Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This solar cycle was a special one. No, it wasn’t a forgeday, nor an anniversary. Nothing so spectacular. It was the kind of solar cycle you anticipated, albeit with bated breath.

The kind Blitzwing didn’t look forward to.

His monocular adjusted pointlessly as the sound of a guard rapping on the glass of his cell ripped him from his dissociative fit. How annoying. He focused on the femme, normal optic giving away his disinterest. Not that he was hiding it, of course.

“Look online, your escorts will be here in a cycle.” The femme droned through the speakeasy, eyeing her datapad.

Whirr

Not being able to capitalize on wording jokes was his own personal hell, but he could still laugh at the offending bot. She clearly got the joke, if her annoyed optics staring him down was anything to go by. A reaction was a reaction, and his sides hurt from howling at his own dumb joke. 

“Eugh, say your prayers or whatever, soon I won’t have to listen to this scrap anymore.”

And with a slam of the speakeasy he was alone again, his mad giggles dying down.

Whirr

He’d be lying if he said this was unexpected. The second he enlisted he was damned to the pits, the then seeker just hadn’t realized what he’d done. The surprising part was how long he lasted. Blitzwing had been shot at, blown up, gutted and experimented on, blown up some more, and even managed to keep himself from getting it over with. The thought of his resilience didn’t exactly give him any reassurance. His death would be a public mockery; honorless, pointless, just another evil Decepticon helm rolling. Nobody would remember him, not really, and it hurt like the pits. He could only hope the helmsman’s axe was sharp. 

The triple changer figured it’d help to use his last moments before the trial to recount his time in Vos. Maybe those memories would come back now.

Of course, he couldn’t do any thinking with the group of chatty guards that rounded the corner. They all looked particularly young, younger than him, and by the way their ‘leader’ stopped at his cell, those were his escorts. The apparent leader of the group opened his cell, an odd pair of cuffs in servo. He tilted his helm, indicating his question. The smaller mech vented deeply, trying to look intimidating. Blitzwing snorted. The mech stumbled.

“I won’t- I’m not dragging the dead weight of a warframe around. Don’t try anything, you won’t be able to do any complex movements.”

The mech had just locked the new cuffs by the end of his explanation, moving to pull Blitzwing to his pedes. To the larger mech’s surprise, standing up came with relative ease. So did walking, and, when they made it to the transport, light stretching. As it turns out, he could get away with much more than he’d been led to believe, likely due to his size. The bots around him seemed pretty confident in their ability to keep him contained, despite the very obvious size difference.

He took note of their leader. A young bot, probably post-war, new recruit for certain. Combat ability was likely limited to what he learned in boot camp, which was nothing compared to a mech who had been fighting for nearly his entire life. Sparing a glance at the rest of the team told him the same could probably be said for the rest of them. 

Funnily enough, Trypticon Max was rather far from the Courthouse. Then again, Tryp Max was awfully far away from anything that allowed civilian access, but it was surrounded by quite a bit of military buildings. A glance around told him that he was quickly approaching the shuttleyard.

He smirked under the gag. Oh, how did that Earth metaphor go?

Like taking candy from a baby.

The triple changer lazily lifted his cuffed servos in an overhelm stretch, waiting until the guards relaxed some before turning to the fastest-looking bot, and let the full weight of his bound servos crash into the small bot’s helm, leaving a nice dent and knocking them out cold. He grabbed them and spun on his pedes, using the momentum and the bot’s dead weight to topple the next guard, throwing them both off the speeding transport. The leader spun on his pedes and whipped out a small remote. He didn’t want to know what it did, but he assumed the worst, so he lept and crashed right into the smaller mech, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a blur of tan and deep blue.

Whirr 

He stopped their rolling short by planting his servos on either side of the bot’s helm, the chain from the cuffs pulled taut against the mech’s neck.

The only time he’d seen a bot’s optics go that wide was when they were certain that Blitzwing was going to rip their throats out with his denta, which he usually did. Unfortunately, his denta won’t be tasting spilt energon with the gags still fastened on all of his faceplates. The mech under him could barely speak, paralyzed entirely by fear. Wide blue optics watched as the large mech slipped the tip of his pede onto the cuff link, right next to the Autobot’s audial, and yanked. Hard .

With a deafening toink , the chain snapped. The guard, having not even moved an inch, was full-chassis shivering, sputtering prayers to Primus as Blitzwing stood over him, the ‘Con’s optics giving away his otherwise hidden grin. Large servos curled their digits around the bolts on either side of the first gag, wrenching them out with little effort, massive shoulders shaking with the giggle that erupted as the gag fell to the ground near the smaller mech’s helm with a dull thud . 

A long, deep purple glossa licked his jagged lip plates, his scarlet grin growing wider. The royal blue mech almost passed out, so Blitzwing met him halfway and knocked him out cold, making a break for the shuttleyard, leaving two more gags behind him.

It’d take an entire megacycle for anyone to realize he’d never made it to the courthouse.

--

Just like old times, Bee thought, finding himself once again chasing after the massive Triple Changer. He figured that, as an Elite Guard officer, it was probably bad form to shudder at the realization that even if he did manage to catch up to the mech, he, still, barely reached past Blitzwing’s hips.

Even worse, probably, was to recall the fact Sentinel specifically sent him to deal with the escapee because the memo that said he’d been assigned as a Prisoner Escort for the ‘Con had gone missing. That part wasn’t his fault, actually. He legitimately never got the memo, nor did he know any of the Decepticon court dates aside from Megatron’s. Chinhead Magnus just takes every mistake as a personal attack, so there he was.

In a dinky cruiser, with a slaggy crew.

Following a slightly less dinky shuttle, piloted by an unhinged mech.

Making his way through space, dead-smack in the middle of whackaft nowhere.

Oh yeah, this was going to be fragging fantastic. Primus help him.

Bumblebee considered the ‘crew’ he’d been so generously given by his oh-so-thoughtful Magnus. His optics landed on Smokescreen, a somewhat built royal-blue mech that stood a pede taller than Bee, decorated in red and yellow decals. Smokescreen was a mech after his own spark, preferring an Earth-inspired sports car as his vehicle mode. Based on how he held himself around even the smallest of bots, Bee figured he was fresh from the academy, using honorifics with an admiring twinkle in his optics. He’d been assigned Blitzwing’s escort like Bee, and was one of the last to see the mech. Smokey still had some light scarring around his neck cables, a small dent on his helm, and shook like a leaf at large shadows. He’d probably never get over that, Bee mused. He’d have to keep an optic on the mech in case he froze during a fight. 

His optics flitted to the short, stocky medic hobbling about the ship. A medic was a given when going after a Decepticon that could crush a bot’s helm between his upper stabilizing struts with ease. Enter Remedy. Supposedly, the white-and-red mech was older than Ratchet, but he looked way too young. The fact he was probably the only ‘bot shorter than Bumblebee didn’t really help his case, and that was likely a jab from Sentinel. The kind smile on the mech’s face plates made him uneasy, he’d only ever let Ratchet check his wounds if he got any, Bee taking it upon himself to do all of his own minor medical work. Anyone but the  grumpy medic just felt...wrong. Bee didn’t know how to feel about the cheery minibot, nor his 'customer service' smile.

Low grumbling drew his attention to Frequency, the pilot and designated engineer. He’s certain there isn’t a single klik that goes by where the monoformer Empurata isn’t cursing the ship out their exhaust port. They kind of unsettled Bee, mostly because the only other Empurata he'd had the pleasure of meeting happened to be Shockwave, not to mention the mech's- femme's?- bot's obvious tech-born anger issues. Three times in the past five cycles Bee was absolutely certain the pilot was going to put a tri-taloned servo through the monitors in front of them. Frequency was clearly used to piloting vessels that weren't utter fragging garbage, and Bumblebee didn't blame them. He decided to tune in to their ramblings-

“Fragging piece of slag model 75C-V2XS why in the name of Primus do they still have this fragging obsolete slagheap of an OS-”

-and quickly tuned out. Lots of jargon, lots of cursing. He got the picture: tiny oldaft ship with oldaft controls. Most likely not talon-friendly.

“-Sir!”

Bumblebee did not squeak. He whipped his helm around to face the other mech. Smokescreen shifted on his pedes, refusing to make optic contact.

“Erm, I was wondering how we were gonna transport the fugitive- I mean, I've been reading through his file and- I think he may be too big to fit in hull. Um, sir.”

The mech shifted uncomfortably as the ship went silent, the crew waiting to hear Bee's answer. He exvented.

“I'm going to be honest with you guys, our Magnus probably thinks we're going to get offlined before we even come close to getting that far.”

A pregnant silence followed. Frequency broke it with a reset of their vocalizer.

“...Approaching fugitive vessel, four cycles.”

The entire crew shot up to take a look at the display. Not far in front of them was a slightly smaller yet better maintained single-passenger shuttle, containing one fugitive Decepticon triple changer. The cruiser wasn't equipped with weapons, being a peacetime vessel, so they needed to get close enough to dock. 

Oh yeah, they were so fragging dead.

This conclusion was solidified when the shuttle turned tail and came at the cruiser at ramming speed.

“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” He screeched, instantly knowing the piece of slag couldn't move away in time.

It certainly didn't stop the pilot from trying to minimize damage, thankfully. Instead of ramming the ship dead-on, a deafening screech filled the ship as the smaller vessel scraped the side of the old cruiser. Bumblebee could almost hear the maniacal laughter of Blitzwing's crazy face. Smokescreen instantly dove for cover under the console with a yelp. Remedy did a quick visual scan for injuries among the crew, exventing lightly as he found none. Frequency just looked annoyed. 

“FUCKING AFTHAT!” Bee screamed at the madmech, knowing full well he couldn't hear him, and that Blitzbrain was probably the only one who knew what ‘fuck’ meant.

When the other vessel caught on something and wouldn't detach, the shuttle's thrusters kicked on full blast, sending both ships spiraling right into an asteroid field.

“What the- I can't- how are his thrusters better than ours?!” Frequency wailed, failing to pull the ships out of the field's path. They jolted back, as if disgusted. “The slagger tore out our FRAGGING MAIN THRUSTERS! ”

“Like ours were any good to begin with!” Bee shrieked, checking the stellar map for something- anything to attempt to land on. He had half the processor to shut off the alarms. They knew the ship was fragged, didn't need sirens blaring in the background. 

The first asteroid slammed into the conjoined ships like a truck, nearly throwing Bee like a ragdoll. A glance at their medic trying to coax Smokescreen out from under the sparking console told him that all medics seemed to have electromagnetic powers, as Remedy stood his ground, glancing to Bee.

“I believe it would benefit us to turn off the simulated gravity, Captain.”

Oh, right. That'd definitely help. 

A small yellow servo weakly pulled the switch to the gravity simulators off, the crew beginning to feel the effects of weightlessness, sans Remedy, who was safely attached to the floor, humming as he pulled Smokey out from under his not-quite-safe cover. This felt familiar, and not in a good way.

This is about the time where Megatron appears out of nowhere.

On cue, another asteroid crashed into the ship, the force of the impact lessened greatly. Frequency groaned.

“I’m calling it, we’re all fragged.”

Bee wanted to argue, but snapped his jaw shut. They weren’t wrong. 

A fast-moving asteroid hit them dead-on, sending the conjoined ships hurtling in a random direction. He figured it best to curl up somewhere Remedy designated ‘safe’ and force himself into emergency stasis. 

He’d rather offline in recharge.

Chapter Text

“ -blebee !”

He jolted out of stasis with a start, engine sputtering. The warnings on his HUD blinded him for a moment, too many of them popping up all at once to be able to read, so he swatted them away. Not that it helped much, it was incredibly dim in...wherever he was. He let out a pained groan as he sat up, feeling servos on his shoulder plating. Bumblebee onlined his optics -with some resistance- to see the normally cheery medic staring at him with a mortified expression before it melted into relief. Remedy held the sides of his own helm, chuckling lightly.

“Everyone’s online. Good, good. That’s- that’s great, ahah, good- how are you feeling, Bumb- Captain?”

Bumblebee felt the right side of his helm, feeling a new scar. No wonder his processor hurt so much, not to make light of his full-chassis pain.

“Well, I’m online. That’s all I can really hope for. How’s Smokescreen? Frequency?”

Remedy gave him an odd look before he hobbled out of the way, revealing a roughed-up Smokescreen and Frequency cradling an energon-stained arm. They looked rather smug.

“I’ve felt worse, hones-”

“I thought you’d been offlined, sir! There was energon everywhere, and- and you’d been in stasis for over- for over-”

Bee rolled his optics, flicking away the not-quite-dry energon that now stained his digits. “You bleed more from the helm. It’s not a big deal, Smokey. And I’m glad you’re well enough for sarcasm, ‘Quency.” The pilot nodded to him, the cadet still fidgeting, bright optics flitting between the medic and his commanding officer. Bee turned to the former, looking him up and down. “How about you? I thought I saw a limp.”

Remedy nodded with a sad smile, pointing to his freshly sealed wound. “My joint was dislocated and bleeding, but I’ve popped it back into place and sealed it, so I’ll be alright, thank you. I was more worried about you...”

Bumblebee exvented, getting up and looking around the dimly-lit cavern he’d woken up in. 

Or, he would’ve, if the searing pain and general unresponsiveness in his left stabilizing strut didn’t immediately send him back to the cold, hard ground with a resounding clang . Remedy shot him a concerned look.

“...Uh, Doc, what’s my status? Medical-wise, I mean?”

The Medic clasped his servos together, gaining an incredulous expression. “About that! Your entire left side sustained heavy damage, most non-vital parts are either paralyzed, or going to be from improper care. I had a pit of a time trying to pop out obstructing dents and preventing things from tearing right off! I am fearing for the future of your pain receptors, and extremely disturbed by the fact you didn’t seem to notice!”

Bee cracked a weak smile, now noticing the telltale resistance from his left faceplates. “I guess me worrying about my teammates never stopped being a hell of a painkiller, huh?” Except this time I don’t have a miracle cure waiting for me, he thought miserably, testing his left limbs and wincing, much to Remedy’s obvious dismay.

Frequency hummed and trotted over to a pile of ship parts, likely from the trashed ships, and hopped into a spot they’d made in the middle, clearly not interested in the whole ‘self-sacrificing hero’ scene. He could live with that. Less bots just staring at him. A searching glace told him Smokey was leaning against the cavern wall, glancing at a tunnel nervously.

Bee heard rather than saw Remedy sit criss-cross at his left, clearly intent on observing the extent of the damage while Bee was awake. He almost immediately saw a problem. Or didn’t. Which was the problem. Bumblebee tried rebooting his left optic a few times before giving up.

Said optic no longer had proper peripheral support, nor could he move the focus of it too far from the rest point, something he hadn’t noticed when he’d rolled them earlier. He muttered a few Earth curses, earning a confused helm tilt from the Doctor. He rolled his own helm, duly noting a dull ache from the left side. His left shoulder joint throbbed when he lifted his arm, and it stopped moving altogether when he lifted it halfway. His stinger was most definitely offline, his wrist joint barely responded, and his digits hurt like the pits despite barely responding.

Remedy observed everything with a small frown. “You...I saw you test your optic, how did that go?”

“If I offlined it, It’d change nothing. I can only see directly in front of me.”

The medic tapped his digits against his upper struts, perturbed. “...and your stabilizing strut?”

“It locked up when I tried to get up, hurts like a glitch.”

Remedy nodded solemnly. “There’s a lot there that I can’t fix, not for lack of knowledge or trying, I assure you.”

“Go on...?”

“...Most if not all non-sentient wireless electrical components either decrease or cease functioning entirely on this planet. Most of my tools that didn’t fit that criteria were stowed in a compartment that isn’t in our part of the wreckage.”

“Our part?”

“When we entered the atmosphere, the ships finally broke apart, Sir,” the Cadet finally piped in. “Our half is just outside this cave, but it’s completely unresponsive. There’s no sign of the other half or the fugitive in the area around us. S- sir.”

Bumblebee nodded slowly, pulling his left arm close to his lower torso. He figured Blitzwing was probably roughed up enough to think twice about his chances against them. That, or he’s offline. The latter didn't exactly quell his unease. “What’s it like outside, Cadet?”

Smokescreen perked up almost immediately, excited to actually do something. “One of the first things I noticed was that, unlike Cybertron, this planet seems to orbit a stellar object, Sir! An A-class, for sure! Despite the star’s heat, the planet is incredibly cold on the surface, and appears carbon-rich, if the organic life and crystal structures are indicative of anything! Look, there’s a deposit right here!” 

Bumblebee stared, dumbfounded, as Smokey bounded over to a particularly shiny section of the cavern wall, pointing out small gem clusters that, thanks to his time on Earth, he knows as ‘Diamonds’. That wasn’t the part that grabbed his attention, however. No, it was the fact that the rookie's files never once stated anything about his Exoplanetology background. He could only look on in awe as the younger mech chattered his spark out over every little patch and possibility, looking more in his element than he’d seen him thus far. Sure, Bee spaced out after a few cycles, but he was happy the poor kid wasn’t shaking in his struts for once.

“-and I think the most interesting part is the rain! It’s comprised mostly of Dihydrogen Monoxide with some Methanol- you know, from those vents I mentioned?- and it’s completely safe to us! I got caught out in it while I was scouting, and the worst it did was make me shiver! Crazy, right?!” 

“Water rain…?” Bumblebee mumbled, his good optic flickering dumbly in the dim cave.

Smokescreen paused suddenly, looking rather embarrassed. “Ah, I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to go overboard…”

“No, no! Please, go on,” he patted a spot at his right, smiling lightly. “You said something about organic life, right? Tell me about that.”

The young mech gasped excitedly, taking his place at his superior’s right and continuing his observations and theories, almost immediately pointing out the blue glowy worms stuck to the center of the cave ceiling.

---

Frequency moved a clear container of faintly glowing worms around their unorthodox workspace, humming softly as they took apart salvaged components, cataloging each intact piece on a personal datapad. They glanced at Remedy as the minibot Medic found his place, thankfully out of the way.

“Your verdict?”

“He’ll live.”

“‘Til you choke him out for his stupidity?”

Remedy sighed, “naturally.”

The Empurata spared a glance at the younger two, the Elder of the pair spacing out every now and then. “He’s not very good at paying attention, is he?”

“He’s young. You were young once, you know what it’s like. I distinctly remember you having a penchant for getting into spots you shouldn’t.”

They glared at the Medic, huffing. “Yes, and that turned me into this . At least his faults are legally acceptable.” 

Remedy sighed, backing off. “At least we’re alive.”

“Kid was right in a way. We don’t have a way of contacting Cybertron due to equipment failure and Carbon interference, and chances are we’ll starve soon.”

“But we’re alive.”

“We don’t have any idea what exactly is lurking on this frozen dump, nor do we know the status of our friend . He could show up and kill us all in an instant.”

“We’ll have the satisfaction of making it this far.”

Frequency dropped the transmitter they were taking apart, glaring daggers. “We’re going to die of starvation or a screwball Decepticon on an alien planet. Nobody will know or care that we’re gone, much less send someone to collect our cold, dead chassis.”

“So? Rumor has it that’s exactly what happened to our Captain. The leader of his team even offlined, but managed to come back. Captain’s still alive, isn’t he?” Remedy gestured to the heavily damaged minibot in question. 

Bumblebee was one step away from offlining, but all in all, it seemed like he’d had worse days, if his reactions to his injuries were anything to go by. If anything, he seemed perfectly content in distracting himself with Smokescreen’s idle chatter.

Frequency rolled their optic and went back to dismantling the transmitter, grumbling to themself. “I hope some massive beast crawls out of one of the tunnels and offlines you in your recharge.”

“It’d offline you as well.”

“ Good , I welcome death.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Blitzwing registered was the pressure on his chestplates, as if someone were standing on them. It wasn’t crushing or even remotely heavy, but it was there. The second was the immediate pain that clouded...well, it was easier to list where he wasn’t aching. He couldn’t decide which was worse: the stabbing pain in his helm or the sharp tingling from his brittling wings shifting ever-so-slightly under him. The last thing Blitzwing remembered was his plan to get rid of his pursuers, and then going ahead with said plan. He’d rammed their fragging ship with a mad grin on his face, sent them all hurtling right into an asteroid field, and rigged his little escape ship to blow.

...He turned his ship into a bomb.

He wasn’t supposed to wake up. 

He was supposed to be in the Well. 

He was supposed to be free .

And then he heard it above him, the high-pitch cackling in his audials, a cackle that absolutely was not him.

Blitzwing sent his servo flying in the direction of the noise, feeling it make contact with something metallic. The pressure on his chestplates was suddenly gone, and the triple changer heard a dull clunk a klik later. His optics finally onlined, his monocular adjusting as he skimmed every warning message on his HUD.

Low fuel, cracked faceplates, crippled wings, clogged thrusters, core temperature near critical low, et cetera.

All in all, he expected worse. He’d have to check which faceplates were cracked, and critical low was new to him, but again, not horrible. He propped himself up on his arms, minding his wings, searching around the dim cavern for whatever it was that he’d sent flying mere moments before. A set of yellow optics blinked back at him from a far corner, that same cackle gracing his audials once again.

“Oh boo, you’re awake~! A moment longer and Shrapnel would’ve let me harvest your spark~!” The odd mech trilled, clasping his taloned servos together.

Blitzwing jumped to his pedes almost instantly, an ugly screeching sounding from his...helm? T-cog? He couldn’t tell. It pissed him off regardless, among other things.

Whirr

“I DON’T KNOW WHO SHRAPNEL IS BUT I’LL CRAM YOU UP HIS FRAGGING VALVE IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER!” The calm part of his processor noted that these faceplates were also in decent condition, save for the shattered visor, but he didn’t particularly care too much about that at the moment.

The other didn’t seem all too threatened by the larger mech, in fact, he merely held his servos up in a gesture of mock submission, cheshire smile threatening to tear his faceplates in half. 

“Hey now, there’s no need for hostilities~” He skipped closer, holding out a servo to shake. “My name’s Kickback, to whom do I owe the pleasure, friend~?” 

Blitzwing staggered back, not at all prepared for the complete dismissiveness the other displayed. He studied the...organic-inspired mech for another klik, the angry screeching sounding once again.

Whirr

“Blitzwing. Where am I, and who’s Shrapnel?”

Kickback audibly sighed, dropping his servo. “Mmm, you Cybertron boys are always in such a rush, eh~? Boss is out hunting right now~ Needs to find something you won’t purge~” He tapped a talon to his chin, looking distant. “Come to think of it, he’s taking an awfully long time, isn’t he...?”

“Again, where am I?”

“Hmm, we don’t have a name for our little planet quite yet~ More specifically, you’re in our humble little Hive~” Kickback damn-near purred, skipping into a tunnel.

After assuring himself that the other didn’t intend for him to follow, the triple changer sat back down. Now that he was alone and properly adjusted to the darkness, Blitzwing took in his surroundings. It seemed to be a recharge room of sorts, with piles of comfortable-looking materials clustered together in the center of the cavern to imitate berths. He’d apparently been placed off to the side of the piles, on top of a few covers. The triple changer took note of his surface wounds. Only wounds that would’ve been bleeding had been patched, anything else was clearly ignored. Lovely.

There’d been a feeble attempt at disabling his weapons, thankfully whoever tried had given up. He felt around the seams between his faceplates and helm, scratching at the caked energon from the cracked plating of his third face.

Screech, whirr

So that’s where his awful helmache came from! To say he regretted peeling off the massive scab on his face was an understatement, especially as fresh energon trickled down his inky faceplates. But Primus was it satisfying . He was tempted to try and put it back on to stop the bleeding, but the voice of reason in the back of his processor screamed that that would be fragging disgusting, if not a fruitless effort. 

Instead, he felt around, noticing that, while the optic itself worked fine, the plating around his right optic was almost entirely spiderwebbed. Some probing with his oversized glossa revealed that there was a giant hole in his left cheekplate, cutting into his lip plating. Blitzwing giggled quietly as he chipped away at the cracked plating, internally slapping himself.

Dull pedesteps caught his attention. Not that it was difficult to get his attention.

“ Oooooh, could you be Shrapnel?! ”

The rather stout mech tilted his helm, his massive form reminding Blitzwing of Lugnut. He hoped this mech was just as stupid, that’d be a treat!

“No, he’s hunting. Follow.” Not much of a talker, eh? Too bad!

Screech, whirr

“Why?”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to ask, Blitzwing mused. Why does he say that?

Because in what felt like less than a klik, he was slung over the mech’s shoulder plating as if he wasn’t a massive warframe. He’d be utterly offended if he wasn’t busy with his dumbstruck stupor. Was this what it felt like to be a minibot? 

He struggled for a moment, testing the other’s hold. Nothing. Scrap. He tried to knee the mech in the chestplates, but a servo swiftly caught his strut.

All he got in return was a curt “Don’t.”

“At least tell me your name.”

Screech, whirr

“ Otherwise I’ll just call you That Big Fragg-! ” He was thrown, nay, launched against the cave wall, and hit the ground with a clatter. Oh hey, that’s the cave entrance, isn’t it!

“Bombshell. Now shut up, before it’s no longer your choice to make.”

Blitzwing giggled softly, holding his now bleeding helm. His hyperfixation refused to acknowledge the threat. “ Really? I didn’t think you had the body for it, BWAHAHAHA!! ”

Finally, he got his reaction! The deep-set optics and grill mouthguard may hide a lot, but he caught the confused glint in the other’s optics. If there was one good thing that came out of that Nitrogen-laden dirtball, it was the plethora of references that literally nobody but him understood. 

“Ah, now that’s more like it~! Where was this excitement when I was checking on you, hmm~?” purred Kickback, stalking out from behind Bombshell.

“ It was up your aft, surely you saw it! It was right next to your helm after all! ” the triple changer barked out, getting up on shaky pedes. Primus, he didn’t even have to try! They set him up for the jokes like the dumbfrags they were! The twitch of the smaller mech’s optic was all he needed to start howling with laughter, bracing himself on the cave wall. He almost didn’t notice Kickback slink away with a huff.

He certainly didn’t notice the mech at the cave entrance, glaring at him through his red visor.

“Are you just about done_done?”

Blitzwing stopped laughing and blinked dumbly.

Screech , whirr

“By process of elimination, I assume you’re Shrapnel.”

‘Shrapnel’ didn’t move. At all. “Why are you on our planet_net?”

“I’m supposed to be offline, actually.”

“That can be arranged_anged.”

Blitzwing shifted nervously, monocular adjusting. “...I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“When one of Megatron’s personal crew ends up on our retirement getaway with a servofull of Elite Guard_uard, I can’t bring myself to be in a joking mood_mood.”

“...Funny story, they’re also supposed to be offline.”

Shrapnel scoffed. “Were they chasing you_you?” He nodded.

Static crackled around the Insecticon as he threw his servos up in a huff. Blitzwing could only stand around awkwardly as the other called his subordinates over to rant, eventually finding a spot to sit at the cave entrance. He was stranded on an alien planet with mechs he’d really only heard rumors about. Somewhere on the planet was a group of Elite Guard, and with their failure to catch him, more would surely follow. 

To nobody’s surprise, he’d delayed the inevitable and given himself a new set of options.

Mauled by cannibals was a new one, he mused.