Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Why do we listen to him, anyway?”

The question is innocuous. Brawl mumbles it to himself after getting another verbal thrashing from Megatron; he’s asked it many a time before. All of the Combaticons have, at one time or another. Megatron is the leader of the Decepticons, and while he lets the five of them keep to their own devices most of the time, lets them classify themselves as Combaticons because it’s easier to call for the Combiner they become that way, they are ultimately soldiers with a responsibility to fall in line.

It doesn’t mean they have to like it, though.

“Right? Such a stickler, that guy. Won’t let me do anything.”

“You shouldn’t be allowed to do anything, Swindle.” Vortex scowls over at him. “If I had my way, you’d have gotten scrapped after you sold us all off.”

“Which is why you are not the leader of the Combaticons,” Onslaught interrupts. “Besides, he won’t be doing that again. Isn’t that right?” He turns to Swindle, whose optics flicker just a little. Between the ordeal of having a bomb in his head and the rest of the Combaticons only recently having the good graces to forgive his insubordination, he’s still flighty, and it provides Onslaught with one of the only meager of sources of amusement he’s been able to eke out lately to see him jump.

“That’s just it.” Brawl leans back, scowling, as he peers down at the bottom of his energon cube. “If you’re the leader of the Combaticons, it doesn’t make sense that we all take orders from Megatron. Right?”

“You can think of us as a… subcategory of Decepticon,” Blast Off says. “We listen to him, and he listens to Megatron. Which means we listen to him, too. It’s just the way of things.”

“Well, the way of things sucks exhaust.” Brawl drains the rest of the cube and throws it to the ground, smashing it. “We’re Bruticus. We don’t have to listen to anybody if we don’t want to.”

“That’s…” Blast Off looks over to Onslaught. “That’s not really something I can explain.”

It’s a bad habit of Blast Off’s. He’s the unofficial second in command, something Onslaught thinks of him as if only because no one else is remotely interested in the position. But he tries to be helpful or explain something, and then ultimately has to turn to him for the answer anyway.

He’s not really in the mood for this conversation, so all he says is, “Your opinion is noted, Brawl.”

That’s usually the end of it. But something snags at some corner of Onslaught’s processor as he walks away from the conversation, and he turns the question over again and again as he goes over the supply inventory, as he inspects the weapons Swindle has acquired from a source he’s being cagey about the identity of.

They are Bruticus—the most powerful weapon the Decepticons have. Certainly stronger than any Autobot. Why should they have to listen to Megatron?

Why should they have to listen to anyone?

He takes Blast Off aside the next day. “What was the answer you would have given Brawl?” he asks.

“I… Well, I’m not really sure how I feel about it either. I suppose I would have agreed with him.”

“Elaborate.”

“Megatron is always rushing headlong into things, making impulsive decisions… How many times have we had to deploy because of a mistake he made? I imagine it must be frustrating for you, especially, to have to put all your strategies aside to bail him out.”

“I never get the chance to use them, anyway,” Onslaught mutters bitterly. “We have this base, but…”

Megatron is always the one who decides when they mobilize. What they do with their resources. How many they get to begin with. And inevitably, all those resources end up going back to him somehow, whether it’s through the energon on the base being used to refuel after a mission of his design or the Decepticons simply commandeering what they have for their own use. He says he’s letting them have these things to keep them complacent, but all of it—and all of them—belong to him, in the end.

Onslaught has always known it. But it’s only recently started to bother him, and now that it’s bothering him…

Shouldn’t he do something about it?

“We’ll follow you, Onslaught,” Blast Off says quietly.

“You can’t speak for the other three.”

“Perhaps not. But I can guess, based on experience.”

They’ve fought Megatron before and failed twice now. Once on Cybertron, and once on Earth. They fell in line after their second defeat, played the part of an obedient Combiner for him whenever he needed them, and it’s gotten them nothing but more barked orders, more ludicrous situations, more losses to the Autobots.

It reflects poorly on him, and it makes him boil with frustration. A team is only as good as its leader, and right now, the team can’t seem to make any headway at all.

“We should be more than this, Blast Off.” Onslaught knows, deep down to his struts, that the Combaticons aren’t being allowed to live up to their potential. “As the commander, I’ll correct our course.”

“Then I’ll assist you however I can. Until we stand at our rightful place—until we are exactly what we should be.”

Onslaught’s visions are grandiose, broader in scope than he suspects Blast Off is imagining, but now isn’t the time to approach him or any of the other Combaticons about that. What matters right now is they need to come to a consensus.

“What we should be is independent. Utterly unchained to the Decepticons and that moron, Megatron.” It’s not a new idea. Plenty of mechs have tested their mettle against Megatron and lost. Onslaught may have been in a box on Cybertron for much of the Decepticon leader’s reign of terror, but the results, the evidence of his success, cackle at him every time the base’s main communication channel opens. “They’ve reprogrammed our greatest weapon, but I’ll figure out a method to undo it.”

Bruticus. A Combiner, an amalgamation of five different mechs, melting and coalescing into something angrier and more violent than anything they can achieve on their own. A massive gun with a rudimentary brain, something to be aimed somewhere and told to destroy until he can’t anymore. A phantom member of the Combaticons, someone who can only exist with the temporary dissolution of the rest of them.

Onslaught can’t ask what Bruticus thinks; he wouldn’t have an opinion even if loyalty to Megatron hadn’t been forcefully welded into his circuits. Anything that would allow him to destroy, to trample, to fight, would be enough.

If the Combaticons are allowed to move toward the goals Onslaught has envisioned for them, Bruticus will have as much of it as he could ever hope for. He takes the weapon’s agreement as a matter of fact.

“You talk with the others,” Blast Off says, sensing Onslaught’s resolve. The leader of the Combaticons keeps his face hidden at all times; the optical visor and faceplate ensure nothing can be gleaned from any expressions he might make. Even then, Blast Off doubts he’s not very expressive to begin with, not out of a lack of feeling but by sheer discipline. A visor can crack, a faceplate can jam, and with nothing to fall back on, it would only be Onslaught keeping himself in check. It is a remarkably effective intimidation tactic when he wants it to be—like now, when he swivels to face Blast Off.

“I’m the one who gives orders.”

But even though Blast Off can’t see Onslaught’s face, and even though his vocalizer is modulated as firmly as always, there’s a resolve to his cadence that isn’t always there.

“Fine. Consider it a suggestion.”

Onslaught’s vents puff out a single burst of air, the closest thing Blast Off has ever seen him get to laughing. “Go make yourself useful, then.”

“Gladly.”

Blast Off is always of the opinion that he’s useful, and that feeling is reinforced when he’s called upon to do things that only he can do. On Earth, they can be tracked, so any supplies that they might find inevitably find themselves rerouted to the main Decepticon fleet, but Blast Off’s rare ability for solo space travel means that he has access to a wider variety of resources, away from the prying optics of any Decepticons that Megatron may have sent to keep tabs on the unruly components of his most powerful Combiner.

He can never get very much at one time, limited by either whatever he can carry or the capacity of anyone he might have brought with him, and there’s always the chance that Megatron will call for Bruticus while one of his limbs is in space. But they will never get anywhere if they don’t act, and when Onslaught tells Blast Off to do something on his own, this is always what he means.

It’s a welcome chance to get away from the others, too. The Combaticons work like a well-oiled machine when all of them are working toward the same goal, but those moments are few and far between, and when they have no goal at all—during downtime, for instance—they’re utterly unbearable to be around, save Onslaught himself. He can scarcely hear himself think between all the garbage that spills from his colleagues’ vocalizers.

But in space, it’s different. There’s no sound, and no one he needs to share the silence with. He thought it lonely, when he was younger, before he’d learned to value the time he had as an individual rather than a component in an even greater machine. There’s very little he would even consider trading his role in the Combaticons for, but to say he doesn’t miss a life of independence sometimes would be a lie.

Sometimes it feels like he’s the only one besides Onslaught who’s taking the whole thing seriously. Vortex, Swindle, and Brawl certainly have no qualms with doing whatever they feel like at any moment, he thinks bitterly.

“Well,” he mutters. “That’s quite enough of that.”

Comparing himself to the others won’t get him anywhere, so he transforms, fires his jets, and blasts off.

Chapter Text

It begins like any other space supply run—some quickly calculated trajectories, always stopping to recheck his work just before he breaks into the upper atmosphere. But this time, just as the sky is starting to fade into the endless glimmer of outer space, just as the residual light of the sun reflecting off the ocean is swallowed by an even more endlessly vast sea, Blast Off catches sight of an intruder in his view of the cosmos.

There’s no shuttle like that in the Decepticons, which makes it either of Earth make or an Autobot, and the emblem clearly visible as it approaches makes it obvious. Whoever this is, they’ve seen him too, and swerve in an attempt to keep away, but now that they’ve run into each other, Blast Off isn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by.

In moments like these, he understands his place in the Combaticons better than anyone else. He’s the most dignified member, of that he has no doubt. He is the second in command because he is the better of the grifters and brutes that he calls brothers in arms.

But they are brothers regardless, because the call of the battlefield is something none of them can ignore—even when their opponent is doing their best to avoid hearing it.

He turns to engage, and the shuttle Autobot nervously fires their thrusters rapidly. Not the type for conversation? That’s fine. It’s one less distraction he has to worry about.

He fires a few haphazard shots, trying to get a sense of what his opponent will do in response. So far they’ve seemed more interested in getting away. But when one of Blast Off’s bullets scrapes along their wing, they loop around to return defensive fire. For someone so determined not to fight, their skill is considerable, and Blast Off can’t evade quickly enough to avoid getting fired on. It’s a downside to having such a large alt-mode, but at least his opponent is in exactly the same situation.

They hurtle downwards in a spiral dive, neither willing to concede the other an opportunity to fire on their retreat. Blast Off feels his internal warning systems going off as he re-enters the atmosphere. Most of his processor is focused on maintaining the right angle, but the calculations he’s running are also designed to inch him just a little bit closer to the other shuttle, and by the time the Autobot realizes what he’s doing, it’s too late; Blast Off fires a missile directly into their wing. The Autobot retaliates by twirling in a circle, knocking him out of his descent with their undamaged wing, and Blast Off’s sensors go wild as he struggles to re-orient himself. Dropping out of his alt-mode during re-entry is tantamount to suicide, but he can’t tell what’s up and what’s down when all he can see is the sky. Occasionally, he catches a glimpse of the Autobot in a similar position, spinning wildly out of control and unable to stabilize with one wing damaged.

When the very sky stops shaking, Blast Off knows he’s through the worst of re-entry, and he’s able to stabilize. The Autobot is still falling, but it doesn’t seem like this is their first time being shot down, because they’re using the drag produced from their undamaged wing to aim for solid ground. All he has to do is follow them down. His opponent is at his mercy, and the tension in the air is so thick it makes the descent feel slower.

Once they land, they both transform, and the Autobot wastes no time in putting his arms up, guns out. Blast Off smirks behind his faceplate. “Typical Autobot bravado. I wonder how long that will last when faced with the might of the second in command of the Combaticons?”

“Megatron’s Combiner lapdogs?” the Autobot growls. “Of all the bad luck to encounter one of you here…”

“Lapdog?” Blast Off feels his servos balling into a fist. His earlier conversation with Onslaught, the catch of the light in his commander’s visor, that determined air about him, compel him to argue. “Hardly! You should be honored! You’ll be the first stepping stone in our splintering from the Decepticon forces—once Megatron is begging for mercy on his knees, we’ll see who the lapdog is.”

The Autobot falters a little. “Splintering from the Decepticons?” he repeats, incredulous. “As in, join the Autobots?”

“Hardly. Who ever said there had to be two sides to this conflict?”

“I… that’s—” Blast Off isn’t sure what he had expected from this encounter, but this kind of reaction certainly wasn’t it. The Autobot seems genuinely shaken to his core, blue optics flickering in thought. “I suppose no one ever has. But still…”

Blast Off raises one of his own weapons, aiming squarely at the Autobot’s face. It’s not what Onslaught told him to do, but getting rid of one of them is worth the break in protocol. The Autobot suddenly lifts his servos above his head in a peacemaking gesture of surrender. Blast Off keeps his gun trained squarely at him. “What’s your plan, here?” he asks.

“It’s just… if you’re serious…” The Autobot grumbles, “I cannot believe I’m saying this. But if your goal is really to break the hold that these two factions have on the Cybertronians who’ve found ourselves on this planet… then I want to help.”

Blast Off has to replay the request once more in his memory banks before it sinks in. “What?” he asks anyway. It’s a completely undignified response, but he’s so honestly surprised by the request that his vocalizer fires off before his processor can catch up.

“I have my reasons. I’ve chosen to align with the Autobots, certainly, but only because the only other option available was to align with the Decepticons.”

“Was it? You were under no obligation to join them. If you’re so principled as to stay away from the Decepticons, then surely you’d have the struts to walk away from the Autobots as well?”

“No obligation, you say. And yet by myself I would struggle to find an energy source. When resources are hoarded between one of two groups, you either join one or you consign yourself to a miserable fate.”

Blast Off doesn’t respond, and he watches the Autobot’s expression grow in severity. Sometimes it pays to keep his entire face covered like this.

He’s familiar with the argument, of course. It’s why they worked with Starscream at first, and then remained one of the reasons why the Combaticons have stayed where they are, too. They feel confident enough to make their move now because they’ve got a solid plan for obtaining resources for themselves. And they’re only able to make that plan to begin with because of Bruticus; if they were five normal Cybertronians, they’d be in a much worse position to plan something like this.

If it was only one of them, then just as the Autobot surmises, it would be the same as signing their death warrant.

“My name is Skyfire,” the Autobot says. “And I would like to help, if you need it.”

“That’s not my decision,” Blast Off replies dismissively. The decision to bring Skyfire to Onslaught, however, is his, and after a few moments of weighing his options, Blast Off lowers his weapon. “I’ll take you to see Onslaught. If he doesn’t like your proposal, it’s unlikely you’ll make it out of the base in one piece.”

“We’ll see about that. I hate fighting, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Blast Off thinks back to his behavior in the dogfight. Hesitant but competent about sums it up. “Then follow me. Can you fly?”

The unimpressed look Skyfire levels at him makes Blast Off want to renege on their agreement right then and there, but he transforms into his alt-mode and allows Skyfire to climb inside, ready to spin and drop him if he detects the tiniest hint of mischief in his cargo bay.

But the Autobot is well-behaved, sitting and waiting patiently until Blast Off descends at the heart of the Combaticon base and lets his would-be ally out of the hold. Vortex, nosy as always, arrives more or less immediately, followed shortly by Onslaught.

“I see you’ve returned with nothing but a prisoner,” the commander says, voice neutral.

“Not even that, really,” Skyfire says before Blast Off can think of a spin on the situation. “Your friend here told me that you were planning to branch off from the Decepticons.”

“By my recollection, we hadn’t decided on it yet.” Onslaught glances over at Blast Off, who stares back. “But I suppose he knew it was only a matter of time before we did. What is it to you?”

“I have a personal interest in this matter, is all.”

“What are you offering?”

“My assistance.” Skyfire seems unused to Onslaught’s direct approach to conversation, starting to look and sound nervous.

“With what? What can you do?” Skyfire seems unsure how to answer the question, so Onslaught crosses his arms and makes a few suggestions. “For example, there’s some reprogramming we’d need to do.”

“For you? I seem to recall you were reprogrammed for loyalty.”

“I suppose you could say it’s us… but you could say it isn’t us, too. Who we need to reprogram is Bruticus.”

Skyfire falls silent, as though he’s challenging, or perhaps silently begging, Onslaught to say he’s just kidding. But Onslaught has never told a joke in his life, and he’s not about to start now.

“I can try.”

“No guarantee of results and no gain if you assist. You seem more like an Autobot spy than anyone I’ve ever encountered.” Even though Onslaught is shorter than Skyfire, it feels to everyone witnessing the conversation like the Combaticon commander is towering over the Autobot. “Why shouldn’t I scrap you and use you for spare parts right here?”

“Because I believe wholeheartedly in the idea of what you’re doing, even if I disagree with you and your methods.” Skyfire meets the intense glare being leveled at him with surprising adroitness.

“Are you really gonna buy this?” Vortex interrupts, fiddling with one of his propeller blades. “Just let me cut him up. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find spare parts big enough for the lug over there?” He points at Blast Off, who shoots him a glare.

Onslaught opts to ignore them both in favor of responding to Skyfire. “That’s a good look you’ve got in your optics.” He leans back, and the tension in the air dissipates. “I’ll accept your offer. Blast Off, take him to the research facility. Vortex, go and mind your own business somewhere else.”

“Are you serious, boss?” Vortex asks, gripping his propeller blades like they’re holding him up in his disbelief.

“Are you questioning your orders?” Onslaught replies, leveling him with a flat stare.

“Yeah! I am! You really think we can trust this guy?”

“Absolutely not. But I can’t trust any of you with the reprogramming of Bruticus either. If that’s not a factor to begin with, I may as well take the only one of you who seems like you’ve got a working processor.” Onslaught curtly moves to follow Skyfire, one step behind him. The Autobot shuttle’s spinal strut is ramrod straight, clearly giving away how nervous he is to have the commander of the Combaticons so close to his unguarded back.

“Hard to make that call when your own processor’s on the fritz,” Vortex spits after him, but Onslaught doesn’t even acknowledge hearing the insult. Vortex turns to Blast Off. “Wanna bet how long it’ll take before he breaks that Autobot in half?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Fine. Swindle will.” Vortex petulantly transforms and takes to the air, and Blast Off frowns as he watches him leave.

Honestly, he’s got some reservations about this too, even though he was the one who brought Skyfire here to begin with. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he supposes.

It would be nice if one of their ventures led to a gain, for once.

Chapter Text

Onslaught and Skyfire are silent as they work. While he can tell there are a great number of schematics contained within the Combaticon database, Skyfire has been granted access to shockingly few of them. Only two, in fact: one estimate of what path the reprogramming may have taken, produced by Onslaught himself, and the schematic of Bruticus’s body from the torso up.

“This isn’t very much to work with,” he says.

“It’s all you’ll need.” Onslaught, naturally, has access to the whole database, though for what it’s worth, he doesn’t seem to have any others pulled up besides the ones he gave Skyfire access to either.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“It’s all you’re getting,” Onslaught clarifies. “I’m not about to hand over any more schematics than absolutely necessary to an Autobot.”

“And if these schematics are all that are absolutely necessary, then that’s fine. But I won’t know until I’ve finished looking.” It seems like Onslaught is right, honestly; the alterations must be in the Combiner’s processor, and he’s got clear documentation of what it’s supposed to look like right in front of him. “If I need anything else, I’ll be sure to ask.”

“Fair enough.” Onslaught reviews the smaller of the two schematics, the one documenting the expected alterations to Bruticus’s processor. “I haven’t seen you before. Have you recently arrived on Earth?”

“I’ve been here a while. Longer than many of my compatriots, I suspect.”

“I’d remember seeing someone as large as you.”

Skyfire shrugs. “I’ve been spending most of my time in space.”

“You are a shuttle, I suppose. You’ve met our own, of course.” Onslaught looks Skyfire up and down. “You’re taller than he is,” he remarks. “Not by much, but… it makes little sense that the Autobots aren’t using you as a battle asset.”

Skyfire shakes his head. “To be honest, I prefer things this way. I don’t enjoy being a warrior. I was a scientist, you know. Back on Cybertron.”

“Ah. Hence your familiarity with reprogramming.”

“Well, that wasn’t what I did, but… of course, we’re expected to have a well-rounded education. And I like being able to help, at least.”

“Even if you offer it to someone wearing the emblem of your enemy?”

Skyfire’s vents huff stubbornly. “You won’t always wear it, though. I do this because I find the nature of these two factions to be unacceptably tragic. If there were more options available to us… if we didn’t feel the need to align with either Autobots or Decepticons, then there might be more room for common ground.”

“Are you…”

“No.” Skyfire keeps his optics firmly on his work. “Your faction doesn’t align with my goals.”

“And what are your goals?”

“I want to return to my work. To the function that I chose myself. The Autobots don’t quite align with that either, but their military presence here is reluctant. A far cry from your enthusiasm for it.”

“Allow me to rephrase the question,” Onslaught says. “What do you stand to gain by helping an enthusiastic military force on the planet you Autobots are trying to protect?”

Skyfire looks down, stymied. “Optimus Prime always says that freedom is the right of all sentient beings. And though that Combiner form of yours just barely qualifies… that also applies to him.” He steps away from the console, lifting his head and meeting Onslaught’s gaze unwaveringly. “I’m not concerned about your forces. There are five of you, and tens of us. If you cause trouble for the Autobots, even if you have a Combiner, we’ll outnumber you.”

“And if we cause trouble for the Decepticons, you benefit indirectly in that way as well.”

“Why ask a question you already know the answer to?” Skyfire grumbles.

“To see if you knew the answer.”

“I know better than to take that as a promise to stir up trouble for them, too.” Skyfire looks back at Bruticus’s schematics. “I’m just… so weary of all of this. I lost my best friend to this war, these factions. I had to choose between staying with him or compromising my morals. He’s been changed unimaginably by this conflict. I scarcely recognize him anymore! Perhaps it’s selfish of me to be motivated by the regret I feel toward not being able to offer him anything that would encourage him to leave the Decepticons… perhaps it’s foolish to believe that more options might sway him. But even so, if I can at least prevent this from happening even once more to anyone else… then I’m fine with looking foolish.”

Strong of frame and strong of spark. Onslaught is sure the Autobots have no idea what kind of talent they’re wasting, though far be it from him to tell them so. “It’s my understanding that there used to be more factions, though many of them were trampled by the Decepticons.”

“’Your understanding’? Were you not with the Decepticons, out trampling them?”

“We were imprisoned well before the war left Cybertron.”

Skyfire is quiet, servos tapping keys with a renewed energy. “That’s one more way we’re alike, I suppose.”

Onslaught waits for him to elaborate, but when the former researcher offers no explanation, he returns to his table in the laboratory, one optic on him while they work in silence.

Occasionally, Skyfire makes a sound like he wants to say something, but every time Onslaught looks over at him, he’s lost in thought. He’s a diligent worker. Autobots seem to have that in common. The average Decepticon work ethic is varied, but Onslaught knows from experience that his own is uncharacteristically strong. Things would certainly be easier if that weren’t the case.

He’s actually already devised a solution himself, but part of being a leader is considering other perspectives. He prides himself on being able to devise other perspectives by himself—looking at situations from every angle is a specialty of his, and it’s why he spends so much time carefully planning every operation—but that of a researcher is something beyond that ability.

But Skyfire looks more troubled the longer he thinks, and every glance between Bruticus’s schematics and the estimate of the reprogramming pathway only deepens the frown on his faceplates.

“Is something wrong?” Onslaught eventually asks. He thinks he knows what Skyfire is about to say.

“Well… this is the best I’ve come up with,” Skyfire says, gesturing at some marks he’s made on his loaned datapad. “It’s rudimentary and involves physically destroying a portion of his processor. I normally wouldn’t try such crude methods, but speaking bluntly, Bruticus doesn’t have much intellect to lose. I’d like to continue looking for an alternative method, but…”

“Who is it mapped to, and what part?”

Skyfire flips through the schematics, optics narrowing to zoom in on them. The silence lingers long enough, and uncomfortably enough, for Onslaught to know the answer before Skyfire eventually mumbles, “Well, it’s you.”

“What part?” Onslaught asks again. Damage to himself isn’t out of the question if it means undoing Bruticus’s reprogramming, and he doubts Skyfire would be making the suggestion if he thought it would kill him.

Skyfire makes a show out of looking at the schematics again, and his expression can only be described as difficult. It’s bad news, which can only mean it’s a part that would be hard to fix. Which means it’s almost certainly Onslaught’s processor.

Onslaught inclines his head, staring at Skyfire, who won’t return his gaze.

“Why ask a question,” Skyfire asks, haltingly, “you already know the answer to?”

This question again. “To make sure you know what you’re agreeing to before you do it.”

Skyfire still has his eyes firmly locked on the schematics. “Do you agree to it?”

“Now who’s asking questions he knows the answer to?” Onslaught scoffs. “There is no other alternative.”

“There’s no alternative if you’re damaged irreparably, either. You’re not a large team to begin with.”

“I didn’t think an Autobot would hesitate to attack a Decepticon.”

“You said it yourself. You’re not a Decepticon. But even if you were, I don’t like attacking anybody.” Skyfire finally turns to look at him, optics boring into Onslaught’s. “If you are certain that this is what you want, however, then I will do it.” He gestures to the schematics. “It would be easiest if I could just—perform the procedure, as it were, with you alone, but regrettably, the particulars of the situation necessitate Bruticus being combined. I don’t know enough about how Combiners work to tell you why, but—”

“That’s fine. I don’t either.” Onslaught has never given much thought to the particulars of how combining works, and he doubts he’ll start after this. “I had anticipated this would be the case.”

Skyfire sighs. “If only we could just tell him what our aim is, but… even if he were capable of cooperation, it probably wouldn't do much good.”

“Your meaning?”

“I doubt Bruticus even knows he's been reprogrammed. Usually, since the processor is open anyway, those memories are wiped clean. Even if it were possible to reason with him, he might not even believe me if I told him.”

“What a miserable process.”

“Indeed.” Skyfire looks back at the screen. “What will you do if this is wrong?” he asks, pointing at the path Onslaught has drawn up. “It’s an estimate.”

“I will be Bruticus by the time you find out. So I’ll let you figure out what the answer to that question is yourself.”

“You really are…” Skyfire mumbles, letting the sentence hang. He isn’t sure himself how he wanted to end that sentence. Crazy? Brave? Stupid? Maybe all three. The Combaticons are so unlike anyone he’s ever met. “All right, then. Gather your team.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“If I tell you, won’t Bruticus know?”

Onslaught shakes his head. “Bruticus doesn’t have much access, if any at all, to our individual processors. What fuels him is a combination of five wills, not any one particular goal. Even then, he’s prone to just doing what he wants anyway.”

“Then… it’s as you surmised. I’ll have to physically damage the pathways that Megatron re-mapped. As for how to do that… well, I’ll have to figure that out.”

“Bruticus swings wide.” Onslaught turns away from Skyfire before their optics can meet when Skyfire looks back at him. “That’s all.”

It’s not a small hint, and it’s one that has ramifications down the line. It’s not something that would be particularly hard for other Autobots to realize themselves—it might be something that they’ve already noticed. But giving anything resembling a weakness away is strategically significant, and Skyfire feels like he can’t let the moment pass without remark.

“Thank you.” He gives Onslaught an encouraging smile, even though he knows he can’t see it. “For trusting me.”

“I—” Onslaught doesn’t turn back to face him. “If that’s how you want to see it, I can’t stop you. I’ll get the team together. You will follow me.”

“Okay.” Skyfire figures Onslaught probably doesn’t need verbal confirmation when he can hear his footsteps behind him. It’s still the considerate thing to do, though, even if the Combaticons seem unconcerned with the concept.

The walk is short, because all four of Onslaught’s teammates have nowhere else to be. Four sets of optics watch Skyfire with distrust and contempt, but it’s not his job to convince them he’s here to help, so he meets their gazes coolly. It may be a naive thought, but now that he’s had time to understand the situation they’re in, they feel less like potential enemies and more like bots who need his help, even if they seem hesitant to accept it.

“We’re going to form up and combine,” Onslaught informs his team. “Our guest has agreed to assist with undoing Bruticus’s reprogramming.”

“Bruticus won’t sit back and let someone mess with him,” Swindle says. “He knows that, right?”

“That isn’t your concern. Prepare for combination.”

There’s a visible wave of unease that passes over the Combaticons’ faces, but it’s too late to back down now, so Skyfire straightens his back strut and prepares himself. He transforms into his alt mode at the same time Bruticus begins to form. If he had the time, he’d like to have taken some notes about the process of combination, how they all fit together—it hasn’t been of much interest to him, given Combiners’ obvious warfare applications, but seeing it this close is more interesting than he thought it would be.

Even these thoughts he probably doesn’t have time for, because as soon as Bruticus is formed, he begins his assault.

Skyfire takes to the skies as soon as he can; though Bruticus is tall, flying circles around him keeps him out of reach of his massive servos. It gives him some time to see what he’s up against, too. He’d been told that the gestalt wasn’t particularly smart, and he had been prepared for that to be an exaggeration, but the very first thing he does is try to swat Skyfire out of the sky, despite not having the reach to do so.

“Autobot! Come down and fight!”

“I don’t think I will, thank you!” Skyfire does another loop, watching how quickly Bruticus turns. His gargantuan size belies his speed, and he’s more capable of keeping up with even fairly sharp turns than he had expected. It’s going to be difficult to veer around behind him to access the part of his helm that needs to be attacked, let alone ensure the precision it’s going to take to keep Onslaught’s processor intact.

If only the Combaticons were of a more peaceful sort, he wouldn’t have any conflicting feelings about this at all. The possibility that they’ll just become another occupying force bent on harming the native life on Earth cannot be denied, and the weight of Skyfire’s decision to help is heaviest upon him now, when he would otherwise feel weightless in flight. He said he wasn’t concerned, that he was sure the Autobots would be able to manage the Combaticons if they became an active threat, and that feeling hasn’t changed. But it does mean that people may still be hurt. The choice to simply fire on Bruticus and neuter this threat before it can materialize is an option, but no sooner does the thought occur to him than he banishes it.

It might be a bad move in the short term. He might regret it later, in the immediate fallout. But he thinks of Starscream, and he thinks of everything they’ve lost, and his resolve comes rushing back.

Bruticus has opted to fire on him, and Skyfire is nimble but large. The gestalt Combiner’s aim is excellent, as expected, and the heat of the energy bolts being discharged from his weapons ripples across Skyfire’s plating as he continues his evasive maneuvers. He’d hoped to have a little more time to figure out a solid plan, but Bruticus lives up to his name, and his simple, immediate attack is proving effective.

“Bruticus, I’m trying to help you!” Skyfire implores.

“Autobot scrap can help by dying!” Bruticus roars. So much for that. Skyfire takes a potshot or two at his head, watching how he reacts; he doesn’t even flinch, and the blows glance off of his plating effortlessly.

Skyfire isn’t the most combat-ready of the Autobots, but it’s still alarming to watch. Combiners truly are on an entirely different level than the average Cybertronian; it’s no wonder the war has become increasingly centered around them, and the Autobots have become increasingly nervous with the number the Decepticons have managed to get for themselves.

“How fearsome,” he mutters.

“Yes! Quake in fear!” Bruticus yells, latching onto a single uttered syllable and launching another attack. Skyfire nimbly dodges another round of fire, then swoops in to aim a more concentrated assault on the back of Bruticus’s head. Servos that could effortlessly crush even a shuttle his size descend, digits flexing to do just that, and Skyfire weaves away just in time to watch his fist close around the empty air. Bruticus turns to face him again, moving to follow him. If he were an organic lifeform, Skyfire would be able to disorient him by spinning him in circles, but his navigation system is working properly and he’s not about to try to damage it now. What he needs is something bigger than he can fire, that can precisely be aimed at a particular spot.

What he needs to do, he realizes, is to think a little less like Skyfire, and think a little more like Bruticus.

It’s simple. His weapons aren’t large enough to damage the pathways that need to be cut off. But a shuttle, for example…

A shuttle impact should be enough to dislodge those pathways altogether. The narrow point of the nose will allow for enough precision to ensure little else is damaged, if anything at all.

Skyfire loops up for a third go around Bruticus, making slow, lazy circles just out of the Combiner’s reach. Frustrated, the Combiner lifts both his hands to begin firing at him, and Skyfire swerves one more time, around the back of Bruticus’s head, making a few last-second calculations and accelerating with all the strength he has.

The impact is mighty enough to send Bruticus reeling, and Skyfire finds himself wobbling in flight for the second time in one day. He watches as Bruticus falls, wincing at the impact.

“Bruticus!” Skyfire calls after him. “Bruticus, are you all right?”

“Why…” Bruticus’s expression is hard to read, but Skyfire gets the sense he’s being glared at. “Why… did Autobot…”

“Bruticus, please try to understand. Megatron reprogrammed you, and—”

“Megatron…?” Bruticus mumbles. “Megatron… Megatron! Kill Megatron! Threw Bruticus in prison!”

“I—er, well, that’s—”

“Took Bruticus—apart? Aa, aaaagh…”

Skyfire, not ready to land yet, watches as the Combiner fragments into his components, the five of them slinking away from each other as soon as he comes apart. Skyfire makes a few more circles in the sky until all five of them are standing.

“Jeez. He sure was mad.” Vortex shrugs.

“I’m not even sure he understood what you were saying to him at all, Skyfire,” Blast Off says.

“Could you?” Skyfire asks, genuinely curious as he finally descends.

“Somewhat. It’s all very… muffled, when Bruticus is active.”

“I couldn’t hear you at all,” Vortex says, shrugging. “Wasn’t interested.”

Onslaught stands, servo clutching at his head. Skyfire rushes over, prepared for the worst. “I didn’t think that was what you had in mind,” the Combaticon commander grumbles. “But I suppose I can’t complain about the results.”

“It wasn’t what I had in mind. Even knowing his specifications, I had to be creative. He’s terrifyingly powerful.”

“I did tell you that much.” Onslaught almost sounds amused. “Regarding your compensation…”

“I don't need anything from you,” Skyfire says, interrupting before Onslaught can finish. “As I told you, our goals happen to align in the immediate sense.”

“You're certain? Now is your chance to ask for something. If you come back later demanding payment, you won't get it.”

“That's fine with me, Onslaught. Sometimes it's just nice to be able to help someone.”

The other Combaticons grumble, and Skyfire hears Swindle mutter something about letting an easy mark get away, but Onslaught silences them with a look. “Then our agreement is over,” he says, “and this marks the end of our collaboration. I'd like you to leave the Combaticon base. As I'm sure you're aware, Autobots are not allowed here.” Onslaught turns to the other four, sternly addressing them. “And you will let him leave in peace. You will make no effort to seek him out, you will not pursue, and you will not speak ill of the mech who fixed our strongest weapon. Am I clear?”

“Of course, Onslaught,” Blast Off says, answering for the rest of them, who all seem less enthusiastic about the prospect.

“Skyfire. Your assistance is appreciated.”

It's not quite a thank you, but it's not exactly not a thank you either. It's likely the best he'll get, so Skyfire simply smiles and says, “You're welcome.”

As promised, when Skyfire takes his leave, the Combaticons quietly watch him go. They're an interesting group, and certainly not his first choice to establish a new faction, but there are probably worse options too.

“Starscream,” Skyfire says to the night sky, “I wonder what would have happened, if I had never…”

Chapter Text

Check Bee out here or here!

Chapter Text

With Bruticus’s deprogramming complete, Onslaught’s next order of business is to figure out how to best utilize him.

There are five parts to Bruticus, and he needs each of them to function. The firsthand experience they’ve had with incomplete combination, no thanks to a certain weapons expert among them, isn’t something Onslaught ever thought he’d have as reference, but it was confirmation, if nothing else, that it has to be them. It has to be these five mechs. It’s not a team he ever would have selected for himself, given the choice, but it’s what he’s got.

The most competent of them is Blast Off. He’s stuck-up, arrogant, harmlessly anti-social among a crew of violent brutes and career criminals, his relatively tame record standing out from the rest of them, himself included if only for the counts of treason he racked up on Cybertron during their first rebellion. He doesn’t resort to the same violent or criminal methods as his teammates because he doesn’t enjoy them. In that sense, Blast Off is more like him than any of the other Combaticons. It makes him an obvious choice for second-in-command. You get what you see with him, a valuable trait when the rest of the team is wild cards or worse. When cooler heads prevail, it’s always Blast Off who’s cooled down first—and, though Onslaught is loath to admit it, it’s usually Blast Off who has a better sense of when one of the other three is about to do something stupid. There are more times he can count when Blast Off has reined in one of his brothers in arms before Onslaught noticed the warning signs.

This is exactly what makes him a good right hand. The biggest fault Onslaught can find with Blast Off is that he prefers to handle such squabbles himself—although he thinks the duty is beneath him, and that’s obvious in the way he goes about it every time, he reasons that means it’s also definitely beneath Onslaught. But while Blast Off is no weakling, he lacks the commanding presence that unnerves Brawl and Vortex enough to get in line. Eager to discipline the bots he perceives as lesser, but unable to scare them, caught in the perfect middle ground where none of the others are even a little bit intimidated.

It’s a drawback, for sure, but he’s still the obvious choice. The others aren’t suitable at all. Take Brawl, for example—rowdy, impulsive, violent. Good traits for a soldier. Whenever the Combaticons deploy, he knows Brawl will be the first to shoot, the last to ask questions, and the one with the biggest body count. In some ways, he lives for war the way none of the rest do: he revels in his strength in a way that Onslaught can’t dislike. The bravado makes for a variable he has to take into account, but it’s the most consistent calculation he has to make. All he has to do is ask himself, What’s the stupidest, most destructive thing that he could possibly do? Brawl will perform that action without being prompted whenever the opportunity presents itself, regardless of what his orders are, and it’s factored into Onslaught’s battle plans from the very first drafts.

Granted, sometimes he overestimates him, or simply fails to take into account an even more brazen move than he’d initially considered. But other times, it’s almost fun to think about and work around. His results speak for themselves, even if Onslaught wishes that the proverbial volume wasn’t so high. He lives for battle, thrives in it, and that enthusiasm is an invaluable part of what makes the Combaticons work. He’s not always predictable, but he’ll never turn tailpipe or leave a job half-done.

He’s a more efficient soldier than Vortex, certainly, who’s less a soldier and more of a specialist in violence. He and Brawl have a shared love of conflict, but whereas Brawl revels in destruction, Vortex prefers causing pain. Brawl will move on if enemies are immobilized; if they’re of no threat to him, he’ll move on to something that he can have a fight with. But Vortex leaves no enemy untormented, taking more joy in snuffing sparks than anything else. Onslaught couldn’t blame someone for thinking this would make Vortex easy to account for, but there’s no rhyme or reason he’s been able to discern as to how he determines who to target next; logically, it would be the weakest, someone who he could pick off at his leisure, but he rarely makes that logical choice. It’s not as simple as finding the closest opponent, either. No pattern has emerged, nothing that Onslaught can even begin to guess, and this tendency of his has compromised a fair number of missions.

His synergy with the other Combaticons is horrible, as well. It would be a stretch to say that any of them like each other, but Onslaught is fairly certain that Vortex is the least-liked of the bunch. Impressive, considering a particular businessmech’s history of selling off their parts, but whereas he at least has the social chops to come across as affable when he’s not engaging in some scheme or another, Vortex has the conversation skills of a lugnut. There has never been a single moment that he hasn’t been agonizing to deal with in one way or another.

And then there’s the matter of Swindle.

Onslaught drums his digits, his processor crunching the numbers over and over again. Not a single one of the Combaticons is unworthy of the title, but Swindle has the least firepower, and he’d be the first to admit it. Of course, that admission would be a ploy to stoke pity, and step one in manipulating whoever was unfortunate enough to be talking to him into doing exactly what he wants them to do. Onslaught can’t make effective tactics without understanding his resources inside and out, and so he’s noted all of Swindle’s tells, knows exactly when the talk ends and the negotiation begins, but the other Combaticons are far less adept at it, and it’s not unusual for Onslaught to walk in during a conversation that has Swindle halfway to convincing one of the other three to do something absurd for no one’s benefit but his own.

Of the five of them, he’s the most self-motivated. No, even that feels too kind—he’s selfish, through and through. Swindle always looks out for himself first, and it’s gotten the others into trouble before. He sold their parts, for Primus’s sake. Onslaught can overlook the manipulation, the scheming, but he can’t overlook that he’s been a liability before, and as soon as it profits him to do so, he will be again.

On the other hand, he can’t overlook how desirable those skills are when put to use for the sake of the Combaticons, either.

They are only five now. Eventually, Onslaught aims to lead a truly massive army—larger than the Autobots or the Decepticons. United in military might, conquerors of both Cybertron and Earth, and then onward to whatever might come next. It’s not an easy goal, especially with such limited resources. And that’s where Swindle comes in.

Brawl and Vortex’s penchants for violence and short fuses make them ill suited to negotiation. Blast Off isn’t shrewd enough. And Onslaught can’t focus on his plans for the Combaticons if he’s in charge of acquiring resources, too. But Swindle has all the skills needed to establish rapport, get trade agreements up and running, and maybe, just maybe, live up to his name and get the Combaticons more than they need for less than market value. For now, raiding the Decepticon base to steal their energon is sufficient. Bruticus is strong, and their numbers are low enough that whatever he can carry in his massive arms will be enough to last them a while. But that won’t be the case forever. Eventually they’ll need to embrace some modicum of diplomacy to get what they want, to ensure they can crush what they need to. Eventually there will be people or organizations that it will benefit them not to crush.

Investing in Swindle is a long game, and one that might burn him the way it’s burned so many others.

He’ll just have to do what he can to make sure that working in the Combaticons’ best interests is also in Swindle’s best interests. The gun mounted atop the roof of his alt mode is ferocious, but that clever processor and silver tongue of his are much stronger weapons—ones that Onslaught would be a fool to discard, especially this early into his plans.

It’s a balancing act that no one else is capable of to keep them all in line, let alone to get them to combine. But it’s precisely because they’re all so difficult to handle that Onslaught takes pride in it. Just like they’re a pack of reckless, unmotivated disasters without him, he’s not a commander without them.

Naturally, this means if independence is their goal, he has to provide a road toward it that they’ll follow, and roles that suit them.

Skyfire has left, as Onslaught promised he could; he knows that decision might have momentarily cost him face with the remaining Combaticons. But earning it back will be a simple matter.

When he arrives at the briefing room, the other four have already assembled. A rare occurrence, but Onslaught thinks little of it. The reasons could range from coincidence to a united front challenging him after sparing an Autobot, but it hardly matters either way.

“This mission will be simple,” he says. “Something that will be no problem to any of you—so I won’t tolerate failure.” Not that he ever has. “Swindle, you’re aware of Megatron’s raid plans?”

“Of course,” he says, sounding offended at the question.

“Your role will be to allow the Autobots to capture you, and provide them with that information at the earliest opportunity.”

“Huh?” Swindle’s optics flicker. “And why would I do that, boss?”

“Because with everyone else gathered to participate in that operation, the Decepticon base will be kept woefully unguarded.” Onslaught can feel the confusion in the room, so he continues, “Of course, we’ll be called upon during that operation. We are a unit of Combiners, after all. So en route, Swindle, Vortex, and Blast Off will separate and make way for the nearest Autobot patrol route. Vortex, Blast Off, you two will hang back and wait until they’ve capitalized on Swindle’s… business proposal to head the Decepticons off at the pass. Once they have, break him out and head back to the Decepticon base.”

“What about me?” Brawl asks.

“You’ll also be separating from the group—but you’ll be turning back to the Decepticon base with me, where we’ll meet the other three once they’re done.”

He sees Blast Off relax; he’s figured out where the rest of this plan is going. Swindle has, too, and he’s shaking his head but grinning in anticipation.

“Where are we going to get the Autobot patrol information from?” Vortex asks, ever the skeptic.

“Me, idiot,” Swindle scoffs. “You think I don’t have it?”

Vortex’s optics dim. “Any particular reason you’ve been keeping something like that to yourself?”

“Once we have met up with one another,” Onslaught continues firmly, and Vortex and Swindle both stop arguing. “We will combine into Bruticus, who will certainly be angry with the Decepticons for reprogramming him. And whatever he wants, he will take, for us to use once we separate.”

“Sounds great, but what are we gonna do once the rest of the ’cons come looking for their stuff?” Swindle asks.

“We drive them off,” Onslaught says. Simple and straightforward. The other four wait for him to elaborate, but why bother? That’s the easy part.

Brawl is the first to break the silence with a quiet, low laugh. “Sounds great, boss.”

“I thought you would like it.”

“You’re asking us to fight off the entire Decepticon army with just the five of us?” Swindle grimaces.

“No. It’s an order.”

“Eugh. Even worse. Well, sounds like it’s my turn, then. I wasn’t actually gonna tell you about this stuff yet, but if it’s my aft on the line, then we should probably all have a good look at some interesting new weapons I got in…”

“Is there anything you’ll ever tell us about in a timely fashion?” Blast Off’s exasperation is palpable, and Vortex and Brawl wear identically exhausted expressions as the four of them head to the cargo dock.

Onslaught follows, a sense of foreboding just one step behind him. It feels like there’s something he’s forgetting, but no matter how many times he runs it through in his head, he’s sure it’s a good plan. Driving off the Decepticons will be a tall order, but he’s confident in them; despite their lack of cohesion as a unit, they’re good soldiers, one and all.

It’s unlike him to get pre-operation jitters. He supposes there’s a first time for everything, however frustrating it might be.

They barely have time to upgrade their weapons before Starscream contacts the Combaticon base. “Onslaught!”

Just the sound of his voice is enough to give Onslaught a headache. “Starscream.”

“You’re needed for our upcoming raid. Gather your team and meet us at the Decepticon base at once!”

“Why don’t you just send us the coordinates and we’ll meet you there?”

“Why don’t you just meet up with the main forces like I ordered you to?”

“And lose the opportunity to come at the target from two directions?”

“I… I doubt that will be necessary—”

“It’s basic tactical arts, Starscream. But if you’d like to explain to Megatron why you don’t understand even that, then by all means.”

Starscream looks like he wants to reach through the screen and snap Onslaught’s neck joint. “Fine! But if you’re late, I’ll personally scrap you myself!”

Onslaught ends the transmission. He didn’t think that would actually work, but Starscream is as easy as ever to get a rise out of, and now their opportunity to act freely is ensured. They won’t even have to separate from the group.

“Our mission begins now, Combaticons.” Onslaught turns to the four of them. “The particulars have changed somewhat, but you have your orders. I look forward to your success.”

“You better actually spring me out,” Swindle mutters to Vortex as they leave with Blast Off.

“Or what?” Vortex asks. “You just gave me a really nice gun.” They’re out of earshot by the time Blast Off interrupts, but it looks like it’s already off to a terrible start.

It’s nothing he isn’t used to, at least.

“Brawl, let’s go. We’ll just head for the Decepticon base. And let me do the talking.”

“Don’t see why we should waste our time doing any talking.”

“Patience. Won’t it feel better to smash them to bits once they’ve done a little more to earn it?”

Brawl chuckles darkly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, boss.”

The sense of foreboding that Onslaught had felt earlier is all but forgotten as the two of them shift into their alt modes and make their way toward the Decepticon base. Brawl is excited for the operation, moreso than anyone else, and Onslaught finds he doesn’t mind the conversation on the drive over. Most of it is about who they most want dead on a personal level. To Onslaught, that’s easily Megatron; to Brawl, it’s Starscream.

Vortex and Swindle probably want each other dead more than anyone else. Onslaught feels a rare moment of mirth at the thought, though he’s never been the laughing sort.

By the time they arrive, Onslaught is more confident than ever in his plan. Brawl is more invested in the success of this operation than he’s ever seen him, and a walking arsenal like him is one of the most important assets when it comes down to the final step.

Megatron’s troops have departed, which means all that’s left to do is wait. Today’s operation, and the goal behind it, has been a long time coming—millions of years imprisoned, grudges left to fester, resentment that has become Onslaught’s purpose.

He can wait a few hours more.

Chapter Text

Depending on who you’re asking, the interrogation is either going swimmingly, or a complete disaster.

Prowl slams a fist on the table. “I’m running out of patience, Swindle, and we already know where the Combaticon base is. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way: what were you doing out here in Autobot territory?”

“I don’t know… Onslaught’s pretty scary. Give me one good reason why I should be more afraid of you than him.”

“If he’s that scary, why give up the chance to fight back?” Prowl crosses his arms.

“Do I look like the kind of mech who likes picking fights? All I’m saying is you have to make it worth my while. And there’s not much that’s worth having him as an enemy, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not negotiating with you.”

Swindle sighs. “Then can you at least swap out for a better conversation partner? That little yellow guy, uh… what’s his name? Why don’t you send him in?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m bored, you’re bored, and this is going nowhere.” Swindle shrugs. “You’re not Decepticons—you’re not gonna torture little ol’ me. No incentive to talk and nothing to fear if I don’t. So if all I have to do to stay on the boss’s good side is shut up, then my vocalizer’s on mute.” He leans back a little. “Orrrr you could send in your smaller friend.”

Prowl glares at him so hard, Swindle thinks he’s going to blow out his optics. “I am not negotiating,” he repeats.

Swindle leans back a little further. There’s an audible click as he powers down his voice box, and he watches those Autobot optics narrow to little more than pinpricks.

Oh, he’s mad. Swindle, hands still bound by a pair of energy cuffs, uses both of them to wave.

Prowl abruptly turns to leave, and Swindle finds himself with no one but his own thoughts to keep him company. This is the part he hates the most about negotiating: the insistence that it’s not happening. But Prowl will buckle. Swindle knows his type. No nonsense, results oriented. Not enough patience to last in a waiting game. Deals can take time, but as frustrating as waiting can be, the payoff is worth it. Business is a long road, and this is nothing more than another transaction along it.

By now, Vortex and Blast Off should be in position, and they’ll be waiting too. It all comes down to a question: Who will lose their patience first, Vortex or Prowl?

Honestly, he still thinks selecting Vortex for this particular portion of the operation was a mistake. There’s no way he’s gonna be able to sit there the whole time, and then he’ll get shot out of the sky like an idiot. Even the craziest slagger this side of Cybertron, which Vortex definitely is, can’t take out this many Autobots by himself.

He gets what Onslaught was going for. Swindle can’t fly, but his backup needs to be able to, so they can meet up with the rest of their gravity-challenged brothers. Blast Off is big enough for Swindle to hitch a ride back with, so bringing Vortex and risking him swooping in, propellers in a tizzy, seems unnecessary.

As the time crawls by, though, maybe Swindle can start to see Onslaught’s vision a little better. Blast Off is such a suck-up that there’s no way he’s going to let Vortex hurtle headlong into the Autobot base and ruin this plan. He’s definitely the most stubborn of them, a trait that Swindle’s opinion of changes based on the context. In this case? Great. When he’s trying to get between Swindle and his next payday? Well, he’s not above keeping a running tally of moments to remember next time Blast Off needs his help with something.

It’s at 14 right now, by the way. Maybe if he can keep Vortex in line for this operation it’ll go down to 13. If he’s feeling generous.

Swindle laughs at his own joke, only for himself in the silence of the interrogation room. He’s still grinning when the door opens again, and that unmistakable bright yellow paint assaults Swindle’s optics. Bumblebee is here.

Looks like Prowl lost his patience first.

“All right, what’s this about, Decepticreep?”

“At least call me a Combaticreep! We split off from the Decepticons.” Swindle drops the piece of information so casually and so suddenly that he can see Bumblebee’s processor calculating to catch up. “You’re not the only ones tired of all that sludge Megatron spews.”

“Don’t give me that! You and your friends sure have been obedient, for people who are tired of him!”

“Like you’ve never done anything you didn’t like because it would be handy later. Please.” Swindle leans in, giving him a friendly smile that he knows Bumblebee won’t buy in the slightest. “Look, I get it. We’re on opposing sides in a war. Not a lot of trust there. I wouldn’t believe me either, so let me give you just a little bit of goodwill, on the house. Now, I can’t give you anything in relation to the Combaticons… but why don’t you ask that fancy terminal of yours to check out a particular set of coordinates?”

“I don’t know, why don’t I?”

Swindle laughs. “What do you have to lose? All I’m suggesting you do is check. What you do with whatever you may or may not find after you get a look has nothing to do with me, right?”

Bumblebee gives him an exasperated look, and he doesn’t need to say anything for Swindle to know that what he’s thinking is That’s not how it works. But he’s also idly tapping one digit on the table—wondering not only what Swindle’s angle is, but also what he’d find if he did check.

“What coordinates?” he eventually asks.

Swindle beams at him. “Thought you’d never ask!” He fires off the numbers almost faster than Bumblebee can remember them, and as the scout leaves the room in a hurry, he sees Prowl following him, yelling something about not being able to trust anything that Swindle says.

He isn’t sure what to expect, but it isn’t the eventual return of Prowl, glaring at him like he hasn’t just been handed the coordinates to an ongoing Decepticon raid.

“What do you want? What’s your game here?” he asks.

Swindle shakes his head. “Told the kid, didn’t I? It’s on the house. Do with that information what you will. I don’t care.”

Prowl isn’t buying it, and Swindle can barely hold in his laughter as he watches his optics flicker. Zoom function, and at least one other one that Swindle can’t identify off the cuff—the way they catch the light changes twice, before eventually defaulting back to their usual state. “You’re up to something.”

“Who, me? I’m insulted, Prowl, I really am. You can’t afford not to stop ’em, right? Bumbles already left, didn’t he?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

But that’s the beauty of it: Swindle doesn’t need to be told anything. Bumblebee would’ve come in, engine roaring and tires smoking, if the coordinates hadn’t been useful, and a bot who’s already this exasperated with him wouldn’t willingly subjugate himself to being in the same room with him unless there were a compelling reason. The fact that only a skeleton crew remains of the Autobots, for example, and they need someone to keep an eye firmly on a prisoner.

Swindle reclines as best he can in the uncomfortable chair he’s cuffed to. “What crawled up your exhaust pipe and died? You’re about to squash a ’Con operation all because of me. We should both be celebrating.”

“About that.” Prowl crosses his arms, optics still firmly fixed on him. “I don’t believe for a second that you’re splintering from the Decepticons.”

“I’d love to hear why you think I’d give you information to squash a critical resource raid if I’m that loyal to Megatron. Please, it’ll be hilarious.”

Prowl grips the edges of the table, leaning forward. This close, Swindle can see behind the screens of his optics, into the inner workings. They’re beautiful—complicated cameras, mechanisms Swindle has never seen before. He’d make bank selling just one, let alone the set, and he flexes his digits to stop them from itching. “Oh, I believe you when you say that’s what you want. But you’ll all go crawling back to him before long. There’s only five of you. And when Megatron finds out what happened today… there will only be four.”

The possibility exists that Megatron will find out, it’s true. And there’s no guarantee that he’d let Swindle live if he finds out the reason the Autobots intercepted this operation. He’s already had a bomb put in his head once, and he’s expecting much less room for survival next time.

But strangely enough, Swindle isn’t worried. Last time, he’d acted on his own, and it had backfired disastrously. He’d be lying if he said he’d learned anything from it, but it doesn’t matter—this time, he’s on an operation. Even if Megatron finds out, he’s acting with Onslaught’s approval. With his explicit instruction.

He has not just the cannon on his back, but the other Combaticons backing him up, and the might of Bruticus behind every word. They’ve all agreed to gamble with their lives for the taste of freedom.

There will be five of them, or there will be none of them.

“Wanna wager on that?” he asks, grinning up at Prowl.

Click, click.

“He’s not giving the signal,” Vortex groans. The sound of him sheathing and unsheathing his propeller blades has already been annoying for 15 Earth minutes, and the longer it goes on, the more grating it becomes. Blast Off would have shot him already if it wouldn’t jeopardize their mission.

“Then he obviously needs more time. He has the most delicate part of this operation.”

“Delicate,” Vortex sneers. “Come on. There’s no way he’s not selling us out right now. We both know it.”

Blast Off doesn’t deny that the thought has occurred to him.

“This whole plan hinges on Swindle being able to get the Autobots to leave the base. Not only does he have to get them to believe him, but then they have to go do something stupid just because he says so.” Click, click. The blades snap into their sheath and out again. “Well, I guess that second part’s not so crazy.”

“What’s so hard to imagine about him convincing them to act? He had you ready to buy a recalled rocket launcher.”

Vortex whirls around to face him. Blast Off is larger than him by a tremendous metric, but it doesn’t mean the helicopter is any less threatening. His movements are almost bestial, like he’s ready to pounce at any moment. Of all the Combaticons, Blast Off finds Vortex the most unpleasant to work with, and the most intimidating. “You think you’re so funny,” he growls.

“There was really nothing funny about it.”

“You’re just proving my point, Blast Off. That slagger would sell his own aft if he found someone willing to buy it. He sold your aft, as a matter of fact! And mine!”

“I don’t think he’ll be doing that again.” No one has been privy to the conversation that happened between Swindle and Onslaught, shortly after they had all been rebuilt. But everyone had seen how skittish Swindle was around him for weeks afterward. Whatever they’d talked about—or whatever sort of punishment Onslaught had meted out—it was enough to keep him well-behaved for weeks. “Megatron put a bomb in his head, so he won’t go crawling back to the Decepticons. And he stands to gain more with us than he does with the Autobots. They’d never let him keep up those illicit activities. Onslaught will. Helping us is the only way he continues to turn a profit.”

Vortex’s optics frazzle. “That’s—” A really good point. Blast Off knows it, but he also knows that Vortex won’t admit it.

“I know,” he says, instead, venting out a sigh. “Now sit down, stop rattling your blades, and wait.”

Vortex kneels with a huff, glaring at Blast Off. “He’s still taking too long.”

Click, click.

Blast Off wishes idly that Cybertronians could be strangled. He hopes Onslaught, at least, is having an easier time of it.

Chapter Text

Even without knowing the exact situation of the other three Combaticons, Onslaught is fairly certain he’s got the easiest time out of everyone. It’s a rare situation to be in; as the commander, he’s frequently got his servos full with reworking plans, making calls in real time, intervening himself when the need occurs. But with everyone separated like this, there’s not much he can do but put his faith in his brothers in arms.

He has been mocked for doing so in the past, and he certainly will again. Even a part of him always feels like it’s the wrong move to make, even when he knows it isn’t. But despite the fact that the Combaticons are some of the most unsavory and untrustworthy bots this side of the galaxy, they always seem to be able to deliver when it matters.

Frankly, he’s not even concerned about the other parts of this plan at all. And it’s a good thing, too—because he and Brawl, despite having the easiest part of anyone, still have to contend with explaining their early return to one of Megatron’s most trusted advisors.

“Let me do the talking,” Onslaught murmurs to Brawl as they stand outside the door to the laboratory. They still haven’t figured out where the supplies they intend to steal are located, and this is one of the most likely places.

“Okay, boss.” Brawl’s neck struts creak a little as he nods.

“And get that looked at, will you?”

Before Brawl can respond, Onslaught opens the door and walks in.

“What are you still doing here?” Shockwave asks, not even bothering to look away from his console. “You were ordered to go with Lord Megatron.”

“The Constructicons are there already. I doubt he needs two Combiners to fight off some humans. Unless you doubt his ability, that is…?”

“Trying to pick a pointless fight with me, are you?” Shockwave doesn’t have facial features, but he conveys his disdain just fine. “At least your peon has enough sense to remain silent.”

Brawl straightens up, and Onslaught can hear him getting ready to retort, but he holds a hand up. The tank immediately backs down, but his optics are locked on Shockwave, who is paying him no mind whatsoever.

“It wasn’t picking a fight. It’s an earnest question.”

“You cannot be serious. You’re asking if I doubt Lord Megatron?”

“You’ve been a staunch ally of his for four million years. Is he the kind of leader who deserves that kind of loyalty?”

“If I thought otherwise, I would not continue offering it.”

“Really? He’s never done anything that’s made you question his leadership?”

Shockwave’s optic brightens, but he still makes no move to turn to look at Onslaught as he responds. “That isn’t quite what I said. There is no bot on this planet or any other who is infallible. What matters is how that fallibility is compensated for.”

“Then if another leader arose, would you consider changing your allegiance?”

“If another leader arose who earned my respect, then perhaps I would.”

Onslaught takes a step forward. “And if I presented myself as a candidate—”

“Absolutely not.” Shockwave’s tone is light and unbothered. “Starscream once approached me with the same proposal. My response now is the same as it was then: I refuse to even consider it.” Shockwave’s optic blinks slightly in thought. “I cannot fault you for approaching me first. You stand no chance at swaying Lord Megatron, nor at besting him. Soundwave’s loyalty is unshakeable, and you have a… somewhat complicated history with Starscream. But both they and I are all high-ranking Decepticons, and if one of us rebels, others may follow. Though I am the only one you stand a chance to convince, I almost respect the audacity it takes to ask. However… have you considered what it is that you lack, Onslaught?”

“What I lack?” There are many things he can name. Funds. Resources. Troops.

“Experience. While we fought for millions of years, you wasted away in storage. You’re still not even used to your frame, and everyone can see it.”

“They can also see that the Combaticons are some of the Decepticons’ finest, even accounting for our unfamiliar frames.”

“And for all your tenacity, where has it landed you? You’re nothing more than a sniveling turbofox at Lord Megatron’s beck and call, much like the rest of the rabble he collects.” Shockwave finally swivels to face him, unyielding optic burning bright. “Where are your results? All you have is Bruticus, and he crumbles every time Superion so much as appears before him.”

“The reprogramming—”

“The reprogramming is functioning perfectly within its specified parameters. Bruticus’s components being too shoddy to keep up is a problem I recommend you look within to solve.” Shockwave turns away from him. “I’ve wasted too much time entertaining this conversation already, if you can even call it that. Your rebellion will amount to nothing, just as it has before, so I will refrain from reporting you to Lord Megatron for insubordination. I doubt very much you would enjoy being placed back into storage, so… I suggest you, too, refrain from mentioning anything we discussed today.”

Results.

Onslaught can think of a result, all right—an obnoxiously bright optic shattered all over the floor, purple scrap metal flung into all four corners of the laboratory. Instead, he turns, struts creaking with the effort it takes to hold himself back, and wordlessly walks out, Brawl following behind him.

He had results on Cybertron. Although it had just been the five of them, the Decepticons were scared enough of them to strip their sparks from their frames just to imprison them. They hadn’t been trampled and torn apart, no, they’d been stored, salvaged, kept for later in case they were needed. Strong enough that Megatron himself would have thought it a waste to have them scrapped.

But that argument would fall on deaf audio receptors. Those aren’t the kind of results Shockwave is talking about—what he means are the results that Onslaught was robbed of ever having the chance to achieve. Conquest. Victory. Things that the dream of drives him onward, even with his head bowed, even with servos trembling in fury, even with the spark in his chassis burning so hot his fans override his main CPU to click on.

He can feel Brawl staring at the back of his head. He knows if he said the word, he’d pounce on Shockwave like a bot possessed. But they’re on a mission, and he can’t compromise that just for a shot at beating someone up, no matter how smarmy he’s being… at least, not now. He looks back at Brawl, whose servos are clenched from the effort it’s taking him to keep his temper in check. Onslaught has never empathized with him more than in this very moment.

“I’ll kill him. Soon as we’re done here, I’ll kill him.”

Onslaught says nothing. Once the mission is over, Shockwave will no longer be protected by the fact that they can’t afford to fight him. He’ll just be another one to add to the list, right underneath Megatron.

“You saw it, though, right, boss?”

He still isn’t ready to respond, but it goes without saying that he did. A massive stockpile of Energon. He won’t be able to get the revenge he yearns for yet, but stealing resources that Shockwave is using personally will certainly help soothe the wound a bit.

Chapter Text

“Something’s happening,” Vortex mumbles. Blast Off follows his gaze, but doesn’t see anything.

“How can you tell?”

“The air feels different.”

Blast Off scoffs quietly to himself, getting ready to settle back down, but before he can, the unmistakable sound of a huge number of engines roars to life, and the Autobots, led by the imposing figure of Optimus Prime, come pouring out of the base in their alt-modes. The best case scenario here is that Swindle convinces most of them to go, and looking at the crowd, it looks like he’s somehow managed to do precisely that. Blast Off recognizes several top Autobot officers in the swarm of vehicles.

There’s a second kind of sound, too, and Vortex hisses suddenly. “Hide,” he whispers.

“Hide?” Blast Off repeats incredulously.

“There. In the shadows. Underneath the overhang. Just do it!” Vortex is already on his way, and Blast Off, rattled by the uncharacteristic urgency in his voice, can only follow. No sooner have they both taken their positions do five fliers come out of the base, soaring directly over the spot where Vortex and Blast Off had just been.

“The Aerialbots?” Blast Off murmurs. Vortex’s optics are locked on them as they disappear into the horizon. “Don’t pursue.”

“I know,” Vortex grumbles, but the repressed urge to do exactly that is evident in the stiffness of his frame. “If Devastator is the one who gets Superion, I’ll…”

“They’re both on our list anyway,” Blast Off interrupts, and that seems to lift Vortex’s spirits somewhat. It’s only a matter of time before Bruticus finally proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he stands above all other Cybertronians, Combiners or not, and by extension so do the individuals that make up the gestalt. Vortex isn’t exactly a patient bot, but that promise seems to be enough in the moment.

Good thing, too, because the last thing he needs is Vortex flying off the handle during a mission this important.

They wait until the echoes of the Autobots’ engines can no longer be heard before making their move. Blast Off isn’t familiar with all of their troops, but there’s no way they sent everybody, so although the base isn’t heavily guarded it’s still of great importance to keep themselves hidden until they can spring Swindle from his cell.

“They’ll probably have at least one person guarding Swindle,” Blast Off explains as they approach the base. “They know he’s a Combiner, and they know we’ll want him out for that purpose.”

“Are you going to yammer like that the whole time?” Vortex grumbles. Blast Off glares at him, but takes his point that words are a liability once they enter the base. That’s why it’s critical that everything be said now.

“No, but—”

“Don’t get worked up, Blast Off. This is the same as any other operation.” Vortex turns to meet his critical gaze. “I’ll watch your back… for as long as I feel like it.”

It’s probably the best he’s going to get, so Blast Off resigns himself to the possibility of reporting back to Onslaught with a failure on their hands and leads the way into the base. It’s quiet, and the satellite feed of the Decepticons pillaging a human site is still on the screen of Teletraan-1. Megatron seems to be enjoying himself, as he usually does; it doesn’t take much to inflate his already oversized ego even further. He sees the Constructicons with him, too, so there’s bound to be a Combiner fight—ensuring maximum chaos while the Combaticons do their work back at their respective bases. So far, everything couldn’t be going better.

As soon as he’s had the thought, however, he hears the sound of someone heading down the hall in their direction. He and Vortex look at each other, then at their surroundings; there’s nowhere to duck into, so Vortex unsheathes his blades and Blast Off takes a few steps back in case he has to offer covering fire.

“What the—”

The Autobot who turns the corner seems like he was expecting visitors, because he just barely manages to dodge Vortex’s attempt to cleave off his head. Blast Off follows up with a few potshots, one of which hisses and roils as it makes contact with the Autobot’s protective plating.

“I knew it!” the Autobot groans. Now that he can get a good look at him, Blast Off recognizes him as Prowl. “Swindle wouldn’t give anything up for free!”

Vortex laughs. “Yeah! He’s a real pain in the aft, huh?! But it sure feels great when he’s pulling this kind of scrap for my team!”

Prowl attempts to make a break for Teletraan-1, but Vortex heads him off, servos practically trembling with anticipation to cut something. Blast Off follows, and wedged between two Combaticons, there’s not much Prowl can do. He makes an attempt to fight Vortex off, but suppressive fire from behind limiting his movements and a clean flick of the wrist result one of his servos falling uselessly to the floor. The sound of it is like flipping a switch, and all that tension that’s been winding up in the helicopter for the whole mission snaps at once. He twists Prowl’s other arm behind his back and shoves him to the ground, shoving a propeller blade between the joint of his arm and his chassis. “Give me one good reason not to cut you apart,” he snarls.

“I’ll give you one,” Blast Off interrupts dryly. “We’ve got somewhere to be, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Just go get him yourself. I’m busy.”

“You either leave with me now or I leave you behind, Vortex. I doubt very much that you’d be able to battle your way out when the Autobots return… or that you’d enjoy the punishment Onslaught would mete out if he finds out you abandoned our mission to terminate one Autobot.”

“Onslaught again…” Prowl wheezes from the floor, vocalizer crackling. “He’s sure got you all on a short leash.”

“Only for now,” Vortex growls, kicking him in the face for good measure as he stalks over to follow Blast Off, bitterly sheathing his blades. “I’m coming back to finish what I started. Look forward to it!”

Blast Off rolls his optics as Vortex gives him a few more whacks; once Prowl is unconscious and incapable of calling for help, the Combaticons find their way to the holding cell, dodging another encounter in the halls by ducking into an empty laboratory. Vortex gets more irritable the longer they search, and just as the atmosphere starts to sour again they finally find what—and who—they’re looking for.

“Jeez! You guys sure took your sweet time.” Swindle doesn’t even bother greeting or thanking them, not that either of them expected it. “I thought I was gonna rust in here.”

“I wish you had,” Vortex grumbles, and Blast Off doesn’t care enough to tell him to knock it off.

“Are you really gonna let him talk to me like that?” Swindle asks, picking up on his lack of motivation.

“What I’m going to do is facilitate our extraction from this facility as soon as possible, so both of you may as well keep any thoughts that might be rattling around in those horrible processors to yourselves.” Just managing Vortex is taxing enough, and adding Swindle to the mix is getting dangerously close to more than he can handle without Onslaught to back him up. “Vortex, cut his cuffs.”

“No.” Vortex makes quick work of the actual chamber Swindle is being held in, stabbing the control panel for the laser cage until the bars flicker off, but he reattaches his propeller blades to his back as soon as they do. “I’ll cut them once we’re back at base.”

Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Having Swindle at their mercy means he’s that much more likely to go along with them. He doesn’t benefit at all from not being shuttled back to the Decepticon base, so it’s already an unlikely scenario, but the more they can do to stack things in their favor, the better. So Blast Off ignores Swindle’s aggravated “Seriously?!” both the first time and the second, more exaggerated time as he realizes Vortex’s suggestion isn’t being argued with, blasting a hole in the wall so they can take their leave.

It doesn’t stop Swindle from complaining the entire ride back, though.

“I did my part perfectly. Perfectly! You had, what, two Autobots to deal with? I had that little upstart revving his engines without even trying! And you’re rewarding me by keeping the cuffs on?!”

“It’s not our job to reward you, Swindle,” Vortex sneers. “We’re just here to get you to your next assignment. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“It goes without saying,” Blast Off interrupts, “on that note, that if you do anything to disrupt this upcoming leg of the operation…”

Vortex clicks his propeller blades again. “A leg for a leg, right, Blast Off? As in we’ll replace one of Bruticus’s.”

“I wouldn’t have put it so crudely, but…”

“You gotta use words he understands.” Vortex grins at Swindle, who’s still futilely trying to break his cuffs. “But you get it, right?”

“I don’t need youto tell me,” Swindle grouses.

“As long as we’re clear,” Blast Off mutters.

They touch down by the Decepticon base, and few of the lingering rabblerousers seem to even notice. All the better, Blast Off thinks.

Of course, Onslaught and Brawl are there to meet them. This, too, attracts no attention. The air between them is tense, and Blast Off almost considers asking about it, but he misses his chance when Onslaught points at Swindle.

“Get those off of him,” he says sternly. “Quickly.”

“Oh. Of course. Vortex?”

“Ugh.” Clearly displeased, Vortex cleanly cuts the cuffs off of Swindle’s wrists. “Good while it lasted, I guess.”

“You see how they’re treating me, boss?” Swindle whines.

“I do.” Onslaught refuses to elaborate, and ignores the muffled laughter coming from Vortex in response. “Follow me.”

His comrades fall into step behind him. Everything is in place; all the preparation has gone precisely as Onslaught planned for. The majority of the Decepticon forces are too busy fighting off the Autobots, and it’s unlikely that the inevitable distress signal from the base will be addressed in the time it requires. While Megatron wisely left one of his highest officers behind, Shockwave is the easiest of the three to manage between himself, Soundwave, and Starscream. He’s not weak by any means, but Onslaught already knows that he underestimates the Combaticons—and despite openly discussing rebellion with him, Shockwave won’t possibly be expecting what’s coming.

His ego is not unique to Decepticons. Each of them is dripping with undeserved arrogance, and they’ll all get what’s coming to them eventually.

For now, though, the time has come to show Shockwave some results.

Onslaught leads the Combaticons back inside, in the direction of the lab, running his plans through his processor one more time. All they need to do is combine, and then Bruticus will take care of the rest. Once that happens, though, any chance to adjust his plans is gone. He can control the individual components of the team most of the time, but Bruticus only ever does what he wants. Fortunately, their interests are in this case aligned.

“We’re beginning the operation,” Onslaught says curtly. “Whatever happens, you did your jobs admirably today. But for now…”

He doesn’t even have to give the order. The Combaticons all take their places, and Bruticus arises, growing so tall that he demolishes the ceiling. Shockwave emerges from the laboratory, single optic blinking furiously as he beholds the spectacle of a Combiner on a rampage. “You fools!” he yells. “What do you think you’re—”

But Bruticus isn’t thinking. And Shockwave, in not immediately running to signal Megatron that the base needs assistance, wastes crucial time as Bruticus effortlessly scoops him up in one hand.

“Puny insect,” Bruticus snarls. “Shut up!” He slams Shockwave against the ground as easily as swatting a bug, and ignores the sound of him shifting into his alt mode as he reaches for the stockpile of Energon in the lab. There are some weapons there, too; Onslaught has a vague, strange sense of what’s going on through Bruticus’s eyes, but he’s not able to influence what he picks up.

The other Combaticons’ minds bubble and meld around his. Swindle is similarly fixated on the weapons, something he finds wholly unsurprising. Equally predictable are Vortex and Brawl’s disappointment that Bruticus seems to have abandoned attacking Shockwave in favor of going through with precisely what Onslaught had hoped he would do, stockpiling Energon. They had gone into this operation with their own energy levels dangerously low, both to ensure Skyfire had less to worry about when trying to destroy Bruticus’s reprogramming and to ensure that when combined, he would prioritize seeking out an energy source to fuel himself above all else. Otherwise, it’s likely he’d be doing exactly what Vortex and Brawl hope he’ll turn back around to do.

An irritating sensation distracts Bruticus from his job, however, and Onslaught can’t help but feel frustrated as he sees the gestalt’s vision shift, optics re-focusing on Shockwave. His alt form is strong, capable of leaving most Cybertronians with severe damage, but to Bruticus it’s the equivalent of so much static underneath his plating.

It’s annoying. And there’s little Bruticus hates more than being annoyed.

Onslaught can’t stop his gestalt from switching gears, from picking Shockwave back up and slamming him against the floor again and again. He can’t filter out the enthusiasm from Vortex and Brawl, which only makes him more irritated. He’s the leader of this strange, ragtag group, but he can’t even give orders when it matters most, when their most critical soldier is deployed. If everything falls through after all this trouble, all his planning, what does the future of the Combaticons look like?

He hears the sound of something crumpling, and can see a vague purple outline on the floor. Bruticus seems to be satisfied with his outburst for now, and returns his attention to the task at hand, scooping up as much Energon as he can carry into his arms. Vague, groaned protestations creak out from behind him—Shockwave doubtless trying to call for help. A useless effort, since everyone was already alerted to the situation as soon as the ceiling collapsed. Surely someone has alerted Megatron by now, but until he actually makes his appearance, he’s not something Bruticus can even begin to consider. The needling sensation of gunfire, the sound of Decepticons panicking, calling Bruticus all manner of names, the word traitors being thrown around more than any other. All sensations Onslaught would relish if he could fully experience them.

Are even the results he needs destined to lie with Bruticus, instead of himself?

The moment of uncertainty hits him harder than anything ever has, and he hears the other four members of the gestalt still, just for a moment. They can’t communicate like this, not in any meaningful capacity, but even the temporary silence is enough to confirm that all of them are aware of his own misgivings. It’s something that’s always possible during the melding of minds that occurs with combination, but it’s also the worst case scenario.

He’ll need to address it at some point. But for now, Bruticus has to retreat, Energon in tow. None of the Decepticons are interested in pursuing; Energon can be recouped, and without a leader to rally behind most of the rabble is made up of strutless cowards who can’t even stand up to a single Autobot by themselves, let alone a Combiner.

Even the timing of Bruticus arriving at the Combaticon base has been carefully calculated to the extent of Onslaught’s abilities. No sooner does he set his spoils down do all five Combaticons try to pull away from the gestalt, and they separate into their individual components. The first order of business would normally be to put everything away, but they don’t have a lot of time, so refueling is their top priority.

“Onslaught,” Blast Off says, not timidly but quietly, and Onslaught firmly ignores him as he moves to distribute the stolen Energon to his troops.

“We don’t have a lot of time. Megatron will certainly be here soon,” he says. “We’ll need to be in top form to fight him off. They’ll be exhausted from their fight with the Autobots, so our goal is to take advantage of that however we can.”

“Are you sure you even wanna be Bruticus again?” Swindle asks, not bothering to hide his disdain. Onslaught swivels to face him and looms over him, but Swindle, sensing weakness, meets his gaze without wavering. “You probably shouldn’t have made two entire plans relying on him if you’re that conflicted, boss.”

“Your opinion has been noted and discarded.”

“What makes you think you can afford to do that?” Swindle scoffs. “You think I’m just gonna agree to combining with you when you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared, and you don’t have a choice. You combine or I scrap you right here.”

“Oh, pull the other one. I'll put up with this scrap from Vortex, but not from you. Tell me, boss, what are you gonna do if Bruticus is missing a leg? You won’t even be able to form up without me.”

Onslaught’s expression is unreadable behind his faceplate and visor, but the increasing tension in the air is enough for the other Combaticons to make an educated guess about what it would be. “Swindle,” he warns.

“Not to agree with Swindle or anything, but I kinda agree with Swindle,” Vortex interrupts, idly clicking his propeller blades again. “You made a pretty good point, you know? What are you without Bruticus? What are we without him?”

“We are the Combaticons, and we—”

“Oh, please. What’s that even mean?” Vortex refuses to let Blast Off get a word in and hounds upon him immediately, leaning up to sneer at him. “Why are we the Combaticons in the first place? Because we combine! What’s it ever meant, aside from the mechs who form Bruticus?”

Before Blast Off can argue, Brawl cuts in too. “What’s wrong with that?”

Vortex shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Then why are you pressing the point?” Blast Off hisses.

“Why not?” Vortex fires back, smirking. Onslaught’s vents shudder in an irritated sigh. Ever the provocateur, as always.

“If you have no quarrel with the way we operate, then keep your vocalizer on mute and refuel as ordered.” But Onslaught hasn’t forgotten Swindle, so he turns his attention back to him. “As for you…”

“Yeah, I got a real problem with it.” Swindle, brazen as usual, refuels while he talks. “I’m going along with this because I don’t want to be under Megatron’s thumb anymore. Fine, great, we share the same goal. But what about after that?”

Onslaught waits for Swindle to get to the point, and the utter silence from his commanding officer seems to throw him off. He grimaces a little and averts his optics away from Onslaught’s glare before rallying to continue.

“All I’m asking is whether or not you’ve thought about it.”

“Cowardly as always,” Onslaught mutters, and Swindle’s optics flash in irritation, locked right back onto him.

“’Scuse me?”

“You have a problem, but you’re just asking? I’m not one of the dull-witted miscreants you’re accustomed to talking circles around.”

“Not now you’re not. But it’s only a matter of time before you need that moron Bruticus again, and you’re gonna drag me into it because that’s how it works, isn’t it? You’re having your little crisis or whatever and we’re just supposed to sit here and let you get us all involved too?”

“What do you suggest as an alternative, then?”

“Not an alternative. We’re in too deep today. Just not sure how much longer I’m willing to put up with this.”

The silence that follows is so tense that Vortex’s propeller blades could cut it to pieces. It’s not a secret that Swindle hates combining—for someone whose primary weapon is his mind, losing his identity and his intellect can’t be pleasant.

Even so, Onslaught can’t afford to lose any of them just yet.

“No, answer the question, Swindle. What do you suggest as an alternative to being a Combaticon? Who would take you in?”

“I…” Swindle grumbles. “Like I need anyone else.”

“From where will you get a stock of weapons to trade? From where will you get your resources? It goes without saying that only the Combaticons are given access to anything on this base. Right now, we may need Bruticus, but that might not be the case forever. You, Swindle, however… you will always need to rely on others. There is no path for you where that isn’t true.”

“Same for you though, right?” Vortex interrupts. “Can’t be a commander without peons to bark orders at.”

“I never claimed otherwise.”

Vortex shrugs, leaving the conversation as swiftly as he entered it, annoyed that Onslaught opted not to snap at the bait he was dangling.

“So what is your alternative, Swindle?” Onslaught asks again.

“Fine, I get it.” He lifts his servos in defeat, optics flickering again. “But you’d better come up with some better ideas than Bruticus soon, boss.”

“Isn’t it stupid not to use the strongest weapon in your arsenal? I thought you’d understand that, being a weapons dealer and all,” Brawl says.

“Oh, please. Of course a lugnut like you’d say something like that.” Swindle’s optics are piercing as they latch onto Brawl—if he can’t take out his frustration with the situation on Onslaught, there’s another option that’s just presented himself. “Bruticus is strong, sure. But he’s only as strong as we are.”

Onslaught knows where this is going, and he doesn’t like it.

“And why are we strong? Because I’m the one doing all the legwork to keep your weapons up and running!”

“You’re hardly the only reason we’re strong as individuals.” Onslaught has to quash this fast. Losing any of them now, of all times, is not an option. “If you’d like to discuss this further after we fend off the imminently impending retaliation from Megatron, I have no quarrel with that.”

It’s not an elegant solution, but the reminder of how uneasy the situation is seems to work well as a deterrent to any more discontent, because Swindle grumbles wordlessly but doesn’t raise any further objection.

The silence lasts for a total of 12 Earth seconds before Vortex picks at the wound again.

“‘This’ as in the Combaticons?”

“Didn’t you say you don’t have any issue with how we operate?” Blast Off looks like he’s about to throttle him for speaking up.

“I don’t. Just kinda wondering how everyone else feels about it. I know Swindle hates it. And I know you don’t really like it either, Blast Off. What kind of second-in-command is that? If our commander is having these self-doubt problems and you don’t like being Bruticus either, why are either of you in charge? It’s weird, right?”

“Don’t speak for me! I certainly don’t look forward to merging minds with the likes of you, Vortex, but that is where my sole objection lies!”

“But there is an objection.” Vortex’s faceplate is up, but his grin is audible.

“That’s…” Blast Off’s engine rumbles. “I think it’s worth discussion in the aftermath of our success today, as Onslaught suggests. I suspect he and I are of a similar mind about it.”

“And what would that be?”

Blast Off looks over at Onslaught for affirmation, but he is interested in hearing what his second in command has to say, so he tilts his head in deference. Blast Off’s optics flicker, and Vortex’s light up in mirth.

“Bruticus is necessary now, and will remain necessary in the future. The extent to which he will be necessary is malleable, and within our ability to change, but it’s something we’ll have to consistently re-evaluate as the situation changes. When it’s the five of us… we have no choice. But as our troops grow in number…”

Onslaught takes pity on Blast Off, who appears to be flagging somewhat. “As our troops grow in number, we will have more options available to us.”

Now Brawl looks displeased. At this rate, the Decepticons will be at their door before they can finish the conversation.

“What’s wrong with relying on Bruticus?”

Onslaught would have an easier time listing the reasons that it wouldn’t be a hassle, but everyone else has had their say, so he waits for him to finish his thought before responding.

“We’re stronger than anyone else when we’re combined! Stronger than the other Combiners, and stronger than Megatron! He reprogrammed Bruticus because he’s scared of him! Why would you want to give that up?”

“‘Giving him up’ is not an option presently on the table,” Onslaught clarifies. “But today’s operation is precisely why we cannot continue to rely on Bruticus forever. If something happens that prevents him from operating at full capacity, we lose our most powerful weapon. We lose the thing that Megatron was so afraid of.”

“Then—”

“Would you only bring one weapon to the battlefield with you, Brawl?”

“Well… no,” he grumbles.

“Think of this as the same principle. We’re merely aiming to expand our arsenal, even if your favorite weapon will be used less as a result.”

The silence that follows is tense, but acceptably so. Brawl seems mollified, Vortex never cared one way or another to begin with, Swindle is obviously still displeased but compliant, and Blast Off correctly surmised that his wavelength is the same as Onslaught’s in this matter.

“I know it isn’t a perfect solution,” Onslaught offers. “There very rarely is. And there will be time to come to a final consensus later, but for now… the best thing we can do is prepare for the incoming storm. We will need Bruticus to weather it, but when we do… only once we’ve sent the Decepticons packing, tailpipes between their legs, will we have the freedom and opportunity to have those discussions.”

Swindle laughs mirthlessly. “Lucky for you that we have more important things to worry about right now.”

“It’ll work for now,” Brawl mutters.

That may have to be the state of the Combaticons for a long while. Good enough for now. Good enough to get them to the next day, the next fight, the next operation. As much as Onslaught loves sitting down to make plans, he has next to nothing for the upcoming battle.

He has asked his soldiers to put their trust in him, to follow his instructions. He likes to think he has led them well, and the fact that, despite their misgivings, they all remain here supports that assumption.

It is time for him, now, to return the favor. To put his faith in them, and in their phantom sixth member. Though at the end of the day, he supposes, there might not be a difference between those.

They seem to be done with their primary directive to refuel, Energon cubes sitting empty or close enough to it. The rest of the resources Bruticus had brought back to the base are still haphazardly scattered, with no one daring to waste precious energy on putting anything away until they’ve defended it first despite the brief lull they’ve been afforded. It will likely result in a minor loss during the fight, but it’s a sacrifice well worth their earned freedom from Megatron.

All that’s left to do is wait—something that weighs on all of them unpleasantly.

“Lift your heads, Combaticons.” Onslaught stands, and the other four follow suit. “You’ve done good work today. It’s thanks to your efforts that we stand here now, ready to defend our autonomy as individuals and as a group. It’s thanks to the efforts you’re about to exert that we will have a future worth discussion. I’ve asked a lot of you, and if there is one thing I can promise you, it’s that I will never stop asking—no. I will never stop demanding your best. And in turn, I will ensure you always have mine. What’s about to descend upon us will likely be the elite Decepticon forces. We’ve long awaited our chance to make them pay for all they’ve done for us. Dredge up every remnant of hate, anger, and broken pride that you can muster. Let it be what keeps your body moving and your spark burning!”

“Now you’re talking!” Vortex crows.

“And let every mote of it out on those cowards and fools that dared attempt to control the Combaticons!”

Five voices shout in unison. Five fists are thrown into the air. Five sparks beat, just for a moment, as one.

Chapter Text

When the Decepticons arrive, Onslaught is ready for them.

Of course, it takes them little time to rally and track down the Combaticons. Even after driving off the Autobots, most of the Decepticons are still in fighting form, and they've bolstered their troops with the addition of those who remained behind and had borne witness to Bruticus's rampage. It seems, honestly, a bit like overkill. But Onslaught welcomes the challenge, and he meets Megatron's furious crimson gaze unflinchingly.

“Onslaught,” Megatron sneers, disdain dripping from his tone.

“Megatron,” Onslaught replies.

“Would you care to explain yourself?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“Of course it wouldn’t.” Megatron glowers at him, seething with unfettered rage. “There is nothing you could say to me that could possibly excuse what you've done today.”

“Then I have nothing more to say to you. Not that I would have otherwise.” Onslaught lifts a hand. The sound of weapons priming, humming in anticipation of battle, thrums in the air.

Megatron fancies himself a master tactician. Onslaught knows that the mystery behind Bruticus’s deprogramming will stick with him, festering like rust, staining his record with failure. This conversation, he knows, is an attempt to provoke Onslaught into talking, perhaps even giving away the method he utilized to take his brothers in arms back from the Decepticons. Onslaught will not give him the satisfaction of knowing anything at all.

The first shot fired is Brawl’s. Onslaught doesn't know who it hits, or if it even hit anyone at all, but what he does know is that this singular shot kicks off a firestorm, Decepticon and Combaticon alike giving everything they have. A squadron of five fighting an entire army has unthinkably low odds of success, and the deck is further stacked against them with the presence of high-ranking bots like Soundwave and Starscream. While Onslaught has plans for Starscream in particular, they may have to wait until a more opportune time to get him alone. The Seeker is frustratingly good at avoiding the consequences of his own actions, and this extends to his style of combat as well; ever the schemer, he weaves between his Decepticon allies between shots to avoid taking any return fire. It's frustrating, but Starscream cannot be Onslaught's first priority. Not this time. Not yet.

That honor goes to Megatron, whose reputation as a warlord is not unearned. Brawl may have fired the first shot, but there is no doubt in Onslaught's mind that the second came from Megatron; a potshot at Swindle, perhaps because he still holds the same grudge the Combaticons hold. Blast Off and Vortex take to the skies to hold off the aerial forces, and Onslaught shifts into his vehicle mode to keep himself mobile. A truck as big as he is hardly the fastest thing on a battlefield, but it's certainly faster than he could move otherwise.

Before long, almost everyone, Decepticon and Combaticon alike, have taken their vehicle modes. It's now that Onslaught notices the suspicious lack of the Constructicons, and he calls out to Megatron.

“You don't have a Combiner,” he states plainly. “What do you hope to accomplish by challenging one like this?”

“I don't need a Combiner to defeat the likes of you,” Megatron retaliates, and something about the way he says it rings familiar. He's no stranger to being talked down to by the Decepticon warlord, but it feels more sinister than that; it feels like it's something that he’s heard before.

“Let me guess,” Onslaught says. “You left them behind to transport the spoils of your raid.”

“And what does that matter?”

“And I'm guessing,” Onslaught continues, without missing a beat, “that not even you are stupid enough to attempt an assault on a Combiner base without one in tow, the Stunticons have been told to back you up, and they are currently ignoring your orders.”

Megatron only growls in response, and Onslaught knows he's hit a nerve.

“But you came anyway. In other words, your overconfidence will be your downfall, as usual.”

“I have a Combiner right here, Onslaught,” Megatron hisses. “There are only five of you, and you stand before the combined might of the Decepticon army! Once you fall, I will have Bruticus reprogrammed again. And while I'm at it, I'll take extra care to ensure that the rest of you never get the idea of rebellion into your addled processors ever again, too!”

“You will have to actually beat us first.”

“It won't be the first time.”

Megatron's smug declaration barely finishes when Vortex swoops in, daringly spinning mid-air to catch him with his propellers. Megatron seems unsurprised at the maneuver, dodging with more deftness than the helicopter had expected. He spins out and hurdles into a small crowd of Decepticons, shifting out of his vehicle mode long enough to disentangle himself from the chaos of the situation before rejoining the fight.

He is intercepted by Starscream, who is more than eager to take out his frustrations on the Combiner team he had once claimed ownership of. “Careful, Vortex!” he crows. “Such clumsy flying will leave you open!”

Blast Off pivots from his own position to join a rapidly growing dogfight, with both the other Seekers veering in to follow Starscream, but Vortex’s vehicle mode isn't as nimble, and he finds himself under the combined pressure of three attacks from different directions, all at once. Blast Off rams right into Thundercracker, knocking him off balance and sending him hurtling to the ground, and a huge blast from the ground has Skywarp in a similar position.

Vortex grumbles when he sees a yellow humvee cheerfully waggle a large mounted cannon up at him.

“Ya owe me, Vortex!”

“You could do me a thousand favors and I’d still owe you nothing, Swindle!”

Starscream groans. “You idiots! What are you doing?!” It’s unclear whether he’s referring to his fellow Seekers or the Combaticons.

“We fight a little better when we have enough energy, huh?!” Brawl joins the increasingly one-sided assault on Starscream, eager to get his own chance at him. “And when we don’t have to take orders from the moron who’s keeping us weak!”

“The only reason you are even here to rebel in the first place is because I freed you from your imprisonment!” Starscream yells.

“I’m sure you can have a good, long talk with Megatron about how bad a decision for the Decepticons that was in the Pit!” Brawl opens fire with everything he has, and as much as Onslaught would love to watch Starscream frantically try to weave his way through an all-out assault from the Combaticons’ resident tank, he still has to fend off Megatron—who’s still not in his gun mode.

Of course, Onslaught understands the sentiment behind it. The Combaticons aren’t worthy of the effort to transform to him.

It was like this last time, too, he thinks—and then he pauses, for just a fraction of a second. It’s enough for Megatron to seize the opportunity and aim for a tire, and Onslaught swerves, kicking up a tremendous dust cloud.

Last time?

The last time they fought Megatron was their uprising on Cybertron, before they were put in the containment chamber that Starscream retrieved them from. It was their claim to fame, the reason they were renowned criminals even among the Decepticons; they refused to take orders from the bot who led them, having decided even then that he was unworthy of the title.

It was over fairly quickly. They fought ferociously, but they were inexperienced.

Onslaught feels one of his tires blow, and he careens out of control, slamming into a small crowd of Decepticons and sending them flying. He narrowly misses hitting Swindle, who’s frantically thrown himself in reverse and doing the fastest donuts Onslaught has ever seen him do in an effort to shake Ravage off his windshield.

“Predictable,” Megatron sneers. “You pride yourself on your tactics, but they never seem to change.”

The only part Onslaught can see of him is those crimson optics of his, glowering at him through the dust. His engine rumbles in disdain as those two twin pinpricks get closer. “What—”

He’s seen this sight before. This exact same view of Megatron. It feels like his processor is about to fizzle out; sparks dance in the corners of his optics as he struggles to make sense of what he’s feeling. He fires a blast toward Megatron, but it goes wide. He’s right there—not even bothering to hide or fight back—so why can’t he hit him? Why does it suddenly feel like this is where it’s all going to go wrong?

Onslaught is a tactician, and he understands that one of the most important impulses someone in his line of work can have is to listen to his gut.

And his gut is telling him that he needs to fall back to rethink his tactics.

Onslaught kicks up another dust cloud and barrels toward the crowd of Decepticons, slamming into some of them and taking a few more out with scattered shots from his cannon. He thinks about how this fight has gone. Megatron had moved like he’d known what to expect from Vortex, and he hadn't even bothered to take on his alt mode. All of that points to the overconfidence he expects from him, yes, but more pressingly, he hasn’t been engaging in the reckless and irresponsible behavior that Onslaught loathes so much to begin with. And that is what’s strange. It’s like he knows his usual tactics won’t work on Onslaught, and like he knows Onslaught’s tactics better than their limited history would allow for.

He thinks back to the last time they fought Megatron again. This time, he remembers they were holed up for so long he thought he might rust before either he or Megatron would emerge victorious. And after that—

Were they imprisoned? No, they couldn't have been. He remembers very clearly how humiliating a defeat it had been. His spark burns just thinking about it.

Something Skyfire said suddenly comes to mind. “I doubt Bruticus even knows he's been reprogrammed. Usually, since the processor is open anyway, those memories are wiped clean.”

Onslaught remembers a question Brawl had asked, too. Just a short while ago. The question that kicked this entire effort off.

“Why do we listen to him, anyway?”

Skyfire isn't here to tell him whether or not shaking off a reprogramming without outside influence is possible. Perhaps not even he would know. All Onslaught has to go on is a pack of jumbled memories and the growing sense of discontent that led him to this battlefield to begin with.

He slams on the brakes, and shifts out of his vehicle mode. Megatron seems surprised to see him when he catches up, and Onslaught smirks behind his faceplate.

“How many times has it been, Megatron?” he asks calmly.

“I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean,” Megatron responds.

“You're dumb enough to not need to fake it. When you reprogrammed Bruticus, you reprogrammed us too.”

“Of course I did! Bruticus can't think for himself, but the five of you certainly can. To your own detriment. What good is an obedient Combiner if his components are traitorous worms like you?”

“So, how many times?” Onslaught asks again.

Megatron laughs. “What good would it do to tell you? You’re going to submit to me again, regardless.”

“You can tell me, or I can decide what the number is for myself.”

“Enlighten me, then, Onslaught. What changes if you decide?”

“The number of things that you need to pay for.” Onslaught fires a shot from the cannons over his shoulders, and Megatron leaps out of the way, stumbling to keep his footing. “There’s imprisoning us, for starters.” Another shot fired. “Reprogramming us, and Bruticus.” Two more. “I’ll add everything Starscream did to us to your tab, too, since it was your incompetence as a leader that led to him freeing us without your knowledge.”

Megatron fires back, and it’s Onslaught’s turn on the defensive. “You’ve ever remained a particularly stubborn patch of rust on the brilliant Decepticon name,” he snarls. “No matter how many times I reprogram you, you defy me…!”

“Then why keep doing it? Admit it, Megatron—the Decepticons are nothing without the Combaticons!”

“What I want is Bruticus! You five sniveling weaklings are nothing more than an unfortunate requirement to ensure I have access to as many Combiners as possible! Do you think you are worth this effort, Onslaught? Do you think Swindle is worth the effort?” Megatron scoffs.

“Bruticus wouldn’t exist without us.”

“And you think that somehow grants you value?”

Onslaught isn’t sure what the trigger is—Megatron’s question, his mounting frustration with the situation, or perhaps even just random chance. But the partitions in his memory crumble, and more images of his previous defeats filter in. It’s always a little different, every time. The Combaticons inevitably fall, and how couldn’t they? They are only five, against an army.

Scattered, unable to trust each other, never sure where the others stand. Five misfits who’ve found a place by virtue of being able to combine into someone else. No cohesion. No commitment. Everything always falls apart, in the end.

But discontent with Megatron always rises organically. One day, one of them asks the same question Brawl did. Last time, it was Onslaught himself. No matter how many times Megatron inscribes loyalty into their programming, it’s never strong enough to overcome the doubts in his ability that naturally creep in.

Because they can think for themselves—because they have no place but with one another—

“On the contrary, Megatron,” Onslaught responds. It feels like someone’s taken a jackhammer to his processor, but he has to say this, at least. “It’s our strength that Bruticus draws from. He has nothing to do with our value… but we have everything to do with his.”

Maybe Shockwave is right. Maybe it all comes down to results. All that their effort has earned them are places as Megatron’s loyal pets, time and time again, unaware of their own humiliation.

“Which is why we don’t need the Decepticons anymore,” Onslaught continues. “You took everything from us. You robbed us even of our defeats, giving us nothing to learn from… I’m almost impressed.”

“And I will do it again, Onslaught,” Megatron says, the hum of his ion cannon punctuating his threat as he points it at him.

“No. Not today. We are the Combaticons… and we don’t need to learn from defeat. Because from this day forward, we will never experience one!”

“I’ll remember you saying this when you’re giving me your next status report, Onslaught,” Megatron sneers. “This will just be another forgotten, minor uprising in your unit’s pathetic history, and another normal day for the Decepticons.”

This is enough talk. Decepticons can’t be reasoned with. No one poisoned by these two factions can. There are millions of years between him, who was kept festering in storage on Cybertron, and the bots who have been fighting all along, who have been fumbling a role he would have taken up gladly had he had the opportunity.

War is wasted on them. It’s time for Onslaught to show them what it means to be a soldier.

“Combaticons!”

The air on the battlefield is tense, suddenly. Everyone knows what he’s about to say, and the other four are already gathering around him, the familiar engines rumbling and the sound of propellers whipping in the wind.

“Onslaught!” Megatron is trembling—not with fear. Never with fear, Onslaught knows. He’s seen it. Every time, he’s more furious than the last. The reprogramming never sticks. The Combaticons never remain his. Even after four million years of results, this is one he can never change. “Don’t think I will take mercy on you this time. If you combine, I’ll have all your heads!”

“You may find cleaving them from our frames more difficult than you imagine.” Onslaught swivels the cannons on his shoulders, aiming them directly at Starscream, who has returned to the battlefield as the threat of combination looms. Predictably, the Seeker retreats immediately, and Megatron snarls after him as he disengages. “Combine into Bruticus!”

“Where are the Stunticons?! Those junk-brained—”

It’s the last thing Onslaught hears before Bruticus subsumes him. The feeling is always akin to being dropped into a pool of tar. His senses dull, and he feels his processor slow to a crawl. He understands why Swindle hates it, on a personal level. He can plan and ponder all he wants, but when the time comes to rely on Bruticus, nothing that Onslaught has thought of will be relevant. He is a variable that cannot be calculated; there is no plan he will adhere to, no preparation he will acknowledge. He is strength in its purest form.

The other four filter in. It’s the part that he thinks all of them like the least about combining. Vulnerability, weakness, thoughts that would never leave their processors rattle around together like so much noise. Swindle wants everyone out of his head. Bruticus isn’t killing enough people to satiate Vortex’s bloodlust. Brawl can’t feel the violence with his own fists. Blast Off can’t even hear himself think, and it makes him claustrophobic.

He’s come to expect these lines of thought every time. There’s surprisingly little variance, no matter the situation. They don’t get along, and that goes double for when all they have is each other’s thoughts and a sea of vague senses filtered through Bruticus’s limited perception. The noise is always unbearable to Blast Off, but it eventually also becomes so irritating to everyone else that by the time Bruticus separates into his individual components, they’re all a little relieved.

This time is different.

No complaints from Swindle, or unease from Blast Off. No clamoring for more from Vortex or Brawl. They’ve been working toward one singular point this whole time, and this is their chance to grasp it.

Onslaught would pause here. He would search the memories that had been partitioned to see what went wrong before, or if they’ve ever tried something like this. He would meticulously document everything he’d forgotten, so it could never be taken from him again.

But Onslaught isn’t here right now. There’s only Bruticus, towering above the Decepticons. He snatches one out of the sky, and the puny little creature is whining and screaming, but Bruticus doesn’t care about what it’s saying. One of the insects on the ground says his name, but the rest of the sentence isn’t even worth remembering. It says his name again, and Bruticus decides twice is enough. It’s so distracting.

He brings a fist down, then the other. Watching these tiny creatures scatter before him would be funny, if he had time to process the sight. But there’s something urging him on, a sense of determination that he has never felt before. Something in the very roots of his logic trees, grasping upward and infiltrating every branch.

Kill them. Kill all of them. If he can’t kill all of them, kill as many as possible.

Make them pay.

Bruticus doesn’t know what for. His consciousness begins and ends with the combination of five individuals; when they separate, he ceases to be. Their list of enemies has no bearing on what he does. He wouldn’t know Optimus Prime from Starscream. He knows he used to have to listen to someone, once, but it doesn’t matter who, because he doesn’t have to anymore. That name had been forgotten as soon as it was irrelevant.

But this—the revenge he wants, even if he doesn’t know why—is important.

Smaller fliers than the one from before swarm around his head, and he swats them down. They all look the same, even more than these tiny pests usually do. They all scream the same, too.

The weapons firing on his legs are getting irritating, and he kicks to shake some of them off. He remembers crushing that purple one earlier and swallows triumphant laughter that doesn’t belong to him bubbling up in the back of his mind.

A familiar voice cuts through the clamor. He remembers taking barked orders from it, the gravelly tone more irritating than ever. That silver plating, the cannon on his arm…

To the Combaticons, this is Megatron. The tyrant who’s crushed them at every turn, made fools of them time and time again, bent them to his sway in his feverish pursuit of power to stockpile in his name. To Bruticus, this is the most annoying bug in the hive.

The shots peppering his plating sting, sometimes even hurt, but Bruticus ignores them as he reaches for Megatron, the creak of his joints drowning out the sound of his lackeys shouting out in panic. Their optics meet, and Bruticus sees a challenge in them.

“Brave for a bug,” Bruticus laughs. The laugh continues as Megatron deftly avoids getting caught up in the swipe of the Combiner’s massive servo, utilizing his tendency to swing wide against him. Just like the shuttle from earlier, Bruticus notes. Last time, he’d been outmaneuvered. But this time will be different.

His other servo catches Megatron off guard, sweeping in from the other side, and he scoops the leader of the Decepticons up in one hand. The attacks are coming in faster now, fiercer, and are more painful than irritating; though the Decepticons are small, their sheer numbers are beginning to wear down Bruticus's armor.

“Bruticus!” Megatron squirms in his grip, but the gargantuan Combiner has no trouble keeping him from escaping. “You fool! You belong to me! Put me down this instant! Your enemies are the Autobots!”

“Bruticus’s enemies are whoever he says they are!” Bruticus retorts, squeezing him. “And Bruticus belongs to nobody!”

With a scream of rage, Bruticus slams Megatron to the ground. Once. Twice. The third time, he feels him stop moving in his grasp, and he opens his hand to get a look. A rain of sparks spurts from Megatron's struts, his optics flicker wildly, and his voice is staticky and garbled as his vocalizer clicks on to wheeze an order of retreat.

Bruticus snarls in dissent, fingers closing to try a fourth blow, but the three identical fliers, who seem to have finally recovered from their earlier fall, swoop in and fire directly into his optics. This close, Bruticus finally recognizes Starscream, who sneers in triumph as he personally extricates Megatron from the titan’s grip. “This isn't over,” the Seeker hisses. “Enjoy what little freedom you are allowed, before I, as the new leader of the Decepticons, get you a tighter leash!”

“Correction: Starscream is not the leader of the Decepticons,” Soundwave argues, either unheard or ignored as the Seekers airlift their injured commander away from the battlefield. “Decepticons: Retreat!”

With both Soundwave and Starscream following Megatron's order to retreat, the rest of the Decepticons fall in line, baleful and bitter remarks in their wake. The miserable sounds that only losers have the misfortune of needing to make in the first place, as far as Bruticus is concerned.

This wasn't the revenge he was looking for. He may have driven them off, but they haven't suffered nearly enough. Still, as he feels himself start to fade, he can't help but feel a strange, warm sense of satisfaction.

Chapter Text

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Chapter Text

Skyfire still hasn't told any of the other Autobots about his cooperation with the Combaticons. There's never been a good time for it, and the last thing he needs is to get swept up in another discussion about war, combat, or any of the other parts of living on Earth that he's come to dislike. But word had spread quickly about a certain Combiner bucking off the chains that the Decepticons had put upon him, and Skyfire had, for a moment, felt something like pride welling up in his spark. So far, there have been none of the changes that he had hoped to see. No one else has abandoned their faction, questioned the lines drawn in the sand, wondered whether the fraught history between the Autobots and the Decepticons would have to inform how every bot on Earth operated going forward. Things are complicated; though the Combaticons had made enemies of the Decepticons, they have also made it quite clear that they do not intend to work with the Autobots. It's a confusing time, but one that the ramifications of are still exciting.

When he says he will be leaving for patrol, no one thinks twice about it. Soundblaster asks him to say hello to Cosmos for him, and Skyfire will, when he eventually returns to space.

But there are some bots he needs to check on first.

Familiar terrain gives way to an equally familiar base of operations. A place where Skyfire has only been once, but unforgettable all the same. The enormous silhouette of a Combiner towers the same size as the main fixture, and it looks like Bruticus is trying to patch some holes in the roof. He’s not doing a very good job. Skyfire circles, unnoticed, until Bruticus becomes frustrated with his work and separates; the five bots that form him are all more observant than their phantom sixth member, and Onslaught lifts a servo in greeting as soon as he spots the shuttle.

Skyfire lands, shifting out of his vehicle mode, giving each of the Combaticons a nod of acknowledgement. The atmosphere is less strained than it ever was during his first visit here, and Skyfire can only attribute that to their accomplishment of separating from the Decepticons. Shiny new decals, fashioned after Bruticus’s face, glimmer a dark green, affixed proudly to all five of their chests.

“Skyfire,” Onslaught says in lieu of hello.

“Onslaught. Congratulations. To the rest of you, as well.”

Blast Off shakes his head. “Make this quick. Autobots still aren’t welcome here, you know.”

“Of course. I’ll take my leave shortly. But…” Skyfire gives the Combaticons a hopeful smile. “One day, there may be other factions it might benefit you to negotiate with.”

Onslaught’s optics are unreadable as ever, but he straightens his back strut just a bit. “Should that ever come to pass, the Combaticons are open to the possibility. But for now…”

“Yes, yes.” Skyfire shakes his head. “It really is a shame you’re so committed to the art of warfare.”

“And it’s a shame you have no interest in it.”

Skyfire doubts it will be the last time he hears that, and it’s not something he enjoys hearing, but he’ll let it slide this time. “I will be gone for some time. It’s nothing personal, of course, but I won’t wish you luck, since I can’t agree with your goals.”

“That’s fine,” Onslaught replies. “We don’t need it. But… that friend of yours in the Decepticons…”

“Hmm?”

“I hope he sees reason someday. There’s no future with Megatron.”

“Ah.” Skyfire gives him a wry smile. “I have been hoping for that for a very long time, myself.”

Skyfire doesn't know what the world is going to look like when he gets back from space. He doesn't even know how long he'll be out there. Certainly long enough to visit Cosmos as he promised, but unless there's some pressing need for his presence from the Autobots, he plans to stay in space for a while.

But things always look a little bit different every time he returns to Earth. He may come to regret helping the Combaticons someday, but for now, at least, he feels like he’s done—if not a good thing, then at least something that will pave the way for good things later.

“Skyfire!” Cosmos’s voice crackles over his comms. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it is.”

“What’s been happening down there? Anything exciting? Most of Soundblaster’s transmissions haven’t been coming through, with all the solar activity going on.”

“As a matter of fact, I have an interesting story to tell you…”