Thrawns Pet Goose

• Glaring at Sides, Sunstreaker vents softly and moves his piece. “Kind of, I guess?” You say, attention dropping back to your sketchbook as you fiddle with a bit of charcoal. “Some people fall in love and stay with the same person for life. Some just fool around. Why?” Fool around? Sideswipe is ignoring his warning look, staring at you. Wished he’d drop it, but knows that look on his twin’s face. Whatever this game is, he’s going to see it through.

• “So you guys frag for fun then?” He asks, sitting up from when he’d sprawled on his berth. Because this is much more entertaining. ‘Frag?’ You echo and he grins. “Interface.” Can’t stop thinking about those noises you’d made when Sunny had rubbed your back. And your expression is still blank as Sunny punches him in the shoulder in warning. Like those sounds hadn’t stirred him up too. “Coupling? Mating?” There it is, you face reddening. That one you understand.

• “Some people do.” Why is he asking about this now? Trying to understand how Sideswipe thinks is pretty much impossible, though. He seems to just do whatever he wants when he wants and worries about the consequences never. You’re pretty sure you should be concerned about his sudden interest in the human sex life, though. Hoping he’s not about to ask about babies or something. What possible interest could a giant, alien robot have in sex, though? Maybe it’s a sort of horrified curiosity? It’s probably messy and gross to him.

• “Do you?” Sides asks and Sunstreaker growls his name in warning. Because he’s remembering that stupid announcement Megatron had made about not fragging the wildlife. “Because I’d be up for some mutual stress relief,” Sideswipe adds and your mouth opens and closes, expression blank. Growling Sunstreaker puts his face in his hands. Hears your weak little ‘I’m sorry, what?’ And it’s not like he isn’t curious, but who just asks like that? No romance, no coaxing, just ‘let’s frag.’ Primus.

• Venting as you claw at Tailgate’s servos and the small bot begins to tremble, Cyclonus sits up and loops his arms around both of you. Curling himself around you. Knows this works for Tailgate. Has no idea about you, but Tailgate is his main concern as he slowly begins rocking. “Tailgate, let them breathe,” he admonishes. Resting his chin on Tailgate’s helm.

• Gasping in a frightened breath as the one finally moves his hand, you’re aware of the bigger, scarier one rocking you and the smaller monster. And the little one is shaking as badly as you are. Trying to get your terror under control as the big one begins a deep, guttural growling that you think might be singing. “Where am I?” You ask, heart racing, trying to squirm free of the little guy’s grip. Able to calm down some seeing the one’s anxiety.

• Trying to get his anxiety under control is easier with Cyclonus’s voice to ground him. Optics shuttering behind his visor as he lays his cheek on top of your soft head, Tailgate relaxes into Cyclonus. “On board the Lost Light. It’s a bit complicated,” he manages as Cyclonus’s singing tapers off. Does the singing calm you, too? Make you feel safe? “This is Cyclonus,” he says, affectionately touching the bigger mech’s jaw. “I’m Tailgate.”

• Feels bad for you as you try to wiggle free of Tailgate’s grip and the little mech only hangs on tighter. You’re tiny, compared to Tailgate. Warm and disturbingly fragile where Tailgate has you pinned between them both. Can feel your racing heart and quick breaths. So afraid still even if you’re not screaming anymore. You found yourself in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers and you’re coping admirably. “You’ll be alright,” he mutters, holding both of you close. Knowing he’s going to have to take care of you just like he looks after Tailgate. What’s one more? Though he knows firsthand how much trouble a small being can cause and hopes you’re not as difficult as Tailgate can be. Doesn’t know if his spark can handle it.

• Has no idea want to do with you, only that he’s not cut out for taking care of you. His own memory so riddled with holes, he gets confused sometimes. Forgets things. He does good to take care of himself some rotations. Cautiously ghosting a servo over your bare arm, he vents. There has to be someone better suited to helping you, because he’s almost positive you need help. That you’re very likely not okay.

• Startling awake, for a moment you’re disoriented and afraid. Then it all comes back as your heart races. That you’ve finally been rescued. That you’re safe. You really hope you’re safe. Head lifting, you stare up at your big rescuer and he freezes upon realizing you’re awake. And his expression is almost afraid as he just stares at you, like he has no idea what to do with you. “You want some food? We, I, have human food.” He cups his other hand around you when you sit up like he thinks you’re about to fall out of his hand. And it’s his uncertainty more than anything else that puts you at ease.

• “Sure,” you say, stretching in his hand. Sliding off his berth, he turns in a circle with you cupped in his hands before bending to allow you to slide onto the berth. Watches you adjust the blanket around yourself as he heads to the little box of water and nutrient bars Ratchet had sent him. Carrying it over, he sets it down and nudges it your way. And you make a little, amused sound before you dig out a bar and smell of it, taking a little bite and making a face. “Oh, that’s not good.”

• “Sorry,” he mutters, looking unhappy and you make yourself eat another bite. It’s about on par with gnawing on cardboard, but it’s still better than the raw, bloody meat chunks the last aliens had fed you. Compared to that stuff, the tasteless, gritty bars are gourmet. Head lifting when he retrieves a handful of tiny glowing cubes and pops one in his mouth, you’re aware of the way he’s studying you. “You can talk to me. If you want to. You know, about what happened.” Going still as your heart constricts, you just shake your head and you’re thankful that he lets it go, doesn’t pry. Because you just want to forget. Pretend it all away.

• Pushing a wheelbarrow full of bags of potting soil around the house where you’ve been digging out a new flower bed, you spot the shiny, yellow sports car slowing in front of the house. Again. Straightening slowly to work out the kinks, you throw up an arm and wave. Because you have a suspicion you know that car. That it’s him. And it slows to a stop in the empty road. For a moment you think he’ll just gun it and take off, but then he pulls into the driveway and pulls around behind the house, tires silent across the grass. Leaving the wheelbarrow, you follow.

• Guiltily transforming, he offers you a sheepish smile as you walk up, arms wrapped around yourself. Sorry if I spooked you. I, uh, wanted to thank you,” he says. It feels weird to just loom over you, so he kneels and he’s still looming. This is even weirder, isn’t it? “For getting Wheeljack for me.” And he can’t tell what you’re thinking as you just looking up at him. “I swear I’m not a stalker.”

• “You always babble when you’re nervous?” Because it’s honestly adorable and he rubs a hand against the mesh of his neck, looking awkward now. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever stop and say hi unless I flagged you down.” Peeling off your gloves, you tuck them into a back pocket and look him over. “You look good.” Less broken and bleeding and in need of rescue.

• “How long have you known I was swinging by?” He asks, embarrassed. It wasn’t that he was trying to be sneaky, but he hadn’t thought he was that obvious. Praying you don’t ask how he’d figured out where you live, because it does sound a bit like he’s stalking you. But as you smile, he’s almost positive you’ve been aware of every single drive by. And you think he looks good? It’s not that he’s that vain about his appearance, but he does like this form. Part of him also liking that you like it.

• “A week or so,” you admit just to watch his little door wings fidget. You can’t tell if he’s shy or just a bit awkward. Neither matches what you’d thought you’d known about the yellow Autobot, but most of it’s from the old stories. Who knew how much of that is true? “But I’m glad you’re okay.” Because he’s one of the good guys and there’s so few of those these days.

• Where are you? Aware of the Autobots working inside him to stabilize that bridge, he can't find you among them. And part of him is thankful, because he wants you nowhere near the danger, but hates not knowing where you are. Attention stretched so thin, he can't search the way he'd like. Trying to do everything in his power to help them in their efforts to save him. Time becomes a confusing haze to him, not that it was ever that easy for him to grasp anyway, moving so much slower for him than everyone else. But finally, it's over. His space bridge stabilizing, no longer killing him. Sinking deeper into himself, he finds Scamper, sinks a thought into the drone and then dives through his systems, freed from the pain and the constant division of having to keep half his attention focused on not being torn apart. Searching for Six-Gun and Slammer and hooking thoughts into them. Rerouting systems to repair the other two drones. For the first time in so long feeling whole and it's all because of you. Where are you, little one?

• Big hands cup your cheek, and you make a soft sound, half-awake as arms slide under you and you're lifted against a warm frame. Ratchet moving you out of the way? Not sure how long you'd been waiting for news, but you'd fallen into an exhausted sleep. Eyes opening, you look up and see the now familiar face of the drone. See that head tip to stare at you. "Rest now. All's well." And you're struggling in his arms, hooking your own arms around his neck and holding on. Feel his arms tighten around you in return, holding you as you hide your face against him. Feeling all that fear and worry just ebbing away as his cheek brushes your own and then he's walking again. Not even surprised when he carries you down inside him. Though your head turns when two more mass displaced bots drift out of the shadows and fall in just behind the drone carrying you. The other drones? Watching the way they move, you're almost positive. "Slammer and Six-Gun," the one carrying you says.

• Do they make you nervous? Knows the drones are unsettling to the other Autobots, but you just turn to watch them with open curiosity. Accepting this part of him as easily as you accept the rest of him and it spreads warm through him. He carries you to that hidden node bathed in the light of his spark and watches your face tip up toward his spark, lit by the glow as tendrils arc toward you, but not quite able to reach. Wanting to make that connection, but he's already asked so much more of you than he should have. Can't ask for everything else as he lowers you to your feet in front of the node and the tendrils at the base uncoil as the panels protecting the node unfurl. "You're okay now, right? Whole?" You look from the node to his spark suspended above you pulsing, then to Slammer. And you reach out, trusting yourself to him.

• One minute your fingers are brushing that warmth, the next you're swimming in light and weightless. Don't see Metroplex until his arms come around you, palms sliding against your arms as you're gathered into him. Wrapping himself around you as you relax. "Because of you, I'm whole," he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek and like before you're not sure how real this is when you can feel him against you, the warmth of his frame, the pulse of his spark. "My precious, little one." Big hands slide against yours and you press your palms against his smiling at how little your hands are in his as you interlace your fingers with his servos. And a fragile part of yourself you hate had been afraid that once he was no longer hurt, was whole, he'd lost interest in you. That he'd only needed someone to hear him and help him and that he wouldn't care anymore. That you'd be alone again. Feeling his lips brush your neck, it's a struggle to not start crying because he still needs you here. Wants you.

• Of course, he’s the owner of that low, reassuring voice that whispered you through the pain. Not human, but it doesn’t really matter. “Name?” Your voice is rougher than you expect, throat aching. Coughing softly as he shifts against you and brings a container to your lips and you don’t hesitate, drinking greedily and trying to hold onto it when he gently pulls it away.

• “Not so much, yet. Let’s see how you do first,” he says, servo swiping your bottom lip dry. So much more fragile than his normal patients. Helpless and soft in his arms. Needing him and those eyes stare up at him, waiting. “I’m Ratchet.” And you’re doing so much better than he expected. Not panicking, but then you’re probably too exhausted. Moving against him, he watches you begin to take stock. Examining your bound arm and leg. “What do you remember?”

• Gingerly making sure you can wiggle your fingers and toes, you glance up at that kind face then away. “I wrecked. A deer- or a dog? Something ran out in front of me.” Something big. It’d been dark, though, and you remember seeing the movement and swerving away, going off the road and down into the ravine. Being trapped and in pain. The sun coming up and the temperature climbing as you struggled to get loose. Then him. His voice.

• “I did what I could for you,” he says, watching you checking that you can feel your extremities. And that guilt slips in again. Guilt that he’d kept you instead of just taking you to a human medic for proper treatment. But he hasn’t been able to trust your care to a stranger. “You’ll need time to heal.” Venting as you lean back against him, the top of your head brushing his chin. Relaxed in his arms like you have no concerns. Like you feel safe there. “Feel like trying some food?”

• Leaning so you can see his face and those optics staring down at you, there’s an impulse to reach up and touch him and the fingers of your good hand brush his jaw before you realize you really shouldn’t. Because he freezes at your touch as if shocked and leans back some to break the contact and your eyes drop. Why had you done that? He’s a stranger no matter how familiar he seems and not only that, alien and possibly dangerous. But you don’t really believe that. No one with such gentle, kind hands could be a threat to you.

• “If you actually care about my mate, you won’t get in my way,” Starscream growls, wings flared. And he can feel the anger, fear, and desperation to protect what he has in the Seeker. Knows Starscream is walking a thin line, that he’s at risk of destroying everything he’s trying to keep safe. And that nothing Soundwave says is going to sway him from that goal. A fully bonded mech stressed past his limits is a dangerous thing, because he can’t stop. Won’t. Starscream brushes by him and he lets him go. Can almost feel the danger closing in. That he might be past the point of stopping this and all he can hope for is to save you from the fallout.

• Striding down the hall, Starscream’s hands won’t stop trembling. Determined even as he wants to grab you and run. To try to escape this even knowing he can’t. That he won’t be allowed happiness. Not as long as Megatron lives. He’s tried so many times to overthrow him, always failing. Always suffering for that failure. This time he has to succeed, because it’s not only him at risk. You’re his to protect, you need him. And he needs you.

• “Attempts to synthesize stable energon alternatives have been so far unsuccessful, but-” Lifting his head when Shockwave trails off, Megatron keeps sliding his servo up and down you back, amusing himself with how uncomfortable you are with his touch as you sit on his thigh, little hands in fists. “Lord Megatron, I realize it’s not my place to question you, but why?” Venting in amusement as Shockwave just gestures weakly with his cannon. Not sure if the other mech is more put off by having a human about or that you’re not in a cage somewhere. Or it could be that he’s touching you.

• “A learning opportunity for Starscream, that’s all,” Megatron says, servos curling around you as you inhale sharply. “Keep up your experiments,” he adds, flicking the servos of his other hand dismissively. All day there’s been a stream of visitors reporting in. Asking for him to mediate arguments, most of which seem fairly petty. As soon as this one leaves, he slumps back against his throne, free hand lifting to rub between his optics. And you’re realizing there’s two faces to Megatron. The intimidating warlord and this exhausted, over it version that disappears as soon as he’s not alone. Apparently you’re not worth keeping up the act most of the time, though. Head falling back, optics shuttered, he vents. “Tell me, pet. Do you really believe that traitorous creature can change?”

• “I think he wants to,” you say, soft voice wavering as he slides a servo up to rest against your throat, tapping idly. “If you’d just let him.” Huffing out a laugh, he glances down at your serious, little face. Amused that you seem to actually believe that. Poor little thing. You still don’t understand Starscream’s ambition. That he can’t help himself, clawing for power no matter the consequences. While he’s not sure what the Seeker saw in you that distracted him temporarily from his goal, he knows it’s just that. Temporary. Freezing when you lay your warm hands on his servo, Megatron nearly pulls his hand away.

• Lowering your head when those angry optics narrow, you hold your breath. “If I let him,” he mutters as your shoulders droop. “You’re loyal to him, I’ll give you that. You’d be better served being loyal to me, though.” That servo against your throat tips your chin up, forcing you to meet his optics. “He cares for you, talks to you. You must hear things.” Pushing at his servo, you realize he’s wanting you to spy on Star. Tell him his secrets.

• “Not happening.” That anger in your soft voice is a surprise, unexpected as those eyes narrow at him. So there is some fire to you. He’d assumed you were all soft and compliant, easily cowed. Why does that little flash of temper twist through him? Because you’re resisting him and he’s so used to his followers never outright disagreeing or refusing him? “I’m not betraying him for you. He’s trying to be better and I love him for-” and you stop short, dropping your eyes and going still. Love? That’s how Starscream wrapped you about his servos? Convinced you that he loved you, cared for you? Because it’s so ludicrous he almost pities you, laughing despite himself as you stiffen.

• “Sorry, pal.” Hands up, Hound retreats a step as if afraid he might just chuck you at him and bail. Still laughing, Trailbreaker just shakes his head. “Maybe try Beachcomber? If you’re lucky, he’s so messed up he won’t remember where the human came from to try and give them back.” Not even a thief deserves Beachcomber’s notoriously short attention span or his propensity for ingesting strange substances and staring at nothing for hours.

• Groaning as you reach up to touch your aching head, you realize you’re dangling face down by something wrapped around your middle. What happened? That’s right, you’d tried to steal a van. Possessed, demon van. Head turning, you suck in a breath. Realizing the thing that has you is a giant metal monster with angry blue optics that narrow upon realizing you’re awake. “Don’t you dare,” it growls in that same, deep voice as the possessed van. And you start screaming.

• Primus. “Good luck,” Hound calls out, hightailing it as you scream like he’s murdering you. Trailbreaker still laughing so hard he’s choking as he abandons him, too, wanting nothing to do with the noise and hysterics. Along the hall, habsuite doors are opening as Autobots poke their heads out to see what the commotion is. Mortified, he bounces you and the shrieking cuts off with a pained yelp.

• Clapping a hand over your mouth as the monster glares down at you and more monsters come to gawk, you taste blood and realize you bit your own tongue. “Listen up, you little brat,” he growls and you have the errant thought that you preferred being called ‘darlin.’ Because his tone had been amused then, he’s all anger now. “I’m no happier about this than you are, but you’re not going to squall like you’re dying or I’ll give you a reason to.”

• It’s an empty threat, but you still stare up at him with frightened eyes and stay silent. Feeling guilty about it even as his shoulders ease, he adjusts his grip on you. Head lifting to find Warpath, Tracks, and Sideswipe lingering to watch the drama. “Problem?” He growls, glaring until they return to their quarters and the anger slides into exhaustion, because he’s much too old for this.