Flashback (AR) - Auld Lang Syne - (Closed)

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It was one of the many injustices of the universe, Red Alert thought, that no one ever seemed to believe him when he said he was alright. That people, in general, had the tendency to doubt him was an irksome problem in and of itself, but it was particularly galling when those doubts were directed at his assessments of his own well-being. He was fine, everything was still attached, there were no leaking fluids or sparking wires. Granted, he was a bit scuffed up in places, but that’s to be expected after making an emergency landing and having one’s ship come to a rather abrupt stop. It was nothing worth making a fuss about, certainly nothing worth bothering a medic with. Or so Red Alert kept insisting, until he was firmly pointed into the direction of the med-bay despite his numerous protests that he was just fine.

With an exasperated sigh, he had agreed, if only because the sooner he got this over with the sooner he could be cleared for duty and start running an assessment of the base. He had started making plans the moment he was groundbridged in, optics raking across the room, seeking out strategic places to install cameras, turrets, heat-sensors...he had realized right then that he had his work cut out for him, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to look at the rest of the base yet. Hence why he was more than a little irked by being waylaid by what he considered to be an entirely superfluous medical exam. His medical-files were (relatively) up to date, and he hadn’t suffered any major bodily injuries since then, but apparently tossing his specs at a medic and forgoing an actual check-up wasn’t going to fly around here.

Muttering to himself about unnecessary exams wasting valuable time, Red Alert made his way down the hall towards the medbay, noting as he went the various places where a camera ought to be installed, or an emergency alarm ought to be installed. The more he added to his list, the more annoyed he became with the entire situation. He knew how these things went. It would start out as a routine exam, a few scans would be run, then without fail the medic would take a look at his specs, and ten kliks would be added onto his session time while they had a discussion about a certain subject he did not want to talk about. At all. Ever. That he didn’t like being poked at by strangers (or lectured about his health) certainly didn’t help endear him to medical visits either.

That being said, it was hardly any wonder Red Alert hesitated before the medbay doors, jaw set, optics narrowed slightly in a mixture of annoyance and distaste. He vented another harsh sigh before stepping in, announcing his presence with a firm rap on the door-frame and a clipped “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

He had barely taken three steps into the room before stopping dead, optics brightening near-white as he stared, transfixed, at one of the very last mecha he had expected to ever see.

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Truth be told, it wasn't even Dusk's shift. The way the schedule was planned out, Ratchet should have been manning the Medical Bay from now until 7 pm so that it worked out in a nice, even one on and one off shift. That was the idea, anyway. But it rarely went over well during the quieter times in the base when Dusk was left too idle. Ratchet often seemed to be in a conflict of not condoning the lack of rest Dusk often led himself into and being thankful for the extra expert help. Sometimes, Dusk could get away with pulling shifts that weren't his own if Ratchet was feeling particularly tired and done-with-the-bullshit.

Today was just one of those days. One of the moments when he needed to keep his fingers constantly moving, his processor sifting and re-sorting information, if only to keep him from just sitting still. The shelves had been restocked and reorganized and cleaned at least twice, and he was debating doing it a third time when 'Jaws sent him an alert.

A new arrival.

Ooooh, yes! A new arrival! A new face, a new voice, someone to bring in under his wing, someone to flex and stretch his skills on because Primus he just needed to feel useful enough so he could get some recharge. A quick check-up on a newbie seemed like it would be just enough. It was enough to send him into a full on chair spin, arms raised high as he heard the rap on the door (they didn't sound cranky at all!). "Yes, yes! Come in, come in, come i--"

What.

All at once, everything collapsed. The gravity of the planet suddenly became too much, enough to make him feel as though he was being crushed from all sides, and yet his mind was eerily, uncomfortably still because it did not make sense. The thought occurred that maybe, just maybe, he should call Ratchet. Because to his horror, he might have finally run out on his time with a stable processor.

The creak of the chair was the only sound as he rose to make his way across the room, his steps measured, cautious as he warred with himself to turn away and continue his work or to reach out and touch what could be the shattering of the last of his grasp on reality. He wanted to hope, and despite what he was telling himself, somewhere within his spark it must have known he needed to hope. And about that time was when his field licked out to mingle with the impossible signature of a brother. That pulse in his spark, it was unmistakable.

One hand reached out cautiously, almost touching that red and white frame before it suddenly pulled back and clasped itself over Dusk's face. His optics, bright as a pulsar, glowed through the thin glass of his optics. The rumble in his chassis choked, once and twice, mingling with the sound of his vocalizer's static as he tried to form the words. Him. It was him, his brother, alive. "Re---…" His voice faded into static, and all at once his field and frame collapsed foreword to surround the smaller frame. The mobile plates of his armor flared protectively, his field a mixture of joy and millennia of pain and loss, all wiped away overwhelmingly by hope come true. Dear sweet Primus/my brother/thank Primus/alive/love.

It took some time, but his processor finally caught up with sensory and instinctive base reactions. It left him nearly reeling, the way that he'd been so close, so very close to falling off the edge into another dark fit. And now, so suddenly, he was being yanked upwards. Speech was still a while away, but that didn't stop the static from skipping in his vocoder, in the way laughter might sound. It was a tired, choked sound. But it was relieved, also.

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No.

No.

No.

It was all he could think, the only word capable of circulating through his processor as it screeched to a halt, as it crashed and burned and refused to acknowledge the mech before him as anything other than a figment of his twisted imagination. He must have hit his head too hard, or fried a circuit, or there was something wrong with his optics, because there was no way--it was practically impossible---that Dusk was alive let alone in the same room as him. But as he approached, his existence became more solid, more difficult to deny with each step he took. Red Alert, though he was loathe to admit it, was no stranger to hallucinations. They were usually brought on by stress, faint sensor ghosts, little sounds and flashes of moving shadows. Never this, never solid images on such a grand scale. He must have finally lost his mind. It was a long time coming, mecha always muttered when they thought he couldn’t hear that he was going to crack one day. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he wasn’t alright after all, maybe---

Maybe this was real. Maybe Dusk was real, and this was actually happening, and the only way he could handle the mech’s sudden reappearance in his life was through denial. Red Alert honestly didn’t know which seemed more likely at that point, until Dusk’s field mingled with his own and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was truly there. His optics and audios could lie to him, he knew that far too well, but his field had never lead him astray before. Somehow, this realization brought him no comfort. If anything, it made the knot in his spark grow tighter, and the moment Dusk reached forward to embrace him he found himself wanting to turn and walk out the door, to go back to his ship, to leave. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t face a the mech again, not after all this time. He had seen too much, heard too many reports of their brothers and sisters glitching and suffering and dying by their own hands to have any hope that there were any who had not been changed for the worse by the decommissioning. He couldn’t stand the thought of the image he had in his mind, his memory of Dusk, being altered by this meeting. The Dusk in his memory was healthy, happy, and whole, and he did not want that image to be lost and replaced by the truth, by what he feared was a mech altered by his broken code into a shadow of his former self. He did not want to see what had become of Dusk.

But even more, he did not want Dusk to see what had become of him.

So there he stood, optics pale and unblinking as he stared over the other mech’s shoulder, not daring to do so much as look at him, let alone return his embrace. His fingers twitched at his sides, air rattled through his vents in a shaky sigh, and he willed himself to be numb. To stop wanting, to stop wishing he could turn back time and go back to before he walked into the medbay, to before the war when he did not fear his brother’s touch, to a time when a gesture of affection did not bring him grief.

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“Red?”

His vocoder rebooted a half a dozen times before he could speak, and even then the way it framed his Brother’s name was filled more with field than with sound. But it was resetting, and returning. It took Dusk a while longer to let go, and then only because something felt… off. Not how it should. This was not like reuniting with Legion, where they embraced and did not let go, confusing all of Control with fits of laughter and life-time upon life-time of inside jokes fueled by the still-that-did-not-exist. This was… this was sad.

And part of him felt his spark clench in that way when he realized the younger Bright-Eyes did not wrap his arms around Dusk’s thick frame the way he wanted. Rather he remained stiff between the dark mech’s touch. Stiff, and afraid, like a proto-cat ready to bolt at any given opportunity. That might have been why, when Dusk pulled away that he kept his hands on Red’s shoulders. He lifted his helm just enough to look into those mirror optics, framed in lovely red and white. Wide… numb… unwanting optics.

Something about it made Dusk smile fondly, as darkened as it was with sadness, his field still possessed the same understanding as it always had. He wrapped his hands around Red’s head until they touched briefly forehelm to forehelm. “Ahh, Red.” He started, his voice low to a near whisper and filled with emotion. With an effort, he was trying to reign himself in, understanding how overwhelming he could be from memories of the Red Alert reborn. “My dear, dear brother.” And he smiled, his expression fonder still. “My dearest Brighteyes.” From a life time when once he might have returned the embrace. But this was not that life. This was different for all of them. “Still so wary…” A thumb went up fondly to trace the features of his face, the frame one Dusk was barely familiar with. “You ne’er did like surprises… does my obnoxious presence still offend you so? That y’won’t hug your own brother?”

The words had the spirit of Dusk in them - playful jabs mixed with a softer understanding, and his field flooding with fondness and love, though he attempted to keep himself level for Red’s sake. He did not push, though. Dusk was known for coaxing, but never was he pushy - he could imagine how Red was taking this, even as excited as he himself was, Red was not the same as he or Legion.. and he could only imagine how much he was reeling. Still, he was loathe to move his hands from the red mech’s shoulders - reluctant to break a touch he though would never come again.

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Words should never have so much weight. His name, when spoken in a voice he had never thought he’d ever hear again, should not be able to cut him off at the knees and leave him struggling to stand. And yet they did, and he was, and Red Alert had no one to blame but himself. He had been warned time and time again by various counselors, therapists, medics, CO’s and other concerned parties that it wasn’t healthy to bottle things up as he so often did, to the extent he did. He had been told, often and at length, that suppressing memories and avoiding anything and everything having to do with the Guardians was going to wind up coming back to bite him later.

He hadn’t listened. Instead, he had severely overestimated his ability to handle being confronted with an issue he had avoided and buried deep in the darkest recesses of his mind for a few thousand years, and look where that got him. He had thought if he ignored it long enough, that if he had put enough distance between himself, the Decommissioning, and the tragedy that followed after it, he would be able to handle it better. He thought time would dull the pain, close the wound, make addressing the problem hurt a little less.

He had been wrong. So completely, utterly wrong.

And now he was paying for his mistake. There was no ignoring this. There was no smothering the ache that rose up in his chest as Dusk spoke his name, there was no distraction that could possibly call his attention away from the situation and allow him a brief reprieve to collect himself and gather his thoughts. Time and emotional stability were luxuries he did not have, which made his attempts to process Dusk’s words and actions and come up with an appropriate response for them all the more difficult. For the first time in a long, long while, he found himself woefully unprepared. He did not have a plan for this. He did not have a plan, and that was both alarming and terrifying in equal measure. He always had a plan. His backup plans had backup plans, and sometimes those plans had backup plans of their own.

Yet he could not think of a single action to take in this situation. Hell, he didn’t even know what sort of resolution he wanted to work toward. All he knew was that Dusk was owed something more than the empty stare and blank expression he was regarding him with, and as the other mech leaned forward to touch their forehelms together, Red Alert managed the smallest of steps in the right direction. His empty stare vanished as his optics flickered offline and his brows drew close, his jaw setting as if he were bracing himself for a surge of pain. Which he was. Dusk’s words, his touch, his very presence tore open the wound in his spark that had never properly healed, and the shock of it seared him to his struts.

He didn’t know the return of something that had been taken from him could hurt this much.

Dusk was alive, they were being reunited, and for that he should have felt glad---but all he could feel was grief, because now he would one day have to lose his brother all over again. Once had been enough. He didn’t think he could stand it a second time, not when he was still reeling from the first loss. There was no way in Primus’ name he was going to say that to Dusk, though. He was already ruining both their reunion and the other mech’s joyous mood without throwing his baggage down at his feet. The thought brought another pang to his already aching spark, and Red Alert found himself cycling out a shaky breath of air as he struggled to compose himself enough to speak, to form words with which to salvage whatever happiness could still be found in this travesty of a reunion.

His first attempt at speech ended half way through the first syllable, which was obscured by a harsh burst of static as his voice cracked. He swallowed against the knot in his throat and forced his vocoder through a hard reset before trying again. Steeling himself, he reigned in his treacherous field as best as he could, and forced his optics to meet his brother’s.

“...It’s been a long time, Dusk.” The words were quiet, spoken barely above a whisper so the sound of his raw voice wouldn’t grate on the other mech’s audios.

It didn’t explain much of anything, but it was a start, at least. Certainly a step up from what he was doing before--staring blankly while his field crackled with an unpleasant cocktail of emotions that belied the turmoil that his expression could not.

[Deleted]

He felt his field retreat, like light chased away by shadow, and Red’s words settled deep into his struts leaving him oddly cold rather unlike what he might have expected. Strangely, even less than arm’s length away, close enough to feel the familiar spark signature… he felt as if there was an impassable distance. Embraced as they had been, something was keeping him at arm’s length, and the following loneliness made his spark stutter in such a way that it almost went unnoticed. Like having something just under palm, yet so far away - something skirting just on the outer edge without ever wanting to make contact and… oh.

His question hung in the air, answered by the figure of Red glued to the ground, his arms down at his sides.

Not all of them were the same, and so not all reunions would be the same. Still, under the gaze of the broken optics Dusk found himself having to silence those millennia old voices in the back of his processor, questioning, wondering, always second-guessing. Time could change a mech, they said. It would probably have been easier if he didn’t see you at all. He might have preferred it that way. See how he recoils? He probably thinks you’re broken. You’re probably breaking him, too—

No.

No.

They were all broken in their own ways, he thought. He had a protocol for times like this, a routine of questions and observations to beat back the gnawing in the back of his mind - Red was his Brother, and likely facing just as much breaking as he was. There would need to be time for both of them to cope in their own ways. There would need to be times he would have to remind himself again and again not all waves were as long as his own, even before Decommissioning. They were Brothers, and now they would have time to sort through all this. Later.

Tucking all of it away with years and years of practice, Dusk instead let a natural smile spread across his face.To focus on the good. Speaking was a start, and he was proud to hear the voice however quiet it was. Not a fine start, but a start, and he’d take it and wrap it around himself like a fine oil soak.

“Aye, it has… too long.” And one last time he squeezed his brother’s shoulders fondly before turning and spreading an arm to the rest of the ‘Bay, inviting Red to follow on his own accord. “But yer here now, an’ so am I - on th’most unlikely o’ wee back-water planets.” And just like that, he was back to his self, if only a bit sobered. “Curious li’l place, innit? You seen all th’species, yet? Ah, ‘course not - y’jus’ landed I’ll bet, not too long ago. Well c’mon then, let’s get y’squared away or Ratchet’ll have both ‘o us into toasters. An’ I know how much y’ll want t’get t’work - so th’sooner this is over th’faster y’ c’n go do what ye do best!”

He paused across the berth, though, turning a raised brow over his shoulder. “If y’haven’t started already.” Flipping through a few of his own files he pat the berth beside him. “C’mon, up y’get. Y’been brief on th’planet yet? Earth - kind of an adorable name, innit?”

<< The tag started out okay but then it turned into an angst ball and I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened - but it ends kind of cute so there’s that. :C >>

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He didn’t know how Dusk could do it, how he could somehow manage to smile despite everything. It was like the ground between them had been split open. The years they spent apart had come crashing down upon their foundation like an axe--creating a chasm too vast for them to cross--and yet he still somehow found a way to smile, as if he could stitch together the broken ground they stood upon and close the distance between them with little more than a needle and thread.

If only it were so easy.

When Dusk released him at last, removing his hands from his shoulders with a final parting squeeze, Red Alert found himself holding back a sigh of relief that would only make this travesty of a reunion sting all the more for the other mech. Dusk didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to feel unwanted, to know his touch burned and voice wrenched at Red Alert’s spark, clawing for the hidden traces of sentimentality buried deep, deep down where they were never supposed to be found. It wasn’t Dusk’s fault he was reacting that way, and he didn’t deserve to suffer for it.

But he was. Red Alert had no doubt about that. Even if he couldn’t see it in the mech’s optics, hear it in his voice, note it in his posture, it was impossible not to come to that conclusion just by looking at the situation from an outside perspective. How could Dusk possibly not be hurt by a reunion with a mech who seemingly wanted nothing to do with him, who was reluctant to look him in the optic let alone speak, who did not return his affections and in fact seemed pained by them? Red Alert was not the most emotionally intelligent of mechs, but he didn’t have to be one to tell that he had hurt Dusk, despite that being the opposite of his intentions. He had scarcely been in the mech’s presence for three kliks and already, he had disappointed him.

Perhaps that was a mercy. It might have been crueler to give Dusk hope that things might be alright again, that things could go back to the way they were before life...changed him. Turned him into a stranger. He wasn’t the mech Dusk thought he was, not anymore, and to let him believe in such a pretense would be setting him up to have his hopes crushed.

Hope was a very fragile thing, in finite supply. Red Alert did not want to rob him of what he had left, assuming there was any at all. The war had a way of exhausting mecha of all their stores---even mecha like Dusk, who had faces made for smiling and sparks too big for their own good.

Shaking his head to rid himself of those thoughts before he found himself ensnared by them, Red Alert refocused his attention on the situation at hand. Dusk was talking, gesturing towards a med-berth. The mech was still a medic, and this was still a medbay, and new arrivals were still supposed to follow protocol and have a medical exam. Their travesty of a reunion didn’t change that. Their relationship didn’t change that. It made things a hell of a lot more uncomfortable for both parties, but it did not change the fact that it needed to be done. Once it was over and he was cleared for duty, Red Alert could leave Dusk’s presence and bury himself in his work until he forgot all about this meeting and everything they were leaving unspoken. Or at least, that’s what he told himself in order to get his frozen body to move and follow after Dusk. He knew he wouldn’t be fortunate enough to forget, but at least in his work he could find distraction, something to occupy his mind and bring him temporary relief from the more pressing thoughts demanding his attention.

He walked over to the berth in a few short strides, his stiff joints protesting every step of the way. Instead of sitting on top of it as instructed, however, he simply leaned against it, his fingers curling over its edge as he cast his optics downward and contemplated the floor, and NOT how Dusk somehow knew he had already begun making plans for the outpost the minute he stepped through the groundbridge. Either the mech had made a lucky guess, or Red Alert hadn’t changed as completely as he thought since last they met. Part of him hoped it was the former. It didn’t make the growing ache behind his optics sting as much when he thought about it as the latter did.

“...I’d rather stand, if that’s alright.” He muttered, as he brought his optics back to Dusk’s face and wondered if his voice always sounded that raw. Clearing his throat, he reset his vocoder and tried again.

“Yes, I’ve been briefed.” There. Still bad, but at least the rasp wasn’t as noticeable. He cycled in a deep vent and rolled his shoulders, attempting to steady himself and alleviate some of the tension on his neck. Primus, but he was going to snap a cable at this rate.

“Earth is...Well. It's not the worst planet to be stationed on.” He was aiming for a casual tone, but the words that came out were stilted and forced.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t pretend as well as Dusk that nothing was horribly wrong about all this.



((OOC: No worries Els, angst is to be expected! I knew there would be feelings everywhere going into this.))

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“Sure, Sure. Whatever makes you most comfortable.” He said, a lazy if somewhat forced smile tugging on his face as he brought up a number of holo-displays from one data pad, running his fingers over them as if he were the master of some musical instrument (not quite, though many times he wished). He would have to pretend he didn’t hear the rough static that Red’s voice dragged through whenever he spoke (what little he did say). He would have to pretend that Red’s spinal struts weren’t stiff as if a threat were in the room and have to pretend, Primus help him, that something wasn’t wrong. Because in the end… he still had a job to do.

He wasn’t sure whether or not the routine of that made things better or worse yet.

Regardless, he swipe a screen onto another data-pad without a pause before rounding the table to Red’s front. Data cable from his wrist plugged into the pad, something on the top of his wrist popped up and with a low pitched sound lit up. “Now then,” he began as the scanner was swiped over Red’s frame, the data immediately being uploaded for easy reference and storage. “Y’know th’routine, jus’ a quick scan here an’ there, an’ off y’go.” A few bleeps and pings later with all of the information uploaded for Ratchet’s perusal, there was little else to do now but stalling. There was nothing damaged, nothing to repair that his own systems wouldn’t manage themselves and nothing more left to scan which only left the very last thing.

Dusk actually allowed himself to lean on the berth, one hand propped on his hip as he exhaled. “Might wanna sit for this one, Red.” He said at last, and as he kicked himself from the berth he turned to face the officer with an apology in his optics. “I’ll need t’link in, y’know that.” And sensing some kind of refusal he raised a hand in a placating gesture. “As always, everything is under doctor-patient confidentiality. It’ll stay between us.”

[Deleted]

He wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow, Red Alert managed to keep his optics off the floor while Dusk worked. They were tempted, so very tempted, to simply fix themselves on the clean, well-polished floor and not once look up until he was finally free to take his leave. He nearly let them, too, but he decided that doing so would say a lot more about his discomfort with this entire situation than he was willing to admit. Not that his discomfort wasn’t already patently obvious; he just didn’t want to underline an issue that had already been circled, bolded, and italicized. Refusing to even look at Dusk would just beat them both over the head with the very obvious, painful truth that he would rather be nearly anywhere else in the universe but in front of one of the mechs he had spent the past million or so years trying not to think about.

Dusk really didn’t need to be reminded of that anymore than he already was.

During the scan, Red Alert’s optics stayed off the floor, flicking across the rest of the room instead. He glanced at the walls, the various pieces of equipment and furniture, and even stole a few furtive glances at Dusk now and again as if he had to confirm for himself that the mech was actually there. Part of him was concerned this was all some sort of fanciful delusion, that he had bashed his head on something when he landed, and this was all just a blunt-force trauma induced hallucination. He was quick to write off that possibility. He had experienced enough hallucinations in his life to know they were never this detailed and intricate--flashes of images, snippets of sound, never entire exchanges.

He almost wished it was a hallucination, though. At least then he wouldn’t have to face what came next.

He had known it was coming. He had been dreading it from the moment he walked in the door. Some small part of him had hoped that the scan would have taken longer, given him more time to stall before he had to face the inevitable. He had no such luck--not that that surprised him, considering how his luck seemed to be going that day. Dusk finished his scan, hesitated a moment or two for the sake of delaying his patient’s discomfort for a little while longer, then said the very last thing Red Alert wanted to hear.

His throat tightened and his hands clenched against the edge of the berth as the hammer finally fell, but before he could think to protest Dusk raised his hand to silence him. There was no way he would be able to talk his way out of this like he had done on occasion before, with less stringent medics. The entire procedure was nothing short of unpleasant, and he always chose to avoid it if he could. He didn’t have that option now, as much as he wanted it.

Cycling in a deep breath, Red Alert raised a hand to his face and rubbed at the space between his optics. “I know.” He muttered, releasing his breath in a soft, defeated sigh. “Just...give me a minute.”

He wasn’t stalling, surprisingly enough. He simply had a few things he needed to do before he could let Dusk link in. Namely, dropping down the numerous custom-designed firewalls that would have denied Dusk access even with his medical-override codes. Red Alert didn’t want to have to explain that to the other mech, though. It was bad enough the mech had good reason to believe there was something wrong with his code without him confirming his suspicions by letting him see the numerous measures he had taken to make sure no one could ever see let alone touch it again without his consent.

He spent a klik and a half tearing down the carefully constructed walls he had spent so much time putting up, and once the last wall finally dropped, Red Alert reluctantly looked back up to Dusk and nodded.

“Alright. Just…” He sighed once more, dragging his hand down his face before letting it fall back against his side. “...Watch your step.”

It wasn’t a warning for the other mech to be careful. He knew Dusk, or at least, he knew how he had been all those years ago, and he wasn’t the sort to tread heavily when rooting around in someone else’s code. That was just the closest Red Alert could get to saying outright that Dusk should expect to walk into something...unpleasant.

It wouldn’t be the first time a medic wasn’t prepared to see the patchwork that had been made of him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be stared at in horrified silence once again.

[Deleted]

The years and combined lifetimes of practicing the healing trade were practically unmeasurable. Time after time jumping hurdles to reach the patient, rounds flying over head, or in the med bay digging through internals, creeping through another mech’s processor — when he first hoped out of medical training and straight into practice it all left him with his plates clamped tight and fruitless recharge. But as with most things that aged, he built up a callous that allowed him to work; accomplish a job that needed doing, get used to that dump of system alerts to use his skills to the best of his abilities…

But in this moment Dusk hesitated accessing Red Alert’s medical port. The mech was rigid, yet his posture strangely resigned to what had to be done, and Primus, Dusk still felt as though he were touching him with acidic gloves. The entire process seemed alien and unfamiliar, and try as he might to push past it, he couldn’t help himself but share the sentiment that had been radiating from Red Alert’s plates as soon as they laid eyes on each other: to be done with it as soon as possible, if not for his sake, then for Red’s.

Air cycled quietly through his vents, one last breath to make amends with the fact that all of his experience meant slag here, and with the slightest of clicks that left his audios ringing, his optics dimmed.

The hypnotic blues and whites of information and code were illuminated almost immediately by the irritated red of error coding which, with more practiced ease than he felt, Dusk bypassed quickly… and sent a silent, thankful prayer up to Primus that Red took down his own firewalls before hand. Traveling through the code’s shadow was like walking in a narrow corridor of pointed acidic crystals - beautiful to behold, but knowing one wrong move would shred anything left of him. Truly, Red Alert was a master of the art. If something did ever manage to seep past Red Alert’s own firewalls, Dusk couldn’t see anything out of place (Thank Primus) … at least, as far as a foreign entity went.

As he peeled back and carefully brushed aside layer after layer and tree after tree, he began to see exactly what he had expected. Frays. Areas where coding had been ripped out en mass and replaced with new script, only to be rejected and warped by the rest of the system. It was never a question of whether or not it was present, but only of where it affected, and how badly, because every Guardian was dealt the same hand that particular Orn. He could see the areas that had been snipped and tied, the ones that had been supported by Red’s own intervention and handy work and… it was what he had expected; most everything that could be done, had been.

As far as check-up’s and physical’s went, nothing was actively frayed and unraveling, and nothing had been planted. And that was all he needed to see… which meant, however long it had been, the check-up, their little reunion, was close to finished. Careful to replace things back where they were and move out slowly, Dusk’s optics finally onlined to everything exactly as it’d been left (even if there had been some small little bit of hope left that something would change).

“Alright, Red.” He said aloud, some note of static in his voice that he paid no mind to. “You’re all done; everythin’ checks out.” Though something in the way his head kind of hung, the way his field flattened, left a heaviness in the air that he’d been fighting to ignore before, but now was contributing to. He shuffled his pedes, straightened some data pads on the berth in a way that was completely unnecessary and left his back half turned to the red lamborghini. His vocoder clicked once, twice, “And, ah…” His spark was a mess of second-guesses, but the force pushing the words out was stronger. “I know… y’ve got a handle on your own code an’ all, but…”

Exvent, and his shoulders slumped, his voice sobering to a deep rasp that was seldom ever used as, for once, the happy attitude dropped. For this, he turned his optics back to Red, one hand shifting to his hip. “I’m not gonna preach t’you about th’dangers or anythin’ that’s happenin’. It’s nothin’ y’haven’t heard already, and nothin’ y’haven’t dealt with, but… There are other things can’t be written out, y’know?” Carefully, his limbs moving as if numb, he spread his hands wide. “I mean, I’m here Red. Use me. Shoulderin’ on yer own, th’added stress won’t do y’any favors, y’know that.” And perhaps sensing the response, he simple shrugged, a half smile curling briefly at his lips. “If y’ever need… er.. want t’chat. Other than that, good luck, gettin’ settled here at Omega. Got some lively youngun’s here might give y’some ‘amusement’.”

[Deleted]

Over the years he had tried, at the request of numerous therapists, counselors, and well-meaning strangers offering advice he hadn’t asked for, various coping-techniques for dealing with stress. Most of them didn’t work. Those that did didn’t work very well, or for very long. After a while, frequent use rendered them as ineffectual as all the others. Clenching his hands and jaw proved cathartic in the short term, controlling how he cycled in air sometimes helped steady his mind, and counting occasionally helped keep him distracted from whatever it was that was bothering him.

He resorted to trying all three while Dusk performed his duties, doing the necessary checks that they both dreaded having to go through. He turned his head, kept his gaze firmly fixed to some far off point, far away from Dusk so he wouldn’t have to see the mech’s reaction to what he saw. His hands clenched against the edge of the exam table, his vents drew in a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it, repeating the process ad nauseum.

He kept his field pulled tight against his plates, schooled his expression into a neutral mask, and tried for all the world to seem as if he was faring far better than he actually was. The effort was most likely wasted on Dusk, the mech knew him too well to fall for such a charade, but damn it all, he had his pride. He wasn’t about to allow his grief to make a grand show of itself, to showcase itself openly as if he were in mourning.

Even though, in a way, he was. He was mourning the loss of who he was, what they were, who they could have been. As much as Dusk hoped otherwise, it felt to Red Alert that whatever relationship they may have had before, whatever they might have once meant to each other - that was all long gone now. Killed by the decommissioning, decomposed by the thousands of years they spent apart, and buried by his own reluctance to ever allow himself to go through that kind of suffering ever again.

The mech Dusk thought he was, the one he cared for, the one he had known all those years ago--he was gone. Red Alert had attended the funeral himself. He didn’t have the spark to pick up where that other mech left off, didn’t want to try to pick up the shattered pieces of his and Dusk’s brotherhood and risk discovering they didn’t fit anymore.

So he counted. He ignored the twisting in his spark, ignored the voice in the back of his mind telling him to reach out to the other mech, ignored the tiny flicker of joy buried deep within his chest that, despite everything, could not help but celebrate in wake of the knowledge that the other mech was still alive.

1, 2, 3, 4…

He counted up to ten, stared hard at the floor, counted back down.

9, 8, 7, 6…

Dusk continued to examine. He continued to count.

4, 5, 6, 7…

Up, down, back again. He couldn’t recall how many times he went back and forth before Dusk’s voice finally broke him from his trance, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know. As the link between them was severed at last, Red Alert found himself both immeasurably relieved, and anxious to move, to leave, but he couldn’t. Dusk didn’t deserve that, to have him bolt out the door the very second the exam was done as if he were something disgusting, poisonous. As much as he wanted to just...not have to deal with this, with any of this, Dusk was owed more respect that. The least he could do was stay and listen to what the mech wanted to say, to hear his parting words before taking his inevitable leave.

And Primus, but were those words difficult to hear. Not just because of the messages they conveyed, but because of the tone they were delivered in. Dusk...Dusk was not a solemn mech. He had a face meant for smiling and a voice that was as cheerful as he was---as he was meant to be. To hear him sounding so resigned, so defeated and somber…it struck Red Alert as sickening, wrong. This wasn’t how he was meant to be.

A pang of guilt struck him, knowing this was his fault, knowing Dusk’s grief was entirely his doing. He...he needed to leave. To get away from Dusk before he made things worse--more so than he already had.

“I...yes, I know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

His response was rushed, barely thought out, and he knew it. He just needed to say something, to give Dusk some sort of acknowledgement before he pushed away from the exam table and stiffly made his way to the door. He knew if he locked optics with the mech one his way out, he never would be able to force himself to keep going, so he could not afford to spare him a parting glance. Instead, he simply paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the frame for support.

“...It was nice to see you again, Dusk.”

[Deleted]

Where he stood felt heavier than he thought it ever would — and as he turned to watch Red Alert move for the exit, a haste and stiffness to his gait that they both knew was blatantly obvious, he could only think to himself: You aren’t alone. But what surprised him were the glyphs, barely enough to be a ghost under his too-tight field. It was almost… angry? There are plenty of us, he wanted to say. All of us, forced to be in the same reality as you, he wanted to shout! But all he could do was stare blankly at the retreating back, marveling at how for once he couldn’t speak, or even if he wanted to. Why are you acting as though we’re diseased?

Something today had cut him deeper than he expected, than he ever even realized, and most disturbing was at the end of this meeting, he wasn’t sure whether or not their conversation alarmed him because of emotional whiplash, or because it had dug up what he didn’t want to admit he felt. No, it was much easier to feel some type of resentment.

But no matter what he wanted to feel, there he was left, staring at the back of Red Alert’s helm despite his desire to feel anger just hoping, hoping that he just might turn around. But the mech’s words only lingered, his head never turned, and Dusk found himself trying to remember how to speak. Wondering after him as if coming to the conclusion this wasn’t a joke, and whatever he might have had for cohort just dropped by one.

Is it so difficult…?

“Yeah,” he said finally, only a touch of static to his voice, “You, too.”

…But was it?




<<Fin?>>