#dirge*

“So what you're saying,” Dirge asked doubtfully, “is that you're building a time machine?”

Jetfire smiled. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

The machine in question was pretty large, almost as tall as Dirge, with a lot of complicated-looking pieces. There was a control panel attached to one side, and on the adjacent side was a large round platform that Dirge assumed one stood on. Jetfire proudly rested a servo on the side of the machine, while Red Alert (who had not stopped glaring at Dirge since he'd come in here) stood on Jetfire's other side. Dirge tilted his helm and frowned.

“Of course it hasn't been tested yet,” Jetfire said hastily. “This is still the prototype. But in theory we should be able to use this to travel from one point of space-time to another. At least, that's the simplified way of putting it.”

“I-I'm sorry. I don't think I understand.”

“That's alright! I'm afraid you probably wouldn't even if I explained.” Jetfire smiled sheepishly. “For expediency's sake, we're going with 'time machine'.”

“Um, sure, okay.” Dirge shifted uncomfortably under Red Alert's penetrating gaze. “Could you, um, maybe stop doing that?”

“What did I do?” Jetfire asked, puzzled.

“Not you. Him.”

Red Alert squared his shoulders, bringing himself to his full height – which was still one or two meters beneath Dirge's. “You're suspicious.”

Dirge shuffled his pedes. “Thundercracker asked me to be here.”

“Ah, yes. Silverbolt informed me. Um.” Jetfire leaned down and whispered something into Red Alert's audio. The smaller mech grunted, and continued staring. Jetfire whispered something else and, finally, for the first time since he'd showed up, Red Alert looked away.

The tension in Dirge's frame eased. “Thanks.”

“Yes. As I was saying.” Jetfire moved around to the controls. “Once I've tested and refined it, we should be able to transport objects to other points in time, even one of any number of possible futures. Now, this doesn't just place you somewhere along a timeline, as you might think; that's not how time works. Instead, you would travel to a different spot in the fabric of space-time, like another point in a cloud--”

“Wait, uh, I have a question?” Dirge wished he hadn't spoken, because Red Alert's optics snapped back to him. “Why did you build this?”

Jetfire, too, was staring at him now, mouth slightly open. “Why...?”

“Yes. Um. Are you planning on traveling back in time? When will you be traveling to? Why are you going?”

“I.” Jetfire's mouth moved but no words came out. “I don't. I don't understand your question.”

“You didn't have a specific reason in mind when you built this?”

“Um...no.”

“Oh.” Dirge cleared his intake. “Sorry. You were saying?”

It took an astro-second for Jetfire to recover, but once he did he went off again, describing in detail how the 'time machine' worked and how he'd built it. Dirge tuned out. He didn't need to know specifics – and he wouldn't have understood them enough to report on, anyway, as Jetfire had said. He was just here to observe, and make sure Jetfire didn't do something that got everyone on board killed. The only reason he was here instead of, say, Runabout, was because he was Thundercracker's second-in-command, and Runabout was busy helping Sandstorm fix the engines. He just wished he could be given more to do than random little errands like this.

Besides, he was having lunch with Rotorstorm afterwards and he was anxious to get to it.

“Dirge?” Jetfire's questioning voice brought him back. He blinked, trying to act like he'd been listening.

“Right. Um. Sounds good.”

“Okay...” Jetfire said slowly. “I wouldn't have thought the dangers of subatomic shear and quantum reversal could really be described as 'good', but...” Dirge sheepishly shrugged. Well, that hadn't worked.

“Anyway....would you like to take a look?”

“Um. Sure.” Dirge warily walked over to the round platform in front of the machine, conscious of the fact that Red Alert was following him over. That only made him want to get this over with, and quickly, all the more.

He didn't really know what he should be looking at, so he stood on the platform and peered at the machine attached as if he did. Out of the corner of his optic he could see that Red Alert had taken up a position at the edge of the platform to his right, arms crossed over his chassis and mouth set in a firm line. Dirge was glad Runamuck didn't take his security position this seriously. He flinched in surprise when the machine glowed into life, lights winking all along its surface as he watched.

“Did you turn it on?” he asked, just barely hiding his rising panic. “Are you going to send me somewhere?!”

“Oh! No, no, of course not!” Jetfire gave a guilty laugh. “I'm sorry, I should have warned you. I've powered it on to run some diagnostics; it's nowhere near ready to test on a live subject.” He came around to the platform.

“Which reminds me; you'll need to look at this as well. I want your report to be as complete as possible.” Jetfire handed Dirge a small device with a wrist strap. Dirge took it reluctantly and turned it over in his servos as Jetfire went back to what he'd been doing.

“And...what is this?”

“That is how you get back. If you went somewhere, I mean.” Jetfire busied himself with the controls, doing diagnostics or whatever it was he'd said. Dirge wished he could see, but the bulk of the machine blocked most of the control panel from his sight. He didn't like not knowing what buttons and levers Jetfire was pushing.

“It's using that,” Jetfire continued, as Dirge looked over the device, “That you can remotely activate the machine, no matter where you are, and recall yourself to where you originally started – right here. You can't do it immediately after you've left, though; it takes a full four cycles to recharge--”

Later Dirge would think that he should have seen it coming, what happened next. He should have been more careful, instead of jumping when Red Alert suddenly moved over and leaned in to look at the control device. He shouldn't have let his servo instinctively clench around it, digit pressing against the button that activated the machine. He saw Red Alert's optics widen, and thought he heard Jetfire yell and then everything was lost in a flash of blindingly white light.

Whatever was happening to him, it was worse than the space bridge. This hurt, and felt like it lasted an eternity, though he knew it had more likely only been an astro-second before the light disappeared and he onlined his watering optics.

It looked, at first, like they were still in Jetfire's lab, so it took a moment to register that something was off. But then he noticed that they were no longer standing on the rounded platform, and in fact, the time machine wasn't there at all. There were other differences, too, differences he noticed more and more as he glanced around the room – a table that had been up against one wall was now against the other, equipment was moved or missing altogether, and there was a lot of additions that could only be described as 'creepy'. The shelf full of Cybertronian parts suspended in solution and the half-dissected turbofox a few tables away were among the worst things he saw.

“What did you do?” Red Alert snapped. Dirge jumped again.

“Nothing! I didn't – Jetfire had the machine on!”

“Because he was running tests!” Red Alert scowled. “We need to figure out when we ended up.” He made a face at the turbofox.

“And where.”

Dirge nodded, glad to let Red Alert take the lead. Remembering he still had the control device, he strapped it to his wrist. They had four cycles before they could go back, he'd heard that much before they'd gone. Plenty of time to figure out where they had gone to; though he couldn't imagine a time when  the Jetfire he knew would have any of this stuff. Especially since it was clear they were still on the Alpha Bravo, so wherever they'd ended up couldn't be that far ahead of where they'd left from. He wondered if Red Alert might be thinking the same thing; the Autobot's frown seemed more worried than angry, now. At least Dirge thought it did.

Red Alert put a digit to his lips before picking his way through the lab toward the door. Within meters of their destination he suddenly grabbed Dirge and, with surprising strength for a mech his size, hauled him beneath one of the closest tables. Dirge was about to ask what in the pit he was doing (once the shock wore off and his vocalizer worked again) when the door opened on its own and Jetfire walked in.

Except – except it couldn't have been Jetfire. The frame was the same, sure, but the colors were all wrong. Where Jetfire had been a neutral white and red, this bot was painted more like a common Decepticon with a black and purple scheme. But no, the Autobot symbol was still there – though that was purple too, instead of the red Dirge knew it was supposed to be. This bot looked like Jetfire but it couldn't have been, not with those colors, not with that almost arrogant walk. This was wrong, this was all wrong -

Dirge glanced at Red Alert and saw that his companion was completely rigid, frame taut and optics glued on 'Jetfire'. Dirge felt like that just confirmed what he'd been thinking.

“I know you're in here,” the imposter called, optics sweeping over his lab. “My internal proximity alarms went off. You'd better come out, or I'll have Rotorstorm in here looking for you--”

“Found them!” Dirge jumped so hard his helm smacked against the bottom of the table. He groaned in pain, servos covering the now-aching plating and when he onlined his optics again he saw Red Alert looking back at him with concern. But it wasn't Red Alert, because Red Alert was still sitting next to him, frozen in place, optics so wide they took up most of his face. This new Red Alert was all wrong, just like the other Jetfire, and he was smiling at Dirge in an open and friendly way that Dirge wouldn't in a million years believe the Autobot he knew would. Dirge realized this Red Alert must have slipped in while he and the real Red Alert were busy looking at Jetfire, and cursed himself for not noticing. He shifted away from the newcomer, who was now giving that smile to the real Red Alert as if they didn't look almost exactly the same. He extended a servo.

“Hi! I'm Red Alert. Who are you two? You look really familiar, but--”

“Get out of the way.” Jetfire shoved this other Red Alert to the side as he bent down and peered at the two of them, optics zeroing in on Dirge. “I would ask how you got out of your cell, but as you are clearly not the Dirge I am familiar with, I won't bother.” He looked at Red Alert, the real one, and tilted his helm.

“I think these colors fit you better.”

“Do you? Maybe I should get a new paint job--”

“Um, excuse me?” Dirge interrupted. Both bots looked at him and, as usual, he immediately regretted speaking, but pushed himself on anyway. He had to know. “Um. Where – where are we?” He felt Red Alert nudge him hard, and bit back a yelp, wondering what he'd done wrong this time.

“You mean you don't know?” Jetfire looked thoughtful. “I think we'd better report this to the captain. I'm sure he'll have some questions for you, and maybe even some answers. If he's feeling generous.” Jetfire smirked and stood, turning away.

“Get them out from under there, Red Alert. I'll let Silverbolt know we're on the way.”

“Sorry about this,” the other Red Alert said apologetically as he pointed his blaster at them. “I just can't risk you trying to escape!” They crawled out from beneath the table, Red Alert going first and Dirge following, stretching uncomfortably once he was free (the space had been much tighter for him) before their captor snapped stasis cuffs on the both of them.

Dirge could feel Red Alert's glare on him as they were led at gunpoint out of the lab, and it only made him feel worse. He'd just asked an innocent question; surely the Autobot couldn't blame him for that? He stared at the floor as they walked, occasionally glancing up at doors and archways they passed. Even the halls of this ship were different in small ways – they were narrower, and more dimly lit, making the whole place feel gloomy. It set Dirge on edge, or at least more on edge than he already was. Everything he was seeing just gave him stronger and stronger vibes of wrong wrong wrong. He wished he'd found an excuse to wiggle out of visiting Jetfire's lab; a sick feeling settled in his fuel tanks as he realized Rotorstorm had no idea where he was and might think Dirge had stood him up for their lunch. The queasiness increased when it hit him that, let alone not getting back in time, there was a chance he might not get back at all.

The ready room, when they reached it, was in the same place on this ship. The difference was that the door had no plaque marking it as such, but instead was decorated very....flashily, was the first word that popped into Dirge's processor. It didn't leave any doubt that this was the most important room on the ship. He just wished he knew what that meant, and why Silverbolt – from any time period – would do something so gaudy. It got worse when they entered and Dirge saw how outlandish the decorations were, how over the top the design and aesthetic was. And behind the ridiculously extravagant desk sat Silverbolt himself, and even if it weren't for his black, purple and green coloring Dirge would have known this Autobot was vastly different from the one he was used to, just by the way he perched on his chair like a king on a throne.

“So.” Silverbolt looked up from whatever he'd been doing, narrowing his optics at Red Alert and Dirge. “Jetfire tells me you two are stowaways. I'm not a patient bot, so let's skip straight to the part where you tell me who you are, why you're here, and why you look almost exactly like two mechs I already know.”

Dirge didn't even try to say anything, but Red Alert still started glaring at him again. He gave the Autobot an exasperated look, venting a huff of air but otherwise staying silent. Except when the other Red Alert poked him in the side with the blaster and he gave a little yelp.

Silverbolt's optic ridges rose. “Well? One of you speak up, I don't have all day!”

“From what I've gathered,” Jetfire mused, looking at Dirge, who fidgeted beneath the three sets of optics on him, “They don't appear to know where they are, and though they look like the Red Alert and Dirge we know, their behavior is completely erratic. They act nothing like their counterparts.”

“Well, duh.” Silverbolt rolled his optics, and a flash of irritation crossed Jetfire's features. “Our Red Alert is right here, and I know for a fact that Deceptijerk is in his cell with the rest of 'em.” Silverbolt patted the monitor on his desk.

“24/7 camera access, remember?”

“Of course I do, I built it. But what I'm saying is, if these are imposters or spies, they aren't very good ones.” Jetfire gestured at them. “They didn't even get the colors right. Why? A paint job is not that difficult.”

Silverbolt rubbed his chin thoughtfully, while Dirge wished Red Alert would say something, do something – he was clearly the more capable bot of the two of them – but his companion stayed silent. Maybe he was devising a plan. Dirge hoped so.

“I've got an idea,” Silverbolt said finally. “Maybe these two aren't telling us everything, so why don't we ask the 'Cons. Knowing those idiots, if they had a hand in this it won't be hard to get it out of them.” He leaned over and did something to the monitor on the desk, and a panel in the wall on the left side slid aside to reveal a projector screen. Silverbolt fiddled with the monitor again and an image appeared on the screen. Dirge couldn't suppress a gasp at what he saw – it was the crew, his crew, but just like everything else on this ship, they were all wrong. Thundercracker especially was jarring; his color scheme was a mess of conflicting neon, and he was hugging his knee struts to his chassis as he sat, dentals worrying his lip and optics darting from one place to the next like a scared animal. It was so unlike his captain that it actually made him dizzy. He glanced at Red Alert to see that the Autobot couldn't quite hide his discomfort, either.

And then Silverbolt said, “Hey, Dirge!” and a yellow and black bot looked up, and Dirge's spark contracted.

“What do you want now, Autobot?” the him-not-him snapped. “ When you gonna let me out?” He sounded so much like Thrust and Ramjet that Dirge actually staggered. He was rewarded with a gentle poke from the other Red Alert's blaster.

“Just makin' sure you're all in there,” Silverbolt replied conversationally. He seemed to think for a klik, then added, “By the way....you're part of a trine, right? What do the other two look like?”

“I don't think you should tell them,” they heard Thundercracker say quietly. Dirge waved him off.

“They look like me, but one's white and the other's black. What's it to ya?”

Silverbolt's optics were on Dirge. “Not blue? You're certain?”

“'Course I am! I should know what my own trinemates look like!”

“Mmhm. So you've never heard of a conehead with a blue paint job?”

Not Him snorted. “Nah. Never.”

Silverbolt nodded, apparently satisfied, and cut the transmission without another word. He looked at the two of them, servos on his hips struts.

“Looks like they've got nothing to do with you after all,” he said slowly. “Dirge would sell his own conjunx to get out of that cell; if he knew anything about this, he would've ratted you out. So it's up to you to tell me – who are you, and why are you here?”

“And how did you get here?” Jetfire added. His tone, and the way he looked at them, was almost...hungry. Dirge held back a shiver, his nerves reaching their limit. He wanted to be away from this place so badly it was like a vice on his spark.

He wanted to tell them – something, anything to make them stop staring at him, to get him out of here – but the words wouldn't come, and what words did come stuck to his glossa. All he could do was stare at the wall behind Silverbolt's helm and try not to think about the him that existed here. Red Alert didn't say anything, either, so he decided he must be doing the right thing anyway. After another klik Silverbolt smiled at them, almost in a friendly way, and instantly Dirge regretted not forcing at least something out when he'd had the chance.

“Seems like you don't wanna talk to me. And hey, that's fine, I get it. You can talk to Rotorstorm instead.”

Dirge couldn't help himself. In the midst of all this, this world that was so wrong, he immediately clung to the only thing that might make it bearable.

“Rotorstorm?” he asked, glossa unsticking at last, hope bleeding into his voice. “He's here?” Silverbolt and Jetfire exchanged looks, and the smile they shared prompted the only sympathetic look Red Alert had ever given Dirge.

“He is, and I'm sure he'd love to meet you.” Silverbolt nodded at the other Red Alert. “Take them to Rotorstorm. He'll get the answers we need.”

“But first.” Jetfire stepped up to Dirge, who shrank away from the scientist. He flinched as Jetfire reached behind him and roughly took the device strapped to his wrist.

“Perhaps this is how they got here, or has something to do with it,” Jetfire mused. Dirge tried to protest but his vocalizer wasn't working again. “I'll study it in my lab, see what I can find out.”

“Fine, whatever.” Silverbolt sat back down at his desk, dismissively waving a servo. “Get out of here, the lot of you. I've got work to do.”

“I want you to know,” the other Red Alert said as he prodded them into the hallway with his blaster, “I think this decision is cruel and unjust. I mean, you bots haven't even done anything! And being sent to Rotorstorm is...” He shuddered. Neither Red Alert nor Dirge responded as they were marched through the hallways. Dirge still didn't have it in him to say anything even if he wanted to. He was too busy obsessing over every little thing that was off about this world – a Thundercracker who was scared and weak, a Rotorstorm he was terrified to meet, and a bot who was apparently him but acted so much like the trinemates he wanted to escape that it gave him whiplash. His helm spun. It was like all of their roles had been reversed. He didn't know one thing about Jetfire's machine but he did know that they hadn't gone somewhere else in time. They'd gone to someplace else entirely.

Rotorstorm was only a few doors down, it seemed, because they didn't walk for more than a klik before the other Red Alert told them to stop. As the imposter knocked Dirge glanced at the real Red Alert, wishing he hadn't when he saw the naked worry on the Autobot's face. He tried to hide his trembling as the door opened and Rotorstorm appeared.

At first, automatically, the sight of Rotorstorm had its usual effect – his spark pulsed, and warmth flashed along his circuits. His mood improved. This lasted for barely an astro-second as the differences registered, as his processor began to acknowledge the gray and purple color scheme and the snarl Rotorstorm met the other Red Alert with, and then Dirge's spark sank so low it might as well have passed through the floor and floated away into space.

“What do you want? I'm busy.”

The tip of the blaster pressed into Dirge's side. “Brought you some new toys to play with.”

Rotorstorm (no, not Rotorstorm, Dirge thought frantically, someone else, an Alterstorm) glanced from Dirge to Red Alert. Red Alert's scowl had returned, and Dirge tried to look equally as fierce but knew his own expression bordered more on hopelessness. “Is that so? Why do they look like cheap knock offs?”

“That's what Silverbolt wanted you to find out.”

“Ooh, a challenge. I like it.” Alterstorm smiled wickedly. “Bring 'em in.”

The other Red Alert was the one who took Dirge, and he was glad, sort of. It would have probably immediately destroyed him if Alterstorm had been the one who uncuffed his servos only to bind them down again on what could have been an angled medical berth but clearly was no longer. The imposter bound his ankles, too, leaving him strapped down with no means of escape. His spark clenched in horror, the fear impulses along his circuits skyrocketing as he and Red Alert were left alone with Alterstorm.

Their captor didn't say anything for a klik, and though Dirge couldn't turn his helm enough to see him he could hear him moving around the room. It was even more dimly lit than the hallways, and what Dirge could make out in the corners through the gloom had him fixing his optics instead on Red Alert. That ended up not helping, either, because even with his lack of skill at reading other bots it was plain to see the terror warring for dominance on Red Alert's face. He assumed the security bot's vision, like his hearing, was superior to the average mech, and didn't want to think about what he could be seeing to cause such a reaction.

“Alright!” Alterstorm said finally, backing away from the cabinet he'd been pouring over for the last klik or so, “Who wants to go first?” He stepped into view between them, holding something in his servo, something he made sure that both of them saw. It was long and thin, with jagged ends and sharp tools attached along its length, and the sight of it made Dirge nearly faint. He wished he had a servo free to cover his mouth as he instinctively gagged. Red Alert somehow remained stoic, looking Alterstorm dead in the optic. Their captor smiled.

“Looks like you just volunteered!” Alterstorm sneered, revealing jagged, severely sharp teeth. “I'm all about a challenge.”

He moved forward and grabbed Red Alert by the jaw, carefully prying the Autobot's mouth open as he held the spiked instrument in his free servo. Dirge squirmed against his bonds. Now was the time for him to be brave, to do what was right like the real Rotorstorm would. He had to break himself free, then he could fight Alterstorm and save Red Alert, who was struggling and glaring and even Dirge couldn't miss the tears pooling at the edges of his optics as Alterstorm pushed the sharp, multi-tooled end of the instrument over Red Alert's glossa and into his mouth. Now was the part where, if he couldn't get free (which it was becoming obvious that he could not) Dirge would stay silent even as Alterstorm pushed those horribly sharp things deeper into Red Alert's throat. This was the part where he would be strong in the face of torture, especially when he himself wasn't being tortured, and he knew from the way Red Alert was now pointedly staring at him through teary optics that that was what he was supposed to do. But as much as Dirge wanted to do that, as much as he wanted to prove he could, it became clear that he wasn't brave, he wasn't a hero, as the combination of the twin energon trails working their way down Red Alert's cheeks while Alterstorm forced the instrument deeper and the soft, pained sounds he'd begun to make proved Dirge's swift undoing.

“Wait!” he cried, and when Alterstorm glanced at him the energon started flowing from his own optics, because that look of startled confusion was so familiar and yet so alien it had him reeling. “I'll tell you what you want to know, just please – please stop hurting him!”

Alterstorm frowned. “That was easier than I thought; you're supposed to make this hard for me, struggle more, not give in this quickly.” He shook his helm in disappointment.  “And I thought it was gonna be this idiot who was the first to break. I hate being wrong.” He roughly ripped the tool out of Red Alert's throat, and Dirge gave a cracked sob at the broken, coughing gasp it brought with it. It didn't matter that they barely knew each other; Red Alert was a good bot, and he did not deserve this. No one did.

Even as he vented hard Red Alert still managed to glare at Dirge, but he didn't care. He couldn't watch that for an astro-second longer. “I'll tell you where we came from and how we got here just, please, don't hurt him anymore.”

“Fine, fine. That is the deal, I guess.” There was a small square stand next to the slab Red Alert was attached to, and it was there that Alterstorm set down his torture device. Dirge saw the glow of energon reflecting off the top-most blades in the dim light and had to swallow hard to keep from gagging again. Instead the tears came faster, sliding down his face and falling onto his chassis. And when Alterstorm looked at him instead, the same crooked smile he knew and loved playing across those incredibly wrong features, it was all Dirge could do not to dissolve completely into sobs.

Alterstorm didn't move closer; he just turned his back to Red Alert. He knew how to get what he wanted, now, without touching the Decepticon at all.

“Go on then! You wanted me to stop hurting him and I did. You better start talking or I might get bored and find another toy to use on him.”

“It was – there was a time machine!” The words came out in a rush, Dirge's optics on the floor because he couldn't look at it, that face, he couldn't or he'd lose the ability to speak at all. “Jetfire said it was a time machine and it went off on accident but I don't think we traveled in time, there's no future or past that would be like this, this is all wrong it's all wrong--”

“I need a little more than that~,” Alterstorm interrupted in a sing-song voice. Dirge vented roughly.

“I think – I think we went sideways, this is somewhere else, a different world or universe I don't know but it's not home and I just want to leave, please, let me go home--”

“Don't tell him anything else, Dirge!” Red Alert's voice was weak and hoarse, but it was loud enough to catch their attention and both Alterstorm and Dirge automatically looked at him. Alterstorm barely had time for his optics to widen when he saw that Red Alert had not only freed his servos but also managed to swipe one of the blasters attached to Alterstorm's back before Red Alert was squeezing the trigger.

Alterstorm screamed as the laser blast ripped through his arm, blowing the lower two-thirds of it off completely. He clutched at the mangled remains, energon gushing onto the floor, and hatred flashed across his face until Red Alert pistol-whipped him so hard he crumpled, unconscious, to the ground.

“You shouldn't have told him so much,” Red Alert grumbled softly, dropping the blaster and wiping a streak of energon off the side of his mouth. He came over to where Dirge was still tied down, quickly working on undoing the bonds.

“I-I'm sorry, I couldn't – I c-couldn't watch--” Dirge forced fluid down his intake. “H-How did you get free?”

“I learned how to get myself out of a situation like this years ago.” Red Alert finished freeing Dirge's servos and knelt to get his pedes. “You always have to be prepared for anything.” He worked the last strap loose and Dirge stepped off of the slab, only to immediately grab Red Alert and pull him into a tight hug. The Autobot yelped hoarsely in surprise but stilled in Dirge's arms, allowing himself to be an anchor to keep Dirge grounded while he trembled.

After a klik, though, he said, “Alright, we gotta go. That wrist control should be about ready to use again, and we need to get out of here.”

“Sorry. Thanks.” Dirge dropped his arms and stepped back, venting deeply. “Lead the way.”

The halls were deserted; no one had been standing guard, as they clearly didn't think Red Alert and Dirge would have any chance of escaping Alterstorm. Dirge had to take several quiet and large vents to keep himself calm enough as his processor kept flashing back to what had just (and almost) happened to them, servos rubbing the energon stains on his face away as much as they could. Red Alert moved quickly and silently down the hall, frame pressed up against the wall to minimize visibility, Dirge following behind him as close as he could. He kept darting glances over his shoulder to make sure no one came up from the other direction while Red Alert watched their front, and it was by doing this that they made their way back to Jetfire's lab. Passing by Silverbolt's ready room was the first terrifying moment; Dirge could tell Red Alert was listening hard as they crept past, but the Autobot captain didn't come out. The second came when Red Alert froze suddenly, then grabbed Dirge and hauled him down a side hallway as Sandstorm walked past. He must have heard them, because he stopped and looked around, a worried frown on his face, but he didn't see them and instead of investigating further he hurried past their hiding place. Dirge let out a slow vent. Red Alert waited a klik, helm tilted as he listened, before letting them move again.

They didn't run into any other trouble after that, and when they reached Jetfire's lab Red Alert signaled for Dirge to press himself against the wall on one side of the door while Red Alert took the other. Red Alert nodded slowly, and Dirge mirrored the gestured. He got a vague idea of what Red Alert wanted him to do when the Autobot leaned over and knocked on the door before moving back out of sight.

“Give me a blasted klik!” came Jetfire's muffled response. Dirge thought his circuits might melt his plating with anticipation as they waited, and then the door slid open and Jetfire stepped out.

“What--” was all he had time to say and then Dirge tackled him, throwing an arm around his throat and using his weight to shove the larger bot off-balance and onto the floor inside his lab. It was a good thing he'd had the element of surprise, Dirge realized as they fell, because he didn't think he would have been able to do that if Jetfire had known it was coming.

Red Alert hurried inside and the door slid shut behind him. As he searched for the control device Dirge pinned Jetfire's arms beneath his knees and covered the scientist's mouth with his servos, holding on as best as he could while Jetfire bucked and struggled under him.

“Did you find it?” he called as Red Alert ran from table to table, frantically shoving things aside  in his haste. Red Alert didn't reply but finally, after what felt like an eternity, he grabbed something and triumphantly held the device up for Dirge to see.

“Yes!” Dirge launched himself forward, releasing Jetfire and scrambling out of his reach. He could hear the scientist coughing behind him while he ran to where Red Alert was standing and strapping the device onto his wrist.

Dirge grabbed his arm. “Push the button! Push the button!”

“I am!” Red Alert's mask of control began to buckle as he repeatedly mashed the button with his digit and nothing happened. “It's not working!”

“Jetfire to Silverbolt!” Across the room, Jetfire shakily got to his pedes. “They've escaped! They're in the lab!”

Dirge's voice was thick with tears. “Hurry! They're coming!” They couldn't fail now, they couldn't, he'd die before he went back to that room with that bot who looked so much like Rotrostorm but wasn't, could never be -

Jetfire charged toward them. “I repeat! The imposters are loose and they are in my lab-!” Jetfire came close enough to start reaching for Dirge and he flinched back just as Red Alert pushed the button again. This time it caught, and the room disappeared in a flash of blinding white light and Dirge had never thought having his atoms torn apart and reassembled could ever feel so wonderful.

They reappeared on the round platform they'd left from. At first Dirge didn't move, digits gripping Red Alert's arm so tightly his plating creaked but when he heard someone say, “They're back!”  and looked over to see Silverbolt and Jetfire, with the right color schemes and concern and shock on their faces, his relief was so strong he went weak in the knee struts and stumbled.

“Dirge.” A strong arm came around his waist to support him and he turned to see Thundercracker, his Thundercracker, watching him with optic ridges furrowed. “What happened?”

“Oh Primus, it's you, it's really you!” Dirge choked out something that was stuck between a sob and a relieved laugh. Then a memory flashed through his processor and he whirled. “Red Alert – he needs – they put something in his mouth--”

“'They?'” Thundercracker questioned.

“I'm fine,” Red Alert croaked, Jetfire standing beside him and radiating worry, but his words were belied by the sudden cough that racked his frame and the energon that splattered onto the servo he raised to cover it. Jetfire gave a horrified gasp.

“Jetfire, get him to the medibay, now!” Silverbolt ordered, though it wasn't necessary; Jetfire was already shepherding a protesting Red Alert out of the lab. When they were gone Silverbolt turned to Dirge, who gently pushed away from Thundercracker.

“Who did this to you? Where in the pit did you go?”

“I – I don't know.” Dirge shook his helm and shuddered. “It was – somewhere else. Somewhere wrong. I don't know how but Jetfire's machine didn't send us through time.”

“You'll have to tell us everything,” Silverbolt said gently. Thundercracker stepped between them.

“No, not now. You can tell us everything later. First, go get something to eat. Take a quick recharge. Calm down.” Thundercracker met Silverbolt's questioning gaze with a firm one. “He is clearly traumatized. I won't force him to relive it until he's had some time to recover.”

“I – yeah. Okay.”

Dirge hadn't realized how much he'd been dreading talking about it until he was told he didn't have to – his frame loosened and a huge weight lifted from his spark. He gave Thundercracker a weak, grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

“Just know that we do have to talk about it eventually,” Thundercracker said, and Dirge nodded. “Now go. I think it's time to talk to my co-captain about what he's allowing his mechs to experiment with.”

Dirge didn't waste an astro-second; he happily left behind what was sure to explode into a full-blown argument. He let his pedes take over as he walked out of the lab, uncaring where he went as long as he was moving. He didn't think he could sit still long enough to recharge right now, and he definitely didn't have an appetite. His servos trembled. He hoped Thundercracker didn't ask him to oversee one of Jetfire's projects ever again.

A ways down the hall he heard someone coming toward him, and he instinctively jumped. Dirge slowed and carefully turned the corner, circuits jittery, and saw that the source of the noise was Rotorstorm.

“Hey!” The Autobot switched to a jog when he spotted Dirge, before coming to a stop in front of him, lips curved in a crooked grin. “Heard you went on an adventure without me. Not cool, dude.” Dirge's fuel tank lurched and he put a servo over his mouth, optics widening in horror, processor racing (please don't hurt me don't hurt me please please don't) and then the smile fell, and was replaced with concern as Rotorstorm asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

And it was him. Not Alterstorm. Rotorstorm. The panic vanished and Dirge let out a dry sob, rushing forward and wrapping his arms around the bright blue bot, hiding his face against Rotorstorm's shoulder as shudders racked his frame. Rotorstorm awkwardly patted Dirge's back, but didn't try pulling away, and that solidified it.

“You were there, but it wasn't you, but he looked just like you--” Dirge gasped, the words coming too quickly for him to get a vent in edgewise. “Oh, Rotorstorm, it was horrible! I thought we – we almost – oh, pit.”

“Hey, hey, it's okay! You're back now, you're okay.” Rotorstorm patted him again, and then Dirge finally pulled away, chewing his lips. He managed a weak nod.

“Yes. He's not you.”

“Right. Only I'm me.” Rotorstorm grinned, and this time it didn't make Dirge flash back or feel sick. “And there can't be anyone else this awesome in the whole 'verse, right?”

Dirge gave a watery smile. “Right.”

“Come on.” Rotorstorm put a servo on Dirge's shoulder, in just the right place with just the right pressure like he always did, like he had somehow instinctively known to do since they'd met. “Let's walk around for a little bit, yeah? We'll get lunch later.”

“Yeah.” The smile grew, and Dirge allowed himself to be led down the hall, the way Rotorstorm had come. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

---

“You think they came from another dimension?” Silverbolt asked, rubbing his chin.

Jetfire nodded. “Yes. An alternate dimension, where everything is the opposite, for the most part. It's the best explanation I have, considering what we know.”

“Rotorstorm did say they mentioned a time machine that had pushed them 'sideways'.” Ambulon stood on Jetfire's left, though the scientist didn't know why he was there at all. Silverbolt's little pet had no place in this conversation. “Also, he told me he wants his new arm to be some kind of multi-functional torture contraption and won't listen to me when I tell him no--”

“Let him have it.” Silverbolt dismissively waved a servo. He restlessly paced twice behind his desk before stopping, then leaned forward, resting his servos on its surface. “Do you know what this means? A whole new universe, ripe for the taking! Oh, if Optimus knew about this – forget about bringing him a member of Starscream's trine, if Optimus knew about this he'd make me as big as Bumblebee, or maybe even that slag-eater Magnus!” Silverbolt gave a wicked grin.

“I want this, no, I need this. Jetfire – can you make something that'll get us over there?”

“Of course I can,” Jetfire snapped, affronted. “It will take some time to find the right universal frequency, but if their Jetfire can do it, so can I.” Th fact that someone else – someone disgustingly weak, if the two they'd met were any indication of the character of bots in that dimension – had done this before him made his energon boil.

“But I will need...test subjects.”

“Sure, whatever.” Silverbolt straightened. “Use as many of those 'Cons as you need, just get me that universe.” This time, when Silverbolt dismissed him and he left the ready room, it was Jetfire's turn to grin.

to dirge, from swindle // a (secret) mixtape

1. regina spektor | eet 2. yeasayer | ambling alp 3. placebo | blind 4. ben’s brother | carry on 5. big scary | bad friends 6. faded paper figures | metropolis 7. imogen heap | speeding cars 8. civil wars | tip of my tongue 9. mr. little jeans | back to the start 10. yuna | bravest everything 11. the national | exile vilify 12. iron and wine | such great heights

“So, here's the plan.” Silverbolt stood at the front of the room, beside a large, blank space on the wall. In the center of the room he'd set up a projector, a small computer, and some other electronics facing him, and next to the projector stood Thundercracker, who did not look pleased at all.

“Since we've decided to work together, we need to start acting like one crew instead of two.” Silverbolt looked out over the room and tried not to grimace. The Autobots sat on one side of the room, and, on the other side, as far away as possible, sat the Decepticons. “Right now we're not doing a very good job of that, which is why I've decided to host some group activities to, well, try to help us all start getting comfortable with each other.”

“This is stupid!” Runamuck called from near the back. Silverbolt sighed.

“None of us are happy about this situation, Runamuck,” Thundercracker said firmly. “But we must learn to live with it until we reach Cybertron. And though I may not agree with his methods, Silverbolt has a point.”

“So, what, you want us to get all buddy-buddy with a bunch of Decepticreeps?” Rotorstorm asked with a sneer. “No way!” He gave a little yelp when Jetfire elbowed him not-so-gently in the side.

“I'm not asking you to be friends,” Silverbolt answered, voice tight. He shot Thundercracker a glare, clearly not happy with being undermined. “I just want you to try and cooperate with each other. We're not getting home unless we stop in-fighting, and maybe doing something together will help that happen.” He gestured at the projector in front of him.

“And for the first group activity, I thought we'd have a movie night.”

His announcement was met first with stunned silence; then, on the Decepticon side, Octane burst out laughing. It was as if a dam had broken, and from both sides, Silverbolt was assaulted with mocking laughter. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is not a joke.” Thundercracker's scold cut through the mirth like a knife. “It is a bonding exercise, and it is mandatory. In addition, seating order will be changed to alternating alliances.” Thundercracker's tone said do not disobey me, but his expression was displaying even stronger signs of this was NOT my idea.  Silverbolt nodded curtly to Thundercracker, who flicked on the projector to display a seating chart on the screen.

“This is how it's gonna be. We can't just stick to our own sides, or there's no point. Please move accordingly.”

“Really?” This time it was Swindle protesting. “I quit the academy for a reason, you know. Seating charts was one of 'em.”

“You can hardly 'bond' sitting on opposite ends of the room,” Thundercracker snapped. “Do as you're told.” Not wanting to piss the Seeker off further (and knowing what would happen if they did), the group of bots all stood up and moved to their 'assigned' seats, though not without a lot of complaining.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard of,” Tracks lamented as he sat down again. Raoul was sitting on his shoulder, still suffering from the giggles.

“I feel like I'm in middle school again. The teachers used to do this kind of thing after there'd been a fight.”

“Did it work?”

Raoul shrugged. “Not really.”

“Nice pet you got there,” Flatline said, settling onto the chair next to Tracks.

“Hey, I'm nobody's pet!” Raoul protested.

“Raoul is my friend,” Tracks said simultaneously.

Flatline stuck a long, gray-and-pink metal rod into the lowered hatch on his faceplate, then held his servos up, palms out.

“Alright, alright, sorry. I guess I thought you Autobots were just bleedin' hearts when it came to organics, not that you actually befriended them.”

“I'll have you know that Raoul saved my life,” Tracks said hotly.

“You did?” Flatline studied Raoul, intrigued. A thin trail of smoke trickled up from the end of the metal rod. “How?”

“I found him and fixed him.” Despite knowing he was talking to a 'Con, Raoul couldn't hide the pride in his voice. Nor did Flatline miss the fond look Tracks gave him.

Flatline nodded, impressed. “Never woulda thought a human could figure out Cybertronian tech. You two are just full of surprises-”

“Flatline! I thought I told you not to smoke that thing in here!”

Flatline turned his gesture of surrender on Thundercracker. “Fine, fine, boss. I'm puttin' it out.” He took the rod and ground it against his leg as if it were a real cigarette butt, then hit the button on the side that turned it off.

“Okay, everybody settled?” Silverbolt ignored the quiet rumble of beneath-their-breath responses. “Good. Now, Tracks here was kind enough to lend us his human film collection, and for tonight I've chosen Gone In Sixty Seconds.”

“You have that movie?” Raoul asked in disbelief. Tracks huffed defensively.

“I happen to like that movie, so yes.”

“Anyway.” Silverbolt walked to the projector set up and started messing with it. “I'm gonna put the movie in. It's only about a cycle and a half long, it won't be that bad, promise.” As the image changed from the seating chart to the movie’s menu screen, Silverbolt nodded to Thundercracker, who'd moved by the door so he could dim the lights. When the movie started playing Silverbolt went to Thundercracker and said quietly, “Can I talk to you?”

He didn't stray too far from the door as he led Thundercracker out of the room, not trusting the mechs inside to remain unsupervised for very long.

“What was that?” he asked accusingly as the door slid shut behind them. “You purposefully undermined me!”

Thundercracker was unfazed. “I was only being truthful. Swindle was right, by the way; this isn't some academy class of children. These are soldiers. You can't hold their hands and expect them to get along.”

“So, what, we do your way and throw them onto the next planet we find and hope for the best?”

“Forcing them into a situation where they must cooperate for mutual survival is our most effective option.”

“No, it's our most effective option if we want someone to get killed!”

“May I remind you,” Thundercracker said, tightly, through clenched dentals, “That you already agreed to try my way? If I agreed to yours, which I did, despite how absolutely ludicrous it is?”

“Yeah, but – I was hoping this would work, and we wouldn't need that.” Silverbolt crossed his arms and grumbled, “It's not ludicrous.”

“It won't work.”

“It might!”

“It won't.” Thundercracker sighed. “This is getting us nowhere. We can't be fighting and then expecting our mechs not to.”

Silverbolt's shoulders sagged. “Yeah, you're right. Sorry.”

“Don't apologize. It shows weakness.” Thundercracker tilted his helm at the closed door. “We'd better get back inside.”

From his seat in the back Sandstorm watched Silverbolt and Thundercracker return, taking the two empty seats up near the front. He wasn't paying attention to the human movie at all; instead he'd been watching Red Alert, who was sitting at the closest end of the row in front of him. He'd been watching the security officer's expressions. Sandstorm knew that Red Alert had fine-tuned audials that allowed him to hear better than anyone else on the ship, and the gradually deepening frown was an indication of how their 'co-captains' conversation had gone. Clearly, Thundercracker and Silverbolt weren’t getting along as well as they wanted the others to believe. Sandstorm’s lip quirked in amusement.

“I guess you like the movie, huh?” Sandstorm jumped slightly in his seat, then turned to see the source of the interruption – Octane, the Decepticon he'd been forced to sit next to. The seat on his other side was mercifully empty.

Sandstorm shrugged, looking away. “It's alright.”

“Really? I think it's a scrapshow.” Octane gestured at the movie. “Though this lead guy is the weirdest looking human I've ever seen.” At that moment they heard Rotorstorm, two rows ahead, say loudly, “Why are we watching this? These organics are so gross.”

“They can't get you, you know! It's just a movie!” Tracks snapped from the row behind Rotorstorm.

Octane snickered. “I think I'd rather watch those two.” Out of the corner of his optics, Sandstorm could see Octane looking at him.

“Your friends are pretty high-strung. Is that an Autobot thing?”

“They're not my friends.”

“Oh.” Octane turned back to the movie and chuckled. “Can't blame you. I wouldn't wanna be friends with 'em either.”

“Is there a reason why you're talking to me?”

Octane tilted his helm, now facing forward, and smirked again. “I thought that was the whole point. You know, get us all to be best friends or something, watch movies and hang out like we're one big family and not in the middle of a war.”

Sandstorm couldn't help himself. He snorted. “That's because Silverbolt couldn't lead his way out of an open barrel. He probably read some self-help book that told him this was a good idea. Or the whole war thing made him miss out on his true calling as an academy teacher.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” Octane laughed. “Like, where does he even come up with this scrap? Next thing you know he's gonna want us all to join hands and sing or something.”

Sandstorm laughed too, glancing over at Octane. The other bot wasn't looking at him, instead focusing on the movie for once. Sandstorm noted the conflicting alt mode pieces that marked Octane as a triple-changer; up until that moment, Sandstorm had been the only one on board. He also noted that Octane was a handsome bot. Purple suited him.

Sandstorm quickly looked away. The purple had reminded him who he was talking to.

“Watch it, 'Con, that's my captain you're insulting.”

Octane's grin slipped even as he said, “You didn't sound that convinced a second ago.”

“Either way, I'm an Autobot and you're a Decepticon, and just because Silverbolt thinks we can all hang out and get along doesn't mean it's the truth.” He chanced another glance at Octane. The 'Con was still looking at the movie. He was smiling again.

“Okay, I get it, I'll leave you alone.” Octane shifted away, more into his own chair. Sandstorm almost regretted it, but then again, shutting people down was something he was good at. He got over it fast.

Two rows ahead of them, Rotorstorm was sitting between Swindle and Runamuck and he was not very happy about it. His mood wasn't helped by this horrible human movie, either.

“The dialogue in this film is awful,” he grumbled to himself. On his right, Swindle snorted.

“What, you didn't think '9024realtor' was a brilliant line?”

“I just don't get it,” Rotorstorm complained. “They keep making references that mean nothing to me. I feel like I'm being talked at by a Junkion.”

Swindle chuckled. “You didn't pick up anything about humans on Earth?”

“Never been.” Rotorstorm eyed Swindle warily. “You want something? I thought we were all Autocreeps.”

“And I'm a Decepticreep, remember?” Swindle grinned and shrugged. “That's in the past. We gotta work together, right? Might as well try to get along.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So you've never been to Earth? No wonder I didn't recognize you.”

Rotorstorm still looked suspicious. “You remember all the Autobots you fight?”

“Nah. But I wouldn't forget a bot that looked like you.”

Rotorstorm bristled, crossing his arms over his chassis. “This is a dig at my color scheme, isn't it?”

“No, no! 'Course not,” Swindle said quickly. “It's just, you're such a good-looking guy, ya know?”

“Yeah?” Rotorstorm asked in disbelief. He recovered quickly, giving an arrogant laugh. “Yeah, you're right, I am seriously good-looking.” He laughed again, and Swindle grinned. Got 'im.

“Would you two shut it?” Runamuck hissed from Rotorstorm's left.

Swindle smirked. “What, we interrupting the movie?”

“I'm sick a hearing you, especially when you're talkin' to a stinkin' Autobot.”

“I'm sitting right here,” Rotorstorm said.

“I'm pretty sure that's the point of all this? To talk to the Autobots?”

“This is slag and you know it! We should be blasting 'em, not watching movies and pretending like we ain't enemies!”

“Still sitting here,” Rotorstorm interjected.

Runamuck cracked his knuckle joints. “And if I gotta beat that reminder into you, I'd be glad to do it.”

“You're threatening me?” Swindle chuckled. “Come on, even you wouldn't be that stupid--”

“That's it!” Runamuck lunged for Swindle, knocking his chair over in the process. He would've tackled the other 'Con if Rotorstorm hadn't grabbed him mid-leap.

“Hey!” Rotorstorm struggled with Runamuck while Swindle couldn't stop a triumphant grin from flickering across his features. “Knock it off!”

Runamuck took the opportunity to sock Rotorstorm in the jaw and the two broke out into a full on fist fight, the bots around them hurrying to the sides of the room and out of the way. It all happened too quickly for Silverbolt to stop it from starting, but he was on his pedes when Runamuck's chair hit the floor and he grabbed Rotorstorm while Thundercracker came up behind Runamuck and put the duo bot in an arm lock. Rotorstorm immediately pushed Silverbolt off with a huff, while Runamuck fought Thundercracker's grip like a wild sparkeater.

“He started it! I had good reason!” Runamuck howled. Thundercracker's hold was firm, his optics on Silverbolt in a way that said I told you so.

“Alright!” Silverbolt said loudly, looking at the mechs gathered along the walls. Separated by faction, once again; he thought he saw Swindle and Octane hastily hide something behind their backs. Betting money, no doubt.

“Movie night's over. Everybody go back to your quarters and stay there.”

Sandstorm's voice came from the wall by the door. “You're grounding us? You can't be serious.”

“Just—just do it!” He took hold of Rotorstorm's arm before the helicopter could walk away. “Not you. We're gonna have a chat.”

“But I didn't do anything!”

“You and I will have words as well,” Thundercracker hissed to Runamuck, who'd given up on trying to fight it but Thundercracker hadn't let go, so he sagged in the Seeker's arms like a very large, very angry toy.

“You an' me, pretty boy,” Runamuck threatened as Thundercracker dragged him out the door. “This ain't over!” The other bots filed out quickly after them, as though afraid if they lingered Thundercracker would punish them too. Ambulon was the last to go, giving Silverbolt a worried look, but he too left when Silverbolt shook his helm in response. After that, Rotorstorm and Silverbolt were alone, the latter dragging the former out of the room by the arm.

“Why'd you think that would work?” Rotorstorm asked as he was led down the hall, breaking his pout momentarily. “Movie night, I mean. That was stupid.”

“No, starting a fight was stupid.” He ignored Rotorstorm's “But I didn't-!” as they reached his ready room, which he shared with Thundercracker (who wouldn't be there; Silverbolt knew his co-captain preferred to deal with this kind of thing in the privacy of his quarters) and input the code. “And after you've cleaned every inch of the ship's hull you're going to wish you'd been smarter.”

“What​?!”

“Come on.” Silverbolt pulled Rotorstorm inside the room, the latter's protests silenced by the door sliding shut behind them.

At the far end of the hallway, Swindle peered around the corner. He watched Rotorstorm and Silverbolt disappear into the ready room. His soon-to-be (if he had his way) Autobot bodyguard was gonna get it, and good.

“I know what you're doing,” Dirge said behind him. “Why did you pick him? Why not the triple -changer, or the big jet? Why him?”

Swindle dismissively waved a servo, still looking around the corner. “Don't worry, I won't mess with your little crush.” He heard Dirge's sharp intake and grinned at the Seeker over his shoulder. “What, you think I wouldn't know about that? I'm not gonna tell anybody, if that's what you're worried about.”

“I just think you could've picked someone else,” Dirge mumbled.

“Yeah, well, that Aerialbot's little chart didn't put me next to anybody else.” Swindle turned away, starting back down the hallway from where they'd come. Dirge fell in line beside him. “'Cept that Autobot medic. He looked kind of familiar...” Swindle shook his helm.

“Anyway. Lighten up, big guy! You're not lookin' at this the right way. Once I got that Autobot wrapped around my finger, I can put in a good word for you. Maybe set up a date or somethin'.”

If Dirge could blush, he would be. “Don't. Don't say anything, okay? Just leave it alone.”

“That's when Kup signaled my squad, and we flew over the battlefield blasting every 'Con in sight. They didn't see it comin', believe me--”

“How many times are you going to tell this story?” Tracks asked irritably. He was sitting with Rotorstorm at one of the tables in the ship's mess hall, and he clearly regretted it. Raoul, meanwhile, had fallen asleep leaning on Tracks' frame. “I already know what happened on Ryza 4, I was there.”

“Yeah, but you were on the ground! You don't know what happened from my perspective,” Rotorstorm insisted.

“Yes, I do, considering that this is the seventeenth time I have listened to you talk about it!” Tracks finished his energon and gently lifted Raoul, who shifted drowsily on Tracks' servo. “I've got real work to do. Tell your stories to someone else.”

“No one else listens either!” Rotorstorm called after Tracks' retreating back. He sighed and broodily went back to his own energon, swirling the pink liquid with a matching pink curly straw. So much for impressing people, he thought. All I do is annoy them.

“I was listening.” The voice surprised him out of his mope and Rotorstorm jerked around to spot a mech he previously hadn't noticed sitting alone at the table behind him. A mech he'd ignored for a reason, he realized, as it was one of the Decepticons.

“Good for you.” Rotorstorm turned away with a grimace.

“I was at Ryza 4 too, you know.”

“Wow, were you? Awesome. How lucky for you that you didn't get caught in my assault. We took out almost all the 'Cons there.”

“I did, actually.” The voice sounded almost...sheepish. Not very 'Con like at all, Rotorstorm thought. “I lost a third of my frame, but I was found and fixed before it proved fatal.”

“Congratulations.” He should've left it at that, finished his energon and gotten away from this weird ass 'Con, but Rotorstorm couldn't help himself. He twisted in his seat to look at the other mech.

“So why're you talkin' all nice to me, then, if I blew you up?”

The Decepticon shrugged, staring at his servos as he spoke. “It was a beautiful maneuver. That's how I got caught in it, actually. I was too busy admiring to get out of the way in time.”

“Never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear a 'Con tell me something like that!” Rotorstorm couldn't hold back a little laugh. The other mech smiled.

“Yeah, heh, I guess I just...I've always been appreciative of good fliers.” He shifted. “I try hard to be one myself, but...the best I've done is the Trifold Maneuver.”

“What!” Rotorstorm had turned completely to face the mech now. “I can't even do that! How'd you learn it?”

“Um, well...” The 'Con rubbed his digits, almost aggressively, but he was still smiling. “I kind of invented it.”

Rotorstorm let out a low whistle. “Primus! How come I've never heard of you, then? What's your  name?”

“Dirge...it's Dirge. And I doubt you hear much about Decepticons doing anything other than being evil.”

Rotorstorm thought about that. “I guess you're right.”

“I've heard of you, though!” Dirge pressed on. “About more than just Ryza 4, I mean.” Despite himself, Rotorstorm beamed. Imagine, a bot he hadn't bragged at not only knowing about him but thinking he was pretty great. Sure, it was a dirty Decepticon, but it was still something, right? The usual doubts started whispering in the back of his mind (what if the reality of who I am disappoints him?) but he ignored them for now.

“It's bizarre that a 'Con would think so highly of me,” Rotorstorm replied, then added out of habit, “Though I am pretty awesome so I can understand why you'd admire me.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the back rest of his seat. Dirge glanced up, met Rotorstorm's optic, and immediately looked away.

“I, uh, actually found out about you on Ryza 4. After you blew me up. I've always wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” This guy must have a loose gear, he thought. “For blowing you up?”

Dirge shook his helm and went quiet, still wringing his servos and staring at the table. When he finally started speaking again, his story came slowly, haltingly.

“I don't know how much you remember, about what happened after, but I remember everything. After the air raid I woke up lying on a pile of rubble and corpses. It was...well, it was horrible. I was weak and I couldn't feel most of my frame, I couldn't move at all; all I could do was look out over the destruction from where I was lying. I was there for hours, thinking I was going to die. And I was...okay with that. I even hoped I would, that the wounds would be enough to kill me.” He talked to his servos, which Rotorstorm didn't mind at all. He had a vague idea where this might be going, and he was having difficulty keeping his features from betraying how terrified he was of being right. “I saw you around dawn from there. You were standing really close, on a little hill, close enough for me to see your face. You were...you were looking out over the battlefield and crying. I don't know why, but I held on after that, until they found me.” He shrugged.

 “I guess I wanted to live to meet the Autobot who would look out over a field of dead Decepticons and cry for us.”

“Huh.” Rotorstorm reset his vocalizer once, then again. “Wow. That's. Uh. That's heavy stuff.” He remembered exactly what Dirge was talking about, all of it. The scene Dirge was describing still visited him in his nightmares. They were moments he didn't include when he boasted about his involvement in the battle – the smell of burnt energon and melted processors that hung over the area like a fog, stronger even than the smell of smoke. The lingering fires. The sizzle of horror along his circuits. The bodies, so many more than he'd anticipated, how had there been so many Decepticons on this ugly rock? Knowing that he'd been responsible for all of them. All their deaths. He remembered standing on that hill and looking over all of it, forcing himself to look at all of it and he'd thought, How could I do this? He hadn't even noticed he was crying until the oily substance started dripping off his chin. And by the time he got back to base all evidence of his weakness, his foolishness, had been cleaned off. Nobody had even noticed he'd been gone.

“But you're wrong, sorry to tell ya,” he heard himself say, deflective habits of several hundred years kicking in before his processor could catch up. “I'm a tough bot, I never cry! You must've been confused because of the trauma or something.”

Dirge shook his helm. “No. It was you. I..asked around after they found me.” He gave a staticky cough. “Not many mechs have that color scheme.”

“I promise you it wasn't me--”

“That's why I was grateful when Silverbolt brought us aboard and I saw that you were on this ship,” Dirge interrupted, rushing his words as if he was afraid that he'd never get them out if he didn't now, “And that's why I wanted to thank you. You saved me.”

Embarrassment, pleasure, and despair all wrestled for dominance on Rotorstorm's face. He hated that someone had witnessed that moment, but the knowledge that he'd touched someone's life so deeply made him feel validated. It was a weird mixture, and eventually he settled on an awkward, sheepishly arrogant smile.

“Then, uh, you're welcome, I guess? And, you know, even though you're a dirty 'Con, if that had been me – I'm not saying it was, but if it had been – I'm glad I helped you out.”

“You are?” Dirge asked. He glanced up fleetingly, mouth curling into a frown. “Are you – are you making fun of me? I only ever wanted to thank you, and I know – I'm still a Decepticon. Your mortal enemy.” He didn't sound like he much liked that idea, though. This 'Con was pretty weird, Rotorstorm decided, but oddly endearing. And Primus, if Jetfire and Red Alert could hang out with that black Decepticon, then, heck, why couldn't he hang out with this guy? Besides, he'd apparently saved Dirge's life, the least he could do was talk to him. Which was why he got up and moved to Dirge's table, startling the jet (who was bigger than him, he realized, though Dirge's behavior had him thinking he'd be a lot smaller). He sat on Dirge's left, resting his arms on the table and grinning.

There's energon everywhere. He can smell it, practically taste it – that's how much there is in the air. For miles around he can see corpses scattered, broken piles of scrap leaking their lifeblood onto the planet's metallic surface, and on his glossa he tastes energon, so close to the kind he ingests for fuel but with an extra acidic tinge that marks it as separate. He thinks he's going to be sick.

He's a young bot fresh out of the academy again and he's back at the massacre of Codex Pass.

He hears another voice, distantly, as if from far away, but when Rotrostorm turns he sees Laserfury, his commanding officer, standing right beside him.

“Don't wander off, rookie,” Laserfury is saying, and Rotorstorm suddenly realizes he'd left the team and walked off on his own. He can't remember doing it. He only remembers seeing the carnage, being shocked at how real it all was, how different from the romantic stories he'd been told by his teachers... Laserfury is gesturing now, urgently signaling for Rotorstorm to follow him. He's willing to comply – he needs to get back to the team, there's no way he can survive out here alone – but that's when he hears something, something behind Laserfury, and he tries to shout a warning but he's too slow, too late. The 'Con hiding beneath the piles of bodies shoots Laserfury in the head, killing him instantly and spraying Rotorstorm with a mixture of cranial fluid and energon.

The world around him slows. Rotorstorm reaches for his blaster, instinct taking over as his higher processor functions freeze. His teammates are close, now, he can see them on the horizon of the valley he's in, but they won't make it. He's on his own. He sees the 'Con's gun rising again, aimed straight at him this time. They pull their triggers at the same time and Rotorstorm wonders, fleetingly, if he's made it, if he'll survive his very first mission in the field or end up just another meaningless body among the piles –

He rockets upright in the berth, still screaming from the memory of the 'Con's laser burst blowing off a good portion of his left arm. His right servo is still raised, trigger digit pumping as if he's holding his blaster. The enemy in question has disappeared but he feels someone else grab at him, clearly another 'Con he hadn't noticed, and roughly shoves them away. Another bot tries the same tactic and this one is stronger. He finds his arms pinned at his sides and someone's shouting in his audios, over and over again, and eventually he comes to his senses enough to realize they're shouting his name.

“Rotorstorm!” Dirge says again, holding Rotorstorm as tightly as he can. Rotorstorm hears Swindle groan and out of the corner of his optics sees the smaller bot appear over the side of the berth, one servo cradling his sore helm. Meanwhile, Dirge is still speaking.

“You're safe now. Can you hear me? You're on the Alpha Bravo. You're safe.” Dirge strokes the side of his helm, slowly loosening his grip on Rotorstorm's arms. He keeps repeating the same thing – You're safe, you're okay, we've got you – until Rotorstorm drags himself fully from the dream and into reality.

He manages a weak laugh, and gently disentangles himself from Dirge's arms. “I'm fine, it was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about, really.” He's able to sound confident, but the effect is ruined by the way he's still trembling, and how he keeps rubbing the lower half of his left arm as if to reassure himself it's still intact.

“You can't fool us.” He looks up and Swindle is there, having pulled himself back onto the berth from where Rotorstorm had accidentally shoved him onto the floor. He's settled between Rotorstorm's legs, a servo resting on the latter's knee joint. “Well, maybe you can fool Dirge, but not me. I didn't get this far in the biz without bein' able to spot a liar.”

He has a witty retort already lined up, his processor jumping back into its 'how do I not look pathetic in front of others' job, but the words die on his lips when Dirge once again pulls him into an embrace, albeit one a lot less restrictive.

“You don't have to be fine, you know,” Dirge murmurs. “You don't have to hide this from us.”

Swindle then takes a servo and squeezes it, huge eyes and cunning face looking as close to sincere as Rotorstorm's ever seen. He looks at them, both of them, all care and compassion and, the most fucking surprising of all, honesty that for a klik he's so overcome with emotion he has to reset his vocalizer twice before he can speak.