of brothers and reunions

[Deleted]

Characters: Dreadwing, @skyquake
Location: A canyon somewhere in Nevada
Content Warnings: N/A
Plot Summary: After millennia spent apart, separated by their duties to the Cause and their Lord and Master, two brothers sharing a spark reunite at long last.

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It had been millennia since he had seen his brother. Fate - and their Lord and Master - had seen fit to separate them after spending the entirety of their lives side-by-side, and Dreadwing could not deny that the ages that had stretched on between then and now had felt like an eternity. He did not resent the absence of his brother (or, at least, if he did, he did not ever give voice to such thoughts) for he knew that Skyquake had been bestowed a great honor in being chosen to stand guard over this miserable planet’s energon reserves, a slumbering sentinel that would awaken to defend or to serve his master.

Months had passed since Dreadwing’s arrival, and immediately he had known that this was the planet upon which his brother slept, but he had not been given permission to fetch him until now. How his spark had ached knowing that Skyquake was here, and yet he could not go to him, for Megatron had not yet given the order! Finally, finally, though, after immense patience upon Dreadwing’s part, he had been sent to bring his brother home.

It was rather strange and amusing to think that on the very cusp of being reunited with his twin, the other half of his split-spark, he might feel something other than complete and utter elation, but Dreadwing indeed felt something else as he approached the location of the sarcophagus-like pod that held his brother in stasis. He could not quite put a name to it, not yet, but there existed in his spark a sense of apprehension, and perhaps a twinge of anxiety, though he could not explain the reason for it. He had no reason for apprehension or anxiety, he told himself, for today would be the day that his brother and most trusted air lieutenant under his command would awaken and rejoin him!

A few well-placed blows broke away the rock that hid the pod like a shell, and it was a simple matter to input the code that would bring his brother back to the conscious world. With a pneumatic hiss, the pod doors slid open, and sunlight lit up the face of the one whom resided within.

Dreadwing then uttered the first words in centuries to his twin, and basked in the pure, absolute joy it gave him. “Brother… it is time for you to awaken at last!"

[Deleted]

Access: Granted
Internal Power Supply: Initialising
Waiting...

Long-dormant systems booted up as the pod’s doors split open. Sensornets came online, sensation rippling across plating like small crackles of electricity. Skyquake’s spark flared out, spins picking up speed within its chamber. He heard a sound not unlike the one his audials last picked up before he went under: a popping hiss. But instead of sealing him in, this time it was letting him out.

Many things registered at once. The sudden presence of atmospheric conditions rushing against his armour and chasing off the vacuum effect of the airtight pod, the warmth of ultraviolet rays against his faceplates, the tautness of joints and hinges that remained still for far too long. And then something else, closer, familiar, thrumming with excited delight.

Skyquake’s first coherent thought was, unsurprisingly, Dreadwing. His spark flared out again, the motion a close equivalent to reaching out for someone. The answering ‘touch’ was immediate. Skyquake’s optics spiralled open with a whirr-snap, two crimson slits that bathed his sharp features in red light. There was a silhouette just outside his pod, its features shadowed by the central body of this stolar system they were in. Same height, same width, same frame-type. Even if he hadn’t been able to see that, Skyquake would have been able to tell who stood before him. He stepped out of the pod, dry organic soil crunching under his stabilising servos, clawed hands coming up his brother’s arms to dig into his pauldrons.

“Dreadwing,” he said, face solemn, and then grinned. He leant forward, offering his forehead for his brother to meet him halfway. “At last.”

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There were no words with which he could describe how that first touch of consciousness felt across their bond after so many years of feeling an absence of, a dimness. He met it with his own touch, reaching out in reciprocation, eager and delighted and offering a solid anchor upon which his twin could focus upon as he roused himself from his slumber. ‘Come back to me,’ He shared without words in the way one does through a spark bond, using flashes of images and of sensations to instantly share his thoughts with his brother. ‘You have slept long enough!’

Another touch, stronger and more coherent, and this Dreadwing met with even greater joy, his own spark practically bursting from its chamber. Though outwardly he did not show it (other than a certain tense excitement in the angle of his wings), inwardly he was celebrating. ‘It’s been too long I missed you I missed you I missed you,’ was passed along rapid-fire along their bond, before he got a hold of himself and reeled himself back.

Joints creaked and grumbled from centuries of lack of use, and as a precaution he stepped forward to support his brother should they give out. It was not needed - Skyquake stepped forth and stood tall and strong, sturdy as the day he’d gone into the pod. Dreadwing clasped tight to the claws upon his forearms, before his own solemn expression morphed into perhaps the biggest grin the universe had ever witnessed from him. He gladly touched forehelms with his twin, letting his EM field reach out to mingle with Skyquake’s own.

“It has been a very long time since you were parted from me, brother,” Dreadwing informed him, voice prompt and dutiful even as every line of his frame betrayed his delight. It was unlike him to be so expressive… but his brother had at last been returned to him, which was occasion enough to grace the world with his happiness. “Much has changed. How much do you remember?”

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“I remember everything well enough,” Skyquake said. “My memory banks remain intact.”

He pulled back, grin softening into a smile as his optics roamed his brother’s face, taking in the subtle changes that he hadn’t been there to witness as they appeared. He wondered if he looked very changed himself, or if time had failed to get to him within his pod. His frame did feel somewhat sluggish, but a good wash and rinse should be enough to chase away the stiffness. Perhaps some oil in his joints wouldn’t go amiss either, nor would a deep defragmentation. Dreadwing would probably want him to get a full medical examination, if there was an available medic nearby.

“I remember Cybertron, the mass departures, arriving on this planet.”

He also remembered other things: his despair upon learning Dreadwing would not be joining him in his mission, his scathing hatred toward the Prime who refused to yield and was killing their world with his stubbornness to admit defeat, his strong conviction that Megatron and his scientists would restore their homeworld before the century was done and he would be called back to help with rebuilding. Skyquake gave a small shrug, deciding that he wasn’t really interested in speaking about things that they both knew. Like Dreadwing said, much must have changed since the last time he was awake. He was more interested in speaking about that.

Spark thrumming happily within its casing, Skyquake let his servos slide up and touch the golden edges of the fins sticking out of Dreadwing’s pauldrons. He had missed the contact, the solidity of his twin’s frame and character by his side. He had missed his other half.

“But tell me, brother, how fare our comrades back on Cybertron? Does our planet thrive under our master’s rule? Is the reconstruction process well underway?” he asked, claws curling around the strong dark-blue pauldrons again. There was an odd zing in the bond, but Skyquake took it in stride; they had never been parted for such a long time, after all. His smile grew a fraction, optics dimming. “Are we being recalled home?”

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One of the biggest fears (among many other things, though this one was a selfish one) Dreadwing had had upon learning of the extended duration of his twin brother’s mission was the corruption of Skyquake’s data banks and memory processors due to the ravages of time. What would he have done, if the pod had rumbled open and revealed a senseless bot with no memories of who he was, what his duties were, or how he’d gotten there? It was an alarming train of thought, and he immediately excised it from his mind - there was no reason in pondering the what-could-have-beens when his brother stood before him, healthy and hale.

Of course, Skyquake would likely be in need of a tune-up. That was one of the first things Dreadwing intended to make him do, along with a trip to the wash-racks, as any good sibling would.

Dreadwing did not make a habit of permitting anyone to touch him, especially with such familiarity and in such intimate places. Those who tried, perhaps thinking to gain favour by physical touch, tended to get very firmly shoved away (and perhaps clawed for their troubles, depending on where they dared to lay their hands). Anyone, that is, except his brother. With Skyquake, and only Skyquake, was it the opposite: he basked in the touch of his brother, in the way one does when the literal other half of your spark is close. There were no words to describe the nature of their relationship, the closeness to each other they both felt, he delighted in the feeling of his brother’s firm grip reminding him that this was real, and that his twin was once more at his side.

A cold pang went through him at the words of his brother. It dawned on him that Skyquake did not realize just how long he had slept, nor did he have any knowledge of what had transpired after he had been sent away. His hesitance was perhaps the most revealing indication that not all had gone as Skyquake had hoped. How could one tell their twin that their world was dead? That their Lord and Master had not been quick enough with his scientists to revive it? How could he speak of the millennia of wandering alone after being separated from the fleet? Dreadwing floundered momentarily, trying to think of how to explain just what had happened to their homeworld - he was not one to be gentle, preferring to be blunt, but even he recognized that there were situations that required some tact.

He could not leave Skyquake waiting for long. Already there was some suspicion and curiosity bleeding through their bond at his out of character reluctance. “Cybertron does not thrive under our Master’s rule,” He finally said, his jaw taking on a hard line, “Cybertron does not thrive under any rule. The accursed Autobots allowed the war to drag on too long, refusing to surrender, and eventually our planet could not endure the strain anymore.”

The way of Decepticons was to blame the Autobots entirely for something that was jointly their own fault as well. Still, even Dreadwing could not entirely delude himself, and he recognized that no one had won the war. “All of us are exiles. Lord Megatron has called what remains of the Fleet to this world, so that we may strip it of its usefulness. There are some Autobots here who resist - the Prime, curse him to the Pit, is among them - but we have the advantage of numbers and firepower. You have finally been recalled to serve alongside me… I only wish I had been permitted to fetch you sooner.”

He had lobbied long and patiently, beginning almost as soon as he had arrived upon this world, but only now had he been given leave to bring Skyquake forth. Dreadwing wondered why Megatron had not allowed him to do it sooner, wondered why he had refused for so long to awaken one of his mightiest and most loyal warriors, before reminding himself rather forcefully that it was not his place to question.

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Dreadwing was talking, but the words had stopped registering almost immediately. The weight of his first statement was almost too much to bear. Skyquake let his hands slide down his brother’s arms, the movement slow and detached, nothing like the teasing caresses he had been giving so far.

Cybertron, dead? It couldn’t be. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. The Decepticons had been on the verge of winning back when Skyquake left on his mission, driving their enemies off-world with swift and brutal efficiency. Victory had been so close, and despite the shortage of fuel and the dimming lights of Cybertron’s core, Skyquake remembered thinking that it would be sweet. After all that, Cybertron couldn’t just have died—except it had, and at the servos of the Autobots, no less.

He shouldn't be surprised, and he wasn’t. Not by that, at least. His surprise stemmed from the fact that their master hadn't revived Cybertron like he had promised. Was it really that impossible a feat? Had they really doomed their home to remain a barren wasteland?

The sudden rage at that thought was inescapable, yet it seemed distant, like the rising smoke of explosions in the horizon. He was in shock, he realised, and he almost laughed. Words had managed what weapons never could. Something white-hot and tender pulsed in his chest, an emotion seldom felt that he squashed with viciousness, not even giving it time to bleed through the bond.

He clutched Dreadwing’s arm. “But what of Cybertron? Does our master not wish to save it?” He gestured around with his free servo. “This planet is rich in resources. There is more than enough to help our world! Let that fool Prime and his infidels try and stop us—their reticence to restore Cybertron just proves they are worth less than scrap metal.”

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The grief and shock that he felt radiating from his brother broke Dreadwing’s spark, but it was his duty as Skyquake’s brother and as a Cybertronian to be the bearer of bad news and share the fate of their home. His brother had left for his mission expecting that their Lord and Master would soon rout the Autobots once and for all and claim a victory for the Cause to which they had pledged their sparks and their service (in truth, they all had expected a victory; no one could have forseen that neither Autobots nor Decepticons would carry the day when it came to control over Cybertron), and now to be woken after spending so much more time in a sentinel’s slumber to what amounted to a worst case scenario… well. Dreadwing clutched his brother’s shoulders tight, offering what comfort he could through the bond and with physical touch.

Skyquake’s grief was raw and new and almost all-consuming, and his spark clenched in empathy. Dreadwing knew what it had been like, for all Cybertronians had felt such grief following the last death knells of their homeworld, as well as leading up to it. Memories flickered to the surface, of watching their planet whither away, the inner life at its very core flickering and fading the longer the War had gone on and ravaged its surface. The weight of inevitability hanging over them all it had been an agonizing thing, and the tragedy that was the loss of Cybertron was made all the more painful due to the fact that everyone had known it was coming. But, perhaps, it had made it easier to deal with, for everyone had also had time to come to terms with it.

Mourning turned to white-hot rage - he felt it through their bond. Rage he knew how to respond to.

“Lord Megatron indeed plans to revive Cybertron - this world is rich in energon deposits, and we have been mining every last crystal there is to be found! I have faith that our Lord has a plan in mind to restore our world!” What this plan was, however, was a mystery - Dreadwing, for all his loyalty, had not been entrusted with it. “But… we are fewer in number, far fewer than you might recall, and the work is slow. Barely a fraction of the fleet made it this far, for many abandoned us or became separated during the Exodus. The Nemesis is all we have left.”

He then gave a hearty laugh. “It does my spark good to see your willingness to join the battle after so long spent in stasis! Luckily, even with our reduced numbers, we still outnumber the Autobots on this planet. It will not be long before we find Prime and his bots and crush them once and for all!” The Autobots would cower in fear knowing that Skyquake had once more taken his place at the side of his brother Dreadwing, and together they would rain terror from the skies like they had in the past!

But they were getting ahead of themselves, were they not? “Before any crushing takes place, however, I must insist that you accompany me back to the Nemesis. My mind and spark will be put at ease after I know you have been given a full medical examination and a top-up for your fuel reserves.” He was the more practical brother… and the brother most likely to fuss.

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Skyquake stumbled back and out of his brother’s reach. What Dreadwing was saying—it was hard to take in. He had expected to awaken to a very different world. Instead, things seemed to be worse than they used to be before he stepped into the stasis pod. An unthinkable thought, but one that had, nevertheless, happened. He had powered down with the conviction that things couldn’t get any worse and thus could only get better, but apparently someone had been determined to prove him and so many hopeful others wrong.

He looked down at his claws. Their glint was dulled by millennia spent in stasis. Perhaps Dreadwing was right. He should focus on making sure he was performing without a hitch before considering other activities, all of which included hunting down the remaining Autobot force that Dreadwing had mentioned.

Lord Megatron had ordered him to annihilate the Prime once upon a time on Cybertron, after all. Skyquake still had to carry out those orders. After learning what the Matrix-bearer and his group of infidels had done, Skyquake would like nothing more than presenting the Prime’s severed head to his master.

“Very well,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. Through the bond, he reached out and clung to his brother. Weakness could only be shown in this manner, where they didn’t have to fear having it discovered and exploited. “Let me scan your alt-mode, then we can be on our way.”

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Though Skyquake did not outwardly display it, Dreadwing knew his twin felt the loss of Cybertron and the shock of awakening in this strange future keenly. How could he not know of it? They were two halves of the same spark, and there was absolutely nothing they did not share with each other. There was no one in the world that they could trust with such weakness except each other, and so Dreadwing clung back in the abstract way one does over bonds of this nature in hopes that such support would be enough.

‘Do not bottle it up, brother,’ he thought to himself, ‘Release it here where no one else may see.’ He knew Skyquake would not. His brother would mourn, and then his prowess on the battlefield would be that much stronger for the grief.

“It is a human jet,” Dreadwing warned, squeezing Skyquake’s forearms one last time before (reluctantly) stepping away. “-and though it has its faults, I have found it… satisfactory, thus far.”

He had forgotten that such deep stasis required one to let go of the alt modes stored within their processors, though the exact reason had always eluded him. Without much ensuing flair or circumstance, he leapt into the air and transformed, and in his place (though several meters higher) hovered a dark blue and gold Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II fighter jet.

It was not often that Cybertronians turned their innate programming to others of their own kind to acquire a vehicle mode, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Unlike human vehicles, however, the process did not render other Cybertronians temporarily inert due to a system overload. “Come, brother,” the hovering jet murmured, once Skyquake had finished the deep scan that reconfigured his programming to enable him to take the alternate form of his twin, “We shall rendezvous with The Nemesis, and you shall present yourself to our Lord and Master.”

They had much to discuss, but that could wait: there was the entire course of the rest of their life in which to do so, and Dreadwing did not mind the simple pleasure of flying with his spark-twin at his side once more. With a utilitarian air, the seeker turned his fuselage nose to the sky and took off, having faith in his brother to follow.