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cuppajj · 1 year

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[TF Mercy] No Longer Helpless

Kindred in their history, Fortress Maximus and Rung meet up to check in on each other's well being; but what was planned to be a simple conversation suddenly goes south, and the Autobot general suddenly finds himself in the midst of the hunter's abrupt and trauma-fueled panic attack.

[AN: So uhhh I ship Rung and Fortress Maximus in TF: Mercy >>;; it started out as a joke about them getting together because they went through some very similar stuff but then the joke turned out to have actual substance, one thing leads to another and here is my first fic for the game with them! It takes place after Reformed Predator, and hence has spoilers from the story. Just to be safe there are also spoilers for Space Adventure as well! If you haven't read Mercy's RP or SA Storylines then I encourage you to so you have better context of what's going on--but you can still enjoy it without nonetheless! Anyway without further ado!]

TF Mercy belongs to @emperor-kumquat

Fortress Maximus had arrived on time like he always did, knocking on Rung’s apartment door with a book in his servo. They had agreed to check in on each other, discussing their feelings, thoughts, and anything that had happened to them within the past two weeks. It had become an unofficial two-way therapy session, with a little amiable conversation about life thrown in, and the occasional book talk. As a librarian, Rung had given Maximus plenty of book recommendations, most revolving around the general’s flowering interest in nature and animals. Today, Maximus had finished his book on early cybertronian botanical practices, and was interested in returning it to Rung ahead of time. When Rung opened the door, the two greeted each other with friendly smiles, exchanging pleasantries as he let him in. A pair of energon glasses were already prepared for them, Maximus’s favorite blend, which carried a strong aroma. They sat on the coffee table, and the Autobot had helped himself to a sip as he managed to fit his massive frame on the couch. He hadn’t said anything, but Maximus had noticed that Rung sounded gloomier, whenever they called each other. He insisted he was okay when he asked, blaming work or recent hunts for his troubles; but as much as Maximus wanted to leave it at that, he knew that Rung wouldn’t feel this way over work. He hoped to discuss it with him today, during their official unofficial session, when they were meant to divulge everything. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t come across as too nosy, especially if the reason was truly such a simple thing. “Oh, I almost forgot our notes,” Rung had realized as he was about to take a seat next to the other. “I’ll be right back.” “Take your time,” Maximus implored, setting his glass back down on the coffee table. Rung disappeared past the door to his habsuite, leaving both of them to their own thoughts.

Thoughts that Maximus was unaware of, that had been in the back of Rung’s head for weeks. Every time he stepped into his room, he would pass Funeral, mounted on the wall. He hadn’t stopped to gaze at it lest he was pulling it off, but recently, he found himself staring at each intricate cut and scratch riddling its sleek gray metal, from the history of monster hunting that he would embark on. There were times when a sparkeater would round on him, claws and tendrils ready to scratch and stab relentlessly, and Gravemaker would use his gun to push them back, letting the weapon take the hits for him. He could fight back against the monsters he faced, capitulating not once even when all odds were stacked against him. On any other day, Funeral’s battle scars would imbue within Rung a sense of pride. Today was different. Today was when he interpreted those scars in a different way, when he saw something beyond all of the wear and tear. Yes, he could fight back now, but there was a time when he couldn’t. Not when it mattered the most. Not when he saw his old friend that day, or what was left of him. As he neared his desk where his notes laid, he grit his dentae, attempting to shake the looming trepidation away. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He was with Maximus, he had to stay calm for him! All of that could come later, when he had the right words to tell him. If he even wanted to, when he already had time and time before. Was it even worth it? No, no, but that was why they had sessions like these. Anything and everything could be said, no matter what it was or if it had been heard before. He knew, Max knew, so why was it so hard? Then the thoughts, the memories, came back as fast as Rung had attempted to push them out. The helplessness that he once had, so long ago. He froze in place, inches away from his notes, head throbbing and optics agape. He pleaded for this to not happen to him, not now, not when the time was supposed to be lighthearted and sentimental; but he had pushed these emotions away for so long now, that his attempts to push even further were no longer possible. These memories, this new perspective of Funeral’s marks, were not new; he had harbored them for longer than Maximus had become aware of his sullen mood. They were hungry, now; ready to tear at his mind and feast. Like he’d been.

Outside, Maximus had been playing with his digits, studying the simplistic living room around him as he patiently waited for Rung to return. He shifted a little in place, attempting to sit more comfortably on the couch, but he felt the legs scrape beneath him ever so slightly as his weight dragged them along with his frame. He pursed his lips and stopped immediately, resorting to pushing the coffee table a little further away from the couch so he could position himself closer to its edge. He was unaware of Rung’s condition in the other room until he suddenly heard the door slam open, and out with it scurried the smaller cybertronian. His quick and panicked breaths filled the room, telltale signs for the Autobot that something was terribly wrong. “Rung!? Rung!” Maximus gasped, whipping his helm behind him. “What’s going on!?” Confusion and shock grew exponentially as he watched Rung grip his chassis and helm, optics squeezing shut and blowing open at irregular paces. They gaped at nothing and everything all at once, seeming to lose sight of his own apartment, and Maximus along with it.

Fog rolled into his mind, thick and humid like ghastly breath passing his face. Wherever he dared to turn to, he saw nothing but encroaching shadows and bitter isolation, with no one around to help--no one who cared enough, anyway. He swore he could hear Froid’s condemning voice just beyond the mist, but any desperate call fell short of his lips. He found that he couldn’t talk, or scream, or run, no matter how hard he tried. Not when the other voice told him to stop, to quiet, the familiar and horrendous form it belonged to stalking towards him, his giant servos outstretched and his glare piercing through the haze.

“Rung!”

Maximus planted one pede down as he stood half out of his seat, balling his fists as he watched--he didn’t want to think helplessly, no--he was only stunned. He’d seen Rung sad, he’d seen him cry too, when they had their moments; but he’d never seen him break down into a hyperventilating mess. The Autobot couldn’t figure out what to do, how to calm him down. He had to think, think of something!

“H-h--” Rung gripped his head, stumbling across the living room floor unevenly. In the midst of his hyperventilation, he accidentally bumped into the coffee table, causing the glasses to topple over and fall to the floor, shattering on impact.

CRACK!

Rung yelped at the noise, whirling around so violently that he lost his footing and crashed painfully onto the couch. The smell of freshly spilt energon nauseated him, mixing with the awful stench that doused him and the monstrosity in front of him. He could hear it now, feel it now, the snarling, the acidic drool dripping onto his orange plating, the hypnotic rays racking his processor over and over. Nothing stopped the ghoul from closing the space between them, malice and hunger in his eyes. No! No! “Rung!” Maximus cried. “Rung, please- you’re fine!” Rung could only gasp and flinch helplessly as he felt the skeletal claws on him, the furious growling of the towering ghoul overhead growing louder and louder. Any desperate thought and attempt to flee was ripped from him, the power too great for him to resist. It was too much, the feeling of futility—all too familiar, dreadful all the same. The ghoul’s optics bore into his own, drowning the front of his form in a sick purple light as the shadows behind him nipped and bit at his rattling frame, threatening to engulf him entirely. All Rung could see was his face, he could feel his breath on him, gnashed teeth parting for his long and dangerous tongue to flick out and drag along his tearful face… He couldn’t be back. He couldn’t be back! He couldn’t—

“Rung!“

Instinctively, Maximus reached his massive servos out toward him in an attempt to still him, pacify him, but the sudden motion did nothing but cause the three-wheeler to sink backward, optics bulging wide as their pupils shrunk to mere pinpricks. Suddenly, the ghoul was on him with an inescapable grip, teeth parting as far as they could as they lunged forward and-

He gasped, “no-“

Realizing what he’d done wrong a second too late, Maximus pulled back quickly, spark racing. He stood up and distanced himself from the other, hands raised in front of his chest. Red optics gaped woundedly down on Rung. “I’m sorry,” Maximus uttered, shaken voice pleading for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Rung remained hunched, curled in on himself as his optics continued to struggle to read what was real in that moment. The ghoul’s hulking frame had slinked away so suddenly, peering at him through the thick fog that enshrouded him. The lone purple optic remained fixated on him, finials outstretched, ready to move at a second’s notice—then, another voice broke through into his ears, a stark contrast from the ugly noise grating at him.

A voice, soft and deep, hurt… Max?

Rung blinked as the new voice began to lift the fog and shadows away, the hisses and breaths retreating with them. His optics struggled to register, the silhouette of the ghoul shifting and changing, before the light drowned it out. Optics once purple were now red, brown plating now blue. Gradually, the smaller bot returned to his senses, his quick and heavy breaths slowing down. However, the aftershock of the episode kept his frame trembling. Maximus found his own breaths slowing down, recognizing that the distance had helped. With softened optics, he inhaled deeply before whispering, “I’m here.”

Tears streaked down Rung’s cheeks, the gravity of the situation now aware to him. His horror turned to sorrow, and his grip on the armrest loosened. “Max,” he whimpered, “I…” Maximus took one step closer, and after gauging his response, slowly approached his side once more. His servos fell to his sides. Rung thankfully didn’t flinch or curl further into the corner of the couch, instead sitting back upright. With his optics on his pedes, he slouched and hid his servos between his legs. His lips quivered and his breath continued to tremble. Maximus finally sat back down next to him, eyeing him with deep concern. He extended a digit to him, which the other took and squeezed on. “I didn’t mean to,” Rung moaned. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” “Ssh, it’s alright. It’s alright,” uttered Maximus. “Let’s calm down. Let’s calm down, okay?” Rung echoed his words, nodding quickly and wiping the tears from his optics, but still they continued to fall. He began to breathe slowly and audibly, as deep as he could, and kept the pressure on Maximus’s digit the whole time. He could gauge how badly he shook through his servo, and over time, it slowed in pace. Minutes would pass until the gray bot was finally still. When he was, he opened his optics once more, tears now dripping lightly down his cheeks. He stared at the thin air in front of him, riddled with the same thoughts nonetheless. Maximus spoke first. “It was them, wasn’t it?” After a moment, Rung nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t see Maximus’s gaze darken with the recollection of what he had heard from him of his oldest friends. Rung had trusted him enough to divulge everything that had happened, from their softest moments to the moments where he believed he would die. The betrayal hit too close to home for Maximus, even if the connotations were different; Rung’s sparkbreak was closer than his. Rung saw them as friends, potentially even more than that, for one or both of them. And for them to turn against him… Rung always discouraged his brasher ideas, but even so, they were still there. But now wasn’t the time to dwell upon his pointed anger; he had something more important to concern himself with. Maximus’s expression relaxed, and he angled his frame to face Rung, so he could better look at him. He found that Rung did the same, turning from the emptiness of the room to him, though he still didn’t look up. He let go of Maximus’s digit, which fell back to his side, and took a long, tired breath. The other frowned, squeezing his palm lightly before one of his servos rose.

With servos so huge, capable of crushing the smaller cybertronian’s helm within their grasp, Maximus paid extra attention to the way he reached up to hold it with the utmost care. The sides of his fingers met Rung’s jaw as his thumb reached up to wipe the tears away from his cheek, Rung’s optics closing and frame relaxing at his touch. A shaky sigh left him, and before Maximus’s servo lowered, his own servo lifted to rest atop it, stopping it in place as it cupped the side of his helm. “It’s been… so long,” uttered Rung, helm leaning into the other’s servo, “since all of that happened. I know it was a traumatic experience for me, but I feel as if I should be past it by now.” His optics opened to gaze into Maximus’s, the red optics of one who knew what he meant more than most. When he vented to the general of his woes, all the rigidity he was notorious for would disappear, replaced with the understanding features only one who suffered similarly could have. This was no different. Even stronger, perhaps, as Rung had never broken down in front of him like this. Maximus understood him, he could see it in his face; yet he could also see the sorrow and concern behind it. The giant shook his head. “It changed your life,” he breathed. “He did. They did, after you trusted them and cared for them for so long. That kind of betrayal wouldn’t leave anyone easily.” “It’s not just that it was… betrayal,” Rung winced, as if the word was difficult to fathom. “Max, I tried to run. I tried to do the right thing for everyone. And they dragged me back… he kept me there, and- Max, it was torture. I was trapped in there, struggling to survive all because- because-” Maximus heard Rung’s voice tensing up once more, and he hushed him gently. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore. You’ve had enough for now.” Rung’s silence agreed, the slow nods brushing up and down Maximus’s palm. His optics closed once more, and he squeezed down on his giant servo. “To have someone you care about, who cares for you just as much…” Maximus thought with a low voice. “...I know. And I know you know that, Rung. And things like that won’t leave overnight, as I was saying… but the least we can do is find any and every way to speed the whole thing up, I think.” Rung continued to nod. The general’s words, complimented by his deep and soft voice, helped put him at ease. In his current state, he could simply listen to him go on and on, until the reverberating tone lulled him to a calming sleep… but to admit it now, he wasn’t sure if it was ideal. “You’re right,” he murmured. “I just hope it’s sooner than later.” “It will be,” promised Maximus.

The three wheeler’s lips pulled back into a small smile. To Maximus, it was all he needed to know that his words had reached his spark, clearing the last of the dread that had choked him to tears. Rung couldn’t see the ghoul anymore. No more shadows gripped him, the hisses had been silenced, and the biting cold that racked his frame had been replaced with the warmth of his gratitude for Maximus’s company. Gratitude, among things he was still struggling to wrap his helm around. He truly did care about Maximus, and he knew that Maximus cared about him the same… yet that thought carried such caution, pressure, and history, that it made him hesitant to truly accept it even though he wanted to. Maybe--no, definitely--because of what had happened to him; and even though Maximus understood, a part of Rung nagged on and on that he couldn’t say everything he wanted to. He hoped that would change someday Maximus’s words echoed, it will. He held them close to his spark.

“Thank you,” Rung hummed, and the two finally lowered their servos. “I am truly sorry you had to see that. I suppose I’ve had some bottled up feelings over the past few days…” “I’ll always help you out,” Maximus assured. “Please, tell me next time. Bottling things up isn’t good for you, you hear?” Rung’s optics fell to the side, and he smiled. “Yes, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Always exuding your emotions like so…” He looked back up right as the telltale blush met Maximus’s cheeks, and just as fast, the other averted his gaze. “‘Exuding my emotions’ helps. For me at least,” he smiled sheepishly. “You should try it sometime.” The two fell silent after their exchange of warm smiles. As Maximus sat next to Rung, the other began to observe the state of the room with renewed clarity. Noticing the two energon glasses spilling their contents across the floor, his smile wavered, a silent “oh” falling shamefully under his breath. He knew he didn’t mean to, but he’d prepared them for them to enjoy together as they talked about all of the- “Rung, it’s okay,” Maximus said suddenly, reading his thoughts from his frown alone. “We can prepare more later.” “But shouldn’t we do that before we talk?” Rung blinked back at him, bewildered. “I don’t mean to get up so suddenly, but I should clean that up and prepare us more- ah--”

Strong servos enveloped his thin gray frame, pulling him delicately forward as he let out a soft gasp. Maximus adjusted himself and leaned backward on the couch, kicking one leg up onto the as the other slid over the edge to plant itself on the ground and balance his massive frame. Rung was hoisted up to sprawl atop Maximus’s chassis, and his awestruck expression, he didn’t resist at all. Heat quickly built up in his frame as the giant finally relaxed his servos, keeping them in a blanket across his torso. They eyed each other, and Rung could see the blush across Maximus’s face. He wasn’t used to doing this, picking him up and laying him against him. It was very… forward? Intimate? Words that made his blush deepen, but his gaze remained focused on Rung despite his swirling bashfulness. Part of him hoped Rung wouldn’t take it so intensely. “We’re already talking,” he spoke, their closeness bringing his voice to a hum. “Max…” Rung released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “The drinks aren’t as important,” replied the other. Rung wanted to protest, insisting that complimentary drinks were courteous and deserving for both of them, but he was aware of how his entire frame relaxed in Maximus’s embrace. Maximus didn’t want him to get up, and something told Rung that his tiny frame didn’t want to either.

Oh.

His head flicked left, then right, searching for any spot to obscure the blush building up in his cheeks. He ultimately folded his arms in front of him and hid part of his face in them, covering all but his glimmering optics, and to his misfortune, the blue hue that surrounded them. His optics remained glued below him--which didn’t help as much as he wanted to, considering he was now staring into Maximus’s chassis. He emitted a short unintelligible mumble, shifting in place. Even though Maximus hadn’t said anything, Rung was predicting what words would come next: “This isn’t about them, it’s about you.” “You and I matter more than that.” “Let’s just have this moment between us.” But Maximus didn’t feel the need to say any of those, as he read Rung’s body language. As the three-wheeler shyly tucked himself into his chest, he knew what he meant. “You don’t have to see them ever again,” Maximus said instead, alluding to the subject of Rung’s distress. He squeezed down on him, as tightly as he could with his restrained strength for the other’s comfort. “You’re in a better place now. It’s what you deserve.” Rung bit his lip, legs curling into himself. Those two were his… no, Maximus was right. He never doubted that. If his new perspective meant that his memories of the past would be interlaid with bitterness and pain, then so be it. It was the past. He could make new memories today and tomorrow. And Maximus, he could help. They could make them together. “Thank you,” Rung’s stiffness eased, helm rising from his arms to smile gratefully up at him. Hope glimmered in his optics, which Maximus noticed. He wouldn’t admit it then, but he loved to see that gleam of his, every time… “Of course,” Maximus’s optics lidded. “And I’m here for you. You’re here for me, after all.” We have each other, he almost said, but those words were too much for him and his already blue face. Rung hummed, “yes…”

Perhaps they didn’t need to talk through anything today anymore. The company of the other was enough, the consoling words and equally soft and sympathetic voices the cures for the dread that plagued them. Rung uncurled his limbs, slowly splaying them into a more comfortable position to relax atop Maximus’s broad frame. He rested the side of his helm into his chassis, hearing the faint hum of his spark underneath his tough plating. It was funny, how it was usually him who’d lay against him to his surprise. Maximus was the one to surprise him this time, picking him up and holding him here… he’d be too shy for that. Though maybe he still was, if his facial expression said anything. He was too familiar with it, the cute flush on one so infamous for his scowls… “Could we stay like this for a little longer?” Rung wished to ask, but he listened to Maximus’s slow and deep breaths, and noticed his optics were closed to allow himself to savor the moment. He did the same. It seemed like he didn’t have to ask, when the answer was already yes… The drinks could wait.

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witchofthesouls · 1 month

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(Anyone remembers that scenario with Getaway and Rodimus siring upon a Fae-Touched!Liaison that got cyberformed? Here we go again.)

Something bothers Getaway, far more than usual.

You had to change your approach. Getaway believes the Nudge-gun had reshaped your memories and it had.

But you got them back.

(A magic mirror once gleamed and asked What do you wish? with your own inverted face. Upon your answer, your doppelganger grinned a million fractals of glorious and damning shards. Splintered infinities and Truth. It reached out and placed a shard into each eye and you both bleed like monsters and gods.)

You stare into the mirror of the captain's private shower rack, and blue lenses and white pupils stare back.

If you stare long enough, you can divine the shards, each of them spinning and spinning, fracturing, repairing, growing, clawing out of the white-

The newspark cries and you snap back into the present.

The newspark cries and you nuzzle their soft body as they fret into your neck, tugging on the cables that mimic your hair, gumming on it. Milk-white optics blindly stare as they pur, slipping into your field, buzzing and yanking until you soothe it into a steady, easy pattern. They buzz, searching for a laughing sun that’s no longer with them.

Rodimus is gone. Getaway might as well be as he drowns in his captaincy.

The newspark purrs, no longer crying, and you plan.

_____

The thing is, Getaway lies.

It’s not condemnation. You know he lies. The problem lies where Getaway does it to himself as well. He believes in his own fabrications. A shallow mask that becomes his reality until something breaks it.

(Getaway could be the most marvelous actor if given the proper training and the chance, but it would eat him until he had nothing left to give, and you suppress the shiver that rolls down your spine at the ghostly, distant cheer of the starving, distorted voices.)

You can see it as he crushes you to the couch, when he watches you with hot-cold, hungry, optics across a room, when he pretends to sleep in the berth as you take care of the newspark, when he spins a dazzling tale to all the other mechs in the ship, when you cradle him in your lap…

This new vulnerability is strange from him. It began after Rodimus (and the others) had been left to fend for themselves.

Before Rodimus would sprawl across the couch, taking it over, and allowing you access, only to throw a leg across your lap with the newspark cradled on his chassis. Getaway would be either perched on the arm by your side or using your own legs as a cushion on the floor, viciously hogging the snack bowl and the remote until Rodimus finally relents to trade the bit.

You expected him to take Rodimus’ space on the couch on movie nights, but he doesn’t. He had taken the captaincy, the office, the berth, and even the snacks and personal products by Rodimus.

But strangely enough, he still perches on the couch’s arm by your side or sits by your feet, leaning on your legs. The newspark curls over the leftover space, seemingly so much smaller as they soak the faint remains of Rodimus’ biosignature.

Somewhere during the movie, Getaway will start drifting a hand up your leg, and will eventually find his way on your lap, pressing his face into you with a quiet almost-sigh. Field muddled in a not-quite agitated way until you ‘absentmindedly’ start to stroke across his back, careful not to go near his exposed neck.

The film keeps rolling into another and another without a word between you and him in this strange, truthful intimacy. It only breaks with the newspark fusses to be fed and then it’s time to move to the bedroom.

Some nights Getaway spawls across the berth, taking up the Rodimus-less space, turning into his pillow with little to say, besides a ‘good night’ and mimicking sleep as you settle in.

Some nights, he fucks you as he something to prove. Rutting you with a brutal force as he punches the air from your frame and drinks your expression with a burning focus, leaving both frames steaming and electrical burns on the sheets. In this mood, he doesn’t move from you. You learn to sleep under the weight of his frame and his spike still twitching inside you.

No matter what, he’s gone by the time you wake up.

_____

You don't like the look in Froid's optics. You barely like the mech at all.

Under that veil of professionalism is the spark of madness that’s familiar to you, that raw, consuming, and greedy hunger as he looks at you and your sparkling.

(Did Getaway tell him anything? Or did Froid figure it out?)

You titter guilelessly at the psychologist, turning into Getaway’s shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings as newlyweds in love do. Getaway is too well-trained to freeze from the sudden behavior, but he acts the part of a loving partner, pressing his mask to your crest. You hold his gaze and over the private comm, you tell him to be careful.

Froid has that same look of greed when he looks at Getaway.

______

In the privacy of the shared quarters and in bed, you feed the newspark and clearly state, “Be careful when you make deals. You don’t play directly against the house. Toll is unforgivable.”

He doesn’t answer. Pretending to sleep.

(Getaway likes to manipulate and play but he has a visceral need to be slanted in a good light. The fact he doesn’t even tries to soothe that worry or deny the accusation that he can’t handle himself is damning in and of itself.)

______

You leave the newspark with First Aid, who’s lonely in an empty medbay, and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Take good care of my darling moonbeam.”

First Aid asks what's wrong as your child barely fusses in his arms. Those blind optics stare at you in a strangely knowing manner before tucking into the medic for a nap, frame curling into the mech and field disappearing like morning dew.

You tell him a truth:

You need to clean house.

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