Archive of Our Own ^beta

The nights have gotten colder, frost wearing heavily upon the various hinges and bolts responsible for keeping his limbs functional. Every new creak gives him pause, a threat underlying his every movement. His only reprieve is the fleeting warmth of the buildings he’s allowed in whenever he’s needed. The two dolts have taken to docking themselves in whatever nook and cranny they’re able to squeeze into, their wings struggling to keep up with the harsh, biting winds that blow in from the north. They’ve started to spend their time offline more often than not. Ravage doesn’t blame them. If anything, he’s a little envious. But there’s still much work to be done, so he doesn’t allow himself more than a moment to lament his current situation.

Click-click. The stones are cold under his feet. He keeps walking. It’s all he can do, really. Besides, the small bag of energon goods tucked away in his mouth is a more pressing matter.

A little space carved on the outskirts of town is his destination. A little space they’ve made their own, tucked away from the eyes of others. There’s not much to it other than a few rags they’ve scavenged, but it’s theirs.

Stilted words trip over each other as Ravage approaches the shivering mech before him. His babbling is all incoherent to the mechanicalized animal, but he knows it means something to the other, so he keeps quiet for now, merely observing.

The navy mech is all twitchy, tossing and twisting himself to-and-fro, as if paranoid enough to believe there’s someone out there to give enough of a damn about them to attack. But there’s no one there – there never is, not even in the shadows of the leering buildings. Nobody bats any eye for scrap metal.

The words continue, Soundwave drumming out an unsteady rhythm on his arm as he rocks himself forward and back. Ravage doubts he’s even conscious of the motion. A hollowed-out doll of a mech uncertain of who he is. One that feels oh so much, unable to figure out where one trail leads nor where it begins and ends. The world’s feelings are his, indistinguishable from his own, leaving a sickly mess that spills out from between his servos with ease. Jumbled together, dyed in similar hues, all spanning a distance he might not even be aware of.

Ravage has never been the most empathetic of creations. He prefers to keep things under lock and key, secure and hidden. It gives you leverage when everyone thinks of you as some droll and useless mech unable to do much more than obey orders. He sees. He listens. For now, that is enough.

But there’s something there. Looming. Tense. It’s the echo of an emotion, thrumming along in tune with his spark.

Contemplating for a moment, Ravage analyzes the emotion with scrutiny. His processor has identified and provided a name for such a feeling easy enough, but he can’t help but ponder. It’s not quite contempt for Soundwave he feels, even if the mech makes their energon supply dwindle more than comfortable. That makes sense; useful or not, the mech is half-mad, and there’s nothing a Functionalist loves to mock more than a bot they’re unable to understand. So no, it isn’t contempt Ravage feels. But it isn’t quite pity, either.

Soundwave isn’t even at the ranks of a mechanical animal such as himself in the eyes of the government. They would gladly throw out every outlier in the world for little gain. They’re all nothing more than plightful stains left out in the cold to rot and die in such a disgraceful, depersonalized manner that only ever earns a dismissive shake of the helm. No glance would be spared for such an end, no matter what dolled-up words dribble past the lips of those deemed worthy. A pity in itself, yes, but Soundwave deserves something better than such frivolous inaction.

“It’s been a few cycles,” Ravage says at last, placing a paw on the other’s thigh, tail flicking. Agitated. Why, he’s not entirely sure. “You know that, yes?”

He doesn’t like being ignored, never has. But patience is a virtue, and patience is needed in abundance if their arrangement is to work. The visor makes it difficult to track Soundwave’s attention, but Ravage knows he’s listening. Listening and picking all the sensory input apart until what remains is a single voice.

Soundwave doesn’t so much flinch at the contact. He probably heard him coming many turns ago. “A-affirmative. Ravage: absent.”

A coil of pride ignites in the mechanical beast’s spark. “Good, good. Very good. Do you know how many cycles it’s been?”

This little experiment of theirs hadn’t been by choice, but to the Pits with it all if he isn’t going to take advantage of it. The kid needed to learn how to stabilize himself and be grounded in reality. Progress was so far small, but there. All Ravage had to do was push it further and further until something inevitably gave.

Paint-chipped servos tighten their grip on shaky legs. The outlier’s field—always active, always moving—pulses with confusion and various other emotions that find pleasure in bleeding through. They twist and intertwine with that confusion, inciting mumbling and erratic movement.

“Focus!” Ravage snaps, punctuating the word with a flash of teeth. “You’re doing it all wrong: trying to shut out all the stimuli won’t do you any good. It’s all a part of you. You can’t get rid of it, so why try? You need to learn to prioritize the information that matters. Listen – truly listen – and focus on me.”

Truthfully, Ravage isn’t sure how good his advice actually is. He’s never had to coach someone else through such things. It doesn’t help how… obtuse, Soundwave is. He hasn’t had the proper socialization with other mechs to really understand the many facets of deception, fields, emotions, and everything else the world has to offer. All he can see them as is a threat pressing down on him to a degree that’s overpowering. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw being here is normally a sort of assimilation method.

Stupid weather.

“F-fo…”

The word barely starts before trailing off, inane words following suit. Still, Ravage attempts to keep a hold on his emotions.

Soundwave shakes himself. “Focus: difficult. But possible. Cycles… it’s been… four, since you were last here.”

It’s muttered with gritted teeth. Ravage smiles all the same.

“What’s your fuel level looking like?” he asks, nudging the small gift forward as he does so. It’s not much, but he figures it’ll at least keep their little mishmash team operating for a good while yet.

The gentle rocking continues, yet Soundwave’s hesitation only lasts for a klick or two. “Level: satisfactory.”

“Not what I asked.”

The other doesn’t dignify that with an answer, much to the beast’s annoyance. Instead, he asks one of his own, “Laserbeak and Buzzsaw: okay?”

“They’re just fine,” Ravage answers, snorting a bit as he recalls a moment from earlier today. “Pissed off a Senator real good, but they’ll all live. Nothing stops those bird brains, not even a little cold.”

Soundwave nods a bit, distracted as he picks at the energon. It’s the awful cheap stuff, sticking and leaving a bitter, almost foul taste behind. The kind of sweets meant as a chaser for high-grade rather than something you ingest for fun.

Ravage has to stop himself from examining the bigger mech’s frame too closely.

Grabbing one of the thin rags, he clumsily pulls it over Soundwave, who by now has gone back to picking at his servos, bending them a bit. It’s not exactly healthy, but the incessant rambling hasn’t picked back up.

As Ravage begins to curl up into his side, one of the cubes is offered up to him. Its smell alone churns something inside.

He eats it in one bite.

The corners of Soundwave’s mouth tug up in a small smile.

The shivering of his frame jostles his own, yet he makes no means to move. He’s exhausted after such a long day of measly jobs for little reward. He can stand to rest for now. But not before keeping his audial processors running, eager to hear the deep sounds of recharge beside him.

Fools – every last one of them. They were all fools for failing to see the potential in someone like Soundwave. Odd as he was, he was intelligent and inquisitive beyond anyone else Ravage had ever met. He was constantly taking in and recording information, storing it and adapting. Nothing unclear went unbothered either, query after query keeping him busy and fumbling with poorly-executed explanations.

Soundwave was a weapon, an asset. One waiting to be honed and refined. To a degree, it’s a blessing that lowly mechanimals like themselves were the ones to find him. For their sakes and Soundwave’s own.

Ravage has never been much for empathy, but it’s all too easy to imagine a better world in which he can offer up more than a few energon sweets. A world that would treat Soundwave with the kindness he deserves, wrapped in warmth that will keep him deep in recharge. Too many times Ravage has been accidentally kicked away.

Optics dimming, processor slowing down, he gives a small smile as he hears familiar chirping. Small bodies press in close, seeking and providing warmth to their newfound companion.

Change won’t happen overnight – it might not even happen at all. But still Ravages vows to live to see such a world where the four of them can know of things like contentedness and peace. Acceptance.