Fic: We've Been Torn, We've Been Crossed
Title: We've Been Torn, We've Been Crossed
Notes: Transformers movie-verse, based on my backstory for Jolt.
Warnings: Angst and italics abuse! It's not my best- a little rushed and I have some tense issues, but I needed to write it before the idea ate me alive. I'm in a bad mood so Jolt gets to bear the brunt of that! Sorry little guy! ;o;
---
The Autobot landed just off the shore of Diego Garcia.
Initial contact had been made weeks ago, though their signal had been faint, and any messages garbled by sheer distance. It had been a long, long time since the Autobots had heard from one of their own. Codes were swapped, and coordinates given.
Regardless of any assurances this newcomer may have given them- given Optimus- they know it is best to err on the side of caution, and so a Topkick carrying a small unit of soldiers, flanked by a Corvette and a Volt, roll out to the beach. A small team, but this is their home turf. Backup is only a shout away.
Sideswipe, as ever, is the first to unfold from his vehicle mode, unsheathing a blade and casting a wary optic at the crater from which their new ally is emerging. Jolt follows suit, then Ironhide as soon as his passengers are clear and in formation. The older mech takes a careful step forward, then another, cannons whirring, until the slender form of a Cybertronian still in protoform emerges from the dust and smoke. The weapon’s master gives the other an appraising look- his face isn’t one he recognizes.
“You.”
Optics snap to Ironhide’s left- to Jolt. The stocky Autobot has gone deathly still, his expression unreadable, though Sideswipe could swear there had been enough acid in that one word to corrode even Ironhide’s armor.
There is a beat of silence, and then recognition dawns on the other’s face. Jolt’s own name only half escapes his vocals before a blue-armored body collides with him, slamming him onto his back in the sand. Even Sideswipe is surprised- by rights, Jolt shouldn’t be able to move that fast, but he had closed the distance with remarkable speed. Jolt’s fingers, long and ill-suited for curling into a fist, had formed the closest semblance that they could, and his curled digits slam into the other Autobot’s faceplates with surprising force. Again, and again, and again. An Autobot- a fellow Autobot- and Jolt is hurting him and he doesn’t care. He just keeps hammering, incomprehensible sounds of pure rage bubbling from his vocals, until heavy, scarred hands seize him by the arms and haul him bodily away from his would-be comrade.
Ironhide is talking. Berating him, but the words don’t even register.
“How dare you,” Jolt seethes, straining to free himself from Ironhide as the other Autobot struggles to his feet. “How dare you show your face here.” His voice is low, almost dangerous. Sparks are flying from his fingertips.
“Jolt…”
“Shut up! Shut up!” Jolt isn’t sure who said his name, but his gaze never leaves the beaten faceplates of the new arrival. For all the expression his own faceplates allow, he’s glaring, hate and pain written plainly in his optics. His voice has lost its quiet and he is all but screaming. “You left me! You left me! And now you have the gall to show up like nothing happened?!”
A pause, a break in Jolt’s tirade, and the other mech makes a quiet, embarrassed noise. “We… thought you were dead,” his speech is awkward, slurred thanks to the damage Jolt had inflicted on his face, his optics downcast.
“You thought? You thought? You didn’t even check!” He’s screaming now, fighting with everything he has to free himself from Ironhide’s grip, to throw himself at the other again and hammer him until he offlines. “I was ambushed! They left me for dead! I called! I called and I called! Where were you?” His deep, dark, long-kept secret, laid bare and raw and painful for everyone to see, and he doesn’t care. The soldiers are exchanging glances, and even Sideswipe has rolled back a pace, staring openly at his friend. There is only the other mech, someone he thought had been his friend. Only the ache in his chest as he recalls those long, painful days alone on a desert planet.
“Where were you? Look at me! Tell me where you were!” Jolt demands again, and the pain in his voice is so… familiar, so raw, it makes Sideswipe roll back another pace, his hand over his own spark. There is no response from the other. As quickly as it seized him, all of the anger just drains out of the blue-armored Autobot. He sags in Ironhide’s grip, silent sobs wracking his frame. “Where were you… where…” Jolt echoes, weakly.
Ironhide, clearly out of his depth, tentatively releases the younger mech, and Jolt merely drops to his knees. The unnamed Autobot takes a step closer, but Sideswipe is there, gliding effortlessly between them. “Go with Ironhide,” he says. When the other hesitates, he shoots him a look that clearly states he’s not above impaling one of his own. “Go.”
And he does. The weapons master guides him back to the base, muttering something about getting the medic to look at him. Their human counterparts are not far behind, casting sympathetic glances at Jolt’s still-shaking form, and the slender silver mech standing over him.
Sideswipe kneels, gathering blue armor into his arms. Jolt’s fingers close tightly around his shoulders, and his head comes to rest on the other’s chest. He’s still shaking, and making the occasional choked, painful sound, and all Sideswipe can do is hold him. Hold him and promise him that never again will he be alone.
Notes: Transformers movie-verse, based on my backstory for Jolt.
Warnings: Angst and italics abuse! It's not my best- a little rushed and I have some tense issues, but I needed to write it before the idea ate me alive. I'm in a bad mood so Jolt gets to bear the brunt of that! Sorry little guy! ;o;
---
The Autobot landed just off the shore of Diego Garcia.
Initial contact had been made weeks ago, though their signal had been faint, and any messages garbled by sheer distance. It had been a long, long time since the Autobots had heard from one of their own. Codes were swapped, and coordinates given.
Regardless of any assurances this newcomer may have given them- given Optimus- they know it is best to err on the side of caution, and so a Topkick carrying a small unit of soldiers, flanked by a Corvette and a Volt, roll out to the beach. A small team, but this is their home turf. Backup is only a shout away.
Sideswipe, as ever, is the first to unfold from his vehicle mode, unsheathing a blade and casting a wary optic at the crater from which their new ally is emerging. Jolt follows suit, then Ironhide as soon as his passengers are clear and in formation. The older mech takes a careful step forward, then another, cannons whirring, until the slender form of a Cybertronian still in protoform emerges from the dust and smoke. The weapon’s master gives the other an appraising look- his face isn’t one he recognizes.
“You.”
Optics snap to Ironhide’s left- to Jolt. The stocky Autobot has gone deathly still, his expression unreadable, though Sideswipe could swear there had been enough acid in that one word to corrode even Ironhide’s armor.
There is a beat of silence, and then recognition dawns on the other’s face. Jolt’s own name only half escapes his vocals before a blue-armored body collides with him, slamming him onto his back in the sand. Even Sideswipe is surprised- by rights, Jolt shouldn’t be able to move that fast, but he had closed the distance with remarkable speed. Jolt’s fingers, long and ill-suited for curling into a fist, had formed the closest semblance that they could, and his curled digits slam into the other Autobot’s faceplates with surprising force. Again, and again, and again. An Autobot- a fellow Autobot- and Jolt is hurting him and he doesn’t care. He just keeps hammering, incomprehensible sounds of pure rage bubbling from his vocals, until heavy, scarred hands seize him by the arms and haul him bodily away from his would-be comrade.
Ironhide is talking. Berating him, but the words don’t even register.
“How dare you,” Jolt seethes, straining to free himself from Ironhide as the other Autobot struggles to his feet. “How dare you show your face here.” His voice is low, almost dangerous. Sparks are flying from his fingertips.
“Jolt…”
“Shut up! Shut up!” Jolt isn’t sure who said his name, but his gaze never leaves the beaten faceplates of the new arrival. For all the expression his own faceplates allow, he’s glaring, hate and pain written plainly in his optics. His voice has lost its quiet and he is all but screaming. “You left me! You left me! And now you have the gall to show up like nothing happened?!”
A pause, a break in Jolt’s tirade, and the other mech makes a quiet, embarrassed noise. “We… thought you were dead,” his speech is awkward, slurred thanks to the damage Jolt had inflicted on his face, his optics downcast.
“You thought? You thought? You didn’t even check!” He’s screaming now, fighting with everything he has to free himself from Ironhide’s grip, to throw himself at the other again and hammer him until he offlines. “I was ambushed! They left me for dead! I called! I called and I called! Where were you?” His deep, dark, long-kept secret, laid bare and raw and painful for everyone to see, and he doesn’t care. The soldiers are exchanging glances, and even Sideswipe has rolled back a pace, staring openly at his friend. There is only the other mech, someone he thought had been his friend. Only the ache in his chest as he recalls those long, painful days alone on a desert planet.
“Where were you? Look at me! Tell me where you were!” Jolt demands again, and the pain in his voice is so… familiar, so raw, it makes Sideswipe roll back another pace, his hand over his own spark. There is no response from the other. As quickly as it seized him, all of the anger just drains out of the blue-armored Autobot. He sags in Ironhide’s grip, silent sobs wracking his frame. “Where were you… where…” Jolt echoes, weakly.
Ironhide, clearly out of his depth, tentatively releases the younger mech, and Jolt merely drops to his knees. The unnamed Autobot takes a step closer, but Sideswipe is there, gliding effortlessly between them. “Go with Ironhide,” he says. When the other hesitates, he shoots him a look that clearly states he’s not above impaling one of his own. “Go.”
And he does. The weapons master guides him back to the base, muttering something about getting the medic to look at him. Their human counterparts are not far behind, casting sympathetic glances at Jolt’s still-shaking form, and the slender silver mech standing over him.
Sideswipe kneels, gathering blue armor into his arms. Jolt’s fingers close tightly around his shoulders, and his head comes to rest on the other’s chest. He’s still shaking, and making the occasional choked, painful sound, and all Sideswipe can do is hold him. Hold him and promise him that never again will he be alone.