Chapter Text
If Soundwave didn’t have the self control and patience of a Prime, he would have eroded a ditch into the floor in front of closed lab doors from relentlessly pacing back and forth. Instead, he was posted like a guard, standing still and poised with an arm out laden with energon cubes.
Two for him. Three for the scientist inside. One for a minibot about to wake up for the first time since they left home.
It’s been a delirious few cycles.
The memories had blurred together and the monotony of it certainly didn’t help, but Soundwave could never forget how frantic he was peering over the broad shoulders of his obsession as his yellow fledgling slowly got taken apart and put back together. He didn’t think something as simple as repair could induce so much anxiety, dread, and paranoia. Not that he didn’t trust Shockwave’s skills—he was probably the only mech who could touch Buzzsaw and come out alive. It was just watching his dearest companion being meticulously flayed out, every appendage and component splayed wide open to be poked at while he couldn’t do anything, that was more horrific than he’d prepared his spark to endure.
Four rotations around this blasted planet where Soundwave was planted behind Shockwave like a haunting specter, data cables hovering ready to intervene if even the slightest wrong were to happen. A sight that would’ve sent weaker bots running and prompted fear in his compatriots.
Shockwave didn’t.
He worked no less skillfully than his reputation promised. Under a halo of LED lights, a hundred microscopic bits, tools, and instruments arose from the desk in a bloom, delicately handed by dexterous servos to pick and tinker at the minibot laid before them. A methodical affair. Itty bitty pieces meticulously teased open, charred components carved away, and frayed wires neatly tucked together with such clinical gentleness that it seemed almost reverent in its approach. The precision. The sheer expertise.
They existed like this for joors at a time, when Shockwave had time available and Soundwave made time. Silent save for the crackling buzz of solder and the tinking of metal.
Every so often, Shockwave would look around his workspace, searching for metallico alloy filament or a spare drill bit. His sprawling silver insectoid of a servo extended by the joints to carefully pick up the intended target. It didn’t take long for Soundwave to memorize what each item was for. When the engineer chose to use it. After all, to be logical is to be predictable. At some point, it became like a script he could recite with his optics closed. A rhythm so practiced that when Shockwave came to a juncture of connectors melted into a daughterboard, Soundwave’s cables had already reached for a new diode between careful prongs and offered it to be taken.
All operations paused. The unblinking red glow stared at the proffered part then turned to the mech that held it. Shockwave’s finials twitched outwards a fraction and Soundwave felt his soul retreat into the safety of nothing, suddenly prepared to get thrown out of the lab or scolded. For shame his self control was slipping.
That stare held for a murmur. Slowly, gunmetal gray digits came up and plucked the diode from the serpentine extremity’s grip. Shockwave dipped his helm in something similar to a nod.
“Thank you.”
Falling back into routine, he continued as if no one had interrupted him at all and that was the best flattery Soundwave could’ve received. Shockwave the genius had accepted his small help. He did good. His spark beamed within its chamber. A silly smile hid behind his visor and stayed there.
So he grew bold. When presented with the chance, Soundwave would draw a cable again, grab another switch or semiconductor, and lend it out before a word could be said. He honestly tried to limit his middling; avoid disturbing his affection’s labor that was so kindly gifted to him. He couldn’t. Not with how the cursorial glance would flicker over the part then gingerly taken to affix. The faint graze of claw tips. The way light glinted off the observation. Soon, Shockwave stopped checking for quality, taking the given piece without a tick of his neck. He trusted him. That was even headier.
Soundwave fed on the meager crumbs of attention, gladly savoring each piece. His hard drives amassed a hefty collection of these brief moments, chips and pictures filling the remaining free space he had available. Proof that he lived through it—he existed and was present for the experience. Allowed to integrate in with the optimal workflow refined through eons of effort by this brilliant talented mech. They were so seamless together, like two currents flowing parallel, a mirror of actions done in sync. The thought made his wires sing. Domestic, of sorts. If he wasn't such a hopeless romantic, he'd admit that his devotion was rational.
Oh, how he wished this could last forever.
Alas, when one conscripts the help of a diligent engineer, there comes the day when the project is completed.
The slender bot stood unmoving, tucked into the dim corner of the foyer, patiently waiting to be let into the lab where the tank had been locked away supposedly checking in on his cloning progress. Buzzsaw’s injuries were nearly healed, with some finishing touches left to be done, but Shockwave was sure that today they would take the minicon out of stasis. He’d asked in advance to have a cube of energon ready. The fuel left in the fledgling’s tanks must’ve dried out by now and fresh fluid helps flush out the internal buildup. Six cubes rested on Soundwave’s flat forearm while he mentally busied himself with important matters: deciding what memories to delete to free up some disk space. His spark whined at every selection that got thrown into the trash. He should find an external drive to offload these on.
Laserbeak quietly tweedled in his slot. [Give me?]
How precious. Soundwave scratched the compressed drone with his free servo and returned a negative ping. It was a kind suggestion but filling one’s storage to the brim brought slowdowns and lag, especially for smaller bots who only have a single primary drive. He’ll manage to lose a video or two.
Air seethed from the cracks of the doorframe as its hydraulics pulled the sliding door open, loud enough to make Soundwave’s figurative spirit jump. A rolling dense mist crawled along the floor stretching to new space and from the plumes stepped out pedes insoled with tank tires, footfalls heavy with purpose. Violet armored limbs then followed, a broad torso emerging like an awaking titan. Attached to it with thick cables came the glass faceplate that’s ever known to shine one color and the long helm of its owner.
Shockwave crested through the entryway, silhouetted by the hazy blue glow coming from within. He scanned around the hall, the foremost pair of finials ticking outward and back, and traced over to the corner, his optic locked onto the devoid mask of a face.
“Soundwave.” His ever-deep voice rumbled. “I apologize for making you wait. The Predacon experiment had encountered errors from prolonged inactivity that needed to be addressed.”
There was little chance to counter or insist otherwise as Shockwave’s focus quickly landed on the indigo arm still tabled. “I specified that Buzzsaw only needed one standardized serving of energon post surgery. Why do you have six?”
A part of Soundwave wanted to just melt at being acknowledged — at being seen — and it was actively dragging down the other half scrambling to give his obsession an answer. The screen over his faceplate flickered, a schedule grid dated for this week honed in today’s block. Glyphs flipped between different members until it stopped on one packed to the brim with lab work. Red highlighted blank spaces, presumably of where the engineer wasn’t holed up in his domain, that were few and far between. A sliver of white blinked for emphasis with a tag noted under ‘recess’ set way in the past as a flash of their scuffle in the desert accompanied two bars dropping.
‘Last known refuel: 5 cycle(s) ago.’
What could be interpreted as a huff left Shockwave’s vents. “My fuel tanks are rated to store 460 teraunits and my power consumption is relatively low. I do not require frequent fuelings.”
The words were dry but the slight waver in the pitch betrayed something akin to amusement. They weren’t an explicit dismissal. Humored that Soundwave could think he’d failed to keep aware of his own self-maintenance? Possibly. Yet Shockwave didn't seem to mind it too much as his fusion arm internally clunked and reformatted, then he pointed the open barrel at the flyer, a steady hum awaiting further notice.
Soundwave’s joints twitched. His processing cores fought off a deluge of messy feelings about this single interaction alone while he fumbled with his coordination to grab the scientist’s share of energon between lanky digits. The depositing into the wide maw of the canon was shaky at best. Three cubes disappeared, swallowed by the darkness inside the multipurpose limb. The nanoclick a sensor registered their presence, a motor ripped alive and crushed the quartzite casing with a flash of bright energy. Magenta biolights flared along the arm, pathing up and through the segmented pipe connection until it reached the cerebral port.
Shockwave held a far away look as if checking his fuel levels top off. More clunking; a gaunt servo returned in unfurling silvery fashion. A steady hum reverberated in his broad chassis. “I’m at 73.8% capacity. That’ll last me for two weeks, so you need not offer me energon for the foreseeable future.”
Soundwave remained motionless, except for a barely perceptible tremor that began at his fingertips and rose through his arm to his shoulder. His body swayed slightly, as if a breeze carried the whiff of fervent praise-induced bliss past him. It wasn't that he was offended or upset. Merely his systems were still in turmoil—over the simple task of handing over energon. The metaphorical grip he had upon his core units shook erratically trying to encapsulate his spark’s emphatic adrenaline rush. Oh Primus, he was screwed. If he couldn’t even manage a single moment alone without his thoughts betraying him, then what hope did he have in the long game? Why even continue to delude himself?
Honing on the contentment in the emotional flurry, he dipped his helm, forcing the bright crack inside him closed. A nod.
The scrutinizing look on the translucent glass face seemed to linger. For the briefest of instants, its gaze flickered down towards the slender bot’s center of gravity. Just for a beat or two. Then it swept upwards, alighting to where optics would be and lingered there. Shockwave lifted his main arm, gesturing into his lab.
“Let us not delay.”
Right.
There was work to do.
The best way to describe how Soundwave entered the open room would be scurrying. Fast enough to hide how unbalanced his gyroscopes were. Skittish enough to play it off as worry about his companion. Anything less and he feared his extremities would spontaneously detach from the stress. He rattled his CPU around, wrangling what processes he could to focus on the worktable a few steps away.
Buzzsaw as he last saw him: splayed out in a gross caricature of disassembly belly up with his pentafold wings outstretched to their limits, his entire undercarriage cleaved aside, and tangles of wires neatly tucked out of the way of major components. Still held up by the swarm of needle-like appendages from the bench’s fixtures, surrounded by instruments left untouched midair. Unmoving.
A disgusted cramp was quickly squashed under the approaching steps from behind. Shockwave’s strides ate up distance until he was firmly planted next to his station, looming over the awaiting patient. Despite his size, the way he attentively preened at the minicon’s innards, touch careful while probing his work with finetoothed patience, was nothing short of reassuring. Trust in his own skills: just checking if the lab’s hectic atmosphere somehow managed to hinder progress. Diligent as he was experienced.
His optic dimmed a breath with a gentle flick of finials. “There’s little left of the initial damage. My estimation: We'll be done within the joor.” Shockwave dealt the handler a glance. “Is that acceptable?”
Acceptable was a terrible word to represent this entire situation. Off the fact that Buzzsaw could — would — be awake again after so long effectively offline was indescribable. By extension, the rest of his minicons will soon be with him again, this was a blessing sent by Primus. Being able to work so closely with his infatuation on top of it all was a dream of which he had only dared dream. His dream came true. This was miraculous.
Soundwave nodded once.
With that, Shockwave grabbed hold of his instruments, a snap of arcing electricity due to the soldering tip flaring bright. Soundwave huddled as close as his logical chips allowed, his data cables releasing from his chest and idly waiting on either side of the tank’s vision. Like they were never apart in the first place.
The sight was hypnotic, the way the wide palm gripped the center of Buzzsaw’s metallic underbelly as it nudged aside an uncooperative panel. How he swept over the assembled bits with such practiced respect that it made Soundwave wish it was those sculpted servos upon his enamel instead—jealous of his own minibot, baffling. There was something so magnetic about the way Shockwave carried himself when he was engrossed in his work. His head tilted forward ever so slightly, the servos curling inward and joints acute like he was pulling strings. Whenever a cable came to deliver more filament, it was taken with precise swiftness between nimble digits, like plucking a feather. He should not be finding such aesthetic pleasure in a work environment. And yet he stared, entranced.
There Soundwave stood as Shockwave tinkered away. For how long, the spymaster couldn’t say. Any amount of time with him felt frighteningly short. It blurred together in a haze of silver, ochre, and violet reflecting off the shiny surface of the lab bench. Much like the memories he stored.
A click of tiny latches attaching various clasps.
Gears experimentally ticked around in freshly constructed housing.
Couplinks snapped together, twisting and engaging to a newfound rhythm.
The propeller tail jerked while its plating settled in with a ripple of biolights.
One by one, the underlying apertures retracted back into the placemat below, releasing their grip on the fledgling’s form and letting it naturally consolidate as a limp half-transformed sawblade. Two sharp digits urged the lopsided helm with a knock and the jaws oscillated their mandibles before the pieces locked in place. Servos almost kneaded the wing segments as they flexed open and closed, taking on the familiar serrated shape of a flying attack drone. Shockwave took his time flipping Buzzsaw onto his belly, easing the sleeping minicon to something like a plank, checking each vertebra all the while. A seal tucked behind the helm popped open at a little prodding, the cortex hardline port exposing itself to the room’s stale air. The tip of a finger grazed over the inlet to jumpstart the bot—
—Thick cables jerked violently, crossing over Buzzsaw in a protective ‘barrier’, the internal feelers hissing with electricity.
Shockwave, stoic as ever, swiveled his helm at Soundwave who was trying to rein in his extremities yet couldn’t help but cage around his companion. The redness brightened a smidge. “Is there something you want to modify?”
Curse his stupid reflexes. A simple nudge would’ve sufficed and how he’s made a whole dramatic show for nothing. Soundwave managed to reel a cable back to its compartment while the other snaked off, though it curled a bit around the little flier. Too fearful to face his obsession head on, he kept the tank within his peripheral as his full faced visor blinked on with images of his companions from the past in stasis. His lanky digits had approached to awaken them after procedures and without fail, each minicon would panic during resuscitation only to calm down in the presence of their caretaker. An equals sign compared the various reactions to him then it was crossed off when he wasn’t in frame.
“It’s–best for–Soundwave–to do–this.”
It wasn’t intended to be a threat, though it could be taken as one. For how Shockwave scrutinized him, it might’ve been a bit intimidating, but he didn’t comment nor rebuke. He simply moved aside and let the lithe mech practically coddle around Buzzsaw, choosing wisely not to intervene. His kibble twitched watching Soundwave fret.
Up close and personal, the feeble form of his precious was still a heartbreaking sight, but it was a far cry from what he had been four cycles ago. The repair was mechanically flawless. Tiny weld lines where holes used to be. Cracks patched up unbuffed with excess alloy ready for reincorporation when the body awoke. Shiny replacement parts stuck against the dull yellow finish not yet anodized. The seams were cleaned of leftover slag, rewired cogs and tubing stitched snugly in place. Aesthetically, there were still bits and bobs out of place—as if that subtracted from the staggering accomplishment of bringing the minibot back to function. Glorious this was. To be part of this recovery, to be trusted, and to have the mech of his obsession be the one who brought his small family home.
It felt surreal as Soundwave inched his cable closer to the bare neck — prongs splayed wide — the fiber cables reaching for the sensitive port. They probed with delicate sensibilities, connecting to every socket in rotation. When his appendage wound the plug and it clacked to attention, his spark froze.
A wave of latent electricity pulsed through the fledgling’s body. Crackles of it surged, seizing violently around the new fixtures, inducing spaztic twitching and flailing as it careened across the surface. The fuselage torso tried to thrash, unable to move far with the erratic zaps of current crippling any semblance of proper motion. It flopped wildly instead. The connective cords struggled to lift the cumbersome wings and dragged the edges along scraping against the silicone placemat. Panels in and out were convulsing at the joints. Its beak pinched whatever it could grab, nearly snapping off the jaws in the misfiring voltage. Garbles that escaped the vocoder sounded truly awful and grating. Like the static was being ripped out. Screams.
Soundwave’s entire frame jumped, panicking to stop the pain and further damage like past resuscitations before, and was promptly blocked by an arm the same size as him.
The limb stayed firm even while the increasingly frightened handler fiend aggression. Calm. As if this was expected. Shockwave kept his focus on the table, neither sentimental or demented in its luminance.
Whirring beneath the abhorrent screeches of metal gurgled loudly, the bodice lurching outwards with the alignment of transformation cogs, clattering together in a hiss of steam. Coil and pistons incited a starting rumble, controlled power reaching the motors and igniting a flurry of interlocking grates and crisscrossing girders. Monochrome alloy was getting colored in, electrolysis rendering all the enamel to that bright yellow on the cusp of gold. The clinched maw gaped a big languid yawn before the faceplate slid home among the compacting intake sections. Orange glowed from the seams as each panel nested with another, shaping out sleek yet sturdy. The wings — divisions stretched forth and undulated — briefly sheathed away the blades into their angular brackets. They swept open again with the raspy whine of a freshly restarted engine, starting up turbines that kicked off the remaining dust and debris.
The frame began to hover, righting itself as the last of the fragments slotted into the fuselage. It tipped almost drunkenly attempting to find equilibrium. Wobbling, a familiar rev ripped over the sound of the tail’s ailerons settling to neutral. A full bodied shudder rippled through each and every component one final time.
Beeps and various noises trickled from the minibot; codes for diagnostics and checks. Not a single error rang aloud.
There was a lull afterward where nothing dared to disturb the quiet reboot. It held the silence for a worryingly long time then, a feeble syllable chirped clear. The tiny incline slits for optics flickered thrice and brightened to the steady reddish copper hue. The next chirp cut off as if its sender realized how raw it sounded, warbling a rougher hum instead. His helm swiveled on the joint trying to take in his surroundings. He noticed the presence of bots and, even though his agility was shaky at best and his system hadn't fully onboarded yet, growled menacingly while flaring his sharp winglets in a poor attempt at a threat.
Buzzsaw was adorable when he tried to appear intimidating, his little pointy snoot bobbing erratically like it wanted to slice through the air. Moving. Breathing. Alive.
He was alive.
The exhaust that left Soundwave blew a hot swirl of wind around him, ventilation stuttering back to function after an unconscious pause of inaction. His sole focus honed on the fledging hobbling as he cautiously approached, the blocking arm now lowered and loosened away. Buzzsaw’s growling grew antsy the closer he got; still not identifying the indigo mech quite yet. Mandibles clacked with the beak to discharge a rather weak arc of electricity. How cute. It didn’t stop the spindly servo from reaching further until it brushed the folded pinions—tenative.
Soundwave’s spirit melted at the sight of his minicon retreating an inch but hesitantly accepting the touch and was promptly kicked out of it by Laserbeak rocketing out of his perch. The smaller bot practically sprinted to his sibling, so excited and rapt with energy, singing a lively series of notes while flapping amuck. Startled, Buzzsaw tried to hiss something fierce and couldn’t as he was smothered with pale navy wings. Either from recognition or was still too disoriented from just waking up to care, he begrudgingly allowed his kin to cavort over him like a hypercharged storm, tweedling a glum tone under all the noise.
A huff outside of the chaos on the workbench came short and muted. Humored, perhaps? If Shockwave found this whole situation endearing, he didn’t acknowledge it. His back fins merely ticced.
Once the spurt of joyful vigor ran its course, Laserbeak trilled and nudged the larger drone towards the still open palm of their owner. [It’s master!]
Buzzsaw remained resistant, fluttering within what little room he had, then stiffened at the digits scratching the edges around his collar. His optics were wavering as if his vision was attempting to make sense of the input they saw. Recognition was a blink slow in coming but when it did:
[Master?]
After forever, Soundwave could return an affirmative ping to that previously quiet frequency. A stream of rapid breathless cries poured out from the yellow fledgling unintelligible to his decoder, though it didn’t take words to understand the grateful relief and delight to see him. The feelings were mutual. Buzzsaw nearly scrambled up his handler’s flat arm, missing that spark signature touching him, only to flounder as his engines sputtered like they were about to stall.
“Soundwave.” Shockwave interjected. “The fuel.”
Oh right.
Buzzsaw must be starving.
A cable cord quickly unspooled and snatched a cube off the somehow still poised forearm, nudging it towards the saw’s intake with hidden urgency. The beak nipped a notch in the corner — crunching on the quartzite shell — energon dripping onto the placemat while Buzzsaw eagerly gulped it down upon sticking his entire face into the cavity. Gentle coos sloppily dribbled from his thorax, thankful and appreciative. It didn’t take long for his thrusters to stop faltering and his strength to even out. His color brightened to a healthy hue. He lifted off the supporting servo able to hover alone now, though he continued to inhale his drink greedily like he was going to shut down at any moment. No one would blame him.
Slowly, the cube was set on the table, tugging the ravenous attack drone with it until they were standalone and making a mess. The cable zipped back into Soundwave’s chest, too fond to interrupt or chide the fella for being such a glutton, his knuckle rubbing the dry bits of the helm.
More chittering; not from Buzzsaw. Laserbeak wriggled woefully while eyeing the energon with a glimmer of hunger. Two greedy minibots.
And yet, their owner indulged them anyway. Soundwave placed another cube next to the fledglings and singled out his pinky, using it to poke a tiny clean hole at the top. It allowed Laserbeak an inlet for his itty cords to extend into, sipping on the fuel happily through his nozzles, mandibles perched on the translucent edge. They warbled separate melodies drinking their fill like old times. This exact image from the archives of his memories, recreated in the present day. Reunited again.
Soundwave’s spark felt so full. His small family was one step closer to completion and that was more than he could’ve hoped for. He let his field open just a crack, threading what warmth could be transcribed to hertz around his precious bitlets—relief, piety, tenderness, etc. It all bled through anyway. Both bots chortled at the pliant graze of affection, singing back sweetened notes and reflected their own devotion in turn. He couldn’t stop smiling. It helped distract from the bite in his lower throat.
The fuzziness in his circuitry also distracted him from noticing the sharp servo reaching for Buzzsaw’s wing joints, who promptly squawked the nanoclick a thumb traced a centimeter of his fuselage. He and Soundwave snapped at the offending appendage, but only the officer realized that the motion wasn’t malicious, for the callousness came from a rather blunt nature.
Shockwave pulled back his dominant arm a fraction. “I did not mean to startle.”
The aura in his optic hadn't wavered at all: calculating, inquisitive, and utterly logical. He’d been observing and watching the recently awoken fledgling with an eerie focus, concentration set on running through the technical parameters, whether things had gone accordingly. His lack of pressure suggested nothing in particular was amiss. The engineer simply wanted to be sure as any respectable bot would. Gently so.
However, Buzzsaw did not perceive this insight and tried to bite at the servo that repaired him, screeching loudly and flailing.
[Buzzsaw.] Soundwave admonished. [Behave.]
Grumbles fell from the noisy drone’s vocoder as he peevishly huffed and returned to devouring his meal. This time when capable digits prodded at him, he hissed but didn’t move to attack again. That was enough leeway for Shockwave, gray tips preening through grooves and connections with an uncharacteristic sensitivity like he was a devoted caretaker instead of a surgeon. The sight was comical: a hulking tank with a wee mech in his grip. It almost seemed as if he was trying to caress or pet the poor thing, sifting through the etchings of the underbelly even as it squirmed. He inspected to his satisfaction, which was shorter than expected, and soon let go.
Clipped immediately.
With a subtle stir of kibble, Shockwave stood to his full height. His violet torso undulated, the gleam from the lab's desk lights catching at the clean angles. He loomed silently for a moment — pondering — then threw the spymaster a neutral look: the same calculating glare in that glass faceplate as before. Inquisitive. Questioning. Burrowing past the profound and the frivolous.
Soundwave found himself suddenly bared to the core without even doing anything. Being pried apart under a mere glance by his obsession’s scrutiny, it burned despite that he knew he wasn’t at fault. Unless Shockwave had sensed his field? The crack in his spark instantly sealed up. A precautionary measure; the thought of him being able to read it, what a horrible sensation. On the off chance his EMF could’ve been detected, it probably wouldn't have meant anything to a mech like him. Right?
All that rationality was chucked out the window when Shockwave took a step towards the Soundwave. What if, by some heinous luck or a trick of reality, the other mech had accidentally picked up on the warmth leaking from him? The answer forewarned a disaster. Panic gripped him for all of a few nanoclicks till the scientist spoke.
“Mechanically, Buzzsaw’s repairs appear to have been successful. I cannot find any fault in the resultant formatting.” The lower register of his vocalizer hummed. “However, I have reasonable concern for Buzzsaw’s psychological state. Long-term stasis causes the motherboards and primary circuits to atrophy and it causes drivers to lose data. Though functionality has been restored, there may be gaps in his personality and behavior.”
Ah.
That.
Not about the open EMF. Soundwave found little relief in that clarification, for of course there was a catch. Nothing in this world came easy. He’d done what he could to reduce those chances but fighting time is always a losing battle—he would know. Gaps in memory he could fill using his own data banks. Fixing the lapses in the minicon's psyche however, was a much taller order without a previous save state stored in an external installer and the remaining ones they had were being locked away for emergencies only. A stiff exhale left his vents. Buzzsaw recognized him; that should be enough.
A happy whistle lulled.
Both mechs turned towards the workbench again to see the fledglings still eating: Laserbeak quietly enjoying his energon while Buzzsaw pecked at the wet crumbs of his own after devouring it all. His dripping tripartite beak gnashed on the last morsel and swallowed with another pittering whistle. He stretched and puffed his frame in indulgence, though his attention eyed his sibling’s portion not yet finished. So the larger drone waddled over to Laserbeak who chirped a questioning note, then screeched as he was rudely headbutted away from his cube, letting Buzzsaw ravage the contents despite his kin’s whiney protests. Their wings batted and fluttered at each other in agitation, squabbling for fuel like little predators play fighting. Like old times.
Soundwave let a quiet snort slip through. “Buzzsaw: perfectly intact.”
He allowed them bicker for a little longer before using his arm to cleave a wall between the two, insuring the partially filled and cracked energon was with Laserbeak. Predictably, Buzzsaw made a massive fuss, chittering and flapping as if it were a personal slight against him. A futile attempt as the wall of metal blocked any further access to the spoils. No amount of tail wacks would make his owner move. The empty visage relayed a silent message loud enough that the minibot blustered off, bumped to tasting the drippings he left on the silicone surface.
“Unexpected.”
Another step forth and Shockwave was practically towering over him — oh Primus, that’s really close — bracketing in the slender mech with his bulk. It was a deep inquiring thrum. His main arm reached around as he leaned over the shoulder, his helm slotted far too easily through the square nook, digits brushing over the yellow belly where major components were sheltered away in an inquisitive motion. Buzzsaw still squawked but didn’t bother assaulting him. That dextrous servo curled in relaxed.
“For his cognition to be unharmed, you must’ve monitored him relentlessly during stasis. That’s a complex and time-consuming feat.” Shockwave tilted his transparent faceplate towards his officer, the glow coming through as hot as molten steel. “You did well, Soundwave.”
By the Allspark.
Soundwave had to lock his joints, his spark whipping a hurricane of flustered impulses inside his chest. The praise. The light breeze from the tank’s robust fans. A few simple casual words that made every servo, cable, and processor in him go haywire. He would’ve retreated but found his pedes pinned to the floor by something he couldn't pinpoint. Awe? Embarrassment? It didn't help that the violet arm, so gentle before now, settled next to his like a shield. For a single terrible beat, he thought the engineer might lean in closer, press into his mask, and—
Oh no. Absolutely not. He needed to get a grip! Yet all Soundwave could scrounge was an imperceptible dip of his chin; his neck was far too stiff to move smoothly.
Shockwave moved again, some form of shuffling, while now toying with Laserbeak now who’s taken to wrapping his tiny cord around the pointed pinky. Soundwave wanted to scream. But just as he braced for further torture, a sheety knock reverberated in the lab.
Their attention swiveled to the closed doors. A particularly tumultuous rev rolled through Shockwave’s body. “I’m not expecting guests today.”
Thank Primus. A distraction.
Without hesitation, Soundwave pulled up his maps, security footage, and sources to plaster all over his HUD and vision; anything to cover that spark stopping view. Live video feeds played around a topographical map of the Nemesis honed in at the laboratory, a single dot denoting the presence of another. It was tagged. A fellow high commander. His internal turmoil morphed into annoyance at the identification.
“Who is it.” That was an order if he’s ever heard one.
So he obliged and reflected what he saw out onto his visor: the still dot right outside named after their illustrious air commander accompanied a stream of a camera located in the hall corner focused on the slim limber seeker. His slate gray wings ticked in wait. Shockwave’s finials jerked at the sight.
“Ah.”
The lab doors reopened to the presence of Starscream looking hunched and wicked as ever. His heels clicked against the smooth floor as he invited himself in, arms crossed behind his back. Though soured, when he saw the two mechs coddled together, his expression loosened and he raised an optical ridge.
“Soundwave? Why are you here?”
Before said mech would respond with nothing as usual, Shockwave spun around and tread towards the lieutenant with a limbering gait, straightening to his full height. He stopped an uneasily short distance from casting a long dark shadow.
“I should be asking you that question, Starscream.” The devoid voice echoed loud. “I do not recall any scheduled instances for the next orbital rotation where your presence was required in my facility.”
Starscream’s face didn’t betray any alarm or fear, but his wings did; tipping lower and under. And yet he fixed his posture upright, sparing a servo to emote his words as he spoke with poorly masked disdain. “Well, Lord Megatron doesn’t need to log everything he does like you do.” He sneered, “I’m here because he has ordered me to speak with you about mobilizing your precious Predacon experiments for fighting Unicron’s spawn. The sooner that’s settled, the sooner I can do something productive with my time.”
Irritation riddled his field so much so that Soundwave could feel it poison his own temper into a gross ball of frustration. Or was that because his admiration had left him alone because they were disturbed by an unwanted pompous mech? It was hard to tell. Regardless of origin, he steeled his circuits and figuratively slapped his self control into shape, projecting an air of unfazed compose like he was infamous for.
An air Shockwave had no trouble reflecting. “You’ve made an unplanned visit at an inopportune time. I was busy.”
Another scoff. “Oh you’re always busy, Shockwave. With how often you hole yourself in this… dingy laboratory of yours, you should expect more drop ins if you insist on being difficult.” Starscream flicked his optics over to the other thin bot tucked farther back, squinting. “And what does being busy have to do with him?”
Those words were barbed with derision, insinuating something rather unsavory that didn’t exist. Or did it? Soundwave didn’t want an answer to that question. It irked nonetheless. He stayed dead silent and tipped his helm a degree to the left; the most he’d allow to grace that haughty expression. For all his faults, Starscream could read the spymaster’s mannerisms quite well and wisely chose not to press. His inquiry was answered anyway by several chirps in the background.
They turned back around to the worktable, the seeker craning his neck over purple and indigo armor, where the minicons were softly chattering placid beeps. At some point, Buzzsaw had hopped over his handler’s arm wall, but instead of claiming his kin’s fuel as one expects, he had let Laserbeak finish drinking his fill and was breaking the casing with is beak into tiny lumps for his sibling to nibble on. An utterly adorable display that was spoiled by someone’s peevish sputtering.
Starscream balked, his kibble twirling on the hinges, and intoned with a pitch suspiciously in disbelief. “Is that… Buzzsaw?”
At the mention, the yellow fledgling pipped his helm up, an intake covered in energon and full of crushed quartzite. He trilled a curious noise, bobbing side to side, peering at the visitor. More warbling. A strong flutter of realization. Then Buzzsaw screeched and barrelled towards Starscream as fast as his engines would allow, excitedly thrashing in the air with an innocuous whine, nearly colliding into his target.
To which Starscream also shrieked, forced to take a couple of steps back or else get a face full of wildly flappy wings, ducking and attempting to bat the drone away.
"AHH—YES—HI—" He continued to recoil as those peckish mandibles smeared a bright turquoise mess over anything they could affectionately nip; aka his face and adornments. “EW— Do not rub that filth all over me, you rambunctious little—”
Shockwave shifted his weight to intervene but was stopped with a neutral ping to his frequency. Soundwave met his gaze with a knowing dip of his neck. There was a certain spirit of understanding that came from working with another for many eons, even if the relationship was terse at best. The same way the seeker knew not to push his luck, the spymaster also knew how to read the harsh swatting at his companion. It wasn’t malicious. Nor was the shouting.
After Buzzsaw had burned through his charge and slowed to a resemblance of calm — still very vocal and jittery — Starscream was able to get a handle on the unruly minicon with one servo, the other dramatically wiping the energon drool off his faceplate. He rolled his optics and groaned. Though after cleaning himself, his razor-sharp digits clenched around the buzzing torso, a knuckle rising to the chittering intake, and it was promptly bitten. Another thumb descended on the now occupied maw and took that opportunity to scrub at the grime on the enamel before it stained.
“Stay still, you reckless youngling! I am trying to clean you.” Starscream chidded, rubbing away what he could to the point of polishing.
Buzzsaw growled despite relenting, chewing on the joint in mock revenge as his front half was wiped down until deemed satisfactory. Once released, he went back to zooming around the air commander, making giddy sounds and melodies to cheer. Starscream let out a sigh, the weariness in it buffered by a fondness as he gave the itty bot some wing scratches. A faint smile graced his visage.
“Yes yes, it’s nice to see you too.”
That’s why Soundwave wasn’t worried.
As much as he complained about their existence, Starscream had never truly harmed his companions. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to protect them in times of danger even though he denied it vehemently. The evidence was saved neatly in the Nemsis storage if needed. He always held a particular regard for the fledglings, typical seeker behavior liking anything flying related, and especially Buzzsaw. Those feelings were mutual, maybe more so as clearly shown.
It was a plain fact for their owner, but the knowledge must’ve baffled Shockwave because he hadn’t moved in a klik. The awkward pose he was frozen in looked quite silly like a mech trying to contort into the shape of a question mark; his center of mass askewed and slumped. He eventually fixed it with a stiffened jerk, in that same motion turning towards the officer, his optic wavering in intensity.
“Why does Buzzsaw take to Starscream so heavily? And why does Starscream allow it?”
There was an almost offended tone in that usually flat delivery. Uncharacteristically so. From anyone else, it’d be an understandable reaction. From Shockwave? He must be hallucinating. Oh he was really far gone. But it was still a question that needed to be answered and he would do so.
Soundwave collected himself, sifting through his stored memories and drives for some old clips during the war on Cybertron, all the same subject. They blinked onto his face, showing videos of times on base where he — and by proxy his companions — were stationed for the majority of the time. Footage of Buzzsaw, being the rowdy thing he was, often zipping around in the training range or playing with whatever mech was willing to indulge him. He would do tricks in the air, stunning flight maneuvers that entertained those who saw. However, he wanted to do better, so the fledgling watched the best flyer the Decepticons had: Starscream. To say he was a huge fan was an understatement. Any chance Buzzsaw had, he’d gun for wherever the commander was and hide somewhere while observing the happenings, eager to practice what he learned.
Of course, he got caught. Like his siblings said he would.
Yet instead of a tantrum and screaming at his owner for not controlling them well, Starscream found the situation quite endearing. He then personally started tutoring the minicon, giving tips only the elite most seekers knew for reasons even Soundwave wasn’t sure of. They gave each other good company, enough that Starscream even took the attack drone on some low-risk patrolling, evidently with permission. After the Great Exodus, he was the first to notice the lack of companions Soundwave had and looked genuinely distraught upon hearing his little buddy was in stasis for his injuries. The amount of pestering that came afterward could count as harassment.
The bond they forged was minor albeit positive. Soundwave had his reservations obviously, but it made his precious happy and cared for, so he allowed it. His screen clicked to black. Scarlet light bore into his face even though the slideshow was over. Its dreadful gleam, the genius mind behind it working at breakneck speeds trying to understand, analyze and dissect. Mildly terrifying.
Shockwave leaned back a smidge and his finials gave a hearty flick. “So it would seem.”
There was no time to ponder what that cryptic string of words meant for their attention swung back to Starscream and Buzzsaw, the two of them still trading playful wing flutters and taps. Though the seeker’s expression was pleasant, there was a critical sparkle in his optics that traced a line from the fledgling to the handler then the scientist. One could physically see the gears in his head moving and connecting the dots, his EMF leaching suspicion.
Starscream's gaze narrowed. “So, was this brave little guy incapacitated for eons because he was mangled into mutilation by our prized inventor for some horrid experiment or something?” He waved his servo melodramatically. “If I’d known he was here, I would’ve personally asked Lord Megatron to transfer him to Knock Out’s care.”
Everything he said rubbed Soundwave the wrong way. The intent was kind enough, but insinuating his prized possession suffered under his obsession’s machinations, assuming he’d let such a thing happen? Then, in the same breath, verbally backhand Shockwave and his skills while staking his claim for their liege. Only Starscream had the gall. But those remarks weren’t for him to scoff at if the side eye towards the tank signified anything.
Shockwave faced the commander head on, his entire frame towering and his frills spread outwards. When he spoke, it hit a volume that rattled his chassis. “For your information, I had no knowledge about Buzzsaw and his state of disrepair until last week. It was Soundwave who allowed me to work on him after his efforts proved unfruitful due the extreme damage. He stood by my station the whole time while we worked because I’m the one experienced in alien metallurgy and microapplications, not Knock Out.”
The scathing assertions could burn despite the hollowness in his voice. Soundwave just caught the word ‘we’ being used and promptly forgot all else, busy fanning the flames of adoration—he said we! It singed Starscream, the mech flinching back a bit though the reaction was masked with a well placed cough.
“Well, if Soundwave had specifically requested you then fine.” It didn’t sound fine by which he deflected.
He looked to want to quip more but Buzzsaw sang an interesting chime, mandibles clicking sparks, and got distracted with the minicon demanding affection. While they jested, Laserbeak glided to his handler’s side, also chittering and sparking though concerned instead, calling for signs of cognizance. Soundwave didn’t move a hair. It took the recon drone a few soft headbutts to the face before he responded with a slight jerk of his helm. His fans were blowing at full speed and heat spewed from his vents.
[Master okay?] Laserbeak quietly chirped.
Under the visor, Soundwave’s optics blinked rapidly as he reset his visual feed, rolling his joints out of stiffness. His central processing units swam with a myriad of diverging thoughts, information, and sensations. Oh he felt woozy. He barely managed a positive ping before clearing out all the gunk in his RAM. His frame felt warm and bordered on steaming if he didn’t have a rather aerodynamic build. This is how he got just by being mentioned as a plural with his desired—extreme measures might have to be taken.
A grumble emanated from Starscream as he wrangled the sawblade to a manageable flurry of chaos on one arm. “Your work is thorough as usual, Shockwave. Buzzsaw doesn’t waver like he used to.”
Doesn’t waver? Did he mean—
“I was already doing major repairs, correcting his third aileron in the process was only logical." Shockwave stated plainly.
Soundwave internally blustered at the mention. That explained why the fledgling struggled balancing for so long and still hasn't gotten used to it yet, though thoroughly too distracted to notice or complain. Any practiced flyer would recognize such disjointed flight patterns. But it wasn't supposed to be repaired. It was a sentimental injury, it should’ve stayed that way. Though he didn’t exactly specify what to fix and the scientist must’ve done as he saw fit. A sickening woe curled inside his thorax.
Finally perched on shoulder pads, Buzzsaw trilled as he was petted, leaning into the servo gleefully. Starscream used his pointed digits to preen at some hard to reach spots while exhaling. Exhaustion painted his features. Their liege likely put him through the ringer for last week's blunder.
“I would’ve thought you would deny his request.” He found the audacity to comment anyway. “This kind of reconstruction seems… beneath you.”
Shockwave tilted his helm down, optic flaring in intensity. “Perhaps. However, I do not see it as such. Soundwave is an essential component of the Deception forces and so are his minicons. Reconstructing them is of top priority. I would have offered my service had I been informed.”
“Oh?” Starscream’s voice arched up in pitch. Both his and his fan’s wings twitched in interest, his posture twisting around with ominous intent. “You never volunteer your time unless you’ve a… particular interest in the subject. Even Lord Megatron has to negotiate with you about scheduling meetings.” A glance out at the spymaster and a devious grin. “Is there a certain subject you’re trying to entertain?”
By the Allspark, Soundwave wanted to murder their air commander.
The thickly layered inflammatory assertions weren’t targeted at him. He knew that—he didn’t care. Despite knowing full well his feelings lay undetected, his every fiber in his being screamed at him to run and fight. Somehow right the metaphorical wrong that threatened his very life. As if his ventilation had higher settings, his fans accelerated in an erratic pace desperately trying to expel the fervor. He summoned an unholy amount of willpower just to stay still though his control was tenuous at best. Primus please, have mercy on his tainted soul. Give him any opening to leave or time to cool down. He could live without an answer so don’t—
“Whatever you’re insinuating, you’re incorrect.” Shockwave had relaxed his stance, an uncanny calm resonating as he spoke. “I do not hold any emotional attachment towards Soundwave nor do I wish to foster any. He is a highly valued asset and I do my duties as a member of this cause to ensure his survival. That is all.”
Ice cold.
Not a hint of inflection in his tone. He meant every word.
And it froze Soundwave to the core. Starscream snarked something else afterward, but not a thing crossed through the officer’s audials. His mind was stuck looping the same sentence over and over.
‘I do not hold any emotional attachment towards Soundwave nor do I wish to foster any.’
His systems glitched. That couldn’t be true. What were all those moments then, where they shared an intimacy most would whistle and smirk seeing it? That conversation where he explained how he understood feelings like stars. The praise, the jokes, the attention: could it all be attributed to the simple explanation of wanting to keep him safe? No. Shockwave was an intelligent mech who definitely held an awareness of sensitive topics. He knew how to tread carefully around them. He had to or else all of Soundwave’s memories were lies. The countless clips of them together were proof of their connection, that it was true.
Right?
Soundwave peeked at his adoration. The wide robust frame stood firm, purple enamel unlit under the dim lights, and the optic’s glow stayed the steady unfeeling red. Everything, down to the most miniscule detail about Shockwave, was expertly planned and executed for a reason. His actions always have intent with a window of resolution. So what did it mean when he didn’t look back? He wasn’t looking back. He didn’t look back at him.
Shockwave didn’t care. At least, not enough to stop talking.
His attentiveness came from practicality. Each gesture and sentence he gave could’ve held anything but its surface level meaning: the literal definition for praise, joke, and attention. What was underneath was a hollow devoid space where no one should’ve gone looking for comfort. Yet Soundwave the fool did and was now tormented by the revelation.
It was not affection.
It meant nothing.
Shockwave only helped him because it was his job.
His wailing spark ignited a firestorm. Warnings. Flags. Errors. Hundreds of them flooded his vision noting failures and the accompanying datalogs. A sudden rigidness seized Soundwave’s body like a heavy weight inside him poured into each crevice. He tried to grab his clavicle and—he couldn’t move. His frame refused to budge on command. His fans were starting to stutter.
Oh no. This can’t be happening, not here.
All the information cluttered his available RAM and it felt like he was treading through tar attempting to troubleshoot in mass. Notification boxes cluttered his feed with glyphs he couldn’t read. Unable to make sense of the static he was hearing. A ball of heinous pain thrashed in his tanks. His fluid lines were scorching hot throughout every meter from limb to limb and he could do nothing. He was stuck in his own body as it began to burn alive. Shreds of consciousness clung onto whatever it could ground himself—the floor, the air. The idea that no one could know about his impending doom. He must maintain the illusion of dispassion. Had to.
Stillness. Stillness was his superpower. He had learned the subtle art of holding back over the many vorns he had been online. Silence became him as well now. Soundwave shut down his minor functions, limited power to nonessential components, and locked kernel access behind walls of encryption till he was the sole driver of his frame. Even as his innards were melting, even as his processors were incapacitated, he projected indifference. Nothing but cold, unfeeling indifference. For that was what he was, or so he wished to convince them.
Its rampage took a plunge as the power source was bottlenecked to the point of self inflicted stasis. His sight went splotchy. All his sensors went dull. And the internal pressure broke under the strain, enough that he managed a step forward. That’s all he needed.
A crackly recall alarmed both his companions and forcibly dragged them to slot on his chassis; Laserbeak perched without complaint while Buzzsaw hollered confused. They shrieked as they touched down onto their owner’s searing armor, wanting to flee but were trapped in by clamps. Soundwave wanted to cry. The other two mechs were probably giving him odd looks, he paid no mind. Their reactions didn’t matter. His reaction didn’t matter.
With sheer force of will, Soundwave puppeted his legs to stalk out of the lab, not bothering with goodbyes or manners. He moved on autopilot, blind to the world besides knowing how to put one ped over the other. The grip on his cores shook as he traversed, his precious companions screeching for their owner to respond and receiving silence for their loyalty. This was worse than torture. Shuffling through the fog of bloated thought, it felt like forever until he reached the familiar door of his habsuite.
The nanoclick the it opened, he fell to the ground and convulsed violently.
Misfiring electricity surged through his shambling body, making him writhe like he was being tased. All bets were off. It ripped every motherboard in him a new level of agony. His plating flared and spasmed, joints trying to pry themselves of him. Soundwave thrashed on the cold metal floor, helpless. He lurched as if something had grabbed him by the scruff to scrape him clean. Primus was merciful as the clamps weakened enough to let the fledglings escape, though they couldn’t do much other than watch their handler seize and sob for him.
His fans gave a horrific crack, stuck. Something was stuck inside him. So his unrelenting anguish continued, throwing his feeble frame around to collect dents, tears, and lacerations from himself. It choked him out. A blockage in his throat wrenched through its barbaric war path inch by inch. The semblance of control returned to claw at his neck, making wheezing gags escape the tiny airway he had.
Boiling hot.
Soundwave was overheating.
Smoke wreathed his vents and clouded his senses, lightheaded with a lack of energon and coolant. His awareness was fragmentary at best and it held a lone thought: he might perish here. Optical fluid couldn’t drip down his face and dried up before it reached his chin. He couldn’t. Not in front of his cherished family.
Pain raked through his whole build when a savage kickstart to the chest sent him dragging across the ground into a wall, arms tucked together as the clot shattered on collision. Out spat stones of lavender crystals nearly splitting his mask from the projectile force. It was a cascade of jagged fragments that eviscerated his maw soaking wet and bloody. Chucks far larger than any previous attack spewed from their one vantage point, crippling their victim to a hunch shell of a mech as wave after wave they stormed and decimated the living metal in the wake. Pinched croaks only foretold another purge of crystalline misery.
Time plays dumb in situations like this. Soundwave lost track of it — lost track of how long he was vomiting for — until his backup systems forcibly reset and he could actually perceive his surroundings, barely. The first thing he felt when he came to was a disgusting aching ejection of his tanks, launching a spray of crystals and fluid onto the floor. His frame shook madly as he hacked up a storm, optics watering. He immediately whacked his chest in a vain attempt at stopping this cruelty and was rewarded with more regurgitation.
Nausea dominated his perception even as he finally breathed in a whole breath, his fans whining at max capacity. So Soundwave laid there strutless for a while, occasionally coughing and gasping then throwing up fistfuls of fragments.
This was different. Worse than bad. Truly awful.
His mental state was in shambles, and not for the first time did he wonder why it had to be like this. Some great power above him was torturing him, twisting his soul into knots because he’d made the mistake of falling for an emotionally neutered mech. Another spew of shards tore through his intake.
The taste was vile, yet it’s what was left on his glossa: unprocessed fuel and waste oil.
Soundwave hurled off the flavor alone. Thank Primus for small miracles as each retch came out with less and less to destroy his mouth with. By now, he merely spat flakes of what was once a massive crystal lump. Speaking of, as his vision refocused, he gazed at the grandiose mess he made: a pool of energon as big as he was spread slowly across the ground, piles of rocky lavender accumulated into small mountains of crushed minerals, and were smeared sporadically in various directions. The wet sludge clung to the enamel on his legs, torso, and arms as bright blue streaked him like a sparkling’s first paint job. His servos found themselves shoved into his regurgitated filth not by choice and warm liquid dripped from his faceplate in grotesque oozes.
He might as well have died; it wouldn’t look any different.
His subroutines had cleared the majority of the warning flags away, leaving the critical logs open to be previewed— except for one:
{CRITICAL WARNING} FUEL_GAUGE: Low Fuel Level Detected. Consumption Rate: 2.19 teraunits per klik. Remaining Fuel Quantity: 6.83% (5.8 of 80.6 teraunits). Refueling is recommended immediately.
Of course.
He was lying in the energon that was just in him after all.
An exhausted exhale deflated Soundwave, unable to care that he was dirtying himself further. He lulled his helm back and was met with a terrified Buzzsaw over him huddled on the corner of the berth, scared out of his wits but wanting to stay close to his owner. Poor thing. Barely online for a joor after vorns in stasis and he sees this catastrophe happen. Soundwave wanted to cuddle him close and assure him he'd be fine, but his frame denied every part of that request. A weak ping was the best he could do.
Buzzsaw cheeped quietly, hesitant to graze an assuring nuzzle against the tip of his handler’s helm. [Master… no.]
As if his fading spark couldn’t break more. It hurts to move. It hurts to think. More trills. Laserbeak fluttered each time he nudged a cube of energon closer to the berth’s edge. Oh his soul wanted to collapse.
[Drink.] His fledglings warbled, urging with little headbutts to the cube almost tipping it overboard. [Please drink, master.]
Soundwave couldn’t deny them no matter how hard he tried, so he mustered unstable strength to reach up and let gravity drop the fuel into his servo. It’ll take him a while to nurse this portion with shaky motor controls, he expects to spill half the contents out before it could make it to his split lips. It’ll have to do for now.
It has to.