Fanfic -- Orphans
Aug. 22nd, 2007 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinTitle: Orphans (Naughty Combaticons)
Originally Posted:
Author’s note: This story is an unholy creation that draws from the cartoon universe and the G2 comic universe and turns them into something else entirely in an effort to shoehorn this story into the future part of the Dunverse. As such, it is really neither fish nor fowl. If you’re looking for strict adherence to the canon of either universe, uhm…I can offer you this lovely duck instead
Orphans
It is the year 2015. The Third Cybertronian War is over. Cybertron has been restored to its former glory thanks to the rechanneling of the Plasma Energy Chamber. The Decepticons have retreated back to the burned out world of Charr, while the Autobots control Cybertron and its remaining moon as well as bases on Earth and Nebulous. Finally it seems that peace has returned to the galaxy. Or at least that part of the galaxy that affects the Autobots the most.
It doesn't last. It never does.
# # #
It is the year 2016. Astrotrain arrives on Cybertron, having limped in at almost no power. Aboard him are some of the only survivors of an attack on Charr. Scourge, half a dozen Sweeps, the Constructicons and three of the Combaticons: namely Swindle, Vortex and Brawl. The rest of the Decepticons have been scattered or destroyed by a new threat: Jhiaxus.
After verifying the Decepticons’ story, the Autobots reluctantly take them in and prepare to fight Jhiaxus and his new so-called second generation Decepticons.
Our story opens a few months after the beginning of this newest war.
# # #
“I’m telling you Prime, they should be locked up for everyone’s safety,” Red Alert said, slapping Rodimus’s desk. “We can let them out for missions, but I see no reason to allow three Combaticons free reign on Cybertron!”
“We’re letting the Constructicons run around loose,” First Aid said. “Not to mention Scourge and his Sweeps.”
Scourge scowled at First Aid in particular and the rest of the Autobots present in general. “My Sweeps are not an undisciplined pack of half-feral groundpounders,” he said. “They may not like taking orders from Autobots, but they at least acknowledge the necessity in the current situation.”
“Scourge has a point.” Ultra Magnus didn‘t look happy about agreeing with Scourge. “The Combaticons fight well enough once they‘re in the field but off the field, they could give Grimlock insubordination lessons.”
“More than that!” sputtered Red Alert. “They hoard energon -- ridiculous as that is nowadays. They steal. They start fights; which is bad enough but what’s worse is they’re getting my security teams injured in the process of breaking up whatever fracas they’ve started.”
“They have been traumatized,” First Aid said. “They’ve lost half their gestalt team. I’m honestly amazed they haven’t gone into stasis lock because of it.”
“More luck for us if they had,” Red Alert said. “They’re a menace. Honestly, Prime, we have to do something!”
“Locking them up isn’t going to solve anything,” First Aid said. “They’ll simply try to escape and you’ll spend more time trying to catch them. Can we afford that now?”
“Can we afford to have them distracting us with their antics? Really, First Aid, there is a limit!” Red Alert looked to Rodimus. “You know I’m right, Rodimus!”
“Look,” Rodimus said, clutching the sides of his head. “I don’t care what it takes, I want them controlled. First Aid, if you think you can talk them into behaving, great. Otherwise…I’m not going to waste our security resources on them. We can turn them out with some emergency supplies and wish them all the luck in the galaxy.”
“But there’s no way they’ll survive that!” First Aid said.
“Then you’d better hope you can persuade them to shape up,” Rodimus said. “Otherwise, we’ll ship them out so fast they’ll leave skid marks. Dismissed!”
# # #
“I can’t believe you got stuck with this,” Streetwise said, looking at First aid with a mingled look of pity and bemusement. “I mean, what is Rodimus thinking?”
“He’s thinking that I’m the head medic and the closest thing we have to a psychologist at the moment.” First Aid glowered at his teammate. “And that I’m a gestalt member. I’m certainly bound to be more sympathetic to them than Red Alert is.”
“Yeah, but the last time you had to deal with Combaticons, it didn’t go so good.”
“That was ten years ago, Streetwise!” First Aid said. “I’ve learned a few things since then! Besides, I have to do this. Even if Rodimus hadn’t assigned me to, I took an oath to help the suffering.” First Aid sighed. “No matter how obnoxious they are.”
“Oh! So that’s why you put up with Blades!” Streetwise slapped his head in mock-understanding. “Seriously, bud, if you need help call on me or Spot or even Psychochopper. We’ll be there with bells on. Don’t let these guys give you grief okay?”
“Thanks, and I will if I need to but I can handle this.”
# # #
He found the three Combaticons sitting in one of the commissaries in Autobot Headquarters. They were sitting around a table, nursing energon cubes and exuding an air of ‘don’t mess with us’.
For a moment, he stood back and watched them, trying to put himself in their place.
It wasn’t easy. Philosophically, the Combaticons were the antithesis of everything he believed in. They were Decepticons. They reveled in fighting and thought nothing of hurting anyone in the way of one of their goals. They were cold, cruel and unsympathetic louts, all of them. In a lot of ways, they were the worst of the Decepticon survivors to make it back to Cybertron.
But. First Aid sighed. There was always a but.
First Aid had been one of the first to reach Astrotrain when the triple-changer had crashed outside New Iacon. He’d seen the Combaticons staggering off the shuttle; armor dented and blackened by laser fire, wounds dripping energon and hydraulic fluid. He’d seen Brawl with an arm around Swindle and Vortex’s necks, stubbornly dragging them along as they’d screamed and fought to go back aboard. He’d seen the lost, empty looks in their optics as they’d given their statements about what they’d seen on Charr.
“They hit us out of nowhere.” Swindle had said, acting as mouthpiece for his brothers. His optics and voice had been dull. “They landed and they just started shooting. Onslaught and Blast Off went left, we went right. They might have gotten off planet, but we can’t feel them anymore. We can’t raise them on the radios and we can’t feel them. Bruticus is gone too.”
First Aid shuddered at the memory, at the idea of losing contact not only with his teammates but with Defensor as well. It was any gestalt team member’s worst nightmare.
They’d recovered surprisingly quickly. Once their physical damage had been repaired, they’d started to behave as if nothing had changed -- as though Blast Off and Onslaught were simply late and would arrive at any time. Brawl was their de facto leader, at least when they were in combat. Otherwise, Swindle and Vortex seemed content to ignore Brawl until they needed him to help them fight their way out of trouble.
They’d also set themselves apart from everyone else around them. As Magnus had said, they refused to recognize Autobot authority over them. Which, in a way, was also understandable. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d been taking shots at the Autobots and vice versa. Memories of their past war crimes were still fresh in the memories of many Autobots.
But even their fellow Decepticons seemed to want nothing to do with them either. Scourge and his Sweeps looked down on them for being groundpounders -- though how a helicopter could be a groundpounder was beyond First Aid. The Constructicons seemed to look on them as jinxes and cripples. And Astrotrain had avoided them and everyone else when he’d taken off in search of other Decepticon survivors.
Still, it was his job to make the connection with them. Either that or have to stand by and watch as they were exiled from Cybertron -- which was, for all intents and purposes, a death sentence. And as much as he didn’t like them, as much as they might have deserved worse, he couldn’t just let that happen.
“Now or never,” First Aid said to himself as he walked toward their table.
# # #
“Alright,” First Aid said, approaching the table and looking directly at Brawl. “Brawl, I need to talk to you, right now.”
“Slag off.” Swindle didn‘t bother turning from his energon cube. “We’re off-duty, ain’t we Brawl?”
“Yeah, c’mon Brawl, tell Goodie-goodie to beat it,” Vortex said.
“I’m not talking to you guys,” First Aid said, still looking at Brawl and using his best ‘I’m the medic’ voice. “I want to talk to Brawl. Alone.”
“Yeah? What if he doesn’t want to talk to you? Huh?” Vortex said. “Then what?”
“Yeah, First Aid,” Swindle sneered. “What’re you gonna do? Talk us into leaving?” .
“No,” First Aid said. “I’m going to weld the two you to those chairs and then I’m going to destabilize your leg armor so if you move, you’ll tear yourselves in half at the waist. It won’t actually kill you and you’ll only get hurt if you’re too dumb to sit still. Either way, me and Brawl will be able to go and talk alone.”
Swindle and Vortex glared at him. “Brawl,” Swindle wheedled. “You gonna let him talk to us like that?”
“Yeah,” Brawl said. “Gonna let him do it too, if you both don’t beat it.”
“But Brawl!” Swindle and Vortex whined in chorus.
“GO!” Brawl roared, slamming his fist down on the table hard enough to make it tilt to one side. “I’m tired of you both! Get outta here!”
Swindle and Vortex looked startled, even hurt, but they didn’t argue as they grabbed their cubes and slunk over to a table on the other side of the room. First Aid sat down across from Brawl.
“Are you alright?” he asked the hulking Combaticon.
“No,” Brawl said angrily. “I’m not alright. Not alright at all. I’m mad.”
“I don’t blame you,” First Aid said. “I would be too. This can’t be easy on you, none of you.”
“You calling us weak?” Brawl demanded. “We’re not weak!”
First Aid shook his head and kept his voice level. “No, I don’t think you’re weak. Weaker mechs wouldn’t have survived this long. Especially not after what you guys have been through.”
Brawl grunted, apparently mollified. “They just don’t listen. It’s because Onslaught ain’t here. If Onslaught was here…” Brawl’s voice faltered. “If he was here, they’d listen to me better ‘cause I’d have him to back me up.”
“We could always find you a new leader,” First Aid said. “Springer’s looking for recruits for a new Wrecker unit.”
“NO!” Brawl slapped the table again. “We’re Combaticons! We’re the only ones left but we’re still the Combaticons! Nobody’s gonna separate us!”
“I’m not talking about separating you,” First Aid said. “You’d still be together, but you’d have a leader to back you up with Swindle and Vortex.”
Brawl shook his head. “You ain’t listening. They listened to Onslaught. They’re not gonna start behaving because some Autobot tells him he’s their leader. An’ neither am I. We’re Combaticons.”
“So you’ve said.” First Aid leaned back in his chair, staring at Brawl. “The problem is Brawl, you guys have been nothing but trouble since you got released from Medbay. Okay, not you so much but even so the three of you are about this close to getting exiled. And I really don‘t want to see that happen.”
First Aid braced himself for another explosion, but to his surprise Brawl didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“What do you mean?” Brawl asked, his engines rumbling softly.
“I mean, that I want to help you guys,” First Aid said. “Exiling you is just a slower way of executing you and I can’t condone that. Besides, we need you. You’re some of our best fighters and you were among the first on the ground when Jhiaxus hit Charr. The information and skills you have are valuable -- but only if you’re willing to share them with us.”
“We don’t want to be Autobots,” Brawl said. “Or Decepticons.”
“What do you want?” First Aid asked. “I won’t make any promises, but I will do what I can for you.”
Brawl sighed. “I, we want our brothers back,” he said. “But that ain’t gonna happen.”
First Aid shook his head. ‘No, it’s probably not. If we had their bodies, maybe -- if their personality components weren’t too badly damaged. But it would be a stretch even then. As it stands now, there’s no way to rebuild gestalt components. An arm or leg would be tricky enough, but a leader-torso.” First Aid paused and shook his head again, sadly. “The blend of minds is so damn delicate. Perceptor and Computron have theories but really, they’re blowing exhaust.”
“Y’know, you could have just said ‘you’re right,‘” Brawl said, his optics glowing faintly as he looked at First Aid. “But, thanks.”
“Thanks for what?” First Aid asked.
“For not just saying ‘you’re right.’ For not talking to me like I’m stupid,” Brawl said. “Onslaught was like that. Blast Off too.” He gestured over to where Swindle and Vortex were sitting. “The twins, it depends on their mood whether I’m Big Stupid or not. Usually on how much trouble they’re in.”
“Oh,” First Aid leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, you’re welcome, but it doesn’t get us any closer to a solution for our problem.”
Brawl tilted his head. “’Our’ problem?” he asked.
“Well, Rodimus sent me to talk to you guys, to see if we could work something out,” First Aid said. “So, well, that makes it my problem.”
Brawl considered this for a moment. “Swindle! Vortex!” he bellowed loud enough to make First Aid jump. “C’mon! We’re going to see Prime!”
# # #
It was a motley crew that showed up in Rodimus’s office. Brawl was at the forefront, standing before Rodimus’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Swindle and Vortex were flanking him and mimicking his stance. First Aid stood to one side, watching the Combaticons and Rodimus Prime stare at one another.
He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on. None of the Combaticons had been forthcoming. They’d had some kind of a discussion on the walk over to Autobot Headquarters, but it had been conducted mostly over their radios, on frequencies First Aid couldn’t access. Except for the occasional outburst of the “Are you nuts?” variety, the walk had been eerily silent.
“So, I take it by the presence of your happy-shiny faces that you’ve come to some kind of a solution?” Rodimus asked, looking at Brawl but speaking to First Aid.
“He didn’t,” Brawl said. “I did.”
“Oh, this I gotta hear,” Rodimus said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Enlighten me, Brawl.”
“Yeah, you do,” Brawl said. “It’s a good plan.”
“It’s nuts,” Swindle grumbled. “Completely slaggin’ nuts.”
“Shut up!” Brawl said to Swindle, then looked at Rodimus. “We need a new Onslaught, only we can’t get a new one ‘cause you can’t build us one an’ the real Onslaught is….”
“Missing,” Vortex said, stubbornly. “Him and Blast Off are still on the MIA list.”
“Right,” Swindle said. “They ain’t dead until I see a body.”
“Shut up,” Brawl said, though his voice was as close to gentle as he seemed to be able to get. “Fact of it is, they’re gone for now an’ we don’t know when we’re gonna get them back. There’s a chance we ain’t gonna get ‘em back.”
Swindle and Vortex shifted uncomfortably. Brawl reached out and put a hand on each one’s shoulder. Rodimus looked over at First Aid who shrugged in return.
“Go on,” Rodimus said, his tone gentle as well. “I sense there’s a ‘but’ in here someplace.”
“But,” Brawl said. “I figure we can pick a new Onslaught. I mean, they wouldn’t be Onslaught, but they’d be like him. Somebody that can give us orders an’ stuff like that. Somebody who can help me keep these two exhaust suckers from annoying all of Cybertron.”
“We love you too, Brawl,” Swindle murmured as Rodimus nodded.
“I like the idea,” Rodimus said and First Aid allowed himself to grin. This was a good plan! It could work! With a little guidance the Combaticons could become, if not productive members of society then at least less destructive ones!
“Got someone in mind?” First Aid was so relieved, he almost didn’t hear Rodimus’s question.
“Yeah,” said Brawl, pointing at First Aid. “Him.”
It was hard for First Aid to say whose “WHAT?!” was the loudest, but he was pretty sure it was his own. All those years of training with Ratchet had given him a medic’s gift for vocal amplification.
“Why me?” First Aid asked.
Brawl shrugged. “You don’t talk down to me, you’re smart enough to make Swindle an’ Vortex listen to you an’ you’re the first mech here who actually gives a damn about us.”
Rodimus shrugged. “Works for me.”
“But, I’m no fighter!” First Aid said. “Rodimus, I can’t give up my duties to lead them in to battle!”
“Oh slag, I don’t need you for that!” Brawl waved a dismissive hand at First Aid. “I can handle all that just fine. I just need you t’do all the fiddly stuff that keeps us out of Prime’s sensors.”
“Deal!” Rodimus said over First Aid’s protests. “Congratulations First Aid, you’ve got your very own pet Combaticons. I expect you to take them for walks and make sure they’re fed and swat them when they screw up.”
“Oh boy,” First Aid said, weakly. “Well…if that’s what it takes, I guess I can…”
“Don’t we get any say in this?” Swindle asked, gesturing to himself and Vortex.
“No,” Brawl and Rodimus said in unison. The two mechs looked at each other and then laughed as Swindle, Vortex and First Aid looked miserably at each other.
See Also: Untitled Brawl & First Aid Snippet -- takes place further along in this same time period.
Originally Posted:
Author’s note: This story is an unholy creation that draws from the cartoon universe and the G2 comic universe and turns them into something else entirely in an effort to shoehorn this story into the future part of the Dunverse. As such, it is really neither fish nor fowl. If you’re looking for strict adherence to the canon of either universe, uhm…I can offer you this lovely duck instead
It is the year 2015. The Third Cybertronian War is over. Cybertron has been restored to its former glory thanks to the rechanneling of the Plasma Energy Chamber. The Decepticons have retreated back to the burned out world of Charr, while the Autobots control Cybertron and its remaining moon as well as bases on Earth and Nebulous. Finally it seems that peace has returned to the galaxy. Or at least that part of the galaxy that affects the Autobots the most.
It doesn't last. It never does.
It is the year 2016. Astrotrain arrives on Cybertron, having limped in at almost no power. Aboard him are some of the only survivors of an attack on Charr. Scourge, half a dozen Sweeps, the Constructicons and three of the Combaticons: namely Swindle, Vortex and Brawl. The rest of the Decepticons have been scattered or destroyed by a new threat: Jhiaxus.
After verifying the Decepticons’ story, the Autobots reluctantly take them in and prepare to fight Jhiaxus and his new so-called second generation Decepticons.
Our story opens a few months after the beginning of this newest war.
“I’m telling you Prime, they should be locked up for everyone’s safety,” Red Alert said, slapping Rodimus’s desk. “We can let them out for missions, but I see no reason to allow three Combaticons free reign on Cybertron!”
“We’re letting the Constructicons run around loose,” First Aid said. “Not to mention Scourge and his Sweeps.”
Scourge scowled at First Aid in particular and the rest of the Autobots present in general. “My Sweeps are not an undisciplined pack of half-feral groundpounders,” he said. “They may not like taking orders from Autobots, but they at least acknowledge the necessity in the current situation.”
“Scourge has a point.” Ultra Magnus didn‘t look happy about agreeing with Scourge. “The Combaticons fight well enough once they‘re in the field but off the field, they could give Grimlock insubordination lessons.”
“More than that!” sputtered Red Alert. “They hoard energon -- ridiculous as that is nowadays. They steal. They start fights; which is bad enough but what’s worse is they’re getting my security teams injured in the process of breaking up whatever fracas they’ve started.”
“They have been traumatized,” First Aid said. “They’ve lost half their gestalt team. I’m honestly amazed they haven’t gone into stasis lock because of it.”
“More luck for us if they had,” Red Alert said. “They’re a menace. Honestly, Prime, we have to do something!”
“Locking them up isn’t going to solve anything,” First Aid said. “They’ll simply try to escape and you’ll spend more time trying to catch them. Can we afford that now?”
“Can we afford to have them distracting us with their antics? Really, First Aid, there is a limit!” Red Alert looked to Rodimus. “You know I’m right, Rodimus!”
“Look,” Rodimus said, clutching the sides of his head. “I don’t care what it takes, I want them controlled. First Aid, if you think you can talk them into behaving, great. Otherwise…I’m not going to waste our security resources on them. We can turn them out with some emergency supplies and wish them all the luck in the galaxy.”
“But there’s no way they’ll survive that!” First Aid said.
“Then you’d better hope you can persuade them to shape up,” Rodimus said. “Otherwise, we’ll ship them out so fast they’ll leave skid marks. Dismissed!”
“I can’t believe you got stuck with this,” Streetwise said, looking at First aid with a mingled look of pity and bemusement. “I mean, what is Rodimus thinking?”
“He’s thinking that I’m the head medic and the closest thing we have to a psychologist at the moment.” First Aid glowered at his teammate. “And that I’m a gestalt member. I’m certainly bound to be more sympathetic to them than Red Alert is.”
“Yeah, but the last time you had to deal with Combaticons, it didn’t go so good.”
“That was ten years ago, Streetwise!” First Aid said. “I’ve learned a few things since then! Besides, I have to do this. Even if Rodimus hadn’t assigned me to, I took an oath to help the suffering.” First Aid sighed. “No matter how obnoxious they are.”
“Oh! So that’s why you put up with Blades!” Streetwise slapped his head in mock-understanding. “Seriously, bud, if you need help call on me or Spot or even Psychochopper. We’ll be there with bells on. Don’t let these guys give you grief okay?”
“Thanks, and I will if I need to but I can handle this.”
He found the three Combaticons sitting in one of the commissaries in Autobot Headquarters. They were sitting around a table, nursing energon cubes and exuding an air of ‘don’t mess with us’.
For a moment, he stood back and watched them, trying to put himself in their place.
It wasn’t easy. Philosophically, the Combaticons were the antithesis of everything he believed in. They were Decepticons. They reveled in fighting and thought nothing of hurting anyone in the way of one of their goals. They were cold, cruel and unsympathetic louts, all of them. In a lot of ways, they were the worst of the Decepticon survivors to make it back to Cybertron.
But. First Aid sighed. There was always a but.
First Aid had been one of the first to reach Astrotrain when the triple-changer had crashed outside New Iacon. He’d seen the Combaticons staggering off the shuttle; armor dented and blackened by laser fire, wounds dripping energon and hydraulic fluid. He’d seen Brawl with an arm around Swindle and Vortex’s necks, stubbornly dragging them along as they’d screamed and fought to go back aboard. He’d seen the lost, empty looks in their optics as they’d given their statements about what they’d seen on Charr.
“They hit us out of nowhere.” Swindle had said, acting as mouthpiece for his brothers. His optics and voice had been dull. “They landed and they just started shooting. Onslaught and Blast Off went left, we went right. They might have gotten off planet, but we can’t feel them anymore. We can’t raise them on the radios and we can’t feel them. Bruticus is gone too.”
First Aid shuddered at the memory, at the idea of losing contact not only with his teammates but with Defensor as well. It was any gestalt team member’s worst nightmare.
They’d recovered surprisingly quickly. Once their physical damage had been repaired, they’d started to behave as if nothing had changed -- as though Blast Off and Onslaught were simply late and would arrive at any time. Brawl was their de facto leader, at least when they were in combat. Otherwise, Swindle and Vortex seemed content to ignore Brawl until they needed him to help them fight their way out of trouble.
They’d also set themselves apart from everyone else around them. As Magnus had said, they refused to recognize Autobot authority over them. Which, in a way, was also understandable. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d been taking shots at the Autobots and vice versa. Memories of their past war crimes were still fresh in the memories of many Autobots.
But even their fellow Decepticons seemed to want nothing to do with them either. Scourge and his Sweeps looked down on them for being groundpounders -- though how a helicopter could be a groundpounder was beyond First Aid. The Constructicons seemed to look on them as jinxes and cripples. And Astrotrain had avoided them and everyone else when he’d taken off in search of other Decepticon survivors.
Still, it was his job to make the connection with them. Either that or have to stand by and watch as they were exiled from Cybertron -- which was, for all intents and purposes, a death sentence. And as much as he didn’t like them, as much as they might have deserved worse, he couldn’t just let that happen.
“Now or never,” First Aid said to himself as he walked toward their table.
“Alright,” First Aid said, approaching the table and looking directly at Brawl. “Brawl, I need to talk to you, right now.”
“Slag off.” Swindle didn‘t bother turning from his energon cube. “We’re off-duty, ain’t we Brawl?”
“Yeah, c’mon Brawl, tell Goodie-goodie to beat it,” Vortex said.
“I’m not talking to you guys,” First Aid said, still looking at Brawl and using his best ‘I’m the medic’ voice. “I want to talk to Brawl. Alone.”
“Yeah? What if he doesn’t want to talk to you? Huh?” Vortex said. “Then what?”
“Yeah, First Aid,” Swindle sneered. “What’re you gonna do? Talk us into leaving?” .
“No,” First Aid said. “I’m going to weld the two you to those chairs and then I’m going to destabilize your leg armor so if you move, you’ll tear yourselves in half at the waist. It won’t actually kill you and you’ll only get hurt if you’re too dumb to sit still. Either way, me and Brawl will be able to go and talk alone.”
Swindle and Vortex glared at him. “Brawl,” Swindle wheedled. “You gonna let him talk to us like that?”
“Yeah,” Brawl said. “Gonna let him do it too, if you both don’t beat it.”
“But Brawl!” Swindle and Vortex whined in chorus.
“GO!” Brawl roared, slamming his fist down on the table hard enough to make it tilt to one side. “I’m tired of you both! Get outta here!”
Swindle and Vortex looked startled, even hurt, but they didn’t argue as they grabbed their cubes and slunk over to a table on the other side of the room. First Aid sat down across from Brawl.
“Are you alright?” he asked the hulking Combaticon.
“No,” Brawl said angrily. “I’m not alright. Not alright at all. I’m mad.”
“I don’t blame you,” First Aid said. “I would be too. This can’t be easy on you, none of you.”
“You calling us weak?” Brawl demanded. “We’re not weak!”
First Aid shook his head and kept his voice level. “No, I don’t think you’re weak. Weaker mechs wouldn’t have survived this long. Especially not after what you guys have been through.”
Brawl grunted, apparently mollified. “They just don’t listen. It’s because Onslaught ain’t here. If Onslaught was here…” Brawl’s voice faltered. “If he was here, they’d listen to me better ‘cause I’d have him to back me up.”
“We could always find you a new leader,” First Aid said. “Springer’s looking for recruits for a new Wrecker unit.”
“NO!” Brawl slapped the table again. “We’re Combaticons! We’re the only ones left but we’re still the Combaticons! Nobody’s gonna separate us!”
“I’m not talking about separating you,” First Aid said. “You’d still be together, but you’d have a leader to back you up with Swindle and Vortex.”
Brawl shook his head. “You ain’t listening. They listened to Onslaught. They’re not gonna start behaving because some Autobot tells him he’s their leader. An’ neither am I. We’re Combaticons.”
“So you’ve said.” First Aid leaned back in his chair, staring at Brawl. “The problem is Brawl, you guys have been nothing but trouble since you got released from Medbay. Okay, not you so much but even so the three of you are about this close to getting exiled. And I really don‘t want to see that happen.”
First Aid braced himself for another explosion, but to his surprise Brawl didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“What do you mean?” Brawl asked, his engines rumbling softly.
“I mean, that I want to help you guys,” First Aid said. “Exiling you is just a slower way of executing you and I can’t condone that. Besides, we need you. You’re some of our best fighters and you were among the first on the ground when Jhiaxus hit Charr. The information and skills you have are valuable -- but only if you’re willing to share them with us.”
“We don’t want to be Autobots,” Brawl said. “Or Decepticons.”
“What do you want?” First Aid asked. “I won’t make any promises, but I will do what I can for you.”
Brawl sighed. “I, we want our brothers back,” he said. “But that ain’t gonna happen.”
First Aid shook his head. ‘No, it’s probably not. If we had their bodies, maybe -- if their personality components weren’t too badly damaged. But it would be a stretch even then. As it stands now, there’s no way to rebuild gestalt components. An arm or leg would be tricky enough, but a leader-torso.” First Aid paused and shook his head again, sadly. “The blend of minds is so damn delicate. Perceptor and Computron have theories but really, they’re blowing exhaust.”
“Y’know, you could have just said ‘you’re right,‘” Brawl said, his optics glowing faintly as he looked at First Aid. “But, thanks.”
“Thanks for what?” First Aid asked.
“For not just saying ‘you’re right.’ For not talking to me like I’m stupid,” Brawl said. “Onslaught was like that. Blast Off too.” He gestured over to where Swindle and Vortex were sitting. “The twins, it depends on their mood whether I’m Big Stupid or not. Usually on how much trouble they’re in.”
“Oh,” First Aid leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, you’re welcome, but it doesn’t get us any closer to a solution for our problem.”
Brawl tilted his head. “’Our’ problem?” he asked.
“Well, Rodimus sent me to talk to you guys, to see if we could work something out,” First Aid said. “So, well, that makes it my problem.”
Brawl considered this for a moment. “Swindle! Vortex!” he bellowed loud enough to make First Aid jump. “C’mon! We’re going to see Prime!”
It was a motley crew that showed up in Rodimus’s office. Brawl was at the forefront, standing before Rodimus’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Swindle and Vortex were flanking him and mimicking his stance. First Aid stood to one side, watching the Combaticons and Rodimus Prime stare at one another.
He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on. None of the Combaticons had been forthcoming. They’d had some kind of a discussion on the walk over to Autobot Headquarters, but it had been conducted mostly over their radios, on frequencies First Aid couldn’t access. Except for the occasional outburst of the “Are you nuts?” variety, the walk had been eerily silent.
“So, I take it by the presence of your happy-shiny faces that you’ve come to some kind of a solution?” Rodimus asked, looking at Brawl but speaking to First Aid.
“He didn’t,” Brawl said. “I did.”
“Oh, this I gotta hear,” Rodimus said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Enlighten me, Brawl.”
“Yeah, you do,” Brawl said. “It’s a good plan.”
“It’s nuts,” Swindle grumbled. “Completely slaggin’ nuts.”
“Shut up!” Brawl said to Swindle, then looked at Rodimus. “We need a new Onslaught, only we can’t get a new one ‘cause you can’t build us one an’ the real Onslaught is….”
“Missing,” Vortex said, stubbornly. “Him and Blast Off are still on the MIA list.”
“Right,” Swindle said. “They ain’t dead until I see a body.”
“Shut up,” Brawl said, though his voice was as close to gentle as he seemed to be able to get. “Fact of it is, they’re gone for now an’ we don’t know when we’re gonna get them back. There’s a chance we ain’t gonna get ‘em back.”
Swindle and Vortex shifted uncomfortably. Brawl reached out and put a hand on each one’s shoulder. Rodimus looked over at First Aid who shrugged in return.
“Go on,” Rodimus said, his tone gentle as well. “I sense there’s a ‘but’ in here someplace.”
“But,” Brawl said. “I figure we can pick a new Onslaught. I mean, they wouldn’t be Onslaught, but they’d be like him. Somebody that can give us orders an’ stuff like that. Somebody who can help me keep these two exhaust suckers from annoying all of Cybertron.”
“We love you too, Brawl,” Swindle murmured as Rodimus nodded.
“I like the idea,” Rodimus said and First Aid allowed himself to grin. This was a good plan! It could work! With a little guidance the Combaticons could become, if not productive members of society then at least less destructive ones!
“Got someone in mind?” First Aid was so relieved, he almost didn’t hear Rodimus’s question.
“Yeah,” said Brawl, pointing at First Aid. “Him.”
It was hard for First Aid to say whose “WHAT?!” was the loudest, but he was pretty sure it was his own. All those years of training with Ratchet had given him a medic’s gift for vocal amplification.
“Why me?” First Aid asked.
Brawl shrugged. “You don’t talk down to me, you’re smart enough to make Swindle an’ Vortex listen to you an’ you’re the first mech here who actually gives a damn about us.”
Rodimus shrugged. “Works for me.”
“But, I’m no fighter!” First Aid said. “Rodimus, I can’t give up my duties to lead them in to battle!”
“Oh slag, I don’t need you for that!” Brawl waved a dismissive hand at First Aid. “I can handle all that just fine. I just need you t’do all the fiddly stuff that keeps us out of Prime’s sensors.”
“Deal!” Rodimus said over First Aid’s protests. “Congratulations First Aid, you’ve got your very own pet Combaticons. I expect you to take them for walks and make sure they’re fed and swat them when they screw up.”
“Oh boy,” First Aid said, weakly. “Well…if that’s what it takes, I guess I can…”
“Don’t we get any say in this?” Swindle asked, gesturing to himself and Vortex.
“No,” Brawl and Rodimus said in unison. The two mechs looked at each other and then laughed as Swindle, Vortex and First Aid looked miserably at each other.
See Also: Untitled Brawl & First Aid Snippet -- takes place further along in this same time period.
