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rutheniumfox · 23 days ago

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Everything you've shared so far about the reverse mecha au really got the ideas going, and I just had to get this out of my system. It's still a rough draft and there's a lot I want to do with this and improve on, but I'm just happy I finally got it written down.

Prowl threw himself into the shadows of an enormous doorway as a line of blinding light widened and filled the dimmed corridor. He squeezed his eyes shut against the growing glow and strained his ears for any kind of noise. If the scratchy swishing was anything to go by, the Quintesson was moving away from him.

He peeked out from his hiding spot once the blaze of light disappeared from behind his eyelids. In the darkness he could just make out a massive form growing smaller and smaller as it moved down the passageway. He waited a few more seconds just to be safe, then dashed away in the opposite direction.

It hadn’t been long since he’d escaped from his cell, but he had no idea when his captors would decide to check on their prisoner. They could discover his absence any moment, and wouldn’t that be fantastic. He stood no chance against those aliens without his mecha, and it’d be infinitely more difficult to locate it and get out if the whole ship was out to find him—because he wasn’t dumb; for some reason the Quints wanted him alive.

It’d been a blur, his capture. From what he could recall though, the Quintessons had used much more excessive force on Jazz than on him. He couldn’t say why exactly they wanted him alive (though it certainly didn’t bode well for him), but he had no intention of finding out. At least, not while vulnerable.

So he had to get to his mecha and fast. Or Jazz, if he could find him. Whatever came first; he wouldn’t complain.

He picked up the slightest hissing sound, like air escaping from a balloon. Up ahead, another line of light struck the corridor wall as a door began to slide open. Prowl didn’t wait to see what came next; he sprinted for the closest doorway, (a much larger one, he noted distractedly). Squinting against the growing illumination, he pressed himself further into the fading shadows. This time, however, no actual door stopped his movement.

He stumbled into a dark room, the light in the corridor spilling into it like grasping fingers. Yet as quickly as it appeared, the darkness just as swiftly overtook it. He heaved a sigh of relief when he realized the Quintesson in the hallway also moved farther away.

He picked himself up and raised his head, only to be met with a sight he didn’t entirely expect.

Prowl had no words. He didn’t think it’d be this easy, but lo and behold, right at the end of the room stood his mecha. He could only make out the rough shape of it, but there was no mistaking the wings. He scanned the room (at least as well as he could) and listened for any unwanted company.

Nothing.

He stayed near the wall as he approached, already formulating a way to actually enter the mecha. It’d be difficult without a gangway, but he could make do with some of the structures already in the room. The huge boxes were too large, but that cylindrical shape—

Prowl froze.

He stared at the blurry silhouette, hardly believing his eyes. When he walked closer, though, there really wasn’t any denying it. Craning his head, Prowl made out the distinct shape of a weapon only one pilot ever managed to use.

He turned his attention back to the mecha, to the mecha he’d been so sure was his own (because only Support Class models had those wings, not Rescue, not Tanks, not Scouts). Except this close and he picked out all the small differences. The sleeker design meant to enhance mobility and speed. The specialized armor on the legs meant to support the mecha as it fired round after round. The guarded ports on its wrists so the massive firearm could integrate with the its systems more efficiently. The numbers that definitely did not read 028.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Prowl vaguely remembered a familiar voice mentioning “how cool it’d be to have wings like that!”

Against all odds, against everything he knew, here stood Bluestreak’s mecha intact and whole—sporting the wings his brother always wanted.

===========================

Bluestreak opened his eyes to a ceiling he didn’t recognize and stared at it, a bit dazed but intrigued nonetheless.

It was a little funny. Unlike the neat interior of his mecha or the orderly structure of Cybertronian ships, the ceiling looked like a piece of art. Like . . . like abstract art; like those paintings he could never really figure out. That's what the swirls and shapes reminded him of! The waves and curves ran along the entire ceiling like countless tiny streams converging and scattering. Did they start as one big wave, or had they begun as millions of tiny ones until they formed a whole?

Bluestreak tried craning his head to find out, but it moved too slow. He tried pushing himself up next, but only managed to curl the tips of his fingers.

Hmm, that was funny.

It was like his whole body was asleep. Or like it was super heavy . . . like if gravity was pressing down on him so much to keep in place. Yeah, exactly like that, because try as he might, nothing moved as he wanted except his eyes.

Well that’s not right—hold on.

A giddy laugh escaped his numb lips.

Sunny and Sides had pointed out that being confined to his mecha was like house arrest. Now that he was stuck in his own body, did that make him a fleshy prison? A fleshy prison for his soul? Or was it his spark? Wait, no, Sunny and Sides had sparks; he had a soul. Unless . . . what if those were just different words for the same thing? Actually it probably was since that sort of thing happened in basically every language. Aliens could have their own language but they’d probably have words to describe some of the same things he knew. Yeah, that was probably it. He’d already learned that concept first hand when he figured out Sunny’s and Side’s language. Maybe they knew about it too? Didn’t they say they’d been all over the universe? He was pretty sure they did. He’d have to ask about . . . ask about . . . There was something he wanted to tell—no ask—Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Bluestreak racked his brain for that something, but anytime he thought he grasped at it, it slipped away like fog. It was on the tip of his tongue, but it stubbornly refused to make itself known. How was he supposed to tell them this thing he didn’t know if he didn’t know what it was? They’d been patient enough waiting for him to talk but—actually, now that he thought about it, that wasn’t right. Things were kinda too quiet.

Normally Sideswipe had something to say when Bluestreak really got going, and Bluestreak always made a point to leave enough pauses so he could have his say too. And if he had nothing to add, Sunstreaker usually had short responses to keep the conversation going.

He scanned the room as well as he could, at least until it hurt trying to look out through his peripherals. He was pretty sure it was empty, well, aside from him of course.

So . . . it was just him in this med bay (at least, he thought it was a med bay what with all the beeping and whirring from behind him; if he could look behind himself there’d probably all sorts of machinery). Maybe the Twins didn’t want to be in this med bay; they did only ever go to medics they trusted, and he knew from experience they wouldn’t step foot into an unknown one if they could help it. Except . . . they wouldn’t let him go to an unknown one either. So maybe being in a strange room by himself wasn’t such a good thing even though he was able to be there without his head feeling like it was burning at a million degrees?

Bluestreak suddenly wished his brain wasn’t as murky as it was. It’d be so much easier to figure things out that way. Or if he could just ask Sunstreaker and Sideswipe about all this since they’d probably—

Footsteps echoed outside the room and he stared down his nose trying to see who’d enter.

“There you are!” The white and black Cybertronian who stepped into the weird med bay was definitely not Sunstreaker or Sideswipe—and he’d definitely just spoken English.

That was . . . surprising. Bluestreak couldn’t remember the last time he heard someone speak it.

The Cybertronian chuckled. “Did you get another concussion? What else would I be using with you?”

Had he said that out loud? “Oh, uh, it’s just basically everyone else I’ve seen doesn’t and I’m pretty sure none of them even know about it so this is definitely a surprise.”

“Riiiight.” The Cybertronian stepped closer then looked him up and down. His blue visor gleamed when he glanced to something behind Bluestreak. “Well none of this looks like it's trying to kill you. Let me figure out how to disconnect everything.”

“Oh, well that’s good. It’d kinda suck if it was killing me.”

“You’re telling me. Now, can you get up or . . . ”

“Right now it’s like gravity decided to pin me to this berth. That or maybe my body just got heavier?”

“Okay, I’m just going to help you up so I can start unhooking everything. Please let me know if anything starts hurting.” He gently slipped his fingers beneath Bluestreak’s back and carefully slid him back until he leaned against the beeping machine. “So how’re you feeling? Any other weird side effects aside from that and tolerating light?”

Tolerating light? “I mean, aside from becoming a fleshy prison for my spark-soul it’s also kinda nice to be outside my mecha prison without all the extra pain, you know? I mean, it’d also be nice if I could actually sit up on my own but other than that I think I’m doing just fine. Oh, by the way, if you can let Sunny and Sides know I’m okay that’d be really great!”

Now that he wasn’t on his back, he saw the mess of wires and cables trailing all over his body. Every few seconds he’d feel a soft tug from behind, then one of those wires retracted away from him. It was mesmerizing to watch, and he would’ve continued watching if not for the flare of light at his side.

He glanced up at the nice Cybertronian and found the gleaming blue visor focused on him.

“Er, is something wrong?” This time when he tried craning his head, his body actually complied. “I mean I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you watching me, I appreciate the company, it’s just no one but the Twins really get this close to me. Something about how the others aren’t as used to organics, I guess.”

The visor continued to shine on him. “You’re not Prowl, are you?”

“Umm, no.” Bluestreak knew they looked similar, but was it really—waitaminute. His brain latched onto what he’d just said. “Wait . . . you’re looking for Prowl.”

“Uh, yeah. But now that I’m here I think you could do with some help too.”

“No—hold on—if you’re looking for Prowl that means he’s here? Like, on this ship here, right?” He didn’t wait for answer. “Can you take me to him?”

===========================

They watched the Quintesson turn the corner, waiting until the scraping of its armor faded away. Neither uttered a word; right now stealth was everything. The necessity of silence ruled out verbal communication, and the jamming device on the Quint ship compromised their comms. Though for them, that was hardly an obstacle.

//Found him yet?// Sunstreaker asked across their sparkbond.

//I think he should be up ahead.// Sideswipe answered.

Incredulity blossomed across their connection. //You think?//

//Well whenever the jamming isn’t messing with my sensors, I’m able to see an organic lifeform somewhere in front of us. So unless you found a way to deal with that, this’s the best we got.//

//Fine, let’s just get him and get out.// His brother made no sound as he sent that, but the frustration across their bond was enough to make up for it.

Sideswipe didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on his energon blades either. //Look, I know you’re twitchy with this many Quints, but—//

//I know. I’m not stupid.//

//Hey, just saying.//

//Yeah yeah. But if they did anything to him . . . //

//Nah, I got it. There’ll be a bloodbath for sure.//

They continued down the corridor until they reached the only open door they could see. Sunstreaker watched the hall while Sideswipe scanned the room. His sensors had cleared up some, but it still blurred with interference. From what he could tell though, the dot indicating Blue’s location had to be someone in the room. It would make sense too. His mech stood upright and offline at the back, his gun laid neatly at its pedes. If he’d managed to get away from the Quints, of course he’d go for his mech to get out.

//I don’t see anyone, but this is his last known location.// Sideswipe sent.

//This is the only room he could’ve entered, and there’s no sign of him out here.// Sunstreaker followed him in and used the blinking panel to close the door. //Let’s check it out.//

“Blue, you here?” Sideswipe called softly.

No answer.

//Can you see where exactly he is now?//

//Give me a klik.//

//Fine. I’ll check his mecha; maybe he’s inside and needs a power jump?// Sunstreaker approached it slowly and spoke quietly. “If you’re in there Blue, let me know now. Or else I’m assuming you need help getting your mech back online.”

Again, nothing.

Sideswipe watched his brother step up to the mech, hands slowly moving to its chassis. At the same time, the feedback in his HUD finally cleared. //Got something.//

Sunstreaker paused and followed his actions as he move to the side.

Sideswipe focused on the blinking dot and scanned the stacks of containers until—there! Peering over one of the lower stacks, he found a familiar head of white.

“Guess you didn’t need us for your grand escape, huh?” He lowered his hand. “Are you okay? I don’t know what the Quints did, but we gotta get you back to your mech and get outta here.”

He expected a flurry of chatter, maybe even some surprised exclamations. He did not at all anticipate the unintelligible yelling.

Sunstreaker rushed to his side in an instant. The fact he forewent their spark bond attested to his own shock. “Do you want us to get caught?”

“It’s not my fault!” Sideswipe protested. He tried scooping Bluestreak up, but their friend simply darted out of reach. “Just—Blue, it’s us!”

The human showed no signs of understanding or recognizing them. In fact, he went so far as to try running away.

Sunstreaker pushed the containers aside, cutting off his mad dash. “Bluestreak, come on.” His hand darted forward and grabbed him with deadly precision.

If he was yelling before, now he was screaming—and hitting.

“Wha—Blue, stop!” Sunstreaker met Sideswipe’s gaze. “Any ideas?”

“For starters don’t drop him!”

“No slag,” he snapped. “What else?”

“The Quints are probably behind this, so whatever they did we just have to reverse!”

“And how’re we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe get him to his mech?”

“If he’s fighting us like this, what’s to stop him from fighting us when he’s inside it?”

“Well do you have any bright ideas?” Sideswipe demanded. The glare he got in response told him all he needed to know. “Look, let’s just get out of here. We have some good medics and scientists; they’ll know what to do.”

Sunstreaker held Bluestreak further away as his yelling devolved into screeching. “Yeah, good plan, except now our stealth’s fragged.”

Sideswipe had nothing to say to that. Yeah . . . things were a bit more complicated now.

===========================

Jazz held his hand over his shoulder, careful not to jostle Bluestreak as he moved down the corridor. Although, he probably didn’t have to worry about catching him any longer. Now that he wasn’t hooked up to that monstrosity of a machine pumping him full of Primus knew what, Bluestreak was more steady on his feet. In fact, Prowl’s brother seemed to have regained most of his mobility and presence of mind.

He no longer swayed as he held on to Jazz’s fingers, and he now kept his head on a swivel as they travelled through the Quintesson ship. Every now and then he’d point to something in the distance, and Jazz would follow his new directions. It wasn’t like he had any better idea of where to go; he’d mapped out most of the upper levels of the ship when he’d infiltrated, not those at the rear. Besides, the interference to most of his sensors also impeded them, so any direction (as long as it included minimal Quints) was better than none at all.

He felt a spike of nervousness from his shoulder, and scanned the darkened corridor. His visor picked up the slightest movement from the intersecting hallway up ahead, and he darted back to the corner they’d just passed. The faint sound of Quintesson armor scraping against itself echoed in the silence, then faded. Jazz peered around the corner and caught a glimpse of inky tentacles as the Quint moved out of the passageway. He glanced back at Bluestreak and gave a small nod. The human returned it with a shaky thumbs up.

Not for the first time, he wished they had some way to talk through comms. Sure, he could rely on Bluestreak’s EM field to get a basic read of threats he saw, but comms would’ve simplified communication. And given them a chance to actually talk.

Their first interaction might not have been the most accurate portrayal of character, but that along with the constant activity of Bluestreak’s EM field made it clear the human had a lot to say. The urge to speak became a tangible thing on his shoulder, one he could sympathize with. It wasn't often that—

Bluestreak’s EM field spiked with confusion, then jolts of shock.

Jazz looked his way and found him gripping his fingers. He scanned the corridor, then asked softly, “Bluestreak, what’s wrong?”

It took him a moment to answer. “You know how I mentioned I wasn’t able to stay outside my mech—” he squeezed his eyes shut like Prowl did when the lights were too much, then brought a hand to his head “—for long? I think whatever the Quints did so I’d be okay in that lab is wearing off.”

That wasn't good. “Then we better get you to your mech and fast.”

He began to move past the corner when muffled shouting drew him to a stop. The yelling—in languages he understood—was close by.

Jazz scanned the passageway again. No one new in sight, but the shouting clearly came from the hallway up ahead. He thought he could make out some pretty colorful swears and something about . . . a race?

Bluestreak managed a weak smile. “Something tells me we should check that out.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Jazz stepped away from their hiding place and moved towards the noise. Hopefully they’d be the only ones who noticed the commotion.

Well, I wanted to keep going with the eventual reunion and the epic fight scene, but that's something I want to do justice to (so maybe next time, hopefully). 'Cause that'd have a great way to explain why Blue had the wings added to his mecha (I was thinking maybe he got them installed later by the Cybertronian scientists who'd helped him before, probably to help him with processing all the information he'd be getting? And to his mind, what would be better to use as a reference than the one other mecha he knew pretty well?) Oh, and that bit about a race...I thought it'd be funny if Sunny and Sides finally settled on the idea of just transforming and racing out of the ship. Like Jazz and Blue enter the room to see them fighting about who'd be taking "Blue" with them, and their arguing had just devolved into who's the fastest

This was a treat to read!

Love it when things get shuffled around a characters have to improvise how’ll they’ll work together on the fly.

Also love the use of Prowl’s crappy vision to draw out the reveal. Poor dudes loosing his mind most likely trying to interrogate Sunny and Sides for the location of his brother.

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