Chapter Text
Chicago fell back on their ass, still cupping their ears as they groaned in pain. The ringing is unbearable, the sheer volume of that blast was unbelievable!
They were really hoping Betty was right about blue ‘bots being good… how much Chicago realizes they don't know about these giants would be funny if it didn't rupture their ears.
Any mention of them on the TV, and their dad shuts the box off. The most Chicago's seen is glimpses. That, and the stories Tims comes back with.
They lower their hands, blood and fluid in their palms. Chicago cursed, dragging the oil and blood on their pants as they scoop up the tools and run to their car. They have to get home, and fast. The sun already set, their heart pounding as they turn on the ignition. The details of what happened only moments ago slips from their memory, adrenaline settling as the stinging grew. Their hands couch the steering wheel, sore from gripping and pulling harsh metal. They looked a mess, and felt like a fool. Chicago almost didn't wanna drive home; getting caught by their dad looking like this is a fate worse than death.
They pull up into the driveway, swallowing the lump in their throat as tears welled in their eyes. The lights in the house were on, “Shit.” There's no getting out of this. They stand in the driveway with their legs feeling like stone. “Not as bad as the time I tried to sneak out and broke my leg…” They reason with themselves, but the ringing was deafening.
“Who am I kidding? I'm dead.” Chicago slowly steps up to the door, slinging it open and deciding just to run into the restroom before they could be stopped.
They heard their father calling out for them from the other side of the locked door. The disheveled look of themself stares back at them through the mirror. Fluid tickles down their throat from their ears, brown eyes wide and lively as the rest of their visage is scuffed with hot blue– what they previously thought was petrol– and sweat. They could taste their last meal in their mouth, the pain enough to make them hurl into the sink.
What a bad idea… last time they did anything for a transformer.
They turn on the water, letting the acid slip down the drain as they look for a cotton swab. They need the pain in their ear to stop– better yet, they need to make sure their ears are clean. They drop the swab into the sink as their dad breaks the lock on the door.
They instinctively reach for it, but he smacks their head with a callous palm. He's screaming, gripping their shoulders and hysterical. Their hearing is muffled and drowned by that ringing.
Eventually their legs gave way, and their father followed them to the ground. He kept his grip firm, slowing their fall. His anger slowly resolves, his expression softening into a pitiful look. He pulled them into his arms, his voice soft and murky as he rocks them back and forth slowly. He's probably consoling them.
He pushes them away again, holding Chicago's shoulders as his graying mustache curls into a scowl again. His voice is just clear enough for them to process his words. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Why did you hit me?” They can't hear themselves, but they see his brows furrow.
“Y’ don't clean yer ears if they're ruptured, dumb ass. Now answer my question.”
Chicago groans, exhausted, “Can I just go to bed?”
“Not in this state.” He shakes them, “Come on, kid. Answer me.”
They look off, swallowing the bile taste still in their mouth. “I was helping something– someone, I don't know!” Chicago shakes their head, tears plucking at their eyes. “Can I go to bed? Please? I can't even hear myself think!”
Tims stares at them, his lip peeking through the hairs on his face as he pouts. He looks off to the drops of blue fluid on the floor, nodding quickly. “Go'on.” He pats their shoulder.
They rise to their feet, shuffling into their room. Their legs wobble, and they fall onto their rug the moment they shut the door.
They're being a bit dramatic… maybe. They're tired, and the last few days have been long. They were worried about Betty, with how long it's been since they've seen her. They didn't even know what time it was… not to mention how panicked they were dealing with… whatever they did. They want the day to be over.
… Chicago wakes up face down on the floor, the oily fluid on their body sticking nylon hairs to their skin. The carpet stings their forehead where it was buried, and hurts more as they pry themselves from the floor.
The ringing was still there, but subtle. Better than last night, but their hearing was still greatly impaired. They sit on their calves, their eyes lazily trailing op to their clock. It was flashing the numbers at 9:16 am. It must've been blaring for a while, assuming that the sound still works. They crawl to it, shutting it off.
Chicago's in no rush to get out of the house, against better judgement.
They slip into the shower, as they usually would. They make sure to scrub the weird blue fluid off their body. It was as much of a pain as gas is to clean, and the smell of petrol is starting to sink their nostrils.
They dry themselves and get dressed in a button up and pants, dragging their feet into the kitchen.
They see their sister pushing fluffy pancakes in her mouth, spitting them out with a “blegh,” and telling Tims it was burnt.
Chicago saw her dad at the stove, flipping another cake as he nags her to not fuss and eat before she's late. They fall into a chair, staring at the red empty plate in front of them. The two grow silent, watching them.
“Morning, kid.”
“Ey, dad.”
He rummages through his pocket, handing them earplugs. “Why don'tcha wear these for a bit? It should help yer ears.” But he lurches them away when Chicago reaches for them, “And why did yer ears pop anyway?”
“I was fixing one of them– things, and it turned into a plane and flew off.”
Their father squints, “Thing.” He repeats.
“A transformer? I dunno,” They throw their hands up, “I saved it or whatever.”
“Oh and blowing up yer eardrums must be their way of saying “thank you.”
“Oh, up your nose, dad.
He grunts, popping two pancakes on their plate. “You ought not talk to me like that, young lady. Not when I took a day off for you.”
“Dad, I got school.”
“Not with two busted ears you do! Like hell I'm letting my daughter out hurt like you are. Do you know how scared you got me when you walked in last night?” He slings his slender arm in the direction of the door, pointing at it irritably. “I damn near thought you were dead!”
“I'm fine, dad.” They stare down at their pancakes. Their eyes catch their sister slipping on her backpack and hopping out the door.
“You're not a man, Chicago. You need to be more careful.” He taps the table, lowering his tone as they hide from his gaze.
They stare down at the cakes before relenting. “Fine! God.” They break, shoving their chair back as they March to their room.
He follows after them for a few paces, “And you oughta stay in that room ‘till you fix that ‘tude, miss! Y' get no sympathy from me!”
They shut their door quickly, still with no ear protection and a chest full of frustration. Better they not get too loud slamming doors. They didn't have to take this. It wasn't fair.
They know they're no man– what made him think they wanted to be a guy? That giant freak got them in so much trouble already, and now they have to deal with their sore ears. They shouldn't have helped that tin can, even if it was for Betty. Why do they even care about that girl so much? She hadn't even showed up for days…
They really miss her.
They step up to their window, lifting the latch and opening it. They let one leg on the other side, sitting on the windowsill as they stare down at the bright grass below them. They take a deep breath, before pulling another leg out and taking the short jump.
Their knees are scuffed, but otherwise they're just fine. They just need to take a walk… let off some steam.
Back at the house, their dad held the earplugs in his palm, sitting outside their door. He'll give them the time to themselves in their room, if that's what they need.
...
A cold, small dome structure filled to the brim with energy, just like the last power plant they broke into. Or was this the same one from last time, the seeker wondered.
It doesn't matter. It's not like Thundercracker actually cared.
“How's your side?” His purple trine brother grins at him as he sets down an empty casing, hooking up a tube to it and one of the generators lined up on the wall.
Thundercracker clicks his glossa, “It's fine.”
“Bet it hurts.”
“Sure does.”
Skywarp turns to him, disregarding the casing that fills with energy behind him. “Who did that botched job for ya, anyway. I've never seen anything like it.”
The blue seeker snickers, “You wouldn't believe it if I told you.” He shook his helm. That certainly gained the other's interest. Skywarp steps closer, “Come on, humor me! Can't be that crazy!”
“I bet it was reflector,” He guesses, “No! Frenzy.”
“What do ya take me for, an idiot?” Thundercracker retorts, “I wouldn't trust frenzy to fix anything, much less me!”
Skywarp huffs a laugh, crossing his arms, “So it was a human then?”
“What-?” Thundercracker feels his joints lock. Skywarp cracks up, giving the blue ‘bot a hearty slap on the back. “Chill your circuits, brother! I won't tell anyone.”
Thundercracker relents, “Well I told you you wouldn't believe it.” but Skywarp slings his arm around the other's shoulder, “Oh, I believe it. You always seemed like the kinda mech to get soft first outa all of us.”
“And what's that s’posed to mean, ‘Warp?”
He laughs, “Well, you're a sympathizer! Don't take it personally, buddy.” Skywarp pats the other's chest, letting him go as he kicks the chord out of the, now full, energon cube.
“Now hurry up; don't wanna give Starscream a reason to nag us, do ya?”
Thundercracker lets out an exhausted groan, “He's gonna find something to whine about anyway.” He picks up a few empty casings, setting them up to the other generators.
Days and days on end gathering energon from oil rigs and power plants just to use it all up the next day. Not that Thundercracker cares, but just draining the life out of this planet doesn't feel very decepticon to him… feels geeky.
Now fighting autobots? That's different.
He lets out a huff, “And ‘Warp?” He turns to the other, shooting him a look. “I'm not a sympathizer. I pity those meatbags, if anything. I mean come on! They live on a flat rock and they can't even get up in the sky. They're dealt a pitiful hand, not to mention those fragile bodies.”
The sound of thrusters rumble as the third trine member Transforms, stepping up to the blue seeker. “How humiliating it is to hear you bicker about those pathetic creatures.” Starscream assesses Thundercracker, letting out a scoff. “If you didn't care, you wouldn't talk about them. But here we are, having this conversation yet again.” The second in command draws out his words, exasperating the meaning of his words.
“Besides, we should be bothering ourselves with this pointless mission instead.” Starscream turns to Skywarp, complaining about how pointless it was to focus on resources when they should use what they already have to kill the autobots.
Thundercracker sneaks out of the conversation while he still can, staring out the window of the plant with an ex-vent. He missed cybertron; the endless lights, they sheer heights of iacon… he never got to see it often. He's lucky he's got a good memory core.
Optics scanning over the tiny buildings, he spots movement. “Slag–”
“Guys! We got company!”
… Chicago sat at the same bench they did last night, opening their eyes to the forming clouds in the sky. They recall the way the ‘bot looked at them; their ears throbbed just remembering the sound that jet mode made.
… they couldn't afford a break like this; one more day phoning in on work and they'll never get into the momentum of doing it.
They run a hand through their hair, letting out a soft sigh. They oughta get home before their dad realizes they ran out. They didn't want him searching the whole neighborhood… again.