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The clanging of swords and firing of blasters echoed around Manslaughter as he stalked through the fray, hunting for that familiar black and silver frame. He had to be around here, at least according to what that little Autobot had told him right before he tore the poor bastard’s throat out. Though if he were to be honest, he couldn’t make out much of what that bot had been trying to say– guess it’s hard to talk with a servo squeezing your voice box. Manslaughter huffed a laugh as he jumped onto some debris for a higher vantage point.
He could see just about the entire fight from up here, no way he’d miss that stupid- a flash of silver caught his optic, and he spun his head around, locking his attention onto the mech currently making his way into an alley. Finally, but what the frag? Pyro’s never been one to hide from a fight. Something must be very wrong for him to be cowering in an alleyway. Manslaughter felt a flip in his tanks at the thought of something being wrong with Pyrostorm, which he then ignored, because why the frag would that happen.
Manslaughter jumped down from his perch and slashed at a bot that had been sneaking up on him, and started making his way towards the alleyway Pyrostorm had limped into.
“Ahaha, Pyro, there you are! I’ve been looking for youuu!”
“F-frag off, Manslaughter, I’m not in the mood for you,” grunted Pyrostorm, trying to push himself further up the wall.
”You- w… what? You don’t get to be “not in the mood” for me! What is your… uh…” Manslaughter trailed off, stepping fully into the alley and finally noticing the way Pyrostorm was clutching at his side, energon seeping through his fingers.
“What happened?? Lemme see” Manslaughter took a step forward, causing Pyrostorm to flinch back, grinding his backstrut against the wall.
“Like hell I’m going to let you anywhere near it. You’re just going to gut me.”
“As fun as that sounds, I’m not gonna kill you while you’re down. I just wanna… help?’
Pyrostorm scoffed. “Yeah, right. Why would you help me?”
“I dont- I couldn’t-,” Manslaughter cleared his intake, “Look, you don’t die, got it? Not unless I’m the one killing you. Now let me see.” Manslaughter kneeled down next to Pyrostrom and batted his hands away, missing the way Pyrostorm's optics had widened. He poked the edge of the wound with a claw, causing Pyrostorm to let out a gasp and flinch away.
“Hold still, you glitch, unless you want me to stab you more” Manslaughter reprimanded. He would love to stab Pyrostorm more, actually, but he had to focus on the task at hand before they could have fun again. Priorities.
The wound was bad, the weapon had gone straight through the thin armor covering Pyro’s waist and pierced the protoform underneath. The edges of the cut were jagged and uneven, crusted with dried energon. Primus, how long had this fragger been hobbling around with his guts spilling out??
“How did this happen? Who did this??” Manslaughter’s voice was low as he reached out and pressed his hand against the wound to try and stop it from bleeding. Primus, why was it bleeding so much?
“I don’t know. Some idiot– some Decepticon idiot– snuck up on me and struck when I turned- Ow, careful- do you even know how to do first aid?”
Manslaughter growled low in his throat, reaching into his subspace and pulling out a first aid field kit. He almost never carried it, cause he knew how to not get stabbed, but he was glad he thought to grab it before leaving for this mission. His Slaughter Senses must have been tingling or something. He pulled out a few supplies and turned back to Pyrostorm, who was once again clutching the cut.
“Stop grabbing at it, you’re going to make it worse. Now hold still. Might sting a little.” Manslaughter dunked the rag he had grabbed into some healing nanite balm, and leaned in to put it on the cut. Pyrostorm flinched back, hitting his backstruts on the wall a second time, and then hissed in pain.
Manslaughter huffed and leaned back. “Primus, stop being so dramatic. Move your servo and sit still. Frags sake, have you never gotten first aid?”
“Not from an enemy, no-” Pyrostorm’s words cut off with a grunt, and he moved to grab his cut again, which Manslaughter immediately blocked. Grabbing Pyrostorms’s wrist and pinning it against the wall behind him, Manslaughter leaned in close to finally smear the balm on his wound. Pyrostorm made a strangled sound and weakly tugged his arm, making Manslaughter press down even harder on his pinned arm. He snarled and met Pyrostorm’s optics– they were open wide again, he must have been getting delirious from pain or something.
“I said sit still” Manslaughter growled, staring Pyrostorm down until he felt his body relax– slightly– beneath him. He loosened his hold on Pyrostorm’s wrist, and turned back to the cut on his waist. It was still bleeding- seriously, why was it bleeding so much? He went back in with the rag, glancing back up at Pyrostorm as he finally spread the balm around the edges. Pyrostorm’s gaze hadn't left his face, and their optics met a second time. And then immediately separated after Manslaughter pressed too hard with the rag, causing Pyrostorm’s entire frame to jerk forward.
“Wa... watch what you’re doing, for f.. frag’s sake-”
“I’m TRYING, you don’t stop fragging staring at me! And stop talking, You’re gonna make it worse-”
“Primus, nevermind, I’ll just-” Pyrostorm attempted to sit up, and was immediately pinned back into the wall. Manslaughter’s servo had tightened on his wrist again, his other servo now pushing Pyrostorm’s chassis back. Too bad he didn’t have more hands for this. Maybe he’d look into that. Manslaughter shook the thought out of his head, and turned his attention down to the still bleeding gash on Pyrostorm’s waist. It looked worse now that Pyro had started fragging struggling, and was still trying to get his arm free, stupid fragging glitch. This wouldn’t do, Pyro needed to be still so he didn’t make it worse.
With that in mind, Manslaughter shifted his frame so his knees rested on Pyrostorm’s thighs, still using his other servo to keep Pyrostorm’s arm out of the way. Pyro stopped fighting after that, fragging finally. Manslaughter could feel his optics burning into his helm, and decided not to look up. He had to focus so he didn’t frag up again. Not that he did before, that was totally Pyro’s fault. Obviously. He, for the millionth fragging time, brought the rag to the wound, this time holding it there to soak up the energon that had begun pooling between their legs. Pyrostorm arched up slightly into the pressure, letting out a hiss, and Manslaughter leaned even closer to stop him from moving.
Manslaughter removed his servo from Pyrostorm’s wrist, freeing his arm, and dug around blindly in his med kit for a patch. He didn’t dare take his optics off the cut. It had finally stopped gushing energon, thank frag, but if it didn’t get covered soon it would probably start all over again. Manslaughter carefully, more careful than he’d been with anything in a very long while, removed the rag, setting it off to the side, and applied the patch. He leaned back, looking over his handiwork one more time– not bad, if he said so himself– and nodded to himself. That would do until Pyro could fix it more himself. Or hopefully go to an actual medic. Hopefully? Whatever. He leaned back onto his heelstruts, freeing Pyrostorm’s legs. Finally looking away from the now patched cut, he took in the rest of Pyrostorm. His shiny black and silver paint was roughed up, and he looked worn out, eyes half shuttered, faint scratches in the metal ground from where his digits had dug into it. Jeez, he hadn’t been that rough.
Pyrostorm blinked hard and cleared his intake with a weirdly loud click. Their optics met again and Manslaughter was suddenly very aware of how close they were. He didn’t move. Pyrostorm’s optics were locked onto his, yellow caught on red, and Manslaughter thinks he’s never seen him look so… open. He almost looked… trusting? The thought made his plating crawl, but he couldn’t look away. Pyrostorm broke the contact first, but only to, what the frag, glance down at Manslaughter’s derma. Manslaughter reset his intake, and felt his optics unintentionally flick down to Pyro’s derma in return. He immediately shot his attention back up to Pyros’s optics, which were now half closed, and… flickering. Slag. He was just bleeding out, obviously he’s gonna be out of it. Frag it all. With a violent shake of his head, Manslaughter pushed himself away and got to his pedes. He was not unsteady, and he did not stagger. Pyrostorm startled slightly at Manslaughter’s sudden movement, and cleared his intake again.
“Um.. tha-” He began, only to be immediately cut off.
“Don’t thank me. I already told you, the only one allowed to kill you is me. Don’t thank me. I have to, um, go. Fight’s still on.” Manslaughter jabbed a claw vaguely behind him at the long forgotten battle, which was now apparently fizzling out. How slagging long did that take?? Manslaughter skirted around where Pyro still sat and began gathering up the scattered materials from his med kit.
“Um… yeah. Sure.” was the only response he got, and Pyro began inspecting Manslaughter’s patch job. Manslaughter snapped the med kit closed and went to put it back in his subspace before thinking twice, and shoving it towards Pyro.
“Here. You’ll probably need this. Since you don't know how to not get stabbed.”
Pyrostorm huffed what could pass as a laugh, and then doubled over, reaching for his patched up wound. Manslaughter’s hand shot out without thinking and caught Pyro’s servo, preventing him from grabbing the cut. Manslaughter immediately dropped his servo and took a step back, clearing his intake.
“Don’t mess with it. You should.. go get it checked out. Or something. I need to uh- get.. Back.”
“...Okay. Um, yeah. Me too.” Manslaughter watched Pyrostorm push himself off the wall with what was honestly an unnecessary amount of grunting, and unsteadily find his balance. He subspaced the med kit, and carefully tucked his arm over his patched side, all with a pointed look at Manslaughter, who huffed and rolled his optics. He opened his intake to say something quippy (or maybe just rude), but he was interrupted by a beeping over his comms. The retreat signal. He whipped his helm around to peer out of their alleyway (“their” alleyway? Primus, he needs to get out of here) to see the Decepticons forces fleeing back to the scout ship hidden over the horizon. He gave Pyrostorm one last look-over, just to make sure he wasn’t gonna like, die or something. He was probably fine.
“Um. Well. Bye.” Manslaughter took a step forward, and was immediately stopped by a tug on his arm. He turned his helm back around to see Pyrostorm, lilting slightly more forward than he probably should’ve been, with a servo around his wrist.
“Wha-”
“Thank you, Manslaughter.” Pyrostorm was looking at him too genuinely, talking to him too tenderly, and that was his cue to leave. He opened his intake to argue, but one more nanosecond in this alleyway might actually kill him, so instead he just yanked his arm free (not too hard. Wouldn’t want to, uh, undo any of his hard work.) and skedaddled out of the alley. As he jumped to transform, he glanced back to see Pyrostorm limping out of the alley, leaning heavily on the wall. A white and red autobot– good, probably a medic– was running over to him, shouting something, but Pyrostorm’s optics hadn’t left Manslaughter’s frame. Manslaughter hit the ground in his alt mode and sped off without looking back again, trying to ignore the feeling that he was running away.