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Baby Bone Lullaby	By : paw07 Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Slash - M/M Views: 2664 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year
Chapter 3: Washing Away Shame
Shockwave picked up a blue metallic cube, crushed perfectly… the spark inside probably dead if it hadn’t faded yet. He had many plans. Many ones indeed. Apparently, one of Megatron’s creations and proven how resilient it was and distracted the Autobots long enough to get a hold off the mech called Bulkhead to finish their space bridge. The bridge he would use to take over Cybertron.
It was to be a calculated attack, many teams taking over multiple space bridges so that it would be an overpowering attack… but Megatron had yet to attack… yet to call back … yet to do anything.
It was a troubling circumstance and he doubted he would have time to clean this up before he was discovered.
Claws twitching as he stared at Blurr’s crushed formed, a part of him thinking it was a slight waste, but he decided that if he was going to lose this position … he was going to go out with a bang. Slowly, with precise and calculating fingers he walked back to his office and took on his humble Autobot form. And though it was in the late evening by Cybertronian standards, if the Communication Head called Ultra Magnus and told him it was important… the old mech would come and with his pet Sentinel Prime and Jazz gone … it was unlikely he would have any lackies with him.
To help defend him…
It would be easy to destroy an old mech and at least kill the old soldier and take his hammer.
Ultra Magnus, picking up the comm., asked, “What is it Long Arm Prime?”
Long Arm Prime nearly smiled.
…
The world … had this insistently irritating what with that Primus awful beeping.
Ugh, he knew he should get up. He should make sure that his underlines were doing as they were told, following the regulations, and basically he had to put a stop to any tom-foolery. Mechs could die if they weren’t following the rules. It was a lesson he knew all too well. So, despite the ache that ruled his frame, he found himself pulling his body up off his berth, only to find himself moan in pain and fall back onto the metal slab, moaning.
What hit him?
O-oh yeah… a fire truck.
“Sentinel Prime, I see you are onlining. About fraggen time!” came a voice, kind of grouchy and irritated yet at the same time there was an underlining tone of worry to it.
Onlining his optics, he moaned again, knowing this ceiling a little better then he would have liked to admit. Jazz, when sparring, had a great round house kick though he would never admit it to the other … and sometimes he needed sleeping nanites from the medical closet. It wasn’t an addiction. He kept to the recommended levels so he couldn’t be court-martialed and could fly the ship… but sometimes in his dreams he would remember her and a youthfulness he forgot he had. It hurt his spark when he woke and he would find recharge inaccessible for cycles after.
Some things were better off dulled and faintly forgotten.
Sighing, praying that Ratchet hadn’t discovered what had happened, he started to sit up as the cantankerous mech headed his way from the other side of room. The healer looked to have been working on a young yellow femme Sentinel didn’t recognize as part of Optimus Primes’ group. He might not have known all of their names but he knew their regulation numbers.
Every one.
But he had bigger worries right now… he felt a slosh underneath his cod piece. Yes, it meant that Ratchet hadn’t discovered what had happened or otherwise he would have been cleaned up by the aged mech’s old fingers and that alone probably sickened him more than being discovered. Trying not to faint as he sat up straight, he noted that he had been cleaned up otherwise, scratches buffed out and his helm was clear.
Just how long had he been out? He knew he would need a full mega-cycle after the… interfacing, but he had been out much longer than that.
His hub was showing him the date, but he still found himself asking in disbelief, “How long have I been … out?”
Ratchet, now next to Sentinel’s berth and staring at the reading on the hologram over his berth, carefully looked at the blue mech, murmuring, “Long enough to miss another outbreak of space barnacles, Bulkhead being kidnapped, a giant robot battle, a spacebridge backfire, a … uh… a new recruit, and Megatron getting sucked into a randomly firing space bridge generator.”
Looking up confused, he murmured, “W-what? How long have I been out? It says I’ve been out three Mega-cycles? And … Barnacles? What?”
Moaning, slowly touching his helm, Sentinel added, “G-give me a report. I-I can’t process what you are saying.”
Frowning, getting closer he murmured, “Reports are more Optimus’ thing. Now, here, let me see your optics.”
Sighing, he allowed the old mech to title his chin and ran a lighted scan over his optics. The field medic mere sighed and stated, “That sonic weapon really hurt a lot of your systems. I didn’t know what all to fix because Optimus couldn’t remember anything but a sick feeling, and you were rebooting so I couldn’t get anything from you. I fixed all the damage I could see and anything the medical systems were telling me about but … some things your systems needed was just a reboot and others were small energon circuits that just had to repair on their own. That’s probably why you are still dizzy or it might just be because of their disuse. Your date files are a little off … its been closer to eleven Mega-cycles.”
Mouth dropping open, he yelled, “What!”
“Yes, yes. Soundwave damaged your systems far worse than Optimus’. He blasted you more than once from the looks of it and,” Ratchet was silent for a moment as he growled, “your reboot was particularly sensitive with your emotional systems. It was slow repairing them, careful even.”
Optics becoming slits, Sentinel fearing the mech suspecting something, he asked, “Are you hinting at something?”
Gaining a stern face, the old medic asked, “Optimus said something about … torture. What kind? He thought it was electricity but I didn’t see any singeing in the circuits though they did look overcharged. Not a destructive overcharge either. It was more like what happens when interfacing occurs or … when someone touches your spark.”
Fear rippling beneath the surface Sentinel bit down the urge to strike out in terror and rumbled, “What are you trying to say? I am not a slut-bot.”
Optics becoming bright, knowing emotional defense when he saw it, Ratchet tried to resist the urge to bite at the other, “No, no. Sentinel I am not saying that. I know you take your position very seriously, and … Soundwave didn’t even have the right equipment for that. Though… he did have interest in having a body like ours and a … spark like ours, didn’t he?”
Words careful, looking for the micro-expressions to catch the truth before Sentinel denied it, Ratchet asked, “Did he touch yours? Did he torture you by touching it or shocking it? I need to know so I can examine it. I would have done so while you were out but … we’ve been to busy with the Cons and those examinations are best done when awake in case you are having pains.”
Audio fins rising in defense, Sentinel barked, “No! No one … that fragger didn’t touch my spark! Yes, he hit me with his damn sonics far too many times and fragged my systems up but he never touched me like that!”
“Well, then you wouldn’t mind opening your chassis and letting me make sure your okay, would you?” said Ratchet, signing for the larger mech to lie down.
Sentinel, face becoming distorted with rage, growled, “I am not going to bare myself like a whore-bot. Besides, I don’t have time for this from what you said earlier anyway. Something about space bridges and … barnacles. Where is Jazz? I need a real report.”
Pushing back his pain as he ripped the medical cords from his helm, Sentinel’s feet hit the medical floor and though he felt like puking he walked past the healer with a steady yet stiff gait. Ratchet, who looked ready to blow, barked, “Get back here Sentinel! As team medic I have authority over…”
“SHUT IT! Before I break your helm in!”
It was loud, it was harsh and … Sentinel himself was almost shocked by the words that escaped him, but instead he coughed, “I-I mean, only in emergencies do you have any rein over me as a medic. The medical computers say I’m fine. Now … I have things to do.”
Then, balance a little more sure footed, he found himself rushing forward with quick feet. Ratchet could only watch silently until Sentinel was gone and then there was a mouse like sound from the corner for the room. He couldn’t help but turn a tired optic to the yellow colored femme and growl, “Don’t give me that look.”
“What look… we still haven’t figured out how to get my battle mask down,” said Sari sarcastically, “I don’t have a face.”
Ratchet rolled his optics, figuring that he should solve one problem at a time, walked up to her and pulled out a welding looking tool and stood over the small frame again. Sitting still, the old mech having barked at her far too much today for her liking, the new-teen asked, “You better not be using that on me and … is Sentinel okay? I know I shouldn’t care about that jerk but … he looked … scared.”
Frowning softly as he sighed through his vents, his shoulders feeling heavy as bricks, Ratchet’s tone was so soft it should have belong to the dead, “Everyone deserves to be cared about kid, even Sentinel. That’s an Autobot quality so don’t feel bad for having it. And if he’s scared… I don’t know.”
Nodding softly, she added, “But you are still not going to let him get away with that, are you?”
Chuckling, liking the feel of power and need again, the healer turned on his welding torch, “Since your key is on the fritz from your upgrade fiasco… yes, I am the medic which is why I’m going to be sending Optimus a message … as soon as I figured out how to get this off.”
Leaning in with his welder, Ratchet added, “Let us begin.”
...
Jazz, who was beaten and cracked from the recent battle with Megatron over the space bridge, blinked in surprise when Optimus reached up and suddenly started to speak a one-sided conversation over his com link, “That’s great! He finally woke up…. Wait, he what? And you just let him walk away?”
There was a silence, “I understand. I will let the others know. How is Sari? Oh, that was all it took then? I doubt she’s happy about that.”
Nodding his head, looking at Jazz and Bulkhead who were both in the warehouse with him, he murmured, “Okay, Optimus out.”
Looking at Jazz, the jet twins sitting in the distant room with Bee watching television it looked like, Optimus murmured, “Well, it seems that Sentinel is finally awake. You can probably head back to Cybertron now with a full report though Ratchet said he didn’t get a release exam out of the stubborn idiot yet though. So, he needs one before you guys go. We can’t have him breaking down without a real medic nearby.”
Shaking his helm, Jazz added, “I’m sure I can handle any minor blimps, but if the med-bot won’t clear him for active duty until he’s had a check-up, I’m down with that. I dig Earth … except all the Cons and barnacles and giant robot battles …”
Optimus actually smirked at that, nodding towards Jazz, “Good to know. With all the Con activity around here or should I say was … Megatron now jumping randomly in the universe. Regardless, we should have Bulkhead and Prowl keep and outlook for him since they are on rounds.”
Nodding, Jazz turned on his com and in the vibrant way only the ninja bot could, “Yo, Bulkhead, Prowl? You got your ears on?”
There was a moment of silence and though the tone might have been irritated or bemused, one could never tell with Prowl, the other ninja-bot answered, “I would like to clarify that neither of us have ears, but I can tell you I am listening.”
Jazz merely laughed, Bulkhead murmuring ‘here’ and moment later as the Elite continued, “Well, just wanted you two to keep an optic out. Sentinel’s escaped the resident medic and the Hatchet ain’t happy. Just let us know where you find him so we can drag him back to the ship… Ratchet doesn’t want him about without being cleared.”
Prowl merely murmured, “Understood, but he’s a big mech… I won’t be looking to hard,” before hanging up and Bulkhead was silent for a moment.
“So… is he shaking and sick or something? Should I set … uh … a priority in finding him? I definitely will but … uh… he doesn’t like me and won’t listen to anything I say,” said Bulkhead uncertainly.
Jazz listened intently before he added, “Do worry Green … Sentinel doesn’t like anybody but the Ultra Magnus and pretty femmes. Just if you happen upon his blue butt, let us know, kay my brother?”
Confused over the brother part most likely, Bulkhead was quiet before replying, “Oh, okay… Bulkhead out.”
Unfortunately for Jazz or Sentinel depending on the party one would be rooting for, the blue mech was unlikely to be happened upon by any random search. The reason for this not being because he was hard to spot, being blue and loud mouthed generally doesn’t give one great skills of stealth, but because he was nowhere on the streets to be found.
He was in the dark. Head full of secrets and fear and shame. He knew that Ratchet could not force him into a spark exam unless his medical scans came back reporting otherwise … or if they found a clue of abuse. The only clues were his valve, which he would clean with the best of his ability though he had never done it before obviously, the miniscule amounts of cum on his thighs that someone other than Ratchet must have cleaned off in a sponge bath (he prayed to god it wasn’t the dumbfounded Bulkhead or Primus forbid Optimus would had helped clean him up) or the room in which the deed had occurred. He was going to get rid of that first.
His travel over to the location of the crime had been panicked but calculating. Though still primitive, the humans did have some great cleaning chemicals and he also brought some Cybertronian ones for those stubborn patches. It was dark and horrific down there, but it would also offer him a little silence to have any and all proof gone and then … he would do his valve.
Swallowing at the thought of touching his raw and stretched equipment, Sentinel continued to walk down the subway track still surprised at how he instinctively knew where to go. It was like the nightmare was a full blown film in his head, every clink of the chain on his wrist and whisper of Optimus’ as the other pressed his cock into him… he just wanted some of the details to fade.
But nothing would.
At least cleaning the evidence would offer him some solitude and if Primus knew any mercy, he would forget the details and perhaps the act completely one cycle.
He just had to believe that and yet as he stood in the crumbling stone entrance to the room where he had been defiled, he felt himself panicking. His spark was just pounding in his chest as if he was about to be chained up once more and taken again and again until Optimus’ cum filled him so much that he howled in agony because there was no more room, the cum seeping out of his valve whenever that tool was removed only to have it plunge back in a few minutes later, rock hard.
And yet, his pride wouldn’t let him leave, to run away sobbing and in pain and sick with himself. He wouldn’t even allow himself to lose the medical grade that had probably drip fed into his tank. Instead, legs shaking he came forward and from his subspace he pulled out a cleaner with an high acidic content, careful to get none on his paint as he spread it over the floor.
He knew it could peel his paint job. That much was for sure.
And yet, even after he found a water spout and drowned the floor in water and cleaner, the floor looking far too clean and out of place, he found himself on his hands and knees with a rag just rubbing the concrete desperately as he choked in the back of his throat, optic fluid dripping from his optics though he did his best to remain quiet. Even though, with each desperate swipe to remove any clue of Optimus’ nanites, it felt like re-penetration in his valve. This was hell, paint was being peeled off his fingers and knees, and yet he just had to do this … he had to erase this.
And so, nearly a breakdown later, his paint looking faded around his knees and hands, Sentinel found himself shakily walking down the subway again.
If felt like he had been raped all over again. He was even sure that he was sloshing beneath his cod piece. And he didn’t even want to think of that, but he had to do it before Ratchet tried to make good on his threat… so where should it be done? It was probably best to stay away from Steelhaven until after the act was done, but then again he knew that Jazz liked being valve fucked from time to time and apparently there was a moving shower head that could clean up there perfectly.
He didn’t know much about cleaning that interface equipment but … he didn’t want to do it inaccurately and get an infection.
Swallowing, stepping into the dull evening light, he shivered and made up his mind. He needed to get back on the ship and clean himself properly. He wasn’t as quick footed as Jazz or the twins but he knew the ship better then Ratchet and the medic probably kept to the medical bay anyway or his Earth base.
Nodding, he took a quick step forward ready to transform with the momentum, but the next thing he knew, his spark slammed painfully in the chassis. But at least that’s what it felt like, his transformation clog seizing up and putting him on his knees… his tank coming up a moment later, spewing warm energon.
And for a moment he just stayed there panting, hating Optimus and Soundwave in a way he had never known before. A rage so deep that it must have been what drove the Cons in their trials and he might have taken time to be disgusted that he had any like qualities to a Con when a small hand came up on his shoulder.
The touch made him jump and he was on his feet with his sky-boom shield under Prowl’s chin. For a minute Prowl was still, swallowing, staring and completely silent until he asked softly, “Would you mind removing your shield from my throat? I rather like my head where it is.”
Optics wide, as if noticing how jumpy he was since the incident, Sentinel pulled the shield down and looked around as if confused. His system had gone into full defend mode. That was strange… he had never gone into that mode before, unless he was under a really stressful training campaign.
It had been a long time.
Slowly putting his shield away, he grumbled, “Best to announce yourself next time, repair-bot. I could have taken your head off.”
Offering no signs of recognition, Prowl looked around them and asked, “What are you doing out here? Ratchet has been looking for you for almost a groon and from the looks of where your last meal went … perhaps we should have been looking harder.”
Glaring, hating someone’s attention on him, he murmured, “I am fine.”
Merely stared at the other, Sentinel hating that the other had a visor on, before the ninja mech nodded, “Then let’s get back to base. If you are fine, I’m sure you will be able to drive without any need for assistance.”
Lip twitching, knowing all too well that though Prowl was small … a ninja-bot was crafty. It was best not to piss him off. It would be better to merely let the smaller mech believe he had an ounce of control in this situation if only to get rid of any suspicion from his head… and why he was out here in the middle of nowhere.
Huffing, pretending to be irritated, he carefully transformed this time, playing extra mind to each piece of sliding metal only to end up bouncing on his tires. He then roared his engine paying no mind to the bike as he pulled into traffic… though the yellow form was soon next to him, a holo-form on his back.
The truck twitched at the fake officer.
“You look ridiculous … with that holo-gram on your back,” said Sentinel with a growl. “Even if it is a fake organic … Ugh.”
Prowl, who was silent for a few minute, spoke back as calmly as ever, “Sentinel… I’m sure your hate for organics seems completely logical to you, but as an Autobot you should also mind that you believe in the freedom of sentient beings.”
Prowl’s next words bit deep as he continued, “And humans are that. In fact… they are so much like us. They get hungry, just like us. They get upset and weep, just like us. They have hopes and fears and dreams just like us. They even carry their young … like we can.”
Sentinel almost slammed into the other, sickness and horror and the makeshift memory of Eltia being devoured by spiders made him all but scream his next words.
“All I know is that an organic will kill you the first chance it gets! They rip up your loved ones like they are little more than spare parts! Organics are filthy … now get out of my way!” barked Sentinel as he pulled ahead, engine roaring as he nearly cause Prowl to fishtail. The whole episode turning into a chase of sorts until Sentinel surprisingly took a turn towards his ship, sliding to a halt in front of Steelhaven, dusk rolling up like a ghostly cloud.
Transforming for all to see, Sentinel’s rage was so engrossed and bared and hurt that Prowl had to stall and Sentinel almost didn’t notice Ratchet … freezing for a moment as the medic walked down the walkway with the little femme at his side, the older mech looking brazen as the femme’s optics flickered in irritation.
“That was low Ratchet, with the welding torture, scaring open my battle mask. I know everything is supposed to be under my control after the upgrade but … I can’t even transform back yet,” whispered the girl in irritation. “I just want to keep my mask on so I don’t … freak people out.”
“You mean Sentinel … speaking of which,” the medic, as if on instinct he turned his head as Prowl walked up next to the tired looking Prime, “Where the slag have you been! I heard that you’ve been ill.”
Sentinel immediately glared down at Prowl, said mech giving no indication he noticed the glare.
“Sentinel was ill again?”
Optic twitching, Sentinel then turned his attention to the other Prime, worry written all over Optimus’ face as the fire-truck asked the blue Prime directly, “Why did you even leave the ship at all, Sentinel? You are not well, Sentinel.”
The snow-truck twitched and was about to bark at the medic that it was none of his business when suddenly Optimus came forward and entered Sentinel’s bubble. His armor crawl just and his spark ache ached from being in proximity of the other. Part of him just wanted to yell and strike out at the other but … he had to hide the truth and yelling at someone that they raped you was no way to do that.
Taking in a shaking breath, hating the way everyone was staring at him as well as the strange femme. He bit his tongue. He had to act like himself. He had to be strong and commanding.
A leader.
Baring his teeth, his sensors trying to ignore Optimus proximity, Sentinel deiced to take at least a little of his rage out on the other though, “Perhaps if you would have had a decent report around, I wouldn’t have to look for the answers! Now, make me a proper one instead of your medic’s idiotic banter!”
Worry melting away, Optimus continued not even detoured by the other’s biting tone, “Perhaps if you would have asked me instead of just running off.”
“I didn’t run off! I…”
His tank twitched. He was feeling sick again … just from being near Optimus. The violence was bringing back flashes and pain and shame and … he was going to purge his tank again.
He needed to get inside before …
Immediately he grabbed for his midsection, tank churning and flipping and causing his optics to start to water. He could taste energon rising in his throat tubing. Optimus was unimportant. The femme was unimportant. Everyone was unimportant! He had to keep his pride. He had to hide the fact that the kind golden sparked Optimus Prime had defiled him, dirtied him, spilled his fluids into his insides and pressed their spark glasses together.
Turning, noting that Optimus had stalled and was now staring at him with a worried expression, Sentinel ignored Sari and Ratchet and found himself walking toward Steelhaven while pressing a hand over his mouth.
He wanted off this planet as quickly as possible. Right now! He didn’t care about organics or space bridges or Cons or even the All Spark’s status right now. H-he just knew he had to get away from Optimus. He had to get away from him and the spark that had intertwined with his… remembering him.
He could feel his spark tugging for the other, wanting some comfort for his pain.
Servos shaking, bottom lip shivering, he tripped into the cargo bay with Ratchet sharing a look with Optimus, both looking worried.
Not that Sentinel saw that. He merely tripped farther into the innards of his ship and into the shadows of his door, shivering as he wrapped one of his arms around himself as he fumbled with the door controls.
With a shaking servo, he managed to get his door open just as a jogging Optimus came around the corner to see him heading into his room. Then, Optimus’ voice driving him to his shower, Sentinel tripped into his cleaning station and manager to turn on the cleaner fluid before he lost his tank’s contents again.
And, even with Optimus pounding on his door, he tried to keep on a brave face even as he took a few moments to bury his face in his hands and allowed a few feeble and frightened sobs to escape him before he pushed all those fears back under the surface.
He needed to be strong.
His strength was all he had.
It drove him forward though just like it had to do now … he had to clean himself but at the same time he couldn’t even spread his legs to take his cod piece off, even when he heard Jazz override the lock in his room with his medical code no doubt.
He nearly jumped out of his armor when Jazz’s voice slammed into his warm watered solitude, “Yo, SP… Are you okay? Ratchet and Optimus said you stumbled in here. You okay?”
Taking in a deep vent, warm cleaner solution dripping down his frame, he yelled back, “Y-yeah. I just got dizzy and the warm cleaner helps plus … in case I lose my tank again. I-I don’t want to make a mess.”
A tired sigh coming across the way, a shadow moving under the door, Jazz replied, “I got yah, SP … but if you aren’t out in a groon, I’m helping Ratchet pull you out, kay?”
Hand still shaking too much to even think of touching his cod piece, Sentinel took the few extra minutes as an opportunity as he replied, “Alright Jazz … J-just let me clean up.”
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Baby Bone Lullaby