Constantly Tired

NSFW Prompts + rules

February 8: Alt mode February 9: Secret February 10: Battlefield February 11: Collar February 12: Toys February 13: Wireplay February 14: Free space

The NSFW event also has a couple of common-sense rules that we wanted to say explicitly. Anything shared for these prompts will be tagged "nsfw."

You must be over 18 to participate in the NSFW portion of the event. Some indication on your profile that you're an adult is necessary to share NSFW work.

As he walked, the ship started to come alive around him (thankfully not literally, once was more than enough). Vehicons left their quarters to get their rations, but as opposed to the polite but brief greetings he would get before, when he was Megatron’s Second, they were either much more energetic and casual, or just ignored him completed. Which he did not mind, even if it was the reason he usually got his cube so early. Occasionally, he’d see another spark floating next to some mech’s shoulders, or resting like Skyquake in a servo. 

“Morning, Air Commander.” An eradicon, Steph by name, fell into step with him. “Morning, Skyquake.” 

Skyquake bobbled slightly at the acknowledgement, but didn’t rise from the cube like he sometimes did. 

“Good morning,” Dreadwing answered her, subtly observing her to better secure her identity in his processor. She was one of the vehicons who, now free of Decepticon regulations, had altered her colors, yellow and red stripes cutting across her purple and black. She had stepped up to become something of a lieutenant to him in the past few orns. 

“Switchgear sent me the duty shift, if you’d like it now instead of having to walk all the way to the bridge.” 

“Thank you.” Dreadwing had no quarrel with the new Head of Logistics, but the vehicon always had an air of melancholy around him these days, which even his closest companions like Steph found draining. Dreadwing himself had only just recently risen from his own, and would prefer not lingering in someone else’s. “Did you have a good evening?”

“An entertaining one at least. Steve is still moping, so Tony got the smart idea to challenge him to a race down one of the streets not fully cleared yet. He accepted, the idiot, and…”

Completely unintentionally, Dreadwing ended up thinking back on how this new status quo came to be. 

Most of them called it peace. He would not until he knew that word of the War’s end had spread to all Autobots and Decepticons and that they’d all laid down their weapons. Without Soundwave, that message would be slow to get out. Perhaps that was their Lord’s, former Lord’s, mission now, going to his generals and telling them to stand down. He knew Ultra Magnus was broadcasting the same message on Autobot channels at least once daily, usually more. 

After Megatron’s disbanding, and Optimus’s sacrifice, the Autobots had seemed almost at a loss of what to do next. Despite himself, Dreadwing found himself slipping back into a command role, organizing the vehicons into suitable roles and units. It wasn’t a perfect system, several changes had been made since then, but it was enough that Cybertron’s restoration could go on, even as the Autobots mourned the Prime’s passing. In thanks, Magnus officially instated him as the new Air Commander of their flying forces. 

The work was slow, with the little that had been started in Iacon impractical to continue with the Nemesis now forever grounded. So they shifted their focus to Tyger Pax, the city which surrounded the Well. Bulkhead led the physical restoration, his former work as a construction worker making him the most suited. Knockout was back to ruling the medbay, Ratchet having to return to Earth as the cybertronian liaison to their human allies. Switchgear, Soundwave’s former right hand and lover, took over managing logistics, while communications had no real head, just rotating shift leads who reported to Magnus. Magnus himself held command over all scouting operations, but had divided them into divisions led by the remaining Autobots. All the eradicons, of course, fell under Dreadwing’s own command. 

These memories carried him through the ship and Steph’s story until they reached the mess hall. Steph headed to the dispensers to get her own cube, while Dreadwing went to the recyclers and set Skyquake and his cube down. 

Unlike usual, Skyquake did not rise out and settle himself on Dreadwing’s shoulder, or dash off to wherever he liked to be during the day. He just stayed in the cube, settling down even more than before, so the most solid part of his being actually rested on the base of the cube. 

Dreadwing raised a brow at the behavior, but just reached in to pet the edge of his corona. “I’ll see you later, brother.” He turned and left the mess, hiding a smirk at the sudden yelps and laughs from a table of vehicons as they got suddenly divebombed by a particularly active spark. 

The sparks were another new aspect of Cybertron they were adjusting to, though most seemed to have taken them in stride. They’d erupted from the Well after Optimus’s sacrifice, and they thought it was just a sign of life returning to the planet. Then, while most of the sparks eventually returned to the core, a large number remained on the surface, and they’d eventually realized these weren’t just random sparks. 

Arcee had been the one to figure it out, when two sparks had been insistent on staying as close to her as possible, and it eventually clicked that they were Tailgate and Cliffjumper, her old partners slain in the War. After that, everyone started paying more attention, and while not the reunions many would have wanted, most of them took comfort in their comrades and loved ones returning in this way. No one knew how long this would last, and they were making the most of it. 

He opened the duty roster, and found it was a typical day: three flying patrols to be sent out, north, east and south, recon and salvage runs. Nothing new or out of the ordinary, so he closed the roster and headed to his quarters gather his weapons. 

~

Joors later, Dreadwing and his squad returned from their patrol. They’d had quite the stroke of luck, discovering an old Autobot cache that still held usable energon, weaponry and most importantly, medical supplies. They couldn’t bring it all back at once, so Dreadwing ordered the medical supplies gathered first, and marked the location so another team could come back for the rest. Upon their return, he led the team down to the medbay to deliver the supplies. 

Upon entering, Daisy was the medic in the main area, Breakdown flying from her to the squad as she looked them over. “Any injuries?”

“No, but we discovered a cache of medical supplies, and I felt it prudent to deliver them as soon as possible. 

“Thank you. Just place them in the front of the storage room for now, we’ll sort through them later. Dreadwing, Knockout needs to speak to you about something in the operating room.” 

Dreadwing nodded his ascent, but curiosity sparked in his processor. As far as he was aware, his last medical check hadn’t flagged any errors, and he’d not been injured in the time since. 

After the supplies were placed, carefully so as to not be damaged, Dreadwing went into the operating room. No bot lay on the medical slab, but he spotted Knockout tinkering with something on a tool cart, the spark stabilizer connected to the top of it. 

“Knockout?”

Knockout jumped and turned, revealing the device he was working on. A glass container with an energon diffuser from the decontamination pod on the bottom, and inside, Skyquake’s spark. 

“What are you doing!?” Dreadwing stalked forward, and Knockout held both servos up in surrender. 

“With luck, saving your brother’s spark!” he cried out, and continued when Dreadwing froze in shock. “Some vehicons carried him in a couple joors ago. He was guttering, fading out. I only got him stabilized maybe thirty klicks ago.” 

Dreadwing looked at his brother, and found him much like he’d been that morning, lethargically sitting towards the bottom of the container. He placed a servo gently on the glass. “How did this happen?”

“I can’t be sure but…” Knockout hesitated a moment. “I think it’s because of your split spark. None of the other sparks we’ve seen have come even close to fading out, but his has always been a bit dimmer than the others. I’ll do my best to keep him online, but you might need to consider helping him return to the Well.”

Dreadwing’s helm snapped to Knockout. “We are not killing my brother.”

“He’s already dead, Dreadwing. This… phenomenon is not a true revival or second life. At best, it’s a moment of comfort before we have to move on with our lives. Yours just might be shorter than the rest of ours. We also don’t know what will happen if a free-floating spark dissipates. Maybe they’ll return to the Well like when extinguished in a frame, or maybe they’re forever lost, and you won’t reunite ever, in your existence.” 

Dreadwing turned back to Skyquake. He’d only barely shifted towards his servo, and was dimmer than he usually was, which had been dimmer than the other sparks, as Knockout had said. His spark ached to see it, and also ached to think of losing him, either for now or for ever. 

“How long will the stabilizer last?” 

“I have no idea, but provided we don’t have any emergencies that require its usage, an orn is my best guess.” 

An orn. Thirteen days to decide his brother’s fate. “Please keep him stable as long as you can. I-” A short, deep vent, as his spark twisted in his chassis. “I need to think.” 

“Yes, Commander.” Knockout flapped a servo at him. “I’ll need to make a couple last adjustments to the device, and I can’t do that with you in the way.” 

Dreadwing nodded his understanding, but still took a klick to finally draw his servo away and leave the operating room. Breakdown flitted over to him, bumping his shoulder. Dreadwing’s lips curled slightly at the attempted comfort from the officer he’d known the least, and nodded his thanks and goodbye as he left. 

~

The next few days, Dreadwing mulled over Skyquake. He’d not said anything, and he doubted Daisy or Knockout did either, but word had still spread. No one said anything directly, but it showed in their actions. Steph and a couple others taking care of air command minutiae so he didn’t have to. A vehicon letting him cut the line at the dispenser so he could get his ration sooner. Magnus telling him bereavement leave would be granted the moment he asked. The looks most everyone gave him, even if they were kind enough to not whisper when they knew he was in audial range. 

Truly, there wasn’t much to think about. He could either return Skyquake to the Well now, let him go sooner, or cling to him as long as possible, but risk him disappearing all together. It should really be an easy choice to make, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t give up his twin. 

It grated painfully that the only other mecha on the planet who could understand what he was feeling was Starscream, who had lost his trinemates long ago. He was not going to even think of approaching the other Seeker for advice, when he was the reason Skyquake was only a spark now. 

It had been suggested, back when they first learned who the sparks were, to try and place one in their frame, to see if they’d reintegrate, but there were non suitable. Vehicon cadavers were scrapped for parts as soon as death was confirmed. Breakdown’s frame had been smelted after the disaster with the Dark-Synth Energon formula. Cliffjumper was buried under a literal mountain of rubble, even aside the damage sustained before and after death. Skyquake’s frame was mostly intact, but aside from being trapped in the Shadowzone, it had been infected with Dark Energon, and he was not going to let his brother become what Megatron had. 

These thoughts consumed his datatracks, every spare moment turning them over, reaching for some new option, a third choice that would let him have his oil cake and eat it too. So absorbed, he almost missed the urgent summons Ratchet sent out. That name was what made him move towards the medbay as fast as he could without flying or running. He wasn’t scheduled to return for another half-groon, meaning something big was happening. 

He was not expecting to come in and see a squad of vehicons in the main room, Daisy frantically gesturing for him and Smokescreen (the cadet having arrived the same time as him) to head to the operating room. Even less was he expecting the sight that met them there. 

Wheeljack sat on the rotated medberth, his optics narrowing upon seeing Dreadwing, a yellow and blue sparkling cradled in his arms. “You stay right back there, ‘Con. You’re not getting anywhere close to him again.”

“Jackie,” Bulkhead admonished from where he stood at Wheeljack’s side. At the other was Ratchet, running a scanner over the sparkling. The other Autobots, Knockout, and Switchgear all stood around the room, Arcee in particular staring at the sparkling with some uninterpretable mixture of emotions.

“Whoa, Wheeljack, where’d you find a sparkling?” Smokescreen stepped up as close as he could to the berth, trying to see the sparkling. 

“Bit of a long story,” Wheeljack said, looking around the room. Seemed everyone was there, so he started his tale. “I was leading a recon out to the east, towards Nova Cronium, and we found a hot spot.”

“A hot spot?” Bumblebee asked. “There has been an active one since long before the War started.” 

“Yeah, I know, that’s why it surprised us. It was in the area of the old Guildhall, so we think it’s the one that served Nova, and the Omega Lock revived it. I was testing the metal, seeing what composition everything was, when Seaspray dove into the ground. I figured he was just playing around, so I kept working, then a joor later I heard wailing.” He shifted the sparkling, and the pieces clicked together for Dreadwing. 

“That’s Seaspray,” he said, and now Wheeljack’s reaction to his entrance made sense. 

“Yup. Brought him back here right away, and called Ratchet up for the exam.” Wheeljack looked to the medic, who had pulled back the scanner and was tapping at it. “How is he, doc?”

“Remarkably, he’s perfectly healthy. I can detect no glitches, and the frame is formed perfectly for a newforged sparkling.” He put the scanner away. “The main concern is making sure we can distill sparkling-grade energon, since I am the only mech here with a refinery tank and lines, and I can’t stay to play nursemaid.”

“Luckily, an artificial one won’t be hard to craft, and we have the resources to mix it,” Knockout said, looking up from a datapad. 

“So we can get our friends back?” Arcee asked, a spark of hope lighting up her optics. 

“Yes and no, Arcee,” Ratchet said. “This sparkling may carry Seaspray’s spark, but not his memories, else there’d be a lot more processor activity going on, and he probably wouldn’t be as calm as he is now. This wasn’t a revival or a resurrection. It’s more of a reincarnation. In fact,” he turned to Wheeljack and Bulkhead, “I’d give him a different name than Seaspray. He’s not going to be the same mech you remember, and it’d be cruel to give him a name with any expectation behind it.”

Wheeljack and Bulkhead looked down at the sparkling, then each other, and seemed to come to the same decision. “Barnacle.” Wheeljack smiled. “I think he’d appreciate that.”

“Barny for short. We’ll just need to keep Miko away from purple paint when we visit.” Bulkhead leaned in and rubbed the sparkling’s helm with a digit, and the sparkling nuzzled into him. 

“So, should we prepare for a baby boom?” Smokescreen asked. “Once this gets out, you know everyone’s going to be taking a spark to the hot spot to bring them back.”

“That would strain our resources too much, and slow down the restoration efforts if half our workforce are on parental leave,” Switchgear said. 

“There were a bunch of other sparks there with the squad, and Seaspray- Barnacle was the only one to dive in,” Wheeljack said. 

“Maybe the spark has to choose to be reforged,” Bumblebee suggested. “So if they’re not ready, or don’t want to, they won’t go in.” 

Like an electrical surge, a thought rushed through Dreadwing’s processor, and he was speaking before he’d even completed it. “I would like to test that theory.” 

Everyone turned to look at him, and he quickly composed himself before continuing. “You all know the situation with Skyquake’s spark. If I can attempt this with him, we will have a better idea of how it works.” 

“I’ll go with him,” Arcee said, to no one’s surprise. “Better to know, right?”

Ultra Magnus and Ratchet met optics, and were certainly discussing the matter over comms with how their silence stretched on. After a couple klicks however, Ultra Magnus nodded, and turned back to them, a set of coordinates pinging on Dreadwing’s HUD. “You two may go to the hot spot. Return by last shift tomorrow, whether or not the sparks reforge.”

“Take Daisy with you,” Knockout said. “She’ll monitor the process and take readings as needed.” 

Dreadwing nodded, and sent a short message to Arcee. [The two of you leave now. I’ll catch up once I have Skyquake.]

[Affirmative.] Arcee turned on her heel and left the operating room while Dreadwing crossed to where Skyquake was still sitting in the stabilizer. He hadn’t improved since being placed inside, but he also hadn’t declined. Now Dreadwing only hoped he’d last outside the device. 

Knockout had a glass canister ready for transport. “Keep him in your cockpit. Proximity to your spark might be the only thing to keep him alive for the transit.” 

“Thank you.” He took the canister and Knockout transferred Skyquake into it. Dreadwing placed the lid and didn’t even wait for the full seal before he was running out the door. The flight deck was too far, so he just took one of the airlocks, taking off just as Arcee and Daisy drove out the ground level. 

He was tempted to leave the two behind, get to the hot spot coordinates as fast as possible. But he’d need Daisy if anything went wrong, and he could not fly while carrying both femmes. So instead it was a long, slow flight, even as he was certain Arcee and Daisy were redlining their engines. 

After a small eternity, the shattered Guildhall came into view, and luckily it was a straight shot down the road Wheeljack’s team had already cleared, so after one loop to bleed off height and speed, he landed in the hot spot at the same time the femmes stopped and transformed. The pale blue and red sparks of Arcee’s partners flitted around her shoulders. 

The loamy ground certainly felt like an active hot spot, and Dreadwing dropped to his knees in it, setting the canister down on its side. A quick twist of his wrist had the lid off, and a soft tilt sent Skyquake into the living metal with an almost audible plop. 

Knockout may have been right about proximity being the only thing keeping Skyquake alive. His brother was dim, glowing no brighter than the Nemesis’s emergency lights, and only the slightest pulse to his spark suggested he was anything more than a ball of plasma. 

“Skyquake, you’re in a hot spot. An active one. I brought you here so you can form a new body, so you can live again. It- it won’t be the same. You won’t be the same mech. But I can’t- Sky, I can’t lose you again. If this isn’t what you want, I’ll carry you into the Well, like Optimus did.” He hadn’t realized his desires leaning that way until that moment, but he knew it to be truth. 

He cupped his servos around Skyquake, and leaned down until his crest rested against his corona. He could feel the lubricant starting to pool in his optics and shut them. “Please, Sky. Come back to me, or tell me it’s time to go. I just want to be with you.” 

He stayed just like that, still as stone, afraid to even vent lest he miss the clue. Then, a little nudge against his forehelm, like the headbutts they used to share. Then a wiggle, that had Dreadwing sitting up. 

The solid part of Skyquake’s spark pressed into the ground, trying to dig but not quite strong enough to put in more than a dent. A smile spread across Dreadwing’s face, as he scooped up Skyquake in one servo, then dug a hole with the other. Once it was deep enough, he set him in the hole, and then pulled the loam over his brother. A couple gentle pats to put it in place, and then there was nothing to do but wait. 

“That was a good depth.” Daisy’s voice beside him startled him, and he turned to see her standing next to him, scanner out and ready to monitor. “The hot spot is fresh, so the cybermatter is close to the surface.” She pulled a cube of energon from her subspace. “Pour this over the loam. It should help him form faster.”

Dreadwing did, spreading it slowly and evenly, then watching it sink into the ground. Time seemed to stretch after that, klicks to breems and breems to joors. A small eternity he kept his gaze focused on the loam before him. At some point, he noticed Daisy kneeling down, Arcee coming to sit on his other side, Tailgate and Cliffjumper flitting close to the ground in front of him before retreating. None of that mattered. Nothing did but his brother below the loam. 

Finally, after forever and a joor, he heard it. The high pitched keen nothing on Cybertron could emulate. The one that triggered coding deep within all mecha, and he had to bat away Arcee and Daisy’s servos so he could be the one to dig down, to toss away the crumbling loam, to unearth his brother. 

Finally, a servo poked from the loam, then the other, than helm and torso, and Dreadwing lifted him fully out of the hole as the keen became a full wail. He cradled his brother in his arms, sitting back on his heels and brushing what dirt he could from the little frame. The lubricant in his optics spilled down his cheeks, and he didn’t care a mote.

He looked so similar to the old memory captures of his and Skyquake’s own sparkling days. Pale green protoform, little bumps on the helm giving hints to the eventual crest that’d rest here, wing nubs already twitching in displeasure. Another memory from then sprang up, and he started humming the old lullaby their caretaker had sang to them. The words were lost to time, but the melody was more than enough to soothe his brother, who slowly stopped wailing and settled down to nuzzle against Dreadwing’s chassis. 

“Ten digits, two wings, solid pedes, and no glitches or errors picked up by the portable scanner.” Daisy smiled at him when he glanced at her. “Any thoughts on a name?”

He had not been thinking of one, but at that moment, it came to him. 

“Cloudquiver. That is his name.” 

“It’s a good one,” Arcee said, standing. “We should head back. Ratchet’s going to want to give him a full exam.”

Dreadwing nodded, and as he stood, he felt lighter than he had in a long time, once more holding his brother in his arms. 

~