Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year
Chapter 4: Far Away
Sentinel’s groon was coming to end and he had barely finished crying yet.
He turned off his vocals and that was probably the only reason Jazz hadn’t opened the door and asked why he looked like a sorry sod… for that was what he looked like. He had barely even gotten his cod piece off before he started sobbing like a broken sparked femme, fingers shaking so badly that he could no longer feel them. But this had to be done.
He had so many dreams and promises to himself and... Elita to uphold like a heavy promise stamped in stone; he had to continue onward. So, it was with shaking hands that he took some cleaner into hand, mild for those inner mechanics, and a hose like device he rarely used. In truth, a mech or femme really didn’t have to clean out their valve given the fluid was used for sparkling development and could also be absorbed by the body given time, but such thoughts were … sickening to say the least.
He wanted it out of him.
Or at least cleaned to the point that Ratchet wouldn’t notice. Not that he had any plans of Ratchet looking down there with his old, creepy fingers. The very thought of Ratchet anywhere near his valve made his armor crawl. In fact, anyone’s fingers down there made his circuits creep. But, given that Ratchet asked for only his spark … he might just be able to get away with it.
A few days after interfacing there were no signs the deed had happened.
Right?
Frag, he didn’t know. He’d look into the mirror before he left because fighting Ratchet would not work. As a medic… he did have pull. And clearing a bill of health was one of the powers Ratchet had over Sentinel and the Prime had no wants to dirty his history and rune his chance to be Magnus over a stupid exam.
And he had to become Magnus.
All this suffering and heartbrokenness and never ending sorrow would be for naught if he didn’t at least become Magnus.
And so, with shivering hands, he took the cleaning hose and placed it between his legs… the water was warm and though he felt stretched and sore it was no unpleasant having warm water cleaning away his sin. That is until he heard Optimus whispering in his audio, soft touches on his back. He felt sick … all over again. And might have balled into himself and denied it all again, but he had to clean his chamber as well in case there were any rubbing stains or scorch markings. So, scrubbing cloth in hand as he closed his thighs to keep the hose in place, he opened his chassis and with a quick hand rubbed the front of his glass.
He twitched, electricity dancing over his fingertips like static. He might have even scratched his casing when there was a sudden voice outside his bathroom door.
“Yo, SP? You done yet? You drownin’ in there?” came Jazz’s vocals.
Dropping the cleaner, suds flowing down the drain, Sentinel looked at the door and choked, “Yeah… just finishing up.”
He watched the shadow shift below the door, like a monster wanting to clamber under and rip his soul to shreds. Hands shaking, he forgot the cleaner and pulled the hose out of himself, nearly dropping it as it sprayed warm water all over his face. Turning his head, blindly reaching around for the off valve, he tried to calm himself. After fumbling for a moment or two, he finally got it off and his hands blindly looked for a rag so he could wipe the tip of the hose off in case there was anything on it.
“Okay, SP. Well… Ratchet’s bittin’ at the bit. Let’s get you out of there…” said the other Elite, behind the door, continuing, “Finish up, I’ll get some buffer towels to dry you off.”
Hands fumbling for his cod piece, a rag rubbing over his sensitive equipment to partially dry it as well as he could, he clicked on his cod piece and shut his spark chamber just as the shower door slid open. Jazz’s optic’s went wide and Sentinel noticed how pathetic he must have looked sitting on the shower floor, shaking and half cover in cleaner solution still.
Jazz’s Autobot programming did not disappoint. Getting down on one knee, a show of compassion from his fellow soldier, Jazz carefully touched his shoulder and then almost gingerly touched the side of his cheek, rubbing his ear fin in what was meant to be a comforting touch. Surprisingly, Sentinel found himself leaning into the careful touch… the soft expression reminding him so much of Elita. It was kind and daring but never to forward until she thought it was time, an expression of kinship and trust.
The ninja-bot’s words were soft, careful of tone and accent, “Sentinel… What happened to you down there?”
Optic’s going offline, Sentinel realizing for the first time in a long time, how long it had been since someone touched him. He had a few one night stands after Elita but they did not compare to the affectionate touch of some-bot that cared about you. That thought alone made his vents hiccup in distress and he tried to keep it to himself, to keep those painful words so deep and buried and forgotten by everyone and everything but his inner ghost, but the words fled his vocals and over his throat and out of his mouth regardless.
“Terrible things… Soundwave t-tortured me in unusual ways. He r-ripped me into so many little pieces and despite how many times and begged Optimus to stop and help me… he couldn’t hear me,” choked Sentinel, hands coming forward as he pulled himself into the slightly smaller being’s chassis, burying his face like a sparkling.
He couldn’t stop the blubbering after that, his spark so weak and tortured and desperate for even a semblance of warmth and caring. Jazz, for the most part, was only shocked for a moment or two before he wrapped his arms around the other and murmured, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, SP. Your training kept you alive … the mental anguish. It happens, but I’m here with you. Okay… Everything will be okay.”
Pulling the other closer, wondering what Soundwave had done and what he meant by tortured in unusual ways, Jazz whispered in the other’s audio, “It’s okay SP. You survived him like you will survive this.”
Pressing his lips against the other’s forehead, a show of comfort common in femmes and Caretakers, Jazz pulled the other closer and allowed Sentinel’s hands to grasp desperately at him. The whole time, a metal break on the way, all Jazz could think of was what Soundwave must had done in order to deserve his helm smashed in so violently.
And if Soundwave actually did deserved it.
…
It had taken nearly half a groon to get Sentinel to calm down, to have him stop his whispers of ‘Please Stop’ and ‘Why’ and so many other vague vocal shiverings that Jazz couldn’t even start to dissect what had happened in the deep catacombs of that subway station.
All he knew was that Soundwave had wronged the other in some atrocious way and that Optimus had watched.
Taking the initiative, Jazz had made his own medical decision and put Sentinel to bed, the large mech stumbling the whole way to his berth. Jazz was near tears himself behind his visor when he finally managed to plug Sentinel into his berth and convince him to shut down, the large mech curling into himself.
Jazz felt like his spark casing had cracks in it.
Sentinel could be a pain in the aft, there was no denying that, but Jazz was still older than him and was only under Sentinel only because Sentinel had more drive then Jazz. Jazz knew where he was carefree, SP had in turn memorized every law and regulation in the book. He was a good bot. He tried his hardest and he had earned his current position… but he sometimes hid how young he was with his commanding voice and accomplishments.
So easily tarnished.
Sighing as he dimmed the lights to five percent, a soft glow, he left Sentinel’s room and headed to the medical bay to speak to the higher ranking healer in their group of makeshift heroes. He almost twitched when Ratchet growled, “I heard he was taking a cleansing shower… I would have rather he not have, Jazz.”
Then, turning around, holding a tool that looked like a spark scanner, Ratchet gained an irritated glare and asked in a gruff tone, “Where is he? He better not be buffing himself. I have better things to do with my time.”
Shaking his head, hands behind his back as he took a very professional stance, Jazz replied, “Sorry, Hatchet … SP needs his rest. Poor guy must of had a flashback or something in the shower... He was in a sorry state. I put him down to rest his optics.”
Ratchet, who was frowning even more now, gained a worried expression as he stared down at a hand-held scanner as if it were whispering something to him, but he was quick to look up again and murmur, “I see… did he say anything about what happened or what triggered his reaction. Some young-bots take … torture … better than others.”
Jazz sighed and found himself staring at his feet for a moment. He really didn’t want to talk about this or think of how SP had been hanging there in chains apparently, Soundwave tormenting the other with sonic frequencies and frag knows what else. It made his spark ache. He would have been better suited for capture than SP. He was older and with his ninja-bot training, he would have had better barricades then SP. SP had great firewalls, that much was true, but despite losing Elita he had no real hardships.
He didn’t know pain.
Shrugging, the ninja-bot croaked, “Not much except it was unusual tortures and that … Optimus watched.”
Lips pulling in a snarl, Ratchet barked, “Optimus is too good of a mech to just watch. Sentinel and him might have a rift right now, but they were friends. He wouldn’t allow that to happen to him.”
Putting his hands up in defense, Jazz tried to calm the situation, “Whoa, whoa … cool you jets, Ratch. I meant no offense and by watch I’m sure Sentinel meant when Optimus was zombie-fied.”
Groaning in frustration, Ratchet nodded as he reached up and rubbed his hand over his optics, grumbling, “Yes, that makes the most sense… anything else?”
“Nothing coherent, just for it to
stop. The sonics I’m guessing,” replied the race car.
“Well, how long will he be out?” said Ratchet as he turned to the berth he was prepping for the spark examination, placing his scanner down. A part of him wondered if he should perhaps go check on Optimus’ spark instead. The kid had been a little twitchy recently.
Jazz shrugged his shoulders and murmured, “Whenever he wakes up. Might be a few groons, might be two mega-cycles. I don’t want to wake him.”
Nodding, the medic grumbled, “I understand. I’m going to hunt down Optimus for a checkup. Mind if I take some supplies?”
Shaking his head, Jazz murmured, “Not in the least … Take what you need. Never know when we might have to rush out of here and I want you guy’s well stocked.”
…
For some unknown reason Optimus’ spark ached, shivered in its casing, filled with shame and sorrow and want. It had been that way for the few Mega-cycles since the … subway incident. He didn’t know what to make of it. Part of him was paranoid that perhaps this was a reaction to what had happened there.
Was there something his spark knew that his mind could not recall?
Probably, but what could have happened that made him this ashamed?
Maybe Sentinel could tell him, once he got out of his funk. The poor bot looked terrible like he was about to lose his energon. Optimus would admit he was a little upset that Sentinel had locked the door. He would have gladly rubbed the other’s back as he lost the contents of his tank. It wouldn’t have been the first time Optimus would have comforted Sentinel when he was sick, but this wasn’t the academy days anymore, was it?
Rubbing his chassis again as it gave a demanding throb, he nearly jumped out of his armor when an old cranky voice echoed behind him, “What’s wrong? Bad fuel?”
Shaking his head, the pain pinching even more as he thought of Sentinel, Optimus grumbled, “My spark hurts… Nothing terrible but it is pinching.”
Gaining a frown, a part of him now wondering if Optimus had befell the same worried fate as Sentinel, the medic grabbed the younger bot by his elbow and tugged him out of the control room of their base, “Come with me young-bot. I looked over you after what happened in the subway but I could have missed something.”
Pouty lips, frowning brow raised as he allowed Ratchet to drag him into their medical bay, Optimus added, “Well… how do you know its from then? I don’t know if you remember how that battle over the space bridge went, but I was thrown around quite a lot.”
Turning to glare at the other, the two of them now in Ratchet’s makeshift medical bay, the healer grumbled, “Kid… just get on the table.”
Looking at the makeshift berth, metal from the old equipment in the warehouse, Optimus took a seat, rubbing his chassis again. It wasn’t a terrible pain per say, but his spark was now just thrashing in its casing and for some reason it was upset and was telling him he should be upset as well.
Though he had no idea why… it was like after he had woken in the subway, a depressing truth he could not know.
He wished he could have had a decent conversation with Sentinel to at least gain a semblance of what happened down there, but he was probably berth bound right now. Not that he wouldn’t find out one way or the other. Sentinel had always been impeccable about documentation. Sooner or later he would get a hold of that document and then he perhaps could create some makeshift memories from it if he didn’t remember all together. But that was a worry for another time, Ratchet was signaling for him to tilt his head so the medic could plug him into the handheld medical computer. It wasn’t as powerful as the one on their
ship…
No, not just a ship. Omega Supreme… Ratchet looked so sad with the loss of Omega and in this stillness, the silence eating at his armor like rust and rage, Optimus was about to open his mouth and allow some words of warmth into the room when Ratchet reached up and clicked the medical computer into place, grumbling, “Let’s open your chassis. I want to see that spark of yours.”
Rearing back, hating these type of examinations, he looked around blushing as he slowly unlatched his chassis … giving Ratchet a kicked puppy kind of look before his chassis slid open. It was a golden light, warm and kind and life giving almost as if Primus had pinched a bit of a sun and captured it in a glass casing. It still made Ratchet’s vents pause for a moment every time he saw that golden spark.
Mechs or femmes with golden sparks were promised great fates… and honor and greatness to all they touched.
And right now, though the spark was as brilliant as a sun drop, it was pained and heartbroken, thrashing in its case as if calling out for another. Frowning, wondering what could upset Optimus so much while at the same time he kept a calm visage, Ratchet asked, “What’s wrong, Optimus? Are you upset about something?”
Frowning, slowly he titled his gaze as best as he could toward his chassis. He couldn’t see his spark, of course, but he could see the light reflecting off of Ratchet’s armor and it was erratic. Gaining a worried expression, he murmured, “Well, I’m not upset… Well, I don’t think so. I can’t think of why I would be so upset that my spark would do that… though my spark has been sending distressed pings since … the subway incident.”
Optics going wide with worry, the youth dryly whispered, “You don’t think Soundwave did something to it, do you?”
Shaking his head, pulling a cleansing rag out of his subspace, the healer quickly cleaned his hands of any traces of oil or grit while he calmed the other, “Don’t fry your circuits, kid. Let me have a good look. Now, this might be a little uncomfortable but I’m going to feel your spark chamber for any devices or cracks, okay?”
“W-what,” choked Optimus, not having ever had an exam like that before, femmes were generally the only ones having exams like those regularly given their sparks density.
Giving Optimus a look, he murmured, “Everyone gets exams like these from time to time, especially if you get a sparkmate and start trying to procreate.”
Trying to put on a grim smile, Optimus chuckled lowly, “What are you saying? That I’m going to be the carrier.”
Smiling boldly, Ratchet murmured, “I don’t see you being the pitcher in a sexual relationship. Not with those hips and that pouty face.”
Frowning, the truck grumbled, “I don’t have a porn face.”
Ratchet, the seriousness of this exam fading away, snorted before throwing his head back in a wailing laugh, “I never said you did.”
Rolling his eyes, Optimus sighed, “That was a nickname Sentinel and Elita used to call me … and don’t ever say that in front of Bumblebee or Bulkhead. Or better yet, not in front of anyone.”
Nodding, reaching his hands towards the spark he grumbled, “Come now. Let’s be serious. This might tingle but it shouldn’t hurt and if you start getting aroused. Well, tell me.”
Slouching, Optimus thought this was ridiculous. He had never shared his spark with anyone, saving his spark for only those he loved the most. Regardless, Optimus nodded as those old hands reached for that tear drop of the sun. The spark pulled back at first as if scared and then as Ratchet touched the glass, that golden orb pressed outward as if trying to touch back.
Optimus’ vents shivered at first and told himself not to cry out or moan because it was already soothing away some of the soreness as if the spark had just been looking for the touch of another. He told his vocals not to dare make him whimper especially with Ratchet touching him in such a clinical manner so it wouldn’t be stimulated.
Shoulders tighting, Ratchet feeling around the spark and all the wires attached to it, Optimus decided to start and speak his mind as he generally did when alone with the old mech, his voice struggling to remain steady, “I’ve been having a lot of weird thoughts lately, because of my spark. It’s like it wants something and when I think of it, I think of Sentinel. And Ratchet … I worry that Sentinel left some major details out.”
Ratchet, getting a sinking feeling as he continued to exam that golden spark chamber for any scratches or unknown devices, nodded and murmured, “Well, he hasn’t been very coherent since the attack so there is probably a lot he hasn’t said to us. But … why do you think that? He’s always been very good with his reports I hear … so we’ll probably get all the gory details later.”
Shaking his head, wincing at the rawness of his spark, Optimus murmured, “Well, I still don’t think he’s going to tell us everything. My spark just knows it.”
Hands going still, Ratchet watched the spark’s movement for a moment. The spark was trying to touch back at his old hands. That was not uncommon for a spark but Optimus’ was now a little stand offish more so now then a few moments earlier as if it was looking for someone specific? Looking the other in the optic, one hand pulling out as it grabbed for a spark scanner, Ratchet asked, “Why would he do that? That boy is all regulations.”
Hands balling up and then releasing themselves, his optics became pinched with worry, Optimus murmured, “Well … I discovered something while in was cleansing myself.”
Pausing, noting that Optimus was really starting to look upset, Ratchet stilled his hand so he wasn’t agitating the spark as he asked, “What do you mean?”
Sighing, blush on his cheeks he whispered, “There wasn’t a lot but there were nanties, dried ones, on my spike. I-I haven’t touched myself that way in a long time Ratchet … it shouldn’t have been there.”
Listening intently, trying not to panic, sickness was forming in Ratchet’s tank as a worst case scenario formed in the elder mech’s helm. What if Sentinel hadn’t been the only one molest or rape or touched? It would explain why Sentinel didn’t want to be examined and why his emotional programs took so long to repair themselves and … the recent breakdown.
Hand covering up his mouth, Ratchet tried to look like he was thinking instead of worrying even though his optics were getting even wider and wider in horror. Ratchet almost jumped when Optimus whispered, “What’s wrong, Ratchet? Is there something wrong … with my spark?”
Turning his gaze to the youth, finding it impossible to be able to tell Optimus of his suspicions in case they weren’t true, Ratchet murmured, “No, nothing’s wrong… I-I just need to call Steelhaven. I need Jazz to bring me some more equipment.”
Frowning, not liking the way Ratchet’s hands were shaking, Optimus asked, “Did you forget something important and what of … of my spark pains?”
Part of him wanted to tell the mech of his suspicions, but what if it wasn’t true? Yet again, what if Soundwave had tortured them both with some kind of spark touching and Sentinel was just trying to spare himself and Optimus any shame? Sentinel hadn’t yet hinted at molestation. Then again, Sentinel was a proud mech and despite Optimus and their falling out, he probably still had a small kinship towards Optimus … enough to want to protect him… and himself. Sentinel was a pain in the aft, but he was still an Autobot.
Molesting would explain why there was cum under Optimus’ cod. With no emotional circuits, he might have become aroused automatically and had pre-cum under his cod. It also explained why Jazz said the other mech had murmured that Optimus had just watched.
Then again, Jazz said Sentinel had also whispered it was cruel and unusual torture and for it to stop.
Stop…
A shudder ran up Ratchet’s spinal column as a darker theory prodded at his mind. What if, Optimus apparently coming… what if Sentinel had been taken by a controlled Optimus?
An overload would cause the short out to the device on Optimus’ helm.
A forced taking would explain the care Sentinel’s long recharge had procured, his systems trying to fix the emotional circuits and interfacing programs.
And there were also nanites under Optimus’ cod piece.
Rape victims had the desperate need to clean themselves and Sentinel had been in the cleanser for over a groon.
Nearly dropping the scanner, Ratchet decided then and there that Sentinel needed to be properly examined. He needed his carrying chamber properly cared for and his spark checked for any … latch-ons. Sparklings. Sentinel was young and though they were probably both sexually active, a plug could have slipped or peta-flesh could have ripped and that was something that needed to be assessed as well as emotional support. Ratchet had no delusions that Sentinel would ask for a hug and a shoulder to cry on, he was too proud, but he would probably needed someone to talk to in the long run.
Someone to call late at night when he couldn’t recharge.
Ratchet had seen it all too often and sometimes, at least before Earth, he would still get a call from an old bot that had nightmares from the war.
Trying to keep his hands from shaking, the thought of Optimus raping Sentinel making his spark shrink back, he smiled sadly at Optimus and murmured, “Well, let me check these reading over but I don’t see anything immediate. I don’t know for sure and right now I really need to check on Sentinel.”
Rubbing his chassis, Optimus nodded, “Yeah, I’m worried about him as well.”
Unfortunately for the two of them though, at that very moment Jazz had opened a communication, Alpha Trion frowning on the other side. Jazz immediately saluted the other even if he wasn’t technically considered part of the military line and was more of a political leader.
“Sir, what is the honor of this call?”
Optics looking tired, the old mech spoke softly, “Ultra Magnus has been attacked. We need your team and Sentinel Prime back as soon as possible … especially since we don’t know if Magnus will make the night. He is in serious condition.”
Swallowing, Jazz nodded as he spoke, knowing that Sentinel had to heal another day, “Understood sir. We will be leaving within the groon, but may I ask to be debriefed… What happened?”
Shaking his head, the elder murmured, “We need a secure line for a full debriefing… there has been a break in rank. That is all I can say. And where is Sentinel Prime? I need to speak to him as well.”
Not even twitching, Jazz murmured, “He is currently detained. I can take any message he may need.”
Still stock still, the old mech nodded and added, “Tell him to be prepared to enter temporary office as acting Magnus when he gets to Cybertron and to leave as soon as possible. If Optimus and his team need immediate assistance you can leave the twins. That is all.”
And then the screen went black and Jazz couldn’t help the sickness that was forming in his tanks. Sentinel just had a breakdown… how could he being Magnus, even if it was just temporary? Turning his gaze in the direction of Sentinel’s quarters, the ninja-bot sighed. They were Elites. It was their job to forget their feelings.
Sentinel would just have to be strong.
Being Magnus was his dream after all.
