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digitalsymbiote · 1 year ago

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Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

#cybernetic dreams #mechposting #mechanical dysphoria #body dysmorphia #writing #microfiction #short story #mecha #mech pilots #dysphoria #empty spaces

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klemen-tine · 1 year ago

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White Whale Part 2

Platonic! Yandere Batfam x Deaf!Male Reader

A continuation of this one.

https://www.tumblr.com/klemen-tine/736839222321922048/white-whale

Thoughts

Sign/Morse Code

Speaking

Trigger Warnings: Disability Discrimination and a mention of suicidal thoughts. Its like on sentence.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Y/N sat near the window, his processors off and a book on his lap. His attention was drawn to the snow falling outside and covering the ground in white, watching Damian walk Titus around the yard to experience the frozen water. Not like the giant dog hasn’t walked in snow before.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, feeling the freezing melted sand press against his skin and without a doubt making it red. His tan was slowly fading, which made him all the more depressed whenever he looked in the mirror, now resulting in him wearing long sleeves in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to see it fade faster. His finger running down the spine of his book over and over again, tracing over the embroidered words and his short fingernail picked at the strings.

Y/N pulled away from the window, before Damian could see him, and he set To Kill a Mockingbird down on the lamp table beside the small nook near the window. It was his secret little stowaway, one Y/N knows that if they wanted to, his family could find it easily. There is nowhere in this manor that is unable to be discovered by them. He thinks Alfred is helping in keeping this spot a secret. Assuring the bat family that Y/N is safe and there is no need to tear apart the library to look for him.

All the windows in the library are sealed besides three, and those have sensors on them. Even if they didn’t, Y/N wasn’t stupid. He knows that those trackers he had dug out from his body are back in him. There is one in his inner thigh, deep enough that if he were to take the same scalpel he used the first time, the chance of nicking his artery was a higher possibility than he felt was worth risking.

Sometimes, when he presses down on the soft skin, he could feel the cold metal sear his muscles and capillaries, reminding him of his captivity without the chains.

Y/N connected his external processors, and winced when the world began to make noise. There was the buzz of some lightbulbs the hummed in the air and the heater was making a thrumming noise. Before his ‘trip’ to the Dominican Republic, Y/N would have thought that this was quiet. He would have believed that this was almost silent and there was little chance of it becoming any more quiet.

Now it was just loud. Obnoxiously so.

Looking out the window once more, Y/N couldn’t help the turn of his eyebrows and the downturn in his lips. Even his safe place felt like a cage.

Walking out of the room, he zigzagged through the bookshelves and into the main room, where the large couches, the fireplace, and coffee table are. The fire was crackling and popping, the bright oranges, reds, and yellows casting a warm glow on the sofas.

“I was wondering when you’d come out.” Y/N didn’t even look at Tim, his gaze still on the flames and the burning embers of the fire. It matched the heat that was beginning to burn in his chest whenever he was around any of them. It’s embarrassing, but it took Y/N a few days to realize what exactly it was he was feeling towards them.

Anger. Y/N was so, undeniably, pissed at all of them. It got to the point that he wouldn’t even eat with them. Alfred, the kind man he is, would bring his meals to his room and Y/N would eat there. Dick once tried to drag Y/N out of his room, but he got a solid kick to his leg and Y/N’s enraged voice screeching at him to get the hell out of his room.

Even Jason was receiving the cold shoulder. When he tried to read to Y/N, taking their usual spot and position, Y/N just scrunched his nose and moved. Ignoring his twin’s call and slamming his door hard and loud enough that it made his processors ring.

Tim sighed, watching his brother stew and brew like a shaken pepsi bottle, ready to erupt with words that will stick to the skin. Y/N didn’t acknowledge him, his jaw clenching and nose scrunching, before he turned away and left the library. Tim stood up and followed him, jamming his foot in between the door and the door frame to stop Y/N from shutting him out.

“Go. Away.” Tim pushed into the door, and even though he and Y/N are about the same size, Tim is Red Robin. A vigilante used to put down villains twice his size and three times his weight. Y/N is just… Y/N. He muscled through, inviting himself within Y/N’s room which he took a scan of.

The window was closed, the bed was made, the desk clean, and the laptop locked. When he had gotten back, his laptop had been installed with monitoring software, allowing everyone access from the Batcomputer to see what Y/N was doing. His phone had been given the same thing, only the child settings were enabled. His bags, duffle, suitcases, backpacks, all of them had been taken and if he ever needed them then he would need to go to Bruce.

If Y/N had anything to say, he didn’t share it. When it was all explained to Y/N, he wasn’t even looking at them, or Bruce, and instead was staring out the window. Damian believed that the other didn't even listen to them, but the lack of questions proved he had heard them.

“We really need to talk, Y/N.”

“No, go away. I don’t want you in my room.” Tim sighed, watching Y/N seethe in front of him. He held firm, “I will leave, once we talk.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “About what? There is nothing to talk about.” Those raging E/C eyes followed Tim’s every move in his space, and if it were any other time, Tim would have been thrilled to have Y/N’s attention on him. Those eyes focused only on him.

Tim sat on the chair in front of Y/N’s desk, ignoring Y/N’s scandalized expression and instead taking in the desk. All of Y/N’s writing tools, journals, pens, and markers have been confiscated. Instead, he only had the iPad to write down his thoughts and notes for when school starts. An iPad that is monitored.

Y/N seemed to accept that Tim would not be leaving, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Scrunching his nose, he disconnected the processors, pulled them off of his head, and debated about chucking them at his brother. He tossed them on his bed. He saw Tim deflate from the corner of his vision, and when those E/C eyes filled with irritation and smugness met Tim’s blue eyes, Y/N couldn’t help the vindictive smirk that formed on his face.

‘Bruce wants you to keep those on.’

“What do you want, Tim? If you have nothing good to say then get out, I want to nap.” Tim nodded, adjusting himself so he had space to sign.

‘How long are you going to keep pouting?’ Y/N’s face scrunched and he stared at Tim in disbelief. Not in disbelief that he said that, but disbelief in that that was what he wanted to say at this point in time. He could feel a headache forming and the rage building in his chest to the back of his throat. The words scorching the sensitive skin and making him feel as if he was about to catch fire.

“I tell you to have something ‘good’ to say, and that’s what comes out of your mouth? Get out, Tim.” His brother stayed in the chair, and Y/N marched over and grabbed the collar of Tim’s shirt. Which, if he had a clearer mind, Y/N would have not done that. It only allowed for Tim to grab his wrist and maneuver them so that it was Y/N who was pinned.

Icy blue eyes stared into boiling E/C eyes. Tim sighed, releasing Y/N so he can sign, ‘It is getting out of control, Y/N. I can understand a month, but you are pushing three.’

“You can’t tell me how to feel or how long I can feel it.” Tim looked ready to throttle him, and Y/N hoped that Tim rolled his eyes enough that they got stuck like that.

‘Y/N, just what was so important about that shack that is keeping you acting like this?’ Y/N pushed Tim, startling his younger brother and if he was calmer, Y/N would also be startled. He’s never been a violent person, choosing to look away when things got bloody in a movie or show. However, the spike of rage and aggravation he felt towards Tim and the situation had made his body move before he could really process it.

He glared at Tim with a new rage, and now he had wished he had thrown those external processors as the so-called genius. He balled his fist, “It wasn’t the shack! It wasn’t the ocean, it wasn’t the country, for fucks sake Tim, it wasn’t even then whales!” Y/N reached across his desk and threw a copy of Alice in Wonderland at the other.

He ignored the annoyance when Tim caught it.

“It wasn’t any of that! It was what you all took away! It wasn’t the sun, it wasn’t the outside, it was the ability to make my own decisions!” Tears burned Y/N’s eyes and he wondered just how many nights he spent crying and wishing for a chance to escape.

“Why… why am I the only one who doesn’t have any say in how I want to live me life?” Tim set the book down on Y/N’s bed, and walked closer. Y/N stepped away, “Why am I the one who is held here like some kind of… prisoner when everyone else can go and–and do what they want?”

Tim’s heart broke, ‘No, no Y/N. You’re not a prisoner, we just want you safe and the safest place is here.’ Y/N gave him a look of exhaustion and disappointment, “What else is this then? Where else are people monitored to this extent?” Prison. Hell, Arkham doesn’t even have this level of monitoring and Gotham’ worst and craziest people were there.

Y/N knows that all of this is done out of some sick and twisted form of love, but if this was love then Y/N wanted no part of it.

“Y/N,” Tim winced. He didn’t feel bad about what they have done for Y/N, but he did feel bad that it was somewhat affecting Y/N like this. It wasn’t their intention for Y/N to feel trapped, but Y/N just doesn’t get it. The world is mean, cruel, and horrible to those who don’t fit in. Tim, Jason, Dick, Damian, Bruce, the entire Bat clan knows this because they are the ones out there and witnessing this.

They all know just how awful this world can be, so why would they not want to protect Y/N from it?

“Dinner is ready.” Tim’s attention snapped to the door, where Damian stood. Y/N’s attention also turned to Damian, and the boy softened under Y/N’s hurt gaze.

‘Alfred made your favorite.’ Y/N wanted to bury his head in his hands. He didn’t want to read this conversation anymore. Pursing his lips, Y/N plopped down on the edge of his bed and looked out the barred window.

“You say I am not a prisoner… then am I a pet?” He mumbled, his voice barely above a murmur. Damian moved further in the room, so Y/N can see his hands at least.

‘Of course not. You are our most prized person.’ Damian didn’t see Y/N as a person. It is cruel to admit and he had almost been choked-out by Jason when he said it out loud. Y/N, in Damian’ eyes, was the Wayne’s family most prized possession. Next to the Batcave, the library, the Barmobile, and even Wayne Enterprises, Y/N stood next to and in front of it all. They could not function without him.

Like every prized possession, like diamonds, sapphires, and jades, they wanted to protect him. They gave him the best care they could and the best security. The difference was that jewels don’t have opinions or a desire to roam the earth. Something Y/N did have, and Damian blames the books for that wanderlust. Specifically that Moby Dick book.

When Jason took it from Y/N, Damian had to stop himself from throwing it in the fire. It was a first edition, the cover and binding still the same from when the book was first published, and if he looked closely he could see the faint line where Y/N has traced the spine of the book numerous times. Damian knows there is only one person in this world Y/N hates, which is the Joker, and Damian does not want to be added to the list should anything happen to that book.

Still, it was tempting.

Damian has read the book, and the lesson was as obvious as an East Gothamite amidst the upper echelon of Gotham. Damian knows what Y/N’s ‘white whale’ is, and he can’t help but to wonder why Y/N can’t draw the same conclusions like everyone else did.

Just like the story, Y/N will drive himself crazy trying to obtain something that they will never allow. Diamonds, sapphires, and jades are always protected by glass cases and security systems. That is how Y/N should see this.

‘Your safety is the most important thing.’

“More than my happiness?” Damian and Tim stared at Y/N with the answer clear in their eyes, but Y/N wanted to see them say it. He wanted to see them admit that they did not care for his happiness as long as he was trapped within these thick walls and gilded windows.

‘You were happy before.’ Y/N sighed, “That is because it was an illusion.” E/C eyes, dull and lacking emotion, “Tell me Dami, how can I go back to that illusion when in the morning it is the sun’s reflections off the bars on the windows that wake me up? Or the feeling of those trackers in my body replacing the collar you all want to put around my neck?”

++++

Bruce stared at the photo, taking in the smiles and the way those eyes used to shine. Y/N always had a great smile, full of his emotions and rarely ever fake. His eyes always the most expressive, and it is why Bruce found it easy to see when he was lying.

Granted, in Y/N’s defense, he’s never had a real reason to lie before. He was open with everyone about his thoughts, opinions, and desires. Bruce made it that way. Bruce swaddled him in the comfort that only he and the family could provide in order to make it so Y/N would always rely on them for that. He made it so Y/N would never have to lie, or feel the need too.

Then Y/N just had to get curious. Bruce doesn’t know who is to blame for this sudden defiance in Y/N, but he does put a lot of blame on those ocean documentaries. Even when he was young, Y/N always had a fascination for them. Watching them over and over again, reading the subtitles, memorizing them, so now he can just watch the documentaries while already knowing what is going on.

His attention turned to the photo he had bought from that photographer in the Dominican Republic. Y/N was freediving and looking like he was in his element.

Bruce didn’t feel bad for taking Y/N back, but he did feel bad about cutting a hobby short. There was denying that Y/N was a natural at this sport, and Bruce had always wanted to encourage each of his kids’ interest.

But not this one. Not one that meant Y/N had to live far from them and was dangerous. At least with vigilantism, Batman was there in case anything turned south. There was no one in the water for Y/N in case something happened. Free diving is dangerous, and the ocean is unpredictable. Bruce can’t help Y/N if he goes free diving, especially if he goes alone.

Sighing, Bruce rubbed his forehead and checked the surveillance cameras one more time. Y/N and Dick were in one of the study rooms. From what it looks like, Dick is trying to talk to Y/N who was standing next to the windows, looking away from the other.

Perhaps, it’s about time Bruce steps in. Y/N hasn’t talked to him since the day Bruce grounded him, about two months ago and the other has done a great job in staying out of Bruce’s radar. The only time Bruce has seen Y/N in person is when he goes into Y/N's room at night after patrol to make sure that he is still there. A new fear unlocked that one night, when everyone is out and Alfred is asleep, Y/N will disappear once more.

No one knows how Y/N got out that one night, and no matter how many questions were asked, Y/N never said anything. Damian had tried bargaining with him, telling him that if Y/N told them how he got out then some days of his grounding would be taken off. Y/N huffed, a bitter smile taking over his face.

Bruce rose from his desk, shutting down his computer and leaving his own study. It is about time he and his son have a conversation. One sided or not.

He walked over to the study room that Dick and Y/N were in. Halting before the door and listening to the voices coming from inside.

“Y/N, I am telling you that no one is going to believe you after the stunt you pulled.”

“But you will be with me. Dick, I just want to go to the beach. We did it all the time.”

“Mmm, and look how that ended up.”

“Me being happy for a few months.”

“You’re still on that, Y/N?” Bruce opened the heavy doors, silencing the conversation and causing two sets of eyes to land on him. Dick was leaning against the desk, and Y/N had his back to the window. Both of their faces showed their surprise and confusion, until E/C eyes flickered to the ceiling and the corners of the room where he saw the cameras. Confusion became annoyance, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the window.

Dick and Bruce made eye contact, and when Bruce nodded his head towards the door Dick didn’t fight it. He took the hint and walked out, sparing Y/N and Bruce one last look before shutting the large oak doors.

Y/N refused to look at him. Bruce walked closer, behind the desk and next to Y/N, standing next to the window.

“Y/N.” His son moved to pull out his external processors, but Bruce grabbed his wrists within his large hands, effectively stopping his son. Bruce set his jaw, “None of that, we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then listen.” Y/N scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, glaring at Bruce. The older man sighed, but held his grip on those thin wrists, noting that Y/N had stopped tugging his arms and was in fact waiting for Bruce to start talking, “I understand that you are upset, and that you are upset at us for meddling.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, his face slowly smoothening out and his lips no longer in a pout.

Bruce sighed, releasing one of Y/N’s wrists to push aside his bangs. Gently brushing his son’s forehead and pushing the rest of the strand behind his ear, minding the processing unit resting behind Y/N’s ear.

“And I know you’re aware that if you had asked, we would have said no.” Y/N’s lips pouted once more and his eyes became a little downcast. Sadness blanketing over him and Bruce felt a bit bad for revealing that, but Y/N knows it already.

“Y/N, why are you insistent on wanting to be independent? There are millions of people in this world who still wish for their parent’s support, and thousands of people who would give up everything to have a life and opportunities that you have.” Y/N scrunched his nose, feeling guilt curl in his chest.

He knows that he is lucky. Y/N is aware of how fortunate he is to have all that he has and then some. He knows that there are people in this world who would kill to have what he has.

Yet, just like there are millions of people who want what he has, there are also millions of people who strive for their independence against their family. Millions of people who take pleasure in making choices that affect only them. Millions of people who don’t let their disabilities define their life, and learn to accept and live with them.

“I am aware that I am fortunate, that my deafness has only been a part of my life instead of completely defining it,” Y/N acknowledged, turning his attention back to outside where it was beginning to snow. He ignored his reflection, not wanting to look at the weak person in front of him.

“I am grateful for all you have done, along with Alfred and everyone else. No amount of ‘thank you’s’ will ever be enough. But Bruce–” Y/N turned his eyes once more to Bruce, E/C eyes meeting ocean blue, “– No amount of money or gadgets is going to deny the fact that I am deaf.

“I am reliant on you all for a lot of things, and you raised me that way so that I can forever depend on you. Which… I know it wouldn't bother some people but it bothers me.” Y/N’s eyes shined with unshed tears, as if the very thought of having to rely on them was shameful.

“I am not fragile, nor am I glass. I am from East Gotham, just like Jason.” Bruce is aware of that. Like every East Gothamite, the both of them had the stubbornness that made Bruce question if he had a lineage that tied him back to that part of town. Y/N is strong in his own ways, and stubborn in others. Bruce will agree on that. He will agree that Jason and Y/N are more like brothers than those Bruce has seen when blood related.

However, Jason and Y/N are not the same. They were different pieces cut from the same cloth. Jason was shaped and molded to withstand the toughest and dangerous situations, to be durable and take a beating.

Y/N was not molded like that. Y/N was refined and polished to be treated gently and kindly, to only know the kindest hands and gentlest of uses.

“And I know that compared to the rest of you, I am weaker. I… I am not strong like you or Jason, I am not fast like Damian, nor am I as smart as Tim, or charismatic like Dick.” Bruce’s grip tightened on the one wrist he was still holding, wanting to deny everything Y/N had said because he hated hearing Y/N self-deprecating himself like that. Y/N is kinder than any of them, easier to talk to, and has almost the same amount of medical knowledge that Alfred has.

Y/N is the normalcy they all crave for when they come back from a patrol or mission. He reminds them in the gentlest ways that they are human. They are not just vigilantes, not another person hiding behind a cowl, a cape, or a domino mask. He reminds them that they are brothers, friends, allies, a father (in Bruce’s case).

“But just because of that, do you really have to control every part of my life? I wish you had more faith in me to let me go and learn to be strong on my own, just like you do with everyone else.” Y/N stared up at Bruce with a hurt expression, E/C eyes staring into Bruce’s blue eyes through those lashes that normally would be able to grant Y/N anything he wished. A simple bat of those lashes and eyes would have everyone running around trying to do as he wished.

“Y/N–”

“If you can’t trust me, at least trust yourself that you taught me well enough to be by myself.” But the thing is, is that Bruce doesn’t trust himself. He’s failed so many times and he fears that this one failure will be the one that breaks him. It’ll break the boys, the girls, Alfred, him. It’ll break everyone.

Y/N doesn’t realize it, and Bruce wonders if it is because he doesn’t want to get it or he just doesn’t. He wonders if Y/N chooses not to see his importance in this family so the burden doesn’t feel as heavy. If anything should happen to Y/N, Bruce can’t guarantee the safety of Gotham anymore. He couldn’t guarantee the safety of his Robins, past and current. If Bruce couldn’t protect literally the easiest person to protect, then who was he to try and protect a city?

Y/N, sensing Bruce’s hesitation and unease, tried to withdraw his hand from Bruce’s grip and shrug off the hand that was resting on his cheek. His hopes and wants crashing onto the carpeted floor, replacing his chest with anger and disappointment. He's been feeling those two emotions a lot lately. They are carving its way in his chest like it is their new home, and he wonders if it will be. Will he hold onto these feelings for the rest of his life as he stares out these large windows and reminisces what the sun felt like on his skin and the breeze through his hair. Does the biting cold still turn his nose and cheeks red, and does the heat and humid summers still make his freckles pop and skin gleam?

“...Forget it. I… it was stupid to ask that of you.” The raging inferno of anger died, filling his chest with the smoke of its fury and his stomach warm with the dying embers. A new emotion, one he is intimately familiar with, filled him instead. It is one he knows like the back of his hand, an emotion that is more of his identity than his deafness.

Sadness.

It is like a steady stream, filling the smoking cavity in his chest with cold water, putting out the embers and making that smoke turn to steam. Burning his muscles and organs with a painful sting, and filling his person with ice cold water instead of the burning fire. Y/N knows sadness. He knows the emotion well and sometimes it reminds him of a scar. Never truly gone, just sometimes forgotten. It sits at the back of the mind, hiding behind the good times, the happy emotions, until it is accidentally hit and it draws your attention. From there, it is no longer at the back of your mind, but all you can think about.

Sadness, to Y/N, is like a scar that has marred its way across his face. Never forgotten and for the whole world to see, unless makeup and a smile is put on it.

Y/N, in the basicness of emotions, is sad. He is hurt, upset, exhausted, and sad.

“Leave me alone, Bruce.” Bruce’s grip tightened once more, and his jaw clenched. He’s finally got Y/N within his vicinity to talk, like hell he’s letting go. Y/N narrowed his eyes and pulled his arm, “Let go, Bruce.”

He pulled again, “Bruce.” The man’s iron grip never waivered, and Y/N felt the air in his lungs begin to escape quicker than it could fill the organs. He brought his other hand up to try and peel those thick fingers off his wrist, but Bruce grabbed his other hand.

“I still don’t understand why you would want to leave.” Y/N scrunched his nose, “If you can’t understand, even after I spelled it out for you, then maybe you should stop being a detective.” Bruce didn’t feel insulted or slighted at Y/N’s words, chalking it up to Y/N being upset still.

“How can I make you want to stay here?” Y/N sighed, and Bruce could feel that fight leaving his son’s body. The tension in his arms disappeared.

“How can I know that it is here that I am meant to be, when I haven’t been anywhere else?” Bruce opened his mouth, to which Y/N effectively cut him off, “East Gotham doesn’t count, and the Dominican Republic would have counted if you all hadn’t kidnapped me.”

“We didn’t kidnap you.” Y/N gawked at him, and the fight returned, “You did kidnap me! Do you need a dictionary definition of what kidnapping is?! It is the unlawful abduction, aspiration and confinement of a person against their will!”

“You. Live. Here.” Bruce gritted out and Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Well I don’t WANT to be here!” He snarled and tried once more to loosen Bruce’s grip on his wrists.

“What is it with all of you NOT comprehending that?! No matter how you look at it, no matter what angle you try to take this from, Bruce. I am a prisoner within this manor!” Y/N glared at Bruce, “Just what did I do that warranted the surveilance, the trackers, the stupid god for fucking sake imaginary collar you all want me to have on?!”

Bruce growled out, “You left when you are only meant to stay here. It is the consequences of your actions.”

“I am not your property!” Y/N snarled, “ Nor am I a pet that you can keep chained and trapped in the house!” Bruce felt something snap within him and he released Y/N’s wrist and watched the other stumble from the sudden loss of support.

Y/N righted himself, still glaring at the man. Bruce took a deep breath, “Fine.”

“Huh?”

“You want to try your luck out there, then go. I will give you an hour's head start.” Y/N stared at Bruce in suspicion, “What are you getting at?” Bruce made a show of adjusting his watch, “I will give you an hour, only one. If you can outrun us, out maneuver us, or outsmart us until sunrise, you can choose how your future plays out.”

“‘Us?’” Bruce smiled, “All of us.” Y/N wanted to bite out a ‘not fair’ comment, but found a more pressing matter, “What about the trackers?” Bruce fished out his phone, and made a dramatic show of pressing some buttons, he then showed Y/N what appeared to be a small map, like a GPS, on his phone.

“Turned off.” Y/N ignored the feeling of disgust seeing that his location was literally on their phones.

“Start running Y/N, your hour has already started.” Y/N bolted out the study room, not looking back.

Bruce stayed in the room, looking out the window as the sun began to set and the snow turned dark. Light footsteps entered the room, and Bruce could basically hear the eyebrow raise, “Not now Alfred, save it for when Y/N comes back.”

The old butler humphed, “He’s always gotten sick when playing in the snow.” Bruce hummed, “Then I guess we better make this quick.”

“Are you sure an hour was a good idea? He did sneak out of the manor before.” Ocean blue eyes filled with mirth, and he tapped his ears, “If Y/N wants to know what it’s like to be deaf, then he’ll play this game deaf. It’ll teach him how lucky he is to have his hearing.” Alfred’s eyes widened, “They turn off without his knowledge.”

“Once he reaches a certain distance, they do, and he can’t turn them back on. Only I have the power to do that.”

In the hall, suited up and waiting in the shadows, were the rest of this crooked family. Waiting for his orders, “Give him an hour, then find him.”

++++

Y/N knows this is a losing game. He knows that this game is set for his failure, and he knows that once this game is over, he will most likely never be able to set foot outside again. Not without a babysitter.

When he external processors cut out, he knows what angle Bruce is playing out and he knows that his chances of making it to sunrise have become nearly 0%. He may not be as smart as Tim or anyone else in his family, but if you live with geniuses you learn how to read between the lines.

He somehow managed to flag down a taxi before telling them where to go. Not missing the slight judgment cross their face and Y/N wonders if they know he cannot hear them. Y/N wonders if they know he is being chased and he essentially is just digging a bigger and deeper hole for himself. The bars will get thicker and the chain will be heavier, but if that is the outcome of this, then Y/N believes that this will be worth it.

He clutched the bag closer.

When he arrives at the station, he knows his hour is up and he knows that Barbara is watching him through the cameras. She is watching him buy his ticket, and is retelling everything to his siblings. He knows this because in front of him is Nightwing, drawing a crowd and making everyone look around for the villain.

‘Going somewhere?’

‘Only temporarily.’

‘Temporarily is too long Y/N, let's go back home. Alfred has a peach cobbler ready.’ Nightwing held his hand out as if Y/N would actually take it. Which is fine, because Y/N knows through the giant circular mirror hanging from the ceiling, that Spoiler and Red Robin are behind him.

Y/N stared at the hand once more, and he wondered if this is what it feels like to know the path you should take and still choose the other one. Taking a deep breath, Y/N said the one word that would get everyone running. It would have people scrambling and trying to seek cover and get out of a place that made everyone have a close vicinity to each other.

“Joker!” Like someone shouting fire, the world was set into motion and Y/N watched as his view got obstructed by the rush of people. He disappeared within the crowds, dodging idle hands and ducking into the crowd. He may not be able to hear, but he can feel the panic that everyone else was feeling. Y/N saw parents pick their kids up, lovers grabbing each other’s hands, and strangers pushing and shoving other strangers.

He rushed down the escalator, towards the Amtrak that had his destination written all over it. Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Nightwing right behind him. He can feel the heavy and frantic gaze and if he could hear, without a doubt his name would be filling the air.

His heart picked up at the sight of the doors closing, and through some luck, he squeezed in at the last minute. The metal shutting behind him, and large latex covered hands slammed into the glass. Dick’s frantic face stared at him, and Y/N couldn’t stop the smile from creeping on his face.

How it must feel for the rabbit to slip through the Hunter’s fingers.

When the train began moving, Y/N wiggled his fingers in a mockery of a goodbye. He now sees why Jason loves teasing Dick. Dick’s angry expression really does tickle a sore spot in Y/N. Choosing a spot near the windows, Y/N prepared himself for the 10 hours train ride. The sun will not be rising when he gets there, but he never expected to make it to sunrise. Peering into the duffle bag next to him, Y/N gave a bitter smile and turned his attention back to the passing sight of Gotham city.

In the Batcave, everyone was pacing and figuring out the best way to do this.

“Are you sure that is where he is going?”

“For the last time, I saw his ticket, yes. He is going there!” Jason winced at Barbara’s raised voice and he grit his teeth in irritation. He massaged his temples, “Why North Carolina? What is even there?”

“The beaches.”

“No shit you little spawn, but which one.” Nightwing didn’t bother reproaching his brother, and instead tightened his fist. He was so close to grabbing his brother. So close.

The very knowledge that his little brother had barely escaped him stoked two different emotions in him. Pride in knowing that his brother was fast, fast enough to get away from him, and irritation because he did slip through Nightwing’s fingers. Batman didn’t seem bothered.

In fact he looked awfully relaxed for someone whose son had just hopped on a train to North Carolina. Nightwing glared at him, “You know where he’s going.” Batman shrugged, “An idea.”

“Where?”

“Y/N took his freediving gear, and there’s only one beach in North Carolina that is worth freediving.”

++++

Y/N felt the water encompass him, hugging his limbs and freeing him of gravity. The light attached to his forehead illuminates the sea and sees marine life at night. The train ride had been long and restless, but he did manage to at least sleep for 4 hours, before his nerves woke him up once more.

It was still dark, but at 4 am in the morning, it would be stupid to assume there would be any light. Navigating to the pier at Wrightsville Beach had been difficult, constantly looking over his shoulders to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Then there was the actual jumping off of the pier that if anyone saw would have the cops racing over.

Finally though, he was here. Swimming in the water and just letting himself be. It was a poor replication of freedom, but if this will be all he is allowed he’ll take it. Who knows how long it'll be before he could do something like this. Y/N isn’t stupid. He knows that Bruce knows where he is at.

He knows his siblings are on their way over. Probably letting him get off the Amtrak first before jumping in the Batplane, or maybe even the Batboat. Y/N surfaced, and took a deep breath before diving below the surface once more.

God, this was all a terrible joke but here it was happening. Y/N could have never imagined his family doing this. When he was younger, he chalked up Bruce’s need to constantly check on him as anxiety because it was the first time the man had a completely normal person in the house. Jason had always been touchy, and then Dick came along who would ruffle their hair. Tim would hold his forearm and Damian would follow him where he went.

It wasn’t weird at all. That was Y/N’s normal, until he went to college and started making friends. Friends who were mature enough to see past his lack of hearing and shared their own sibling experiences.

Experiences that didn’t match Y/N’s.

His little trip outside the country only proved it, and Y/N wondered if it was a bad thing he decided to do in person classes instead of online. If he did online, he would live in the fantasy that his family was normal and they loved him as a person. No red flags would be waving because Y/N wouldn’t even know they are flags.

He felt the water around him begin to vibrate and from the way the fish started spazzing out, Y/N knew his time was limited. How funny it would be if he never rose to the surface again.

Sinking a bit further, he looked towards the surface and watched as the water distorted and ripples began to form, each one acting as a timer. Closing his eyes, he held his breath as long as he could, until his lungs began to ache. Lightheadedness caused him to almost inhale water.

Rising to the surface, he could see the ominous black shape and the people looking over the edge. Here he was swimming back to his captors’ arms. Like a mouse headed for the trap. A fish into a net.

Y/N has never hated himself more then when he took that breath of air and met the sight of cowled Batman, and masked Robin and former Robins.

‘Ready?’

“Even if I wasn’t you’d still take me.”

‘You lost Y/N, get out of the water.’ He accepted the ladder thrown down to him, and as soon as he was within arm distance, Red Hood and Red Robin hoisted him over the edge of the boat and it was Robin handing him a towel. Taking off his snorkel and flippers, Y/N let himself be guided to the inside, where an unmasked Dick sat at one of the tables with two cups of coffee. Red Hood pushed Y/N into the seat, squishing his body against the window as he laid his giant self on him. Sighing in relief and going limp.

Y/N didn’t mind. From his seat, he watched the sunrays begin to slowly peak over the horizon. The warm glow gently illuminating the darkness, the sun not in sight yet but it’s very beginnings making itself known. Y/N wonders if one day, he can fall into the illusion of once more having a choice in his decisions. That there will be multiple paths in front of him instead of just one.

A large hand patted his head, and Y/N felt disgusted that he welcomed it. Back to normalcy. He has to go back to normalcy. If he didn’t, Y/N really does believe he will go crazy. His fate has been chosen from the start, and he knows that there is little chance of changing it. He knows that all of this comes from a sick and twisted form of love, and Y/N wonders if this is the type of love he has always been destined for.

The worst part is if given the choice to start over, Y/N wouldn’t stop himself from meeting Jason. He wouldn’t stop Jason from stealing the Batmobile tires, and he wouldn’t stop Jason from being Robin. He would try and stop Jason from dying, but he wouldn’t stop Tim from being Robin, or anything really. Y/N loves Jason, he loves his family, he loves their flaws and vices, even if it means letting go of somethings. His desire to be on his own was temporary anyways, only a few years and he would come back.

It was never good to have a ‘white whale.’ That is what Moby Dick taught everyone who read it.

If freedom was his white whale, then his family are the whalers. Killing it and completely destroying anything that made him want to chase it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Honestly.... I'm not to sure about the ending.

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yuukirita · 3 months ago

Note

I was reading Baby Bee's adventures in the multiverse again, I need Elita, Megs and Op from Earthspark to have a moment with him! I need angst and someone to have a complete mental breakdown.

It might also be nice to see them spend some time with the Terrans, he's almost the same size as Trash and he's just a baby!

... yeah yeah that seem good.

---

A sight

It was quite a sight, for those that knew what they were looking at. Not many beings still had the option so say they did.

Optimus did. Optimus knew that the young bot, who shared Bumblebee's colour, was a Cybertronian sparkling. How? How could it be? This. Here and now. It should be impossible.

He'd been sent with Elita-One and Megatron by G.H.O.S.T. to investigate a weird energy flux in the woods near Witwicky. They expected trouble.

They'd split up to cover more ground, his partners minutes from his location just in case. Then he saw it. A portal. With no structure to support it, it clearly was unstable- and Optimus couldn't say he ever saw a portal that looked this way before. It felt Alien.

He opened his comm as he inspected it, looking for tracks of anything that might have come out of it. "Optimus to Team, I believe I've found the energy disturbance. No hostiles in sight, but be careful-”

He was cut off as the portal shifted, extending and stretching. Optimus raised his axe, on guard. It wobbled before it spat a small yellow ball into the ground before collapsing onto itself and disappearing with a clean ‘pop’.

The Autobot leader didn’t lower his guard, never one to underestimate an inconspicuous creature in this kind of scenario. He stayed calm and ready, knowing that his team would reach him soon.

He watched the Yellow sparkling groan and clumsily get up from where he'd fallen face first- He dusted himself off and looked around. Even then, Optimus didn’t lower his guard, this time not out of suspicion but from shock.

“Weird nature stuff… everywhere… ew, I swallowed some.” Said the sparkling in soft Cybertronian, hitting his heels together to let out wheels under his feet. Rolling forward as he started exploring further-

BabyBee squeaked out when he saw Optimus just standing there, hidden by the tall trees, illuminated by the glow of his still raised axe, looking quite intimidating.

The small cry snapped Optimus out of it and he immediately put the axe away, lowered his mask and raised his arms to seem non-threatening, hoping the gesture would be understood while searching his processor for Cybertronian speech- it’d been so long-

He didn’t have time to say anything before A spark of recognition lit up the sparkling’s optics “Optimus!” The young bot rolled forward, smiling- then stopped. He squinted at Optimus and his shoulders slumped “Not my Optimus…”

Optimus, externally keeping his cool but internally having his mind blown that one: he was seeing a sparkling. two: that sparkling was just spat out a portal. And Tree: that sparkling KNEW HIS NAME- or at least mistaken him for someone with the same name- it- it was a lot. Optimus kneeled down as much as he could, speaking in Cybertronian “Hello, young one- em… I am Optimus Prime.”

The sparkling didn’t feel distressed or anxious- and Optimus intended to keep it this way. Which is why he wasn’t scooping up the young bot despite how much he felt the need to do so to check on him.

“I know… But you’re not MY Optimus Prime…” The young bot pouted and kicked the dirt, making his wheel roll in the air, defeated. “Again.”

The leader felt tears in his eyes, simply because he was seeing a part of Cybertron’s lost history- or perhaps not *his* Cybertron’s lost history.

BabyBee noticed this Version of his friend tearing up and he froze, blinked and quickly rolled to his leg to comfort him. “Ey- it’s okay. Sorry I said you’re not my Optimus! We can still be friends! I’m B-127- My friends call me Bee! You can call me Bee!”

Optimus winced when he felt babybee's tiny hands tap his leg. He’d kept it together when Twitch and Trash were revealed to him- but this was apparently his tipping point.

He whipped his tears away as he scrambled himself back together “Do not apologies, young Bee. I am simply- processing emotions.” He looked down to look at the sparkling, B-127 he said his name was- sharing the number with his scout could not be a coincidence “May I pick you up?” He offered his hand for him to step onto.

BabyBee didn't think twice before hopping on “Yeah! You can check me over. I’m not hurt or anything if you’re worried about that.” Optimus "How could this be?" He whispered as he checked the sparkling over- he hadn't seen a sparkling in... eons. The memories of them are practically lost to the newer generations.

BabyBee let himself be examined, after a few dimensional jumps he learned that 'inspecting sparkling to make sure he's okay' to be a... pretty much universal reaction to most Optimus Prime he’d met. “Well. You know what a space bridge is?” Optimus nodded “Well- that. But gone wrong-”

His explanation was cut short when Megatron and Elita entered the scene.

On reflex, he closed his hands around the sparkling to hide it from Megatron’s view- an old distrust resurfacing as it often did. A distrust he felt ashamed he couldn’t let go of.

“Optimus, everything alright? You got cut off-” His old friend spoke calmly as Elita one surveyed the surroundings.

“Ey- What’s that about???” BabyBee’s voice came muffled from his newfound prison “RUDE!”

Elita picked up on the muffled Cybertronian and lowered her guard after finding the area was clear. “Prime, What’s this?”

BabyBee kept tapping at his fingers as the Prime failed to come up with an answer. “em… One moment.” He turned away from his allies and opened his hands, whispering to the sparkling “Sorry young one, My friends arrived and I… didn’t want you to panic.” Because Megatron was there. And if this Sparkling was from another Cybertron then… “Megatron and Elita-One are my friends- do you know them too?”

He gave a slight awkward smile looking back at his friends, who were curiously standing there, letting him do his thing and trying to catch what he was saying.

“You guys are FRIENDS?!” The small bot exclaimed, shocked.

Optimus sighed, saddened that other versions of them were still enemies. “Yes, friends and trusted allies so you can believe me that my Megatron will means you no harm-”

“THIS IS AWESOME!” The little Bee exclaimed with joy. He skillfully ran up Optimus’s arm to climb up his shoulder before Optimus could stop him- his little blue optics landed on Megatron, unafraid and unbothered “WE’RE FRIENDS!” He gestured towards the old war criminal to come closer- then seeing Elita, he did the same gesture towards her.

Megatron blanched and took a step back “Is that a-”

Elita-One similarly froze up, simply staring.

Optimus picked up BabyBee from his shoulder to turn and walk a bit closer to his allies- “Sparkling… Yes.”

End part one of 3

#transformers one #did I awnser this already?#awsering messages #tfone fanfiction #transformers earthspark #babybee au #baby bee's multiverse adventure

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radioactiverats · 2 months ago

Text

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (14/?)

First meeting with Sunstorm doesn't go well.

I got the glowing Sunstorm blokee and he's so cool!!! I got to admit tho, I don't know much about the character and I've always had the impression he was overall a chill guy. After reading the wiki and some IDW panels about him... wow was I wrong! Lol. Originally, this story was gonna be mostly funny, but after reading about Sunstorm kind of being a fanatic, I couldn't really swing it that way and got stuck for a long time... TvT Finished, not perfect :,)

I also couldn't decide whether to go with G1 or TFOne references for Starscream's frame. TFO Starscream has been on the brain recently cos I'm just seeing how many qualities I pull from him specifically (older soldier, experienced, leadership, less jumpy...) and I eventually went with his dark grey servos for the symbolismmmm lol

---

Starscream had warned you about him.

"He'll appear every few vorns," Starscream groused. "Trying to recruit me to his infernal cause in the name of Primus. Just ignore him."

"Okay," You say, cautiously. "And who is this again...?"

Starscream opened his intake. Then closed it. Opened it again, before an incredibly pinched expression overtook his faceplate.

"Nevermind," You say quickly. Even if it looked like there was a reason he didn't want to reveal the bot's designation to you, you shrug it off at the time, supposing it wasn't all that important.

One random day in the middle of training, you find out just how important it is.

Starscream's in the middle of ranting about the state of your most recent landing when some strange, external energy suddenly prickles in an uncomfortable flare over your plating. You shudder involuntarily, caught off guard.

Starscream stops mid-rant about thruster control to stare suspiciously at you. "...What is it?"

"Did you feel that?"

He frowns at first, but suddenly stills.

"Frag," Starscream mutters. "He's here."

"Who...?"

Did he mean Megatron? Or some other unnamed enemy? Should you be running away?

Before you can voice any of your growing panic aloud, a blinding flare streaks through the sky above you.

Shooting stars during the daytime? You frown. Seems unlikely. The ball of light seemed to be getting closer and closer to you. A meteor? Either way, all of the options were bad - you glance at Starscream, prepared to jet off the second he commanded it - but strangely, he just looks... irritated.

Arms folded and pede tapping agitatedly, Starscream watches with a scowl as the ball of light makes its descent.

You suppose it mustn't be dangerous if Starscream isn't shooting out of there like a bat out of hell with you under his arm. Raising an arm to shield your optics from the glaring light, you squint at the silhouette that's slowly but purposefully approaching you both.

White light gives way to a golden glow as the bot approaches - a pair of wings. A seeker? You narrow your optics. Not just any seeker. If not for the shimmer of his golden frame, you could have sworn that his silhouette was identical to Starscream's.

A smooth, deep voice emerges from the swirling clouds of dust. "Brother. I have found you once more."

You cock your helm, no longer suspicious but just wholly confused. Who was this, and why did he even sound like Starscream? Well... You imagine it would, if Starscream's voice lost its scratchy rasp. You frown again at the sudden question that pops into your processor. Was that rasp normal?

The irritation radiating off Starscream's EM field pulls you back to the present. "I told you to stay away," Starscream hisses. "Or has the radiation fried your audials, too?"

Radiation?

Suddenly, it clicks.

"Sunstorm?" You breathe.

Sure enough, the golden bot himself strides into view. He glances around with an air of superiority before his optics settle on you.

"He's so shiny," You whisper.

Starscream makes a choked sound of outrage, irritation momentarily forgotten. "I wax my plates on the regular-! More than any other bot! Does that mean nothing to you?"

Unfortunately, you're too absorbed in studying the bot before you, and his protests fall on deaf audials. Glimmering golden shades of orange and snowy white, an EM field that radiates confidence in pulsing waves.

Sunstorm smirks. It's eerily similar to Starscream's.

"A pet? You've certainly been bored in my absence, brother."

His optics narrow, taking in your frame with an air of disdain. "You, young one. How do you know my designation?"

"Y-you're on the posters. All over the Academy," You stutter. "Lots of my squadmates looked up to you."

Sunstorm cycles his optics, faceplate blank as he takes in the information. A smug smile tugs at the corner his intake as he glances at Starscream - it only widens when he sees Starscream glowering back at him.

"The Academy, eh? Looks like the elders understood my divine mission." The way Sunstorm regarded Starscream was not dissimilar to the way Starscream regarded organics. "Unlike you. Unless you have finally seen the light, and will accept the word of Primus?"

Starscream grits his denta. He'd told the council it was a bad idea. Sunstorm hadn't even been aware of his idol status in the Academy, nor the use of his visage in the motivational posters. Starscream had told them, warned them that Sunstorm was a false idol, how dangerous it could be to present him as a superstar to hordes of impressionable young cadets. But had they listened? Of course not.

Before he can tell Sunstorm to frag off, you beat him to the punch.

"Is it true you can control electromagnetic fields?"

Sunstorm falters. "I... why, yes. But I don't see how that matters -"

"And you have super healing powers?"

"...Yes. But why-"

"That's so cool," You interrupt. Starstruck. "No wonder my roommate looked up to you."

"Yes, well." He sounded like Starscream, too, when he was lost for words. Suddenly, a thoughtful look crosses his faceplate. "And you? Am I your idol, little one?"

Starscream doesn't give you a chance to respond. Oddly enough, you get the feeling that he doesn't want to hear your response.

"Him?" Starscream spits. "An idol?"

Okay, so Sunstorm is weirder than you thought he'd be, but...

"He's got super healing powers!"

"Nothing Knockout couldn't fix-"

"He can control electromagnetic fields!"

"He's radioactive!" Starscream snaps, outraged.

"That's cool!"

"I see greatness in you." Sunstorm smoothly cuts in, as Starscream splutters indignantly. His optics are gleaming, suddenly a lot more interested in the conversation. He appraises you. "You could be the next messenger of Primus."

"That sounds important. What does it mean...?"

So Sunstorm's powers are cool and all - you can have a healthy appreciation for a mech's abilities while thinking he's weird. Starscream, however, seems to have mistaken your interest in his powers for starstruck admiration.

Wings hitched up high, his servos ball into fists as he watches you ooh and ahh over Sunstorm's cocky demonstration of his frame's capabilities. Starscream could do that. They were literally the same. Why hadn't you asked him for a demonstration? It should be him you were admiring of, not this... corrupted version of himself. His optics narrow when you laugh at something Sunstorm says. Starscream snarls softly under his breath.

You do talk to other mechs on the Nemesis - but not like this.

And you always come back to him after.

Because you're on his side.

But as much as he was loathe to admit it, the entire purpose of the clone - Starscream refused to acknowledge any sort of kinship between them - was to replace him. They'd wanted Starscream's abilities, but not... him. Starscream knew he was not an easy bot to get along with. You were the only one who, somehow, seemed to not only tolerate but also enjoy his prickly company.

...Unless you didn't. And when part of Sunstorm's reputation was "Starscream, but better", you... could you really be blamed for...? Starscream tried to reach for anger, but found a hollow emptiness instead. Bots, especially those at war, changed allegiances all the time, and abandonment was a familiar feeling. But surely... surely not you?

Unaware of Starscream's dilemma, you continue to chat to Sunstorm. He seems really intense, but he's been reasonably civil so far. After all, small talk couldn't hurt, right? You wish your roommate could be here to watch him show his powers off - they would have loved hearing about your meeting.

That, and making an enemy of Sunstorm seems like a bad idea. However, he seems to grow increasingly animated as he continues to speak, optics uncannily wide and unseeing. Honestly, you wanted out, but the purgatory of small talk would have to be your defense weapon of choice for now.

"You should join me in my crusade," Sunstorm continues magnanimously. "I can see that you are a loyal follower, and I, after all, am the chosen one - I can bring you to heights that only most can dream of seeing."

"Heights aren't really my thing," You say politely.

Sunstorm snorts. "We're seekers, little one. Heights are our thing."

"Oh," You mutter. "I thought that was metaphorical."

Sunstorm splutters, caught off guard. "It - I was, but - nevermind."

He glares daggers over your helm, where Starscream is standing behind you and making no effort to hide his sniggers.

Sunstorm's optics narrow. "Did you know that your current commander," his voice drips with contempt, "-was replaced by me at the helm of an incredibly important mission? Not for lack of opportunity. He just failed to grasp every single one. Need I remind you, brother, of your years in exile? Need I remind you of Kaon?"

You don't quite dare turn around, but the sudden flare of an EM field burning with white-hot anger sears your back. "That was a set-up and you know it," Starscream hissed. "I gave nothing by my loyalty, and in return they branded me a filthy traitor!"

"Yet all was forgiven, was it not? Struck from your record, even. How generous." Sunstorm's glowing optics meet yours again. "As you can see, I am more worthy of your allegiance than the commander you so blindly swear your loyalty to."

You glance anxiously at Starscream. His faceplate is tight with rage, wings quivering - but when his optics dart to yours, there's something more there. A flash of fear.

"I will not let you corrupt my student with your lies-"

Sunstorm ignores him. His hushed voice drips like poisonous honey into your audials. "Open your optics, little seeker. I know you do not see him as we do. Tell me, do you know of the things he's done in the name of your cause?"

"You are a hypocrite!" Starscream seethes. "You dare to question me after all the energon shed by your servos?"

"Would you like me to start listing the atrocities you've committed?" Sunstorm doesn't even spare him a glance. "Alphabetically, perhaps, to help your darling cadet understand the full extent of what you've done. I'll let you choose whether by the Terran alphabet or the Cybertronian one."

"You would be nothing without me!" Starscream roars. "Know your place, so-called 'brother' of mine. You are nothing but a clone!"

Your processor spins. You take a step back, watching them hurl insults at one another, air around you crackling with the furious charge of their EM fields. Clone? Betrayal? Atrocities?

This was beyond you, a shared history that you clearly had no part in. It was true that you'd never actually seen or heard from Sunstorm himself back in the Academy, so the hero stories concocted by your fellow cadets had been pure fantasy. Given that posters of Starscream and Sunstorm had been pasted right next to each other, it was almost expected that your classmates would have concocted stories about them being seekers-in-arms, two heroic fliers taking down villains together. Sure, without evidence, you weren't surprised that this turned out to be false - but you'd never expected animosity.

Your frown. Back then, you'd respected Sunstorm even though you'd never really been his fan, but something about the way he was trying to provoke Starscream rubbed you the wrong way. At the same time, you didn't really want confirmation of the fact that Starscream was committing war crimes on the regular.

...You reset your vocaliser. Primus be damned. In the end, the need to know won out.

"Is it true?" You interrupt. Your voice is small as you turn to Starscream. "What he's saying."

"Yes," Sunstorm hisses, in the absence of a response. "Every word of it. The energon of countless innocents stain his servos - "

BOOM!

You jump at the same time Sunstorm springs away - split by a crackling flare of pure energy. Both of you look over to see Starscream's null ray smoking, optics narrowed to slits and denta bared in a snarl.

"You see?" Sunstorm whispers, triumphant.

"That's enough," Starscream rasps. His voice is hard, cold. "Leave."

Sunstorm seems unfazed. His searing optics hone in on you as he extends a servo.

"Come with me," Sunstorm offers. "Take your place by my side. In return for your loyalty, I will take you away from this ugly war - you will work towards a higher purpose. You will not have to pray every day for your survival."

You stare at his servo, its size uncannily familiar. You were sure that if you took it, it would be warm as well, just like Starscream's. But Starscream's servos weren't white, and Sunstorm didn't have that tiny dent on the joint of his third digit.

You glance at Starscream. His null rays are lowered, expression hard as he watches you stoically. Yet, there's a defeated slump to his shoulders that you really don't like. You're honestly shocked that he's letting you choose.

In any case, did he really think this was going to be a choice?

"Thank you," You say to Sunstorm, and his optics flare momentarily in victory, "-but no thank you."

There's a moment in which incredulity overtakes his faceplate, like he'd never in his life imagined that rejection would be a possibility. Abruptly, his expression turns steely. Frightening.

"You will regret your choice," Sunstorm states. He rises into the air, looking down at you coldly. He turns his gaze onto Starscream. "This isn't over, brother."

Starscream does not dignify this with a reply. He steadily meets Sunstorm's icy gaze, arms crossed and wings flared, until Sunstorm makes a sound of disgust and turns away. Both of you watch as he transforms, soaring away with a scream of his thrusters until he's nothing but a pinprick of light in the stratosphere.

You speak first.

"You didn't actually think I was going to choose him over you?"

Starscream stiffens. "Of course not," He blusters.

He absolutely did.

"He was kinda weird," You remark, casually.

That seems to knock him out of his funk - Starscream glances at you. "Shockwave made him."

You snort. "That explains it."

Starscream huffs and shakes his helm.

"I told you, he's radioactive."

Even though his plates aren't drawn as tight as before, shoulders relaxed, and his EM field has lowered to a light simmer - it's obvious that the matter still lingers on his processor.

"You really weren't going to...?"

"He could offer to make me Primus and I'd still stay here," You say bluntly. "He's not you."

Now that Sunstorm's gone, though, you're just starting to process all the random bombshells he'd dropped on you. What was the truth? And how long could you keep running from it? Just as you begin to spiral, a dark grey servo hesitantly enters your field of vision, pulling you from your thoughts.

"...Will you come with me, then?"

For the first time, you realise that it's not an order. You'd always willingly followed them, so it was never like you were going against your will - but this was not an order from a commander, but a... a... you pause. A bot who would care deeply about the answer you gave is what you settle on for now.

For a moment, Sunstorm's words flash unbidden across your processor. Atrocities. The energon of innocents. You stare at Starscream's servo, viciously willing away the ghostly mental image of glowing blue energon dripping from his digits.

Your optics meet his. His faceplate is still, impassive - but you see the minuscule tightening of his optics, the tension in his wings.

Looking back down, you find the dent in the joint of his third digit.

His servo is clean of energon.

You take it, and it's warm.

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#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #starscream x reader #starscream #Cadet AU

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