An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Outside, the night sky howled and flashed with lightning, rocking the earth and Optimus' cab with its thunder. Somewhere, a clock struck half past midnight, though, Cade didn't care, even as he chased off yesterday's lingering lethargy with a cup of coffee.
There was a weighted plate sitting atop his heart, heavy and cold. He opted for listening to the rain as it stoned the Semi's alloy roof and windows, far from soothing, but mixing song with the racket might be too much for either of them to handle at the moment.
His eyes follow Optimus' leather seams until they fell on the flimsy take-out box at his side. He opens it then gags as his stomach backflips at the stench of eggs, sausage, and soggy toast. He would toss it out the window, but Optimus (or one of the others but most likely Optimus) might transform and feed it to him off of the ground if he denied this meal.
One bite wouldn't hurt. Right?
With a childlike grip on his fork, Cade chases after a sausage. He misses, more like the link evades his advances and rolls into his overly saturated eggs. He grunts and tries again, stiffening once the fork slices straight through styrofoam.
Optimus' dash flickers to life in an instant, flooding the cab in a blinding blue light, engines purring, and windshield wipers setting to work against the grain. Cade jolts, fumbling with his food and slamming it shut before placing it by his side. He sometimes forgot that Optimus was an extraordinarily light sleeper.
"Would you like something else?" Optimus askes him, ignoring his apologies and instead igniting his engines.
A chorus of motors explodes to life outside right after. Optimus must have pinged the rest of the team that they were ready to get a move on. Scrap.
"No- I'm fine, Big P. Honest. I just..."
How does one say 'too depressed and anxious to eat' to someone that might flip at the subtle mention of him being even remotely upset? Cade did not know exactly, so he shrugged.
Besides, if the unusual quiet from his friends was anything to go by, he knew he wasn't the only one affected by the dark cloud hanging above their parade. Yesterday's patrol had taken a decisive turn for the worst. Racing against Bumblebee in Hot Rod's passenger seat had been the climax; a ping from a shot-down Autobot had been the downfall from grace.
If only they had been a little quicker- hell- If only he hadn't had the gull to take on this team's place of CMO, another Mech would have been traveling home with them.
The scenario replayed in his mind's eye like a stuck tape...
[Rest is on my A03...you should uh- Check it out- leave a like if you feel inclined-much appreciated]
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