After Atlantis, Part 16

[anon_decepticon]

Title: After Atlantis, Part 16
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, Ratchet, the Dinobots, Bumblebee, Spike, Carly, Optimus Prime, Red Alert, Hoist, others mentioned.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers. Part 1 references scenes from the G1 Season 2 episode “Atlantis, Arise!” Part 4 references scenes from the next episode, “Day of the Machines.” Parts 5 and 6 reference scenes and quote some dialogue from ”Enter the Nightbird.” Part 9 references scenes from “Dinobot Island, Parts 1 & 2”. Part 11 references scenes from “The Master Builder” and “Auto Berserk.” Part 12 references scenes from “Microbots,” (as does Part 13, briefly) and gives minor nods to “Heavy Metal War” and “Prime Target.” Part 14 references scenes from the two-part episode “Megatron’s Master Plan,” and gives a teeny nod to “The Ultimate Doom.” Part 16 references scenes and quotes dialogue from part one of the two-part G1 cartoon episode “Desertion of the Dinobots.” These portions of the fic are not mine.
Warning(s): PTSD and parental angst, references to rape, references to sex, and a disturbing dream sequence.
Summary: Raped by Starscream, Wheeljack struggles to cope.
Author's Note: If you've gotten this far, you already know the backstory. Original Kink Meme prompt. Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15. Also available on FFN. I am truly ashamed of how long it took to update this fic. I apologize for the delay. No smut this time, but after the last chapter that’s probably a good thing. Thanks for your patience; I hope it was worth the wait! Eternal thanks as always to kookaburra1701 for her support and encouragement, and to all my readers, those I’ve chatted with and those I haven’t. My personal canon meme post is still open to your questions, and of course I welcome your comments.



He couldn’t move.

It was dark. He couldn’t move, but somehow he could see. He saw the hands that reached for him, blue hands, groping at his frame, their touch unwanted and unwelcome. They pawed at his chestplate, triggering the latches, exposing him. He begged soundlessly. Please don’t.

His silent pleas were met with laughter, high and mocking, dripping with disdain.

Then the blue hands were red hands, and their touch felt safe and familiar, but they were holding him down, they were pinning him, and that was no better.

Twin shadows loomed over him, dark figures he couldn’t discern. A pair of thin cables slithered out of the gloom, wrapping around his wrists, snaking up his arms, twining around him in a repellent embrace, their jacks glittering in the not-light. He struggled, and the hands returned, blue and red, holding him in place.

The darkness was abruptly pierced by a crimson glow, illuminating a swarthy, smirking faceplate. A blue hand held up a cable, its movements slow and sinister. You’re going to enjoy this.

He felt the jack enter his port, felt it click home, the sound of the connection like a thunderclap in his muffled audials. He looked up, and saw Ratchet gazing down at him, his expression cold and remote.

Help me, he pleaded wordlessly.

Ratchet reached for him – but there was a cable in his hand, and it too snapped impossibly into place, overlapping the first.

He recoiled in horror. Ratchet, no. Please. I can’t move. Please help me.

Interesting reaction, Ratchet said without speaking. How did that make you feel?

He onlined with a jerk, his spark pulsing wildly, optics frantically scanning his surroundings, half-expecting to see Ratchet standing over him, or maybe Starscream, as the last of the lingering echoes chased through his processor. The dark, offline form of Trailbreaker lay beside him, his arms wound loosely around Wheeljack's waist components, silent and unmoving. Wheeljack huddled into his embrace, into that solid, reassuring warmth, trembling in fear.

“Calm down,” he whispered to himself. “Calm down, calm down, it’s okay. You’re fine, everything’s fine. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t real.”

He managed to collect himself after a few astroseconds, managed to shake off the haunting images and reassert his grip on reality. He checked his internal chronometer; his duty shift would begin in roughly three-quarters of a joor. If he got up now, he’d have time to visit the washracks and refuel before he reported in.

Carefully easing himself free of Trailbreaker’s slack embrace, he rose from the berth. For a moment he hesitated, regarding him with regretful optics. It seemed rude to leave without saying goodbye, but it would be ruder still to wake a mech so badly in need of recharge. Venting a sigh, he made his way to the door without bothering with the lights, not wanting to disturb him. Activating the mechanism, Wheeljack exited into the hallway.

Preoccupied and with his back to him, he failed to notice the faint glow of Trailbreaker’s optics coming online.

**

His first stop was the common room, to collect his ration of energon for the day. The room was all but deserted when he arrived; the only other ‘Bot present was Prowl, seated at a table with a half-full energon cube in one hand and a datapad in the other, sipping occasionally as he read. Focused on the contents of the datapad he was holding, the second-in-command barely acknowledged Wheeljack’s arrival, offering only a noncommittal grunt in response to his greeting.

That was fine with Wheeljack. He had neither the time nor the inclination to make small talk. He headed for the refueling station and swiftly dispensed his ration. As he turned away, he realized with chagrin that he already had a cube in his subspace compartment from the night before. With an embarrassed glance at Prowl, still absorbed in his datapad, Wheeljack quickly downed the full cube and dispersed it. He’d save the other for later. Perhaps Trailbreaker would need it.

That accomplished, he paid a visit to the washracks, to cleanse himself of the soil and grime he’d accumulated over the course of the previous day. Because most of the ‘Bots preferred to go to the ‘racks in the evening, Wheeljack had the room all to himself. The solvent was pleasantly warm for a change, and if he’d had the time to spare he might have lingered for a while, perhaps indulged in a review of some of the highlights from yesterday’s memory files, but his internal chronometer indicated he had only a few breems left before his shift began. He went about his ablutions with brisk efficiency, scrubbing absently, his thoughts occupied by more pressing concerns.

He’d recharged with Trailbreaker last night, but the sensor ghosts had returned with a vengeance. It appeared his alternative solution wasn’t the perfect cure after all. That was worrying.

Sharing a berth with Trailbreaker had been an effective means of quelling the echoes thus far, but what if that was no longer the case? Would they return tonight, tomorrow night, every night from now on, regardless of where he recharged? Or had the recently refreshed files in his cache simply been so powerful, so close to the surface that even recharging with Trailbreaker at his side wasn’t enough to keep them at bay? Either possibility seemed plausible. He just didn’t know.

Troubled by the prospects of either outcome, he switched off the sprayer and made his way to the dryer. The sensation of warm air blowing over his chassis was normally a soothing one, but at the moment he was too keyed up to appreciate it. There was only one solution – he’d have to recharge with Trailbreaker again tonight, and see if the sensor echoes returned. He could only hope that if they did, Trailbreaker wouldn’t be awakened and feel compelled to question him. It was a risky proposition, one he would have preferred to avoid, but still more appealing than the thought of returning to his quarters to recharge alone.

Half a cure was better than none.

**

Monitor duty.

For some reason, he’d been assigned a lot of it lately. For the most part, Wheeljack didn’t mind. Sometimes it was interesting – something would come up, and he’d be the first to know. He’d stand at the hub of activity, delegating orders and giving direction, playing a key role in shaping the outcome of events. It was an important position, one worthy of respect.

Other times, it was flat-out boring. Regrettably, this was one of those times.

Prowl and Red Alert were at their usual posts, monitoring the Ark’s defenses. Perceptor was in his lab, Ratchet and Hoist on call in the repair bay. The rest of the morning shift – Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Jazz, Blaster, Hound and Mirage – were out on assignment, guarding the latest advance in human technology, a new invention called the ultra-plane.

Wheeljack had been disappointed to learn he wasn’t included in that particular assignment. The odds of the Decepticons showing up were high – anything challenging their supremacy of the skies was sure to garner their personal attention – but the ultra-plane was a new invention, and Wheeljack would have been willing to risk facing off against the ‘Cons for a chance to examine it, to see the humans’ latest technological breakthrough with his own optics. It hardly seemed fair that he be stuck here on the monitors while the others got to –

The sound of animated conversation and casual laughter interrupted his discontented musings; looking up, he saw Bumblebee entering Command, accompanied as usual by Spike, and less usually by a young human female with long blonde hair.

He recognized her immediately, his mood lightening considerably. Carly.

They’d met only once before, but in the course of that brief encounter the young woman had impressed him greatly. Carly was fascinated by technology, studying to become an engineer, selflessly brave, intensely loyal, occasionally reckless – in short, she was a kindred spirit, a human after his own spark. He greeted them with unabashed delight, his vocal indicators flashing brightly.

“Hi, Wheeljack!” Carly said cheerfully, evidently sharing his enthusiasm. “Good to see you again!”

“You too, Carly,” he replied affably. “What brings you to the Ark?”

“I came to see Ironhide and Bumblebee,” she said with a smile. Spike cleared his throat awkwardly. “…and Spike,” she amended, casting a shy glance in his direction. “Is Ironhide around?”

“He’s out on assignment,” he said. “But he’ll be back later, if you want to wait for him.”

“I’d love to!” she said eagerly.

“Uh, actually…” Spike ventured.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, looking embarrassed. “We were going to pick up Spike’s dad at the airport. We were thinking of stopping at the amusement park along the way; wanna come along?”

“I’m on duty,” he replied apologetically, uncertain whether he regretted it or not. It wasn’t often he got the chance to speak to a peer, but he wasn’t sure an “amusement park” – whatever that was – was the proper forum for such a conversation, or if the suggested outing would afford him the opportunity to talk shop. Carly made a moue of disappointment at his refusal, making him chuckle.

“Sparkplug’s coming back already?” he asked Spike, pleased to learn his friend would be returning so soon. He’d nearly finished constructing the mini-comm; it would make a nice welcome-home present.

“His flight’s getting in in a couple of hours,” Spike confirmed. “We’ll be coming back here afterward, so you can talk to him then. You’ll probably see Ironhide then too, Carly,” he added, smiling in her direction.

Carly beamed in response.

Wheeljack looked at Bumblebee, who’d remained uncharacteristically quiet thus far, silently looking on as he conversed with the two humans. “You’re taking them to the airport?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Bumblebee said with a nod. “I’m off duty today, so I offered to give Spike and Carly a lift,” he explained, gazing fondly at the pair. “Everything quiet on the Decepticon front?” he asked, glancing back at Wheeljack.

“So far, so good,” he replied. “Optimus and the others are guarding the ultra-plane during its test flight. If the ‘Cons show up and start causing trouble, they’ll be ready for them.”

“Great!” Bumblebee said. “We’d better get going; we don’t want to be late to pick up Sparkplug, and I want to see this amusement park thing.” Turning back to the humans, he asked, “Spike, Carly, you two ready to roll?”

“Sure thing, Bumblebee,” Carly piped eagerly. “C’mon, Spike! Nice talking to you, Wheeljack!”

“You too, Carly,” he said again. “Say hi to Sparkplug for me.”

“We will,” Spike replied. “See you later!”

He waved to them as they left, cheered by their visit.

He was less cheered by the unexpected twinge of pain he felt as he lowered his arm – his shoulder-joint must have slipped out of alignment, or perhaps some grit had gotten caught in the seam? He’d have to ask Ratchet to take a look at – oh.

He’d forgotten. Ratchet was still angry at him.

His good mood abruptly dissolved, swept away by a wave of sorrow and regret. He wasn’t really angry at Ratchet anymore. He didn’t want Ratchet to be angry with him.

I should comm him, he thought. If he tried talking to him, maybe Ratchet would be willing to listen. Wheeljack had said some terrible things, leveled some serious accusations, but Ratchet wasn’t completely blameless himself. If Wheeljack apologized, maybe Ratchet would forgive him. Then they could put their differences aside and be friends again.

He was about to open a link to him when his comm pinged. *Yeah?* he responded, wondering if Ratchet had had the same idea.

*Morning, Wheeljack!* Trailbreaker’s deep voice greeted him heartily.

*Morning,* he replied, trying not to sound too disappointed. He could always comm Ratchet later. *How are you feeling?* he asked over the link.

*Better, thanks,* Trailbreaker said. *Missed you when you left this morning; did you recharge well?*

*Yeah,* he fibbed. *You?*

*Not too bad,* Trailbreaker said. *Got up and refueled about a joor ago, then checked in with Ratchet in the repair bay. He wanted to give me a once-over, see how my recovery was going.*

A tiny thread of apprehension coiled through his circuitry. *How’d that go?* he asked warily.

*Better than I expected,* Trailbreaker said with a wry chuckle. *I was sure he was going to yell at me – let’s just say he noticed right away my energy levels weren’t where they ought to be – but he was actually really nice. Said I should take a couple more days to recuperate, so I’m trying to take it easy. Don’t want to push my luck. Next time he might not be in such a good mood.*

Relief coursed through him. Ratchet obviously hadn’t made good on his threat to tell Trailbreaker the truth. *That’s good to hear,* he replied sincerely. *I’ve still got an extra cube for you, if you need it.*

*I’m fine for now,* Trailbreaker said. *Maybe later. Will you be coming by after you finish your shift?*

*Sure,* he said, *I can do that.*

*Great! I’ll see you then,* Trailbreaker replied. *Oh! I almost forgot – Hound commed me earlier, said he and Mirage both have tomorrow off, and I was thinking, since I’m still on medical maybe we could all do something together? You know, like we talked about?*

*I’m on duty tomorrow,* he pointed out, bemused by the suggestion. The normal duty rotation typically allowed the ‘Bots one Earth day off for every two or three on, and he’d had his day off yesterday. Surely Trailbreaker knew that? *I’m on duty for the next two days,* he added. *I won’t be off again until the day after.*

*Well, yeah, I figured you would be,* Trailbreaker said, sounding a little put off by his tone. *But you’re an officer – don’t you have some leave saved up?*

He hesitated, taken aback. He did have leave time available – almost a third of a decacycle’s worth – but the thought of putting in a request for an extra day off hadn’t even occurred to him. *Yeah, I’ve got some,* he admitted.

*You think you could take tomorrow off, then?* Trailbreaker asked hopefully. *It won’t work if you don’t come along, and it could be orns before our schedules line up on their own. You’re the only one of us who gets personal leave –*

*I’ll put in a request,* he said, cutting him off before Trailbreaker could resort to outright pleading. *I can’t guarantee it’ll get approved, but –*

*That’s okay,* Trailbreaker said quickly. *I’m sure it will be. And if it doesn’t, I’m sure it’d be for a good reason. It’s not like the Decepticons are gonna decide not to attack us just because you asked for a day off,* he chuckled over the link.

*Yeah, no kidding,* he agreed, laughing a little himself. *See you tonight, then?*

*I’ll be here,* Trailbreaker said. *Gonna hit the ‘racks in a klik, but I’ll be back in my quarters by the time you come off shift. See you then?*

*See you then,* he confirmed, closing the link. He submitted the leave request immediately, knowing advance notice would increase the odds of its approval.

He could probably use some additional time off, he reasoned, and there were worse ways he could think of to spend it than hanging out with Trailbreaker, Hound and Mirage. Pit, it might even be fun. He recalled how he and Trailbreaker had spent the better part of his last day off, and shivered at the memory.

It could definitely be worse.

**

He spent the next few joors working on the mini-comm, keeping a watchful optic on the monitors. Sparkplug would be back in a couple of breems, and Wheeljack wanted to have the new device ready in time for his arrival. He’d just finished making the final adjustments when he got the comm from Optimus Prime.

The news Prime relayed made Wheeljack’s spark clench in dismay. Bumblebee had reported Decepticon activity at the airport – the same airport he’d taken Spike and Carly to, to pick up Sparkplug. Optimus didn’t say whether Bumblebee and the humans had been likewise spotted by the ‘Cons.

Wheejack hoped they were all right.

Optimus requested that he send reinforcements immediately – Prime’s group was too far away and wouldn’t arrive in time to assist – but a quick check of the duty roster revealed that most of the ‘Bots on shift were either with Optimus or out on patrol, and none were close enough to the airport to get there in under a joor.

The discovery made his spark pulse with worry. Sparkplug, Carly and Spike were in real danger – they might even be hurt already – and no one was available to help them. For an astrosecond he debated going himself, even if it meant facing the Decepticons alone, even if it meant facing Starscream – but he knew he had little hope of defeating them singlehanded, and he couldn’t abandon his post in any case.

He nearly volunteered anyway when he reported back that they were understaffed, but before he could vocalize the request, Optimus gave the order to send in the Dinobots.

Wheeljack was startled by the suggestion – distracted by his concern for the humans, the thought of sending the Dinobots hadn’t even entered his processor – but obviously Optimus Prime had thought of it, and that said a lot about where Wheeljack’s creations stood in the optics of his commander. Optimus considered the Dinobots part of the team, contributing members to the Autobot cause.

The realization made Wheeljack’s spark swell with hope and pride. Sending the Dinobots was the next best thing to going himself – no, better, because the odds of them succeeding were higher. The Dinobots were all but invulnerable, and considered a good brawl quality entertainment. Confident that his friends would soon be safe, he hurried to fetch them.

His hopes were promptly dashed by the Dinobots’ response.

“Me, Grimlock, no like orders,” Grimlock grumbled mutinously.

“Me, Slag, no like anything,” Slag chimed in.

Wheeljack stared at them in disbelief, stunned by their unrepentant disobedience. The Dinobots had never rejected his orders before. He was their creator, and even at their most intractable, they’d always accorded him a certain degree of respect, always complied with his demands.

…or at least never flat-out refused them.

“We really need your help,” he said weakly, unable to conceal the hurt in his vocalizer. “Why won’t you give us a hand?”

“Me don’t know why not,” Grimlock said thoughtfully. “So, we help. This time.”

He watched them troop off, feeling more than a little bewildered. They’d always been rebellious, but never like this. Had something happened to them, something he didn’t know about? Had someone been picking on them? Had they overhead one of the more unkind statements some of the more vocal ‘Bots were inclined to make about them? He realized with a burst of shame that he didn’t know – he hadn’t checked in on them in days.

The shame swiftly morphed into guilt. Was that why they were being so uncooperative? Were they angry at him for ignoring them, for neglecting to stop in and see how they were doing?

Wheeljack resolved in that moment to spend more time with them. He’d even give them a checkup when they got back, just to make sure their programming wasn’t deteriorating. Perhaps he’d made an error in the code somewhere. “I’ve got to work on their personality circuits,” he muttered to himself.

With the Dinobots in such a peculiar mood, his worry for his human friends returned in force. He began to pace nervously, until one of the servos in his hip gave an unsettling creak, followed by a sharp twinge of pain that brought him up short.

What was wrong with him? He’d never been prone to these sorts of mechanical problems, and his last maintenance exam had been only a few days ago. Ratchet hadn’t found any issues then, or at least none he’d thought worth mentioning. By now Wheeljack’s regenerative systems should have taken care of any lingering damage he’d suffered during their recent impromptu visit to the Earth’s sun, and he hadn’t been involved in any combat since, or even any strenuous activity –

Okay, so maybe he’d engaged in some mildly strenuous activity.

But even so, nothing he’d done with Trailbreaker should have resulted in the sort of minor malfunctions he was experiencing now. The faint touch of weariness, maybe, but not the pain. Trailbreaker was anything but rough.

He thought about comming Ratchet and setting up an appointment, but hesitated when he recalled what Trailbreaker had said about Ratchet’s observation that his energy levels were low. If Ratchet discovered that Wheeljack’s energy levels were similarly depleted, it would be patently obvious what they’d been up to, and that would be just plain embarrassing. Even if Ratchet were inclined to approve of the fact that Wheeljack was now getting his gears stripped regularly, he’d have still found it awkward; Ratchet’s opinion on his involvement with Trailbreaker only made it more so.

Maybe he could ask Sparkplug to have a look at him, instead. The human mechanic wouldn’t realize the implications of Wheeljack's low energy levels, or question him about the minor scuffs and dents he might have recently acquired on his chassis. Sparkplug wouldn’t recognize what those things added up to, the way Ratchet or Hoist undoubtedly would.

But that was assuming Sparkplug wasn’t damaged himself, that his human friend hadn’t suffered any injuries at the hands of the Decepticons during their attack on the airport.

His worry returned, stronger than ever. He wished he could comm Sparkplug and ask if he was all right, that he’d already given his friend the mini-communicator he’d invented. What if the Dinobots got lost on their way to the airport, or simply decided they didn’t feel like bailing out the Autobots and their human allies yet again? What if they ended up getting into another brawl and completely forgot their mission? Normally Wheeljack would have trusted them, but in light of their recent behavior…

Distressed at the thought of Sparkplug and the others waiting vainly for help that never arrived, he commed Red Alert and apprised him of the situation.

*I knew something was up,* Red Alert replied. *I could feel it in my circuits.*

*Is there anyone we could spare?* he asked hopefully. Red Alert was close to Inferno. The fire truck wasn’t on duty, but he might be willing to help purely as a favor to Red.

*I’ll go myself,* Red Alert commed back after a taking a moment to consider. *Prowl can handle things here. I’ll get Inferno to come along, and pull Hoist off duty in the repair bay. No one’s in need of repairs at the moment, and there might be injuries to address at the site.*

*Thanks Red,* he said, feeling sincerely grateful. *I’ll let Optimus know you’re on your way.*

*Red Alert out,* Red replied crisply, closing the link.

Wheeljack was able to relax a little after that – if the Dinobots failed to make it to the airport to defeat the Decepticons, Red Alert and the others would be on hand to deal with them. If the Dinobots did make it, having additional assistance couldn’t hurt. Odds were good Inferno would be needed in either case – Grimlock and the other Dinobots had vastly improved as a result of their training on Dinobot Island and Wheeljack’s work with them, but they still erred occasionally. Even if they didn’t, the Decepticons might cause enough devastation to the human structures to warrant Inferno and Hoist’s expertise regardless.

There was no need to engage in pointless worrying, he assured himself. Everything would be fine.

**

The next comm came in approximately a joor later.

*Wheeljack,* Hoist said, sounding uncharacteristically tentative. *This is Hoist.*

*Hey, Hoist,* he greeted him. *Are you still at the airport?*

*No,* Hoist replied slowly. *I’m on my way back to the Ark now; Red Alert and Bumblebee are right behind me. The humans are with them, but the others stayed behind. Optimus and his team are on their way.*

Wheeljack cocked his helm, disturbed by the medic’s tone. Hoist was normally an effusive mech, gregarious almost to a fault, but now he spoke reluctantly, as if hesitant to provide a full report. *So how’d it go?* he prodded.

There was a pause. *Well…we managed to roust the Decepticons, but otherwise…rather badly, I’m afraid,* Hoist replied cautiously.

*Did something happen?* he asked, his spark clenching. *The humans – Sparkplug and Carly and Spike – are they all right?*

*The humans are fine,* Hoist replied, much to Wheeljack’s relief. *But there was a rather large explosion; the others stayed behind to help repair the damage.*

*Is everyone all right?* he pressed.

Another pause. *No,* Hoist said regretfully. *Please inform Ratchet that I’ll be arriving soon with casualties. He’ll need to be prepared to perform extensive repairs.*

Wheeljack’s optics widened in alarm. *Who –?*

*I’ll be there in just a few kliks,* Hoist said gently, cutting him off. *You…you’ll want to prepare yourself, too, Wheeljack. It’s bad.*

Cold dread shivered through his circuits as Hoist severed the link. Obviously one of the ‘Bots had been damaged – more than one, he realized; Hoist had said casualties, plural – and the damage was severe. Wheeljack couldn’t help but feel responsible. He’d been the one to beg Red Alert to go to the airport, and he’d created the Dinobots, who he could only conclude must have failed to arrive just as he’d feared, leaving the reinforcements to face the Decepticons alone.

He ordered Teletraan-1 to alert Ratchet to prepare the repair bay as Hoist had requested rather than comming him personally, reasoning that they couldn’t afford to waste precious time arguing about their personal differences while other ‘Bots’ sparks were at stake. That accomplished, he opened a comm link to the first mech he could think of, one he knew would be available.

*Trailbreaker?* he said hesitantly when his hail was received. *It’s Wheeljack.*

*What’s up?* Trailbreaker replied cheerfully, obviously pleased to hear from him. *Did your request get approved already?*

*No,* he said. *I just got a comm from Hoist – there are injured mechs coming in, and they need my help, but I’m stuck here on the monitors –*

*I’ll be right down,* Trailbreaker replied, anticipating his request. *No need to wait for me – go on out to meet him. I’ll cover for you.*

*Thanks,* he said, relieved. *I’ll…I’ll see you tonight, if I can.*

*Looking forward to it,* Trailbreaker replied fondly, and closed the link.

Wheeljack transformed, hurrying to the main entrance of the Ark to await Hoist’s arrival.

**

He felt as if his primary fuel lines had been severed.

As promised, Hoist arrived only moments after Wheeljack reached the entrance, towing the burned-out husk of a human cargo jet’s fuselage behind him. In it were all five Dinobots, offline and unmoving.

Wheeljack stood equally motionless as he stared at the wreckage, unable to process what his optics told him he was seeing. He’d created the Dinobots to be every bit as tough and formidable as their Earth counterparts – they were practically indestructible, their armor plating nigh-impenetrable when in their alt modes, and considerable even when out of them. How –?

Hoist braked to a halt and transformed, rushing to his side. He had to repeat Wheeljack’s name several times before the words registered, forcing the stunned engineer to acknowledge his presence.

“Wheeljack,” Hoist said again, urgently. “Bumblebee and Red Alert are on their way; they’ll be here soon. Did you inform Ratchet?”

“Yeah,” he said, his vocal indicators barely flickering, sounding dazed even to his own audials. “Yeah, he knows. He’s waiting.”

“Let’s get them inside,” Hoist said, tugging on Wheeljack’s arm when he failed to move. “Wheeljack! I need you to help me with them! Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” he said again. His circuits were numb. What was happening? Hoist sounded so worried.

A mild shove in the direction of the wreckage got him moving, set his feet into motion. As he drew closer, he reached for the nearest appendage he could discern – Sludge’s arm, he thought, or was it Snarl’s? No, Sludge had spikes on his wrists, he remembered installing them. Grimlock had them too, but in reverse –

“No,” Hoist said, pulling his hand away. “We need to tow them in, as far as we can. You can help me carry them into the repair bay once we’re closer. Right now I need you to follow me and make sure they don’t fall out. All right?”

“Okay,” he said, transforming.

Hoist did the same, re-engaging his tow hitch to the wreckage and pulling forward into the Ark. Wheeljack followed him.

On the way to repair bay, some of the haze clouding his processor began to lift, and his CPU flared to life, drowning him in a deluge of questions – what had happened? How had the Dinobots gotten so damaged? How bad was it? Would they be able to repair them –?

That last thought made his spark twist painfully in its chamber. What if they couldn’t fix them? What if –

The sound of Hoist transforming again broke though his daze, recapturing his attention. Reflexively, Wheeljack did the same. As he turned to face the medic, Hoist carefully lowered Swoop into his arms.

He hastened to get a firm grip on the Dinobot, to keep Swoop’s limp frame from slumping to the floor. With a grunt of effort, he heaved the bulky mech onto his shoulder-strut and staggered through the repair bay doors.

He was vaguely aware of movement, of swift footsteps and a familiar, dismayed voice saying, “Oh, no,” as he lowered Swoop gently onto the nearest berth. His joints creaked in protest, sending a distant flash of pain through his circuits, but he paid it no heed.

Somewhere behind him, he dimly registered a flurry of activity, a hasty exchange of hushed words – How did…-ppen? -plosion. –one else? No. -ljack? -ock…like a drone, – but it was all just white noise to his strangely muffled audials, scarcely resembling words at all.

He stared down at Swoop, taking in the mangled plating and charred components he barely recognized, even though he’d crafted most of them with his own two hands. His lifted one of those hands now, shifting it to a welding torch and applying it to the first gash in the Swoop’s armor his optics settled upon. Swoop was the youngest, the kindest and most eager-to-please of his creations. It would be wrong to have a favorite among them, but –

He’d done this. He’d sent them to the airport – they hadn’t wanted to go – he moved on to the next ravaged component, his torch firing swiftly now – he should have spent more time with them – Swoop was still offline, unresponsive, but he dampened his pain receptors anyway, performing the action automatically, without thought. He moved on to the next section, repairing damage as he went, and then the next one, and the next...

**

Six joors later, they were still hard at work. The most critical injuries had all been repaired, and while still badly damaged, the Dinobots were now stable, no longer hovering on the brink of deactivation.

Optimus Prime and his team had returned to the Ark about a third of a joor after Red Alert, Bumblebee, and the humans, who had in turn gotten back less than a breem after Hoist. Red Alert had immediately returned to his post, but Bumblebee and the humans had come to the repair bay to see how the Dinobots were faring. Optimus Prime had also stopped in, checking on the Dinobots’ status before leaving again to oversee the reconstruction efforts back at the airport. Some of the other ‘Bots who’d been with Prime – Ironhide, Jazz, Hound and Mirage – stayed behind, hovering on the perimeter, offering their silent support.

As it became clear the Dinobots would recover from their injuries, the level of tension in the repair bay decreased considerably. Wheeljack’s efforts gradually became more concerted, performed with something resembling a deliberate will rather than an instinctive, pre-programmed response. The numbing fog slowly lifted from his processor, allowing him to think and feel again.

The strongest of the returned emotions was guilt, followed closely by shame and self-recrimination. He’d let the Dinobots down, sent them on a mission that had nearly gotten them deactivated. Before that, he’d neglected them, failing to look in on them and ensure they were content and happy. He was their creator, and he’d failed them – failed them in every way that mattered.

All he could do now was try to repair the damage, to make it up to them after the fact.

Truth be told, even in that he’d failed them – he’d practically gone to pieces at the mere sight of their scorched and battered frames, unable to move or focus on the task at hand until Hoist had physically prodded him into action.

Ratchet hadn’t come apart like that; the CMO had remained calm and in control throughout, briskly assessing the damage and determining what needed to be done, which injuries were the most critical. He’d barked orders, and Wheeljack had obeyed, grateful for the direction, to be told what to do and not have to rely on his own clouded and sluggish processor to guide him.

Wheeljack knew he would never be as strong as Ratchet. It was a constant struggle just to keep up with him. Only his own stubborn nature prevented him from giving up entirely, even though his logic circuits insisted it was a hopeless endeavor. He wasn’t a medic; he was an engineer. He may have had the technical skills necessary to repair damaged mechs, but he didn’t have a medic’s programming, didn’t have the detachment subroutines and other coping mechanisms that Ratchet possessed.

But that didn’t change the fact that Wheeljack respected Ratchet, admired him and wanted Ratchet to respect him in return. How could Ratchet respect him, unless Wheeljack stepped up to his level and proved he was just as strong, just as worthy?

The answer was, he couldn’t.

That was why Ratchet pitied him, and why Wheeljack hated it so much when he did, hated each and every reminder of his inability to live up to Ratchet’s standard, every little indication that he would never be as good as Ratchet, no matter how hard he tried.

It was no wonder Ratchet pitied him – what could be more pathetic than watching a mech struggle to attain a goal so obviously beyond him? It would be like watching Sludge try to master calculus – painful at best, outright laughable at worst.

A cry of pain followed by a burst of frustrated cursing interrupted his train of thought; looking up, he saw that Ratchet had gotten a bad shock from an exposed wire he’d been trying to solder into place within Grimlock’s chassis, and was now grumbling irritably about the substandard tools they had to work with on Earth.

As Hoist and Mirage commiserated with Ratchet’s complaints, speaking longingly of Cybertron, Wheeljack felt his bleak mood begin to lighten. What other ‘Bots might interpret as mere ill-temped griping on Ratchet’s part held a very different meaning for him, because he knew Ratchet – knew him well enough to know that Ratchet upset often equated to Ratchet angry.

Ratchet’s mask of detachment may have been firmly in place for the others, but for Wheeljack that mask had slipped a little, revealing that Ratchet was, in his own way, just as shaken by the Dinobots’ condition as he had been.

It was a curiously comforting realization.

He managed to catch Ratchet’s optics, to meet and hold his gaze for an astrosecond. They shared a look over Grimlock’s bent and blackened frame, a look that was at once worried and determined, encouraging and sympathetic.

He gave a brief nod. Ratchet’s lip components quirked, forming the faintest of smiles, and he nodded back. The Dinobots were their creations. They’d built them together; they’d get them through this.

United in their resolve, they resumed their task once more, working side by side, meshed like two cogs in a larger machine. No words were exchanged.

None were necessary.

**

“Okay, Swoop, transform!” he said.

The delight in his vocalizer was obvious as he issued the command. The Dinobots were all but repaired, back on their feet with only a few minor injuries remaining, damage their regenerative systems would set to rights in just under a joor. They’d relocated to Command, where the Dinobots would have more room to move and where any lingering problems with transformation or locomotion would be more readily discernible. Swoop’s transformation cog was the last item on the list of complaints, and the repairs Wheeljack had performed on it were nearly complete. All that was left was this final test.

Swoop strained, struggling to obey, but it was evident he was unable to comply. Wheeljack stepped in immediately – he already had a good idea what the problem was.

“Ratchet,” he called over his shoulder-strut as he opened Swoop’s chestplate to make a few adjustments. “Recalibrate the resistance rating.”

Ratchet did as he asked without comment. Out of the corner of his optic, Wheeljack noted that the smile that had briefly visited Ratchet’s lip components a short while ago had returned, this time to stay.

Swoop’s transform circuits whirred to life, whirling into motion once more. Wheeljack closed the small panel he’d opened in the Dinobot’s chestplate and said, “Try it now, Swoop,” his vocal indicators flashing brightly.

Swoop transformed, lifting off of the floor with a screechy roar of success.

“Good,” he said, unable to conceal the relief in his vocalizer even if he’d wanted to. “Well boys, we did it,” he said, feeling the tension leaving his servos for the first time in joors. He glanced over at Ratchet again, meeting his gaze. Ratchet looked as relieved as he sounded.

Ratchet turned to Hoist, thanking him for his assistance. Wheeljack was about to suggest they try and locate some high grade to celebrate their success when Optimus Prime’s comm signal came through.

“How are the Dinobots, Wheeljack?” Prime asked.

“They’re all set to go,” he replied proudly, still flush with their success.

“Not a moment too soon,” Optimus said. “The Decepticons are on the rampage again.”

For an astrosecond Wheeljack was too stunned to respond. They’d finished the repairs, yes, but the Dinobots had been fully functional for less than a klik – surely Prime didn’t expect them to go back into action so soon? – but Optimus was already giving the order: “Dinobots, transform!”

“No!” Grimlock bellowed, startling them all. “Dinobots no go! Me, Grimlock, no take orders. Never!”

Wheeljack was floored by Grimlock's refusal of Prime's command – he may have been hesitant to send his creations back into battle, but he hadn’t expected the Dinobots themselves to object. He’d resigned himself to letting them go, knowing that any suggestion of weakness or implication that they couldn’t fight would be met with great offense.

But Grimlock wasn’t alone in his rebellion; Slag immediately (and somewhat predictably) voiced his agreement, and even Swoop spoke up in support of Grimlock, sounding almost apologetic as he politely informed Optimus that he too was refusing to obey; Grimlock was their leader.

Pleased as ever by the confirmation of his authority, Grimlock reasserted his leadership of the Dinobots, and all five of them transformed, turning to leave.

“But you love to fight!” he protested, bewildered by their inexplicable insubordination, torn between concern for their well-being and chagrin at yet another public demonstration of just how intractable and unreliable his creations could be.

“Us fight when us want to!” Grimlock retorted with an angry glare that made Wheeljack’s spark contract with guilt. “Now, goodbye!”

Grimlock lumbered out. The other Dinobots followed.

He watched them go, dumbfounded. “What’s gotten into them?” he asked of no one in particular.

“They’re scared,” Ratchet said quietly. “They’ve never been hurt before – not like this. They’re used to feeling invulnerable, like there’s nothing they can’t handle. Now they know they’re not, and it scares them.”

Wheeljack turned to look at him, and found the medic regarding him sadly.

“They’re a lot like their creator that way,” Ratchet observed. “I just hope they can forgive us for letting them get hurt. For not being there to protect them when they needed us.”

Wheeljack stared at him in surprise, realizing abruptly that Ratchet wasn’t just talking about the Dinobots. The painful clash of emotions currently warring within his spark, all the confusion and worry and guilt and helpless frustration he was feeling over his creations’ injury and subsequent rejection – that was what Ratchet had been feeling all along, ever since he’d learned what Starscream had done to him.

Wheeljack may have suffered the brunt of Starscream’s assault, but he hadn’t suffered alone.

“Ratch –” he said softly, shaken by the revelation.

Whatever he might have said, he never got to say it, because Optimus Prime chose that moment to state that if the Dinobots were unwilling to fight, the remaining Autobots would have to confront the Decepticons themselves.

Prime gave the order to roll out, and they hastened to comply.


*Part 17 is here*

Comments

[mdperera.livejournal.com]

The story has always been deep and complex, but the end of this chapter was a wonderful twist. Everything is summed up in the line "Wheeljack may have suffered the brunt of Starscream’s assault, but he hadn’t suffered alone."

Wonderful for everyone except poor Trailbreaker, that is. No one deserves to be second best, especially considering how much he cares about 'Jack. Poor guy.

[aaaaaah.livejournal.com]

Great chapter, definitely worth the wait. I liked the dream sequence at the beginning - it seemed appropriately dream-like without coming off as forced or overdone the way that type of scene often is. It looks like Trailbreaker's starting to catch on to things. Also, it's nice to see Wheeljack and Ratchet sort-of getting along again, by the end of the chapter.

Can't wait to see more! ;)

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

I'm glad to hear you thought the dream sequence worked - it was one of the things I was worried about. (I'd avoided doing one previously because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to pull it off.) I wanted it to be suitably dreamlike without going over the top - since I've implied that Cybertronian "dreams" are really just "sensor echoes" I couldn't stray too far from 'Jack's actual memories, so it's mostly recollections of actual events mixed up chronologically so that they're happening in the same time and space. I cheated a bit with the winding cables, but it could be argued that 'Jack has been tied up at some point in his existence and his CPU simply coughed up that memory along with the rest in response to the overarching immobilization theme.

[vonderbarr.livejournal.com]

I thought the dream was well done. In fact, Jack was probably tied up in some form when the Sub-Atlanticans experimented on him.

Another great chapter BTW, I'm glad to see Jack and Ratchet starting to repair their friendship. I love how you keep sticking canon into this, it's like we know what's gonna happen, but not really :)

[sister-dear.livejournal.com]

This chapter left me feeling like something significant is going to happen very soon. (Well, something kind of did in this one, didn't it.) I'm hoping the end of this one means Wheeljack and Ratchet are going to start talking to each other again, and at the same time hoping things work out between Wheeljack and Trailbreaker, but mostly I'm looking forward to finding out what happens next.

In short, you've still got me completely hooked.

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

This chapter left me feeling like something significant is going to happen very soon.

You're not wrong. Big things are coming, but there's a little more story to tell yet. ;)

[feeling-brave.livejournal.com]

Oops, missed a bit, and I can really empathise with 'Jack at for most of this chapter. He's just starting to feel as if the thread of his life is firmly attached to something and then the middle gives way, poor mech, but there is hope at the end and that's wonderful, I just hope no one gets crushed by it as this chapter feels like the calm before the storm to me, again I eagerly await more.

[laratron.livejournal.com]

I am still loving this fic. It is so well written and you keep me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I still can't decide which I would like better; Wheeljack and Ratchet or Wheeljack and Trailbreaker. I think the only conclusion is a threesome! XP

[anon-decepticon.livejournal.com]

kookaburra1701 and I were joking about how long it would be before someone made that suggestion - I think you get a cookie for being the first! Chocolate chip okay with you?

[laratron.livejournal.com]

yay cookie! I love chocolate chip!

[growlingturtlez.livejournal.com]

So well done! I love it...but what's wrong with Wheeljack?? And I can't help but still hold out a hope for Wheeljack and Ratchet, even though Trailbreaker is so awesome...is Trailbreaker going to find out what happened to Wheeljack soon?

Yes, as another reviewer commented, the only solution is a threesome!

[faremyr.livejournal.com]

*auch*

...there you go. Oh, man - I love this story.