Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blast Off woke up in pain.

This was nothing truly new to him, since they were fighting this war; it still grated on him.

His optics flickered online, vision hazy; his engine revved, and he groaned. He didn't notice right away that his engine sounded different, and only after a second rev he began to wonder. He lay on his front on a cold berth, most likely in medbay, and so he guessed his engine was the reason.

It had to be.

Blast Off couldn't remember what had happened before. There seemed to be a glitch in his memory files, because the last thing he remembered was that he went to his room in their base.

Great. He'd probably been shot on the battlefield and crashed. That was just wonderful. And most likely the entire Decepticon army had seen it. How disconcerting.

"You're awake," a voice said, sophisticated and cold. Blast Off reset his optical sensors, and could make out Hook. "Don't sit up yet. We still have a few systems to check with your processor online.”

Blast Off acknowledged him with a brief nod, and tried to relax as the Constructicon plugged a small connector into a port near his audial. Coding prodded, and it was uncomfortable, but he didn’t fight it. It’d be over soon.

The sharp image input from his optical sensors hurt, and so he was about to let his optics un-focus for the time he didn’t need them. Before he could do so, the medbay door slid open. Carefully, Blast Off turned his head, seeing his team. All four of them.

It really had to have been a very bad crash if all of them showed up.

Before Blast Off could say anything sarcastic, Onslaught spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Blast Off shrugged. Something on his back moved, but he didn't pay it attention. "I'll be fine when the ache subsides," he muttered, irritated. He didn't see a point in lying, or hiding his displeasure.

Onslaught merely nodded, then turned to the Constructicons. "He hasn't seen himself yet?"

"No. He just woke up."

Blast Off's optics flickered, this time in confusion. "What do you mean if I've seen myself yet?"

He realised then how the other three were staring at him. Vortex shifted on his feet, and Brawl gaped like a primitive pre-human animal. Swindle seemed weirdly concerned.

No one answered him. They only exchanged strange looks.

It took almost a klik and another rev of Blast Off's engine before Onslaught vented air deeply, and asked. "What do you remember of Tlalak?"

Blast Off opened his mouth, but closed it again soon when he noticed his battle masked seemed to have been taken off. He had no memories of such place.

It was Hook who answered for him. "His memory banks are corrupted. Probably due to... the energy he'd experienced."

"What energy?" Blast Off demanded to know, but again no one responded.

Hook turned to another Constructicon, Bonecrusher. "Get the plate. We'll make this quick and easy." Then he spoke to Blast Off as he unplugged the connector. "You may sit up."

With a condescending huff, Blast Off did so. Heaving himself off, he saw his lower arms for the first time. They lacked his heat shields. Blast Off frowned. Something behind him wobbled, apparently some still-attached medical device.

"Sit, not stand!" Hook emphasised when Blast Off wanted to jump off the berth. Had they made these things higher while he was in stasis? And why did Onslaught seem so big?

This all didn't make sense to him. But he'd just awoke from stasis, so it was probably his sluggish processor.

When Bonecrusher came back, he had a polished metal plate in his hands, and a wide grin on his face.

"Slag," Blast Off heard Vortex mutter. "He's so gonna freak out."

Brawl nodded. Swindle backed up a little.

Blast Off shot them a glare, then his optics shifted to the plate which served as a mirror.

If Blast Off hadn't sat already, he would have needed to do that instantly. His tanks lurched, his equilibrium failed for an astrosecond, and his intakes hitched.

What he saw was deformed, but he still could make out what it should be.

What he should be. Or should not be.

The heat shields on his arms were missing, instead he now had glass on his feet - cockpit glass. Blast Off glanced down. His wings were gone, and on the back of his lower legs were now... what? Landing skids? He shuddered.

The worst part, however, wasn't that his battle mask was off as well, or that the vents for his reaction control system for space were gone. The worst parts were the four black rotor blades sticking out from behind his back.

Carefully, slowly, Blast Off touched one. He felt it, on his fingers - and the blade.

"Well," Brawl said. "He hasn't screamed yet..."

No, Blast Off hadn't. But that was only because every sound was stuck in his vocaliser. His engine stalled and vision got blurry again. Partly because his processor was still trying to cope with the situation, partly because with blurry vision he wouldn't need to see the problem.

"Uhm..." It was Vortex who spoke, but the word hardly registered. That was until Blast Off heard the rest. "At least you're still hot." The grin was so audible, the shuttle - ex-shuttle - could almost see it.

Blast Off's rotor blades began quivering, and the shock made way for anger. He ignored Vortex, and the rest of his team, head turning to Hook. "Why did you rebuild me?" The engine growl was less deep than he was used to, but still evidence of just how fragged off he was.

Behind the visor, Blast Off saw the Constructicon raising an optical ridge. "We didn't do anything. Let alone would we go through all the trouble of rebuilding and changing a space craft into a heliformer."

Blast Off's optics twitched.

"It happened on Tlalak," Onslaught began explaining. "I wasn't there, but Soundwave and I watched the memory files."

"And what happened?" Slowly, Blast Off started to think this all was some stupid joke. Maybe Soundwave even possessed something like humour, and had built this simulation for him. Not that it made more sense than the actual situation, but he still could hope.

The joke turned into a farce, however, when Brawl replied. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he kneaded his hands. "So, uh... we were on that planet, you know. For getting energon cubes. There was some hidden storage from that Decepticon computer, or something and..."

"They attacked us," Vortex continued. "The Tlalakans. The Autobots seemed to have given them weapons, or something."

"So we fled."

"Into that cave."

"And you fell in the pond," Brawl said, sheepishly, stepping back a little.

"And there was some weird light and stuff, and yeah... you came out like this." Vortex shrugged, but his visor lit up in what Blast Off knew was amusement.

Onslaught heaved air in an audible sigh. Swindle bit his lower lip, but the grin was still there.

Blast Off stared.

"You're telling me I fell into a pond and became a heliformer?"

"Uhm... yes?" It seemed that Brawl actually believed what he said.

"In a cave, in a pond. On an alien planet," Vortex corrected.

"Are you kidding me?" Blast Off's irritation almost became rage, the rotor blades increased quivering which made Blast Off even more angry. He jumped off the berth, fully intending to hit Vortex over the head, and Brawl, too, but his equilibrium betrayed him, and he didn't pounce. Instead he reached for the edge of the berth, optics flickering. Even the centre of gravity was different with these things attached to his back. It caused his engine to snarl, and Brawl to hide behind Swindle.

Onslaught tried to defuse the situation and stepped between Blast Off and the others, blocking almost his entire view of the other three, and Blast Off looked up.

He had to look up to meet Onslaught's optics.

His joints tensed and jaw clenched at the realisation.

"Calm down," the now bigger mech said, and it sounded soothing. Not condescending or amused like Blast Off had expected. Like the others had reacted.

"Calm down?" He still had no intention to just yield to the situation, let alone to accept this frame. "They are telling me that I fell into a pond! A pond changed me! Do you believe that?"

Onslaught rubbed his forehead, another tired sigh escaped his vents. "I do."

At that, Blast Off could only stare.

"First off, I've seen the memory files. And, well, something similar had happened to Rumble once."

"Yeah, he'd become a tree!" Brawl snickered, loudly. "Can you believe that? At least you didn't become an organic!"

"...he fell into that pond and became a tree?"

Onslaught nodded.

Behind him, Hook began to tidy up instruments and cables, huffing annoyed, but he didn't throw them out. Bonecrusher seemed rather interested, but his curiosity was lost on Blast Off, however, who still struggled to make sense of things.

"How could I fell into that pond anyway?" Blast Off eventually asked, less angry, but almost resigned.

Brawl and Vortex exchanged looks, and it was the 'copter who spoke first. "You slipped..."

"Heh, after Vortex pushed you."

"So, you pushed me into the pond that rebuilt me?" Blast Off probably hadn’t heard said and thought the word pond that much in his entire life than he had in the last few kliks.

"I, uh... you were yelling at me! And I didn't know that it could do that! At least you still can fly like that. Imagine Brawl had pushed you, than you'd probably be stuck here as a tank!"

"Hey! You're sayin' your alt's better than mine?" Brawl yelled, and punched Vortex' arm. Swindle disappeared somewhere, and Blast Off stopped looking. Leaning against the berth, he massaged his temple.

"Are you okay?" Onslaught wanted to know, reaching out for his upper arm.

"I'm fine. And don't touch me." Blast Off suppressed the urge to slap the hand away, but Onslaught withdrew of his own accord.

They were quiet for a moment, in which only Vortex and Brawl arguing could be heard, and Bonecrusher trying to stop them from hitting each other.

"Do you want to hear the rest?" Onslaught still stood too close for Blast Off's tastes, his voice having an edge to it that Blast Off didn't recognise and it irritated him. It wasn't like he was going to faint any astrosecond, was he?

Blast Off shrugged, the rotors moved, making his engine rev once. He'd never get used to this. "How did we get back to Earth when I became a heliformer?"

"Astrotrain was with you. Megatron send two shuttles because he expected a huge storage of energon."

Blast Off nodded, glancing up without craning his neck. "And I assume the other two slag heads didn't touch the water?"

"They didn't. They got you out with a cable from Vortex' alt-mode. You were unconscious, and well, just woke up here."

It took a while until everything sunk in, and Blast Off accepted that this wasn't some sort of simulation or prank. Onslaught just stood beside him, and Hook left them alone.

"Was the mission at least a success?" the former shuttle asked. If it was, then Megatron would be in a better mood and hopefully let the Constructicons would turn Blast Off back into a space shuttle. Blast Off didn't even want to think of the possibility of staying in this limited mode forever.

"It was, if it comes to the energon part, that is."

"When will I get my frame back?"

Even without looking, in his peripheral vision Blast Off saw Onslaught tensing. He knew he wouldn't like the answer, he let the other respond anyway.

"It doesn't have priority."

Blast Off huffed. "Lucky me."

"The priority will change if we can't form Bruticus."

"You won't combine for the next few days." It was Hook who spoke, causing Blast Off to wince. Since when was the Constructicon listening? "You're free to leave and to transform, but we have to analyse the data of the scans before you attempt to combine."

The soft click of Onslaught's engine betrayed the suppressed growl. "Why?"

"Because we have no interest in repairing your entire team, let alone messing with your gestalt program if something goes wrong. You won't attempt to combine until we got back to you. And now get your bunch of thugs out of my medbay!"

---

The way to the Combaticon base took ages.

They couldn't rely on Blast Off's shuttle mode any more, and so they all - except Vortex - had to fly in root-mode.

Blast Off didn't trust his new frame yet. Not when everything was still aching, and probably half the Decepticon army was gaping at the security monitor of the tower, waiting to see Blast Off transform and fail.

When Blast Off took off, he noticed another difference. Even in root-mode, the rotors were very sensitive. The air rushing over them, data of wind velocity, temperature, moisture popped up in Blast Off's HUD, and he didn't really know what to do with it. These sort of things had never mattered to him. At least not until the wind and temperature had a certain intensity.

Flying with something at his back, not covered by his body or increasing aerodynamics, was also new. The rotors wobbled, moved back and forth in their brackets of the rotor hub, and it irritated Blast Off enough that they began quivering again. He had enough time during the flight to try to stop them doing that, but he wasn't successful.

They still shuddered lightly when he landed in front of HQ. Vortex was already waiting for the team, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

It was a surprise for Blast Off that he didn't say anything. But then, his own and Onslaught's glare might have been the reason for the 'copter's silence.

"Get your energon ration. Blast Off, a whole cube for you. We meet in the briefing room in five kliks," Onslaught ordered. He didn't leave time for questions or protests, and entered the HQ first.

Blast Off frowned, Swindle and Brawl exchanged looks, and Vortex merely shrugged, following their leader.

---

In the briefing room, Blast Off stared dubiously at his chair. An energon cube in his hand, Brawl sitting opposite of him; he wondered how he was supposed to sit down and still be comfortable. For his fast processor, the 21 astroseconds he needed to pull himself together seemed to be an eternity. Eventually, he pushed the chair back enough to settle carefully on it. It was unnecessarily complicated with the rotors on his back, and he truly hoped he wouldn't have had the time to get used to it. Doors also appeared to be a hindrance now were they narrower than before, even if Blast Off's old root-mode had been bigger.

He’d come to that conclusion after one of the blade tips scraped along a door frame.

Brawl looked at him and his cautious movements, sipping his energon. "You know," he muttered, and it wasn't as amused as Blast Off had expected. "This is really, really weird."

"Hmpf." A huff. What should he answer to that? "Don't tell me..." Trapped in this inferior alt-mode, complicating everyday tasks needlessly, it wasn't only weird, it was highly undignified.

The rotor blades began quivering again, which they seemed to do whenever Blast Off was angry or annoyed. That he'd figured this out didn't help at all, however, caused this new habit to escalate into a spiral of even more annoyance and rotor quivering. He still had no idea how he could stop them from moving.

The door slid open, and Onslaught and Vortex entered. As always, Swindle would be the last to arrive.

Blast Off didn't know what Onslaught had planned to discuss, but he hoped it wouldn't be a mission already. He'd rather get used to this frame first, or preferably get his old frame back, before he participated in any of Onslaught's plans.

Swindle came in almost a klik late. His usual grin adorned his face plates, and Onslaught's usual engine growl sounded through the room.

He sat down next to Brawl, the tank nudging him with his elbow once. Vortex fidgeted next to Blast Off who sat unmoving, not even drinking energon.

Another growl of Onslaught's engine, and Brawl as well as Vortex went quiet. Only two sets of rotor blades were still quivering, though for different reasons.

Eventually, Onslaught spoke. "You all know the change this team has undergone," he began, and Blast Off was almost grateful that he didn't mention him in particular. "Megatron said it depends on the next few energy raids how soon we'll be back to normal, and the Constructicons had forbidden us to attempt combining for a while until they know more about... the current state of things. We still need to be ready for battle."

Onslaught took out a disc, and shoved over the table towards Brawl. "Brawl, look over the schematics and come up with suggestions for weapons Blast Off can carry and which could be installed."

It was only then that Blast Off realised that also his leg cannons were gone, and that he was completely unarmed.

The tank looked up. With the battle mask withdrawn, the surprise in the face was visible. "Uh, sure..." he replied, taking the disc. "Anything particular I should look for?" Brawl glanced at Onslaught, then at Blast Off, as if waiting for an answer from him.

The former shuttle shrugged. "Laser cannons?" it was more a question, since even he didn't know what systems could be added to the frame. But he was used to laser cannons, so he'd be most comfortable with something similar.

"Swindle," Onslaught continued. "You'll get the weapons. I'll give you both 40 joors."

"I may need more time depending on what weapon-" Swindle countered, but Onslaught interrupted him.

"40 joors. After that I want a report." The tone left no room for objections.

Swindle winced, then grimaced and crossed his arms. Vortex snickered quietly.

The 'copter stopped when Onslaught turned to him. "Vortex, you and Blast Off will train in transformation and flight tomorrow. I want you," this was directed at Blast Off, "to learn several manoeuvres and get used to the new transformation sequence. Start at 0900, I want both your reports at 1930."

Vortex' rotors quivered still - or again - at the news, and Blast Off ignored the sideways glance he got from the other 'copter.

At the plan of training and prospect of staying like this longer than anticipated, Blast Off had tensed. His rotor hub went stiff, and gears and bolts he hadn't had before made themselves present.

"You know what you have to do. You're dismissed," were Onslaught's last words. The official part was done, and everyone acted less tense again.

Brawl stood up, patting Swindle's shoulder, after which the businessmech got up as well. Blast Off wanted to wait till everyone was out, but Vortex seemed to wait for him, and didn't move.

Engine revving, Blast Off's rotors started shivering once more. It hurt a little due to the tension still lingering in his frame.

"What are you waiting for?" Blast Off spat, and drunk from the cube as though he'd stay seated till it was empty.

"Hehe..." the 'copter giggled, leaning his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his hand, the red visor fixed on Blast Off. "I'm waiting for you."

This was suspicious, and Blast Off had a slight inkling about what Vortex was hinting at. "Well, you don't have to," he responded, without acknowledging his wariness.

"Flight training is boring. I can show you something more interesting if you like?"

The suggestive tone should have made Blast Off stop from asking, but he huffed nonetheless. "Like what?"

"Like the pleasures of tactile rotary 'facing." The grin was audible in Vortex' voice, and Blast Off was about to decline and spit something in return, but he couldn't. Instead, he gasped, intakes hitching due to sensations travelling from the tip of a rotor blade into the hub. The intensity was such a surprise, Blast Off literally jumped up and stumbled back. Rotors got caught in the back of the chair, it almost made Blast Off fall.

The acute reaction wasn't truly because it was unpleasant; Blast Off merely hadn't expected anything like this. Being used to Vortex reaching for his heat shields on his lower arms, his wings or poking his sides, he hadn't noticed him going for the rotor blade.

Blast Off stared at Vortex, and Vortex stared back. Apparently, he was as surprised as Blast Off was, but he was the first who pulled himself together, and snickered.

"Heh, sweet..."

"Shut up!" Glaring, Blast Off took his energon cube, avoiding getting caught in the chair again. "Don't do that!"

"Hehe."

With a last growl, Blast Off went out, hissing an "ouch" when a blade scratched the door frame again.

"You'll change your mind," was the last thing Blast Off heard when the briefing room door slid shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Blast Off felt like a turtle.

Not that he thought about an animal, or even compared himself to an organic, but if he'd done so, he would have thought he felt like a turtle.

Waking up, lying on his back, his joints were still sore, but at least they ached less than the day before. With an annoyed groan, he wanted to get up, and found himself not being able to roll over.

His optics flickered, processor still not booted up completely, and he glanced next to him at the berth. The huff, vented by unfamiliar small vents, was full of disappointment when the memories came back.

Right, Blast Off mused. He'd fallen into a pond.

Rubbing his hand over his optics and face plates reminded him that he also lacked his battle mask. This probably had a lower priority to Onslaught than getting him armed up, but he would have to talk to their gestalt leader.

With another huff, Blast Off sat up. He looked over his shoulder at the rotor blade sticking out, and glared. He had the sudden urge to rip them all out, they were so inconvenient and uncomfortable. Last night, it had taken Blast Off over two breems to get comfortable on his back. Of course, he could have lain on his front, but he didn't like that, and he knew from Vortex that the rotor hub could snap flush onto the back.

Not being used to anything of this new frame, Blast Off had needed what he thought were ages to find the right command. He'd tried a lot from 'initiate lying position' to 'let the damn rotor hub snap back before I break my back struts'. In the end, it'd been 'retract rotor hub' - well, that was just too easy - and his back had landed on the berth with a clang, the shock of the unexpected landing reverberating through him.

In his old frame, Blast Off never had to initiate anything manually, not that he could remember. Everything had just come to him, and sort of just happened when he wanted to. It was more than a little unnerving that it wasn't like this with his temporary rotary frame. And now he'd need to find the right command to get the rotor hub back out. As much as it increased the comfort while lying on it - which was still more uncomfortable than just having ceramic plates on his back - it was a little itchy when Blast Off sat up.

--- Extend rotor hub

It was the first thing his processor sent to subordinate systems and, surprisingly enough, it worked. The hub snapped back out, rotors wobbling from the sudden movement and then quivering for a while.

No, Blast Off really didn't like this new frame, and he'd refuse to get used to it.

An alarm popped up in his HUD. 0845 Earth time. In about 15 kliks he'd have to get out and do exactly what he didn't want to. Transforming, flying, and if this wasn't bad enough, there would be Vortex of all mechs watching him.

Already in a bad mood, knowing that this day wouldn't improve his mind at all, he stood up; the tips of the two lower rotor blades scratched over the berth while he did so, and he frowned. Great, did he have to be careful even while standing up? This wasn't funny any more.

Blast Off shoved the shelf away from the door which he'd used to block it as a matter of prudence in case Vortex tried to sneak into his room. The shelf seemed heavier than usual, but Blast Off forced himself not to think about it. He unlocked to door, and stepped out, only to almost run into Vortex.

Think of the devil and the devil shows up, Blast Off mused. Vortex jumped back a little, probably in surprise. An astrosecond later, he came closer again.

"Heh, just wanted to pay you a visit," the 'copter said, visor lighting up.

"You don't say..." Blast Off muttered, and pushed the button. The door shut, and locked.

"Awww, so grumpy already? We still have time before training."

"Time for what?" Did he really want to know? Blast Off doubted it; he slid away from between his door and Vortex, and started to walk to the base's exit.

"Well~" Vortex began, prolonging the word in a way he should have known would make Blast Off furious. The black rotors began trembling, and just in time Blast Off turned, seeing Vortex reaching out.

"Don't you dare!"

"C'mon, some tactile pleasure will brighten your mood. I promise."

Blast Off just continued walking. They had to start the training in about six kliks anyway, and Onslaught would get fragged off when they began later.

Behind him, Blast Off heard Vortex mumbling something, but he neither listened, nor cared.

---

They stepped out onto the heliport. The Sun burnt, and Blast Off's black plating heated instantly. He especially sensed it on his rotors, on his back, and that was something so different from the usual sensation of heat on his insulated circuitry.

It was the opposite to what he was used to, and completely against Blast Off's shuttle core programming.

With a deep vent of air, he forced the uncomfortable sensation not to take over, and turned to Vortex.

The 'copter stood there, battle mask hiding his face, rotors not quivering. He was still angry about being turned down.

"You wanna transform, or what?" Vortex asked, and crossed his arms.

Yes, still fragged because of the lack of interfacing.

What was about to come was another reason for Blast Off to be uncomfortable. Transforming for the first time with an unfamiliar frame and transformation sequence, with Vortex watching. The former shuttle definitely knew more entertaining things than that...

"I want you to be turned into a shuttle and then we're talking," Blast Off muttered, not caring if Vortex had heard or not.

The transformation sequence was something else Blast Off had to initiate manually. He'd spent a few astroseconds just thinking about it, like he'd used to. Expecting to change, but nothing happened. Fortunately, it didn't take him as long as the evening before to figure out just which commend he had to give. When the alternation started, it still took him by surprise.

Parts moved, folded back together to something else and formed a shape he couldn't see. That was the first difference Blast Off noticed. He didn't have on-board cameras, nor could he see what was behind him. His optical sensors only provided him the image of what was in front, and a bit of what happened next to him, but that was it.

The first thing he saw was Vortex coming closer. But that didn't matter right now.

Blast Off wiggled a little in alt-mode, rotor blades twitching. Something else was off. A sensation he couldn't explain, like something was missing.

He quickly came to the conclusion that he didn't like his new transformation sequence.

Under his skids, he sensed the asphalt - it was warm from the Sun as well - and how the weight of his alt-mode pressed onto them. They still could hold it, but it was odd. Blast Off needed to remind himself that he wasn't a shuttle any more - not for the moment at least - and that these small landing devices were enough for the form he had now.

"Hehe, nice," Vortex said, with that suggestive undertone of his, and dragged Blast Off out of his thoughts.

"What?" Blast Off asked, annoyed, rotors trembling. He couldn't see himself. He had no idea how he looked. Where which section of plating was, which colours they had; except for the rotor blades and the landing skids, which were all black...

He didn't even know the model of his alt-mode.

Vortex didn't answer Blast Off's question, and the former shuttle was quite glad for that. "So, you're gonna start your rotors? Let's start with the basics."

Blast Off had the sinking feeling that this wouldn't work like usual, either. Much smaller alt-mode vents heaved air in a sigh. "How do I do this?"

"Eh? Just, you know, like always. Start your engine and stuff."

Well, that was really helpful if he had no idea what command to give. Blast Off just thought of lifting off and flying, but as expected, nothing happened. Wiggling uncomfortable again, he started to be slightly disconcerted.

Eventually, he pulled himself together, and articulated a command.

--- Initiate take off

It didn't have the desired effect. Instead joints, gears, bolts tensed and Blast Off's vision went blue. A list of warnings and error messages scrolled down, informing him that there was no response from his thrusters, that the sensor net on them was disabled for unknown reasons and the fuel lines were apparently clipped off.

The mass of errors didn't hurt, but for an astrosecond, Blast Off's CPU was overwhelmed, having a hard time to process everything.

It took almost a klik before the visual returned, giving him the data of Vortex staring at him.

"Okay, that didn't work," Blast Off muttered, the distress in his voice unintentionally clear. "What command do you give when you take off?"

The red visor flickered once, then Vortex tilted his head. "What do you mean? What didn't work?"

This was frustrating. "I can't just... activate my rotors. I don't know. I have to give manual commands, and what I just gave was certainly wrong."

"Oh. Okay... That kinda sucks."

Blast Off huffed, ignoring the human idiom which Vortex most likely knew from Brawl. "I would appreciate it if you at least tried to be more helpful than that. I do know that this is not very convenient."

"Testy, aren't we?"

An engine growl. "Vortex."

"Yeah, yeah... I dunno. I just activate them when I wanna fly. It's like walking or something. Whoa, does that mean you have to give commands to your new frame for walking, too?"

"No," Blast Off replied, hindering his engine from revving again, but his rotor blades still quivered. And this was not only evidence of how irritated he already was, it was also a sign that there had to be a connection between his processor and the blades.

What Vortex had just told him was what he'd already tried and which didn't work, so Blast Off decided to work it out by himself. Maybe he could push one of those buttons of the cockpit. Unable to see them, he still sensed that they were there. He could at least give commands to activate the buttons which then hopefully activated something else...

No sooner thought than done, Blast Off pushed a button near the cyclic. It had to be important if it was that close to it.

With a phopp sound, Blast Off's cockpit doors sprung open.

He wiggled in alt-mode. Vortex looked. The former shuttle could almost see the frown behind the visor.

"Uh," the 'copter uttered, doubtfully. "What was that?"

"I tried something," Blast Off grumbled, attempting to close the doors again, but couldn't. "Apparently it was again wrong. Would you mind closing these-," he suppressed the curse, "doors for me?"

Vortex giggled, and stepped closer. "Sure thing..."

Blast Off's new helicopter mode shook when the doors slammed shut again. The former shuttle already hated this fragile alt-mode.

Without a word, he transformed back. Like before, it was unfamiliar. The centre of gravity changed, and when he was back in root-mode, he stumbled a few steps forward, optics flickering. His rotor blades twitched once, and Blast Off looked behind him. Somehow he expected that a part of him was still not transformed, that something was off. But the landing skids were at his lower legs again, the rotors on his back. His arms were arms and his hands were hands, and only his battle mask was still missing. Uneasily, he shifted on his feet.

"What's wrong?" Vortex asked.

"I don't know. "Blast Off shrugged, his displeasure obvious on his face plates. "Something's off. I mean, despite the obvious."

"Eh? Uh... I mean why did you transform back?"

Right, Vortex didn't know, and truly didn't need to know that Blast Off was unfamiliar and uncomfortable with his new sequence. Turning, he headed back into the base. "I'm going to download a few human helicopter instructions. If you aren't helping me, I have to help myself."

"Hey, wait!" Vortex ran after him, but Blast Off didn't look back. When the 'copter walked next to him, he continued. "Why'd you wanna download human stuff?"

Blast Off exhaled a condescending huff. "Because with these, I hopefully can write my own subroutines later. Until then, I have to control my alt-mode the human way by pushing buttons."

In the control room, Blast Off activated the console.

"That makes sense. I wonder why you haven't got subroutines in the first place." Vortex leant against the console, watching Blast Off operating, and hacking into human databases.

"I'm a shuttleformer. I do have subroutines for my rightful frame."

The 'copter kept quiet after that and let Blast Off work.

---

About ten joors later, Blast Off and Vortex sat in Onslaught’s office.

Their gestalt leader skimmed over the two reports in silence.

Next to Blast Off, Vortex began fidgeting, most likely bored, while Blast Off's rotor blades trembled slightly.

"So," Onslaught said, and the former shuttle was sure he could detect a light amusement in the voice. "Blast Off, you tried to kill Vortex?"

Blast Off raised an optical ridge. He hadn't written that, so Vortex must've done it. He himself wouldn't have called it an attempt to terminate the 'copter. Sure, he'd almost beheaded Vortex once with his tail rotor. And one time Vortex'd had to fling himself to the ground because Blast Off's main rotor had been about to shred him to pieces, but Blast Off was still learning. The new alt-mode was, well, new; he had no working subroutines, and wasn't used to the physical limitations of it.

"That hadn't been on purpose," Blast Off answered, then added. "Probably."

Onslaught laughed quietly, and Vortex crossed his arms.

Blast Off's rotor blades stopped moving; he was amused and in a better mood for the first time after he'd woken up that day in medbay.

Onslaught kept reading a little while, then he looked up, addressing Blast Off. "If you need help with controlling your alt-mode and coding, let me know and I'll talk to the Constructicons."

Tension crept into Blast Off's joints, but he nodded. The prospect of having someone prodding in his processor still made him uneasy, and he'd rather try to find a solution himself.

"Brawl collected a few guns,” Onslaught said, “but Swindle hasn't got back to me about any laser weapons yet. Blast Off, you and Brawl will train tomorrow. Close combat and testing the weaponry at 0830. I want your report at the same time as today. Brawl already knows. Vortex," Onslaught turned to the 'copter who had started to play with his tail rotor. "You'll wait here. I may need you to fetch Swindle and whatever arsenal of weapons he got back to base."

"What? No." Vortex engine revved. "I don't wanna wait for slaggin' Swindle. I can train with them, and get him later, if I have to."

Blast Off tensed when Onslaught's engine growled in return. "Blast Off and Brawl will train. You will wait. Dismissed."

Vortex should have known that it'd been a useless protest, Blast Off thought, but kept quiet. He nodded in acknowledgement, and stood up, heading for the rec-room.

He was tired. His rotor hub ached from flying as it had to support all his alt-mode weight for the first time today, and he was looking forward to recharge.

All the training made him feel like he was fresh from the assembly line again. As though he was again an inexperienced youngster.

With an exhausted sigh, he activated the energon dispenser, and leant with his forehead on the wall next to it, staring at the energon tap. A quarter cube this evening, they were on rations again. It was filled quickly, and the energon flow stopped.

At the same time this situation made Blast Off feel very old. He'd never been fond of change. He liked routines and to know when to expect events. He generally liked to know. Happenings like this, different routines and the lack of knowledge of important things made him uneasy. They were exhausting, and annoying.

With another sigh puffing off his vents, he grabbed the cube, and was about to turn. He only then realised that Vortex had been watching him, standing close enough that Blast Off could see the doubtful frown.

"What?" Blast Off wanted to know, but his voice lacked any true sharpness.

"Nothing..." was Vortex’ response, but it was clear he was lying.

Blast Off shrugged, and didn't ask again. It was better when he didn't know.

Surprisingly enough, that evening Vortex didn't drop any suggestive hints. And Blast Off was allowed to return to his quarters alone.

Chapter Text

Blast Off sat in the rec-room in front of his energon ration. He was tired, his processor hadn't been able to completely defrag during his recharge cycle, and he felt rather worn out. And the day had only started.

Blast Off had spent half of the previous evening writing new subroutines, trying to put his new experiences and the human instructions into coding that his processor could interpret. The other half he'd spent having trouble installing, and in the end he'd got a nasty processor ache.

His head was still throbbing as he sat there, staring at his energon in silence, alone. He welcomed the calm; it was so rare in the Combaticon HQ. Usually, there was something to do, someone running around, someone else yelling, and someone particular stomping through the corridors. Even in his room, he couldn't always relax. It was weird enough that Blast Off could relax right then, sitting in a room which was accessible for everyone.

The silence didn't last long enough. It never did.

The sound of metal feet echoed to Blast Off, and he knew from thousands of vorns experience which team member to expect.

He didn't look up when the energon dispenser was activated, and he just kept staring at his cube when someone eventually sat down opposite him.

There was a sharp twang of envy as Blast Off saw Vortex' blurry shape moving so casually onto the chair.

He himself still had trouble with that. And not just that. Blast Off's rotors scraped on door frames; they scratched at walls when he got too close, or got caught in the backs of chairs. Once or twice he’d even punched his own rotor blades by accident, causing a sharp pain in the blade and the bracket of the rotor hub.

Blast Off hadn't been built with anything like this. Seekers might be used to it, Astrotrain, too, but Blast Off never needed to be careful when everything on his frame was compact, and didn't get stuck in anything.

Maybe he should talk to Astrotrain about that if this situation was going to last longer...

"Wow," Vortex muttered, and interrupted Blast Off's train of thought. The former shuttle glanced up, frowning. "You look like someone told you you're gonna be put back in the box."

"Shut up," Blast Off said, but it lacked the usual bite. He really didn't need Vortex’ oh-so-clever statements today.

"You really don't like being a ‘copter, do you?"

For a while, Blast Off didn't answer. There were many aspects of this frame which he didn't like, but he wasn't stupid enough to mention them to an actual heliformer. Instead he shrugged. "It's tiresome, and frightening."

"What do you mean?"

Blast Off huffed; he looked down at the energon cube, and eventually took a sip. "I have to relearn everything; that is tiresome. My processor has trouble to get used to the new frame; that is frightening."

Vortex tilted his head, but also was quiet for a while. When he answered, his voice wasn't full of this annoying cheerfulness, but sounded rather concerned - Blast Off didn't know which he disliked more.

"Yeah, that kinda makes sense..."

Blast Off couldn't reply to that, because Brawl came stomping into the rec-room. He had a crate in his hands, and his voice suggested he was in an upbeat mood.

"Hey, large aft!" the tank said much too loud. The noise made Blast Off's audials ring, and his processor ache more intense for a moment. Brawl set the crate down on the table, and Vortex and Blast Off saved their energon cubes just in time.

"You know," Brawl continued as loudly as before, and sat down at the table. "Large aft doesn't suit you any more. You ain't that large now. Hey, Tex, any ideas for a new name?"

The 'copter's visor brightened for an astrosecond, and Blast Off couldn't suppress a growl. He truly could think of more pleasant company - like in no company; then at least he wouldn't have to listen to any of those stupid nicknames his team gave him.

"I have a designation, so it'd be appropriate to call me by that," Blast Off muttered grumpily, then sipped from his energon.

"Awww, you're always so gloomy and moody." Brawl punched Blast Off's upper arm, causing the former shuttle to almost to bite his glossa. He turned to the tank, and glared. Brawl didn't seem to mind, and added. "You know your designation kinda doesn't match your frame anymore, either. Maybe we should come up with a new name. Like, a name for Blast Off, kinda like a measure for better team work. And a cooler name for you."

The worst part was that Brawl seemed totally committed to that idea, and grinned at Blast Off.

Vortex snickered. And the former shuttle could only growl again. "Brawl."

"What? Just trying to help here. Did you see your face. You look like that Stunticon. I just wanna cheer you up."

Blast Off vented air deeply. He wasn't looking forward to spending a whole day with the tank. But he also wasn't in the mood to spend the day with the tank being sulky, and so he bit back his snappy remark. Instead he muttered, keeping his voice as blank as possible, "I appreciate your effort, but I'd appreciate it even more if you stopped trying to cheer me up."

"Oh," Brawl mumbled, and drank from his own ration, shrugging briefly. "Okay... You still kinda look like Dead End."

Blast Off raised an optical ridge, but kept quiet.

"Well, like Dead End when he's having a good day, so I guess you're not lost yet."

Brawl laughed, Vortex giggled, and Blast Off successfully hid his tiny grin behind the rim of his energon cube.

---

Blast Off had to transform outside so that Brawl could heave the crate of guns into his cargo hold. Not being able to see the cargo with the onboard cameras he now lacked made him uncomfortable, but then, what didn't make him uncomfortable with his new frame?

Performing a wobbly take off, Blast Off flew about 50 miles to a rock formation relatively close to the Combaticon base. It was better to train there with some targets to shoot and places to hide than in front of the HQ. Not particularly because it could draw the Autobots’ attention to their base, it was rather a precautionary move to prevent the base from blowing up.

The flight took too long in Blast Off's opinion. He didn't dare fly too fast, not when he hadn't got used to his frame and the newly installed coded lines. It was odd. The self-written codes worked - more or less - but they still prodded his processor, as if someone was poking a finger into his hardware. Blast Off didn't like the sensation.

He couldn't help but be relieved when he landed at their destination. He waited for Brawl to unload him. Of course Blast Off could have transformed around the crate, but he still wasn't familiar with his transformation sequence. He wasn't very fond of the possibility of blowing up if he crushed the weapons between his plating. Who knew what Brawl had put in there? Knowing the tank, there were most likely not only guns, but also explosives, if not bombs or missiles.

Blast Off didn't have to wait long till Brawl landed close to him. He stared for a few astroseconds, not saying anything. Then the tank took the box, and set it on the ground.

The former shuttle transformed back, more swiftly than the day before. He still muttered a curse, about the sensation of incompleteness after being back in root-mode.

"So," Blast Off said, grumpily. "What kind of guns do you-" He was interrupted by Brawl's fist hitting his face.

Blast Off stumbled back, optics glowing in confusion and anger. "What was that for?" If Blast Off still had had his cannons, he'd have shot Brawl's head off.

The tank stood there, equally confused, his hand still clenched to a fist, but not moving. "Uh... sparring. You know, close combat training? Onslaught said so."

Blast Off's engine revved. "Yes, I do know that. But how about a warning? Or even better, telling me when we begin?"

Brawl shifted on his feet, but Blast Off didn't feel sorry for his apparent insecurity. "Uh, an Autobot wouldn't warn you either, so..."

"So what? With an Autobot around I would know that he isn't there for shaking hands! I don't expect to be attacked by a team member without reason. Vector Sigma, you're stupid!"

"And you're a mean aft-head," Brawl growled.

Great, Brawl was huffy, and Blast Off was himself fragged off that his rotors trembled again. These truly weren’t the best conditions for battle training. The former shuttle had the faint feeling that asking to look over the guns wouldn't be welcomed, and so he made himself ready, adopting a battle stance.

Brawl huffed, mumbling when he did the same. "So, you're ready now?"

"Be quiet and let's get this over with."

---

It transpired that fighting in root-mode was as new and complicated as flying in alt. Blast Off didn't seem to have a chance. He landed on his aft so often, he'd stopped counting. The dust caught in his transformation seams itched, and made Blast Off wish this would be over soon.

With a sigh of resignation, he got back to his feet once again, and eyed the fresh dent at his side. Even this was inferior. His old frame was robust and hardly dented if someone punched him.

Arms crossed, Brawl watched Blast Off getting up. "Are you even trying?"

"Very funny." Blast Off vented air, puffing off dust. "All my close combat experience is based on scanners and strength I don't have any more." This, and Blast Off had never been a military build in the first place. He neither had battle programming, nor the advanced battle training which military units possessed. He didn't mention it. He felt useless enough without articulating that fact.

"So, you wanna stop, or what?" Brawl asked, voice loud but doubtful.

"Hmpf, sure. And then explain to Onslaught why we did so?" He'd rather land a few more times in the dust than do that. Especially now he was smaller than their gestalt leader. This argument seemed to make sense to Brawl as well, because the tank muttered something inaudible, and got ready again.

Blast Off dodged a hit to his abdomen, then ducked under a punch to his face. He became better at reading Brawl's movements, trying to translate the data his optics gave him into what the tank would do next. This was both good and bad; it was good that he learned something, and wasn't thrown to the ground so often, but also bad because learning how Brawl acted and reacted wouldn't help him when fighting an Autobot.

His sensation of pleasure at this little success faded when Brawl grabbed a rotor blade, and squeezed hard.

Blast Off cried out in pain. The aching sharp sensation was unbearable for the first few astroseconds, causing his vision to blur and his equilibrium to fail. It got slightly better an instant later, only to become worse again when Brawl yanked him around. The blade bent in the process which was even more painful.

A frustrated growl escaped his vocaliser when dizziness and sickness spread in his tanks. But despite that, he let his rotor hub snap onto his back, and rolled over in a swift move, snatching up a rock as big as his fist in the process. Lying on his back, legs bent, Blast Off powered his thrusters, heaving his feet and legs into the air, and over him. Pressing his hands to the ground, he lifted himself up, doing a backflip and landing unsteadily on his feet. He didn't give Brawl time to attack again, and threw the rock at the tank's head with as much power as he could manage.

To his surprise, the rock hit.

"Ouch! You slaggin'-" Brawl cursed, and covered the visor with his hand, stumbling back a little. "That ain't fair!"

Blast Off huffed. His equilibrium chip reset, but still didn't work properly due to the pain. On his rotor blades, Blast Off still felt phantom sensations of the rough ground, and the bent blade throbbed.

"What do you expect?” he said. “An Autobot wouldn't fight fair, either." He used Brawl's argument from before, but his voice lacked true anger; it sounded rather pained instead. "And you bent one of my blades, so we're even now!"

"Gah, fraggit..." When Brawl lowered his hand, Blast Off saw the crack in the orange visor glass. "Vortex never complains about that."

"But I am not Vortex. And it is slaggin' painful. How do you think I'll be able to fly back to base like this? Do you want to drag the box of guns in root-mode all the way? I sure don't."

"Yeah, kay. Sorry... Do you want me to bend it back?"

So that Brawl didn't need to take the heavy crate? Blast Off considered it. The crooked part of the blade ached, the sensor nodes online and signalling pain. It was uncomfortable. But he also didn't want anyone to touch his rotor blades. They were disgustingly sensitive, and straightening the rotor would probably hurt as much as before.

Blast Off sighed, and rubbed his face. "Fine," he muttered after a while, and walked towards the tank. "But don't touch anything else."

Brawl raised his hands. "I won't. Known you too long to do that, you know."

"Hmpf, that doesn't stop the 'copter ."

"Heh, yeah, but I ain't Vortex."

At that, the former shuttle huffed, amused this time, and turned a little, so that the damaged blade was pointed at Brawl.

"You know, that was a really cool move there," Brawl said, eyeing the rotor.

"If you say so..." Blast Off didn't know if the tank spoke the truth, because he didn't think his backflip, or whatever it might be called, was very great.

"Yep, it was. Maybe you just need time to get used to your frame."

"I rather not have the time to get used to it, and get my own back as soon as possible."

"Yeah... that'd kinda work, too," Brawl agreed, Blast Off seeing the nod in his peripheral vision. "Okay, gonna bend it back now, guess this'll hurt a bit."

Before Blast Off could answer, the fingers of two hands wrapped around the blade, and twisted.

Grinding his denta, jaw clenching, Blast Off tried not to utter any sound. His engine revved and the lingering sickness returned full force.

"Okay. Uh, done..." Brawl said, but the sensations hadn't stopped.

Blast Off 's intakes worked in deep, slow vents, his equilibrium reset once more. This was ridiculous, he thought. How could he fight Autobots if any slight touch made his systems react like this?

With a last deep sigh, Blast Off looked over his shoulder. The blade was almost straight again, only a slight dent remained, but the former shuttle guessed he could still fly like that. His self-repair would take care of it, or so he hoped. Maybe this system, too, wouldn't recognise his new frame and wouldn’t start acting of its own accord.

"Yo, uhm." Brawl's mumbling drew Blast Off's attention back to the tank. "You think we should try out the weapons now?"

And not get thrown to the ground all the time? Blast Off thought sarcastically, but he only shrugged, and replied, "Sure, why not."

"Awesome!" Brawl practically beamed at that. He clapped his hands once, then turned, and walked towards the crate. "I think I have the perfect weapon for you. You know, you're lighter than Tex. I think that's kinda weird, because you usually were the most heaviest of us before."

Blast Off cringed at the grammatical abuse, but just trotted behind the tank in silence.

"Hehehe... Here!" Brawl took something out of the box, a sleek, light looking weapon, and held it high. "It's a sniper rifle. I thought you'd be more comfortable with this, because you were a sniper before and all. Just not from space now. But with this you can stay away from the 'bots and don't need to worry you get your rotors bent."

The tank almost pushed the rifle into Blast Off 's hands. The former shuttle was taken aback, and a little confused from Brawl's rambling. His CPU was still busy processing the aching sensations from his rotor blade, and keeping his equilibrium working. The prospect of not having to be close to the main fighting and staying away from the battle field was very tempting.

"It's a semi-automatic rifle, so if your cover got blown, you can switch. I also have different bullets." Brawl reached into the crate, taking out a smaller box. "Here're the normal ones, and here," - another package appeared - "are explosive projectiles. I've got a grenade launcher, too."

"Of course you have...“ Blast Off muttered, and Brawl looked up.

"Huh? Uh... Anyway. You don't need to use the grenade launcher. It's pretty heavy, and the recoil is kinda strong. And it's probably not so good if you still wanna be a sniper. Let me show you the rifle."

Brawl stepped closer before Blast Off could even say anything. He had taken a brief look at the weapon, and hadn't had time to inspect it closer.

"Click here to unlock, and here you switch to automatic. And here, I think that's slaggin' awesome, is a cable you can plug into your wrist. That way you can target more precisely. I think that's kinda cool, because you were connected to your cannons before and stuff. Not that I think you couldn't hit a target without it, you know, I just-"

"It's okay," Blast Off interrupted the flow of words and, to his surprise, Brawl shut up.

The rifle was nice. It was handy, and light, but long. It would be inexpedient in close combat, or for just going to battle. And Blast Off didn't know where to keep it when he was in alt-mode. Still, he tried it out, plugging the cable in and letting the short temporal installation for exchangeable hardware run. The connection to the rifle was useful. He wasn't familiar with holding an external weapon for shooting and targeting something in a distance.

He aimed at a boulder about 90 mechanometers away. Optics zooming in, the hairline cross where the bullet would approximately hit appeared in his HUD. The data concerning wind velocity from his rotor blades was useful as well.

Blast Off fired, and hit. The boulder exploded with a loud boom, and caused the former shuttle to wince.

Brawl laughed. "Whoo~hooo! That was cool!"

Blast Off's optics flickered once, then he spoke. "You loaded it with explosives?" It was a rhetorical question, because obviously by the destroyed and steaming rock, the tank had.

"Hehehe, yeah. Sorry, just couldn't resist. But it's awesome, isn't it? And you really look cool with that."

Blast Off lowered the rifle and shrugged, not sharing Brawl’s enthusiasm. "It is. But how am I supposed to carry it in alt-mode?"

Brawl's cracked visor lit up, then dimmed again. "Oh, right... Good question."

They both went quiet.

Blast Off glanced at the weapon. He locked and unlocked it, then switched to automatic and back. It was a nice rifle. Easy to handle, and easy to lift and hold. It was almost a shame that he wouldn't be able to use it in battle.

"Oh!" Brawl's excited yell made Blast Off flinch. "I have an idea!" The tank took the rifle out of Blast Off's grip who was too stunned to dodge, then Brawl stepped behind him.

"What?" Blast Off took a step forward, and turned, paranoid the other would touch his rotor blades again.

"Uh, stay still." Brawl came closer; Blast Off took a step backwards. "I won't touch anything. Promise."

Blast Off let his engine rev to a growl. "If you do, I'll take that rifle and beat you to medbay."

"I have no doubt you will," Brawl said; it didn't sound scared but amused.

Blast Off followed Brawl suspiciously with his optics when the tank stepped behind him once more.

As promised, he didn't touch the rotor blades, and only held the rifle onto the side of his back, leaving enough room to the rotor hub. "Here, look. Or, well, feel, you know. It'd fit under your rotors, and is low enough so it won't touch them."

Blast Off craned his neck, looking over one shoulder where not only the black rotor blade stuck out, but also the grey barrel of the rifle. That seemed to be a solution...

"I could weld brackets for your back, where you can easily put it in or out. Or, well, you know, I can program the drone to install them on you." Brawl removed the weapon, and let Blast Off turn.

"That sounds okay."

"Heh, awesome! That's so cool! Maybe I can try to make the brackets more versatile, that you also can hold the grenade launcher. Or we can install more brackets on your other side for it!" Brawl was excited again, but Blast Off couldn't share it.

If he had those, he wouldn't be able to lie on his back any more...

He frowned. "Do you think you could install something that can snap onto my back, or vanish under the plating?"

"Oh, hm. I can't. But I think the Constructicons could?" Suddenly, the tank appeared disappointed, and it almost made Blast Off feel guilty. Unlike Vortex, the tank really tried to help. He still didn't want to give up on his habit of lying on his back.

"You could ask them, right? Like this, I also could get a connection to the rifle in alt-mode, that I can use it then, too? Do you think that would work?"

"Hey, I haven't even thought of that! That's a really cool idea! But wait!" Brawl eyed the rifle for a few astroseconds. "I'd need to make a few changes on the weapon. And maybe you'd need some programming that supports the weapon better in both modes. If you're okay with that?"

While Blast Off wasn't fond of someone prodding in his processor, he doubted he had a choice there. He needed to be armed, otherwise he wouldn't be useful at all, and this was something he could barely stand. Not because he liked the rest of the team so much, but they only had a chance to survive as a gestalt if they were useful as one.

Blast Off shrugged. "As long as I can delete the code again as soon as I have my old frame back, I'm okay with it."

"Great!" Brawl's grin was audible. "I'll talk to the Constructicons when we're back. So, we're gonna try out the grenade launcher now?"

"Uh, I think I'll pass."

"D'awww, c'mon. Just try it, maybe you'll get to like it."

Blast Off knew there was no way to decline without Brawl getting a bad mood again. He gave in. "Fine..."

"Awesome!"

Chapter Text

Blast Off waited for Brawl once more in front of the base. His processor ache had worsened since he landed. It was only partly because of the noise of exploding grenades and the loud laugh of the tank. The ache hadn't subsided completely, and he was tired. He would go to the washracks and then he'd catch up on recharge to let his processor defrag properly as soon as he finished his report for Onslaught.

He hoped their gestalt leader would be content with Blast Off's temporary choice of weapon, and wouldn't want to discuss the matter today.

When Brawl landed next to Blast Off, he was relatively quiet by his standards. Probably because he hated doing reports, and tried to come up with an excuse as to why he wouldn't need to write one this time.

As soon as the crate was gone from his cargo hold, Blast Off transformed. He still hated it; the repulsion made his rotors quiver for a few astroseconds. They stopped, but began trembling again as soon as he realised his plans for the evening were destroyed.

The door of the base opened and Onslaught walked out, followed by Swindle and Vortex.

"The Constructicons came back to me," their commander said business-like. "We have to attempt combining."

"What? Now?" Brawl asked, the box still in his hands.

The engine growl of the anti-aircraft vehicle made Blast Off glad that he hadn't asked. Brawl muttered something unintelligible, but didn't protest further.

Blast Off merely gave in and kept quiet. The view of Vortex' rigid rotor blades, and Swindle's all but displeased expression caused the former shuttle to heave air in a sigh. Great, forming Bruticus with three parts of him fragged off - Blast Off wondered briefly what happened between Vortex and Swindle this time - and the two others being tired. This just had to go well.

"If you don't have anything more to say,” Onslaught barked, “follow me and get ready."

---

Bruticus awoke in the wasteland that surrounded the Combaticon base. It was already getting dark, and his optics adjusted to the fading light. He looked around, cluelessly.

Something was off. He felt it.

It wasn't the usual dissonance between his components, although he knew some of them were more than usually aggravated. The stinging sensation in his processor told him so.

There was something else. An unnerving itch in his right arm. Something didn't match the rest of his body; it didn't quite fit any more. With a growl, he wrapped his fingers around his right wrist, and squeezed. Pain drowned out the sensation, but it returned all too quickly. It made Bruticus angry.

He didn't want to deal with whatever his components had done this time. The urge to rip his arm off was strong, but he resisted, and smashed a few rocks close by instead.

The shock reverberated through his plating, taking the edge off the frustration. He continued punching.

When all the rocks were gone, Bruticus' intakes heaved the dusty air. He was again clueless. He had no reason to stay combined. The itching and stinging were annoying, and the tiny grey mech wasn't there to give orders. He knew his purpose, this time, had only been to prove he still functioned, despite the changes that he didn't understand.

Bruticus didn't like it.

He hoped the next time he woke up his components will have sorted out whatever was wrong with them. It was his last sentient thought before he fragmented.

---

Blast Off's plating was even dustier when he landed on the ground on his knees. But he didn't realise it. His HUD was blue, warnings and damage reports scrolled down, flooded his visual field and his processor. There were so many, he could hardly process them.

And they didn't make any sense at all.

Reports about missing parts which his current alt-mode didn't possess, or failing functionality of scanners which weren't there any more overwhelmed him. It was as if his processor was searching and scanning for his shuttle-frame, not recognising the one he had now.

Blast Off's audials didn't perceive the keen that his vocaliser emitted, and he didn't feel his cooling systems switching on.

Then, for an astrosecond or two, everything went black, and the next messages in his HUD came up:

--- sensor net: reset.
--- processor: reset.
--- system functionality at 67%

The writing faded, and the visual input was back, along with pain.

Blast Off gasped, and slumped. His hand clutched at his helm while his processor felt like it was melting, overheated from the strain of data.

"Blast Off, are you okay?" A voice penetrated the throbbing ache, but at first, the words didn't make sense.

It took Blast Off half a klik before he could answer. "I'm fine." Even his voice sounded stressed, staticky, and he winced. He realised only then that it had been Onslaught who had asked; the rest of his team was close by, staring at him.

"Are you sure?" the gestalt leader pressed on.

Blast Off shoved the hand away that wanted to touch him, and revved his engine. It should have been a growl, but it merely stuttered, and dust puffed off his vents. "I'm fine." Why did everyone keep asking him that?

Onslaught stepped back, and eyed him, but didn't say anything more. It was Brawl who spoke this time, and his voice was as doubtful as it had been during the training. "Uh, you really sure?"

Blast Off's head snapped up, but he had no time to spit anything as Brawl backed up a little and added. "Just sayin'. I mean you were like frozen or something for almost two breems..."

That long? Blast Off suppressed a shudder, and his rotors twitched in surprise. He covered their movement - hopefully successfully - by trying to stand up. His equilibrium chip glitched for an astrosecond or two, but became stable soon again.

"I just need to catch up on recharge," he replied, voice blank. He earned himself a shrug from Swindle and Brawl; Vortex tilted his head, and Onslaught continued watching him.

"Right," Onslaught's tone made it clear that he didn't believe him, but he also didn't question him further.

While the others headed back, Onslaught stared at Blast Off a moment before he turned as well.

The former shuttle knew that this matter wasn't settled. But how could he explain what had happened when even he didn't know?

---

The report had been written and handed to Onslaught, and even if Blast Off hadn't mentioned what had happened after they'd decombined, his commander hadn't said anything. But the former shuttle was sure that he'd have to explain himself eventually.

For now, he tried to relax. The water poured down from the shower head, running over the plating and washing away the dust. The liquid cleared after a while as it flowed into the drain and vanished, but Blast Off didn't deactivate the shower yet. He enjoyed the silence in the washracks for now. With his hands leaning against the wall, the water cooled his head. It also flowed down his back, tickling at the rotor hub and on sensor nodes of the blades. They twitched now and then from the input, and Blast Off tried hard to ignore it.

The sensations were odd. He wanted to compare them to something he'd experienced before, but couldn't. Except that one time on an alien planet… He refused to admit it, and didn't want it almost to be like that when it had been so wonderfully new and alien before, and now it was merely evidence of the hated inferior frame he was stuck in.

With the liquid relieving some of the heat of his helm, Blast Off's processor ache dampened a little, and made his thoughts clearer for a moment. Then the relaxation took over, and his mind drifted. With still fragmented data and all the new input, Blast Off's processor didn't truly focus. His thoughts wandered, floating, and were hard to grab and to remember, when they were gone the next astrosecond.

Absentmindedly, Blast Off deactivated the shower, but didn't move. He sensed single drops running down his rotor blades, lighting up certain sensor nodes, and creating a tickling that wasn't unpleasant. Drops tingled on his rotor hub and a warm shudder travelled over his sensor net, causing his rotors to shuffle a little, throwing off a bit of water.

He didn't fight it.

Right then, it was okay. No one needed to know, and no one was there to see him being relaxed like this.

Blast Off offlined his optics, and the sensations became a little more intense. Without the visual input, his mind began wandering again, ignoring the necessity to analyse the malfunction from before.

It was nice for a few kliks, or maybe even a breem. Blast Off didn't check his chronometer. At a particular nice ripple, he sighed, and then his intakes hitched in surprise when the sensations intensified and became an actual touch.
His optics onlined, his rotors flickered; Blast Off turned his head. Grey fingers wrapped around the black rotor. Then a red visor appeared in his visual field, and a soft snicker echoed to Blast Off's audials.

He tensed.

Since when had Vortex been there?

Blast Off looked at the door. It was closed. It was a little reassuring, but still not enough to make him relax again.

Vortex stood close, and shuffled even closer. Blast Off felt the 'copter's intakes venting air over his rotors, the thumb massaging the blade lazily. There was no room to turn, and worst of all, it wasn’t bad.

Nonetheless, Blast Off snapped. "Don't touch me!" But his rotors betrayed him and didn't quiver.

Vortex laughed again, wrapping an arm around Blast Off's waist, fingers tracing over a transformation seam on his abdomen. "I've been wanting to do that since you came out of that water..." he said, and Blast Off had to suppress a shiver as a pleasant surge ran down his back struts.

He could push himself off the wall, leave, and ignore Vortex for the next few cycles, Blast Off thought, and it sure was a good plan. He never carried it out as a glossa flicked against the small dent which was still there from when Brawl had bent the blade.

Blast Off gasped.

The touch on strained sensor nodes wasn't painful this time, it was the opposite, sending pleasure down the hub, into his plating and interface panel.

"Don't do that," Blast Off said in hope what was a sharp tone, but it didn't sound as resolute as before.

Vortex ignored him. It was only to be expected. Stopping the soft touch of his glossa, Vortex vented hot air over the rotors; it had to be on purpose. Blast Off's blades twitched.

"What happened here?" the 'copter asked curiously, poking the violated part with his fingertip, and it again was more pleasant than anything else.

Blast Off clenched his jaw, forcing down the growing charge, but his voice was still filled with a low static when he replied. "Brawl." It was a short answer, but he didn't want to give away too much of his current state. He didn't even want to admit that there was something like a ‘current state’ which included heating metal, and charge beginning to buzz behind his interface panel. His rotor blades twitched now and then, caused by the constant slow passage of warm air over them, and there was nothing Blast Off could do to stop them.

"I see," Vortex muttered, then his lip plates brushed over the rotor, nibbling at it, and this time Blast Off didn't have a chance to hinder himself from shivering. It made Vortex giggle softly. "Heh, being a rotary isn't that bad, is it?"

Blast Off huffed. "Shut up. I'm only tired, and you're taking advantage."

"Do you want me to stop?" Vortex' voice was muffled from his lips against the metal, the sound reverberating into the blade, causing more tingles.

What a question, Blast Off thought, and grumbled, with static clear this time. "I’ve told you to stop twice already..."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it."

Another huff. Vortex wasn't completely wrong. Blast Off could have put up more of an objection, even in this frame.

"It's kinda nice to have another rotary around, you know," Vortex added, before Blast Off could say anything. The former shuttle didn't know how to respond to that, nor if Vortex meant it or was only being manipulative. Blast Off's fingers flexed. There was some weird sort of feeling. Hope? That Vortex was being honest. Not because Blast Off felt sorry, or because he liked to have a planet bound frame. It was because Blast Off knew how it was to be the only example of his kind.

Sure, Blast Off had Astrotrain, but he was first and foremost a triple changer.

This odd train of thought was interrupted by more sensations. Vortex stroked down the full length of a rotor, and it made Blast Off moan. The pleasure remained in the blade, and he hardly noticed the hand placed at his side on his interface panel. More present was Vortex moving closer still, pressing his chest plating against Blast Off's rotors so that he could feel the slight fluctuation in the energy field, and the hot, prickling need in the signature.

All together it made Blast Off's legs weak.

It was unfair.

Vortex knew exactly what to do, what to touch, and how to rev his engine so that the vibrations rattled through Blast Off; they conducted through his blades, into the hub and spread from there like a hot blissful surge into every inch of his body. Lip plates were at Blast Off's neck cables, denta bit lightly, then nibbled gently at the same spot. Black fingers curled against the wall of the washracks, and Blast Off couldn't hinder his field from flaring.

Vortex' flared back, penetrating the thin metal that covered sensitive sensor nodes.

Blast Off deactivated his vocaliser in time before another moan could slip, but static was produced nonetheless.

"Slag, you're so hot," Vortex muttered against Blast Off's throat, engine working, energy field pulsing, maddening. "You've always been hot, but right now you turn me on so slaggin’ much, you know that."

Blast Off's ventilation increased, and cooling fans were about to switch on. "Shut up!" he growled, and he meant it. If he was going to give in - and there was no way he wouldn't with himself arching into the other without his conscious intent - he wanted Vortex at least to be quiet. The touching was acceptable this time, Blast Off admitted, if only not to acknowledge that it was all right at the moment.

And Vortex did keep quiet. Blast Off only sensed a voiceless laugh when the vibrations increased slightly for a few astroseconds, and the sensations caused his cooling system to activate. It was then that he felt the difference there, too. Smaller fans worked, and fewer lines for coolant circulated in his back while the armour there was more sensitive. He knew this from the fingers that had left his side and now traced along metal near the rotor hub.

Blast Off gasped once more, his engine revved, and he felt pathetic for a moment. Vortex' seemed to like it, still, because he pressed closer once more, growling happily; a sound Blast Off knew by now, having already spent too much time with this certain mech.

The hand on his abdomen began wandering as well, stroking down Blast Off's thigh, but the former shuttled stopped it there. His own hand took Vortex', his engine revving to a growl as he placed it back on his side. Squeezing the grey metal hard, the pressure would usually have dented it, but it didn't now.

Vortex snickered quietly.

Blast Off grumbled another staticky, "Shut up." At least Vortex wasn't talking, and that - or so Blast Off told himself - was the only reason he opened his interface panel. The cover slid back with a soft hiss, and he heard Vortex groan; then a click, and Blast Off knew Vortex had opened up as well.

The 'copter was quick with establishing the connection. Connectors plugged in, and the instant it was completed, their gestalt programming activated. It was nothing new, the first few moments data and energy mingled with the combiner program. It synchronised their processors, energy flow and field and their engines. It was different than usual. Two similar engines synched faster, more intensely and the sensation of amplified pleasure remained even when the gestalt coding ebbed into the background.

Blast Off moaned, unable to suppress it, and not fast enough to offline his vocal circuits. But it was okay, his moan became static, and the buzzing sound of charge in his audials mixed with Vortex' gasps and keen whimpers.

Blast Off's energy field pulsed in the steady rhythm of his engine revs and the data surges. He couldn't get hold of it, control slipped a few astroseconds after he regained it, and his body and processor reacted without his instruction. The systems so similar synched like this was something Blast Off hadn't had in a very long time. It didn't matter that it weren't two shuttle systems, because right then, he didn't feel the difference. And he wasn't used to it any more. The pleasure was more intense, the surges more vivid on circuits and sensor nodes. It was nothing like the forced bond and intimacy of the gestalt programming, this was purely physical.

Vortex didn't seem to be used to it any more either. The keen whimpers became static-laced moans, the hand on Blast Off's abdomen tensed, fingers digging into the transformation seam they'd teased before.

Their fields flared, grinding, the pleasure of each of them written in the signature as much as in the feedback loop of the data stream.

It came in waves, rolled over their sensor nets, caused their limbs to be weak. It was a surprise that Blast Off didn't sink down, and even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

And then their energy fields mingled to one. The combined field buzzed, wrapping around them, and enveloped Blast Off's rotor blades in a cloud of piercing sensation. He groaned, arching into the engine rumbling behind him as a hand wrapped around a rotor.
It all increased the charge, amplified the feedback loop, and Blast Off didn't know how long he'd last.

He felt like he had during his first interface, when he hadn't known what they were doing, the sensitive spots even more sensitive than later after he'd got used to it.

It was like his first interface after the detention centre, intense due to newly built nodes flooding his sensor net with too much input.

Right then, the only purpose of his rotor blades seemed to drive him crazy from input and blissful charge. His processor was clouded, thoughts dampened and nonsensical as overload approached.

Blast Off ground his denta, tensing while rotors twitched. Vortex buried his face in his neck cables, muttering unintelligibly, frantically, but it was okay as long as he didn't start talking again. Not that Blast Off could have complained anyway.

The charge rose, and holding back was impossible.

Two helicopter engines revved in unison as overload hit hard. A warm glow spread from Blast Off's interface hardware and back into the rest of his frame, followed by the most intense rush of sensations that seemed to light up every single sensor inside. Two sets of rotors went rigid when joints tensed, and vocalisers produced nothing but static. The intensity made Blast Off's equilibrium glitch, and if he'd been able to form a conscious thought, he'd have been glad that this was still the same. As it was, for the moment there was only pleasure, and warnings flashing up in his HUD.

The warmth continued to glow still as the intensity of the sensations slowly ebbed away, and became post-overload tingles.

Blast Off's rotors flicked now and then; plating crackled as it cooled down, but it was almost inaudible beneath the sound of two cooling systems working. Even the last drop of water had evaporated from Blast Off's frame, and the former shuttle pondered if he should activate the shower again. He missed his re-entry cooling system, which made the contrast of hot plating and coolant more intense.

He didn't touch the shower.

There was no need to move just yet, and Blast Off was content to stay a while like that. Vortex didn't move, either. One hand remained on the rotor blades, stroking idly, the other more relaxed on his side, motionless.

As long as the 'copter was quiet, it would be okay.

Their engines still worked in synch; it prolonged the post-overload sensations, and gave Blast Off a feeling of something long lost. It made the physical closeness bearable.

Almost two kliks passed, and Blast Off wondered that Vortex hadn't said anything yet, let alone dwelled on how great being a rotary was. He wouldn't start talking himself, and even feared as soon as he'd disconnect them, the 'copter would start rambling, and giving him that cheeky grin of his.

Blast Off vented air deeply, then his intakes hitched in surprise. Not like before due to some unexpected touch, but because of the sudden ping for a data transfer.

The former shuttle frowned, optics fixed at the wall in front of him. He then shrugged inwardly, his shoulders only twitching slightly, and gave consent for the transmission.

It took him a moment to make sense of it, and then he realised.

The package contained general commands, basics for helicopter-mode subroutines, and data for hardware reactions and functions during certain flight manoeuvres.

Blast Off tensed. As much as he needed this, and also quite appreciated it, it also made him uncomfortable.

Another klik passed before Blast Off reset his vocaliser and muttered with his voice still hoarse. "Thanks."

"Huh?" Vortex replied stupidly, air puffed off his intakes and caused Blast Off's rotors to shuffle, and him to shiver a little. "Did you just thank me?" the 'copter continued, the amusement as audible as the static.

Blast Off's engine revved to a low growl. "Shut up."

He wanted to enjoy the remaining tingles, and synched engines for another klik or two. At that moment, it didn't matter that he wasn't a shuttle any more as long as he could ignore the fact that it was Vortex standing behind him.

Chapter Text

The last nine Earth cycles had been awful for Blast Off.

There was hardly any moment when he wasn't in pain, either a processor ache or pain caused by damage inflicted during training. After the close combat training with Brawl, and their attempt of combining, Onslaught had gone back to full on battle training with the whole team.

And Blast Off hated it.

It showed him how weak he was now, and how inexperienced with his alt-mode. The data he'd got from Vortex helped, as much as he hated to admit it, but it wasn’t near enough to cover the missing millennia of being familiar with his frame.

It resulted in more bent rotor blades, and Blast Off mused that, if nothing else, he'd get used to this at least.

Right now, Blast Off didn't feel anything.

His HUD was again filled with several warnings and reports about his missing shuttle-mode, the scans overwhelming his processor and made his CPU almost crash. There wasn't enough RAM for any conscious thought, and so Blast Off couldn't even regret not having made sense of that. Let alone keeping it from happening again.

They’d just decombined after Bruticus had been hit hard by Superion. The tremor of the punch had caused an emergency program to activate that forced the combiner to fracture, and split into his components. It was unusual that the program reacted at all, but Blast Off didn't realise any of it. He also didn't notice being shot in his shoulder, or Brawl pulling him to the ground for cover.

There was no indication of how long Blast Off had been out of it. He didn't check his chronometer when he came online; the sharp sting in his processor dampened his mind again. There was mud under him, he lay on his side, and the pain in his head wasn't the only indication of damage.

The visual input returned, and the memory came back. Right, he was on a battlefield. Were they still fighting? Had Megatron already called for retreat? Where was his team?

All those questions stayed unanswered; Blast Off noticed the movement in his peripheral vision. He rolled onto his back, the visual input blurring for a moment, before it sharpened again and revealed a white mech. He pounced on Blast Off, holding something in his hand.

It was by reflex, forgetting that he wasn't a shuttle anymore, that Blast Off raised his arm as though getting his heat shield up for protection. But the heat shield was gone, and the blade with that the white mech struck down and cut deeply into his lower arm.

The pain was immediate, drowning out even the pending ache in his head, and was worse than having his rotors damaged.

Blast Off felt how energon lines and cables were disconnected, sensor nodes burned before they give in functioning and offlined. There were still enough online to send warnings, flooding his HUD with massages and status reports.

Blast Off's vision blurred again caused by the stress inflicted on his sensor net and his strained processor. The mech became a white blotch, and Blast Off had to force himself to do something.

That close to the attacker, lying with his back on the ground, rotors buried in mud, Blast Off couldn't move swiftly. His arm and hand were useless, and he didn't have his rifle.

Where was his rifle?

The blade was withdraw, hot, pink liquid flowed out over his armour and filled the air with the scent of half-processed energon.

The visual input focused and blurred, optics dimmed and flickered when Blast Off looked around, hardly able to suppress the reflex of activating scanners he didn't have any more. His optics perceived a blurry grey spot on the brownish mud a bit away from him, and definitely out of arm range. His peripheral vision informed him about more movement from the white Autobot. Blast Off didn't know what his attacker was doing or planning, but he needed to get away and to the grey blob that hopefully was his weapon.

The Autobot said something, Blast Off was sure he heard a laugh, but he didn't listen, and kicked out. His foot hit something, he had no idea what, and he powered his root-mode thrusters.

The flame burned paint. The smell of energon mingled with the stench of heated metal, and the Autobots screamed. Not just in pain, but also anger, Blast Off knew that much. He kept his thrusters activated, both of them, increasing their power until he started to move. It was odd at first, but Blast Off was already familiar with that feeling, and with the fact that he'd long lost his dignity since he was stuck in this helicopter frame.

He slid over the wet ground. The mud got stuck into his rotor hub, and the rough floor hurt on his blades.

The Autobot jumped, or flew, at him once more, the blade ready to strike and cause more damage. But the rifle was close now. The Autobot struck down and missed when Blast Off rolled over, his rotors producing a disgusting slippery noise when they were pulled out of the wet earth, then sunk into it again.

Blast Off took the rifle, unlocking it in the same instant, making himself ready to fire. But the white mech was over him again, and the tip of the sword dug into his already damaged shoulder.

This time it was him who screamed. The pain blacking his vision for a few astroseconds, but he raised his weapon quickly, pointing it forward until the muzzle touched metal. He didn't see it burying into a transformation seam near the other's intake; his gaze was on the rifle where his fingers pulled the switch to automatic mode.

He fired.

The sound of bullets accelerating and hitting, penetrating their target, drowned out the sound of another yell of the Autobot and Blast Off’s heavy venting intakes.

Energon dripped from above onto Blast Off as the Autobot detached himself, slicing through his shoulder in the process so that Blast Off feared he'd cut his arm off completely.

The Autobot spat something, but Blast Off couldn't make sense of it, his audials ringing with static. His vision only cleared for a moment, seeing the Autobot retreat, white armour covered in energon and an arm reattaching the blade to his back. He then transformed, and took off.

Blast Off only then realised it was another helicopter, and his lip plates twitched to a drowsy, tiny smirk when the Autobot flew away as unstable as Blast Off had been the first day.

His head dropped back into the mud, processor trying to keep up with the events, and self-repair analysing and preparing for actions. Blast Off would have loved to just fall into stasis. But he'd be an easy target. He didn't know where the main battle had taken place; still not being able to hear without rustling, or to see without constant visual failure, he had no way to find out while being on the ground.

Maybe the Decepticons had already retreated and had left him there.

With a groan, Blast Off sat up. Equilibrium chip protesting, he ignored the warning about it and struggled to stand, using the rifle for support. It took him all his will not to sink down to the ground again. He was just about to take a look around when his internal communication equipment onlined by itself. It crackled once as if at forced activation from Soundwave, then Megatron's voice bellowed. "Retreat! Astrotrain, gather the troops!"

Oh Sigma, as ungraceful as it was, Blast Off welcomed being flown to the Nemesis to get his repairs done there. His arm dangled on some bits of armour. It wasn't about to fall off any moment, but all the wires passing signals into his arm and hand were compromised, causing his fingers to twitch randomly.

The noise of familiar shuttle engines drowned out the static in his audials and even dulled the voice yelling happily behind him. "Hey, there you are!"

Blast Off only turned his head a little, alternatively seeing a grey blotch and Vortex approaching him. The other 'copter looked as trashed as Blast Off felt, but he didn't seem to mind at all. The former shuttle didn't feel the need to reply, especially when Astrotrain hovered close by, and several mechs entered the cargo hold. Blast Off did the same; at least his thrusters still worked.

He and Vortex were the last mechs, and as soon as the cargo hold door was closed, Blast Off slid down the wall. He was dizzy due to energon loss, and his processor ached from all the input and warnings. But he still had his rifle, and that was positive. That way, Blast Off wouldn't have had to endure Brawl's bad mood if he'd lost it.

Blast Off didn't care about other Decepticons looking at him, legs bent, head leaning against the shuttle wall with offline optics. The shuttle engines' hum was nice, familiar, although it wasn't his own and only a triple changer mode.

It was as quiet as it could be with a bunch of Decepticon soldiers, partly hurt, partly annoyed, and partly bragging about how they trashed some Autobots. It would be okay as along as no one tried to talk to Blast Off.

But he wasn't lucky, and someone next to him asked, "What happened to you anyway?" The tone was amused, and it took Blast Of a moment to realise he was being addressed.

Onlining his optics, he frowned and glanced at Vortex. "That Protectobot 'copter," Blast Off muttered. There was no point in lying; Vortex would annoy him until he found out which Autobot it’d been.

The 'copter laughed. "Hehe, that one holds quite a punch."

Blast Off raised an optical ridge. He hadn't noticed that, he'd been too busy not getting cut into pieces. This he didn't mention. Instead he asked, blankly, and not truly interested, "What did you do to look like that?"

Vortex' cockpit glass was broken, rotor blades bent and armour dented, covered in energon which seemed to be partly Vortex'.

"I crashed into an Aerialbot," Vortex announced happily. Right now, Blast Off almost wished he had Vortex' twisted perception for pain.

"You're crazy." This was everything he said before Vortex started a detailed explanation of what had happened.

Blast Off didn't listen. He muted his audials and concentrated on the low vibrations of the wall behind him. He was glad for the moment that the sensitive sensors on his rotor blades gave him back some sense of how it felt to be a shuttle.

---

Blast Off lay on his front on a berth in medbay. It was a situation he had been in before, and which he didn't like to remember.

Scrapper worked on his arm, having disabled the sensor nodes there; it left his side numb.

Blast Off didn't mind. Unlike a certain team mate, he wasn't very comfortable with the painful sensations.

A few other mechs were in medbay as well, next to the Constructicons, of course. Hook worked on Vortex, who complained about being bored. The other Constructicons took care of others. There was only a Stunticon who was even worse damaged than Vortex or Blast Off himself, and who thankfully was put into stasis.

Scrapper huffed, causing Blast Off to glance up. "Did you run into Motormaster, or what happened to your arm?" He didn't sound pleased, but Blast Off couldn't say that he was very pleased, either. He was the one with the injury.

"It was the Protectobot helicopter," he answered, like he had before to Vortex. His voice was as blank as usual, and he would have shrugged if it hadn't made the Constructicon angry. Instead, he added. "One of his rotor blades was a sword."

In his peripheral vision, Blast Off saw Scrapper nodding.

They kept quiet for a bit, until the former shuttle broke the silence again. "I want one, too." His tone was determined, and his optics brightened when he turned his head to look at the Constructicon directly.

Scrapper stopped in his doing, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I want a rotor sword."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Another huff from Scrapper. "Don't be silly. Did you even talk to Onslaught about that?"

"Hey, what are you talking about?" Vortex interrupted their conversation, causing Blast Off to growl quietly. Scrapper smirked.

"None of your business," Blast Off muttered, but Vortex had already heard too much.

"Everything rotor-related is my business!"

Scrapper ignored the other 'copter, and carried on working. Once more, they were quite for a while. The Constructicon handled the tools, spare wires and lines, Blast Off's gaze focusing at the wall in front of him.

"When I'm done here, I'll install the brackets for the sniper rifle. We wrote the program that you can use to activate it when you're in root or alt mode. I take it Brawl already made the necessary changes to the rifle?"

Blast Off nodded. "I want to see the code before you install it."

Scrapper sighed, annoyed, but put his tools down, and walked away. With him gone, the view to Vortex was free, and Blast Off noticed the 'copter staring. He ignored him, and didn't even look.

"Here." Scrapper came back quickly, handing Blast Off a device with a disc inside. With his one functional hand, Blast Off plugged the cable into the port near his audial. The program was simple, and was only superficial. It wouldn't alter any of his existing subroutines or weapon systems, and could be easily deleted as soon as Blast Off got his old frame back.

He was, for once, content with what he saw.

"Looks good," he mumbled, and unplugged the device. He earned himself an unintelligible mutter from the Constructicon, and didn't bother to try to make out what had been said. "I still want a rotor sword."

"Vector Sigma." This time, the mutter was audible, and Blast Off growled slightly irritated. But Scrapper carried on. "You get the rifle, what do you need a sword for? Do you even know how to use one?"

"I can learn."

"Tsk. Right."

"I'm not armed. I will only have the rifle in some brackets where I could easily lose it. The rotor blades are something I'll constantly have in reach. Or do you plan on reconstructing my old frame soon?" Blast Off hoped the answer to the last question would be 'yes', but he knew he'd be stuck for another long while in this mode.

Scrapper went quiet for a moment, but he seemed to be concentrating, working on the arm damage, and, Blast Off guessed, talking via comm-link to the others. His changing expression and brightening optics made him think so.

"We'll see what we can do. I still don't like that Onslaught doesn't know about it."

"I'll comm him later," Blast Off promised, but hadn't the intention to do that before he got a clear answer from the Constructicons.

"Hey, when Blast Off gets a sword, I want that upgrade, too! One or two more rotors like that don’t matter, right?"

The former shuttle tensed, and Scrapper raised an optical ridge behind his visor.

It was Hook, who replied to the 'copter's request. "No. You won't get any sharp objects attached to your body. We and Onslaught talked about this often enough already."

"But it's unfair!"

"Be quiet and stop fidgeting, or I'll put you into stasis."

A familiar sound, a huff from 'copter vents which weren't Blast Off's, then Vortex muttered. "You're all a bunch of meanies."

"Don't pretend you're hurt," Blast Off responded, the grin audible in his voice, it made Scrapper grin as well.

"Aft-head."

After that, almost two breems passed in silence. Only when Scavenger came to Blast Off, the excavator began speaking. "I'll install the brackets now. We have to put you into stasis for that, because we have to access your sensor net, and the program needs to settle in."

Blast Off's working fingers twitched. He didn't like the thought, but it had to be done. He nodded quietly, and shifted a little, his rotors shuffling slightly without his conscious intent.

"Two." He heard Scavenger’s soothing voice say. "One..."

Then his consciousness blacked out.

---

When Blast Off woke up, he was dizzy for a moment. He was conscious of a new part of his body, which already had programming, but wasn't fully integrated yet. His HUD informed him that it'd take another 7.36 joors until it would be functional and ready to transform.

Blast Off vents heaved a tired sigh.

"You can sit up," Hook said, not greeting him or checking how he was feeling. Blast Off welcomed that the Constructicon cared as little about unnecessary pleasantries as he did.

The moment Blast Off moved, he sensed the slight soreness on his back. There, where the new parts were welded at, and a quick transformation sequence was implanted. His legs dangling from the edge of the berth - Blast Off would never get used to that - he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Of course, he couldn't see it. There was nothing that stuck out as much as the rotors did. He raised his hand to touch the sore parts, but Hook muttered a resolute "no!", and Blast Off let it sink down again.

"Don't touch it yet. You have to wait another few breems."

"When will I be able to transform it under my back plating?" Blast Off asked, but knew the moment he spoke the last word what Hook would answer.

"Hmpf," a sound which Blast Off knew all too well, because he made it himself often enough. "Your self-repair should inform you about that. What is the use of warnings and data if a simple mech doesn't pay attention to it? No wonder everyone ends up being in pieces so often." The Constructicon’s voice was annoyed, but Blast Off ignored it.

For a moment, he took the update and upgrade in, optics dimming, joints relaxing. It was unusually easy to relax, but everything around was so quiet and there was only the soft clatter of tools and vents working. Vortex lay on the opposite berth, motionless, and Blast Off guessed Hook had held true to his words and put the 'copter into stasis.

"We talked about your other upgrade," Hook broke the silence, and caused Blast Off to look up. The Constructicon didn't wait for a reply, and continued. "Mixmaster will work on an alloy. He was rather excited about this. He'll probably have an example soon. I don't know what you said to Onslaught, but if you're allowed to wait till tomorrow evening, we'll probably be able to install the component by then."

"I'll wait till then," Blast Off said. He would leave Onslaught a message about a new upgrade. He didn't think the gestalt leader would be too angry about it, since it meant Blast Off would get another weapon.

"Good. I'll comm you then. And now hold still. I'll attach the rifle. Let's hope the altered parts your no-good comrade made are worth something."

A nod, and Blast Off tensed again. A hand was put on his shoulder, and then something clicked into place. He sensed data and charge streaming from and into the rifle, and another section in his HUD appeared. The program the Constructicons had written and installed was active in the background. It was unfamiliar, with a light pressure in his processor, but that was not unusual when a new code was activated for the first time.

"Well, the brackets work okay. How does it feel?"

Blast Off shuffled a little. "I need to get used to it, but it's okay."

Right now, the barrel pointed at the ceiling, and in his HUD, he could zoom in on where the bullet would hit. He tested a little, adjusting the rifle as much as possible. The range wasn't high, and he could correct the flight path only a few inches, but it worked.

"Don't overdo it," Hook grumbled. "At least it seems to work. Do you know how it works?"

Blast Off nodded like he had before. The program was self-explanatory. He could activate the brackets that they ejected the rifle and he could grab it. It was easy to handle, and less complicated than trying to fly around in his alt-mode for the first time.

"Goog, good. Then, when everything is clear, get out. I'll get back to you when the other upgrade is ready."

A last nod, and Blast Off jumped off the berth. His optics lingered on Vortex for a moment, and he hoped the 'copter would stay in stasis a bit longer.

With a lazy wave of his hand - not caring if Hook saw it - Blast Off left.

Chapter Text

Blast Off entered the rec-room of the Nemesis, and knew that everyone was staring at him.

He walked to the energon dispenser, the mechs around him whispering; some conversations stopped completely. No one said anything, and Blast Off was grateful for that. He was also grateful that he'd got the upgrade, and the rifle attached to his back. It made him look and feel less vulnerable, his appearance seeming less like a civilian.

As much as he hated being part of a gestalt, and as much as he usually didn't care about any other Decepticon or what they thought of him, right now, he would have liked any of his team members to be in the room with him. He could have just sat down at the same table, looking grumpy and displeased. He wouldn't have needed to show that he had been more comfortable with someone around who knew about his condition without staring at him as if he'd be some kind of organic alien.

Not one of his team was there.

Vortex was still in medbay, and the others were at their base; they probably hadn't even needed to see the Constructicons.

Blast Off took his energon ration and sat down at a table in a corner. A huff puffed from his vents; his rotor blades quivered in annoyance. His back faced the corner, so that he could see the rest of the room where now everyone pretended everything was normal. Now and then he got a few sidelong glances, but he ignored them and drank his energon in silence.

He probably just should have taken his energon and gone to his quarters; the Combaticons still had some aboard the Nemesis despite their base. Or he should have gone there in the first place, waiting till most of the Decepticons were in their rooms. But most of them had seen him already anyway, so it most likely didn't matter.

Blast Off shifted a little, his rotors giving a more intense twitch, then they continued trembling. Stop caring about what they think, Blast Off told himself. He usually didn't care, and there was no reason to start now, and the others staring was more irritating than anything else. He huffed, a soft sound partly bitter, partly amused; these kind of thoughts were probably more fitting for that paranoid Stunticon.

Sipping once more, Blast Off frowned when a movement drew his attention. Speaking of Stunticons, one of them - the red one - stood up, and turned to his direction. He stopped, and obviously winced, when Motormaster's voice boomed. "Dead End!" was all the Stunticon leader said, and Blast Off couldn't help but be annoyed.

Blast Off's annoyance was visible on his face plates, and it was probably the reason why no one dared speak to him, let alone make fun of him. They knew they'd regret it as soon as Blast Off got his shuttle frame back.

That was, no one dared, except one mech.

"Heh, is your mass shifting circuitry malfunctioning? You kinda look like you've been shrunk." With a big grin on his face, Astrotrain sat down opposite of Blast Off.

The former shuttle growled in return. He glared at the triple changer, and his rotors increased trembling. "Very funny. Really!"

"Oh, c'mon, I didn't mean it, and you know that."

Blast Off crossed his arms, but didn't reply.

"Don't sulk on me. I was just trying to cheer you up."

At that, Blast Off growled again. "Why does everyone want to cheer me up?"

Astrotrain laughed, and leant back, relaxing. "Maybe because you look like you need it?

"Yeah, well, then it would be appreciated if not everyone failed at it."

Astrotrain laughed again at this. "You don't make it easy for anyone, so it's not only our fault."

"Thank you, that'll help to improve my mood," Blast Off muttered, and continued drinking his energon, deciding to ignore Astrotrain for a while. If his team didn't get that it was hard to be suddenly planet-bound, he'd at least thought a fellow shuttle would understand. But Astrotrain was a triple changer, one of his modes was also planet-bound, he probably didn't think of it as bad at all... "Whatever," Blast Off mumbled to himself, without realising that he spoke it out loud.

Astrotrain huffed, appearing a little tired, but still cheerful, when he continued. "I have high grade if that could cheer you up?" he asked with a smirk, then added. "Well, actually it's Blitzwing's, but he won't mind missing a few cubes. 'specially not when I helped him getting it from Mixmaster in the first place."

Pondering, Blast Off stared at his energon cube. He wasn't fond of the idea of getting drunk.

"I mean you don't have to drink all the high grade," Astrotrain said, as though he knew what Blast Off was thinking. And maybe he did, considering that they'd known each other for a long time. "Just thought it'd be nice to drink some energon for once that doesn't taste like it was made from organic squish." The disgust was obvious in his voice, even Blast Off heard it, and he knew what the triple changer meant. The energon made of this planet's oil had an odd organic aftertaste to it.

Blast Off waited a moment, a bit longer than a klik, just because he didn't want to give in immediately. Then, he nodded, and shrugged. "Fine, why not."

---

Blast Off and Astrotrain attracted some weird looks when they exited the rec-room together, but Blast Off didn't think much of it.

He sat on a chair in the quarters Astrotrain shared with Blitzwing, and sipped his high grade. The warm taste eased some tension from his frame, and made his rotor hub relax. Blast Off didn't know why that was, but he welcomed it. His rifle leant at a nearby wall next to the berth where Astrotrain sat.

They were quiet for a while, and Blast Off was grateful the triple changer accepted his need for silence. At least for about a breem. Then Astrotrain huffed, but Blast Off couldn't make out the reason why.

"Any idea when big ol' Megs will let them change you back?"

Blast Off shrugged at this. He really didn't know, and the topic hadn't come up again with Onslaught. "No idea. I don't think it'll be any time soon, now that Megatron saw we can still combine."

"Yeah, maybe. I think it doesn't really work, right?"

Blast Off frowned at that. Did Astrotrain know about his malfunction after they decombined? "What do you mean?"

The triple changer drank from his cube, and shuffled on the berth to get more comfortable. "I mean, Bruticus broke apart so quickly. And you seemed to... kinda glitch after that." The other's tone was careful, because Astrotrain knew how to handle Blast Off, and Blast Off knew that.

The former shuttle vented air, his jaw clenching. He shrugged once more. "Since when is battle surveillance part of your work?"

The grin on Astrotrain's face plates told Blast Off that his plan to change the topic had been discovered. But the triple changer still went along with it. "Since you can't do it any more, and are shrunk to a heliformer."

Blast Off's optics twitched, but he didn't say anything. Astrotrain continued. "I don't know what Megs thinks, but I hope you'll be back in your old frame soon. Seriously, I have to go to space, then come back because I have to carry the troops to the battlefield, then fly up high again for surveillance, and come back down from the upper atmosphere in under a klik again to carry them around. Honestly, that processor of his isn't working right. It's not like we're FTL, or something."

Tilting his head, grinning to himself a little, the former shuttle let Astrotrain rant. Somehow it was satisfying to see not only he himself and his team were affected by the change. Blast Off vented a dry laugh, but before he could say anything, Astrotrain finished half his cube and began anew.

"And then, when I don't, like I dunno, teleport myself to him right away, or respond immediately, because maybe re-entry messes with my communication equipment and I have to take care of other things then, like not burning up, he's all angry and threatens to shoot me. What the frag? I'm not Starscream, just because I'm bound to the laws of physics doesn't mean I want to ambush him and become leader of the Decepticons... well, not again, anyway."

Blast Off had to laugh softly when he heard the last part. Astrotrain had once told him about his and Blitzwing's attempt to overthrow Megatron. It'd been before Blast Off had been released from the Detention Center. Back then Blast Off had been drunk, and had laughed as well - well, as much as he laughed at anything anyway.

"Sometimes,” Blast Off said, “I wonder why Megatron doesn't get suspicious if so many people want to get him out of the way. You should think after a few times, he comes to the conclusion that he's an inca-HNG!" Blast Off stopped mid-sentence when a sharp sting in his processor took over his vocal circuits and silenced him. His vision became blurry for a moment, and he clutched his helm as a shudder ran down his frame caused by the pain. His cooling fans activated, whirling, even if they didn't have a reason.

"Oh slag..." Astrotrain muttered.

Fortunately, it didn't take more than a klik for Blast Off to recover, and when he did, he revved his engine to a growl, and emptied his cube in one go. The high grade made him shudder once, and his rotor blades twitch. "Well, if nothing else, at least the loyalty program still works," he muttered, and reached for another cube.

"Yeah, sorry pal, didn't mean that to happen." Astrotrain seemed guilty, an expression on his faceplates that made clear he didn't envy Blast Off for the code.

The former shuttle shrugged. "Whatever. Not your fault when I forget it's there in the first place." He rubbed his forehead, and sighed tiredly. Vector Sigma, he'd seriously had enough of all the processor aches he got from the unfamiliar subroutines which didn't work well on top of that. He didn't need more from this slaggin' programming that reminded him he was nothing more than a slave. And wasn't that a cheering thought? Blast Off sipped more high grade; maybe that'd make his mind less gloomy.

"So, what's it like being a rotary anyway?" Astrotrain asked, changing the topic again.

Blast Off huffed. Now it was his time to rant, and it was unusual for him to use as many words as emerged from his vocal processor. "It's awful!" he growled, and drunk from the cube. "I'm fraggin' small, and these slaggin' rotors get stuck everywhere. And if they're not stuck, they scratch over something, over get bent - and that hurts like slag! And they're damned sensitive. I get some weird readings all the fraggin' time, about wind velocity and stuff I don't need at all!" Blast Off vented a condescending huff, sipped again, then continued. "Okay, well, with this inferior frame, I need that data, because flying is like... walking when drunk. It's wobbly, and difficult. And I don't have any subroutines, so when I wanna fly, I have to give single commands. And transforming is also different, it's like I'm not complete when I'm done, I have no idea." Blast Off grumbled the last bit, and shifted a little on the chair. He emptied his second cube, then reached for the other chair in the room and pulled it closer to prop his legs on it. Fortunately, the high grade was on the table, so he didn't have to get up to get more. Without saying anything, he threw a cube towards Astrotrain, who caught it in surprise, and got himself another.

He didn't notice Astrotrain looking at him while Blast Off rearranged himself on the two chairs, the high grade obviously having taken a toll on him. Blast Off slid down a little, pulled one rotor out of the back of the chair, and shuffled them, not wondering why he couldn't do it like this when he was sober.

"You can crash here on Blitzwing's berth if you like. He's away with Octane and Thundercracker on some special mission, or something. That's why he wasn't on the battlefield today."

Blast Off looked up at the triple changer. He hadn't realised Blitzwing hadn't been involved in today's battle, and he didn't care. Crashing here without having to walk to his own quarters seemed to be a good idea, and he nodded, muttering. "Yeah, maybe." His rotors shuffled again, as he slid down even more, one leg bent, the foot on the edge of the other chair; he made himself comfortable. He also could just lay down right away, he pondered, but then he'd probably fall into recharge, and he'd rather drink some more. The high grade was good, and lifted his mood a little. It also made the whole situation less bad for a while.

"I don't really get what you mean with missing subroutines, but maybe the transformation sequence feels off because you don't have mass shifting any more?" Astrotrain said, after a moment of eyeing Blast Off.

The former shuttle blinked at that. Mass shifting had been completely natural to him. It wasn't special, because it'd always been there. It'd never occurred to him that transformations without it would feel different. Blast Off frowned, and looked at the triple changer. "I don't know...? Maybe?"

"I mean, I transform both ways, with and without mass shifting, you know. They do feel different," Astrotrain shrugged. "So, maybe it's that?"

"Could be," Blast Off muttered. "I still don't like it."

Astrotrain laughed. "You don't need to. I hope you'll have your own frame back soon. I'm kinda sick of doing the work of two shuttles."

"Hmpf, not just you. I'm waiting for some good news every day," Blast Off mumbled against the rim of the energon cube. "I don't think it'll happen soon. I'm a Combaticon, and we're never lucky."

"Awww. C'mon, don't get all Dead End on me. There have to be some kind of good thing about being a rotary?"

Blast Off only responded with another huff. He couldn't think of anything that was positive about this frame. Even interfacing was... different, and odd. He'd done it only once in this frame, but the rotors were so sensitive, still. He wondered if he would ever get used to them being touched. Not that he wanted the time to do that. He wanted to be a shuttle again. He wanted his processor to stop glitching. He also wanted his heat shields back. And he wanted to be able to fly into space. It wasn't that he missed it already, but just the mere possibility of going up there, or it being robbed from him, was what mattered.

Emptying his third cube, he put it down on the table. Optics flickered when a warm wave of sensations surged from his tanks into his rotors and seemed to heat them. They twitched, and Blast Off shifted a little on the chair. In his peripheral vision, he eyed the triple changer who drank in silence.

The rotor blades twitched once more at another warm surge, and the pleasant sensation caused Blast Off to shudder.

It would was probably be better if he went to recharge, Blast Off mused. Or maybe not...?

He couldn't really say why he did what he did, but after another shudder, Blast Off pushed the chair for his legs away. When he stood up, he wondered briefly how many cubes he'd drunk, because the floor seemed to spin for a moment.

"Hey, you okay?" Astrotrain asked.

"'ve never been better," Blast Off grunted in return, and crossed the small distance to the berth the other was on. Without another word, be climbed on Astrotrain’s lap, and straddled him.

"Wow, wait. What?" Astrotrain caught Blast Off's hand as the former shuttle tried to push the other onto the berth. "What are you doing?"

Blast Off huffed condescendingly, his engine growled. "Shouldn't that be obvious?"

"Yeah, well... I won't frag you. You're drunk."

"I ain't drunk."

"You said ain't, you are drunk. I don't frag you any more when you're drunk. You know that."

Vector Sigma, for once it was Blast Off who initiated an interface, and then the other person involved was all uptight. He growled again. "Why?"

"Because you're gonna be all fragged off and grumpy tomorrow."

"I won't."

"Yeah, right, you always said that, and then you where extra grumpy in the morning. I told you already I don't 'face you any more when you're drunk."

"Oh, shut up!" This was getting ridiculous. "I won't be grumpy," Blast Off grumbled, and freed his hand.

"But-" Astrotrain's further protest was silenced by a harsh kiss, and two hands pushing his back flat onto the berth. Blast Off revved his engine once more, the vibrations travelled into his rotor blades, and into the grey-purple plating of the triple changer beneath him.

"Just wanna feel like a shuttle again," Blast Off muttered against Astrotrain lips, and flared his field hard.

The triple changer gasped, not replying, but laid his hands on Blast Off's waist. Apparently, that argument made sense to him.

Astrotrain kissed back, his field flaring tentatively, as though not sure if he should give in. Blast Off didn’t care. His hands began wandering, one hand trailing down the much larger frame, the other found its way to a wing.

This seemed to encourage the triple changer, because the strong engine beneath Blast Off revved, and the field flared hotly. It made the former shuttle shudder, and his rotor blades shift.

A hand larger than he was used to stroked down his side, over his aft, and Astrotrain muttered into the kiss. “Heh, you’ve got a cute little aft.”

Blast Off tried to hinder his field from pulsing at the tingling pleasure from the touch, and growled at the words. He didn’t bother to say anything, only jerked the aileron of Astrotrain’s wing around, causing the triple changer to gasp.

Nothing else was said when both mechs let their energy fields pulse and grind against each other in a steady rhythm. The hand remained on Blast Off’s aft for a while, stroking over transformation seams, letting the EM field penetrate the armour.

Blast Off's optics flickered at the pleasure, and he stopped himself from moaning softly. His fingers were small enough to dig in the space where Astrotrain's wing met his side, eliciting a shudder and an engine rev from the triple changer. The vibrations were more intense than from Blast Off's current engine, and he couldn't help but lean into them, onto Astrotrain, and press their chest plating together. Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in the other's neck cables.

The touch to his lower back moved further down. A large hand stroked over the back of his thigh, his knee joint and reached the landing skids. Blast Off tensed, engine stuttering. He shifted his leg away, out of reach and muttered, almost inaudible, against Astrotrain's throat. "Not there. They're ticklish."

It must have been amusing, because Astrotrain snickered softly; the tremble of the frame beneath Blast Off resonated into him, causing him to shudder.

"Where?" the triple changer asked, voice staticky, close to Blast Off's audial, field flaring with a greater intensity. Heat travelled through the former shuttle, and dizziness increased with the growing charge.

"Rotors. And hub," he answered, and hated to admit it.

Astrotrain didn't seem to care, because shortly after the words, a warm hand was on his hub, fingers between the gabs of the rotors. The touch alone was maddeningly intense, the warmth spread from the middle into the tip of every blade and made them twitch. The sensation was so sudden and unexpected, Blast Off moaned, digits scratching over the purple plating under them.

"Wow, they're really sensitive," Astrotrain said, but Blast Off couldn't make out if he was amused or not. He just arched into the touch, although Astrotrain didn't do much, only had his hand there. But the sensitive nodes perceived the slightest fluctuation of his energy field and vibration of the engine and two cooling systems that came online.

"Shut up." It was stupid that it was so arousing, and it was wrong, because Blast Off wanted something else. Heaving himself off the delicious vibrating engine, he pressed his hand against the other's side, let his energy field seeping under the plating where behind the interface hardware was. He earned himself a growled, approving sound, and the panel slid open.

Blast Off didn't wait long. He wasn't there for teasing, not when his own charge buzzed strongly inside, and sensations from rotor blades caused his hardware to tingle and spark with need. The connection was made quickly, plugs clicked into place, and the energy exchange began instantly.

He didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't anything like this. Even a connection he should know was unfamiliar, more intense, strong charge surging into him accompanied with data.

Blast Off gasped, and tried to stay in control of his own flow. It was hard with the intensity of it all. The larger frame beneath him shuddered, Astrotrain groaned, and Blast Off felt everything. The fingers still on his rotor hub didn't help at all, and neither did the charge that the triple changer fired into him. He'd never spent a single thought on the fact that interfacing with taller mechs was different, having had one of the biggest frames before.

Blast Off whimpered, his energy field wavering in intensity.

"Slag," Astrotrain said under static. "You're so charged up..."

Intakes hitched, but Blast Off didn't answer. This was ridiculous. Again he had the feeling like during his first interface after the Detention Center, just even more intense with more powerful charge rushing into him. And it still wasn't what he wanted - what he initiated this interface for in the first place.

Maybe Astrotrain knew this, or he sensed it over the connection, but the energy flow ebbed a little, the data changed. There was a sign of readiness in the stream, and at least that was familiar.

Blast Off offlined his equilibrium chip on purpose, changing his own stream when he regained control over it.

And then there was weightlessness. And cold. And the sting of radiation on his plating.

At this, Blast Off allowed himself to moan. Astrotrain keened needily.

Optics flickered offline, and raising charge caused his processor to produce phantom images of dancing sparks. It looked like a nebula, or the first layers of atmosphere of a gas giant. The sight triggered more phantom sensations when memories were relived, and amplified by similar data through the connection. Blast Off shivered. His rotors twitched every so often under Astrotrain's hand, and the triple changer's engine revved.

Blast Off was helpless. The feedback loop made space so real, but there were still the glowing hot rotors which sent pleasure through him at the briefest touch, and it was wrong. It didn't match, but it was still so good. Their heat was so contrary to the fake chill on his frame, Blast Off tried to fight it.

But then something happened. Blast Off didn't know what, and even less how.

Sensitive sensors on rotor blades were penetrated by the surging heat of a sun that came up on his inner optic. It was like they melted from radiation, but it wasn't painful. There was only pleasure.

Blast Off arched his back, and moaned loudly at the unexpected sensations. He sensed Astrotrain under him revving hard, venting deeply, and then heard the rumble of a low voice.

"Frag! What's that?"

Blast Off could only shake his head, and clutch at plating he could reach. His own engine worked loudly, his cooling fans whirled, but all this was secondary to the almost painful pleasure that rotor sensor nodes transmitted. He couldn't say how long he'd last, not like this, with no control over anything. It didn't help that Astrotrain's hand was on his aft again, and fingers kneaded the thin metal of rotor blades as though to ensure they were still there and wouldn't vaporise in steaming, liquid metal in the blazing heat of a star.

"Don't," was everything Blast Off could grind out from between his denta, then he gasped again, vocaliser producing a needy whine. If Astrotrain would just let go of the rotors…

"'s okay," the triple changer mumbled, lip plates brushing over Blast Off's audial, and the energy stream increased another notch.

Waves of heat, cold and pleasure hammered through Blast Off, became one great cacophony of sensations that made his joints tense due to the intensity.

Overload caught him off-guard, still.

For a moment, Blast Off was sure it'd knock him offline when every sensor was on its limit. Rotor blades shuddered in overload sensations when the heat stung for another last intense moment which seemed to last for joors. Vocaliser shrieking with static, he bit the neck cables in front of him without realising. Joints tensed even more, and fingers dug into transformation seams. He heard Astrotrain say something, but it was intelligible in between the static ringing in his audials and the pleasure making coherent thoughts almost impossible.

Then Astrotrain's climax backfired into Blast Off, his blade was squeezed, and the sensations almost bordered on pain. It caused a last wave of intense pleasure, before it ebbed quickly away, leaving him exhausted and dizzy.

He didn't online his equilibrium, he wanted the weightlessness to last. It prolonged the post-overload sensations, and the memory files that still randomly activated. Letting go of the neck cables, he didn't need to online his optics, he knew he probably dented them. Blast Off still kept his face hidden there, venting deeply, cooling fans working fast. His engine calmed, eventually, and he sighed.

The rotor blades were sore, and heat was conducted into them to help cooling his frame faster. He didn't do it consciously, so maybe there was some hope that he'd got a few heliformer subroutines, he mused. He didn't think of the data package he’d got from Vortex, because he couldn't be bothered to think much at all.

"Slag..." Astrotrain muttered, forcing Blast Off to focus, even if it was difficult. "It's always like that? I mean, since you changed?" As though to emphasise the words, the triple changer stroked over the full length of a rotor. It caused Blast Off to shudder, but it didn't felt that good any more due to strained sensor nodes.

The former shuttle shrugged. The drunkenness came back, and the satiated relaxation which set in after overload made him drowsy. His self-repair made itself present as well, as his newly repaired arm began to itch on the welded parts. He didn't want to recharge yet; he wanted to enjoy the tingling surges and the sensations of space a little longer. He struggled to answer coherently, trying to sound accusatory, but his tone only reflected his exhaustion. "I haven't interfaced that often."

"You know, you get a new frame so often, one should think you get used to that someday..." Astrotrain laughed quietly. Blast Off only knew from the shaking frame where he lay. He knew what the triple changer meant, hinting at the sensitivity of his new frame.

He would answer that with a snappy remark in a few astroseconds, he thought when the memory file and the image became clearer. He flew around the sun, and realised it was a double star system. No wonder the heat and radiation had been so intense...

That was Blast Off last coherent thought before his systems initiate his recharge cycle.

Chapter Text

Blast Off woke up to weightlessness.

There was also a light processor ache from the high grade, but it was bearable, and far less annoying then the headache he’d got from figuring out subroutines. His equilibrium chip was still offline, and Blast Off had no intention of changing that. He liked it, and felt rather good. He lay on something warm, not on a berth, but it was still comfortable.

Memories from last night came back, and Blast Off realised that he was still on top of Astrotrain. It was in surprise, and maybe shock, that he onlined his optics. Instantly, Blast Off regretted it. Visual input combined with lacking a sense of direction while he didn’t possess systems that could cope with it made him dizzy, sick for the slightest of moments.

He’d fallen into recharge while still lying on Astrotrain, and the triple changer had neither pushed him of, nor woken him up to move.

This was really embarrassing, Blast Off thought. Apparently, he was now light enough that his weight wasn’t bothersome any longer.

But Blast Off didn’t move away, either. Astrotrain wouldn’t mind, or know, because he was still in recharge. Blast Off knew because they were still connected.

Deactivating his optics again, he kept lying there. Astrotrain was warm, his plating vibrating low due to the workings of his everyday systems. The triple changers’ energy field fluctuated slightly. Blast Off sensed it on his armour where he touched the other’s, and on his rotor hub where near it Astrotrain’s hand rested on his back.

It was tranquilising.

Blast Off would probably have fallen back into recharge if there hadn't been an annoying ping of his comm-link. The former shuttle heaved air in a sigh, and opened it. //What?// It was better to answer it now then have Vortex continue to annoy him.

//Good morning to you too,// Vortex said cheerfully, but Blast Off was too tired to make out if it was real or fake. //Where are you?//

//Why do you want to know?// Blast Off actually knew the answer, but maybe it was something else and Vortex had a message from the Constructicons for him.

//Just wanna check on a team mate. That's why team mates, do, right? Like, caring if someone woke up from stasis and was released from medbay.//

Oh great, that passive aggressive tone. Blast Off chose not to react to that, and only muttered. //It seems you're well awake. Good to know. Bye.// The former shuttle cut the comm, hoping Vortex would give up.

The 'copter didn't. Blast Off had expected that. Another ping, which Blast Off ignored followed by a second, then more.

"Great..." Blast Off growled. Raising his hand that rested on Astrotrain's shoulder, he rubbed his head. The constant pinging made his processor-ache sting.

"I knew you'd be grumpy." It was Astrotrain's voice, and Blast Off tensed. He didn't realise the triple changer had woken up.

"I'm not grumpy at you..."

At that, Astrotrain's intakes vented an amused huff, blowing air onto Blast Off's armour, and his rotor blades sensed the warm gust. "Let me guess. Vortex?"

"Hmpf," was all Blast Off answered, and eventually opened the comm-link again. Vortex wouldn't give up until he did.

//What now?//

//You sound tired. You didn't tell me where you are.//

Blast Off shuddered a little when Astrotrain's fingers began stroking lazily up and down his back. He didn't comment on the touch, and only replied to Vortex. //I'm on a berth.// That wasn't a lie...

//Yeah, but not on yours. Where are you?//

Blast Off might have imagined it, but he was sure Vortex didn't sound pleased. He himself wasn't pleased, either. //How do you know I'm not on mine?// he demanded to know, his engine revving a little. Partly because of anger, partly as reaction to Astrotrain's field flaring a little stronger.

//...//

Vortex saying nothing said everything.

//You broke into my quarters!//

//I just did because you didn't answer my pings. And you weren't in medbay anymore!//

//I don't answer comm-link pings when I'm in recharge! And don't try to find an excuse, you broke into my quarters without reason!//

//I had a reason,// Vortex insisted.

//Yes, I bet you did. Let me guess, you did so because you wanted to frag.// Blast Off huffed annoyed, causing Astrotrain to chuckle softly near his audial.

//Yeah, well... apparently you wanted to frag, too, and didn't wait for me. Where are you, and who are you with?//

Wow, what the pit? Blast Off frowned, taken aback by the demanding voice as if Vortex thought he could command Blast Off to give an answer. //That's none of your business!// Blast Off snapped back.

//It is! It's team business!//

/No. It's my - It's shuttle business,// and with that, Blast Off cut the comm.

Vortex didn't ping him again, not even a klik later.

"What happened?" Astrotrain asked, still stroking Blast Off's back, field flaring slightly.

His anger had to be obvious in his energy signature, Blast Off thought. He had no intention of saying anything about Vortex being a stupid psycho; everyone knew that anyway. He merely huffed, and grumbled. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with him."

"Heh," Astrotrain laughed, the puff of air leaving the vents making Blast Off's plating tingle. "I think I know at least one reason," the triple changer added, voice suggestive, and hand leaving the back plating to touch a rotor blade near the hub and stroke the full length of it to the tip.

Blast Off moaned. The sudden input and sensations spread from his hub into every inch of his body as a warm prickling pleasure.

Not responding to Astrotrain's last words verbally, Blast Off sent a surge of charge and data through the interface.

---

Blast Off turned into the hallway that led to medbay, an energon cube in his hand from which he sipped slowly.

He frowned, and almost came to a halt at the sight of Vortex leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"Done with your shuttle business?" the 'copter asked, provocatively.

Blast Off huffed, and shook his head. There was nothing he wanted to answer to that. "What are you doing here? They won't let you in anyway." A few kliks ago, Hook had commed Blast Off that his rotor sword upgrade was ready. He'd only got some energon from the rec-room, and walked quickly to medbay. The former shuttle had no idea how Vortex could have known about the appointment.

"I'll wait outside."

Blast Off shrugged at that. If the 'copter wanted to waste time waiting, it wasn't his problem. He pinged the door to medbay, and Hook opened almost instantly. They greeted each other with a brief nod as Blast Off walked past the Constructicon into the room.

"The grey streaks on his rotors aren't from me," Blast Off heard Vortex yell before the door slid shut. The growl of Blast Off's engine probably didn't reach the 'copter any more.

Hook didn't react to the words, and Blast Off was almost grateful for that. Especially since he wasn't sure if he really had paint on his blades.

"Sit down there," was the only thing the Constructicon said, and the former shuttle did as he was told.

The berth was again high, Blast Off's feet couldn't touch the ground while he sat there. Tensing due to the reminder of being smaller, his intakes almost hitched when a hand touched his rotor blade. He could stop this reaction in time, and only his head turned quickly, glancing over his shoulder.

Scrapper stood there, examining the blade medically, without any hint to other intentions. Blast Off forced himself to relax at least a little. It wasn't easy. He was alone in medbay, except for Constructicons who all seemed quite interested in his frame. Scrapper on his rotors, Long Haul working on some device, but his visor met Blast Off's as the former shuttle looked in his direction. Mixmaster handled Blast Off's future rotor weapon, and Hook gathered instruments, head turning often to look at Blast Off in a way that he hoped was only for musing on which tools he'd need.

Then someone touched Blast Off's shoulder, and he almost jumped up. With his gaze back on Scrapper's hand, he hadn't seen someone coming closer from the other side. It was the excavator, Blast Off tried to recall his name, but Scrapper spoke first.

"Scavenger, get the nanities and the energon. Mixmaster, stop playing around and bring the blade." Scrapper fumbled something behind him, then Hook came, and joined the other.

"It'll all be good." Scavenger said softly, as though Blast Off needed reassurance, and eventually lifted his hand from his shoulder. What the pit? Did everyone think he was going to break apart now that he had a different frame?
Blast Off could hardly suppress another growl, and heaved air deeply instead.

"Since you’re not used to moving your rotor blades in root-mode, we think it's most logical if one of the upper blades will be replaced," Hook said blankly. "Which one would you like best?"

Blast Off shrugged, ignoring the medic’s assumption. He was able to shuffle them in root mode, but just went along with Hook’s suggestion. "The one under the rifle brackets."

In his peripheral vision, he saw both Constructicons nod, after which Scrapper spoke again. "The sharp edge is hidden in the blade to avoid cutting anything without intention when it's attached to your hub. Mixmaster will show you how it works after we've installed it. Please lay down on your front."

Blast Off complied, and the Constructicons began working.

It was hard not to be tense, his rotor blades twitched now and then. Blast Off was glad that he'd spent the morning with Astrotrain, and so the sensor nodes on rotors were again quite sore. The touches registered, but it wasn't very pleasant, the sensation rather a stinging ache than pleasure.

Blast Off's comm-line pinged again. The former shuttle had hoped Vortex would leave him alone for a while, but apparently the other had no intention of doing so. //What now?// Blast Off asked, his voice making his annoyance obvious.

//So, you fragged Astrotrain?// Even if Vortex voiced it as a question, Blast Off knew it was rhetorical.

//I told you, that's none of your business.//

//Ah, right. It's shuttle business,// Vortex repeated, not leaving Blast Off time to answer when he added quickly. //That's why you get a rotor sword right now, isn't it?//

Blast Off would have loved to slap him for that. He tensed, the brackets for the blades went stiff, and he heard Hook grumble, displeased. The former shuttle decided not to answer to that. But he also didn’t close the comm-link. There was no point in doing so if Vortex would continue annoying him anyway.

//How's the upgrade going?// Vortex asked after a moment of silence, the tone more casual, as if he hadn't been antagonising before.

//Why do you want to know?// Blast Off answered with a growl. His engine revved, causing another Constructicon to "tsk" at him.

//Because it's 'copter business.//

That line made Blast Off sick for a moment. His jaw clenched, and he had no idea what to answer except //Shut up// in a tone with that he could also have said "I hate you".

Blast Off was still a shuttleformer. His frame might be temporarily changed, but everything about him was not planetbound. He didn't have subroutines for his current form. If anything, he was not a heliformer, no matter what Vortex was thinking.

//You're an aft-head,// Vortex eventually muttered, and cut the comm.

At least it was quiet now.

---

The Constructicons were done shortly after the exchange with Vortex, and Blast Off was allowed to sit up. One of his rotors, the one that'd been replaced, was numb. It caused a weird sensation of asymmetry, and he hoped he'd be able to fly like this.

"So, let me show you how it works." Mixmaster stepped in front of him after he'd detached the blade. "Here's a small mechanism, you can activate it with your index finger. If you do, the sharp edge pops out. Look."

Blast Off watched the Constructicon handle the sword, having his finger around the hilt, he couldn't make out what he did, but the rotor changed a little, a quiet transformation sound appeared, and out of the thinner side came the sharp blade that made the rotor a sword.

"Before you stick it back into your hub, draw the edge back in. I mean, you don't need to, but considering your team mates, and combining to form Bruticus, it might be a good idea." Mixmaster held the rotor out to Blast Off, who took it with a nod.

It felt weird in his hand. He'd never handed a sword before. He'd need to train, maybe get some more human instructions of the art of sword fighting. He wouldn't ask Blitzwing for help, or Motormaster of all people.

Carefully, he let the sharp blade snap in and out, and quickly got used to the mechanism.

"Okay, try to put it back onto your hub," Hook ordered. It made Blast Off raise and optical ridge, but he did nonetheless.

It didn't take as long as he'd guessed. Finding the bracket easily, the hilt clicked back into place. Blast Off fingers traced over it for a moment, making out the altered form, and how to get the sword out again. It seemed to be as easy and quick as to put it back.

"Fine. If that works, we need you to drink this."

Scrapper gave him an energon cube.

"I already refuelled before I came here."

"This is no ordinary energon," Scavenger explained from somewhere behind Blast Off. "It's with added nanities." The other voice came closer; Scavenger then stood next to him, smiling. "You'll need this for your self-repair. The alloy the rotor sword is made of is pretty..."

"Hard'n'tough," Mixmaster interrupted proudly.

"Eh, yes. Your self-repair system will have trouble rebuilding the sensor nodes, lines and cables inside without additional nanities," Scavenger continued. "When you drink this, don't take the blade off for at least a whole Earth day."

"The blade also may begin to itch after a few joors." Hook looked up from sorting his tools. "It may itch very badly for a while. You'll know you can take the blade off when the itch subsides."

Venting air, Blast Off eyed the energon in his hand suspiciously. He wouldn't mind having no sensor nodes in at least one rotor... Though, he didn't know how his already glitching systems would react to that, and so he started drinking. The consistency was different, too. It was less liquid, and the taste rather bitter. He gulped it down hastily, grimacing for an astrosecond when the last energon flowed down, leaving an even worse aftertaste.

"Will I be able to fly back to base?" The former shuttle wasn't very fond of the idea of flying back in Vortex' cargo hold.

Scrapper shrugged. "If you dare. The blade fits tight, that shouldn't be a problem. If your systems can deal with it, then there's no reason not to."

"If that's all you need, then we're done here." It was Hook, who was as averse to unnecessary company as was Blast Off.

Blast Off nodded once more, and stood up. With a lazy wave, that only Long Haul answered, he left.

---

The flight back was quiet.

Vortex had actually waited for Blast Off to come out of medbay, but the 'copter hadn't said anything. He'd only walked behind Blast Off when they'd headed to the tower. There was not a single spoken word, and even as they finally arrived back at base, Vortex kept quiet.

Usually, Blast Off welcomed the other being quiet, but this was an uncomfortable silence. Not to mention unusual for Vortex. The 'copter didn't try to touch him, and it somehow was wrong that Vortex for once treated him with ignorance.

They now sat in Onslaught's office - yet again, and Blast Off had to explain to their leader why and how he got the idea about getting a rotor sword of all weapons.

The former shuttle explained what had happened, told about the Protectobot helicopter, but didn't mention his glitching processor. When he finished, Onslaught leant back, and stared at him.

"Next time, I want to be informed about any upgrades beforehand," Onslaught said after a klik. "And I mean personally and not by leaving a message. You've never fought with a sword, how do you think you'll get used to it quickly enough that you can use it in the next battle?"

Blast Off nodded at the hidden order and reprimand. "I'll have an idea about that, and am very certain I can handle it in the next fight." He didn't say anything about downloading more human instructions, because he thought that was rather embarrassing, and nothing Vortex or Onslaught needed to know.

Onslaught heaved air once, keeping looking at Blast Off. "If you say so... I want you to be ready to use it during midnight training in a few days. And I want you to start training with it tomorrow at-"

"I won't be able to." Blast Off interrupted his superior, and he noticed Onslaught's frame tensing. He continued quickly. "The Constructicons said it's not wise to interrupt the assimilating process and detach it before it's settled into the systems completely."

"And how long will that be?"

"I can't say. One Earth day, maybe two. I'll know when the itching subsides."

"It itches?" It was Vortex first spoken words since he'd cut the comm to Blast Off.

The former shuttle turned, but couldn't respond something snappy because Onslaught spoke first. "Then you'll start training as soon as you're ready. I also want a demonstration later of how the rotor sword works. In the meantime, get at least used to your rifle. I'll instruct Brawl to set up some targets outside."

Blast Off wanted to agree, nodding slightly, but he again couldn't form words because Vortex was faster. "If Blast Off can have a rotor sword, I want one, too. It's only fair. I've been a helicopter for longer than he has."

"No!" It were Onslaught's and Blast Off's resolute voices in unison, causing Vortex to wince.

"Wow, you practiced that, didn't you?"

Blast Off didn't bother to answer. But Onslaught did. "We have a difficult enough standing in the troops already. You getting a slicing device always available because it's attached to your body is completely counterproductive."

"You sound like the Constructicons," Vortex muttered, and Blast Off saw him crossing his arms.

Onslaught rubbed his temple, his optics dim for a moment when he shook his head. The gestalt leader’s gaze then fixed on Vortex, and he stood up. "Blast Off, you're dismissed."

With a last nod, the former shuttle got up as well. Vortex didn't look at him when he went out, but Blast Off saw the other’s rotors quivering, the head tilted and the battle mask most likely hiding an expectant grin.

Blast Off was glad that he could leave. He had no interest in experiencing what was about to happen in this room. And he decided that he didn't care. It was more important to get used to his new weapon.

With the intention in mind to download information that could help him, Blast Off headed to the control room.

Chapter Text

Mission briefing.

Blast Off sat in the room, hindering himself from fidgeting. His rotor blade itched. Hook hadn't been wrong when he said it'd be bad, but he hadn't said anything about it being this maddening. Blast Off's self-repair still worked, and he had a hard time not to reach behind him and scratch. He'd done this before the briefing, almost scraping off the paint.

Blast Off's fingers flexed and his rotor blades twitched, causing Vortex to look at him for a moment. It was hard to focus on what Onslaught said, but their leader was answering one of Brawl's questions, so it was okay if his concentration slipped.

The former shuttle wondered if Vortex always had to go through this when he needed his rotors replaced, but he doubted it. The Constructicons said something about the alloy being special. And as much as Vortex loved all kinds of weird sensations, Blast Off didn't think this particular one was among them.

Intakes heaved air loudly as Blast Off ground his rotors onto the back of the chair. It made Vortex look again, head tilted in a wordless question about what he was doing.

Blast Off only shook his head. He didn't want to explain, and he didn't have time, as Onslaught continued to talk about the mission and his plan.

Swindle, Brawl and Vortex had their orders, and now Onslaught explained some other part of the mission.

The former shuttle frowned. The annoying itch forgotten for a moment, he put his elbow on the table, raising his hand.

"We're going to meet Blitzwing and Octane-" Onslaught stopped mid-sentence, the tone not giving any indication if he might be irritated by Blast Off's sign. "Yes?"

"What am I going to do?" Blast Off's voice displayed some of his displeasure, from both the itching and the knowledge that this mission briefing didn't seem right.

He could see Onslaught tensing in his stance. His shoulders twitched before he raised himself a little. Blast Off knew that habit. Although he'd never told anyone, but by now Blast Off knew a lot more about his team mates than he'd have liked. "What?" he pushed, tone becoming almost as antagonising as Vortex' from the day before - for Blast Off's standards.

"You're going to stay here."

These words weren't only a surprise for Blast Off. Brawl looked at Onslaught, then at Blast Off and back again. "But I got his weapon ready..."

The former shuttle ignored the tank, merely staring blankly at the mech standing in front of them. "Why?"

"Because you're not used to your new weapons, and haven’t had the time to train with your sword."

A scowl built on Blast Off's face plates, visible for all due to his still-missing battle mask. "As far as I understood, this mission is only about getting certain human devices. We'll be dealing with humans, and our time frame before the Autobots are able to show up is four breems. Even the Stunticons on high grade could fulfil this mission successfully."

A growl from the anti-aircraft vehicle. Onslaught never responded well to criticism. "What are you implying?"

Blast Off's engine revved in return, only reminding him with a higher pitch than usual that he was smaller than Onslaught right now. He didn't care. "That I'm not used to my weapons, that's not a reason, it's an excuse!"

"That's not true. It's tactically unwise to-"

"That's nonsense!" Blast Off interrupted, slamming both his hands flat on the table as he stood up, glaring. He was angry, not annoyed, or irritated, he was truly angry. He didn't even thought about this being the first time he'd managed to get up quickly without getting his rotors caught in the back of the chair.

Everyone looked at Blast Off now, but this didn't matter to him. He knew what they were all thinking anyway.

"This is utter nonsense," Blast Off repeated, voice low, but tense. "You take a mentally unstable 'copter with you, and a tank whose steps everyone hears kliks before they can see him. And on a mission that requires focus and an attention span longer than that of a glitchmouse!"

Next to him, Vortex' rotors stopped quivering, but the 'copter didn't protest, or said anything. Brawl's shoulders slumped, but Blast Off didn't notice.

"Blast Off, sit down." Onslaught ordered calmly, but it made the former shuttle only angrier.

"And stop your calming-voice slag. I'm not going to fall apart any astrosecond! And I'm not going to calm down." He shoved his chair aside, and walked to the door.

"Don't you dare!"

"Why not?" Blast Off spat, optics glowing, and his EM field flaring in ire, the anger very clear in his energy signature. It touched Swindle's for the briefest of moments, and caused the businessmech to shuffle away.

No one said a word for what seemed like joors while Onslaught and Blast Off stared at each other.

Eventually, it was Blast Off who broke the silence. "I don't need to stay when I'm not part of the mission. I guess I'm not useful anyway, am I?" he growled acidly, and forcefully pushed the button to open the door.

He left quickly, the door sliding shut but not soon enough to dampen the sound of a strong engine revving.

---

Onslaught didn't comm Blast Off, and didn't visit his quarters.

The former shuttle welcomed it. He was still fuming, but there was also an underlying disappointment. The dislike of this planet-bound frame grew, and the itching rotor blade did nothing to help. For a moment, there was the urge again to just rip these slaggin' things out. It was a stupid idea, a stupid urge, and nothing Blast Off would give in to. He even became angrier again, at himself, that he let the situation get to him like this.

That he also showed how much it got to him.

Blast Off kicked the wall of his room. The cockpit glass on his foot shuddered, the frame of it aching due to the vibrations.

Rotor blades still quivered, they'd done it since the moment he'd confronted Onslaught. The movements increased the itch in the upgraded rotor, it caused such desperate ideas as electrocuting the blade. Blast Off could go to repair bay at base. There were enough cables, and electric outlets. It wouldn't be a problem to do it, but it was another stupid idea. It wouldn't make anything better, would maybe make things worse, and would only prolong the time his self-repair needed to assimilate the metal.

He eventually leant against the wall, and slid down. The press on the blade dampened the maddening need to scratch a little.

Blast Off waited.

The others left at 10:45 Earth time. Onslaught had said so during the briefing.

Blast Off stayed seated on the floor against the wall till 11:30. Just to be sure they all were really gone. Then he stood up, and took his rifle. He wouldn't be able to use his rotor sword, but he could get at least used to the rifle and show Onslaught that he wasn't useless.

---

Blast Off hadn't taken long to destroy all the targets Brawl had built the day before. He'd used his rifle in alt and root-mode, the connection and brackets the Constructicons had installed worked fine. Putting the weapon in, and taking it out was easy, and Blast Off hadn't touched his rotors with the weapon once.

When all the targets were done for, Blast Off had shot at some boulders, using Brawl's explosive ammo. It wasn't a real challenge any more, and Blast Off had soon stopped.

He now lay next to the rocks Bruticus had smashed that day, staring into the darkening sky. The warmth still lingered in the ground and boulders, radiating into his plating.

His team hadn't come back yet. At least he hadn't seen them, and he hoped they'd stay away a while longer. Having left the briefing early, Blast Off didn't know how long the mission would take. Maybe he'd be lucky and they'd come back tomorrow, or even the day after that. But from what he'd heard about it, it actually shouldn't have taken longer than a few joors.

The horizon still glowed with the last light of the Sun setting in a bright red, while the first stars showed up in the evening sky.

The view caused an odd yearning, and a threatening finality when Blast Off remembered that he wouldn't be able to reach any of them. Not right now, not with this frame.

And as if to remind him again and again, his rotor blade still itched. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as it had been the rest of the day, and had become bearable a few joors ago.

The last light of the sun vanished along with the warmth.

Living in a plain wasteland like this, the heat soon went in the night, leaving even the possibility of clouds. They were seldom seen, but Blast Off was lucky on that score at least when he spotted two wafting brighter spots in the sky.

Without much thinking, Blast Off stood up. Suddenly, the exhaustion leaving his joints, he transformed. He still disliked the sequence greatly, but he didn't need several astroseconds any more to get used to the form it built. He even could take off more easily, less wobbly. He didn't admit that this was also because there was no wind.

He flew in no particular direction, only up, and higher. It was annoying for him to accelerate so slowly, but he forced himself to be patient.

His nose pointing towards the few clouds, always having them in sight, he gained altitude.

It didn't take long till the temperature dropped remarkably. It sent a chill into his frame, down his cables and energon lines. It was pathetic. Blast Off had been through far worse, had endured critical conditions. He ignored it, and flew higher.

The clouds came a little closer, bit by bit, the ground less clear as his visual sensors where up too high to make out details.

Then, after a few kliks, a warning popped up in his HUD. It was odd, a stupid warning, but still necessary for a heliformer. He'd sensed the atmosphere thinning out. The movements of his rotor blades had become unstable as they’d cut through the air more easily the higher he got.

Eventually at not even 3.5 miles above the ground, Blast Off had to transform when the thin atmosphere couldn't support his weight any more. His root-mode thrusters kept him in the air; his engine revved to a growl. But even this was affected by the lack of molecules; the air, as cold as it was, wasn't enough to cool his systems. Blast Off's intakes malfunctioned for a moment, sucking in air desperately, and it took almost a whole klik for him to change the settings so that this frame could cope - more or less.

He ignored this physical warning, too. Powering his thrusters more, he flew up again.

Blast Off hadn't even got close to the clouds, they were still about two or three miles above him. But he wouldn't stop until he'd be able to look down on them.

The chill grew, and became unpleasant. Another sensation Blast Off had never felt before. He should be used to this, even if his new form wasn't built for these conditions. His processor shouldn't treat it as though it was wrong. Maybe it was only because he was in root-mode. Being a shuttleformer - or having been - Blast Off's alt-mode was tough enough for space; his root-mode had been more robust than any planet bound mechs, but still was affected by conditions of space after a while.

Blast Off refused to acknowledge all of the warnings, and just rose higher.

He reached an altitude of 6.44 miles, and eventually was on a level with the clouds. But it wasn't enough. As long as his thrusters worked, and his intakes and frame could cope with the surroundings, he wasn't going to stop.

At 7.6 miles, he could watch the clouds floating from above. Blast Off's visual input got blurry for a moment, and filled with static, making the vision unclear. A layer of ice built on his rotor blades, causing a sharp sting, but it also dampened the itching, and so it didn't matter.

At 8.68 miles, Blast Off had to give up. It wasn't his choice, but his thrusters weren't provided with enough air to burn, and his ventilation system almost stopped working. The energon in his lines had become congealed from the temperature of 220 K.

Blast Off was still staring at the clouds when he fell.

The way down was so easy compared with how long he'd needed to fly that high. The ice had also built up on his shoulder joints and arms; he wasn't able to bend his knees, either, and so he fell motionlessly. With his processor sluggish and dizzy from the lack of energon and the freezing temperature, Blast Off didn't mind at all. The ice would break as soon as he reached the ground.

It was when he could see the clouds from beneath again, and a warning flashed bright red over his HUD, that he came to his senses. The wind from falling was only perceptible were his rotors weren't covered in ice, and his hub was completely numb.

"Oh frag..." Blast Off muttered hoarsely the moment he realised he couldn't power up his thrusters.

The red warning kept blinking, and blocked the view at the clouds that Blast Off had almost forgotten. He struggled not to panic as the altimeter counted down much too fast for his liking. Well, at least, if he crashed, the Constructicons had a reason to give him his old frame back...

This idea lingered in his processor for another mile of falling. It was only Blast Off's dignity and resistance to giving in to this situation like a coward - or like an insane glitch like Vortex - that he transformed.

The sequence set in after the second try. The whirling of plates broke the layers of frozen water on most parts of his frame. It wasn’t helpful, because his hub was still stiff, and all his attempts to activate his rotors were futile.

Blast Off also lost orientation. His alt-mode reeled; sometimes he was upside down, sometimes not.

The warnings didn’t disappear, they only increased when his systems informed him that there was no way to fly like this. If he’d been in root-mode, Blast Off would have frowned as to why his processor seemed to acknowledge his helicopter alt-mode right then. But maybe it wasn’t like this, and the warning was merely because of his still almost frozen energon lines…

He didn’t know, and didn’t have time to ponder on this longer.

Transforming back to root-mode, it did nothing against his disorientation, but at least a few warnings disappeared, and more ice broke off his plating.

He attempted to activate his thrusters, but there was no response.

“Oh, c’mon!” he ground out between his denta as he approached the ground back-first. He clapped his feet together once, twice, and still too cold glass broke like the ice before.

Blast Off hissed at the stinging sensation that travelled up his legs and was amplified by the vibrations of thrusters starting to burn. His grimace soon altered, and his lip plates formed a tiny grin.

Finally.

Just in time, Blast Off could turn. He landed rather ungracefully, stumbling a few steps, and ended the manoeuvre landing flat on his aft.

His head still spun, thoughts dizzy, he just let himself drop to the ground, retracting his rotor hub, and stayed like this. The last ice melted under his armour, and seeped into the dry ground, while his optics stared at the sky.

This had been a really stupid idea, Blast Off mused, but couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He was disappointed, perhaps, because he couldn’t fly any higher than that. He remembered that there existed a human plane which could fly up to the stratosphere.

Why, of all possible alt-modes, had he had to gain a helicopter form?

---

Blast Off lay there until he fell into some sort of stand-by mode. It wasn’t a real recharge cycle, but his consciousness wasn’t truly online, either.

“There you are.”

A voice dragged him out of this daze, caused his processor to boot up fully again, and the pain on his feet became more intense.

Right, his cockpit glass was broken.

Blast Off didn’t bother to stand up. He answered with a nod, and a lazy shrug when Brawl sat down next to him. The tank let himself drop back, just like Blast Off had done before, only that he didn’t have those blasted annoying rotor blades…

But at least it was Brawl who was there, and not Vortex, or worse, Onslaught. And as long as the tank didn’t touch him, Blast Off was okay with the company.

“What did you do to your legs?” the tank wanted to know, tone curious, and weirdly not-loud. Brawl never was really quiet, let alone knew how to speak softly, but his voice wasn’t headache inducing just then.

“I tried something,” Blast Off answered shortly. He didn’t see a reason to elaborate on his stupidity and attack of Vortex-like insanity. He also didn’t want to admit that he might already miss space.

“I take it didn’t work?”

The former shuttle huffed, and changed the topic. “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t at base, and I thought I go looking for you, so…”

“How did you know?”

“What?”

“How did you know I wasn’t at base?” Blast Off’s tone became a little angrier.

“Uh… you weren’t in your quarters.”

“Did Vortex break into them again?” If the ‘copter had done that, Blast Off was going to make the first use of his rotor sword to cut the other’s head off.

“Uhm, no. Ons overwrote the door code. But he didn’t say anything, or so. I asked if I should go looking for you, but just grumbled something and walked away…” The tank sounded almost uncertain, which he sometimes did when the team didn’t get along. “You know, Ons is pretty pissed off. And so is Tex.”

Blast Off scowled at the sky when Brawl used the human idiom, but didn’t comment on it. Another huff left his vents as he spoke. “So what? He didn’t comm me, and I certainly won’t go to him first.”

After this, they were quiet for a while.

It was Brawl who broke the silence - of course.

“Whirley,” he said, less insecure, and with his usual excitement.

Blast Off’s optics flickered. “Excuse me?”

“You know, instead of large aft. You need a new nickname. I think Whirley would be cool.”

“What the… no!”

“How about Spinner?” Brawl’s grin was audible.

“Oh, just be quiet!”

Chapter Text

Blast Off had repaired the cockpit glass by himself with the aid of the drone they had in repair bay. Onslaught hadn't said anything about this, and they only talked when it was most necessary.

Still, the former shuttle was almost confused that he hadn't been punished already. But the tension which built up whenever Blast Off and Onslaught were in the same room was probably part of it. Their silence wasn't the usual comfortable, companionable kind, but created an atmosphere that even caused Brawl to become quiet.

This state had lasted four days, and it got to all of them.

Blast Off also hadn't talked to Vortex during this time, and had no intention of changing that anytime soon.

Blast Off came back from the washracks - which he now always locked – after cleaning off the dust from his training. The rotor sword worked well, and was as easy to handle as his sniper rifle. Blast Off only needed to get used to close combat in general. His now lighter and smaller frame gave him an advantage, he could move faster, and he hated to admit it, but the human instructions of sword art helped, too.

Walking to the energon dispenser, he heard Brawl's loud steps even before the tank’s voice, and this noise together almost made him miss Swindle's laugh.

"Great," Blast Off muttered to himself as he activated the dispenser. He'd refuel in his quarters, he mused. He truly wasn't in the mood for these two mechs, especially if that meant that Vortex would probably come to join them soon.

The energon flowed too slowly. Before Blast Off could grab his ration, his two team members entered the rec-room, Brawl with a crate in his hands.

"Yo, Whirley!" he bellowed, and Blast Off almost crushed the energon cube on the dispenser from surprise and sudden anger. Rotor blades started quivering, and as annoying as this reminder was, Blast Off was glad that he hadn't had the strength to break the cube involuntarily.

"I told you not to call me that," he snapped, but it was useless.

"Okay, Spinner," Swindle grinned, sitting down with an own energon cube in his hand.

"You won't leave me alone with that, will you?"

"Nope!" it was Brawl who answered, sprawling on a chair, seeming totally happy. "We have high grade," the tank added without further discussing the name issue, and blatantly changing the topic.

"Hmpf." At least that explained why Brawl was so happy. Blast Off sipped his standard energon, then crossed his arms.

"You want some?" Swindle asked, this cheeky smirk on his face which in Blast Off triggered the urge to smash the businessmech's head on the table.

"Let me guess, if I did, I'd need to pay. No thanks."

"It's my high grade! I got it from Mixmaster," Brawl replied, glaring at Swindle. "You ain't selling that to no one."

Swindle shrugged. Blast Off raised an optical ridge, and pushed himself off the wall next to the energon dispenser.

"Hey, that doesn't mean you won't get some, Spinner," Brawl added hastily, and caused Blast Off to stop.

At the nickname, he turned, his processor barely registering the meaning of the other words. "Call me that again and I spin my rotor sword right through your head!"

Brawl winced. "I thought it'd be funny... And," the tank shrugged. "I just kinda thought you could need some high grade? Frag, the whole team needs some." As though to emphasising the statement, Brawl took a gulp from his cube.

"Did you invite Vortex?" Blast Off asked, voice blank, and still not convinced to stay. These words also caused Swindle to look at Brawl, who fidgeted a little.

"Uhm... no?" That was obviously a lie.

"Tsk," Swindle hissed, seemingly displeased, but he stayed seated. The sound was Blast Off's sentiment exactly, and it didn't help to change his opinion. It was only when Swindle took out a game whose name wasn't pronounceable in any Earth language, and which Brawl was utterly bad at, that Blast Off huffed, resigned.

High grade and challenging his processor with something other than heliformer matters or rank issues would actually be quite nice. Maybe high grade would make Vortex' presence bearable, too. And maybe Blast Off was lucky and the 'copter wouldn't show up at all.

---

Blast Off's luck lasted almost two cubes of high grade and Brawl dropping out of the game with a grumbled curse. The former shuttle and Swindle continued playing, while Brawl rambled, and joked around with the businessmech. Blast Off only drank, and concentrated on the hologram cubes and squares of the game.

It was a nice atmosphere. Even with Swindle and Brawl's mutual fake bickering, it was calm.

Then Vortex came, and it changed.

"You started drinking without me?" was the first thing the 'copter said as he sat down next to Brawl, opposite to Blast Off.

The former shuttle winced at that, rotor blades twitching, and beginning to tremble. From his peripheral vision, his optics fixed on the game, he saw Brawl punching his elbow into Vortex' side.

"Heh, you're late. What took you so long?"

"Monitor duty, and waiting for Octane. I told you so, slag head," Vortex replied, cheerfully, a sign he didn't mean it. He helped himself to some high grade from the crate. "You could've waited that few breems, you know."

It'd been 2.17 joors without Vortex, Blast Off thought, that were more than a few breems. Certainly long enough to be called team-time, and almost too long for Blast Off. Now, with the 'copter there, he had the urge to leave. He glanced at the game, and frowned. He'd need only a few more moves to beat Swindle, he would wait till then.

With his processor being preoccupied, Blast Off hardly noticed what happened. He heard Vortex cracking his cube open, but instead of drinking it, the 'copter stood up again. Without warning, he poured a good part of the cube down Brawl's muzzle before the tank realised it and jumped up. He almost threw Swindle off his chair in the process, and caused Vortex to back up a little, laughing.

With a sigh, Blast Off rubbed his face.

"Gah! What the frag?! Why did you do that?" Brawl rolled his shoulders, his turret moving a little, but he couldn't turn it enough to get the energon out. "That tickles, you stupid slagger!"

Swindle’s optics met Blast Off's, and the businessmech, like the former shuttle, didn't look as if he found it funny. It also could be because it'd been Vortex doing this.

Said 'copter still laughed loudly, sitting down again, and sipped from the rest of the energon. With a big grin, he frolicking said. "You didn't wait." As if that'd be an explanation.

Blast Off decided that, yes, he his situation was almost unbearable because of the planet-bound frame, but even more so because of the childish, immature and idiotic team mates he was bound to. He also decided to keep quiet.

Brawl still tried to get the energon out, this time by bending over a chair. Blast Off was just about to tell Swindle he was done, and it'd be the businessmech's turn when the tank's voice whined. "Swindle, c'mon, help me." Brawl stood again. "You need to press the muzzle down, I can't turn it enough. And take an empty cube with you. We mustn't waste the high grade!"

Small vents vented another sigh as Swindle gave Blast Off a look that most likely meant 'they're idiots', and stood up. Aloud, he said. "Stop fidgeting, and stand there, and... no! Argh! Brawl!"

Blast Off didn't know what the tank had done, but he didn't care. He had now more time to focus on the game while he emptied his second cube, and took a new one.

"So," Vortex interrupted Blast Off's train of thought, and the former shuttle inadvertently looked up. "It's Spinner, then?"

With the battle mask withdrawn, Blast Off could not only hear, but also see the broad grin on the 'copter's face.

"Shut up. Don't call me that!"

"Okay. Then I'll call you Rotors." The way Vortex said it made Blast Off tense. It was then that he realised Vortex hadn't called him Thrusters since the moment Blast Off had woken up in helicopter form. Not that Blast Off missed that nickname he'd had for vorns - he generally hated not being called by his given designation - but somehow it was wrong. Like so many things about this new frame.

"Idiot," was all Blast Off said, then downed almost the whole cube in one go. The high grade was sweet, but burned its way down to his fuel tanks, made him feel every line where it was pumped into. He shuddered, realising that his rotors had stopped quivering. Stupid things, Vortex would get a wrong impression.

"Is having rotors really that awful for you?"

"What do you think? I'm small, weak and slow now. This frame is utterly inferior-" There was the clang noise from under the table when metal hit metal, and Blast Off stopped mid-sentence, staring at Vortex. The 'copter had his arms crossed, and leant back against the chair.

"Did you just kick me?"

"Hmpf!" Vortex huffed, and glared at his high grade. "You are a total exhaust head!"

Blast Off kept staring. Well, Vortex had to put up with this frame all the time, if Blast Off had needed to, he'd probably have sulking over stating its disadvantages, too. Optics flicked to Swindle who still struggled with Brawl and the energon in his muzzle, then Blast Off's gaze returned to the 'copter.

"I wanna see you being turned into a shuttle one day. I bet the first thing you'll do is crash nose first into a mountain side."

"Very funny, I'm a good flyer!" Vortex insisted, still appearing to sulk.

Blast Off huffed. "Maybe, but flying at Mach and even multiple Mach speed is completely different. The time when you realise there's something and the way, and that it actually is in the way is, well, not much. I ain't saying you're a bad flyer," Blast Off continued, high grade slowly infesting his systems and caused his speech pattern to change slightly. "Just saying that I'm not used to flying that slowly. Slag, I'm not a plane. I'm not built to fly in an atmosphere at all, and if I do, I need several Machs to be stable in the air. Flying like this just feels so fraggin' wrong." And it did. Blast Off rubbed his face, then hastily emptied his cube. He missed flying and it feeling comfortable.

Vortex shrugged at his words, poking his own cube of high grade. After almost a klik, he drank, then grinned. "You ever fly into a mountain?"

It took a moment till the words made sense to Blast Off, the sudden change of topic confusing him. He frowned, and muttered, reaching for more high grade. "As if. I never did that... well not on a planet at least."

Vortex leant forward again; his rotors quivered. "Oh, cool. C'mon, tell me!"

"What? No!" Telling Vortex about his adventures in space? Frag no!

As much as he liked to talk about space, even if not so much about the things that’d make him lose his dignity, he doubted Vortex would understand. And even less the ‘copter would be able to value it.

“You wouldn’t get it as much as I don’t get what should be the advantages of being a heliformer.”

Vortex grinned. “Well, I could help you with that…”

---

Fortunately, Vortex had only talked about flying in helicopter form, and hadn’t tried to show Blast Off something that involved touch.

After Swindle came back, successfully having got the high grade out of Brawl's muzzle, they finished their game and started a new one.

It was after the fifth cube of high grade that Blast Off began to struggle focusing on the game. Brawl and Vortex were laughing about something Blast Off didn't get, and their noises didn't help him at all.

Optics dimming, Blast Off heaved air, then drank more. Just because he lacked focus wasn't enough of a reason for him to decline the high grade. Brawl was generous with that for once, and they had even asked him to stay. Blast Off also ignored the shudder that ran through him when the effect of the energon was suddenly stronger than just a moment before and caused his vision to become hazy for a few astroseconds.

Blast Off was drinking his sixth cube - or his seventh, somehow he'd lost count - when the warm dizziness of being drunk became less nice. His optics flickered, and the words the others said lost their meaning, becoming only noises that grated on him. The game in front of him blurred, and the glowing holograms burnt in his optics as soon as the image cleared.

"It's your turn," he heard Swindle say, and he nodded, regretting it immediately when his processor began spinning.

Blast Off didn't know how long he stared at the game, and he didn't know what he was doing, but he did just something.

"Maybe you should stop drinking," someone said, addressing Blast Off, and he realised it a few moments later.

He glared at Brawl, because it was probably him having said so, his grip around the energon cube becoming tighter. He fetched another one with his free hand just because. "Don't tell me what to do," Blast Off growled, empting his cube the second he finished the words.

This hadn't been a good idea. The warm taste was bitter in his mouth, causing him to grimace, and the instant the high grade was in his tanks, a warning flashed in his HUD. A red writing informing him about... something. It was so bright, Blast Off groaned, and shut his optics down.

"Okay, that's it. No more high grade for you."

The cube was taken out of his hand, and he let it happen. It was better to keep his optical sensors offline for a while, even if it increased the dizziness. For an astrosecond, it was as though his feet left the ground.

"I can bring him to my quarters. I don't think he'll be able to walk alone…"

"You do know that he’s gonna kill you tomorrow if he wakes up and you did something to him, don't you?"

"As if that'd stop Vortex from doing it, hmpf."

"What? Jealous that I won't take you to my quarters?"

"Oh, totally. I've been dreaming of that for ages."

"C'mon guys, stop that. Seriously, we should bring him somewhere."

Someone touched Blast Off's shoulder. The unwelcome contact made him boot up his optics. He frowned. Since when had he laid his head on the table? Well, it didn't matter. It was probably his turn again, Blast Off thought as he looked at the game. "I ain't going nowhere," he muttered, and tried to sit up.

"Well, you won't go anywhere by yourself, that's true."

Blast Off couldn't say if it was Vortex or Swindle speaking. He only knew it wasn't Brawl, because the voice was not as loud.

"Shut up," Blast Off replied, struggling to make the words coherent, and rebooted his optical sensors twice in an attempt to get a sharp input of the hologram cubes.

Other words were said which Blast Off couldn't grab. His ability to multitasking like listening and simultaneously thinking about the game was nullified due to the amount of high grade.

They all became quiet when Blast Off frowned. His frown wasn't the reason for the sudden silence, but the reason he frowned at. In his HUD, next to the warning, a reminder appeared.

"Oh," Blast Off mumbled. Night training. He'd totally forgotten about that, and seemingly, the others had, too.

"Onslaught is going to murder us..." This time, Blast Off could make out that it was Swindle's voice.

"Slagslagslagslag!" Brawl jumped up, the sudden movement made Blast Off look up and straight into a lamp on the ceiling. He offlined his optics again. The other could train without him. He didn't want to see Onslaught anyway.

Unfortunately, his silent wish wasn't respected, and a hand wrapped around his upper arm, dragging him up.

"Hey, what the...?" Blast Off's dizziness increased. His arms where handled, moved around something, and he was forced to walk.

He didn't know how exactly, but in the end, he stood in front of the base in line with the others. Brawl swayed as well, and Swindle's intakes hitched now and then softly because of the high grade, but everyone was still able to stand - sort of. Blast Off needed to lean onto his rotor sword. Its tip pointing to the ground, he stared at it, trying not to fall over.

The warm glow of high grade had vanished completely, and left him rather sick, if not to say completely unwell.

Then Onslaught showed up, and the yelling began.

Blast Off hardly could listen to it. He was preoccupied with remaining standing. His rotor blades twitched every so often at a low gust of wind, and it stung on them. It was uncomfortable, and it was weird.

He noticed too late that Onslaught was addressing him, and it caused their leader to step in front of him.

Oh slag, Blast Off mused, but couldn't really bring himself to care.

"Sir?" he asked, without looking up. Right then, he thought Sir was a good thing to say, because of Onslaught being military and all that.

The response was an engine growl, accompanied with angry spat words. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Blast Off looked up, optics alternatively dimming and brightening again. The sudden change of optical input increased his vertigo and he staggered a step to the side. In time, Blast Off could handle his sword and lean on it again, preventing him from fall down.
"You are completely drunk!"

"Yeah." Blast Off's speech slurred. "I think I'm slightly inebriated..." It was better to play things down.

Onslaught vented air deeply, a sigh, or a huff, the former shuttle couldn't really say what it was, or why.

More yelling followed which wasn't directed at Blast Off. Some other things were spoken, and Vortex giggled - it had to be Vortex. It all took much too long for Blast Off's tastes, and he stared back at the ground.

It was really dark, he realised, and dwelled on that thought for a while.

Again it was Onslaught who dragged him out of his daze. "You all are a bunch of idiots! I should lock you up in the brig, and delete the key code." Onslaught took away Blast Off's rotor sword, and almost caused the former shuttle to fall. He stumbled a little, but got caught, lifted and thrown over their leader's shoulder. It all happened much too fast for Blast Off's intoxicated processor, and his head spun. He noticed that the others were gone, but it hardly registered as a fact when he hung upside down next to Onslaught's cannons.

"And you're the most pathetic of them all," Onslaught growled.

Blast Off couldn't disagree.

Having no idea where he was carried to, Blast Off offlined his optics once more. All this shaking made him feel even worse, and there was also a processor ache building.

He was put down in the washracks. Leaning a hand against the wall for purchase, Blast Off's optics fixed at Onslaught's unmoving chest plating. The sensations when cool water started running over his frame took him completely off-guard, and he shuddered, intakes hitching. Without his rotor sword, Blast Off wasn't able to keep standing. With his side, he leant against the wall, and slid down onto his knees.

The water still poured down. The sensations it triggered were unpleasant, and highly sensitive sensors transmitted too much input for his CPU to cope.

"Urgh..." Blast Off uttered, but couldn't say anything more when his tanks rebelled. Energon was forced up his lines, and he vomited in front of Onslaught's feet. The water mixed with the high grade and went down the drain.

There was a disapproving noise from Onslaught, but otherwise he kept quiet.

Blast Off threw up two more times, leaving him shaking, rotors trembling, kneeling on the floor. A whimper left his vocaliser, and the headache became more present. "I ain't feelin' so good..." He could barely form the words with his mouth, leaving him speaking quite faintly.

"Serves you right. Why did you drink that much high grade anyway?"

A shrug. "It was there."

"Vector Sigma."

The shower was still running, Blast Off couldn't say for how long it lasted, but eventually, the cooling liquid made him feel slightly better. His dim optics were pointed at Onslaught's knees, and he didn't dare look up.

"I can't even leave the troposphere," Blast Off mumbled hoarsely. His optical sensor shut down. The rain was tranquilising, and the sickness slowly ebbed from his tanks. "I miss space..."

Onslaught sighed. This time, Blast Off could tell that it wasn't a noise because of anger, but he still didn't understand what it meant.

After a klik or two, Blast Off's processor initiated his recharge sequence, giving his self-repair time to deal with the poison in his lines. He didn't sense that he was lifted again, and carried away.

Chapter Text

Blast Off woke up in pain. Again.

It wasn’t the usual ache or soreness he had after a battle or after repairs. It was a low, throbbing dull pain on his energon lines which spread over his whole body and left him exhausted. His thoughts were slow, his processor sluggish, and the humming sting in his head was very specific.

Blast Off knew what had happened, or at least why he felt like this. He’d experienced a hangover this intense only a few times in his entire life, accompanied by memory loss and regret for whatever he’d done.

Blast Off wasn’t ready to face reality yet, and so he remained lying down. Optics offline; he didn’t want to activate them, knowing the input would slice through his processor like an energon blade.

And speaking of blades… He wiggled his rotor blades a little, realising that one was missing. But it was okay, the lack of input was good, giving his processor less data to deal with.

Then someone spoke, and the noise caused Blast Off to wince, vocaliser producing a whine.

“You’re awake.” So few words, and still so painful to listen to. Not because of the meaning – Blast Off couldn’t even recognise the voice – but external noise itself was unwelcome.

Blast Off counted down from five to zero, then forced himself to online his optics. The first few astroseconds were the worst.

Thankfully, the room he looked into was dim, the lights glowing only at about 30%. It took him a while to notice that it wasn’t his own room.

Blast Off lay on his front, his head turned, his optics pointing at a corner with a sofa and a table in front. Someone sat on the couch; a datapad glowed brighter than the lamps, and cast a bluish light on dark blue chest plating.

The former shuttle groaned in defeat.

Slag.

He’d done such a great job of avoiding Onslaught for cycles, and now this. And worst of all, he couldn’t remember how he'd got there. He hardly remembered anything. He'd played that game with Swindle, and had been about to lose, but everything later was only one massive hole of blacked files. It was nonsense data, impossible for his processor to decipher. Blast Off would run a scan on them and see if anything cleared up. If it didn’t, then he’d delete them.

“By your silence and noises of discomfort,” Onslaught said, “I assume you’re not feeling well. Good.”

Onslaught remained still while he spoke, and Blast Off offlined his optics again. He’d stay lying there until he was told otherwise.

“Keep your schadenfreude to yourself,” Blast Off muttered, and was shocked how hoarse his voice still was from high grade.

“It’s no schadenfreude,” Onslaught responded calmly. “I just consider this your punishment. Or would you rather have some other disciplinary sanctions instead?”

Blast Off would have rather liked some silence, and no company, especially right now, but he didn’t say it. He still hadn’t moved an inch, and probably wouldn’t have done it until he felt at least slightly like a living being again.

Onslaught thwarted this plan by standing up.

The former shuttle heard heavy footsteps that came closer, then fingers touched his shoulder, and shook him a little. “Get up. Your systems need to fully boot.”

Blast Off huffed annoyed. “Recharge’s the best way to cope with high grade.” If Onslaught didn’t want him in his room, he could have brought him to Blast Off’s quarters in the first place.

“Considering that you don’t have any high grade left in your tank after throwing up yesterday, I don’t think you need more recharge. You’d been offline for almost eight joors anyway.” Onslaught’s voice was much too amused, Blast Off thought, but then tensed.

The realisation hit hard and increased his discomfort. He’d thrown up the day before? Well, that explained why he hadn’t the moment he’d woken up. But if Onslaught knew about it, he’d probably seen it.

And there Blast Off had thought he couldn’t lose any more of his dignity.

He buried his face in the berth, groaning again while waving with his hand as though to shoo Onslaught’s away.

His commander didn’t seem impressed by that, because he continued in a voice that still made it obvious he thought this all was funny. “Get up and drink this.”

One last time, Blast Off made his discomfort audible in a rev of his engine, but then complied. He was low on energy. He knew it, and the smell of standard energon was actually quite pleasant, reminding him to refuel.

It took almost a klik for Blast Off to sit up, and lean his back against the wall. His thoughts spun, and disorientation increased while he moved. When he eventually sat, and optics stopped rebooting, Onslaught held an energon cube and his rotor sword out to him.

Blast Off raised an optical ridge as he took both, glancing at the weapon. “Did I attack you?”

Apparently, this was again hilarious, because Onslaught snorted a dry laugh. “No, you could hardly stand, let alone walk. You used it as support, and I had no idea how to attach it.”

And now there was nothing left of Blast Off’s dignity. He avoided looking at Onslaught while he clicked the blade back into place, then took a first careful sip of the energon, testing if his tank would hold it down.

With his arms crossed, Onslaught leant against his desk. It was smaller than the desk in Onslaught’s official office, but still clustered with datapads.

"How are you?"

Blast Off forced himself to keep looking at his energon, and not to glance up. "Why does everyone always ask me that?" he grumbled, irritated. He'd answered this question often enough.

"Because you don't tell us."

"I told you I'm fine!"

A huff from Onslaught. He was definitely displeased by this reply, and didn't stop pushing. "Right." The gestalt leader pronounced this single word like he once had after they first defragmented from Bruticus. The first time Blast Off had experienced his processor glitching like that. Onslaught didn't leave him any time to counter, and added. "That's why you left the briefing room that day. Usually, you're not that impulsive."

Blast Off grimaced. "Usually, I'm not trapped in an unfamiliar frame." Still refusing to look at Onslaught, Blast Off sipped as not having to answer. He couldn't speak with his mouth full, right?

"Stop avoiding the topic, and answer the question. You know we'll keep asking you until you stop lying."

"I don't lie."

"Blast Off!" Onslaught's tone which he normally used on the others, plus one fist slamming down on the desk made the former shuttle wince. "Continue acting like a spoilt Stunticon and I'm going to use rank on you. And you give me no other choice than letting Megatron in on this."

Blast Off tensed. Threatening to tell Megatron, and making use of the loyalty program for Onslaught's advantage wasn't something their commander was fond of, but he wasn't above doing it. His jaw joints clenched when Blast Off glanced up, his faceplates displaying his anger and frustration.

"So what do you want me to do?" Blast Off knew the answer to that. He only asked to be antagonising, and buy himself some time. Vortex was good in making excuses, or hiding when he didn't tell the truth. Same applied to Swindle. Brawl was too stupid and naive for that, and Blast Off just had never needed to lie. He just had kept quiet, and everybody had accepted it - even Onslaught. At least he'd known not to push Blast Off.

It was different now. Their whole dynamic had changed, Blast Off's position in the team. He just wasn't valuable any more.

"You know what I want to know. How are you? And this time, don't tell me you're fine, because you're not!"

Blast Off vented a deeply, puffing off a huff, then responded with what he hoped was as a blank voice as he used to have. "I'm hungover," he began, and it made Onslaught's engine rumble.

"Stop-"

"Let me finish!" The former shuttle glared at his commander, then 'kch'-ed condescendingly. "I'm hungover. I underestimated the high grade and its effect of this... inferior frame. I'm generally displeased by its limitations. It's hard to learn things I've never needed to, let alone get used to them and do them on a daily basis as if I've been built like this. I'm useless to the team-"

"You're not," Onslaught interrupted.

Blast Off spat, "I am." Black fingers tensed around the energon cube while purple optics glowed in anger. "Stop telling me otherwise."

"Why do you think so?" The commander's voice was hard to read. Blast Off didn't know if it was a real question, or was only meant to be reassuring in the hope he wouldn't come up with reasons.

But Blast Off knew a lot of reasons, even though he didn't like to articulate them. Still, he answered, not mentioning all of his thoughts, however. "I'm weak. I'm not used to close combat, not with the equipment of this frame, or better the equipment it lacks. I'm not built a military mech, I'd never had the training you or Brawl had, and every experience I have is worthless, because it based on strength and the use of scanners of my shuttle-frame. I can't provide the team with air reconnaissance any longer. Not to the degree I used to be able to. I'm still unfamiliar with the aerodynamics of this alt-mode, what it’s capable of doing or not doing. And you can't rely on me as an exit strategy any more. This doesn't only make me worthless, but also endangers the team, considering that three parts of it are total morons."

Onslaught laughed softly, probably at the last words, but he didn't disagree with any of what Blast Off had said. He also seemed tired. It made Blast Off wonder if and where Onslaught had recharged last night.

The former shuttle didn't ask.

With a sign, Onslaught pushed himself of the edge of the desk, and walked to a shelf. He came back with his own cube, but didn't keep standing at the desk. Instead, he approached the berth, sitting down next to Blast Off within arm reach, but not near enough to invade Blast Off's personal space. This distance wouldn't be enough to make Blast Off comfortable with any other mech, but Onslaught was different. He knew his commander wouldn't touch him, and his energy field didn't flare strong enough for Blast Off to sense it.

The silence now was less tense than the silence that'd lasted between him and Onslaught the past few days. They sipped their energon, and Blast Off would have preferred they didn't start talking again.

It was Onslaught who spoke first. "What happens to you after we deform from Bruticus?"

Blast Off had feared this question. So much, he'd tried not to think about it at all, and that was the reason why he couldn't really answer to that. "My processor glitches." It was hard to admit, but it was at least something. If Onslaught was irritated by the obvious answer, he didn't show it, and let Blast Off continue after almost a klik. "I get error messages, and warnings. After decombining, my systems always ran a quick scan for damage, because while we're Bruticus, it can't keep up with what is happening. Bruticus is not me after all." A shrug, and the hope that Onslaught would be satisfied by the information, and wouldn't ask further.

Blast Off wasn't lucky.

"What kind of warnings and errors are these?"

What Blast Off could make sense of them was something he disliked, and he knew Onslaught wouldn't like it either. Another shrug, then Blast Off drank the rest of the energon and put the empty cube next to him. Onslaught left him time to answer; this time, he didn't push for the truth. It meant Blast Off could lie, or play it down, but he actually had no idea what to say. He wasn't as creative as Vortex, and this wasn't something one should creative about.

The back of his head made contact with the wall. Blast Off tapped his temple with two finger, then his hand sank down again, resting on the berth. "My processor still thinks I'm a shuttleformer."

The energon was pushed into his lines, and took away a bit of the soreness. Blast Off was less tired, but still exhausted, not just physically.

When Onslaught didn't answer, Blast Off muttered, more to himself than to his commander. "And sometimes I think my consciousness never caught up on my state either."

Again, Onslaught didn't reply. Kliks passed, before he spoke to be sure Blast Off wouldn't say more. "If this keeps happening, we need the Constructicons to look at it."

Blast Off tensed, and his jaw clenched so hard, his denta gave a creaking sound. It hurt, but he just couldn't relax.

To cover up his discomfort, Blast Off took the empty cube again, putting it back on his lips as though to get the last bits of energon.

He didn’t want anyone to look inside his processor. Not when it was about something as intimate and intrusive as this. The image of six mechs prodding his codes, staring at it on a monitor while he lay there in stasis caused Blast Off’s rotors to twitch. He hated them - in that moment especially, because they gave away too much. About as much as his clenched jaws and tense faceplates which were usually covered.

In an attempt to relax, Blast Off told himself that, if the Constructicons knew, they might be able to convince Megatron to give him his old frame back sooner.

Blast Off had no idea when Onslaught had last spoken to the warlord, and if his state had come up. But since Onslaught hadn’t said anything, Blast Off doubted it.

This situation was all fragged up. Megatron probably liked to have the Combaticons in this position where they were dependant on his mercy. Blast Off wasn’t stupid. He knew that Megatron didn’t trust them, and every bit of advantage he had over them was welcome. The former shuttle could imagine Megatron expecting them to beg to return Blast Off to normal…

A field flare interrupted Blast Off’s musings. Onslaught’s energy signature reached the closest rotor blade first, then extended until it met Blast Off’s field. The touch was careful, slow, the Commander’s signature calm combined with a reassurance that Blast Off detested. But it helped him to relax, at least a little, and he disliked his frame giving into that sensation even more.

Blast Off drew his foot closer, bending his leg, just to do something, and not to react to the field flare instantly. There was the urge to spit if he looked so miserable and pathetic that needed this, but he resisted. He wasn’t in the mood for another argument, and the warm field touching his was also quite nice. It felt good without being physically too close, or hands roving over his plating.

Still, Blast Off took his time; almost three kliks passed before he responded with his own field flare.

Staring at the opposite wall, Blast Off's optics dimmed while their fields ground against each other quietly. The sound of a low buzz of them touching, and daily systems working was everything. There was no need to talk, not when everything necessary could be said with energy signatures changing.

The low, pleasant sensation of a foreign field invading his made it easier for Blast Off to relax. It was pleasant. Their fields mingling, pushing each other, offshots of them causing nice ripples of current, but they never reached each other’s' plating. In the dim room, the friction of the energy meeting created a light blue shimmer, more intense and visible when the flares increased for a moment, then ebbed away again.

Blast Off enjoyed it. Only the more intense sensations on his rotor blades reminded him of his new frame, but there were no hands that trailed over new transformation seams or curves and plating he hadn't had before.

They sat there for a breem or two, Blast Off didn't know, and he didn't care. The charge rose slowly, almost unnoticeably at first. Current travelled along cables and lines, creating warm shivers that only found an outlet in twitching rotor blades like they had formerly had in flicking ailerons.

Blast Off didn't move, and neither did Onslaught. They both merely sat there, and it was good.

Then the charge reached a point where a warm rippling pleasure morphed into a surge of more intense sensations. It was then that Blast Off let his interface hatch click open - only an astrosecond before Onslaught did the same.

They still didn't need to speak. Each of them took their own connector, and their hands met in the middle of the space between them. Fingers touching slightly while they exchanged the plugs was the only physical contact. It was almost fierce in contrast to the glowing charge around them that were their EM fields.

Blast Off plugged Onslaught's connector in. Gestalt programing activated.

There was an odd sensation, as if it was being confused for a brief moment which Blast Off hadn't sensed when he'd interfaced with Vortex. It wasn't unpleasant, but again new, and change, and that was enough reason for Blast Off to dislike it.

The sensation vanished, along with the influence of the combiner coding, and left Blast Off with only Onslaught's presence remaining.

The surges of energy and data where as slow as the energy field flares. Not truly gentle, but patient, with the purpose not to rush and to get the most out of this, giving the impression they'd have had all the time they wanted.

Blast Off offlined his optics completely. His intakes heaved air in deep vents, but his cooling fans didn't have to be activated just yet. The underlying combiner program caused an artificial urge to edge closer for physical touch, but Blast Off knew that already. He knew it wasn't his, and he knew he could ignore it.

Onslaught didn't move either. The energy that came through his cable spread inside Blast Off as a hot wave. Pleasure on sensitive circuits that increased the charge and amplified the feedback.

When more precise data was transmitted, Blast Off's intakes hitched, and his backstruts tensed, fingers digging into the berth. With his optics offline, he could almost believe he had his old frame back when lines inside ailerons he didn't have any longer tickled. At that, a static whimper slipped from Blast Off's vocaliser, and cooling systems activated.

The tension in his fingers increased when more data was sent, making the rim of his heat shields tingle with charge, and seeped under it as though it was an energy field flare.

Pressing his lips together, Blast Off activated his optics, and turned his head. He saw Onslaught leaning against the wall, just like he did, optical sensors offline, battle mask hiding his expression. His fingers twitched now and then, but he didn't move otherwise.

Blast Off shut down his optics once again. He altered his own stream, included data to return some of the pleasure and make Onslaught's back cannons heat up.

This earned himself a surprised hitch, and an engine revving, along with a more intense feedback through the interface.

They didn't need to access each others' sensor net for this. The data impulses were enough, and the gestalt program amplified them.

It was good. The charge slowly building up, pleasure increasing with every surge over his frame. Sensor nodes lit up, sending pleasurable sensations to each other, and his processor. It made thoughts slow, lazy, dampened by the sentiment of feeling well, and the need for more.

To the sound of everyday systems working, and the buzzing of energy fields, the whirling of cooling fans added to it, and so did the soft static hitches or whimpers of two vocalisers.

Blast Off liked it.

Despite the pleasure slowing his thoughts, he was still in control of himself. It wasn't as intense or overwhelming like it had been with Vortex or Astrotrain. It wasn't maddening, and he wasn't about to overload too soon. The charge through the connection was only a little more intense than it was usually with Onslaught, which Blast Off guessed was because of the size difference.

There was no touch, no talking. Only energy fields meeting, and sensor nodes stimulated by charge and data.

Blast Off wanted this.

And he liked to feel like a shuttle former again. Just in this moment, with artificial sensations on parts he used to have, causing the blissful rippling he used to feel at these sensitive circuits. He allowed himself to be lost in it, just now, just right then. It was okay, because he was still in control. Conscious enough to enjoy swimming in the pleasure of pre-overload; which didn't only feel like an eternity, but literally was one when charge climbed higher in so little steps. Each new surge of electricity, new underlying codes in the data that came through the interface brought them closer so very slowly, without the urges to overload, because it meant this would be over.

But when it came, they didn't hold it off.

Sensor nodes lit up a last time when charge was released in one single instant. It made Blast Off's sensor net sing as he was dipped into a heated glowing pleasure. It was a little like diving into the unfiltered radiation of sunlight when coming from out of a planet's shadow; warmth becoming hot sensations as the pleasure crept over him. Soft static emerged from his vocaliser, and black fingers tensed around the soft covering of the berth. Unlike Onslaught who pressed his heated cannons against the wall, Blast Off didn't grind his rotors against it. The tingling on blades was enough, only a reminder of something he'd forgotten for a little while.

The pleasurable warm buzz was in their frames for a moment, before it very slowly ebbed and turned into post-overload sensations.

They still didn't touch, and still didn't talk.

They sat there for a long while - in silence. Only their cooling systems made sounds, and occasionally the plating of their frames pinged while it cooled down.

Again, Blast Off didn't check his chronometer, but eventually the pleasant post overload tingles vanished completely, and he sensed Onslaught's tiredness. Onslaught probably hadn't recharged that night with Blast Off lying on his berth. Maybe also because they would have had night training the night before - Blast Off remembered now - and it was because he hadn't been tired before.

Onslaught was now, and it was tranquilising; Blast Off's own exhaustion became stronger.

He took another klik or two before he onlined his optics, and stared at the opposite wall. Then he moved, cautiously with his limbs still sore, and unplugged Onslaught's connector. He reached for his own, knowing that the other followed his movements in his peripheral vision. He detached his plug from Onslaught's port without touching any plating around it, and stored it away again, then clicked his interface panel back into place.

Onslaught did the same. "We're going to train tonight since none of you were able yesterday." It was said in a neutral tone, not accusatory or angry like it probably would have been if Onslaught had said it to one of the others. It was nice that some things hadn't changed completely.

Blast Off nodded, and stood up.

"You know you can recharge here," Onslaught continued when Blast Off walked to the door.

The former shuttle shrugged. "You need to recharge, too." It didn't occur to him to share a berth with Onslaught in that way.

An amused huff left Onslaught's vents that made Blast Off tilt his head, questioningly. "At 2330 outside," was all the commander said.

After another brief nod, Blast Off left.

Chapter Text

The night was dark.

Every light outside of HQ was shut down, and only a few stars shone in the sky. It was one day after the new moon, one of the darkest nights on Earth, and especially in the area of the Combaticon base with no civilisation around.

No wonder Onslaught had scheduled the night training for that date.

Blast Off had switched his optical input to infra-red, because he could hardly see. He half sat on a rock that Bruticus had smashed, and waited for the rest of the team to show up. Brawl was already there, lying on the dry ground. The tank stared into the sky, and asked about star constellations, or told Blast Off some he remembered from when the former shuttle had bothered to explain. He seemed quite proud that he could recall a few.

Brawl hadn’t said anything about the evening before, for which Blast Off was thankful. He knew that Vortex would probably be more vocal about it, and he didn’t look forward to that. He’d deal with the ‘copter when it was time, though.

Swindle arrived in alt-mode. The brown dust had the same colour as most of his plating, and he spun in a one-eighty before he transformed. Blast Off only knew the name of this manoeuvre because Brawl had once insisted of explaining ground-bound frame moves since most of the enemies they were fighting had such an alt-mode.

Blast Off had though it was unnecessary, and his opinion on such turns was that they were to show off.

With a nod, the former shuttle greeted the businessmech, covering his slight surprise that Swindle wasn’t the last one to arrive this time.

Brawl and Swindle joked around. Brawl kicked a stone to Swindle, who kicked it back, imitating some kind of human sport. They continued this, added with some bickering and Brawl’s loud laugh, until Onslaught and Vortex approached.

Blast Off was lucky this time. Onslaught didn’t leave Vortex time to comment on anything that had happened the day before, and which Blast Off still had no memory of. The red visor lighting up for an astrosecond when Blast Off ‘s optics met Vortex’ still gave a hint to the ‘copter’s amusement.

“Since all of you weren’t in the state to train yesterday, we have to do it tonight,” Onslaught said with a hidden accusation that had been absent when he and Blast Off had been alone. “Two teams. Team one: me and Vortex. Team two: Brawl, Swindle and Blast Off. The radius for the field of training is 28 megamiles. You all changed your ammo, if not, put the weapons down which still contain live bullets.”

Brawl winced at the last sentence. The tank had once forgotten to change the ammo and had injured Onslaught by accident. The next few sparring and training session he hadn’t been allowed to have a weapon at all, which resulted in him having had to visit the medbay more often. It’d served as a lesson for them all.

Answering with acknowledging nods or grumbled yeses, they split up.

Fighting in the dark with only his infra-red sight was a whole new experience for Blast Off. He truly hoped he wouldn’t land flat on his aft as often as he had done the first time he had close combat training.

He hid behind a boulder, rotors pressed flat onto the rock while he held his rifle, and waited. In the distance, he saw the bright flame of thrusters; they stung his vision when he looked into them. He tensed.

//Where are you? You’re still in root?// Swindle commed him.

//Yes. Why? I’m close to where we started,// Blast Off answered, never moving his optics from where he’d seen the light of root-mode thrusters. //I think someone’s close, either Brawl or Onslaught.//

//Right, can’t be Vortex. I heard him transform and take off a moment ago.//

Blast Off huffed, and left his cover. //Idiot. The darkness makes us see less well, not deaf.//

//Heh, yeah. But don’t tell him.//

Blast Off actually grinned at that, but he couldn’t enjoy the hint of amusement when someone pounced at him from out of the darkness. A metal figure collided into him from the side, and pushed him to the ground.

It couldn’t be Vortex, but Blast Off knew it wasn’t Onslaught either, because their commander was heavier than the mech that lay onto him and raised his arm to punch down. Blast Off turned his head away in time, the fist met the floor next to his helm. He used this moment to smash the gunstock at the other’s head.

“Ow!” Brawl whined, and rolled off the former shuttle.

They both stood up quickly, but Blast Off didn’t have time to explain when Brawl jumped forward again.

“Brawl!”

It all happened very fast. Knowing he couldn’t fire the rifle, because even training ammo was dangerous at close range, Blast Off detached his sword. It should have been a warning, and a sign that he wasn’t Vortex, but it had no effect.

Blast Off ducked from under a punch, turned to face Brawl’s back, and swung his rotor sword. There was a sound of metal colliding, and the former shuttle felt a slight resistance which vanished soon.

“Owowowow!” Brawl howled again. A piece of his muzzle feel to the ground, and the tank turned. Staring at Blast Off in what seemed disbelief. “Why did you do that?”

What the…? For an astrosecond, Blast Off was speechless. “You attacked me!”

“But-“

An open comm interrupted Brawl’s try to find an excuse. //What is going on?// It was Onslaught, and he didn’t sound pleased. If he had seen, or at least heard their fight, it meant he was close.

And he was. He came flying to them, and landed, waiting for Vortex to arrive and the sound of rotors to subside when the ‘copter transformed.

“What happened?” Onslaught demanded to know.

Brawl was collecting his cut off muzzle, uttering a whiny noise, and so it was Blast Off who replied. “Brawl attacked me.”

“And that is why you cut off my muzzle?”

“It was an accident! And you attacked me first, which I don’t think was an accident as well.”

“An accident? It fragging hurts, you slaggin’-“

“Enough!” Onslaught growled. Vortex snickered.

Swindle drove close and transformed. He was clever enough to keep quiet.

“Brawl, why did you attack Blast Off?”

It took a few astroseconds before the tank answered, still bemoaning the loss of his muzzle. Blast Off clicked his rotor back into place in the time he waited for the explanation. He’d like to know why, too.

“I thought he was Vortex. I mean, c’mon. You both have dark frames and four rotors. How can I tell the difference in the dark?”

“I don’t look like-“

“That’s enough,” Onslaught interrupted again, and sighed, obviously annoyed. “Fine. Change of plans. Team one: me and Brawl, team two: Blast Off, Vortex and Swindle. And,” their commander emphasised, glaring at Vortex, “I don’t want to hear any more complaints.”

A few mechanometres away from Blast Off, Vortex revved his engine, but didn’t reply.

“Good, if everything is clear, back to training.” Onslaught patted Brawl’s shoulder, and left in the direction he came from.

“Let’s hope you’ll be able to tell the Autobot’s heliformer apart from ours,” they heard Onslaught say, and the tank’s response as he walked behind him. “Yeah, he’s white. And has only two rotors, you know.”

Blast Off shook his head in annoyance. The former shuttle’s mood didn’t improve when Vortex rose to speak.

“Okay, listen, I have a plan…”

In his peripheral vision, Blast Off saw Swindle crossing his arms, and he himself felt as though he’d like to do the same. Wonderful, now Vortex thought he was in charge. With this tactical genius acting like a boss, they only could end up in repair bay later…

---

The beginning of the new day was the end of the training. When the sun began to rise, Onslaught declared the session over.

It wasn’t only Blast Off who was relieved. Swindle sighed in exhaustion, and Brawl bemoaned his cut muzzle once again. Even Vortex was relatively quiet for his standards.

Onslaught had to contact Megatron in the control room, but the rest of them went straight to repair bay. It was almost a miracle that Swindle, Blast Off and Vortex weren’t more badly damaged with Vortex challenging Onslaught in tactics and strategies.

The former shuttle huffed as he took care of a dent in his thigh caused by the fail of the ‘copter’s tactics. He knew Vortex was looking, and probably hoping for a reaction from Blast Off, but he was too tired to call the ‘copter up on this.

Vortex had known that he wouldn’t succeed challenging Onslaught in a fight that was based on the capability of logic circuits, but he’d still tried. It made Blast Off angry. This, like so many other things Vortex did, had probably only been some antagonising reaction, because he just refused to act reasonable.

“Ouch!” Brawl’s cry of pain dragged Blast Off out of his quiet sulking; he looked up.

Swindle was trying to weld the muzzle back on, but Blast Off knew this wouldn’t work.

“We have a spare muzzle in the closet there,” the former shuttle said, pointing in a corner of the room.

“But I don’t wanna get the spare muzzle. I liked that one. And you cut it off!”

Blast Off shook his head in annoyance. Why did he even bother? Wordlessly, he turned to another dent, and started working, but even then he wasn’t allowed to work in silence by himself.

“I could help you with that.” It was Vortex who spoke and made Blast Off glance up again.

The ‘copter only stood there, leaning against a berth with a cube of energon in his hand. Of course, he wouldn’t repair anything. He liked the pain.

Blast Off didn’t have time to snap something back, because at that moment, Onslaught entered the room. “I talked to Megatron,” he said, and Blast Off thought this was useless information. They all knew the warlord had commed Onslaught in the middle of the training, demanding to speak to him.

“There will be an energon raid tomorrow. Get yourselves repaired, and fuelled up. We’ll leave tomorrow at 05:45.”

With a huff, Blast Off nodded, and turned his attention back to his dents. “Did he say anything about when I’ll be turned back to normal?” His rotors gave an annoyed twitch.

His optics focused on his plating so Blast Off didn’t see Onslaught tensing and the visor lighting up for an astrosecond, or Vortex tilting his head at the reaction.

“No,” their commander said, and the rotors of the former shuttle began quivering in anger.

“’course not. Just great…”

---

The situation wasn't good for the Decepticons. The Autobots had arrived early, and not only Optimus Prime and what seemed to be all his bots, but also the Dinobots.

And these mechs - if you could dare call them that - were on a rampage. Menasor kept them busy, thankfully, and they hadn't found Blast Off's cover yet.

The former shuttle lay on hard rock, in a gap of the wall of the valley, and helped his team from a distance. Right then, Blast Off would have liked to have had his old frame and to hover over the battlefield. With his former cannons, he wouldn't have had a problem putting the Dinobots out of order. Like this, he only could shoot with normal ammo.

At least he'd already brought down the invisible mech, and the other special ops car. He was now looking for the Autobot gunner, who had to sit somewhere on the ground. A shot at Blitzwing and at Brawl had told Blast Off so. Both tanks could still fight in alt mode, but Brawl's muzzle was damaged again, and Blast Off knew he'd complain about that later.

The hairline cross roved over the boulders on the opposite side, and Blast Off watched carefully to notice any paint, or reflection of headlights or armour plating. He didn't see any of these things, but the muzzle of the Autobot rifle was visible.

"Slaggit," Blast Off hissed to himself. The Autobot gunner was hidden, and there was no way he could hit him. He opened a commlink to Onslaught. //Found their sharpshooter. He's behind a boulder, hidden under some rocks. I can't shoot him, but I'll send you the coordinates.//

//Roger that,// Onslaught answered as he received the data. A mere six astroseconds later, anti-aircraft missiles hit the spot Blast Off had seen the muzzle, and the area was covered in smoke.

The former shuttle couldn't resist the smirk building on his lip plates. It didn't last long, though, and vanished the moment Blast Off saw the familiar figure of Swindle close to where Onslaught had shot at. The jeep was in root mode, one leg appearing weirdly twisted, and the bright pink of energon glowed on the brownish ground. And if this wasn't bad enough, a Dinobot ran in the direction of the businessmech.

Slag!

Blast Off shot, but the bullets didn't have any effect on the primitive creature, and the former shuttle cursed himself for not bringing the explosive ammo with him.

//Get out of there!// Blast Off commed Swindle, over the team comm-line so that the rest could hear it, too - and get their attention drawn to it.

//I...what?//

Oh wonderful. Blast Off's engine revved to a growl. Swindle seemed not only be injured, but also out of it. If he was close to the explosion, and might have been thrown through the air, it was no wonder.

//There's a Dinobot incoming, the weird one with the many spikes on his back. Brawl, Vortex, where are you?//

Vortex didn't answer, and Brawl only hissed, in a tone that indicated he was in trouble himself. //Busy.//

//Blast Off, go to him, I'm on my way.// It was Onslaught, and he, too, sounded distracted, static in his comm-link.

Blast Off didn't waste any more time, jumped up, and out of his cover. He put his rifle back onto his back, and taking his sword in the same motion while his thrusters burned. Over this distance, he was faster that way than in alt mode, and he saved the time of transformation.

The Dinobot didn't run in a straight line, but was definitely coming closer to Swindle. It seemed as though it tried to ram every Decepticon on its way to the businessmech, and it just had run over one of Soundwave's cassettes when Blast Off reached it.

The former shuttle approached from behind quickly. Still in the air, the sound of his thrusters drew the Dinobot's attention to Blast Off who rammed his sword in the joint of the Dinobot's leg. It dug deep; Blast Off felt the resistance as it cut through lines, gears and shafts.

The Dinobot howled, and lashed out with its tail. Blast Off didn't see it coming. It struck the former shuttle hard, and he was flung through the air before he crashed down on the hard floor. A rotor blade was bent, the pain ringing through his sensor net, but at least he still had his sword. The sharp blade had cut more of the Dinobot's leg, and the creature stumbled. Blast Off was now the centre of its focus, so Swindle seemed to be safe. It was slightly reassuring, but he truly hoped Onslaught would arrive any moment.

Blast Off got back to his feet, just in time to dodge another hit with the tail, and he ducked under it. Stepping back, he looked around, but his commander was still nowhere to be seen.

The Dinobot roared once more, stomping towards Blast Off and leaving a trail of energon on the ground. It seemed the wound only had made him angrier, and the former shuttle cursed his lack of close combat skills. He'd trained with the sword, and with the rifle with his team. But it was one thing to have a fake battle with mechs he knew, and another to fight for real all by himself against a Dinobot of all mechs.

Like a whip, the tail crashed down on a rock where Blast Off had stood only a second before, and smashed it. Stones flew through the air, and Blast Off trying to avoid them almost missed the tail lashing out again. He raised his sword, and ducked. The blade and the metal of the Dinobot's tail met, the weapon cut through it, but the momentum and shock were unexpectedly strong. Hard vibrations travelled along Blast Off's arm, made his wrist weak, and the hold of his sword loosened.

His rotor sword was flung away along with a good part of the Dinobot's tail.

Energon spread onto boulders and Blast Off, and the stench caused a sickness in his tanks. The Dinobot cried out in pain, and where it was angry before, it was now furious. The serious damage apparently did nothing to the mech, because he moved still relatively swiftly for someone with a damaged leg and having lost that much fuel.

//Onslaught, I seriously could need some help here!// Blast Off commed his leader. He used his thrusters to dodge being rammed by the Dinobot's head; the head then hit another boulder.

The former shuttle looked around. There was only him, the Dinobot, and Aerialbots arriving above him. As though this situation wasn't bad enough already...

Searching for his sword, Blast Off managed to evade being hit four more times. He lost focus a little, and missed the change in the Dinobot's stance when he recognised the shape of his rotor blade close to Swindle. The businessmech's optics were offline, and there was no way he could run, or that Blast Off could reach his sword without endangering Swindle.

With Swindle offline, Blast Off also couldn't just fly off, because then the Dinobot would attack the jeep again.

It was all fragged up, and Blast Off cursed once more, only then realising that the change in the Dinobot, and what it meant. He knew from experiences, and he tensed for a fraction of an astrosecond. It was the time he lacked to react.

The fire breath left the Dinobot's mouth, and Blast Off acted on reflex. He had only the time to turn his back to the burning heat. Unlike most other mechs, the dangerous fire breath of the Dinobots wouldn't do much to Blast Off's armour being built for heat of that temperature and with his back covered with heat resistance tiles.

But Blast Off wasn't a shuttle any longer.

His optics widened as the realisation hit, and then was drowned out by sensations of heat he'd never experienced before. His rotor blades melted, signalling pain for a moment, then went numb. The fire burned through his back plating, reached energon lines and circuits. Warnings flashed in Blast Off's HUD, and his equilibrium chip gave in.

The fire had already stopped, but he didn't notice it. The heat was still there, liquid metal on his back, and pain within him so intense, he didn't even sense the impact of crashing to the ground.

Blast Off's visual field blacked out, then there was static, and a ringing noise in his audials. His HUD activated again, but only a blue screen with warnings scrolling down.

The heat on his back caused his processor to glitch; his consciousness was trapped in pain.

--- Hull breach. Heat shield damaged to unknown extent
--- Laser core temperature reaching critical level
--- Energon temperature reaching critical level
--- Thrusters not responding
--- Cooling system not responding
--- Scanners sections Ag53 to ∑Tzd6T offline
--- Data of re-entry angle unavailable
--- Data of atmosphere density unavailable
--- Data of altitude unavailable
--- External heat reaching critical level

Abort re-entry
Abort re-entry
Abort re-entry
Abort re-entry
...

The plasma would kill him. Blast Off knew. He'd never expected to die during re-entry.

The warnings disappeared, and everything went black.

Chapter Text

Blast Off wasn't dead.

He woke up slowly, and this time, there was no pain. No headache, no soreness in his limbs. Instead, he felt weirdly numb. For the first few astroseconds his consciousness was online, he thought he was back in the Detention Center. Then, memories came back.

Right. He didn't burn up. He'd made a mistake, and had been injured in battle.

There was still the sensation of isolation where only thoughts existed.

His capacity for logic returned, and he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe they'd isolated his personal component to rebuild his shuttle frame. But why hadn't they waited and told him?

Almost a klik passed before he began to feel his limbs. His fingers twitched, and his HUD onlined, warnings and messages scrolling down.

No, Blast Off wasn't reduced to his personal component. And he hadn't got back his shuttle form, either. He knew from sensations of cold metal travelling from sensor nodes on repaired rotor blades over his frame.

Blast Off didn't move when he activated his visual sensors. The room was dimmed. The ceiling had the colour of grey metal, not purple paint; it meant he was in Combaticon HQ, not in medbay on the Nemesis. It was reasonable that he was. After checking his chronometer, Blast Off realised that he'd been offline for over two decacycles. Or almost three orns. He didn't think he should use the space term 'decacycles', when he wasn't a spacecraft any more.

Blast Off stared at the ceiling. In his peripheral vision, he noticed devices next to him. A hatch on his shoulder was open, a tube attached to it for energon infusion. A small connector was plugged into the port near his audial, and led to a monitor where something was displayed that looked like a sine graph.

After another few kilks, or maybe even a breem or two, he moved. His hand reaching for the small plug and detaching it was his first real movement, but it was slow, careful.

Blast Off still was numb. As though his body didn't belong to him, and sensations of touch to the connector seemed unreal. It was as though it was only cold, sterile data that his sensor net interpreted and sent to his processor, without being able to read it right.

Just a little longer, Blast Off thought. He didn't have the strength to deal with his team just yet. Offlining his optics, he refused to acknowledge reality for a little while longer. Eventually, someone would come in. Probably Vortex, because the 'copter was the only one with his gestalt bond open, and knew when team members were in recharge, in stasis or awake.

But Vortex didn't come. Not after a breem, and not after three.

It was Swindle who entered repair bay when over a joor had passed.

Blast Off knew it was him. The businessmech was the lightest of them. His steps where the quietest when he walked, and with a quicker pace, because he was also the smallest.

The steps came closer. Blast Off didn't think to acknowledge that he was awake.

The sound of fingers pressing on keys was loud in the quiet room where only two everyday systems worked quietly. Something else was done whose sounds Blast Off didn't know, and then the tube on his shoulder was moved, the stench of energon reaching his olfactory sensors.

It was then that Blast Off onlined his optics, and turned his head.

He stared at Swindle, who stared back for about an astrosecond, then the jeep jumped a step away.

"Slag, Blast Off!" he uttered, shocked, small vents hitching. "Fraggit, don't surprise me like that." The purple optics were widened, glowing for a moment.

There was no reason to react to Swindle's surprise. "I can refuel by myself," Blast Off said, blankly, and sat up. Or at least he tried. He needed three attempts to succeed, and his vision spun as he did.

"You're okay?" Swindle asked, and they were just different words for the question 'how are you' - a question Blast Off couldn't hear any more.

A scowl built on the former shuttle's face plates, but he didn't have enough strength to spit anything sarcastic. Instead, he muttered, taking the cube Swindle held out to him. "You tell me. What happened?"

The jeep nodded, and took a chair to sit down next to the berth. "What do you remember?" he asked in return, causing Blast Off to frown. He wasn't in the mood to talk much. He answered truthfully nonetheless.

"I fought a Dinobot, and was almost burned alive."

Swindle winced. "Yeah, kinda... I woke up and saw you falling, you know. Couldn't do much, however, my legs weren't functioning. But Devastator kicked the Dinobot. And Megs called for retreat a little later."

At least that Dinobot seemed to have got what it deserved.

"And then?" Blast Off wanted to know. He couldn't explain why he'd been offline that for long.

Swindle slumped on the chair, looking up at the former shuttle with a worried expression.

Blast Off didn't like it. If Swindle of all mechs was like that, something was wrong. He hoped the jeep would only feel guilty, maybe, because it was his fault Blast Off had been burned in the first place.

"The Constructicons repaired you, gave you new rotors and all. Brawl also repaired the rifle, he said it's even better now..."

"And?" There was more to it than just simple repairs.

Swindle shrugged, optics at the edge of the berth, not at Blast Off, his hesitation to speak obvious. "I don't know. You just didn't wake up. Hook did some research and stuff on you, and it seems your processor had crashed. They were working on it." Swindle nodded into the direction of the monitor with the graph. "But they said that your processor would probably have to sort itself out." More fidgeting followed, and gave Blast Off the urge to slap Swindle.

Then the businessmech spoke again, with a shrug. "So, uh... How are you now?"

Blast Off's frown turned into a glare, and Swindle winced visibly.

He stood up quickly. "I'll let Onslaught know you're awake. I think you should refuel and stay seated a bit, before getting up," he said, but then shrugged. "Actually, I don't know, I'm not a medic. Glad you're back, though." With a brief nod, Swindle hurried out.

Wonderful silence again. Blast Off relaxed, and sipped from the half empty energon cube.

More time flowed by, but not enough for Blast Off's tastes. For him, the silence never lasted long enough.

It was a comm-line ping that interrupted it this time. Onslaught's frequency - this had to be expected.

//Blast Off, it's good to hear you’re awake,// he began, but the former shuttle knew it was only a catchphrase before coming to more important topics. //When you're done with refuelling, come to my office. We need to talk. Take your time.//

Raising an optical ridge, Blast Off heaved air deeply. This... was odd.

His optics were glued at the empty cube while thoughts crossed his processor what could his commander want to discuss. Blast Off let two more breems tick by, but then stood up unsteadily. He couldn't relax any more anyway, so he might just as well get this over with.

---

When Blast Off entered the office, Onslaught was sitting behind his desk.

Datapads were in front of him, some activated and glowing, but Blast Off couldn’t make out what was written on them.

It all seemed very official, and the former shuttle could guess that the commander wanted an explanation for his crashing processor.

“Sit down,” Onslaught broke the silence and tense atmosphere, and pointed at the chair in front of the desk.

Blast Off nodded, still wary concerning what all this was about. If Onslaught was angry about the processor failure and long stasis, he didn’t show it, and this was wrong. Onslaught wasn’t the person who hid his anger; he might be less physical in showing it to Blast Off, but usually he showed it somehow.

Blast Off sat down, careful as not to entangle his rotors in the back of the chair, and waited.

The gestalt leader kept quiet, but Blast Off noticed the shoulder straightening, and heard the soft noise of intakes venting deeply.

“How are you?”

Again this question. Blast Off couldn’t resist showing his frustration, and a staticky noise emerged from his vocaliser. His voice was flat, though. “I’m okay. I guess.”

Onslaught nodded. The battle mask twitched, but he didn’t say anything. The former shuttle didn’t rush him. If he wanted to know about the crash, Onslaught should ask. Blast Off wasn’t particularly eager to talk about it.

Half a klik passed, then Onslaught rose to speak. “When you were offline, the Constructicons transferred some of the recent data your CPU had processed. They’re still analysing it, but Megatron pressed them to hurry.”

Blast Off nodded again. He’d expected something like this, and Swindle had already mentioned it briefly. What the former shuttle didn’t expect, were Onslaught’s following words.

“Megatron wants Bruticus to function even if you stay a heliformer.”

Blast Off tensed. His rotor hub locked, and his blades twitched once. He didn’t have time to ask what this meant, because the explanation followed quickly.

“He doesn’t have any plans to turn you into a shuttle any time soon. He justified his decision with the high energy and metal consumption of this process. The Constructicons also said that they don’t have most of the spare parts for all the delicate circuitry of a shuttleformer’s frame. Preparing your processor is apparently less troublesome.”

All this information was a shock. Blast Off just sat there while the words sank in. He wasn’t about to be turned back into a shuttle? He’d stay like this?

He didn’t know what was worse, being trapped in a planet bound frame or- “What do you mean with preparing my processor?” Blast Off asked, the shock evident in his voice, his tone bordered on panic.

Onslaught was unwell - with the facts, or explaining it all to Blast Off, the former shuttle didn’t know. He knew his commander by now, though, and saw the tension that was similar to his frame’s.

“There’s obviously something wrong with the synchronisation of your processor and your current form. The Constructicons are still working on finding the error. When they’re done, they-“

“No!” Blast Off interrupted. “I’m not going to let them poke inside my head. Not again. There’s enough programming that doesn’t belong there already!” He glared.

Onslaught kept quiet.

In the next two kliks, there was silence in which Blast Off’s thoughts were erratic. A mix of panic, disbelief and anger also showed on his face plates. It all resulted in more frustration, and eventually Blast Off shook his head and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Onslaught came to his feet as well.

“My room.” Even to Blast Off, his own voice sounded strangely flat.

He turned, intending to leave, but Onslaught moved quickly, rounded the table and blocked the way. “Refuel first.”

A frown built on Blast Off’s face plates, and he wondered if this was only an excuse to be close, to eye him up.

Suddenly, his personal space seemed to be bigger, even though it was Onslaught who stood there.

“I did refuel in repair bay.”

“You were offline for orns. Get yourself another cube.”

Blast Off shrugged. “Fine.” He was about to walk around Onslaught when a hand came up and almost touched him. Blast Off flinched away, optics glowing for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

It was hard for Blast Off to tell what the commander meant. Okay with the news? The post-processor crash? The finality of being stuck in this inferior form?

“I’m good,” he muttered edgily, and left. Not waiting to be dismissed, it was like he fled before Onslaught would try to touch him again.

Blast Off didn’t want to be touched. Not now. Not in this frame.

---

Blast Off hoped no one would be in the rec-room when he got his energon, but his hope was soon destroyed when he heard voices. Sighing, he stopped before he entered.

He couldn’t see who was in there, but it also meant he couldn’t be seen.

“Yeah, he’s acted weird, right?” It was Brawl’s voice.

“Being turned into a ‘copter would do the same to me.” Swindle answered, annoyed, but it was unclear at what.

Blast Off frowned. Great, he’d chosen the right moment. Running into them the time they were talking about him, that could only happen to him.

“But you aren’t saying being a heliformer is slag, aren’t you? Because if you do, I don’t think you’d like it,” Vortex said, in this antagonising nice tone he used often on Swindle, or subjects.

Wonderful. This meant Blast Off wouldn’t only run into them talking about him, but also Vortex and Swindle fighting, and there were only a few things that were more irritating than listening to them. He rubbed his temple with two fingers, and pondered on leaving. He could get the energon later, or not at all.

But Blast Off knew Onslaught would find out, their commander always did. Especially since he knew Blast Off sometimes was quite lax if it came to refuelling if he didn’t have to go into space.

With a sigh, Blast Off crossed the distance between himself and the entrance to the rec room, and stepped in. He’d stopped listening to the argument, but became aware of it again when he heard Vortex say. “I told you Octane would give you the wrong piece. And you say about yourself you’re a businessmech?”

“Shut up!” Of course Swindle had to react.

With their back to the entrance, crouching over a table around something, all three mechs seemed preoccupied. Maybe Blast Off could just slip past them, get his energon and leave.

“Heh, yeah, yeah… You know, I don’t think this will cheer him up. I could do that much better-“

“Yes, by fraggin’ him.” Swindle’s voice was dismissive, but Vortex didn’t seem to care.

“You’re just jealous neither me nor him will ever frag you!”

At that, Blast Off raised an optical ridge, but kept trying to sneak as quietly as possible to the energon dispenser. He stayed close to the wall, and it was surprisingly easy in this frame, being not even half as heavy as being a shuttleformer.

Again he didn’t listen to the bickering any more as he took a cube to fill it. It was almost completely full when a sudden noise made him twitch.

“Haha!” A triumphant laugh, followed by a click. Vents huffed – probably Vortex’, and Brawl gasped.

Then a rattling of a device, and the room got weirdly dark. Blast Off tensed, and turned, and his intakes hitched as he saw what it was.

The rec-room was darker now; a hologram drowned out the light on the ceiling and showed a black-transparent cloud filled with thousand little bright spots, and colourful whirls.

His denta ground, his jaw clenched so tight, it caused pain within the mechanisms.

“Oh… uh, hey Blast Off.” Brawl was the first one to speak.

Blast Off snapped out of his tension, and glared. This was stupid.

“How long have you been there?” Swindle asked, not as annoyed as when he spoke to Vortex who thankfully kept quiet.

The cube was full by now, the dispenser had stopped in time before it could spill over. Blast Off turned his back to his team mates, and huffed, irritated. “I don’t need any cheering up!”

He walked out quickly.

One of them said something, yelled behind him, but Blast Off was already too far away to make out who it was or what was said. It didn’t matter anyway. His team with his stupid toys. He didn’t need anything from them, especially not some tiny 3D-projector.

---

The cube was left untouched. It was on the table next to Blast Off’s berth and had been there since he’d arrived back in his room.

Blast Off lay on his berth, optics online as he stared at the ceiling without truly processing the visual input. His thoughts were erratic, and calm at the same time. It was a process of accepting something final, something unavoidable and a situation where there was no way out.

Like before, back then, thousands of vorns ago when he’d been reduced to his personality component only. After the panic, when everything had seemed to stop and only thoughts remained - memories. Turning in cycles, around and around, with no new input while he’d relived everything again and again. At first it hadn’t been too bad. There’d been positive things, nice images and contented memories, but they’d changed, had become meaningless until only the bad things had remained. Dreadful data files, full of horrible things to see, to feel, even though there was no feel in the Detention Centre. The phantom sensation of feeling, but still too real for some things Blast Off had experienced once. They’d lasted longer, but eventually, even the bad things ebbed away.

Everything had still been there, but it had become hollow.

Blast Off felt the same now. His sensor net was oddly numb. Moving was difficult as though there wasn’t a body at all. Memories resurfaced and were as worthless as back then.

What did it matter? Did anything matter anyway? He’d rust there, no new experiences, there was nothing he could do for what he’d been built. Once.

There was no way out. Nowhere to go. He was stuck. He-

“Don’t!” he interrupted his own train of thought, and surprised himself. Optics brightened for the fraction of an astrosecond, and his fingers twitched.

Blast Off wouldn’t go back there. He didn’t allow himself to go back there, because he still existed, had a body. It did matter. He just had to cling onto this thought.

But it was hard.

Kliks and breems and joors passed - maybe. It was complicated to keep track of the time if the subjective time stood completely still.

It was a knock on his door that made Blast Off start to think clearly again. A ping followed, requesting access to his room, asking him to open the door.

It was Swindle.

Blast Off didn’t react.

Another ping, then another knock, but Blast Off remained still, and stared at the ceiling.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there.”

The voice was muffled due to the thick metal between Swindle and him.

He found himself not wanting to get up. Maybe Swindle would give him the 3D-projector, then he could see stars again. But Blast Off just didn’t want to see any of his team. Not in this pathetic frame.

“Hey, Blast Off?”

A third ping reached him, and a klik ticked by.

“Okay, fine.” Swindle seemed to have enough. “I just let it here, then. In front of your door. Don’t step on it!” It was hard to tell if the muffled voice was angry or frustrated, but Blast Off was glad the other was gone.

And even more relieved Swindle hadn’t tried to comm him.

Blast Off’s internal chronometer told him he could finally stand up three breems after Swindle left. It was enough time. If the other had waited for him to get out, he’d have lost his patience by now.

Slowly, Blast Off sat up, then got off the berth. By now, he knew how to do so and not to let his lower rotor blades scratch over the berth’s edge. He didn’t allow himself to hate it, but he frowned at himself for getting used to it.

He unlocked the door, and found the device. He’d once had one of those in Altihex, and took it with him to Kaon later. He’d found a damaged one a while back, but had left it on the Nemesis and never repaired it.

Blast Off wondered slightly how Swindle had got it. Who knows who he’d paid to break into his room on the Decepticon base.

He shrugged. Leaning low, he took the device, then closed the door.

Chapter Text

Onslaught got up early. He liked to get his energon before the rest of the team would awake and hinder him from doing his work.

As expected, the rec-room was empty when he switched the lights on and took his ration - two thirds of a cube. It was more than some other times, and it made Onslaught angry. A new energon raid was due, and they still had this much, but Megatron didn't want to turn one of the most valuable Decepticons back into his true form.

Onslaught also hated to admit it that in his current frame, Blast Off wasn't as valuable as before.

A scowl built on his faceplates, but his stance and gestures didn't show any of his displeasure.

Octane would come in about two joors, and depending on how much energon the triple changer brought, Onslaught would press Megatron on the topic of Blast Off again. If the warlord was at least honest and said that the shuttleformer should remain in helicopter form because he liked the Combaticons weaker, then Onslaught was pretty sure he could get help from Starscream and even Soundwave because it also weakened the Decepticon forces overall.

This whole situation was ridiculous.

Onslaught shook his head, and headed to his office. There was work to do, training to arrange, and past battles to review. If Blast Off truly had to stay like this, he better got used to it, even if it meant Vortex had to help him, and give extra training.

---

About two joors had passed when Onslaught's communication equipment pinged.

He looked up, and frowned. It was Octane.

//What is it?// he asked, coming straight to the point.

//You're funny, aren't you? You gonna let me in or what? I've been waiting here for over a breem!//

Onslaught raised an optical ridge. //Blast Off should be there...// He'd given this task to the former shuttle the last evening. Onslaught thought it was better to integrate him back into the daily routine than let him think too much and sulk in his quarters.

//Yeah, well, he isn't.//

//Great. Wait there, I’ll send someone else.//

//Oh sure, because I haven't waited long enough already.//

Onslaught ignored the triple changer's last comm, and pinged Vortex. The 'copter was off duty, but Onslaught didn't care.

//Hey, hi Ons. What's up?// At least Vortex answered right away.

//Get outside and let Octane in to refill our energon storage.// There better not be a discussion, because Onslaught’s was not in the mood.

//Uh... sure. But what about Blast Off?//

//Nothing about him, go and do as I say. Now!//

//Wow, aren't you nice today...// It sounded as though Vortex wanted to say more, but the ‘copter cut the comm line after that.

Good for him, Onslaught thought, and stood up. The former shuttle really needed a good explanation now.

Blast Off's situation might be tough, but they all had to deal with it, and Onslaught wasn't about to make exceptions and handle him like some delicate piece of lab equipment.

His stern steps were loud in the hallway as he approached Blast Off's room. With no intention of knocking or pinging for access, Onslaught typed the overwrite code into the console. As soon as the light turned green, he pushed the button and stepped in.

"Blast Off!" It was a growl, accompanied by Onslaught's engine revving, but there was no answer, nor was there a mech partial to silence and privacy wincing.

The room was empty.

"This damned shuttle," Onslaught muttered to himself when he left the other’s quarters. He went to the control room, and opened a commink to Blast Off.

//Where are you?// His message was in a queue, and would ping Blast Off until he accepted it, but that the former shuttle wasn't answering right away made Onslaught even angrier.

He walked quickly past Swindle who greeted him with a nod, and looked after him in confusion. Onslaught knew it, but he wasn't about to explain his hurry. Not until he knew what was going on himself.

Impatiently, he typed onto the consoles, the big screen showing folders, data and files. He accessed the security records from last evening and night, choosing the camera that showed the hallway where Blast Off’s quarters were.

//Blast Off, do you read me?// Onslaught’s tone wasn’t worried, but pushy, demanding. He wanted to know where the former shuttle was, and why he was AWOL.

Again, Blast Off didn’t answer. But at least Onslaught found the part in the records when Blast Off had left his room. It’d been in the middle of the night, at 0130 Earth time. One of Onslaught’s hands clenched to a fist, the other typed quickly. He tracked the mech’s movements.

Blast Off had been in the hallways, walking towards the exit. The gate opened, and closed, and Onslaught switched to the outdoor camera. There he saw how Blast Off had transformed, and flown off.

The gestalt leader growled again. The commlink from his side was still open, and he knew unless Blast Off was in recharge or stasis, the constant pinging of his queue would drive him mad. Onslaught just wanted to send another urgent message, when Blast Off answered.

Well, sort of.

There weren’t any words, only static, but the former shuttle sent him coordinates. Coordinates that made Onslaught frown, and doubt himself for a fraction of an astrosecond. Swiftly, he typed them into the console, and a 3D image of Earth popped up, a red dot marking where Blast Off was.

It was the North Pole, or very close to it.

//Why, for frag’s sake are you at the North Pole? You’ll fly back now,// Onslaught’s anger mingled with confusion, and also restlessness, because Blast Off wasn’t a shuttle any more. The conditions of that place were dangerous for every planet bound mech.

//Can’t,// was the staticky reply, Blast Off’s voice sounding oddly hollow. Not flat, or blank, but faint in a way that predicted the worst.

//You’re an idiot!// Onslaught spat, but the former shuttle cut the commlink without saying anything more, not even giving an explanation.

Onslaught’s anger peaked, and he hit the control console much too hard. He slammed his hands down onto the keyboard, causing warnings to flash up on the screen, and random files to open.

His temper was seething while his fingers typed quickly as he established a connection to the Nemesis. He also sent another message to Blast Off, mostly to just annoy him.

The screen flickered, and a smaller window opened in the lower right corner.

Onslaught resisted groaning in annoyance.

“Starscream,” he said stiffly, and refused to scale up the screen. The seeker’s voice was bad enough, he didn’t need to see the disapproving expression as well.

“Onslaught, what can I do for you?” Starscream asked in an overly nice voice. Megatron had probably punished him for whatever he’d done this time, and now he had monitor duty. Served him right, Onslaught thought cynically, and was glad that the loyalty program wasn’t locked on Starscream.

“I need Astrotrain to bring Blast Off back to base.” It was better to keep it short, and Onslaught truly hoped Starscream wouldn’t ask why, and where the former shuttle was.

“Is that so? As far as I know, he still can fly. Why should we waste fuel like that?”

Of course, Starscream wouldn’t make this easy. But at least it was Starscream, and not Soundwave or even worse – one of his cassettes.

“He went AWOL last night, and doesn’t have the fuel to return.” While Onslaught wasn’t sure about Blast Off’s fuel level, he definitely knew that he was in no state to transform or fly back due to the cold. If the former shuttle suffered there, and if the energon in his lines was frozen and hurt him, then it was Blast Off’s own fault. Onslaught almost wished that it was like this, and it’d teach the new-build heliformer a lesson.

“It appears you still don’t have your team under control, Onslaught,” Starscream sighed in what had to be fake concern. “Send Vortex. He can bring your other heliformer back. This should also strengthen the team bonding, don’t you think?”

Oh, how Onslaught hated the seeker right now. The gestalt leader tensed more, and behind his visor his optics narrowed. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Blast Off is at the North Pole. He’ll be frozen dead when Vortex arrives. He sounded distressed on the comm, and Astrotrain can bring him back within a few breems. Will you send Astrotrain, or do I need to contact Megatron about that? I don’t think he’s very fond of losing the right arm of Bruticus.” It was hard to admit where Blast Off was, and even more to mention Megatron, but if Starscream wanted to make his life even more complicated, then Onslaught didn’t care.

Even on the smaller window the gestalt leader saw the seeker’s expression freeze, but it seemed Onslaught’s words had the desired effect.

“I’ll contact Astrotrain. Give me the coordinates. He’ll be on his way as soon as possible. He’ll comm you when he fetched your helicopter from the ice,” Starscream snarled. “I need to work now. And you better work on keeping your house in order!” The last words were spoken in a voice that would have been threatening if it wasn’t so high pitched, but Onslaught was still uneasy.

He merely nodded, then cut the connection to the Nemesis.

Yes, this whole situation grated on him.

Onslaught punched the wall next to the console once, then turned on his heel and walked out. He needed to check if Octane had brought the energon, and if Vortex hadn’t caused any trouble. He didn’t trust the ‘copter and the triple changer when they were together with energon.

---

Onslaught entered the rec-room, and saw Swindle and Brawl playing a game. The tank winced at the sight of him, and instantly started rambling.

“Oh, hey boss! Uh, I know I’m due for monitor duty, but Swin said you’re in the room and looked weird, and I didn’t know if I should come in or not, and so I didn’t, because-“

“Be quiet, Brawl!” Onslaught interrupted the tank bluntly.

“Uh… kay.”

Onslaught’s optics roved over to Vortex. The ‘copter stood next to the energon dispenser, a cube in his hand and legs casually crossed.

The dispenser looked okay, but this didn’t mean much. “The report,” Onslaught demanded, and Vortex nodded towards the table. The datapad lay next to the game the others were playing.

“Hmpf.” Onslaught took it, and skimmed over the data.

“You still don’t trust me on the energon refills?” Vortex asked, sounding hurt, but Onslaught knew he wasn’t.

“You stole several gallons of energon and tried to distil it to high grade. You almost blew our HQ up in the process. No, I still don’t trust you on the energon refills!” With the pad, Onslaught stepped to the panel next to the dispenser, behind the tank. He checked the level there, and nodded when it was the same as indicated on the datapad Megatron had sent with Octane.

“I’d have given you a few cubes of it, you know.” Again the mocking hurt tone, and Onslaught had the urge to slap the ‘copter. “Then when you don’t trust me, why didn’t you send Blast Off? Where is he anyway?”

By now, the commander knew Vortex’ games. It wasn’t a question asked casually; Vortex was very curious, and tried to hide it.

There was no reason not to be honest, though. “North Pole,” Onslaught replied shortly, and examined the datapad closer. Octane could have tinkered with it.

“Uhm… why?” It was Swindle who asked.

“I don’t know. But I fully intend to ask him when he comes back.”

“How-“

“Hey, North Pole!” Brawl interrupted Vortex, shouting excitedly, and probably grinned behind that mask. “Then he sees penguins, right?”

Two visors and one pair of optics stared at the tank who started shifting on his chair.

“I uh… think they’re funny. They walk so weird…”

“I see,” Onslaught responded dryly, but before he could say more, Brawl rambled once more.

“I saw a documentation once, you know. I thought something else would be aired, but I was kinda wrong and I only kept watching because they’re so funny. Hey, do you know why polar bears don’t eat penguins?”

At that, Brawl actually looked at Swindle, and Onslaught shook his head a little. Well, it seemed at least one of the team wasn’t very affected by the whole situation.

“Uh… no, why?”

Swindle glanced help seeking at the commander, but Onslaught just shrugged. Vortex’ shoulders and rotors trembled in what was most certainly laughter.

“I have no idea,” the tank continued cheerfully. “It’s some human joke, or so, but I don’t get it. I thought you might know because of you hu-“

“Brawl,” Swindle didn’t let the tank finish the sentence. “I think you should go to the control room. You’re on monitor duty after all, right?”

“Oh, yeah, right. On my way boss.” Brawl nodded once, took his still-full cube, and hurried out.

Swindle still stared at the unfinished game, trying to act like nothing had happened, but Onslaught knew exactly why the businessmech had stopped Brawl from saying more. Swindle had business contacts to several humans of which Onslaught didn’t approve.

He decided not to mention that now, however. The gestalt leader had enough problems to deal with, and as long as Swindle didn’t sell them for spare parts again, he tried not to be too annoyed by it.

“Vortex, I want you to clean the weapon locker. And Swindle, I’m still missing the report from the training three days ago. I want it in the evening.” Onslaught gave the orders and, fortunately, no one protested this time.

Except for Blast Off, Onslaught knew how to keep his house in order! He’d need to find a way how to deal with the former shuttle.

He left the rec-room and was on his way to his office when Astrotrain commed him.

//ETA 4.2 kliks.// That was all he said, but the commander valued the other’s lack of chatter. He changed his directed, and headed to the entrance.

---

Onslaught waited outside for Astrotrain to transform. The triple changer shuttle hovered over the base, the cargo hold open, while Blast Off stepped out and flew down.

When Astrotrain was in root mode as well, the noise of thrusters ebbed.

Blast Off approached Onslaught, he seemed tired, and the gestalt leader didn’t feel sorry for him. It was his own fault, and a stupid idea at that.

“You went AWOL,” Onslaught said coldly, his arms crossed.

“I did.” Blast Off’s voice was weird. It was as hollow as over the commline, and even out of character for someone as aloof as the former shuttle.

“That’s all you have to say?” Onslaught tensed. He wanted an explanation, and he wanted it without asking for one.

But apparently, he had to, because Blast Off kept quiet. He just looked in front of him, optics seemingly unfocused, emptily staring at Onslaught’s chest.

“Why did you go AWOL, and why to the North Pole of all places?” The commander’s growled question was accompanied with an engine rumble, and he was sure it would have even made Vortex back up.

But Blast Off didn’t move. And he didn’t answer. He just stood there in front of Onslaught, and made the gestalt leader’s temper boil.

“Answer me!” Another growl, more dangerous this time, but Blast Off didn’t even wince.

This insubordination and apparent apathy made Onslaught almost overlook that Blast Off had been a shuttleformer once. He was now smaller than him, the mutual respect forgotten for a moment when this whole situation got the better of him.

“Answer me!” Onslaught spat, and in his anger he forgot that they weren’t alone. He lashed out. His fist hit the heliformer’s face and caused Blast Off to stumble a step back.

It was then that Onslaught realised what he’d done, a dent on Blast Off’s cheek evidence of the punch. The surprise was only underlying, more present was the rage as Blast Off still didn’t react.

The former shuttle just stood there, now a little away from him, but still with a blank expression and no sign of wanting to reply. There wasn’t even tension in the smaller frame, which should have been there. Tension that always was there in Blast Off’s frame when he had to deal with people, even with Onslaught.

It wasn’t as though the heliformer seemed relaxed, he just appeared absent - like a mere drone.

It was worrisome, and Onslaught didn’t know how to deal with it other than shaking the mech, or slapping him again.

He restrained himself from doing so, and only glared at Blast Off.

“You’re dismissed, and restricted to your quarters. You’re not allowed to leave them before I say so, do you understand?” Onslaught’s voice was threatening, even if he didn’t know what he’d do to the mech if he left base again.

It was a surprise that Blast Off actually nodded at that. He didn’t look up, though. The former shuttle’s steps seemed even more exhausted than before. Onslaught clenched his hand to a fist, and hoped the mech wouldn’t become unconscious on the way. He wasn’t in the mood to pick him up again.

“You’re done?” Astrotrain asked when Blast Off had gone inside; the sudden voice made Onslaught wince.

The triple changer came closer, and the gestalt leader eyed him suspiciously. “What are you still doing here?”

He didn’t like other people seeing the trouble his team sometimes had, whether it was them working together, or just getting along in general.

“Megatron wants a report ASAP.” Astrotrain shrugged, and held a datapad out to him. “Soundwave’s already written a bit and you only need fill some parts.”

With an annoyed grunt, Onslaught took the pad and activated it. He typed on it, then read what was already written there while Astrotrain waited, his arms crossed.

“Because it was more like space,” the triple changer said out of the blue, startling the commander.

“What?” Onslaught’s optics narrowed behind the visor as he looked up.

“The reason why Blast Off was at the North Pole. Because the air is cooler and clearer, it’s more like space. And there’s the Aurora Borealis.”

Onslaught frowned. Northern Lights - he knew Blast Off liked to see them from space, so it made sense. It was still irritating that Blast Off had seemed to speak to Astrotrain but now to him.

“Did you ask him, or did he tell you by himself?”

“He didn’t say anything. But if I couldn’t go to space for a while, the poles are the places I’d go.”

“I see.” Onslaught looked back at the datapad, and continued typing.

Astrotrain let him work for a bit longer than a klik, before he broke the silence once more.

“You’re going to lose him.”

This time, Onslaught kept his optic on the pad. This was unnerving in itself, he didn’t need some triple changer putting his nose in their team business. “Is that so?” he asked, challenging the other. Who knew, maybe Astrotrain had something useful to say, although the gestalt leader doubted it.

The triple changer’s intakes vented air loudly. “I’m just saying that he needs his old frame back.”

“So, and why is that? You think he’s going to commit suicide, or what?” Considering what Blast Off had just done today, it wasn’t really false to expect that. The other’s reply was still a surprise.

“Not actively, but like I said, you’re going to lose him.”

At that, the commander glanced up once more. “What do you mean by that exactly?”

Astrotrain shrugged. “You’ve seen him. He’s not right. It’s not his fault, though, it’s his frame. His processor and the frame aren’t compatible, and they never will be, no matter how much time passes.”

“And you know that how?”

“Because I’ve seen it on Cybertron before.” This time, the triple changer’s voice was irritated as well as bitter. “Shuttleformers are called subspecies for a reason.”

Onslaught frowned. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t believe Astrotrain, it was more that he worried the triple changer was right.

He filled the last parts of the form, and deactivated it. “Why do you care anyway?” Onslaught gave Astrotrain the pad back.

“He’s a friend.”

Onslaught couldn’t suppress the amused huff and dry snort. “Blast Off doesn’t have friends.”

He got a huff in return, and a shake of the triple changer’s head. “Well, that’s what he says.” Astrotrain nodded, and turned. He lazily raised a hand in a goodbye wave, and added. “Take care of your team.” Then, Astrotrain took off.

Onslaught kept standing there for another moment, tense, and angry, but also afraid.

He'd need to keep an optic on the former shuttle.

---

The door of Onslaught’s office opened without a knock or a ping.

The commander grunted, but didn’t bother to scold Vortex when he stepped in.

“Sit down.”

Nothing in the ‘copter’s movements or gesture revealed how he felt about this. After Astrotrain had gone, Onslaught had summoned Vortex without saying anything about why.

“So, what’s up?” The ‘copter sat down casually, and slouched on the chair.

“Sit straight!” The commander had no patience for Vortex’ misbehaviour.

“Heh, make me.”

An anti-aircraft engine revved loudly, and Onslaught’s visor brighten. “I’m not in the mood. Sit straight!”

“Wow, aren’t you testy today,” Vortex muttered, and slowly rearranged himself to sit there like a normal Cybertronian. “If you don’t wanna frag, then what do you want?”

The gestalt leader resisted to snort a laugh. Apparently the other came with the wrong expectations. Though, Onslaught was sure that Vortex wouldn’t be disappointed for long if he got to know his task.

He pinged the ‘copter for a data transfer, and Vortex accepted, tilting his head. Then, after an astrosecond, the red visor lit up.

“Is that…?”

“Yes,” Onslaught confirmed, “it’s the base’s override key code. I want you to keep an optic on Blast Off.”

“Uh, okay.” Vortex shrugged, and continued with an amused voice. “You’re afraid he’s going to fly to the South Pole the next time?”

“I don’t know where he could go, and I don’t care. I want him to stay in his room, and you’re going to ensure he will.”

“And you gave me the code for what exactly?”

“Like I said, keep an optic on him, and do so in his quarters. I gave you the code because I don’t think he’s going to open the door for you.” Onslaught leant back, and crossed his arms. “Don’t get too excited about the code, though. You know the system logs every time and location when and where it’s used, and I will change it soon.”

Vortex’ visor flickered. “Woah, wait. How long do you want me to stay with Blast Off?”

“As long as it takes.”

“As what takes?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell me.”

The ‘copter sat still, and rotor blades stopped quivering. “What is this about?”

Onslaught’s vents heaved air loudly in an exhausted sigh. “I want you to test him. He’s acting out of character, and I want to know why, or what it takes to make him act normal again.”

Onslaught saw Vortex’ gears working, then the visor flickered. “You’re giving me the order to annoy Blast Off? What if he’s going to shoot me?”

“If he shoots you, then it means he’s fine. Don’t pretend it would matter to you. And yes, that’s basically what I want you to do. I want you to find out what’s wrong, and how we can change it. I want a result quickly.”

Vortex nodded, but the rotors didn’t tremble as Onslaught had expected. “What if there’s no easy way to make him act normal again?”

The gestalt leader tensed. He knew what Vortex meant by that, and he didn’t like the implications. “We'll burn that bridge when we come to it. Dismissed.”

With a last nod, Vortex stood up and left.

Chapter Text

Vortex resisted the temptation to use the override code on Swindle’s room, and went straight to Blast Off’s quarters.

There was no need to try to ping the former shuttle, or to knock. Vortex typed the code into the small console, feeling smug while doing so, and waited till the tiny light turned green.

It only took an astrosecond or two, but even that seemed too long for the impatient ‘copter. It wasn’t often that he was allowed to upset one of his team mates.

He pushed the other button harder than necessary, and the door slid open.

Vortex was greeted by space.

A half transparent black cloud floated in the room like mist, blocking the view of most of what was inside. It wasn’t completely dark, though, and had a few bright spots and whirls in different colours.

Vortex had seen it before. The day when Swindle had repaired that old projector he’d got from who knew where. He didn’t know the businessmech had given it to Blast Off. And he hadn’t expected the former shuttle to really use it.

Vortex resisted an annoyed vent of air. It didn’t matter now. He was the one with the override code and the mission.

“Get out,” Vortex heard Blast Off say before he’d even stepped in.

With a shrug, 'Vortex ignored his team mate's demand, and closed the door behind him. “Sorry, can’t do.” His tone was much too amused, and he knew the former shuttle wouldn’t like it.

Blast Off only huffed at that.

With the light of the corridor gone, the room was almost completely dark. The hologram of space was confusing, and even more so because it parted when Vortex walked through it.

He reached the desk that stood next to Blast Off’s berth, and sat down on the chair.

In his peripheral vision, Vortex saw the cloud closing where he’d split it, but he paid more attention to the two energon rations on the table.

"Did you refuel?" he asked, and drew one leg to his body, placing the foot on the edge of the chair.

Through the black mist, he saw Blast Off's frame shrug. The other heliformer lay on the berth, on his back, and just stared at the ceiling. It was a disconcerting view.

"Did Onslaught give you my code?" the former shuttle wanted to know, and Vortex listened closely. There was something wrong with Blast Off's voice. Something he couldn't quite place yet.

"Nope," Vortex said proudly, pretending everything was right. "He gave me the base's override key."

"Why would he do something stupid like that," Blast Off huffed, and caused Vortex to grin.

"I had to get in here, right? And I don't think Ons has your code, so..."

"You had to get in here?" Blast Off's frown was audible. "That means you’re my guard now, or what? Is Onslaught afraid I'll leave again?"

"Kinda," the 'copter lied, and sounded cheerfully. "He's also kinda pissed, so maybe you having to deal with me is also sorta punishment? I dunno. I'm just following orders."

"'course you do." There was a muttering, and it was clear that Blast Off knew Vortex enjoyed this.

"Yeah, anyway. Did you refuel? I didn't catch your answer."

"Hmpf." Blast Off shook his head, but didn't say more.

Shifting on his chair, fanning his rotors, Vortex tapped against one of the cubes. There was a ping-sound that made him giggle. He poked it a few more times, repeatedly, and eventually Blast Off's engine revved.

"Stop that!"

"Did you refuel?"

"No. I drank a whole cube yesterday. I don't need to."

It was a lie, and Vortex knew it. "Well, you couldn't have drunk the full cube that is here. And I think I remember something about you flying to the North Pole and someone else having to bring you back?"

Vortex left Blast Off time for an annoyed grunt before he continued. "If you don't refuel, I will do it. And by that I mean I'll feed you - with my mouth." Oh, that idea was so tempting, it made Vortex' rotor blades quiver. His glossa flicked against his lip at the thought of Blast Off lip plates against his, and he could hardly suppress the disappointed sigh when the former shuttle sat up.

"Idiot." He growled almost inaudibly, and a black hand took one of the cubes.

"Spoilsport," Vortex said, much too happy to truly mean it.

Blast Off merely shrugged at that while he drank quickly. More than half of the cube was empty when he put it down again, and for a short moment, the purple visor flickered, and Vortex briefly saw black rotor blades shuffle. To refuel that fast when the energy level was really low did that sometimes to a mech. Vortex liked it, the feeling of warmth spreading, a faint wave of restlessness coming and going very quickly, tingling all along the rotor blades to their tips.

Vortex shifted on his chair again; his fingers flexed as rotors kept quivering. He wanted to touch the other, not just to test and annoy him, but for purely selfish reasons. Vortex had been ordered to irritate Blast Off to make him act normally again, and there was hardly anything that irritated the other more than being coaxed into a frag.

Vortex stood up with a grin on his face. He'd know soon if Blast Off was acting normal. And regardless of whether he said yes or no, Vortex was sure he'd have some fun.

---

Vortex hadn't been very successful with annoying Blast Off, but was very much so with his own pursuit of pleasure.

He woke up lying on his side on Blast Off's berth. The other lay a bit away, their plating didn't touch, but they were still connected.

A grin built on Vortex' lips when his processor booted up fully, and memory banks onlined.

Yes, he'd had fun last recharge cycle. And Blast Off hadn't even wanted him to leave. Well, at least the former shuttle hadn't spat anything or threatened him with his rifle or sword, so Vortex had just assumed it was okay for him to stay. Not that he'd have left. He still had orders.

Vortex resisted a snicker, but couldn't hinder his rotors from shuddering.

Blast Off's rotor blades were close to him. With the former shuttle lying on his front, they hovered almost over Vortex. And they were so tempting.

Oh, sleeping Blast Off in general was so very tempting.

Slowly, Vortex raised his hand, and pulled the closest rotor blade down a little. His fingers kneaded the tip, and he let his field flare from his hand so it brushed over the metal. The blades twitched, and he sensed a slight movement.

Vortex looked at Blast Off, searching for any sign that he was awake. But from what he knew through the connection and the unmoving frame, it seemed the other heliformer was still in recharge.

Usually, Vortex would have thought twice about what he was about to do, because he'd have to be careful of risking Blast Off not talking to him for orns. But he had orders this time, right? It wouldn't be his fault, Onslaught was to blame.

With that in mind, Vortex shuffled on the berth, and sat up. He still had the tip between his fingers, and only let go after another pinch and field flare. Moving slowly, Vortex rearranged himself, straddling Blast Off's thighs without touching them.

The 'copter shuffled his own rotors; they quivered, and he couldn't stop himself from sending a burst of energy and data through the connection. His interface cable twitched, and a tingling need made itself present.

Blast Off's response was a wavering EM field flare, the energy signature transmitting drowsiness. It didn't put Vortex off, though. It was just an evidence that the other's processor hadn't booted up yet.

A shudder run down Vortex' back struts, partly from building arousal, partly from anticipation as to how Blast Off would react. He placed two fingers on the middle of the rotor hub, stroking it lightly, drawing lazy cycles on the metal as he sent another surge through the interface.

This time, the reaction was stronger. An answering rush spread slowly, not as intense as when Blast Off had been awake, but still noticeable. Hot sensation gathered in Vortex' interface array, and his field flared strongly without his conscious intent causing Blast Off's field to flare back.

It was so encouraging, so tempting to just increase the stream and fire Vortex' own arousal into the former shuttle; it was so hard to resist. It took Vortex a few astroseconds to convince himself that it'd be so much better if this was slow, to enjoy the built up and teasing pleasure.

His denta clenched as he bent down. He continued to slowly send charge and data, and trace circles on the flat metal of the hub while he stroked a rotor blade with his other hand. It was the one rebuilt to a sword, but the sharp edge wasn't there like Vortex had expected. It didn't cut his finger while he felt the narrowest edge, but he sensed the sensor node clusters within the metal. Applying more pressure there, letting his field seep into the plating, Vortex bit back a groan. It wasn't just the fact that he was touching another rotary - that he was touching Blast Off - it was also the sensations that came across the interface. With their systems synched, due to the gestalt program and having such similar frames, it was almost as though Vortex was touching his own blades. Sensor nodes on his rotors lit in pleasure and heated up, just like the metal between his fingers.

"Huh?" A questioning sound made Vortex glance back at Blast Off's face. The purple optics flickered dimly, but there wasn't much else to see. Most of the former shuttle's face was buried in the crook of his elbow, the hand lying next to the helm tensed.

"Good morning," Vortex said happily, with static in his voice and a grin on his face.

"Hmm?" The response was only another incoherent mumble, and obviously a signal not to stop.

That's how Vortex interpreted it, at least, and he had no intention to think twice about this conclusion. He increased the energy stream a little, and when Blast Off sent stronger bursts back it just confirmed that he was right.

The other's data was filled with drowsiness and also some confusion. It caused Vortex to be slightly dizzy, but it also increased the rising charge.

The grin was still on the 'copter's face when he retracted his battle mask, and leant even further down. His lip plates brushed over Blast Off’s neck cables where he could reach them, up to the jaw joint and to the cheek. There was a small dent. Vortex knew the place. He himself had a dent there sometimes after Onslaught had hit him.

The idea of Onslaught and Blast Off not getting along was odd, and Vortex hated it that it made him uncomfortable.

He revved his engine hard, sent the vibrations into the rotor blades beneath, making them twitch and Blast Off shiver. Then Vortex’ lips pressed gently onto the dented metal. He parted his mouth only slightly, letting his glossa flick out, he traced along the new form of the plates. The hot metal tasted smooth and, being so close to Blast Off’s face, Vortex heard a suppressed moan.

Slag, this was hot.

Finally, Vortex gave in to the urge that he'd had since that day on Tlalak.

He brushed his lip plates over the cheek a last time, almost sensually, before he sat up, sliding down Blast Off’s tights, his face over the rotor blades.

His glossa touched the bracket that held the rotor in place, dug into a seam there, and then he licked over the full length of the blade.

Beneath him, Blast Off shuddered. Vortex heard a faint whimper, and the energy surges increased.

He moaned against the rotor when the feedback reached him and his own blades. They quivered more intensely, and both their fields ground against - almost invaded - each other. It was when Vortex bit the blade's tip that their fields mingled to one, and Blast Off arched into Vortex.

Blast Off groaned, vents working louder, and intakes hitched as the engine revved. The rotors pressed against Vortex' chest and he felt the vibrations of the engine beneath.

"Frag yes," Vortex hissed. He clutched at Blast Off's interface panel, brushed his own connector by accident and caused another strong rush of arousal flooding him. Blast Off's rotor blades twitch beneath him, touched the chest plating where hot air was vented over them by Vortex' cooling fans. He felt the hot gusts himself due to the utter synchronisation and a wonderfully intense feedback loop.

And Blast Off urged even closer. The former shuttle had turned his head, the optics not visible any more with his face now buried in the berth, fingers clutching at the soft covering. The sound of suppressed whimpers and moans was almost inaudible under Vortex' own noises, but he still heard them, felt their vibrations reverberating through the other's frame.

It was maddening. Even with the energy stream being not that quick, it was still so much, so arousing to have things Vortex had always wanted.

He stroked over the hot plating of Blast Off's interface hardware once more, then fingers travelled further down. They found their way between the other's abdominal plating and the berth when Blast Off arched up, lifting himself off the berth.

Oh frag yes, this was it. This was just so good.

Pleasure increased along with the physical contact when Vortex pressed Blast Off closer. His fingers curling against Blast Off's plating, their energy fields buzzing with charge, and Vortex' other hand squeezing a rotor.

Vortex wanted to enjoy this, but even more so, he wanted Blast Off to enjoy it. To make him comfortable with what he was now, and make him to want more of what Vortex could give him. And with what he sensed through the connection, and the energy signature, he was headed in the right direction.

Another gasp, then a vocal moan from Blast Off. Vortex bit the tip of a blade once more, and his hand began wandering. From the abdomen back to the seemingly glowing interface panel, up the side to the shoulder. Vortex' fingers dug under the plating there, stroked cables beneath, and he increased the intensity of his part of the mingled field. More noises followed, his own and Blast Off's.

His hand stroked down the other's arm to the wrist, where once the head shield stood out. It wasn't his intention to tease the plating there, it wasn't as sensitive as it was before, but Vortex' processor was clouded by pleasure and contagious drowsiness, and Blast Off reacted just like he wanted him to.

A needy whine emerged from the other's vocaliser, and black fingers clutched harder into the berth, scraped over it when charge rose, and waves of sensations rolled over them more quickly.

Vortex pressed his forehead against Blast Off's back, right under the neck; his optics flickered in arousal, and static ringed in his audials, combined with the hoarse noises.

It was an intoxicating ride.

When overload came, it was like the peak of a trip on stimulant drugs - a wave of pleasure, lighting up sensors nodes randomly and with various intensity. The rotor blades against Vortex’ chest plating went rigid, seemed to heat even more just like Vortex’ did. It was like hot liquid flowing through them, and channelling back from the hub into the rest of his body. Two vocalisers shrieked with static; one gave in, and the drowsiness morphed into a temporary ecstasy as charge surged back and forth.

It all ebbed much too quickly, and thoughts became clearer again. The post-overload was amplified by the still-synchronised systems, and Blast Off’s drowsiness came back. At least for a while, until the former shuttle’s systems booted up fully, and their frames calmed down.

Vortex hadn’t moved. He didn’t see the point when his current position was very comfortable and included having Blast Off lying very vulnerable beneath him where he could touch him all he wanted.

And while this was very appealing, it was also not right.

Blast Off was meant to say something at least. About the continued rotor stroking, and Vortex’ hand that still rested on his arm. Or about lying on him, on his rotor hub, and blowing air over the blades, and the glossa that flicked against the plaiting under Blast Off’s neck.

But Blast Off kept quiet, and he didn’t even react. He could have pushed Vortex off, or disconnected them…

It wasn’t right.

“You know you could throw me off and pin me down?” Vortex murmured, his lip plates brushing over the dark plating.

He felt Blast Off shrug, and a hoarse voice answered. “I’m weak.”

Vortex frowned, it was neither like Blast Off to admit something like this, nor to let Vortex have his way.

“Well, you can cuff me down? I have some, just say a word and I’ll let you use them.” Actually, the idea of being tied to the berth and Blast Off being over him was very nice. Charge rippled through him once more, and he didn’t bother to hide it.

But again, the former shuttle didn’t react to it, at least not like he used to, and only shrugged once more.

“Just be quiet. And stop touching me,” was the verbal protest, but it didn’t sound as resolute and demanding as usual - just hollow.

“Make me.”

Blast Off didn’t move.

This was becoming frustrating. Vortex sat up, and heaved his chest off the rotor hub as he glanced down at Blast Off. The face was still half hidden by the arm, and only a part of the visor could be seen; it was dimmed.

“You didn’t throw me out yesterday.” Vortex went for a direct approach, and earned himself just another weak twitch of shoulders. It was annoying. “And you didn’t shoot me when I-” Vortex searched for emphasising words, “-woke you up. Why?”

At that, Blast Off turned his head a little, and Vortex could see the frown behind the parted visor. The optics behind it were unfocused and empty.

“Hm.” Once more, the former shuttle shrugged. “I don’t know.” Blast Off hid his face again, and his optics switched offline. “I guess because that way, at least I felt something.”

---

Vortex walked along the empty corridor, an energon cube in his hand. He knew he’d abandoned his post, but Blast Off had fallen back into recharge. It hadn’t seemed he was going to wake up soon, let alone go anywhere.

The other heliformer had been only apathetic.

It was annoying.

And more so, it wasn’t Blast Off.

Vortex didn’t bother to knock or to ping Onslaught for access to his office, and used the override code on the door.

“Hi,” he greeted his superior casually, and sat in the chair in front of the desk.

Onslaught just looked. The datapad in his had glowed, and the energon cube on the table was empty. There was also a part of Onslaught’s gun under a cloth, and it made Vortex wonder if he was simply cleaning it, or if he'd modified his weapon.

“Hello Vortex, yes, come in and take a seat,” Onslaught said, and leant back. He didn’t cross his arms like Vortex had expected, so he probably had expected Vortex to come.

Onslaught didn’t give Vortex time to answer with equal sarcasm, and demanded. “Report.”

The ‘copter sipped from his cube and tried to find the right words. Not the right words to describe what Blast Off’s situation was, but how he could press the topic in the right direction…

“Blast Off won’t go anywhere. I’m very sure all his will to go AWOL again is gone,” he said, phrasing it like this so as not having to say the other heliformer was broken. “I’m also sure this has nothing to do with you having hit him.”

Onslaught tensed at this, but Vortex thought the commander should have known he’d find out about that.

“Actually,” Vortex continued, “I think any will to do anything is gone. He just lies on his berth. He didn’t even refuel after he came back yesterday.” Vortex drank slowly from his energon cube, then shrugged.

“What did you do to him?”

“I fragged him. Twice,” Vortex grinned, and let Onslaught huff in annoyance, before he continued. “I could touch him, and I did, a lot, without him protesting.” It wasn’t the complete truth since Blast Off had protested once, verbally, and weakly, so the ‘copter though this didn’t really count. “I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“You don’t say.”

This time, Vortex puffed a huff from his vents, sounding irritated. “I mean seriously wrong. He’s not right.”

Onslaught just stared, so Vortex spoke again.

“I don’t know what, but something happened to him. It’s some big slag.” It was slag, and Vortex wanted the old Blast Off back. The grumpy one, who pushed him away if he got too close, or – which was much more fun – who pinned him down, loomed over him and fragged him hard. The one that made his rotor blades glow, not the other way around.

Having another rotary around was great. Vortex missed that sometimes, someone who he understood completely, to have a system to synch with. But if he had to choose between a boring, apathetic heliformer, and a grumpy, intriguing, hot shuttle, he’d choose the latter.

“Seems there’s no easy way to make him act normal again,” Vortex concluded, his optics fixed on Onslaught, expression expectant.

For a moment, they were quiet.

“What did Megatron say exactly?” Vortex wanted to know, causing his commander to frown.

The bigger mech vented air deeply. “Due to the energon shortage, it’s questionable when, and if the Decepticons have the resources to turn Blast Off back into a shuttleformer. Megatron ordered the Constructicons to focus on any glitches that may occur, and to stop their researches regarding rebuilding a new frame.”

Vortex tilted his head. “So… he didn’t say anything about us not being allowed to get enough energon to turn him back?”

The visor hid it, but the ‘copter knew Onslaught was frowning. “You know he’s glad we’re weaker now. Even if we get enough energon of our own, the Constructicons won’t help us. They-“ Onslaught stopped mid-sentence, and his visor lit up. Fingers tensed, and the cannon barrels on his back shifted.

Vortex’ optics flickered. The image of the Constructicons betraying them wasn’t very nice, and they weren’t really in a position to threaten them. Drinking from his cube, Vortex waited impatiently while Onslaught thought up his plan.

The gestalt leader was certainly making up something. He had to, the ‘copter thought, and hindered himself from tapping his foot on the floor.

Vortex didn’t pay attention how much time passed. He’d just begun spinning his tail rotor and finished his energon cube when suddenly Onslaught stood up.

Able to suppress wincing, Vortex couldn’t stop his rotors from flexing as he glanced at his commander, waiting for an explanation.

He didn’t get one, though.

“Follow me,” were Onslaught’s only words as he left the office quickly.

Not having to be told twice, Vortex jumped off the chair.

“Where’re we going?” he asked, trying to catch up with Onslaught. They headed to the hallway with the private quarters – or at least where Swindle’s room was.

“Huh?” Vortex raised an optical ridge when Onslaught pressed some buttons on the control console, and the door slid open. The commander entered, but the ‘copter refused. He did peek inside, though, seeing a surprised Swindle chewing on energon treats – where did he get them? – and Brawl watching TV, appearing bored.

“Swindle,” Onslaught’s voice was imperative, “approach your human contacts in the Middle East-“

“I don’t have any-“ Swindle interrupted as he tried to protest, but couldn’t finish.

“I know you do. Tell me when you've heard from them. It’s urgent. Brawl!”

The tank sat up, glancing from Swindle to Onslaught to Vortex, and then to their commander again. His battle mask moved, but no sound emerged, and Onslaught continued. “Take care Blast Off stays in his room, and be on stand-by. I’ll soon need your expertise with explosives.”

Brawl beamed at that, but before anyone could say more, Onslaught stomped out.

Vortex’ optics flickered. Brawl shrugged. Swindle seemed to try to ignore the ‘copter.

“What’s this about?” the tank asked, causing Vortex to grin.

“I think Ons is about to make Blast Off a shuttle again.”

“Oh…” Brawl uttered, then the gestalt leader’s voice echoed loudly through the hallway.

“Vortex!”

“Hehe, gotta go.” The ‘copter left the door open when he turned, and ran after Onslaught. He couldn’t not aggravate Swindle at least a little.

The commander really was in a hurry, Vortex thought as he tried to keep up.

They reached the control room where Onslaught pointed at a corner. “Go there and be quiet!”

Vortex would have liked to protest. But he knew when Onslaught was in that mood, it’d be unwise. Plus, this all was about rebuilding Blast Off to a shuttle again, so he did as being told without commenting.

Onslaught typed on the console, and the screen flickered to life. It displayed the control room on the Nemesis with Skywarp staring back at them, bored.

“Onslaught, what a surprise,” the seeker said, not hiding how much, or little, he thought of the commander. Standing in his corner, Vortex couldn’t be seen, but - from a weird angle - he had the chance to watch what happened.

“Skywarp,” Onslaught’s voice was as excited as Skywarp’s, just even more condescending so that Vortex had to bite back a snort.

“We need Astrotrain,” the gestalt leader continued, and caused the seeker to sit up, frowning.

“What now? Got you ex-shuttle lost again? Maybe you should put him on a leash.” Skywarp laughed about his own joke. Vortex didn’t think it was funny.

“No. I need him to bring Vortex to medbay.”

Skywarp’s laugh stopped, and Vortex beamed.

“He can fly himself,” Skywarp insisted.

“No, he can’t. His rotors are damaged.” The ‘copter’s blades twitched at that. “And we don’t have the resources any more to carry him to the Nemesis ourselves.”

“You know Megs won’t like that, right? What happened this time?”

“Training accident,” Onslaught answered promptly, causing Skywarp to huff.

“Yeah, right, as if…”

Onslaught’s engine growled at that, but he didn’t need to say anything more when the seeker added quickly. “I’ll send Astrotrain over, and contact the Constructicons. They’ll be so happy to repair one of your psycho ‘copters again. I mean, seriously. One was bad enough, and now you have two.” Skywarp shook his head, and vented a dry laugh. “I honestly don’t envy you.”

“They have their qualities,” Onslaught commented. “And Vortex is still conscious, so you probably don’t want him to hear your opinion.”

The seeker’s wings tensed, Vortex could see it. It made him grin, and maybe - just maybe - he’d have some time to show the mech he’d heard what he said about him. Not that he minded so much being called psycho ‘copter, but if people thought that about him, how well he could live up to that reputation…

“Whatever. Astrotrain will ping you when he’s there.”

Onslaught nodded at that, and shut down the communication line.

With Skywarp gone, Vortex stepped out of the corner, rotor blades trembling slightly. “But my rotors aren’t damaged?” he pointed out, having a certain scenario in mind.

“No, they’re not. Yet.”

Onslaught was fast. Not as fast as Vortex couldn’t have fought back, but just because he could, didn’t mean he wanted to.

A hand closed around his throat, and he was pressed against the wall. The commander’s big frame close to him, he felt the warm vents of air.

A grin built on Vortex’ faceplates, and his hand clutched at the arm that pinned him. “Yet?” he choked out, the pressure on his neck cables slowing the energon flow to his processor and straining his vocaliser.

“Yet.” It was a simple answer, but the ‘copter could tell from Onslaught’s tone as well as his body language that he was smirking.

Vortex giggled, and then howled in static. A hot pain spread from beneath his rotor hub into every limb, and made his vision fuzzy. The sensation morphed to a pulsating ache, causing him to moan and arch into Onslaught. His free hand clutched at the commander’s side, not searching for the interface panel, but he could only barely resist doing so.

Onslaught leaned closer. Their energy fields touched, and whatever it was that was stuck in his back, Onslaught moved it, loosening the rotor hub and straining his sensor net.

“We’ll need Octane in on that,” the commander mumbled close to Vortex’ audial, static in the voice that made the quivering of rotors increase.

“Why?” Vortex ground out, writhing in the tight grip, and urging the object deeper.

“Energon transport,” Onslaught replied shortly, withdrawing the hand and the pointy item, only to stab out again, burying it hard in a sensor cluster.

A keen left Vortex’ vocal circuits, and his visor lit up, flickered, and eventually dimmed.

“Yours and Blast Off’s cargo holds won’t be enough.”

Vortex could hardly concentrate on the words, the sensation slowing his processing power. The hand on Onslaught’s lower arm tightened around the metal, and his fingers on the commander’s side dug into the seam of the interface panel.

He managed to nod. “You know he’ll want to get paid for his help…”

Onslaught pressed their chest plating flush together, and his energy field flared hotly. Vortex answered with his own field extending, making sure to transmit the arousal and want, and his need for a bit more pain – just a little bit more…

“Well,” Onslaught rasped, “then convince him to accept a payment you can give…” The anti-aircraft vehicle's engine revved hard. Vibrations rattled through Vortex and the object stuck in his back. A rotor was bent, and then a hand grabbed his rotor hub, pulling it in the direction it was not meant to move. Gears and shafts broke, the pain intensified wonderfully, and Vortex couldn’t hinder himself from moaning.

He nodded again as much as he was able while still being pinned by the throat. “Whatever you want.” The words were strained, staticky, and he would do whatever Onslaught wanted as long as he didn’t stop.

Onslaught’s engine growled again, the gusts of air hotter by now, and Vortex’ cooling systems were about to switch on. Liquid flowed down his back, dropped on the floor, but the ‘copter didn’t care.

He did care about Onslaught stepping back, however. Without the support of the bigger frame, Vortex almost slid down the wall. His optics flickered, and his vocaliser whined in disappointment.

Onslaught answered his unasked question, an edge of discontent in his tone. “Astrotrain will be here in 0.5 kliks. Follow me!”

“Can’t he wait for like… three kliks?” Sometimes Onslaught did like begging, Vortex could try, right? There was nothing wrong with trying.

Unfortunately, at this moment the commander wasn’t very amenable to begging, and wordlessly left the room.

Vortex uttered a last disappointed whine, and then hurried after him. While walking, the damaged rotor hub and mechanisms in his back hurt, but it didn’t make up for the loss of what could have been.

When they went outside, Astrotrain was already there, hovering over the HQ in alt mode.

Onslaught huffed once, then shook his head, and the triple changer transformed. Vortex glanced from his gestalt leader to Astrotrain and back.

“I don’t wanna hold hands with him. He could’ve got in without me transforming! What is it?” the triple changer sounded annoyed, but Vortex didn’t see a reason to keep quiet.

“Blast Off,” he said, excitedly, and drew Astrotrain’s attention to him. “We’re gonna turn him back!”

Chapter Text

Brawl sat opposite Blast Off in the rec-room.

The atmosphere was weird, and the heliformer was acting odd. He just sat there and sipped his energon, not having spoken a word since he’d left his room.

Not that few words were uncommon for Blast Off, but it just didn’t seem right. There was no comment about Brawl following him, or even a nod, or biting remark about the tank’s presence.

And while Brawl had gotten used to seeing Blast Off’s face plates without battle mask, he didn’t like his expression. It’d always been blank - sort of - but right then, the tank couldn’t help but think it was even less than that. He couldn’t really describe it.

What Brawl could describe were the grey paint streaks on the purple and brown plating. Or better, he could very well imagine how they got there.

The reason included Vortex, and the fact that Blast Off wasn't either eager to scrub the paint, or annoyed at the other heliformer was scary. This wasn't right. Blast Off shouldn't be that indifferent.

The tank shifted on his chair, and watched the other refuel. He wanted to say something, and tell Blast Off what Vortex had said. But he didn't know if Blast Off might already know, or if he didn't and Onslaught didn't want him to know.

Brawl often stepped on someone's pedes because he talked too much, and mentioned things to people who shouldn't know about the things he just mentioned. His optics behind the visor flickered.

"So," Brawl said, as though he had an idea what he wanted to say. He didn't, he just couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Uh, you know, the Dinobot got pretty badly crushed." Brawl tried a grin, although the memory of that day wasn't too pleasant. Even with his gestalt bond closed, he'd sensed that something was off when Blast Off had almost died.

The heliformer only looked up at the words, but did nothing else. There was no answer, no remark, not even a gesture like a shrug or a frown. The lack of response made Brawl even more uncomfortable. Why the pit did he have to stay with Blast Off when the other was so weird?

"Anyway," he added, hastily. Maybe if he changed the topic, Blast Off would say something. "Did you see penguins when you were at the North Pole?"

That earned Brawl a raised optical ridge, but there were still no words, and only a shaking of the head.

"Oh, okay," the tank muttered. "I kinda like how they walk, you know. Uh, what did you see there?"

Blast Off staring was the only response.

After a moment, the former shuttle turned his gaze back to the energon cube, and Brawl decided that it was futile to get a reaction from the heliformer.

It hurt - somewhere, where he couldn't scratch it off, or weld it together. A feeling Brawl sometimes had when their team didn't act like one. Or when they talked behind his back about his lack of processing power. Which wasn't true. His processor worked just fine, it worked just... differently from theirs.

And now he started to think stupid things again, which made him sad, and it was all Blast Off's fault, because he acted like a drone.

"You're stupid," Brawl muttered, and crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn't remember if he'd ever called Blast Off that, but he didn't care.

And Blast Off obviously didn't care either, because there was no reply.

---

Brawl had to look after Blast Off for the rest of that and the following day.

Though, during the morning, Onslaught had brought him a datapad with a task on it, and so the tank had some distraction from the unresponsive mech.

Onslaught had entered a few chemical recipes. Some of them were just standard gasoline or oil, but a few were really interesting, and could even be used as explosives. Brawl needed to calculate what composition would be the easiest to turn into energon, with the best outcome. It wasn't that hard, but the tank was surprised. One or two of the substances were things he hadn't heard of or worked with since he'd left the military on Cybertron.

One, for example, he knew from missile technology, and he wondered briefly what Onslaught wanted with them.

Brawl did as he was told, and returned the results to their commander in the afternoon when he knew Blast Off had gone into recharge.

Onslaught hadn't said much, only nodded, mentioned he appreciated the quick work, and dismissed Brawl.

It left the tank restless.

Brawl didn't know what was going on, how they'd turn Blast Off back, or where the frag Swindle and Vortex were.

It was annoying, and grated on him as much as the lethargic ex-shuttle.

When he got a message from Onslaught in the evening about a mission briefing the next morning, he almost relaxed. He usually didn’t like mission briefings that much, because he often had to ask once or twice about things he wasn't sure of that earned him a disapproving glance from Blast Off or a snicker from Vortex. Right then, however, it meant an end to this uncertainty, and he welcomed it.

---

Brawl had his elbows on the table, his head resting on his hands while he stared at the place where Onslaught would be in a few kliks. He was bored.

The tank would need to convince their boss that they needed swivel chairs in the briefing room.

Brawl loved swivel chairs. They were fun.

Ordinary chairs weren’t fun. And Blast Off wasn’t fun, either.

The heliformer sat on his usual place, and did nothing. From this far, Brawl couldn’t see the optics behind the visor, but he was sure they were unfocused.

The tank frowned.

This still grated on him. Hopefully, the mission and the fact that Blast Off would be a shuttle again soon would cheer him up.

Swindle arrived. He was earlier than Onslaught, which was unusual, too. And he looked tired.

With a huff, he dropped down on the chair next to Brawl, and shook his head.

“What’s up?” Brawl poked the jeep’s side.

Swindle flinched, and glared. “Nothing. Just Onslaught. Whatever he’s gonna do, I don’t think it’ll work!”

At that Brawl cringed. These words were unwise, but thankfully, their commander hadn’t heard them. They also made Brawl wonder what the businessmech had done all the time he'd been away. He’d left after Ons and Tex had burst into Swindle’s quarters, and had missed Swindle being given his orders. Brawl had tried to comm him, but Swindle hadn’t picked up.

The tank wasn’t angry about that. If Swindle did business, he sometimes isolated himself. It wasn’t very good for the team work, but they could also say that about almost everything Blast Off did.

The way the ex-shuttle acted right then was the best example of that. He hadn’t even greeted Swindle. Not even with a nod.

Not for the first time during the few days Brawl had to watch Blast Off he frowned about the lack of response. Hopefully, this Dinobot experience and the transformation hadn’t done anything irreparable to his processor.

That would be even scarier.

Although most of the scientific things Blast Off talked about were lost on Brawl, he still knew they were important most of the time. They had to be, otherwise Blast Off wouldn’t talk about them.

Or wouldn’t have talked about them, because right then, the heliformer hadn’t talked for days.

Maybe right now it was also because of the memory of what had happened in the briefing room the last time Blast Off was here. Back then, he and Onslaught had had a major fallout

The mission after that had been awful. The boss had been in such a bad mood.

Brawl grimaced when he remembered, and hoped it wouldn’t happen again.

Brawl’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a datapad being slammed on the table, and he glanced at Swindle. The businessmech seemed unusually fragged off, and the tank didn’t know what to do.

This whole situation just got worse all the time. If it’d been up to him, they'd have tried to turn Blast Off back the first day.

“What’s on there?” Brawl asked, despite knowing he probably wouldn’t get an answer.

Swindle opened his mouth, and there was the soft sound of vocal circuitry activating, but the tank didn’t have the chance to find out what the jeep wanted to say.

The door opened, and Brawl and Swindle turned.

Blast Off didn’t move.

Onslaught entered the room, followed by Vortex, who had a spring in his step, and apparently new rotors. They looked still good, without paint streaks or scratches.

Behind Vortex, a third mech came in. He had to go sideways a little, due to his wings – the doors in the Combaticon base weren’t built for mechs with wings of a bigger span. They didn’t need it.

But Octane did.

He didn’t seem to mind, though, because he still grinned his charming smile that Brawl didn’t know if he liked or not.

“Why’s the triple changer here?” he asked, making his disapproval audible. It wasn’t that Brawl didn’t like guests; it was just that he didn’t particularly want them in a briefing that decided the future of one of his team members.

Onslaught glared at him, or maybe not exactly at him but at the whole world, and answered shortly. “We need him.”

Brawl clenched his hand to a fist, but didn’t say more. Their commander’s tone indicated it was better to be quiet.

Opposite him, Vortex sat down next to Blast Off. Their rotor blades touched once, but the former shuttle didn’t even flinch. Brawl noticed Vortex frowning behind the visor glass.

Octane leant against the wall, arms crossed, still smiling. He kept quiet, and his two engines working was the only sound that came from him.

"Fine, now that we're complete, let's begin." Onslaught turned, and activated the screen.

It displayed a map, a tongue of land surrounded by water.

Onslaught zoomed in closer to the east coast.

"This is a part of the state that the humans call 'Florida'. It's the area where they prepare their space crafts and initiate their take offs."

These words eventually caused a reaction in the former shuttle, and Brawl saw him flinch in his peripheral vision.

He even spoke. "What is this mission about?"

Right, Onslaught hadn't told Blast Off yet, and Brawl also hadn't mentioned anything.

At the question, Onslaught huffed. It was an expression of amusement, and condescension, probably towards Megatron - but Blast Off couldn't know that. The former shuttle tensed.

"We're going to go on a secret mission. Megatron doesn't know about it, and this will stay that way until it's unavoidable." The orange visor was fixed on Octane when he said this. Then, Onslaught turned his glance back to Blast Off. "We're going to turn you back into a shuttle, and for that, we need energon!"

The tense frame of the former shuttle became even stiffer. Merely the rotors twitched once.

Brawl was disappointed. He'd hoped Blast Off would show a more enthusiastic reaction.

Onslaught apparently didn't care. He just continued talking about the upcoming mission.

"The next space shuttle lift off is planned for the day after tomorrow." On the screen was a weird looking constellation of rocket boosters and a human space shuttle.

"How are we supposed to fit all in there?" Brawl wondered aloud. They could ride in Blast Off, because even though he had the form of a human shuttle, he still was built to Cybertronian standards. A human shuttle, however, would have been much too small...

Onslaught shook his head, and Vortex snickered, while Swindle nudged Brawl's leg in a comforting manner. Apparently everyone knew what exactly the plan was, except himself and Blast Off.

"We won't fly inside this shuttle," Onslaught replied to the tank's question with an edge of annoyance in his voice.

Blast Off relaxed a little.

"We'll need the fuel of the side rockets to turn into energon. It's the most efficient substance available in the short term. And the Deceptions have never tried to steal from humans space programs before. The Autobots won't expect it, since it's a still rather small amount of energy."

Brawl had another question on the tip of his glossa, but he resisted asking. At least now he knew why they needed Octane. The triple changer would have to transport the APCP - the rockets’ fuel - and change it to energon.

Onslaught explained the plan for the raid. It was a relatively simple “burst in, get the fuel, and get out” thing - quick, and clean.

Brawl was even asked about the substance's consistency, about its reactivity and if it’d blow up when hit by laser fire.

The tank felt rather proud when he could answer Onslaught's query in a professional manner, and could show off some of his expertise - which sadly wasn't needed too often.

When the raid had been talked through, Onslaught switched to another area. A satellite picture showed a recognisable landscape.

"When we have the fuel, we'll use it to power the space bridge. I got the coordinates for Tlalak from Astrotrain. More explanations of this part of the plan will follow when it's time. Now, rest, and prepare yourself." Onslaught glanced from mech to mech, and stopped at Octane. "We'll give you a guest quarter for the time being."

But the triple changer raised a hand. "Ah, no need for that." His optics flicked to Vortex. "Your interrogator still owes me."

Brawl frowned. He didn't know what he meant, and he was sure he didn't want to know.

Onslaught merely shrugged. "Dismissed."

---

Brawl was surprised just how much smaller a human shuttle was.

He sat in alt-mode about a mechamile away from the construction. Of course it looked smaller due to the distance, but even with this calculated in, it was astonishingly tiny compared to Blast Off.

The base was guarded by some humans, but it didn’t appear as though they had heavy artillery to fight back. Brawl thought it was boring, but that way, they’d probably draw less attention to themselves, and neither the Autobots nor Megatron would find out.

The tank could still hope.

The others were in position as well. Octane would come a little later, because Onslaught didn’t want him to be involved in possible fighting. If the triple changer got damaged, they had no way to transport the fuel.

Brawl wiggled a little, and turned his turret when he got bored. His thoughts drifted, pondering on what Onslaught planned next after they had the energon; using the space bridge didn’t explain much.

//Move!// The aforesaid commander’s voice dragged Brawl back to the present, and he started to roll, leaving his cover. His treads crashed over branches and dug a path into the mud.

It was easy for Brawl. He wasn’t fast, but he was built to cross difficult terrain. Like this he could clear the way for his ground bound team mates.

The tank reached the fence. It was high, but the thin metal bent under his weight like paper, and the small current only tickled on his sensors.

Brawl laughed to himself.

Not three astroseconds later, Swindle and Onslaught passed him; the little jeep darted from out of the slipstream. Brawl fired and destroyed a building with a few vehicles close buy, and Swindle was already at the scene when humans ran out, the arm cannon humming threateningly.

Over Brawl, the sound or two sets of rotors echoed through the area, drowning out the screams of humans in pain. Vortex landed close to Swindle, Blast Off headed to the shuttle, just like Brawl.

The tank shot at four more buildings, one of them a hangar, before he transformed, and ran the short remaining distance to the human space craft. Onslaught was already there, attaching a pipe to one of the side rockets.

Blast Off did the same, and Brawl turned to give cover, gun drawn.

But except for buildings still creaking with concrete giving in, and humans crying, there wasn’t much going on. No attack followed; it was the right moment for Octane to arrive.

And the triple changer did.

Brawl had to admit that he’d been worried if Octane would show up at all, since this wasn’t his business, and he might get in trouble with Megatron. Though, when the plane transformed, he grinned. Brawl frowned.

Octane and Onslaught discussed something, while Brawl watched Vortex shooting at helpless humans, giggling after doing so and watching the humans running away.

Swindle shook his head at that, and searched Brawl’s optic contact. The tank just shrugged.

It was Vortex after all…

Despite the ‘copter’s way of having fun, this mission was quiet, and Brawl was bored. Octane was in tanker alt by now, and the fuel of the first rocket had been pumped out.

The tank still tried not to show his boredom, because if Onslaught noticed, he’d get yelled at for letting his concentration slip.

Then, they all tensed.

The boom of a sonic barrier braking drowned out the noise of jet engines.

Brawl counted two jets speeding over them, and saw a third one approaching.

“Blast Off, Vortex!” Onslaught yelled.

Blast Off let go of the pipe – Brawl grabbed it – and transformed. Vortex took off, and changed to alt-mode mid-air. He flew after the two jets that had already passed, while Blast Off challenged the other. It flew low, and not as fast as the others. It seemed to be bigger though.

Just then Brawl realised these were Aerialbots.

His fingers twitched. He wanted to engage in the battle as well. It was unfair that Blast Off and Vortex had all the fun. Maybe he’d have some luck and one of the Aerials would land close by, maybe the slowest of them, the one with the ugly helm.

Brawl shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched Blast Off transform in the air. The rotor blade was already detached, and the tank wondered slightly how this was possible during transformation.

The question became unimportant when Blast Off didn’t fly out of the ‘bots flight path. The heliformer even approached the other, and then they clashed.

Only they didn’t, because Blast Off cut off the Aerialbot’s wing, and rolled under the jet, thrusters still burning.

The metal wing crashed to the ground a little away from the rocket; the Autobot transformed, but couldn’t stay in the air. His frame landed hard about a mile away where Brawl knew was a swamp.

“Brawl, attach the hose!” The tank winced at the command, and did as being told. By now, he knew how to do that, without the hose getting loose again. He’d practised, because Onslaught and Megatron had been angry about that too often.

Octane’s space wouldn’t be big enough to hold all the fuel of the second rocket, but what still fitted in would have to be enough.

Being distracted, Brawl had missed what had happened in the sky, though it couldn’t have been much, because Blast Off landed. The rotor was back at his back, but the rifle was drawn.

Brawl grinned, and was proud and happy that the shuttle used it. After the incident, Brawl had taken care of it, and made it even better. He'd wanted Blast Off to like it when he woke up.

The former shuttle stood unmoving, the rifle pointing at the sky.

Another engine could be heard, but nothing was visible. Blast Off fired anyway, three times, and Brawl tilted his head.

The Aerialbot arrived, and two of the shots hit. The plane crashed at high velocity to the ground.

“Wow…” Brawl couldn’t hide his awe. He hadn’t thought that Blast Off still could fight like this when he’d been so apathetic before. It was actually quite impressive.

“Cut off the hose,” this time, it was Octane who gave the order, and Brawl looked at Onslaught. Only when the gestalt leader nodded, the tank did as he was told.

//Retreat!// Onslaught commed to all of them, just in time for Vortex to arrive.

He was in root mode, and energon covered a lot of his plating. His battle mask was dented, but he appeared quite happy. Brawl couldn’t say, though, if the quivering of rotors was from the wind resistance or from his excitement – probably both.

The other two Aerialbots where nowhere to be seen.

Vortex transformed back to alt-mode, and Onslaught hopped in.

Octane changed to his plane mode, and took off, and Blast Off and Swindle ran towards Brawl.

The former shuttle was their ride, and Swindle glanced around nervously when Blast Off didn’t immediately transform.

It was an odd moment, calm between the still burning buildings and loud humans, with Brawl and Swindle exchanging worried looks.

Blast Off stood next to the human shuttle, staring at it. The heliformer’s arm rose, but before he could touch the metal of the human built, he stopped.

Brawl almost expected Blast Off to damage it, to punch, to slice, or shoot the insentient space craft.

He didn’t do any of that.

He just turned, and took them home.