Archive of Our Own ^beta

Windblade opens her eyes, and she- she's confused. One second ago she was sitting in a booth at Maccadam's, talking to Bumblebee, and now she's standing out here having the most intense bout of deja vu in Cybertronian history- is this earth-? Is that-

The sound of footsteps and crackling circuits. Windblade whips around.

What?

"Windblade! We need to talk," Slipstream pants. When she receives no response save fish-mouthed gaping, she continues with "I need someone to- it's Starscream, he's delusional. He's in the missle silo, with the seekers, and these things- he's going to destroy us all . Please listen to me."

Windblade, gears still grinding, splutters "Y- we- we need to-" and sees Bludgeon coming, a flash of deeper shadow in the darkness, and she only has time to draw her sword before Slipstream is gasping and falling, and-

-and Windblade is standing again, facing the other direction, no corpses in sight. No Maccadam's, either.

This is a painful experience to have to relive, she thinks. Am I in hell? Maybe some impossibly cruel quintesson is manipulating my memories. Should I transform?

Footsteps. "Windblade! We need to talk!"

This time, Windblade draws Stormfall immediately and leaps forward, blade thrown into a defensive position. Slipstream squawks like an astrochicken.

"What are you-"

"Sh. I can't see him. I have to listen."

"You- yes you do. You have to listen to me, because Starscream-"

"Be quiet! I'm trying to concentrate!"

"I'm trying to save your life, you-"

"I know-"

Bludgeon comes at her like a bullet, defying the laws of physics, and she manages a block, a parry, and a thrust before he takes advantage of her opening and reaches around her to stab Slipstream- which makes her throat burn with ire the second before she onlines her eyes and sees right again.

There's no one around. Bludgeon is too fast to run from. She still needs a new plan.

She swivels on her heel and stomps around the corner to where she knows Slipstream is lurking. She is slightly startled by the ambush, but is even more startled by Windblade's arm around her waist pulling her close with an incriminating clang. Windblade uses her free hand to draw Stormfall, ignoring the grunting and the struggling and the consistent zap of fucked up circuits tickling her wrist.

"What-" Slipstream tries. She tries again. "Unhand me, you stupid Autobot! Starsc-"

"I know," says Windblade. Her eyes are darting this way and that, searching. She drags Slipstream against the wall and presses their backs to it, marginally preferring to be pinned over jumped from behind. This way- hopefully- if Bludgeon stabs one of them, he stabs both of them. For some reason, that feels like it would be more of a victory than- well. Having to be frustrated about watching Slipstream die alone and trying.

She's shouting Starscream's plans directly into Windblade's ear now, and she's not very good at being held.

Bludgeon flattens himself against the wall and edges up to them quickly, silently and invisibly, skewering Slipstream through Windblade's elbow. She gets to hear Slipstream's gasps and groans of agony up close this time. She can't even reach around Slipstream's convulsing body to try and hit him.

"Fuck," she says when she opens her eyes again. This time, she tries the same plan, only she pins Slipstream against the wall chest-to-chest before she has time to think about it. When she does think about it, she realizes it's ludicrously impractical, and flips around so that her back is pressed against Slipstream's writhing body, sword sheathed and at the ready.

"WHAT?!" Slipstream practically shrieks- her voice is too deep to really shriek, which is kind of a relief. Her mouth is also close enough to Windblade's finial to brush up against it as she speaks, which is- interesting. "WHAT is happening?"

"Stop struggling. I know about Starscream," says Windblade, just so she won't have to listen to that again. "Also, watch your left. And your right. I don't know where he is. If you see which way he comes from, tell me."

"Starscream?!"

"No. Bludgeon."

"Huh??"

"Bludgeon's trying to kill you. Just FYI."

"Oh, great. I was short on insane idiots trying to kill me, thank you."

"It's not MY fault!"

This time, she sees which direction Bludgeon charges in from- her left, against the wall. She flips her sword around and slams it through him- it misses and crack-screeches unpleasantly against the wall, but at least it drowns out Slipstream's dying chokes. Is it just me, or is he ten times more skilled than usual?

This time, she walks up to Slipstream- who, miraculously, doesn't say anything, only squints- and asks "Can you transform?"

"I don't know," Slipstream says slowly, which tests Windblade's patience a little. "Something's... not right."

"Yeah, obviously. Your arm's shorting out."

Slipstream shakes her head. "No, that's not what I meant- I- have I done this before?"

Windblade's spark swells like a supernova. She hasn't transformed yet because she doesn't really want to leave Slipstream here to remain dead, not when she has a chance to correct the mistake she made letting her die, even if it is only hypothetical, an illusion. But this- this gives her hope.

"Yes. Probably. Try to transform. We can do it at the same time."

Slipstream purses her lips and nods. Windblade cycles a deep vent, counts down from three, and transforms.

She tastes only the crisp, oxygen-rich air of Earth's atmosphere.

They are just in time to blast their engine fumes in Bludgeon's face. She thinks he trips a little with the momentum of trying to slice up a Slipstream who isn't there. It's pretty delightful.

"Explain," Slipstream demands. They're far enough away that the base looks like a speck of dust on the horizon. "If I keep following you, what's going to happen? We still have to stop Starscream."

"Well, I don't know what's going to happen, but as far as I’m aware- Starscream already has been stopped. He turned into a giant tentacle monster, and- it's, ah, a long story."

Slipstream remains silent. Then she smacks her lips- a little staticky and unpleasant on the ears over internal comm- and says "Well, go ahead and tell it. It seems like we might have the time, if we're flying around the entire planet."

"We can't," says Windblade automatically. "You need rest. You're injured."

"Do you even care? Surely this little incident hasn't suddenly made you like me. Besides, if we touch down, Bludgeon could ambush us at any moment."

"You really think so?"

"You haven't explained anything to me yet, by the way!"

Windblade sighs heavily. "That might be because I don't actually know what's going on. Long story short? I'm from the future and we're stuck in an infinite loop of the moment of your death. Or, were? We probably haven't escaped yet."

"I can't believe this."

"Believe it or don't. I have a feeling it doesn't really matter."

Slipstream goes silent for a few miles. Then, finally, she whispers: "Where are we going?"

The first place Windblade can think of. "Bumblebee cave."

"What????"

"Why does it look like his head?!" Slipstream splutters. Windblade lands before she does, and has to catch her when she transforms and immediately trips over her own feet. 

"I dunno. Maybe God has a sense of humor." She doubts it.

"Well- whatever," Slipstream pants. "I don't suppose you have a medical kit hidden under your measly plating?"

"Measly? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're skinny."

Windblade has never felt self-conscious about that before. Suspension bridge effect, she thinks desperately at herself, and nudges Slipstream towards the floor. "Shut up and lie down."

Muttering, she goes. Windblade reaches into her wing pack and pulls out her measly- ha- medkit, and gets to work squinting at Slipstream's sparking-spitting circuits.

She patches it up. Her work is rudimentary. She glances at her patient's blank faceplate and sighs. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing for helping me?"

"Because I didn't do a good job."

"Well," Slipstream says hesitantly, "I'm not exactly in a position to be picky. I am still your enemy, after all."

Windblade shrugs. "Doesn't really feel like it. Where I'm from, Autobots and Decepticons have been at peace for a while."

Sliptream’s optics widen. Her lips go slack. She says, in a small voice, "Really? Why? How??"

Windblade smiles. "It's a long story."

Slipstream shakes her head abruptly. "Th-that doesn't change the fact that I've done horrible things to you! Why are you trying so hard to save me!?"

"Because when I look at you," Windblade says, hands curling in her lap, "all I can think about is that last moment, when walked up to me, trying to do the right thing. Because, you know, when you bother... people tend to remember. Especially when they know they wouldn't have had to keep fighting you, if you'd-"

She cuts herself off.

Slipstream's mouth opens and closes like a drowning fish's. She shuts it, and looks sharply away.

"I think you're kinder than you act like you are," Windblade says, too soft.

"I'm not kind, Autobot," Slipstream snaps. "I'm just sane. Unlike some Decepticons I know."

Windblade grins. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

She hears the tell-tale sound of sliding rocks, and the clatter of them careening down a cliffside. The noise echoes. She whips around.

Bludgeon is standing in the doorway, optics gleaming. He flicks his sword.

With a roar of fury, Windblade runs at him full-pace and transforms just in time to slam her nosecone into his body, sending him flying out of the cave entrance. He hits the ground with a hard crack, but jumps back up again like a zombie, ignoring Windblade in favor of jumping back up the mountain, leaping side-to-side like some kind of ninja.

"NO!!" Windblade roars, and makes a sharp, uncomfortable turn, aiming herself like a torpedo straight toward Slipstream.

She's not fast enough.

Her optics snap on. She turns around, and Slipstream is already there, bounding across the grass and practically throwing herself into Windblade's arms, gripping her shoulders like she's dying. Windblade notes with supreme irritation that her injury is back.

"What now?!"

"I have an idea," she blurts hastily, and takes Slipstream's hand, dragging her straight into the negotiations tent.

Windblade never thought she'd be happy to see Megatron, but she was half-convinced the universe was going to play another trick on her and delete him from existence, so what do you know. Megatron and Optimus both stare at them, startled, when they practically throw themselves against the table, joints rattling with fear.

Optimus stands up. "Windblade, what-"

"Bludgeon's chasing us." She points at the door, holding Slipstream close. "He thinks she's a traitor, but she came to warn us about Starscream-"

"Well, I'm sure we can clear that misunderstanding right up, then," Megatron growls. He shoves himself to his feet.

Instinctively, Windblade tries to shield as much of Slipstream from him as possible, but he just gives them a scornful look and strides toward the door, cannon firing up with an ominous whirr.

Optimus, solemn, follows. Windblade watches, dumbstruck, as they move to stand directly beside each other like a pair of absurd bodyguards.

"Why don't you explain," Megatron says, jerking his head toward Slipstream. He sounds annoyed and blasé. It’s as though rouge actors are a common occurrence under his regime or something.

She stutters out an explanation of 'Starscream's rock-bottom insanity', and then starts to cringe her way through the time loop situation, holding on to a wedge in Windblade’s plating like a lifeline.

Megatron really looks at her. "You understand I find that exceedingly hard to believe."

"But is it really, though?" Windblade says. 

He looks contemplatively at the ceiling, stroking his chin.

Bludgeon descends on them from above, driving his blade through the metal roof and slicing it open.

Megatron- optics turned upward- gets a sordid glimpse of it just before he falls. He dives forward in time to catch him and suplex him into the table. CLANG.

"Bludgeon-" Megatron begins, but Bludgeon has already driven a sword through his back, the orange tip peeking out right through the eye of the Decepticon symbol.

Megatron coughs up a loogie of energon. He looks over his shoulder. "You," he rasps, "have made a grave mistake."

His optics flare, flicker- and fade to grey.

Optimus shouts, Slipstream releases a panicked yelp-

-and the universe dissolves around them into a sea of pixels.

Windblade's eyes turn on, and the world doesn't seem... quite right. It's not dark, the sun is out. The ground is far away. There's a tree over there floating. She can see through the walls of the tent. 

And there's Slipstream, flailing her arms and trying to maneuver through the not-gravity toward Windblade. She changes tactics and starts making a swimming motion like a frog- well, as best she can with her numb arm.

Windblade tries to transform, but she can't. She spins frantically toward the tent. Through the strange, glitching gaps, she can see two Optimus-and-Megatron shaped statues sitting at opposite ends of a significantly shortened table, frozen mid-motion, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. 

Bludgeon is lying between them, twitching. Unspace spreads like a mold on his chest and blots his body out of existence, limb by limb, piston by piston, until he’s gone.

She turns back to Slipstream, cycles a deep vent, and furiously pinwheels her arms, kicking her legs and spinning her turbines with unmatched ferocity.

She and Slipstream collide like planets flung out of orbit, arms clamping around each other and legs tangling only somewhat involuntarily.

"What is going ON?!" Slipstream pants, cockpit heaving where it is pressed hard against Windblade's chest. "Are we going to DIE?"

"Maybe," says Windblade. "I think the world's ending."

"Why is this happening!?"  Slipstream's fingers are digging into Windblade's waist, Windblade's arms flung around her neck, their chins resting on each other's shoulders like in a lover's embrace, or a haphazard, uneducated ballroom dance.

There are gaps in the world, Windblade notices. Pixelated tears in the fabric of reality, through which she can see grey metal and a too-pale blue sky, familiar buildings solidifying in concept as the holes grow wider and wider.

Holes. Maybe that's it.

"Would you believe me if I told you I thought I did this?"

"I'd believe anything at this point," Slipstream spits. "Explain."

"After you died, I felt like- there was a hole in my life where you were supposed to be. It wasn't a big one. But it was there. And it hurt."

Slipstream doesn't say anything.

Windblade swallows, and laughs. "Why does- something bigger always have to be so much more important? Why is it that when someone I care about dies, ‘all is as it should be’? Why can’t-"

"So you, somehow, defying the laws of reality itself," Slipstream interrupts, "went back in time- to save me- and reset your attempt every time it didn't go your way?" She squeezes Windblade hard enough to be painful. "All of this- to give me a second chance?"

"Yeah," Windblade chokes into her shoulder.

The silence continues.

Windblade clears her throat. "You know, I always kind of liked you. You were evil in a clumsy way, anyway. I guess I could sense your- aha- extremely sane vibes."

"Of course," Slipstream scoffs, high-pitched, "of course. Typical Autobot. Humiliating me and- and- being nice about it. What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know."

"Typical Autobot." Her voice cracks like glass. "Trying too hard to save someone less significant than you."

"You're not less significant," Windblade mumbles into her shoulder. She's not sure if Slipstream hears it.

The world continues to dissolve, Cybertron leaking through the cracks in the temporal anomaly. With a sense of rising panic, Windblade holds her tighter, switching off her optics and wishing it all away.

Awkwardly, Slipstream pats her on the back. She barks out a laugh.

"What do you think the odds are this works? That I get to take you back with me?"

Slipstream grunts. "Slim. Look."

She pulls back. The pixels are eating away at Slipstream, too, starting from the injury on her bicep, the sign above Maccadam's peeking through the hole. 

Despair drops like a stone into Windblade's fuel tank, ripples cascading through her entire body.

"No," she says, scrabbling at her arm. "No, please don't go-"

"Stop- stop that. Look at me." Slipstream grabs her by the face, turning it toward her, hooking their legs tighter for balance.

"You're incredible, aren't you?" she says shakily. "You're clever, you're better than me, you're lightyears ahead of everyone else in combat, and the force of your will is strong enough to bend time and space itself. You’re truly amazing. What I don’t understand is why you’re so- obsessed with me, when I haven’t even done anything particularly… good. Yet.”

Windblade blinks rapidly.

"I don't want to die," Slipstream continues in a rush, "but I must do this. I'm sorry."

"Wait-" Windblade chokes, just as Slipstream rears back, plants a foot on Windblade's chest, and kicks her through one of the gaping, pixelated holes in the landscape.

"SLIPSTREAM!!"

She lands right back in her seat at Maccadam's.

"Windblade?!" Bumblebee squeaks. He scrambles forward from where he was standing in a circle, frantically discussing something with the other patrons. "Windblade!"

Numbly, she turns to look at him. Her audials are ringing.

"You disappeared- it was so weird, I thought something happened to you again- what-?"

"FUCK!!" she screams, and brings both of her fists down on the table with a crash. "It's not FAIR!!!"

Bumblebee jumps back. "Windblade!!??"

The fizzing of her optics floods her vision with light, the whole booth awash with blue. She buries her face in her arms and grits her teeth hard.

"It's not fair."

well you know its all the same if you play the game i will be ok

if you never know you cannot find an easier way

but it's still its still its still i never know where to go from here

but i dont know

i wont be ok if you go away from here

Sweatz - Mom