved him?!”

Suddenly the alarms blared out and both robots ran towards the exit with you trailing right behind them. Along the way, you encountered more soldiers, however, their focus were directed at the two robots. Since you were fairly hidden in the dark, wearing dark clothing and all. Either way, you made sure not to be seen by them. Once you were out in the open, the two robots were surrounded by green military vehicles, as well as, helicopters flying above them and were rapidly firing at them.

You on the other hand remained out of sight, not really wanting to partake in the event as you watched the scene unfold. Eventually they fled the scene for unknown reasons which left only the robots behind. The sound of jets soaring across the skies can be heard followed by the sounds of metal shifting in the air; five new robots had landed. The exchange was short and the green robot took on the enemies alone, including the one that he just rescued which he tossed around like a rag doll towards the others. 

“Come on, I’ll scrap all of you!” He yelled, summoning his mace on his left forearm preparing to take them all at once.

The adversaries didn’t get the chance to fire when another pair of robots entered the scene. You watched as the jets retreated, transforming and soaring high into the night sky whilst the other drove off from the scene. 

“Engaging the enemy on your own was even more foolish this time, Bulkhead. But I am honored that you saw fit to rescue your rival. You have truly risen above yourself.” The baritone voice said, which belonged to a red and blue robot, fairly taller than the rest.

“Did you see? I beat Breakdown and bashed him all with his own hammer! I won the rematch!”  The green robot, known as Bulkhead exclaimed enthusiastically.

“I’m sure Miko would be proud.” The two-wheeler said, with her arms folded in front of her chest.

You took this opportunity to approach them.

“Excuse me,”

Their heads turn towards you where stand right before them, although far enough so that your head wouldn’t cramp up from their tremendous height. You can faintly hear Bulkhead cursing under his breath, seemingly forgetting that you had existed.

“I apologize for my unannounced visit, but I seemed to have lost my way. Can you help me?” 

The other robots exchanged suspicious glances to one another. It was only natural for them to feel wary of you, in fact, this outcome didn't really surprise you. But this was the only logical way. They were the only ones that could help and no human could help in your predicament in fear of turning you in because of your uniqueness. 

“You allowed a human to see you?!” Whispered yelled the white and orange robot, looking furiously at Bulkhead.

Bulkhead averted his gaze elsewhere and was rubbing the side of his head. “Ratchet, if it weren’t for her, Breakdown would’ve been long gone before I got there.”

This earned a couple of gasps from the group, except for the taller robot,  who merely stared at you through curiosity.

You stepped forward, “Please, don’t hold him responsible. He did what was necessary. I should be the one to take blame.” You argued, motioning with your right hand towards yourself to secretly hid the exposed one.

Bulkhead was taken back from you defending him that it made his stagger from where he stood. No one has ever done that before except for his human charge. 

“What is it that you want in return?” The taller one gestures his hand towards you.

“All I ask for is for you to take me with you, maybe even allow me to seek shelter. If that is alright with the rest.” You glance over to the others who stared at you cautiously. Then the female robot stepped forward pointing an accusing finger at you.

“How do we know you’re not some sort of MECH agent?”

“Is that what they are called? Interesting… Then explain to me, how can I be speaking to you all instead of attacking you? Shouldn’t I have retreated with the rest of those MECH people?” 

No one seemed to catch your genuine reaction, it was made quite clear, however the only one that truly noticed the change in your tone was the to the red and blue robot. He quickly knew that you were telling the truth.

“Very well.”

The others didn’t argue further with his decision before contacting someone. 

Suddenly a green vortex appeared just behind them and proceeded to enter it. With that you followed behind as you entered the vortex, it left a pins and needle kind of sensation throughout your body. On the other side, you arrived inside a missile silo with platforms throughout and with monitors nearby. Staring down you can make out a strange insignia embedded in the middle of the room. Your mind wandered off until a young voice spoke.

“Bulkhead, you’re back! Did you beat Breakdown?” Based on her features and her accent. You concluded that she was of Japanese descent. 

While the girl spoke to Bulkhead, you proceeded to walk up the flight of stairs where you were met with the girl who was ecstatic in seeing you. Her nose nearly touching yours. She clearly didn’t understand what personal space was, that or she really didn’t care. You can feel the others' intense gaze on you, seeing that you're a stranger in their base. They had every right to be defensive when the girl was ogling you so closely.

“No way… another human! Sweet!” She exclaimed before bombarding you with questions. “Who are you — where are you from — how did you meet the bots?” 

The list went on until you decided to extend your left hand and then pressed your index finger against her lips.

“You’re an energetic one.” She pulls back as you lower your arm back to your side.

“Actually I consider myself an adrenaline junkie.” She points her thumb to her chest with a grin.

You went to say something but was interrupted by a new voice, an angry one too.

“What in the name of Sam hills is going on here?!”

You turned to see a tall man with dark skin as he pushed himself off the couch where he undoubtedly slept on judging by the wrinkles in his shirt. He narrowed his gaze at you for a while before moving his gaze towards the group of robots.

“Prime, you better have a good explanation why there’s another human here.” The man demanded at the red and blue robot, being displeased to see they had brought a newcomer into their base.

“Human? Is that what you think I am?” You noted with a raised brow towards the man, then your attention was focused on the group. Might as well reveal your true self before any assumptions were made.

“I can assure you,” 

Then you proceed to unwrap the belt from her trench coat and then peel off the coat, allowing it to fall on the floor. Underneath, you wore a black turtleneck crop top, long jeans and black combat boots. It’s true that you do resemble that of a human because of your features, however, from the collar bone below you had a body that was purely made out of silicone and metal. Strapped around your waist was a curved short sword tucked away on the right side of your waist. 

“That I am in no way shape or form considered human.”

Everyone stared at you with a mixture of awe and utter disbelief, however,  girl didn’t seemed bothered, in fact, she was thrilled! She takes your wrist and inspects your left forearm with interest where she then begins to trace your skin. It tickled at first but the feeling had adjusted to the foreign touch, noting that the girls fingertips were rough and calloused. Possibly from doing manual labor or something else entirely?

“Whoa, your skin is soft… freaky.” She mused as she continued to examine your arm.

“Miko,” The tone in Bulkhead’s voice was stern, it’s only natural for him to be protective of the human girl.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind being handled.” You assured him, by glancing over to him from the corner of your eye and then back at Miko. Once again being bombarded with quite a few amusing questions to say the least.

“Does your arm turn into a blaster just like the Autobots — what about a sword — whoa, so you do have a sword! And—”

You proceeded to interrupt her, “You ask far too many questions. But wouldn’t it be fitting if you let me explain first and ask questions later? I promise to answer them fully.” 

Miko couldn’t contain her smile as she furiously nods before stepping away from you, eagerly waiting for you to start. With that out of the way, you turned to face the group of robots and began to explain.

“As I stated before, I am not human. I’m a Cyborg, a being with both biological and artificial parts. In order to function as I am, the only part that’s human within me is my brain, nothing else.”

“My sudden arrival here was uncalled for and I have yet to find the main cause of it. I was unable to contact the professor leaving me no choice but to wander. Then I stumbled upon an abandoned town where I encountered your friend here. I knew that if I had any chance to contact anyone from home it would be with him, and this happily led me to all of you.”

“How come you weren't able to contact anyone? Aren’t you Cyborgs’ capable of communicating off-world?” The dark skinned man asked. 

You turned to meet his gaze, only showing a side view of your frame to him. “Yes, however, we still require a main communication hub to be able to do so. The equipment which I currently lack. All I ask for is to be allowed to take sanctuary here until I am able to communicate with the professor.”

His face hardened before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. But I have to talk to the boys back at the pentagon. They’re gonna have a hard time having you around, especially for what you are. Which means that they’ll have to debrief you to make sure you don’t cause any trouble.”

“Do what you must. I will graciously comply to whatever they ask.” 

The Prime stepped forward, where he stood right in front of you the only thing that separated them was the metal railing between them. You moved your gaze away from the man and towards the larger robot before you. His azure eyes studying you from head-to-toe, not in a suspicious way, it was more out of genuine curiosity.

He kindly introduced himself to you and then presented the others to you. As he then began to the entire story of their race even including their ongoing war with the Decepticons. Once he was done with his explanation, Miko had purposely nudged your shoulder to get your full attention.

“So, what’s your name, Cyborg girl?” 

Those brown eyes that showed so much curiosity that it reminded you of  yourself. The memories of when you were just as curious to explore and learn about the world that you were created in. That curiosity and excitement that was written across her eyes, Miko deeply represented your younger self. So it was no surprised that neither Miko or Optimus could’ve noticed a ghost of a smile appearing on your normally neutral features.

Perhaps being stationed on this planet for an extended period of time wouldn’t be so severe, as long as you had company. Maybe even make new friends along the wall as well.

 “Ariel.”

(2,882 Words)

[primroseprime2019]

Convoy

"PRIME!" Agent Fowler called out from the screens as Optimus, Jazz and Prowl came into the room.

"Prime!" Fowler called again. "Agent Fowler, to what do we owe-?" The Prime began to ask.

"What else? It's Cons! I chased them off with some hard ordinance! But not before they blew me out of the sky!" Fowler exclaimed in frustration.

"Again?" Miko giggled. "I don't think the Decepticons like him," Paige said. "I heard that!" Fowler exclaimed, "they tried to smash and grab for the DNGS."

"The whatsit?" WhiteRain repeated in confusion. "Dynamic Nuclear Generator System. A.K.A., DNGS," Fowler said. Fowler tapped a button and the video visual shifted from him to a view of a metal crate, held down with several straps and ties.

"It's a prototype energy source I'm transporting to the coast for testing," he said. Ratchet scoffed, "that's absurd. Why would Ember bother themselves with primitive technology?"

"I'm guessing to make a big fat primitive weapon of mass destruction. If this baby were to melt down, it would irradiate this state and the four next door," Fowler said. Raf nervously looked to his friends, "did Agent Fowler say what state he was currently in?"

"I'm a sitting duck here, Prime," Agent Fowler said, "I need you to spin up a bridge and send the DNGS through to its destination before the Cons come back for it."

"I'm afraid that sending such a volatile device through a ground bridge is out of the question. If there were to be an accident during its transmission, the radiation of which you speak could propagate through the ground bridge vortex and harm all 50 states. And beyond," Optimus said warily.

"You got any better ideas?" Fowler asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Paige looked to Optimus, "can I come with you this time?"

"No," Optimus said. Confused, WhiteRain looked to Primrose curiously. "The Decepticons don't know about her being a Galatrian and we'd like to keep it that way," Primrose said firmly. Paige frowned and she walked down the stairs, muttering that she never gets to go anywhere.

“This is for your own safety and you know it,” Ratchet said gently and Paige only grumbled in response.

◊◊◊◊

Optimus, Bulkhead, Primrose, Prowl, Jazz, Firestorm, Nightwalker and WhiteRain were in the forest that Fowler was in. After making sure that the DNGS was locked and loaded in Optimus' trailer, Fowler sat in the driver's seat and he was about to place his hands on the steering wheel until Optimus stopped him. "No need, Agent Fowler. I will handle the driving," he said.

Fowler frowned before he leaned back against the driver's seat, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering, "it's going to be a long trip."

The Autobots started their engines. "Autobots, roll out," Optimus Prime said and with that, the Autobots started driving.

◊◊◊◊

On a long two lane highway, Optimus drove in front of the Autobots. Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Firestorm drove behind the Prime while WhiteRain, Jazz, Prowl, Nightwalker and Primrose drove behind the three mechs.

◊◊◊◊

The console screen showed nine Autobot signals on a map. "We are locked on to you coordinates, Optimus," Ratchet said as he and the kids stood in front of the screen, "barring any complications, you should reach the drop off point by sundown."

◊◊◊◊

An old rusted pickup truck was travelling slowly down the road. Optimus came up behind it and his horn suddenly blared. Fowler was hitting the horn. "Move it, gramps!" He snapped, hitting his fist on the steering wheel.

"Poor Optimus," WhiteRain chuckled and Nightwalker snickered as Prowl and Primrose let out exasperated vents.

The pickup truck moved to the side of the road, allowing Optimus and the Bots to pass. Fowler still pressed on the horn as they went by.

"Agent Fowler, is that really necessary?" Optimus asked. "Ah, don't tell me you're one of them textbook drivers. Hmph," Fowler huffed as he sat back again, his arms crossed over his chest once again.

A light and dark green helicopter flew through the air, it's blades clearly audible. A man started to speak over a radio.

Bumblebee moved ahead of Optimus. The helicopter followed after the Autobots. "Send in the ground units," the man said.

Fowler had relaxed a bit, a hand on the steering wheel and an arm in the open window. "You know, you're saving my bacon here, Prime," he said.

"I am proud to be of service," Optimus replied. "Course, not like I'd need your help if you and the 'cons had stuck to tearing up your own corner of the galaxy," Fowler said with a small chuckle.

"Are you suggesting that no evil existed on your world before we arrived?" Optimus asked. Backtracking a bit, Fowler stammered, "of... well, it was a... different evil. How about some radio? You seem like a Nashville-sound kind of guy." He reached for the radio dial only to see the helicopter in the rearview mirror.

"That's the one! The con who shot me down!" Fowler exclaimed, "who is he? Wingnut? Dingbat? Skyguy?" "Those are stupid names and you know it," Nightwalker huffed.

"I'm guessing!" Fowler huffed back. "Watch your rearviews," Prowl said through the commlink.

Three lime green and black sports cars came up behind the convoy, boxing in Jazz and Bulkhead. "Feeling a little constricted without the use of my fists here, boss," Bulkhead said.

"Remain in vehicular mode unless absolutely necessary," Optimus said firmly. One of the lime green cars cut in front of Bulkhead, right behind the trailer.

"A whole team of Cons," Fowler gasped.

"What? I'm not picking up anything," Ratchet said, "they must be utilizing a cloaking technology."

◊◊◊◊

Two more cars joined the other three that were already boxing in Bulkhead and Jazz. One car passed Optimus and Bumblebee, cutting in front of the convoy. Bumblebee tried to pass them but they move with him to stay in front. Fowler noticed another car trying to pull up on Optimus' driver's side. Once even with the Prime, a sunroof opened on the car and a masked man- a MECH agent- stood up, aiming a gun at them.

"Pull over!" The agent said. "Well I'll be dipped!" Fowler exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock.

◊◊◊◊

"Our assailants are not Decepticons- they are human," Optimus said. "Human?!" Jack, Paige and Raf repeated in shock.

"Oh please. Taking on our bots? They're roadkill!" Miko scoffed.

◊◊◊◊

The man that had spoken into the radio from before, was now smirking. He had close cut blonde hair and several scars. "Gentleman... stop their engines," the man said.

The agent standing in the car prepared to fire and Fowler braced for impact. Optimus pulled to the side, attempting to drive the lime green car off the road. The force caused the MECH agent to shoot the ground and an explosion rocked the trailer as Optimus pulled away.

Fowler looked out at the MECH agents, "who are these guys?"

"Autobots, maintain your cover and apply minimal force," Optimus instructed, "disarmament only."

Another car with an agent on top tried to pull up on Optimus' passenger side but WhiteRain dropped back and rear-ended them. They tried to pull ahead but WhiteRain slammed into their side and sent them skidding and weaving, until they hit some fallen rock and the car flipped, the agent just ducking back into the car in time.

The convoy drove around the side of the mountain with WhiteRain in lead, and the remaining cars being right behind Jazz, Bulkhead and Primrose.

The man looked at a screen that showed the Bots and the MECH cars. "Those are not civilian drivers," he murmured.

◊◊◊◊

The Autobots took the turns of the highway as fast as they dared. Fowler was becoming nauseous from the sudden swinging. "Could use some air," he groaned.

Optimus opened his window for the agent and he stuck his head out before he noticed one of the MECH cars had pulled up alongside the trailer and a MECH agent was climbing on the roof of the car. The MECH agent jumped onto Optimus' trailer hitch and used a laser saw on his gun to try and cut the couplings.

"Prime! Bear right!" Fowler exclaimed and the Prime immediately did so, jostling the MECH agent so he nearly fell off the coupling. As the driver tried to help, he was run off the road by the trailer and over the side of the cliff. The car rolled as it hit the bottom, but the agent managed to crawl out.

The agent on the coupling regained his balance and got to work, but Fowler opened the door and climbed on the side of Optimus and grabbed the agent, making him drop his gun and held him over the road by the back of his coat. "You're gonna tell me everything I want to kno-" Fowler was cut off when a tree branch knocked the MECH agent out of his grip.

Fowler climbed back into Optimus' vehicle form and buckled up just as the radio came on. "I do hope you take better care of the DNGS than you do your captives," the man from before spoke.

Fowler looked up at the helicopter and realized that the caller was up there.

"Special Agent William Fowler here. Identify yourself," Fowler snapped. "I am Silas. But of greater consequence to you, we are MECH," the man said, "fair warning- we will be helping ourselves to your device, even if it means inflicting casualties."

"Is that so?" Fowler asked, his eyes narrowing, "tell me, Si, what's the market price for a DNGS these days?"

"What makes you think we intend to sell it, Agent Fowler?" Silas asked. The Autobots kept driving as one of the MECH cars pulled up on Optimus' bumper and Silas' helicopter kept the pace.

"There's a war brewing between the new world order and the newest," Silas said, "the victor will be the side armed with the most innovative technology."

Fowler noticed an agent standing in the sunroof of the car right behind Optimus. The MECH agent shot the door of the trailer with explosive charges, which he detonated with a button on his gun. They blow open the latches holding the door shut, causing it to open. The agent started climbing out of the car to jump onto the trailer. Fowler looked into the side mirror, "so, Si... you think MECH has all the most radical tech?"

The agent made it to the hood of the MECH car, but before they could try to get into the trailer, Arcee jumped out in vehicle form, landing on the hood and knocking the car back while the agent went flying with a scream. The car tipped as Arcee turned around, and a second MECH car ended up flipping over the crashed one, hitting the ground and exploding.

Silas' helicopter avoided the fumes of the smoke as the pilot stared down at the highway. "Definitely not civilian drivers," he remarked.

◊◊◊◊

"Later, Si," Fowler said with a smirk as he hung up the radio. "Agent Fowler, do not take your "Silas" lightly," Optimus warned, "Megatron preached the very same ideology before plunging Cybertron into the Great War that destroyed our world."

"Optimus, prepare to initiate phase 2," Ratchet said through the commlink, "five miles ahead, to the south, you will reach the rendezvous point."

◊◊◊◊

On the Nemesis, Soundwave replayed Ratchet's last message on his screen. "So the Autobots are outside the confines of their base," Ember mused, "and they seem otherwise engaged; which means they will never see us coming." She turned to a group of Eradicons, "find them and scrap them."

"Yes, Mistress Ember," the group said and Ember smirked.

◊◊◊◊

The Autobots continued down the highway, which now ran alongside two sets of train tracks, with a train coming alongside them.

"There's our destination point," Fowler said. "Autobots, keep a tight formation," Optimus said. With that said, the Autobots jumped off the highway and onto the open train tracks, the MECH vehicles following. But as the Autobots entered the tunnel, Nightwalker transformed into his bipedal form and blew up the entrance so the MECH cars could not follow.

The Autobot warrior transformed back into his vehicle mode and caught up with the team. The Autobots drove alongside the train with Arcee sitting in the trailer, and Bumblebee transformed into his bipedal form before he flipped onto the roof of one of the train's boxcars, and he tapped on the door.

◊◊◊◊

Silas watched the tunnel, "tactical error. Only one way out."

Not long after the train emerged from the tunnel, so did the Autobots. They continued to drive along the train for a few meters before eventually driving up the small hill and finding themselves back on the road.

Silas' smirk grew bigger only for it to fade away in surprise when he saw black and purple jets fly past him.

"Air support? Ours or theirs?"Fowler asked Optimus.

◊◊◊◊

"Optimus, you have company," Ratchet said.

"Decepticons?" Primrose asked.

"Who else?" Ratchet huffed.

◊◊◊◊

One of the Decepticon jets fired missiles at the Autobots. Silas watched with shock and amazement. "Military fired on one of their own?" He murmured.

The Autobots swerved to avoid the attack, which caused the trailer to detach from Optimus.

"Sir, the DNGS!" The MECH pilot exclaimed in alarm. The Autobots drove away as the missiles hit the trailer and it blew up.

"Sir, I'm not reading any radiation," the MECH pilot said, "the DNGS didn't melt down."

"No... it did not," Silas said.

◊◊◊◊

The Autobots managed to lead the Decepticons towards a clearing in the local forest. The Autobots skidded to a stop near a cliff and the Decepticons transformed into their bipedal forms and landed in a line before them.

"Agent Fowler, I'm afraid that if you and we are to survive, it has become absolutely necessary to drop our cover," Optimus said before he transformed around Fowler and the liaison was in his servo. The other Autobots transformed as well.

"So the rumors are true. Living technology stands before us- though perhaps not very long," Silas said with a grin as the helicopter circled around in the air.

Optimus placed Fowler on top of a boulder, "remain here." "Will do," Fowler said.

"After a long road trip, it feels good to get out of the car, stretch my legs," Bulkhead smashed his fists together, "and kick some tailpipe!"

With that, he and the other Autobots charged at the Eradicons and Silas watched from the helicopter.

The MECH pilot looked at him, "sir, if the DNGS wasn't in the truck..." "Yes, that," Silas said and he pressed a button, "Special Agent Fowler, "you lead a charmed life, walking among titans."

Fowler picked up the radio, "come on down. I'll introduce you." "All in good time. But at the moment, I'mvtoo busy wondering how the DNGS might have vanished into thin air without a trace."

Fowler narrowed his eyes.

The Autobots were inside the tunnel, driving next to the train. Bumblebee transformed into his bipedal form and jumped on top of the boxcar and knocked on the door. A military soldier opened the door and blinked in surprise as Bumblebee waved at him.

The trailer walls disappeared around Arcee and the DNGS. Arcee lifted the DNGS into her arms with ease and she passed it off to Bulkhead who was laying on top of the train along with Bumblebee who placed it inside the boxcar.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a train to catch," Silas said. Fowler glared at the radio before he looked up to see Silas' helicopter flying off before Fowler spoke into the radio again.

"Prime! Silas got wise of phase 2!" He exclaimed. Optimus punched a Eradicon aside and paused in the fighting, "I understand."

Suddenly, another Eradicon had grabbed a tree and hit Optimus hard in the face. The Prime fell down the side of the cliff and landed hard on his front. He tried to get up but seemingly passed out.

"Prime, do you read me? Prime!?” Fowler exclaimed in concern, earning no answer.

Primrose charged at the Eradicon who had the tree trunk and she rammed into him, the force of her attack sending the Decepticon flying back. Nightwalker got out his shield before he whirled around and tossed it. It flew into another Eradicon, slicing it in two.

Jazz ran forward and he punched a third Eradicon with WhiteRain leaping over his helm and she punched a fourth. She took out her whip and once it tangled up around a fifth Eradicon, she yanked back hard, whirling around and sending the Eradicon flying across the air and slamming into the ground.

◊◊◊◊

"Optimus is down!" Miko exclaimed. "MECH's gonna grab the DNGS! We need to think of something quick," Jack said, alarmed.

"You mean like a phase 3?" Raf asked. "Well if MECH wants the DNGS, they need to get on the train," Paige said.

"What if we get on first? Y'know, run some human-on-human interference?" Miko asked eagerly.

"Absolutely not!" Ratchet said firmly. "Yeah, that would be suicide," Paige said nervously. Miko placed her hands on her hips as she gave her friend a look, "hello, the United States of meltdown! Lives are at stake!"

"Yes- yours!" Ratchet exclaimed, "you want me to bridge you not only into a confined space, but one travelling at 90 miles per hour?! I can't even count the number of ways that can go wrong: mass displacement trauma, twisted limbs, metal burn-" "Ay! We're made of flesh and bones, dear!" Paige exclaimed, "not metal!"

"Well... maybe not the last one," Ratchet muttered, "regardless, it is nearly impossible to fix ground bridge coordinates on something moving at that speed."

"Would it help if we had access to the train's coordinates?" Raf asked as he typed some commands into his laptop to bring up the train's coordinates.

"Well... alright," Ratchet said. Jack attached something to his cell phone before following Miko and Paige through the ground bridge. The three jumped through and landed on the train, mainly on their butts.

Getting up, Paige widened her eyes when she saw the unconscious soldier on the ground. Jack looked around nervously before he put his phone up to his ear, "we're in."

"I read you, Jack. The cellphone commlink patch works!" Raf said. The three managed to open the carriage door and saw Silas' helicopter preparing to land on top of the train.

"Raf, MECH's landing on top of the train," Paige spoke into Jack's phone, "please tell me you have a way to stop them."

◊◊◊◊

"In about 20 seconds, you're gonna come to a fork," Raf said as he typed in various commands, "brace yourselves."

The helicopter was hovering even lower, slowly coming even closer to the top of the train as they approached the fork. After finishing typing in his commands, Raf managed to change the tracks. And instead of going one way, the train went another way. It successfully knocked the helicopter off of the train top. The pilot managed to regain control of the helicopter.

"What happened?" Silas demanded. "Hacker," the pilot said before he pressed a button, "former hacker."

◊◊◊◊

The train monitor was once occupying the big screen and Raf's laptop. Suddenly, it was replaced with a moving picture of cross bones and a bomb with a lit fuse. Before Raf could even wonder what was going on, the internal bomb went off and fried his laptop, causing it to literally smoke. Raf had to shield his face from some of the sparks that jumped out.

"And what have I been saying all along about earth technology?" Ratchet asked, rolling his optics. "Ratchet, be nice," Paige said.

"Yes Paigey," the medic said with a small smirk.

◊◊◊◊

Jack, Paige and Miko heard the familiar clang of a helicopter landing on top of the train carriage. They looked up at the ceiling and saw a cackling, sparking laser cutting a hole in the roof to give MECH access to the inside of the carriage as well as the objects and people currently occupying it.

"So what would that buy us?" Jack asked Paige nervously.

"Ten seconds?" Paige guessed nervously with a shrug.

"Raf is losing his touch," Miko remarked.

◊◊◊◊

Primrose punched an Eradicon. Optimus slowly regained consciousness. He looked down the mountain into the canyon and saw the train with the helicopter on top driving away.

◊◊◊◊

"They're not taking this thing," Paige said before she grabbed the gun and cocked it. She wasn't surprised that it was still loaded. Jack and Miko stared at her in shock. Paige looked at them deadpanned, "I know how to handle a gun; I did it in the country with my dad's side of the family."

Miko spotted a fireman's axe on the wall and grabbed it. Jack grabbed a fire extinguisher. MECH finished cutting the hole and the panel dropped into the car. Three MECH agents looked into the car.

"You want a slice of this? Well do ya!?" Miko demanded. "What she said," Jack said. Paige aimed the gun at the MECH agents and fired purposefully at the side of the hole, making the MECH agents nearly jump back.

"That was a warning shot, gentlemen," Paige said, "next time, I won't miss."

The MECH agents exchanged glances before they quickly disappeared from view.

"Sir!" The pilot said to Silas and he saw Optimus running along a cliff ledge. The Prime transformed into his vehicle form and took off.

Silas narrowed his eyes, "retreat." With that, the other three MECH agents climbed into the helicopter and the helicopter took off.

Jack, Miko and Paige poked their heads out, seeing the helicopter fly away. "You're pretty fierce," Miko commented.

"First rule of combat: never leave the enemy with the spoils," Silas remarked as he loaded his own weapon.

He stuck his head and torso out of the helicopter and aimed his gun at the train tracks in the distance. He fired a single missle at the train tracks. Jack, Paige and Miko watched helplessly as the missle whizzed past them and the train in general. Then the missle made contact with the tracks. That area of the tracks was destroyed in a large column of smoke, rock, dirt and metal debris.

"Whoa!" Jack yelled.

"Ratchet, MECH has blown the train tracks. You need to bridge us out of here! The soldier too!" Paige spoke into the phone desperately.

◊◊◊◊

"We've lost access to the train data," Ratchet said urgently, "I can't bridge you back without your coordinates."

◊◊◊◊

Jack, Miko and Paige exchanged nervous glances. Paige looked back outside and bit her lip.

Optimus drove as fast as he could after the train.

"Optimus, Jack, Miko and Paige are on that train and MECH's blown the train tracks," Ratchet said urgently in the commlink.

"I'm on my way," Optimus said, "maximum overdrive!" With that, he kicked it into high gear and drove up alongside the train.

"M-maybe we should jump?" Paige asked.

"At 90 miles per hour?" Jack asked in disbelief. "It's the impact or the meltdown, take your pick," Miko huffed.

Jack groaned, "what were we thinking, volunteering for this?" "Next time you need to do a better job of talking us out of these situations," Miko said.

“Next time,” Jack sighed.

“You think we could buy a few extra seconds in the back of the train?" Miko asked.

"Guys, at least we're in this together," Paige reminded them before Miko snatched the phone.

"Raf! This is important! Make sure Bulkhead gets my guitar!" Miko requested. Paige heard a noise before she poked her head out.

"I wouldn't exactly read the will just yet," she said. Jack and Miko poked their heads out and saw Optimus.

They watched as Optimus transformed into his bipedal mode and skidded alongside the train, grasping it as he tried to slow it to a stop. Sparks flew from the friction between the train wheels and the track. Jack, Paige and Miko clung to the sides of the open door as the force of the train threatened to knock them down. Eventually, the train stopped not far from the edge of the blown track.

Optimus walked towards the carriage with the DNGS, Jack, Paige and Miko in it. Jack, Paige and Miko raised their left arms up, signifying they were okay.

"Optimus, are you and the children intact?" Ratchet asked through the commlink.

"Intact, Ratchet. Crisis averted. But the world we live in is a different one than previously imagined. One that has spawned its own Decepticons in human skin," Optimus decreed.

"Never again will I ride a train like this," Paige said, "especially if it's in Chicago."

"What matters is that we're all okay," Miko huffed. "Can't argue with that," Jack chuckled. Paige walked over to the soldier and she gently woke him up, shaking him a bit.

He mumbled softly and she transformed into her wolf form before huffing in his face. He yelped as he jumped awake and looked at her and the others.

"You alright?" Paige asked. The soldier gave a nervous nod.

Optimus turned to the other Autobots and Agent Fowler as they hurried over. Then something else caught the Prime's optic. There was a figure standing in the trees.

He wore red and gold armor and he was gazing at them. He must have noticed that Optimus was staring at him so he stepped back into the shadows.

Optimus narrowed his optics before he followed the others into the ground bridge.

When they came into the base, Raf hugged Paige. "What, no hug for us?" Miko asked playfully.

"Nope," Raf said with a smirk and Jack gave a dramatic gasp before the four laughed. Paige smiled at Ratchet and she walked over to him.

He knelt down and she wrapped her arms around his digit. "I love you Ratchet," she said with a smile.

Upon hearing that, everyone turned to them. Ratchet smiled softly, "I love you too, Paige."

Primrose watched the two before she walked down into the hallway. "Hey Ratchet won't be as grumpy anymore!" Bumblebee exclaimed and everyone laughed and chuckled.

Ratchet huffed but he smiled nonetheless. Paige giggled and she nuzzled the medic- her medic's digit happily. And a part of her felt complete.