XFMR - Crush - Crushed to Pieces
Title: Crush - Crushed to Pieces
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Protectobots
Rating: PG
Summary: Who am I, to tell those who love me what is best for me?
Warnings: SOB
Notes: And let the First Aid torture begin.
Table of Contents
o o o
First Aid trembled without noticing as his processor chased itself into circles. Ironhide and Wheeljack were leaving. After Ratchet. Into the Pit. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next groon, maybe never, if Optimus stopped them. He was a medic, and medics were solely needed. He was part of a gesalt, and gesalts were rare. He was young, in a war where everyone seemed so old. He was innocent, and contemplating a dive straight into the most hedonistic, depraved city on Cybertron.
He could not make the decision.
He had to. He had to go. But he had to stay. He couldn't let Ratchet die. He couldn't abandon his brothers. He couldn't let Ironhide and Wheeljack go without help. He couldn't survive in Isabax.
He could not make the decision.
Only one entity really could. Oh, but that way was hard. He'd be lying to his brothers; a lie of omission, but a lie none the less, and he'd never lied to them, never even thought himself capable of it. But to tell them beforehand was to skew the results.
No, Defensor had to make an impartial decision.
An alarm at the edge of his notice. A fire drill, a request for backup. First Aid shuddered and responded.
Blades already swarmed over Hot Spot's legs when First Aid arrived. Groove got there half a tick in the lead, unraveling over Hot Spot's head and shoulder. and First Aid neatly socketed himself around the other arm. Streetwise came last, clicking into place along the junction between Groove and Hot Spot. Five mechs went down in an unruly pile; a towering gesalt rose from a dignified kneel.
Defensor stretched his arms, politely stepping over Inferno as he headed for the mechs trapped by holographic fire. As he made a ladder of himself, Defensor mused over the problem one of his component-selves had brought to him. A mech, in terrible danger, and his component-self wanted to join the rescue. It risked death and the breaking of the gesalt, but if the rescue failed without his component-self's help, said component-self would break the gesalt anyway through grief and guilt-fueled suicide.
A ripple through the submerged personalities of his component-self's made him pause. Apparently, the component-self in question had never realized that he'd kill himself. Defensor wondered at his component-self's incredible ability to not understand themselves.
And he wondered why there was even a question. They were sparked to protect, to rescue, to save those who needed saving. What good was he, if he refused to help a mech on the grounds that he might be broken? If he started making such choices, he didn't deserve to remain whole.
Satisfied, Defensor finished with the rescue portion of the drill, quickly debriefed Inferno, and strode off, towards the tiny private hangar of the Protectobots. He ducked the low - for him, anyway - door jamb and started to dissolve, his parti-colored parts dropping off and reforming the mech that formed him.
Streetwise formed first, whirling on the still-clacking mass that was turning into First Aid. "Why didn't you tell us?" he demanded, fear and hurt fracturing his sub-harmonics.
"Defensor had to make the choice," First Aid said quietly, equally pained and terribly resigned.
"Defensor," Blades spat, swiveling his hip gimbals back into place. "Has no concept of self-preservation, no common-sense, and-"
"And no bias," First Aid interrupted. He looked up at Blades and fought a sob. "Such as fear or love."
Blades stared at him for a moment, then cursed and drew First Aid into his arms. The rest of them fell in around them, their myriad limbs tangling as if they were gesalting again. First Aid clung to Blades with one arm and Streetwise with the other, Groove against his neck and Hot Spot warm against his back. "I'll come back," he whispered. "I promise."
"Don't make promises," Hot Spot murmured. "Just do it. Whatever it takes, come back to us, First Aid."
"I will,"
"You better," Groove mumbled against First Aid's neck, burrowing in further. They all tightened their hold, and for the last time in a long while, First Aid felt safe.
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Protectobots
Rating: PG
Summary: Who am I, to tell those who love me what is best for me?
Warnings: SOB
Notes: And let the First Aid torture begin.
Table of Contents
o o o
First Aid trembled without noticing as his processor chased itself into circles. Ironhide and Wheeljack were leaving. After Ratchet. Into the Pit. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next groon, maybe never, if Optimus stopped them. He was a medic, and medics were solely needed. He was part of a gesalt, and gesalts were rare. He was young, in a war where everyone seemed so old. He was innocent, and contemplating a dive straight into the most hedonistic, depraved city on Cybertron.
He could not make the decision.
He had to. He had to go. But he had to stay. He couldn't let Ratchet die. He couldn't abandon his brothers. He couldn't let Ironhide and Wheeljack go without help. He couldn't survive in Isabax.
He could not make the decision.
Only one entity really could. Oh, but that way was hard. He'd be lying to his brothers; a lie of omission, but a lie none the less, and he'd never lied to them, never even thought himself capable of it. But to tell them beforehand was to skew the results.
No, Defensor had to make an impartial decision.
An alarm at the edge of his notice. A fire drill, a request for backup. First Aid shuddered and responded.
Blades already swarmed over Hot Spot's legs when First Aid arrived. Groove got there half a tick in the lead, unraveling over Hot Spot's head and shoulder. and First Aid neatly socketed himself around the other arm. Streetwise came last, clicking into place along the junction between Groove and Hot Spot. Five mechs went down in an unruly pile; a towering gesalt rose from a dignified kneel.
Defensor stretched his arms, politely stepping over Inferno as he headed for the mechs trapped by holographic fire. As he made a ladder of himself, Defensor mused over the problem one of his component-selves had brought to him. A mech, in terrible danger, and his component-self wanted to join the rescue. It risked death and the breaking of the gesalt, but if the rescue failed without his component-self's help, said component-self would break the gesalt anyway through grief and guilt-fueled suicide.
A ripple through the submerged personalities of his component-self's made him pause. Apparently, the component-self in question had never realized that he'd kill himself. Defensor wondered at his component-self's incredible ability to not understand themselves.
And he wondered why there was even a question. They were sparked to protect, to rescue, to save those who needed saving. What good was he, if he refused to help a mech on the grounds that he might be broken? If he started making such choices, he didn't deserve to remain whole.
Satisfied, Defensor finished with the rescue portion of the drill, quickly debriefed Inferno, and strode off, towards the tiny private hangar of the Protectobots. He ducked the low - for him, anyway - door jamb and started to dissolve, his parti-colored parts dropping off and reforming the mech that formed him.
Streetwise formed first, whirling on the still-clacking mass that was turning into First Aid. "Why didn't you tell us?" he demanded, fear and hurt fracturing his sub-harmonics.
"Defensor had to make the choice," First Aid said quietly, equally pained and terribly resigned.
"Defensor," Blades spat, swiveling his hip gimbals back into place. "Has no concept of self-preservation, no common-sense, and-"
"And no bias," First Aid interrupted. He looked up at Blades and fought a sob. "Such as fear or love."
Blades stared at him for a moment, then cursed and drew First Aid into his arms. The rest of them fell in around them, their myriad limbs tangling as if they were gesalting again. First Aid clung to Blades with one arm and Streetwise with the other, Groove against his neck and Hot Spot warm against his back. "I'll come back," he whispered. "I promise."
"Don't make promises," Hot Spot murmured. "Just do it. Whatever it takes, come back to us, First Aid."
"I will,"
"You better," Groove mumbled against First Aid's neck, burrowing in further. They all tightened their hold, and for the last time in a long while, First Aid felt safe.