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------------------------------I am drowning ---There is no sign of land---You are coming down with me---Hand in unlovable hand---------------
The first time they met Breakdown was spit and plaster.
Something happened to Menasor, that he knows. Friendly fire he’s almost positive. He’s glad to be alive considering the weak pull of the other stunticons. He can’t even tell if they’re close by. Conscious, through the haze of swampy dark blue, he can’t see slag but he can hear Shockwave. Somehow that’s worse. That’s dangerous. He needs to prove he’s at least alive. He can’t move any part of himself though, everything is tight and claustrophobic. It doesn’t take him long to realize that he’s stuck in Menasor mode...without Menasor.
His screams attract attention. The sound of the saw is not welcome. His engines roar, his system warnings come alive, the sound drives him mad enough to pass out. It’s not a great first meeting but Breakdown can only be thankful that Knock Out barely remembered it.
The revenant is run by vacivians. The vengeful dead, refusing to go. Mechs with hollow optics rimmed with soot and grime, hanging metal too heavy to hold in place, protoform so tight they may as well just be walking struts. This is Megatron’s legacy, this is what his command causes. Everyone suffers when the Decepticons suffer, no one is immune. Even at their worst, Breakdown can’t help but be disgusted for all the wrong reasons. He’s jealous, back home where he’s from, they’d all be supermodels. At least they function. He’s a worthless pile of slag.
Melted. They tell him when he wakes up in a clean berth in a private room. He’s lucky he can use his arms, he’s lucky his fuel pump still works, he’s lucky it’s only minor processor damage, he’s lucky Shockwave still has hope for the Menasor project. Breakdown doesn’t feel lucky, he feels like sprew heated over a few two many times. Dregs of dregs.
Recovery sloggs but it’s really not that long till they sit him in a pallet seat and let him wheel around the ship. They’re taking care of him. He’s going to survive one way or another. Menasor lives one way or another. He wants to see the medic. The doctor that saved his life. The mech that sawed him apart seam by delicate seam and set him free. They tell him he’s stupid, wothless, irritating. He begs. Plays crazy. Screams about the other Stunticons. They tell him they’ll set up a meeting so he leaves them alone.
A nightmare wakes him out of his recharge one night. It calls itself Treadle. He says he’s got an hour and time is ticking so move his aft. He tells him he can’t move his aft. He’s paralizyed from the waist down. Treadle doesn’t find him funny. Breakdown doesn’t hold it against him, no one really ever found him funny. He wheels himself as fast as he can after the spindly medic. Noting that oddly he’s not on a wire. He moves like a windup toy, in jerky skips and hops breakdown can only guess is a run. He swears like he’s a serial killer, to himself about nothing. All the medics talk to themselves on this ship. All of them. Never to each other, almost never to their patients. When Breakdown had first started moving around he liked it, glad to be alone, unimportant, unnoticed but now it terrifies him. It’s terrifying, it can’t just be him that thinks the ship is too quiet for its own good.
Knock Out is sweet cellulose foam with cadmium sprinkles scattered heavily on top. That’s how Breakdown remembers him in his spark. A sweet treat for his senses. Compared to the others he’s neon bright in deep dead energon teal, delightfully airy and all smiles. Even back then if he had just taken a moment to look past the high shine polish he’d have seen how void deep his diamond white fever bright optics were, the blister burn liquid ice tracks just painted over, the hollow way he spoke as if he was putting on a show that had no story. He reeked of putrid energon masked by a struggling odor eliminator.
Breakdown was sure that even if he had noticed any one of those things none of them would have put him off because stars were going off in his spark at first sight for one thing and one thing only. Knock Out was Velocitronian. Knock Out was from home. A home that never wanted him from the cycle he onlined but that didn’t matter. They were the same, they were fate colliding, they were destined. Breakdown had to keep himself from purging his tanks in panic.
“Mortilus, stay. Are you alright? Fuel pump still going? Tubbing not sealed shut? I know manually venting all the time is exhausting but your internals will melt worse than they already are.”
“Just-” Breakdown gulped in frigid bleach soaked air. “A little difficult around you. Sorry, Doc.” And Knock Out smiled. He actually smiled.
The rest of the night was a downer. Breakdown watched Knock Out’s perfect frame move glitter and white gold on a rail like some performance. His thick tether disappearing into the dark mess of the cable system they had set up. Their benevolent puppetmaster ever busy. The cause failed them, Megatron failed them, but the Revenant provides. Knock Out provides. They suffer but still they survive and even as Breakdown looked upon the three comatose frames of his team and the corpse of his once proud leader Knock Out promises with all smiles that he too will survive. One way or another. This time it doesn’t fill him with dread. This time he wants it. So he goes back to his room and he waits.
And he waits.
And he waits.
And Knock Out provides.
He’s all smiles. His servos are shaking. Breakdown can’t see that because he’s shaking too. It’s been years. Decades now, he thinks. Somehow it’s everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he was taught to be disgusted by. Everything Knock Out should be disgusted by.
He says it’s the best candidate, the best set of parts without putting him in a vehicon frame. He says he doesn’t have to do it, he knows it’s a big jump from being a racer. He says he reworked some parts. Some things were made brand new, designed just by him. It’s a chance to be almost any alt mode he wants. “Create-a-bot” he jokes. Wings can be added for only five thousand shanix, they’ve got plenty of them he adds with a morbid manic chuckle.
The only thing keeping Breakdown from saying yes is Knock Out. He’s still dumb and in love with this mech he barely knows. He wants Knock Out so bad but he wants mobility so much more. The surgery goes so smoothly it was almost as if the frame was made for him. He can’t wait till his spark settles in and he can scan something.
As he recovers, Breakdown gets the feeling that something is off. He always knew he was walking around in a set of dead mechs parts, there was barely a Decepticon alive who wasn’t but he didn’t figure out he was practically a corpse until he was damn near fully set. Not until the rumors started. Not until one of them accidentally called him by their name.
He remembered it so vividly, the hauntingly silent Revenant suddenly humming with whispers. The poor medic started screaming, crying, pleading. As if something was going to happen to them. As if they were going to be shot on the spot. Nothing happened, but nothing had to happen. Not when you worked on the Revenant.
It terrifies him that Knock Out could have lied to him, that he’s walking around with some dead mechs face but it’s Treadle of all mechs that relieves him. That tells him the story. Tells him about Junk. Tells him about Knock Out.
It’s an honor. It’s destiny. It’s the greatest sacrifice Knock Out’s ever made. So Breakdown has no other choice but to return the favor. He begs Knock Out to let him train as a medic. He begs him to let him help as long as he can. It’s another night he remembers so well. The way Knock Out took his face in his shaking servos, the face he crafted with them, and whispered hauntingly-
“You don’t want to be a medic. I won’t let you. It would kill you.” It’s the first time Knock Out’s serious about anything with him and it’s heartbreaking to hear. Insulting to his stunticon sensibilities. It makes him want to prove him wrong by throwing a fit, but it’s the look in Knock Out’s optics that keeps him silent. That makes him complacent. It will always be the broken empty void of Knock Out’s thousand yard stare that brings him down. The warmth of his servos. The shake in his pleas. He’s the first mech that ever truly cared for him and he’ll never forget it.
Knock Out is a broken cherished heirloom pieced back together with gold and he needs to be protected at all cost.
Breakdown may not be a medic but he can at least do something till the rest of Menasor gets back on their peds. So he goes wherever Knock Out tells him. Velocitronians were never built for war, Treadle tells him they used to say the same thing about the old mech who used to wear his frame. It didn’t stop them and it won’t stop him so with hammers almost too heavy to wield he protects and he survives.
Not everyone is so lucky. Not everyone survives. Each death feels worse than any bullet or laser shot he could have ever taken. The ship gets quieter and quieter and joy becomes scarce. At least some weeks there’s more energon to go around.
It’s hard not to look back when he’s really down. His time with the stunticons was a hard one, a painful one most cycles but at least in some sick way it was fun. Without them he’s alone, he’s starving, and he’s losing his mind.
He’s still in love with a mech that only has free time for the dying but Knock Out’s all he can think about. Knock Out’s death is all he can think about. It’s all he dreams about. Every death he’s ever witnessed on the battlefield he thinks of happening to Knock Out. The deaths start to become real and Breakdown cries over imaginary corpses but like the ship he commands Knock Out is a revenant. An unkillable spark. A vengeful curse. He shows up every cycle. He survives another day. Another year. Another millenia.
One by one the other stunticons return from the grave and Breakdown forces them to fall in line. He’s no Motormaster, he vows to never be, but he’s got the head trauma and the penchant for violence. As long as it’s got an Autobot brand. They’ve taken too much from Knock Out and what hurts Knock Out gets hurt back. Without Motormaster’s delusional entitlement it’s all Menasor has. Menasor is a monster with Breakdown at the helm. An enemy to everyone unless they reek of the Revenant. None of the Stuticons new or old can explain why or how they know, it’s not a sound, not a mark, nothing that can be perceived out of Menasor but it’s something unmistakable even in a sea of war. They’re as gentle as soft breeze scooping up medics, settling them to safety no matter what, even as they crush a thousand frames to do it.
Shockwave figures it out pretty quick. He insists it’s better to have his war machine devoid of any pesky feelings. Without pesky thoughts of his own. They already have to deal with Devastator going rogue. Menasor is supposed to be obedient. Breakdown insists the mech looks better with no optics. He gladly proves his point.
He stays with Knock Out. Menasor stays on the Revenant.
Years go by. He stays on the Revenant.
Knock Out’s forced into field work. He stays on the Revenant.
There are ten convenient assasination attempts on the CMO’s life in a span of less than a decade. He stays on the Revenant.
No matter what sort of slag happens, he stays on the Revenant. He stays with Knock Out. Knock Out stays alive.
They’re unbeatable together.
But alone?
-------------Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face---There are lessons to be learned, consequences for all the stupid things I say---And it is no big surprise you turned out this way--- The spark in his eye, the look on your face.---------------------
“Why are you telling me all this like I care, Con. Let me go!” Bulkhead struggled under the weight Breakdown had toppled on him and expertly hammered into the ground. He needed to comm base without Breakdown noticing.
“I'm telling you because you’re going to help me find him or I’m going to kill you. Humans are your team’s shtick! He only got taken because you were here! This is your fault!” Breakdown’s voice cracked as he screamed, his crazed stare boring into Bulkhead’s.
“I don’t know those humans! Go find your boyfriend on your own!”
“What about who’s boyfriend?” Both mechs turned to the sound to see Miko standing on top of a large chunk of rubble.
Bulkhead didn’t have time to be shocked,instinctively screaming to the girl. “Miko run! Call for backup!” To her credit the girl took off like a shot but heavy duty or not there was no outrunning Breakdown. Bulkhead could only watch in horror as the Con snatched her up but Breakdown didn’t crush her in his servo, he didn’t throw her like a lob, instead he brought her over. A bargaining chip, of course.
He shook her at Bulkhead like a bad carnival ride, but nothing near enough to hurt.“Tell her to call Ratchet if you won’t help! Medic’s code! He has to come!”
“Neither of you are real medics! Ratch doesn’t have to do slag for you! And neither does she! Put her down!”
“I’ll throw her across the slagging state if I want! Make her call them!” Miko cupped her ears, her whole head ringing from Breakdown’s roar. There was something off about the mech though, he was tilted. He sounded desperate.
She had to scream her throat raw to be heard above the two bots squabbling. “HEY! BIG GUY! I’VE GOT A BRAIN OF MY OWN YA’ KNOW! WHAT? HAPPENED?” Owlish golden optics looked down at her, Miko could practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he thought.
“We...I was looking for an energon vein, he was looking for an energon vein “, he jerked violently at Bulkhead with a hammer, “We started fighting. Knock Out was screaming about something in the sky but HE backhanded him into a building! Then the next thing we know we’re being attacked and put down. Now Knock Out and the damn humans are gone and then you showed up! What did those damn squishy slaggers do with the Doc!?” Miko’s head lolled violently as Breakdown shook her, the girl breathing quick and deep to keep her lunch down.
“I came looking for an energon vein!” Bulkhead screamed, exasperated. “You two were here to...do whatever you do together! I saw you! You just had to bring me into it! I was going to leave you alone!”
“We were taking a drive!” Breakdown sputtered, face going a bit purple with shame.
“Now’s not the time to kink shame BUlk! I’m still here! I’d rather not be one use bubble wrap today.” Breakdown laughed, deep and short.
“Listen to your own little boss Bulkhead! Go on an’ call Ratchet for me. We’re wasting time!”
“Let me down and you’ve got a deal.”
“You dial the medic, give me the communicator, then I put you down. I’m not dealing with a Prime today! You hear me, little girl?” Miko held Breakdown’s stare. The Con really was desperate.
“Okay.”
“Miko! Don’t be stupid! He’s going to-”
“Shut your stupid synth! You don’t know anything about me anymore!”
Jeeze, this was certainly the last thing Miko expected when it came to giant robot rivalries. She could have just stayed at the base and watched soap operas with Ratchet!
Shoving her hands into her pockets she managed to free her phone and dial the doctor before the two bots could really get to screaming again. As soon as the old mech picked up Breakdown snatched the phone away and with as much care as a bot like him could muster, rolled her free into the tall grass before rushing off for privacy.
Over the wind, Miko could just hear him frantically whispering, “Gypsum and garnet, Ipsum noce.” Then Ratchet’s signature groan. It was a comical sight, Breakdown with his palm pressed to the side of his helm desperately using what might as well have been a sticker on his palm. A laugh bubbled in her chest as the world spun around her, lightheaded in the moment, relishing the exhilaration. Quickly coming to her senses she stumbled to her feet to free Bulkhead.
“Quick, while Romeo’s busy!” Miko tugged at whatever she could, hoping any amount of give could help Bulk free himself.
“That was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done Miko!” Bulkhead chastised in a whisper, straining and squirming to loosen his restraints.
“What else is new? We’d be helping him one way or another. If the guys that attacked you are who I think they are-” Miko leaned forward on her knees, desperate for air, “-do you really think Optimus would have been cool with them just taking him? Decepticreep or not? Robots in disguise, Bulk. Not robot anatomy plastered over the internet by some shady freaks!” Bulkhead stilled, defeated by reason.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Duh~” The girl chimed, impish and proud.
“Hey, little boss lady.” Breakdown’s voice boomed even from afar, each step making the unstable ground rumble beneath them. “Here’s your comm.” As sweet as any well taught son he bent down, palm open, Miko's phone perfectly unharmed. Miko’s fingers shook as she snatched it up, distrustful and primed for any Con tricks but Breakdown seemed...calm now, defeated almost. Content at least.
She watched him free Bulkhead with one swift tug. “What did Docbot say?”
Breakdown sighed loudly, disappointed and a bit distraught. “It’s gonna take a while, he wants the mine, yadda,yadda. He told me he’s sending you two a bridge. You know where to find me, in a mine, as usual. Doing work so other mechs fragging eat.”
“If we’re getting that mine you’re not going near it!” Bulkhead snarled as he lunged at Breakdown, slamming him into the dirt. “You’re coming with us!”
“The Pit I am!” Breakdown roared right back. Hammers swinging once more.
“I’m not letting you get any bright ideas. Or even dumb ones at that. I don’t know where your servos have been, but I’ve got one guess and I don’t like it!”
“You wanna talk about where my servos have been? You-” Bulkhead’s well placed servo muffled whatever stream of raunchy expletives Breakdown was going to reveal much to Miko’s disappointment, until Breakdown bit him causing Bulkhead to nearly squeal and jerk back. “And I bet you clean his tailpipe too, you low gear simp!”
“WHAT?!” Miko chirped in disbelief, confused and delighted beyond measure.
“D-don’t listen to anything this Con says Miko!” Bulkhead stammered, flush with embarrassment. His attention and rage turning back to Breakdown in no time flat. “You want to play dirty Con? Fine! I was gonna drag you there with a little dignity, but now I’m forcing you outta the car! Get out of the car, Blake!”
“Not on your life!”
“Blake?” Miko whispered to herself, taking cover far enough away. “I’ve got to know what that’s about.” Determined, she ran as fast as her sore legs would allow. Holding up her phone, finger on the emergency contact button as if she was about to pull the pin on a grenade. “HEY! I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M SAYING THIS- STOP FIGHTING OR I’M CALLING OPTIMUS!”
“NO!” Breakdown cried out, clearly panicked as he struggled against Bulkhead’s hold to get to her. “You’ll kill him! If the Prime comes, Megatron comes, don’t you get that!? Who knows what those fleshbags are doing to the Doc right now!”
“Then do what Bulkhead said. Get out of the car.” Desperate golden optics stared her down, as if she was committing some sort of war crime. Maybe to the Cons’ pride.
“I’d do what the little boss lady says.” Bulkhead jabbed, taunting, breaking the Con’s spirit for good, for now.
“FINE! Fine! Let go of me! I’m not leaving my frame out in the open to get stolen!” Miko hummed with delighted anticipation as both Bulkhead and Breakdown transformed. She rushed to Bulkhead’s passenger seat and the two followed Breakdown on a slow drive into one of the long abandoned buildings.
“Romantic trip to an abandoned hospital? They sure have a funny concept of dates.” Bulkhead’s childish snort almost echoed off the old metal and concrete.
“Just two creeps doing creepy stuff.” Silence bloomed, a soft blanket stifling the chaos. “You really need to stop doing this Miko. He could have killed you.”
“He could have killed you too, but he wanted our help. We’re the good guys, Bulk. He didn’t know you weren’t going to ruin their “date”.”
“Don’t let them fool you. Beating up Bots is one of their favorite pastimes.”
Breakdown killed his engine and lights as he pulled his frame tight into a well-hidden spot next to a partially collapsed wall. Inside Miko clung to her seatbelt, waiting for the reveal of whatever “get out of the car” meant. She wasn’t disappointed.
Without warning Breakdown’s driver’s side door opens and something steps out. Too tall and all muscle. Warm brown sun-beaten skin stretched tight over an action figure frame. Tattoos hidden by a workman’s dusty navy dago-tee and scuffed dickies. Face framed by long jagged silver fox gray and mostly hidden by golden aviators. Old and worn, young and devilish. Somehow he’s in the middle. Scarred but not broken. Aged like fine whiskey. Too good to be real and it’s clear he’s not. He looks almost rendered, stylized. Drawn into reality. Colors too bright, too real, too high definition. Uncanny valley for the new age. He walks like he’s trying to remember how to do it. Like Blake hasn’t done it in a while.
Miko slams her hands on Bulkhead's horn, showering them all in dust. “Are you kidding me?!” She flings herself out the door, head swimming. “All this time! You can just be human?! You get out of the car, Bulk!”
Breakdown laughs as he goes at what’s left of the wall with scarred fists. Hiding his alt beneath the rubble.
“Oh, I’d love to see that. I’m sure it’s real creative.”
Their demands are met with Bulkhead sputtering. “N-no, Miko! I can’t! I- we never had the excess fuel. I don’t have one!”
“Oh great!” Miko throws her hands up in a show of dramatics. “The bad guys have humansonas but not the mechs who care about us! The other two are going to flip when they see him! How much fuel can it take?!”
“Pretty fuel efficient when you’ve got a couple of Velocitronian crafted solar panels.” Breakdown smugly tapped the side of his alt. “Bulk wouldn’t know anything about that sort of stuff though. No one does anymore.”
------I wanna contribute to the chaos.---I don't wanna watch and then complain,---'Cause I am through finding blame---That is the decision that I have made.-----------------
Breakdown’s reveal is a mixed bag. For the most part, everyone avoids eye contact. Everyone besides Miko, of course, and oddly enough June who kept looking over at him as if something’s on her mind. She keeps to her work though, stitching up a pretty nasty gash on Miko’s knee but Miko’s curious.
“He’s cool looking isn’t he Mrs. Darby? Like he came right out of a video game!”
“He looks like he’s struggling to me. Probably has a lot on his mind. It’s never easy when someone you love just up and vanishes.”
“Love? You sound like Bulkhead. Seems to me that he just doesn’t want to get his skull cracked in by Megatron. He lost their doctor, Optimus would go feral if anyone lost Ratchet.”
“Maybe.” June agreed, taping down gauze with care. Pulling out a thick support bandage for Miko’s arm that had already formed a deep bruise from a previous mission incident that wasn’t looking right. “It’s just a hunch. Bulkhead knows them better though.”
“I think he thinks he knows them...but I think they’re weirder than that. They hate humans “so much”...but look how hot he is! Who’s that for?” June snuck another glance, stare lingering on Breakdown’s big hands as they polished some pistol Fowler had come in to give him. There were plenty of good uses for big strong hands. “Even Fowler thought he was hot.” June didn’t catch her laugh in time, forced to smother if with her knuckles.
“He did seem...impressed, but I think he was more surprised than...titillated.” Mother’s intuition took over right after. “Those sorts of thoughts are a little too old for you, Miko. I’d keep them to yourself. As much as you want to know, you shouldn't be anyone’s therapist.” Locking the bandage in place, June carefully freed Miko’s disheveled ponytail from it’s elastic twirling the lock around her finger to a tight bun. Securing it at the back with a small clip from her purse. “Some things are bigger than us. Concerning giant robots or just other humans.”
“I guess. I just think if I loved someone the last thing I would do is let them anywhere near Megatron. Bulkhead doesn’t count, I can’t exactly stop him.” June hummed, smoothing any flyaways flat.
“You might have found the universal answer to a lot of conflicting problems. Everyone’s their own person. They don’t always listen, they don’t always act how you want or expect. Just like whenever you’re told to stay at the base. Do you think Bulkhead likes seeing you bruised and scratched up? Your foster family? Jack or Raf? But you’re just protecting him, all of them. Right?”
“Stay at the base then?” Miko asked with a crooked smile.
“Stay at the base.” June echoed. Miko watched her give Jack a kiss before she left. Miko hopped off her chair and made her way over to Breakdown.
“So, Blake huh?”
“Stay away from me, little girl.” Breakdown growled, “I’ve gotten all I need from you.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t even know me. I don’t like just sitting here, it’s boring. Plus, as much as I like him, Bulkhead’s not the smartest when he’s on his own and I don’t trust you.” Breakdown smiled.
“You really are his little boss then, huh? Makes you feel good, telling big bots what to do? Getting what you want?” That sounded like a loaded question. Part of it made Miko want to blush. She couldn’t let him win though.
“I’m more interested in what you like. Why all the effort in the look if it’s just to blend in? You could look like any middle aged dude but you designed this.” Breakdown leans in close.
“You think I like playing around with humans?” he asks, lifting his aviators to show off equally golden optics. Almost brown enough to be human but not with the way the color moved, shifting and swirling slowly. “Maybe we did. Everything on earth is dirt cheap. Worth nothing, and I do mean everything.” A loaded admission but an admission however she wanted to take it. He’d regret that.
“We? Doc Con has a humansona too? What about Starscream? The big guy? How far does this go?!” Breakdown laughed her off, picking up another gun to get the feel of before the show started.
“We’re not the mingling breed of alien, kid. We’re the exterminating kind. Thought that was obvious. Not that I speak for Bulkhead.” And that did make her blush. Maybe June was right.
“I’m fifteen!” Breakdown shrugged.
“Can’t say I know why that matters. Guess you get stuck with this then.” Breakdown pulled a long baton from the bag Fowler had given him. She took it with her good hand, the cushy grip easy on her sore fingers. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’d teach ya, but my good news is here.” He pat Miko hard on the back as he got up to meet Fowler. Miko stumbling into the space he was sitting, eyes glittering. Decepticons were dangerous and really, really stupid.
They send Breakdown first across the bridge so it throws a wrench into her plan. The bots go after. Optimus, Ratchet, Bulkhead and Arcee. Bee stays and he’s so preoccupied it’s easy. Fowler’s sending a few of his own men for intelligence and one is just short enough. His armor reeks from the Nevada sun but it gets her across the groundbridge. The M.E.C.H camp is as dour as an abandoned hospital, to the point Miko couldn’t tell the site she came from to this one now but finding Bulkhead is easy, and finding Breakdown even more as soon as bullets go flying.
It’s the sound that gets her. The noise of warfare that proves how stupid and childish she is. This isn’t some movie and she isn’t some hero. She’s cold and sore and terrified so Breakdown’s arm around her is too inviting. He stands out like a sore thumb among the black and gray-clad soldiers and the towering Autobots. He’s manic smiles and movie star charm.
“Come on, kid! Did no one ever teach ya! You freeze up in a firefight, you're as good as dead!” It’s almost endearing how little he knows. How little they care to understand but it’s novel to be treated like she can do what she thinks she can in her head. So she follows him, frantic step by frantic step.
“How did you know it was me?” Miko can barely hear herself in her armor, but she knows there’s some sort of tech to it all. Breakdown flashes her a toothy grin, the mech is in his element now. Living it up with every soldier he takes down.
“You’re not shooting at anyone. Like a Vech fresh outta the mold. Get your baton out! Watch my aft!” Miko frees her weapon and primes it till it’s clicking.
“I’m fifteen~” Breakdown picks up on her joke the way the bots rarely do. His laughter is refreshing and despite knowing what he’s done she feels safe at his back, racing through a warzone.
---------And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here---Someday burns down---And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away---And I never come back to this town again------------
“The eye patch is cool.” Miko’s nursing her busted lip and darkening black eye as she sits on Bulkhead’s shoulder. The mech sulking. “You want a kiss to make it all better?”
“Maybe.” Bulkhead growls sadly, surprised when Miko actually kisses his face. Her own twisting in disgust.
“You taste like gunpowder, man.” His laughter shakes her off but she’s fearless as she falls knowing Bulkhead will catch her. “Seriously, the thanks I get!” She’s so small in his palm that it makes Bulkhead want to cry. Over emotional, painfully sensitive. It was his fault she was bruised and broken. Even Miko couldn’t hide the pain she was in with the smile on her face. “Bulk, you okay? Something wrong with your eye?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” His frame rumbled, betraying him every turn. “I just can’t believe he hit you when I was already down. I...I can’t believe you put up that kind of a fight. I can’t believe he gave you a stun baton!” Coming down from the chaos everything seemed more insane.
Breathing deep hurt, her chest bruised from Breakdown’s attack. “Yeah, they don’t get humans.” It was part lie to make Bulkhead feel better, part truth based just on fact. They didn’t really know all the fine details but what they knew, just Breakdown alone, was terrifying enough. “Mrs. Darby recognized him, ya’ know. She didn’t say it exactly but it was kind of obvious.” Miko almost felt like she was betraying June in a way, but she needed to change the subject quickly somehow.
“Yeah, she would be old enough. Glad she didn’t say anything. It would’ve made things weird.” Miko threw herself to her feet, almost relishing the pounding of her sore nerves. She could take the pain, she could take the hits. She could survive this. As long as it kept Bulkhead safe.
“Don’t you dare think you can be that cryptic.” Bulkhead stares down at her with his one good optic for a long moment. Then he’s setting her on a desk so he can transform. In relative silence, he takes her back to Jasper but they stop short just a few miles from town. She’s passed the wrecked junkyard/machine shop every trip to and back from base so she doesn’t know what to make of it as Bulkhead’s wheels slow to a crawl, crunching on the gravel.
“Here it is. This is where they used to play house.” There’s something like guilt in Bulkhead’s voice but he doesn’t say more. Miko lets herself out.
“They were just...here? In Jasper?”
“Twenty whole years before we were.” Bulkhead confirmed. A poignant slamming of his door startling the girl. “Sorry I lied before. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. It’s...a little ruff, they really do take up a lot of energy.” Bulkhead the man is not nearly as impressive as the bot, but he’s human. He’s strong and he’s tall and rough from hard labor. Dressed in a too tight white t-shirt and army green slacks. He stands out like some sort of supernatural. Dark skin too contrasted against the red earth. Electric blue eyes staring into her soul. Miko buries her face in his chest as she hugs him and just as it should his own body yields around her as he hugs her back. Too human, too real.
Bulkhead’s laugh brings her back. “Glad you like it! You...wanna snoop around?” They snoop but as soon as Bulkhead breaks the door from the hinges and they enter the small house off the garage she regrets it. Even singed by fire and falling apart from neglect, it's a home. There’s a couch, an old television. Stacks of vhs tapes littered on rotting tables and stuffed in broken cabinets. An old computer that looks a little too new for the times. The mummified remains of some bird in a cage. An impossibly small collar on its neck, the nametag too small to even read. Just like everything about the Cons they don’t have the details but they’ve got the spirit.
Up the stairs there’s a bathroom that’s almost pristine. Two bedrooms. There’s a queen-sized bed in one, a twin in the other. It’s too much of a home. They left in a hurry. No chance to come back. Miko drops to her knees in a closet and buried under vintage clothes she finds an old photo album busting at the seams with polaroids and more. Bulkhead couldn’t have put it better. Every photo is of them playing house. Breakdown’s holoform changes overtime but Knock Out’s is evergreen. He’s thin and tired but never without a smile on his face. A foreigner in an absurdly strange place just trying to get by. Eighteen, twenty-five, forty seven, he could be anything. Vintage pinup, silver screen heartthrob, social media darling. His look transcends decades. It’s classic. It’s human. When she picks up a photo of them at the kitchen table, Knock Out fixing an old radio, she just can’t take it. It reminds her of her parents. They have a photo just like it. She knows the exact frame it’s in, the exact place on her mother’s vanity.
“You ruined their lives.” She says, frantically swiping tears away. It’s a statement not a question, but not an accusation. Miko just knows that it’s a fact, she knows how this pans out.
“Yeah.” Bulkhead admits easily. Too nervous to look the girl in the eyes.
“Why?” Miko asks breathlessly as if the very meaning of the last year of her life is on the line.
“People...they were getting hurt. Started to go missing. You know-” Bulkhead catches himself. “Knock Out’s a creep! We thought-” He doesn’t want to tell her what they thought. He doesn’t think she could handle it right now. “It...it wasn’t them. It...it was some guy. We just didn’t know, couldn’t take the chance! It was bad! So we chased them off.”
“No wonder he hates you so much.” Miko shuts the book with a sigh.
“Yeah.” Bulkhead agrees. “You think I deserve it?” Miko catches her reflection in a dusty mirror. Face puffy and swollen, purple and green. Breakdown’s voice echoing in her mind.
Maybe we did.
“No way. They’re creeps.”
Miko leaves with the ugliest cyan and neon pink cropped leather jacket she’s ever seen and the overstuffed photo album. A reward for her troubles and a bargaining chip of her own for another day. As Bulkhead’s frame rumbles down the road, she lets herself slip asleep, enjoying the sunset. A thought stuck in her mind. If they were human once, what was stopping them now?
--------She hopes I'm cursed forever to---Sleep on a twin-sized mattress---In somebody's attic or basement my whole life---Never graduating up in size to add another---And my nightmares will have nightmares every night---------
“I like the red and blue. Really, it’s...retro.” Breakdown held Knock Out's face in his servos. Nuzzling it against his own. Just reminding himself the mech was still real, still with him. Put back together. Safe and sound.
"It's...an optic.” Knock Out agreed, returning the other mech’s affection. “I just don't know how I'm going to explain it."
"Just tell them he got you in the face. And I got him back for ya. How are they gonna know?"
Knock Out’s engine whined softly with doubt. "We were gone a long time. Soundwave-"
"Nobodies gonna know! As long as it's okay. I know it might not be up to snuff for a medic-"
"You know they are. You've got the same type. There's barely a difference in capabilities. It’s just...I’m a little lost on the details." For once that made two of them. Breakdown hadn’t wanted to bring it up, he hadn’t been there, didn’t see what they’d done, but the way he’d found the mech was...it was horrifying...but it was surgical. Orderly. Knock Out’s own brand of orderly. The gentle touch of his partner’s palm stole his attention. “Breaky?” Breakdown flushed at the petname, not having heard it in so long.
“I- well I lost it a bit when I saw you...all...taken apart in that dirty room. I choked up- didn’t have the tools. They’d forced me outta my frame. I thought I was gonna lose you any second! He... was just trying to help. He’s always just trying to help... I guess. Grease digits dropped it. Cracked it all the way through. Once me and Doc Bot put you back together...I made my move.” Breakdown’s mouth went try, glossia heavy, vocalizer rusted. “What got you into that mess in the first place?” Breakdown expected Knock Out to lie. He always lied, but he couldn’t talk away the mangled metal, the sawed in walls, the human viscera littering the compound. Beneath his weight Knock Out vented deeply.
“They’re like rats, humans. Ambitious. Just... too stupid for their own good. Easy to train though.” Knock Out ended with a sly smile and a laugh. His mask falling as his attention caught a stray bullethole in Breakdown’s armor. “They were going after you. If not you, whoever they could and that could easily have been you. ” Knock Out’s servo moved to cover his partner’s, squeezing tight. “I told them I’d get them an Autobot. I told them I could tell them everything they wanted to know and more. Too impatient. Too distrusting. So~” Knock Out sighed, sing-song. “I let them play scientist with a few-a-hah- non-negotiable limitations. I was overseeing the procedure of course, but… Accidents happen when training wild animals. On a whole, I think they did a fairly good job. Certainly worth looking into. Imagine not having to dote on our glorious air commander for every nick and dent~ All the free time we’d have?” Knock Out’s smile was intoxicating, it made the ludacris sound reasonable every time. Breakdown pressed a messy kiss to the mech’s cheek, his forehead, his neck. Just rough enough to prove a point, gentle enough to know all was forgiven.
“You’re mad! Insane! You need to be locked up!” Knock Out’s frame rumbled beneath him as his engine purred warmly.
“I knew you’d be coming. You always do. I didn't think you'd go to the Autobots though. That would have been awkward.”
"No more than usual" Breakdown chuckled in agreement. "Considering it was your own fault...I think we might owe them something."
Knock Out tapped Bulkhead's optic lightly. "You expect me to return my trophy. I was just getting attached."
"Nah. I think old docbot will get that fixed up soon. There's something else they might need more."
"This sounds very nearly conspiratorial. You? The Autobots? Mon dieu!" Breakdown only shrugged.
He pulled Knock Out tight enough that the mech could probably hear his thoughts without speaking, the mech could probably see them behind his optics. The touch of his servo on the Knock Out’s back spoke for him, thick fingers running along in the silent code they’d used for decades. Still he whispered just loud enough to make a sound, to let Knock Out know just how serious he was. "The winning team is the winning team, right?"
“The Decepticons, of course.” Knock Out said aloud, knowing he had to. “The winning team is the winning team because we’re here.”
“Wonder what would happen if we weren’t.” Knock Out slapped him playfully.
“Don’t let your ego get bigger than your chest, “Captain”, you’ll topple over.”
“Maybe, but you’d catch me. Right?”
“Always.” Breakdown buried between Knock Out’s pauldron. Letting warm perfumed air rush against his face.
“We should probably powerdown. Gotta find a new mine. They’ll want me up early.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Through the Revenant, the outerworlds, earth, now the Nemesis one thing would always stay the same. They would always stay together. No matter what.