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You grunt as you raise your head, shaking away the bleary feeling of post-recharge fragmentation. The room takes shape around you and you realize it has bars.
"You're up." You turn to face the voice and sag in relief. It's Cyclonus, sitting against the wall beside you, legs crossed. "Good. I've been worried."
You rub your helm with your claws and groan. "I feel like I got hit by a truck."
"I think it was a tank, actually," Cyclonus comments dryly. You pick you head up and squint at him.
"What happened? My brain ain't workin'."
"A standard misadventure," Cyclonus explains coolly. "We were eradicating some organic slavers?"
It comes back in vague patches. You remember hanging around planetside and getting drunk with your conjunxes when Tailgate and Rewind heard about a slave camp in another province. You don't remember the interim between that conversation and you throwing a Jeep over a wall, but you can fill in the blanks.
"Where's Teeg at?" you ask.
"Gone," he tells you, and you can't help but sigh in relief, "He and Rewind got away with Chromedome to the Rodpod in time."
"Sick," you mumble, glancing at the bars. "So… what now?"
"Now we wait," Cyclonus said somberly.
You fidget uncomfortably, and then look back at the grim samurai you're sharing a cell with. He's acting cool and reserved, but you know him better than that. Beneath the veneer of decorum he's clearly stressed and on edge. You crawl over to sit down beside him and hold out an arm. Cyclonus leans in gratefully against your side.
"It'll be okay," you reassure him, "I been on slaver planets before. They care more about money than about getting even."
"We have hardly any money from this universe," Cyclonus murmurs, "I have no idea how they would begin to pay for our release."
You had thought about that, and hoped that he hadn't. No such luck.
"They'll figure somethin' out," you say firmly. You hope they do. They have to. This could get ugly pretty quickly. Footsteps approach and an organic stands outside your cell, something furry and multi-armed, holding a long pointed spear that crackles with electricity. You'd rather not have that shoved through your optic today.
"Up, robots," the creature says, with the staticcy tone of an auto-translator. You glance at Cyclonus and then comply. The bars slide aside. The two of you follow him, past rows of cells with other creatures lingering within, all their faces tired. That doesn't bode well. You arrive at an open bay door and the alien points at it. "inside, robots!"
Cyclonus sneers, but the two of you step inside anyway, and the door shuts behind you.
You're not alone in here. The hexagonal room has two other doors, an alien standing in front of each. The first is another mechanoid race, not a Cybertronian but more similar to you than to the bipedal organic beside it.
"What is this?" Cyclonus wonders aloud. You eye the other two warily before an intercom crackles to life overhead.
"Fight!" says the alien voice.
"What?" Cyclonus scoffs, "No!"
"Cyc," you begin, but it's too late.
All four of you cry out in surprise and pain when the floor electrocutes you. "Fight!" the voice from the intercom repeats.
The other mechanoid does not need to be told a third time, apparently. He immediately raises a blaster arm and shoots through part of Cyclonus's shoulder kibble.
"You-!" Cyclonus snarls, and you see him reach for his sword.
There's really not a lot of time to react. You could explain, but you'll have missed your window by the time you organize your words, and it's more important to get it right.
You drop down to the floor and sweep his legs out from under him with a sharp kick to the ankles and he falls onto his back with a thump just before the organic lands on you and smashes your cockpit glass in.
It's less than a minute before the intercom crackles to life again. "Stop! All of you, back to your doors!"
The other two finally back away from you, the organic panting. The door behind you opens. You scramble to your feet and offer Cyclonus a claw to help him up, but he refuses it, glaring at you as he stands on his own. He's silent as you're led back to your cage.
"I certainly hope you have a good reason for that," he growls the moment you're alone.
"I told you, I been to slavery planets before," you remind him. "They're tryin' to decide how much to charge for us. They wanna see if we're valuable. Don't give em anything to work with."
Cyclonus stopped, expression shifting. "...Ah. That… makes sense. I apologize."
"You don't gotta apologize." He doesn't. You get it. You wouldn't ever trust you, neither. "Didn't look good, I know."
His lips warble, eyebrows knitting downward before he reaches forward to cup your helm. "Whirl."
"Yeah?" you ask awkwardly, squirming under his pointed gaze.
"I love you," he rumbles. It's not the first time he's said it. You don't think it's the last. It's still nice to hear it. You sag.
"I love you, too," you reply.
There's new footsteps outside your cell, a new alien waving at you to stand. You do so, with significantly more trepidation than the first time.
This time you step into a similar room and the door shuts again, but you're alone in it. There's no other aliens waiting to fight you. You have a moment of confusion before the heat suddenly skyrockets and you realize you're in an oven.
The heat keeps rising until the both of you collapse, rapidly approaching your melting point. Just as suddenly, the room cools again, and the door reopens. An alien gestures impatiently for you to stand. He leads you back to your cell.
You see how this is going to go.
They really are pricing you. They're going to keep testing you, too, as they work out how much they can charge. They're going to torture you until you reach every limit your bodies have.
Correction: your body has. You look up at Cyclonus, who's still straining to flood his engine with cool air through his fluttering vents. You are a hardier thing than he is. You've spent millenia suffering and you're very good at it now. He's been trapped in another dimension for most of that.
The next time an alien comes, he doesn't open the cell. He holds something that looks like a camera and gestures for you to rise. It takes Cyclonus a minute to creak to his feet, a minute you take advantage of to scratch HIM FIRST into your chest plating. The alien raises the device and it flashes. He leaves, and Cyclonus sinks back to the floor as you begin scratching out your message before he sees it.
You're not good for much, but you're good for this. There's no one in the universe better at suffering than you are.
Well. Maybe Waspinator.
The next time they come for you Cyclonus doesn't want to go. He rises and raises his voice and the organic brandishes his spear. Cyclonus reaches for his sword, and again, you have to stop him. You've been separated from your unit before in a foreign place and forced to wait for someone to save you, and you know what you're worth, and it's not much. They came back for you on principle, because it was an insult to your species for any of you to be owned by organics. You have to stay affordable, or you won't be worth the effort. You won't be left behind again.
You have to full-body tackle him to stop him and he's so riled up that he punches you back before he realizes what he's doing and the guilt washes over his faceplate. Better you than the organic, though. You know these types. They'll take great pleasure in extorting their vengeance for anything you do to them.
The next test is electricity. It's not fun.
You're good for this. You have no face to save. You've got a temper but no pride, and unlike him you can live with yourself with your optic in the mud. If he weren't here you wouldn't have to, wouldn't care. You'd make yourself so much of a nuisance they'd kill you or let you go or you'd bust out trying, but you can't risk him. You can't lose him, and Tailgate can't either.
You don't know what would happen if you came home without him, but you think it would be the end of everything. You have seen what Cyclonus is like without him, and it's bad. You've never seen it the other way around, but you have your suspicions it wouldn't be much better.
He loves you, but he can live without you.
Cyclonus has to lean on you on the way back to your cell, and he seems like he's not doing well. You set him down against the wall and sit beside him while he rests against your shoulder, restabilizing his systems.
"What are you thinking?" he mumbles eventually. It pulls you from your reverie.
"Thinkin' about makin' little energon and beryllium cakes," you reply, "Maybe with rust on 'em."
"That sounds nice." He looks tired.
"I'll make you some later. You can sit on the counter and lick the batter off the spoon. Real domestic."
He huffs a breath of laughter that makes your spark swell. You're good at making him laugh. Good at keeping his spirits up.
His optics shutter and you hope he's fallen asleep. He could use the rest before your next test. You run an internal diagnostic while you have a moment alone and don't like the results.
You're not doing very well, either.
You don't realize you've dozed off too until you're waking up to banging on the bars. You online your optic and look up at the alien who's come to see you.
"Stand up," it instructs. You help Cyclonus weakly to his feet. "No. Only you." This time he points at you and you freeze. You glance back at Cyclonus, and then you let go of him.
You don't know what the plan is, but you will cooperate until Cyclonus is safe or until you have no other choice. You can deny your nature, if it's for him.
He leads you away, down a dark corridor and through two sets of massive double doors. Finally you emerge into a well lit room.
"Birdy!" Tailgate gasps. He has tears in the corners of his visor. Rodimus is here, along with Drift and Mags and Rewind, even.
You're frozen like a statue even as he rushes forward to grab you in a hug, tint limbs reaching frantically.
"What-" you say, "What's going on?"
"We came to get you," Tailgate hiccups, "We just got you released."
You turn back to look at the door the way you've come, but it's closed. "What about Cyclonus?"
"I'm working on it," Rodimus replies, "We only had enough for one of you. We have to scrounge up some more for him, too."
Your spark roils. "What?! You can't leave him in there, didn't- didn't you see my message?"
Tailgate's visor dims. "We did, but-"
"But what!" you demand, rotors spinning, "I wrote it for a reason!" You spin on a pede toward the guard and raise your voice. "Hey! Put me back in and go get the other guy!"
"Whirl!" Tailgate hisses.
"I ain't leaving him!" you snap at him, and as the guard shakes his head at you and turns back toward the door to leave you grab one of his many wrists and yank him back around. A dozen spears crackling with electricity are suddenly pointed in your direction, but you don't really care what happens to you. "I said, take me back!" you yell at the guard.
At that point Magnus takes it upon himself to subdue you. Just like the old days he pins you down and drags you away kicking and screaming.
He takes you and Tailgate back to the ship where it's docked, leaving Rodimus and Drift and Rewind to do whatever it is they're trying to do, and to your credit, you only really fight him for the first three blocks. After that the adrenaline runs out and all the pain in your body catches up to you. You're tired and miserable and your spark aches, and maybe you pass out at some point, but if you did, you'd never admit it.
"...at should do it," says a faint voice, "Hey, Whirl. Are you with me?"
You flicker your optic online with a groan. You do immediately realize you feel better and glance over at the IV running into your fuel line. That's probably why. Your optic drifts back to First Aid.
"Unfortunately," you mumble. "Better" certainly doesn't preclude the migraine building in the back of your helm.
First Aid chuckles and steps away.
Tailgate's visor fills your vision as he clambers up onto a chair to lean onto your berth and take your helm in his hands. "Whirl," he says gently. He sounds choked up.
"Hey," you mumble.
"I'm so glad you're okay," he says, dipping his head to tap his forehead to the rim of your optic casing. "I've been so afraid for you."
You shake him away, spark twisting. "You should have left me. You should have saved him first."
Tailgate looks sad. "I couldn't, Whirl."
"And why not?!"
"Cyclonus is strong, too," he says softly, "He's going to do his best to hang on and come back to me. If I left you there alone, Whirl, you wouldn't. "
You feel sick.
"I could have lasted longer than him," you argue weakly, "I've got better pain tolerance."
"Birdy, you can tolerate torture because you've got nerve damage, that's not the same as physically being able to handle more." His voice is dry, exasperated. "Cyclonus would- will agree with me. When he comes back he will tell you. You had to be first."
You feel pathetic. Sick to your fuel tanks. Queasy with undirected anger. He must be able to see it on you because his expression shifts and he strokes the side of your helm in a soothing gesture.
"Whirl," he says gently, "If I'd picked him first you would have convinced yourself I love him more. You would have spiraled. Cyclonus knows I love him and he knows you'd spiral, too. He knows it had to be you. You were in more danger because you're more fragile than you want to acknowledge."
That's even worse. You don't know what to say but you reach for him weakly and tug him toward you, and he gets the picture. Tailgate climbs up onto the berth to hug you, wordless, but you understand.
You wake again six hours later when the medibay doors open and a whole parade enters. Rewind, Ultra Magnus, Chromedome, the whole Rod Squad, it looks like. finally, Cyclonus appears. He's missing an optic but otherwise looks relatively alright, just exhausted and annoyed.
"This planet was a terrible stop," he rasps, picking the berth beside you to crawl into, "I think I'm done with shore leave for a while."
"Cyclonus!" Tailgate cries in relief, and you let him wriggle out of your grip to go have a turn hugging him, "How did they get you out?"
"You're welcome!" Rodimus announces as he enters the now crowded medibay. You immediately notice he's missing both his arms. "I sold my arms."
"Wh," you say, which isn't a word.
"Ratchet!" Rodimus yells, wobbling as if off balance, "I need new arms!"
"Who buys just arms?" you gape. Rodimus grimaces.
"You do not want to know."
"Okay," you say, because, Primus, what else can you say?
"Whirl," Cyclonus says, pulling you from your thoughts, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," you dismiss immediately, "I didn't want to leave you. I wouldn't have if id known that's where they was takin' me."
"Then I'm glad you didn't know that's where they were taking you," he rumbles, petting the back of Tailgate's helm.
"We could only afford one of you at the time," Tailgate sniffles, face buried in his abdomen, "I had to choose."
"You chose right, little one," he murmurs, "Do not worry. I understand."
Your fuel tanks flip. "But-"
He looks back up at you, gaze steady. "You are more fragile than you realize, my love."
Maybe you are. "No more feelings talk," you assert, "I'm coming over to join the hug party."
He opens an arm for you as you clamber off of your berth and onto his. It's a terrifically uncomfortable fit, but you're not going anywhere until someone makes you.