
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4143081.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Transformers_-_All_Media_Types, Transformers_Animated_(2007),
      Transformers_Generation_One
  Relationship:
      Cliffjumper/Longarm_Prime_|_Shockwave, Cliffjumper/Shockwave_(main
      pairing), Cliffjumper/Mirage, Hound/Mirage, Cliffjumper/Skywarp,
      Bumblebee/Jazz, Blurr/Kup, Lugnut/Strika, Ultra_Magnus/Alpha_Trion,
      Jetfire/Jetstorm/Sentinel_Prime, Other_Relationship_Tags_to_Be_Added,
      Lockdown/Swindle
  Character:
      Cliffjumper_(Transformers), Longarm_Prime_|_Shockwave, Mirage_
      (Transformers), Hound_(Transformers), Kup_(Transformers), Blurr_
      (Transformers), Bumblebee_(Transformers), Lugnut_(Transformers), Strika_
      (Transformers), Sentinel_Prime, Ultra_Magnus, Alpha_Trion, Blitzwing_
      (Transformers), Megatron_(Transformers), Optimus_Prime, Ratchet_
      (Transformers), Arcee_(Transformers), Starscream_(Transformers), Skywarp_
      (Transformers), Slipstream_(Transformers), Rodimus_Prime, Autobots,
      Decepticons, more_characters_tba
  Additional Tags:
      Child_Abuse, Arranged_Marriage, Betrayal, Infidelity, Mech_Preg,
      Underground_Dueling, Identity_change, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Canon-
      Typical_Violence, Not-So-Typical_Violence, Sexual_Experimentation, Forced
      Pregnancy, Forced_Abortion, Secrets, Undercover_Spy, Illegal_Activities,
      Requited_Unrequited_Love, Childbirth, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Sticky
      Sexual_Interfacing, Fluff_and_Angst, Family_Fluff, Hurt/Comfort,
      Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, badassery, Broken_Spark(brokenhearted), Spark
      Sex, Sparklings, Tags_Are_Hard, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added,
      Additional_Warnings_Apply, Rare_Pairings, (summaries_and_me_don't_get
      along), Name_Changes
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-14 Updated: 2015-08-30 Chapters: 3/? Words: 5131
****** By Default ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     ....maybe the rough beginning, the cesarean section, or that
     particular midwife are to blame for the spark's future hardships, but
     the enraged screams of the laboring carrier claimed the sparkling's
     startling color and hard lined frame were just first of many viable
     causes for her hatred.
     Or: "And just precisely what was capable of this?" Shockwave gestured
     to Lugnut's shredded and gushing frame (was he missing a cannon!?)
     "The Red Pit Spawn of Unicron!"
Notes
     Everyone read the heart wrenching/warm fluffy works of
     DemonsDaughter? No? Do it! Anyways, this is a gift for that amazing
     author. *°w°*
     I do not own anything Transformers, just this story's plot.
     Cliffclimber is Cliffjumper. He changes his name later. Just so you
     know.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** It starts with a beginning *****
Like most journeys from the warm depths of The Well to the cold universe of
things tangible, and inevitably back to the welcoming arms of Primus, this
spark's voyage began with emergence. And maybe the rough beginning, the
cesarean section, or that particular midwife are to blame for the spark's
future hardships. However, the enraged screams of the laboring carrier claimed
the sparkling's startling color and hard lined frame were just first of many
viable causes for her hatred.
The room was fairly dim, not unlike the gloomy mood felt by the four occupying
the heated space. A noble femme cursed and groaned on a medical berth as she
screamed through the birthing process. On call, and expertly attending the
renowned Lady, a diligent and kind nurse allowed the carrier to crush the
circuitry in his left hand while regulating her vitals and priming the birth
canal for a sparkling to push through. Next to the berth, the midwife equipped
her servos for delivering the first heir of the Household. Across the room, and
frowning, a noble mech watched detachedly; the color of the tiles decorating
the wall adjacent his howling bonded more interesting than her suffering.
The Lord of the House’s indifference wasn’t shared by the inquisitive few
hovering outside. Servants and loyalists alike who purposefully passed the room
to gain knowledge of the emergence all anxiously lined the corridor, audials
pressed up against the wall. The Lady was crying out to any who’d hear and her
pain drew them like an accident on a Vossian runway. Some listened on in
sympathy, others morbid curiosity. Although, when they made out the outright
panic in the femme’s screams when the midwife demanded pain (and EM) dampeners,
and a sterile scalpel, not one could stop their spark from racing. Assisted
emergence was rare, and considered a weakness on the carrier’s part for being
unable to deliver on their own.
Minutes into the operation most had to flee from the volatile EM fluctuations
alone.
“Oh, Primus, here we go… here it comes..” the midwife was elbow joints deep in
the Lady’s gestation tank, and with a well angled pull-, “…and here she- uh-
is!”
The sparkling was free of its carrier and hastily rushed over and deposited in
a wary sire’s servos within seconds, and just as quick all attention was back
to the exhausted femme. The nurse ineffectively tried to calm the carrier and
keep her components inside her chassis as she fought to get a clear view of the
thing that cost her so much pride and dignity.
“Let me see! Give her to me!”
The sire was almost empathetic as the stoic mech held the newly emerged
sparkling in the light, so that his bond mate could see. Dripping with energon
and other bodily fluids not its own, the new spark cried and flailed healthily,
calling out for fuel from its creators. Not kliks born and already the sire
knew his creation would be considered an abomination.
His suspicions rang true. As soon as she could pull herself up and lock
prideful eyes on her new spark she found it undesirable.
“No!”
He tried, “A mech is not a total loss-”
“It’s not a femme!” she raged, struggling against the midwife, who strove to
sterilize and seal the split protoform of the carrier’s midsection, “It’s- It’s
heinous! Filthy!”
The sire frowned, unconsciously cradling the mechling to his chassis, “I’ll not
have him terminated.”
“Of course not.” The noble femme snarled. “You’ve never cared about me, our
House!”
Turning away, the sire shielded the wailing sparkling from the animosity it
would endure for just a blissful while. The child’s frame was as boxy shaped as
the vocalizer that emitted such needy sounds. Undeniably a mech. And red,
shockingly so. On any other cybertronian of most other classes such vibrant
plating would be acceptable, even sought after. For one of the higher standing
mecha it was exceptionable.
Highbrow frowned, evading kicking legs as he checked the sparkling’s lower
chassis for the severed interconnection cord, feeling about the underside until
he came upon what he dreaded.
“Oh, my mechling…”
The child was silent all at once, drawing his sire’s attention to a liquid
streaked and chubby face. Round optics wide, but unafraid, the sparkling stared
right back, as though he could tell what his sire was thinking and that he was
sorry for emerging as Primus made him for his creator’s sake.
“I’m sorry, Cliffclimber, but it appears you have my long face plates and
ridiculous nasal ridge,” Highbrow said...
to lighten the mood.
***** Mean Mama'n Curious Roddy *****
Chapter Summary
     Death house confirmed.
Chapter Notes
     SoFreakingSorry! This is so late because life is crazy. Should be
     posting much more quickly now.
Magneem was a beautiful femme, or at least she had been before her useless
bonded sparked her up with that thing. Gone were her fine curves and glossy
finish. The one and only lady of HelmStrong House, who once had no equal in
allure and refinement, now drank from warmed cubes of medical sludge to fill in
the ugly gaps of her dulled armor. Tubes and wires embedded in her sides and
servos ran in straight and coiled lines to bulky and awkward machines meant to
monitor her system’s functions and spark frequency. Her prestigious person now
wasted on a chair of restriction where not long ago she’d rested on the power
of her flawless reputation.
She was ugly, ruined. And it was all that filthy thing’s doing.
It cried, reaching for her with its grubby hands.
Magneem shoved the little atrocity away with her stabilizer, reveling in the
glassy image of the thin-lipped sneer reflected back at her from round, moist
optics. The machines behind her flared up with pestering alerts. Apparently,
her spark was experiencing minor disturbances from the creation bond she was
cursed to share with it. The sounds continued on, ignored.
It would pay the price for trying to leech life from her frame just as it had
when evolving from inside her gestation chamber like a parasite. A stark red,
blocky, unworthy parasite.
Not a single drop of energon would it receive so long as Magneem’s fool mate
expected her to feed and nurture it. It would starve.
Highbrow was taken with it, wrapped around its greedy fingers. The tender
expression that softened his neutral features when he held it, oh so
maddeningly carefully, cut every circuit throughout her being to her core. It
was more than he’d ever given her.
For that reason he would suffer also.
The femme smiled as the creature attempted to cram its whole fist into its dry
mouth. For its distasteful behavior, Magneem opened her side of the bond to its
fullest, sparing it nothing. Its tiny body jolted and spasmed as if shocked. It
was pathetic really, too fragile to defend itself, too innocent to know its
very existence was offense enough to condemn it forever in her spark. Yet it
called out to her in earnest, clinging to the pain that connected them like it
loved her.
Its squalling finally ceased and it lay at her feet in a shivering ball, weakly
pawing at its steaming chest plates.
“You’ll never learn will you?” She wished it never would.
Too bad- too good -her visitor would be there any second to take Highbrow’s
sparkling from him.
____________
Roddy thought this had the potential to be his greatest idea ever. That is,
until a flat voice confirmed his identity and emitted him through the estate’s
welcoming, hot iron gates. The job sounded simple and easy enough when on a
harmless data pad, but there was nothing to suggest he’d be working in a
slaughter house anywhere in the description. A gloomy darkness suspiciously
outlined like a dungeon looked down on him, ready to cyberleech the brightness
and fun from his young frame. Taking a confident posture he wasn’t feeling,
Roddy approached the double doors with determination. As ugly and intimidating
as HelmStrong manor was, this could potentially be the best excuse and reason
for abandoning his creators to each other. With freedom in mind Roddy knocked
politely three times and held his intakes.
One… two.. three.. four..
Every second that ticked by had the young mech shifting nervously from pede to
pede, his morning fuel lurching up into his throat hotly when his audials
picked up the measured pace of steps coming toward the door.
This was no big deal. How hard could an interview with one of the senate’s most
powerful council mechs be? Maybe he was a kind lord who ran a kind household.
Who knows, if he actually got the job and worked hard he might just get along
with the other hired help. They could even grow to like him!
The haughty stare the elderly mech behind the partially cracked door was giving
Roddy told otherwise. “Good evening… Hot Rod, I presume.”
“Um, yes?” Genius. Roddy resisted the urge slap himself.
Unimpressed the bot’s optics narrowed, “Come with me then.”
The blast of cool air as he walked past the threshold sent shivers of edgy
excitement throughout his struts. Almost immediately, Roddy’s optics were
everywhere, surveying this wealthy mecha’s world. The entry room was spacious,
but not in the homey sense. Aside from a couple garish abstract artworks
decaying on the whitewashed walls, the area was devoid of any personality. The
flooring was a gray, shiny polished rock from some faraway organic planet Roddy
would never see, and the staircase leading up to the higher wings of the house
was most definitely carved out of the blackened chassis’ of the terminated.
Death house confirmed.
“Wonder if my uncle is in there.” Roddy muttered, eyeing a swirly patch of
something suspiciously purple.
“There are strict regulations you must abide if you are to be considered for
the position.” Startled out of his curiosity, the young bot jumped.
“Yeah, about that! What kinda stuff would I be doing? It wasn’t very- clear on
the…” Roddy trailed off, embarrassed, “This is my first time, yeah? I don’t
know how this is supposed to work.”
The old bot clicked his denta like it was a habit, “Lord HelmStrong has been
waylaid by matters of government, so he will not be available to interview you.
However, should you wish it, I’m qualified to handle such minor affairs.”
Roddy was just as relieved as disappointed. On one servo, at least he wouldn’t
embarrass himself in front of Senator Highbrow. On the other, this guy seemed
to already have a less than professional opinion about him. But it was either
this or remain a torn witness to marital destruction at home forever.
He shrugged, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
The old mech nodded, and motioned for him to follow, “This way then, and don’t
touch anything. I must warn you now, those under the good lord’s employ only
get one mistake, one misdeed before they are let go and given a permanent,
harsh report on their resume.”
The cranky bot lead the way, and it was all Roddy could do not to groan and
make rude gestures and pull faces at the stiff’s back. He tread lightly on the
stairs, keeping his focus ahead of him and never looking down. He wouldn’t be
able to keep from squealing like a sparkling if something looked back.
The elder mech was talking at him, going over those rules he’d mentioned, but
Roddy only paid half attention. The rest was on the doors in the hallways that
they passed, his processor perking with inquisitiveness. They looked to be made
of more crazy rare organic materials like the tiles in the entry room. What lie
behind these mysterious doors? If he were to be hired would he get to perhaps
maintain their secrets, like a butler, a bodyguard maybe? The word ‘janitor’
flitted about his mind for attention, but he managed to dismiss it easily
enough for visions of grandeur and high paying adventure.
As he wondered over his possible future here a small yellow glow coming from a
crack of a lonesome door caught his wandering optics. He glanced at his guide
to see if he’d noticed as well. The old mech obviously hadn’t as he was still
moving farther and farther away down the dark hall like he just assumed Roddy
was obediently tagging along. As he should be, and he would.
But first.
The young bot swore he caught the halting sound of voices coming from that same
tempting place of conundrum he often found getting him into trouble. Could it
be servants, foreign guests, enemy spies? He gulped, Decepticons? Roddy
startled at the smooth surface suddenly against his hand, just barely taking
into account that he’d been inching away from his droning guide and closer to
the seam of light. He could almost make out words coming from two separate
audio patterns inside. They sounded cross with each other, was there going to
be a fight? He grasped the handle that could show him the answers and twisted.
It took a klik for his light receptors to adjust, but when they did-
Roddy’s mouth opened just as a frim servo clamped over it, muffling his shout.
“That, Hot Rod, was your one mistake.”
***** Swindle'n Sparking-snatchers *****
Chapter Summary
     Deals go down.
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: There is some inappropriate touching of a sparkling in here.
     *gulps* yeah... its not graphic, but you know.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Why, if it isn't my favorite client," the visitor said, too smooth, too slick,
"Lady Magneem!"
One word came to Magneem’s mind as she regarded one of the most deceptively
conniving moguls of the underworld market: greasy.
"Swindle," the femme clipped in curt greeting, expression hard. To keep from
scratching the sudden itch crawling across her chassis, Magneem extended her
hand to the other expectantly.
Swindle didn't so much as twitch at the haughty action. He simply laughed (at
her).
"Why, Lady Helmstrong, you look positively lively this fine cycle. Care to join
me for a refreshing stroll later?"
"No." And he couldn’t look any smugger.
Since early this cycle acid had been falling from the dreary sky, and last she
checked she was still beholden to her medical chair.
Swindle’s shoulder’s drooped, fickle hands clasped to his metal bosom in mock
sympathy, “Oh, dear, mores the pity… the fresh weather could have worked
miracles for your complexion.”
Magneem’s plating bristled loudly before settling tightly to her sickly
protoform. She decided then that she would skip any further formalities and
have this business over and done with as quickly as possible. The sooner it was
dealt with the sooner Swindle and his friend would lea-
The lady startled at the sudden presence of another, less invited, guest
crouched low to the floor just behind the smooth talking pest. The intruder was
a mech, dangerous if all those integrated weapons were a clue, and staring in
mild curiosity at the little sparkling nibbling on a rather unsightly hook
jutting out from the mech’s bolted wrist joint where a hand would normally be.
Disgusting. He would let it sully his frame with it’s bodily fluids.
He shouldn’t be here.
“What is this!?” Magneem demanded, optics trained on the invidious figure
behind Swindle, though her outrage was meant for the pompous salesmech. “This
was to strictly be a private transaction!”
Swindle held his hands up in a placating gesture, though his tone implied
anything but conciliation, “Now, now, Lockdown is the utter epitome of
discretion, and quite harmless so long as there isn’t a price on your helm. You
haven’t offended the capital as of late, have you?”
The big bots were talking, but Cliffclimber didn’t pay them any mind beyond a
small hiccup when his carrier screeched rather shrilly, a bit of her anger
slipping through the bond. He was more preoccupied trying to swallow the funny
thing hovering just inside his sore mouth. If he wiggled his head just right he
could taste it’s funniness with his glossa, but when he tried keeping it there
with his denta it would slip a frustrating distance away; he couldn’t grab it
quickly enough with his hands as they hurt a lot.
“Hey, kid. Easy there, it ain’t going anywhere.”
The sparkling doubled it’s efforts as if answering a challenge. It was kinda
cute in that sparkling way.
Lockdown would play with the little guy a while, but he had off planet
arrangements with an absolutely stunning con-mech lined up for some quality
playtime later, and the manor reeked of politics. Nasty business. He would take
on a bounty across the galaxy any cycle than wade stabilizer deep in the
pretentious bot’s literate way of cursing fancy-like back and forth, aimlessly.
Sighing, bored, he called over his shoulder, “Sometime this cycle would be nice
princess. Swindle’s got other places to be, people to cheat, and your nagging
is growing on my nerves. You selling the kid or not?”
Straight to the point.
The femme sneered openly at the bounty hunter, “That remains to be seen.”
To Swindle she said, “It has all the standard systems and data of a new spark
three mega cycles old, basic extremity coordination, and it’s central processor
has been upgraded to comprehend primary speech patterns, frequencies, and field
signatures.”
Lockdown stood and backed away from the sparkling, “You mean he can understand
us already? Princess, that’s more than a little odd for his age. Way too
fragging soon for a new spark.”
Magneem pointedly picked at small chips in the enamel of her sharp fingers,
“Fortunately, this doesn’t concern you. If you were listening properly you’d
have also heard that I said primary speech. It can take a hint, and can’t talk
back.” She waved at the sparkling as it crawled toward a steadily retreating
Lockdown. “As you can see it’s functional. If you need more confirmation-”
Swindle finally stopped her with an upraised servo, “I’ll be conducting my own
appraisal, my dear.”
The con-artist moved to make himself comfortable on the only other serviceable
chair and called to the sparkling, humming the new spark’s designation
playfully, gaining his attention.
“Hop on up here little fellow. Let Swindle get a good look at the merchandise!”
The sales mech laughed, patting his lap and gesturing for the sparkling to join
him.
Cliffclimber, mesmerized by the dim glow of the never before seen purple of the
adult bot’s optics made his way forward on wobbly, infantine legs. The big
mech’s colors were so pretty, his plating looked warm, and something about the
soothing tones of his voice sung to the mechling’s spark. The stranger made
Cliffclimber feel strange in a way that he wasn’t sure he liked. He tried to
obey the newcomer quickly, and in his excitement, stumbled just short of
reaching the chair. The sparkling yelped in distress as he fell. A servo big
enough to wrap around the mechling’s whole waist and then some stopped his
fall. Another pet his little helm fondly before swooping lower to cup his
bottom for better support and together the duo deposited a bewildered
Cliffclimber somewhere higher than the tiled floor that he’s used to.
“Hey, sweet bitty, that could have ended nasty.” The mechling nodded his
agreement and clung tightly to a firm chassis different from that of his
sire’s. He had been scared and this adult saved him. The mech child felt it
safe if only for a moment in these exotic arms.
Swindle cooed with delight (and something else that Magneem shrugged off as a
side effect of the trade) at the affectionate little sparkling as he tried to
snuggle his way into the salesmech’s armor.
“A hundred thousand credits.” Magneem said flatly.
She sneered in disgust as Swindle allowed the abomination to suckle his index
finger. “Tut, tut, tut, you should know better. A complete examination now,
haggling latter.”
“I’ve had a room prepared-”
“No need, right here will do. Won’t it little fellow?” Swindle hummed down at
his cozy lap warmer, sharp dentae peeking out from behind a dark smirk.
Magneem moved as if to stand, “I can hardly allow such depravation in my
foyer!”
The previously pleasant attitude of the smooth opportunist was lost in a cold
instant, “Sit your dainty aft down. You. Hypocrite.”
Magneem stilled.
And back as dauntingly cheery as before, “This will only take a klik, isn’t
that right, cutie!”
The sparkling chirped in distress as he was suddenly turned about, and
unceremoniously pushed flat on his tummy, horned helm facing jutting knee
guards. A five fingered cage put weight on Cliffclimber’s underdeveloped spinal
struts, pressing his soft middle against Swindle’s leg plating uncomfortably.
His empty tanks gurgled unhappy noises from the unexpected pressure, starved
systems reminding the mechling of his hunger, and his frightened baby warble
turned to pitiful, static filled chirrups.
Swindle’s scowl was but a flicker of emotion as he prodded the tiny minibot’s
frame. The sparkling’s protoflesh was so thin he could feel the interior cables
tighten and twitch around an emaciated endoskeleton with every one of the
little guy’s troubled movements. What was more, the salesmech could feel
coolant puddling in the crease where his thighs were pressed together to hold
Cliffclimber steady. Bending over slightly, Swindle could see the new spark
struggling to comfort himself with his stubby fingers. He would bring the naw-
marked digits closed to his face before jerking away as if the action pained
him, only to desperately trying again.
Swindle stopped his outward inspection of the whimpering sparkling, a removed
expression taking over his calculating face. The entrepreneur eyed the femme
out of his peripheral vision, taking in her self-satisfied grimace and blatant
refusal to acknowledge her deprived sparkling and activate her energon lines.
Well then.
“Unlike our other business transactions, I cannot guarantee Cliffclimber’s
wellbeing as most of those who are in the market for such delicate items don’t
treat them- ah -so delicately. Will this hinder our deal?”
Any objections toward such illegal actions weren’t immediately forthcoming, and
by Magneem’s glittering optics none would ever.
Sick femme.
Swindle made a show of caressing the sparkling lewdly, spreading his tawny legs
and revealing a tiny privacy barrier.
“Sorry, little bitty.” And some part of him was. “This is going to hurt.”
Lockdown glowered at the proceedings from the corner he’d ended up in. He
watched closely the emotions play on the slim face of the sparkling’s carrier,
disgust and malice being the most frequent. Mecha like Lady Helmstrong made his
spark’s temperament moody and his trigger finger happy. Mecha like her were no
good for the senate or any other standing. Surely, this vile femme wasn’t
someone allowed power over the functions of others. Surely, someone with an
ounce of common sense had noticed her cruelty to her own child.
When the mechling’s pained chirps started weakening the borders of his
constitution he turned away, vowing to pass on all invitations for these
particular outings with his jeep from then on.
____________
Hot Rod shoved against his captor, snarling and breaking free of the servos
clamped around his mouth. His processor swam in muck and he felt dirty despite
having washed and polished before his mid-cycle interview.
That purple mech… with that sparkling!!
That sparkling. He was so tiny. Helpless. And they were-
His tank rolled, his frame knowing before he did, and Roddy was soon on his
hands and knees, retching unprocessed fuel all over a carpet worth more than he
could earn in a lifetime. Mr. Touchy-Aft Butler definitely wasn’t pleased
because as Roddy managed to take an intake in between spewing foulness and
gaging on raw emotion the elder bot was in his face plates, scowling.
“And that was your second and final mistake. I’m not politely implying that you
take your leave now. Either you remover your disgraceful presence from the
grounds posthaste or I shall notify and have security escort you out.”
What!?
Roddy spluttered, curdled pink spitting from his gaping lips, “Wha-ack! What!?
Did you not see- t-that baby-bot! We have t-to stop them-!”
A strength belying age gripped Roddy by the jaw, squeezing hard, “We will not
be stopping anything, Hot Rod. While employed in the service of Helmstrong
House one takes care of their continued function by taking care that the lords,
and ladies, of the House’s secrets remain secret. None of what goes on here is
any of your business and unless you want to call attention to your family, boy,
I suggest you erase whatever you think you saw.”
Roddy felt sick all over again, minus the vomiting, “Are you threatening my
creators!?”
“Promising, boy, promising.”
The edge in other’s voice had Roddy scrambling to his pedes. As soon as he was
upright the elder had him by the back of his neck cables and steered him down
the hall in a gruff manner. The youth’s mouth tasted worse than early cycle
recharge breath and his throat felt scratchy as he swallowed back fear. He’d
been sure his difficult personality would blow this job opportunity to
smithereens, but never like this.
Roddy just wanted a break. Just wanted to make something of himself and prove
to his creators that he wasn’t just a hotheaded clown. To become an elite guard
commander was his dream. Working for a senator was a sure way of catching the
academy’s attention, and making a sweet amount of credits to buy out of his
parent’s cramped home. This was supposed to be the first step into his majority
and Roddy hadn’t anticipated that he’d be doubly underprepared to handle the
cruelty of noble mecha and their underhanded dealings.
One word out of line and they would come after his sire and carrier.
He felt so lost that the herding jabs to his frame did nothing. He registered
that he was walking, but his cabling tensed, his knees gave every other step,
and his spark pulsed angrily as if to scream that he was fleeing from the place
he needed to be like a coward; his own frame rebelling.
They’d stopped on account of his not moving and he was reminded, “Your family,
boy.”
Fear of his parent’s burned bodies being identified in the charred remains of
their meager home in an unforeseeable accident, of their grayed, sightless
optics accusing him encouraged Roddy to descend the Primus-awful stairs two at
a time.
Had his missing uncle been done away with in a similar fashion?
Mr. Touchy-Aft Butler had opened the door and was gesturing for him to step
through it. And he was going to, but-
The image of a thrashing body- so small -pinned down with nothing more than a
single servo stuck to Roddy’d immediate conscience like a bad dream on instant
replay. It looked so effortlessly done, barely any pressure required to make
the new spark cry. So, so terribly wrong. Baby-bots were precious, that’s what
his sire said. What everyone said.
Roddy tortured himself, re-watching those cord-thin arms shake as tiny hands
made gabbing motions at the femme hooked up to the freaky machines. She must be
his creator, Roddy fervently hoped, but then she had done nothing. She’d only
stared on like it was a thing to be done.
Too shocked by his revelation, Roddy almost didn’t feel the steadily growing
heat of the old mech’s glare until the sound of an activated coms alerting
security caught his audials and drew his focus to the other.
“Wait, you’ll help him won’t you? P-please, you work here. He’s just a baby-
bot!”
The old mech only frowned harder, thrusting the umbrella Roddy had used as
mobile shelter on the way to this mad house into his imploring servos. “Be on
your way. Now.”
He stumbled forward, “Alright, alright, I’m going. Please, I’m going.”
The door slammed against his back before he was completely across the
threshold, shutting him out, and sealing an innocent new spark in. As soon as
he thought this he wished he’d stood his ground and persuaded the old mech to
help.
…they could hurt his parents, they were nobles with voices in the government.
Roddy should leave, take off and never come back or utter a word of it again.
But he could also see the disappointment in his sire’s optics. So instead, he
flattened himself against the wall to the side of the manor’s entrance. Someone
had to do something! That baby-bot was worth at least his inadequate rescue
skills. He just needed some time to think up a plan like an elite commander
would in this situation is all.
The door opened. There was a glimpse of bright red. Roddy’s frame knew, yet
again, before he did, and then he was running like Decepticons were on his
tailpipe, one baby-bot along for the ride.
Youngster, his sire called him when he made rash decisions. More like fool in
Roddy’s updated opinion.
____________
“Did you really have to do that?” Lockdown growled as they left that dull room,
and that wretched femme.
Swindle’s spark beat a mite faster at his merc’s sensitivity. Lockdown could
chuck most all ethics out the airlock, but his partiality for sparklings simply
melted Swindle’s struts.
He spoke softly, to ease the softy, “She wouldn’t have let him go unless she
were certain he would suffer greatly. Better that I took his seals than- Tell
me you understand. I wouldn’t have you think so little of me.”
Lockdown hummed, staring intently at the bundle in the jeep’s arms.
Swindle rubbed at Cliffclimber’s shallowly inflating and deflating tummy to
further lull him into recharge. He adjusted the bandages wrapped around the
tike’s pelvic span, taking special care not to press more than a mite against
the agitated plating.
“She was also distracted enough that she didn’t question my offer which was
exceedingly low considering our lordling here is a carrier. That all but
declares that piece of trash shareware has no idea his value.” He left that out
there for Lockdown to wrestle with.
“You’re something else, you know that?” Lockdown drew close to his jeep,
hooking his arm with his.
Swindle’s smile made this venture worth it.
The sour mech skulking about the entry room let them out.
There was an adolescent battle cry and just like that their newest acquisition
was gone, snatched away by a crazy kid with a bent umbrella.
The bounty hunter powered his optics on and off, but the sparkling napper kept
dwindling into a blurry dot the further distance he gained from them.
“Did that… just happen?”
The only thing holding Swindle up was the servo Lockdown had entwined with his,
he was laughing so hard.
The capitalist wiped the coolant from his face on his partner’s shoulder
plating, “Oh-ah-haha, L-Lockdown! Take care of that would you? H-Haha!”
Lockdown didn’t bother to hide his displeasure from the hysterical mess on the
front porch of Helmstrong manor, shoving Swindle off and tearing down the path
to the front gates in his rigged up altmode.
Swindle was barely able convey to the ancient/grouchy bot that he would be able
to cover the expenses for importing new grass through his wheezing.
Chapter End Notes
     Wow, you stuck it out through the chapter! Congrats.
End Notes
     Anyone squeamish for any particular reason? Welp, don't let it get to
     you, pull up a happy fic you like, and for all sakes don't subscribe!
     This fic's dark moments come and go like a rollercoaster!
     Ayone like? Well, if you like this go check out DemonsDaughter! Lots
     of good stuff to be had on their story board!
     (p.s I'm kinda bad with computers so if anyone knows how to make
     links please tell me how one does that *hopeful face*)
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