Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I can’t believe the dinobots don’t have to be here today,” Dragstrip grumbled as they approached the classroom. “We all should’ve got a day off. I’m tired of thinking.”

“Like you even do any thinking.”

“I’d rather sit in one place for two hours and have the rest of the day free than be put to work all day,” Dead End pointed out.

“Yeah, because you like sitting in one place all day. I wanna drive . I wanna wreck something,” Wildrider complained.

“You’ll get to do both in two hours. You can drive circles around the dinobots while they get stuck helping the constructicons all day.”

The classroom was small, but it felt a lot larger without the dinobots taking up five of the seats. The aerialbots were already there, tossing a ball back and forth while they waited for their teachers of the day to show up. They had no idea who it was going to be, but they weren’t feeling enthused. The last two days, they had to listen to Optimus Prime drone on for two hours about the history of the Matrix of Leadership, and Shockwave explain the fundamentals of the spacebridge. All they wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Motormaster collapsed in the middle seat of the second row, glaring at Silverbolt, who’d taken the spot behind him.

“First come first serve,” he replied with a sympathetic shrug.

“Why don’t you fight me for it.”

“You can’t get everywhere by fighting, you know,” Silverbolt sighed.

“Watch me.”

“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT, TIME TO WAKE UP IN HERE! IT’S SHOWTIME!”

Everyone jumped to attention as Blaster’s voice boomed into the room. Jazz and Soundwave followed him inside, where they stood in the front of the classroom.

“Alright bots and cons, today you get to listen to us!” Jazz exclaimed. The aerialbots cheered; the stunticons just looked bored.

“Course Title: Earth Music,” Soundwave droned. That got everyone’s attention.

“Wait, we don’t have to study or read? We just get to listen to tunes?”

“Sweeeeeet!”

“Not just tunes, the best tunes.”

“But we’re gonna take ‘em in chunks, and ‘cause we’re only allowed to do this if you learn something from it…”

“Music: carefully selected for conversation. Discussion: lyrical meaning in relation to society.”

“Ughhh, I hate that word. Society .”

“All of you should get the lyrics sent to your datapads in a moment or so. Get them on and take a look. We’ll play the song once first, and then we’ll listen and talk about each verse.”

Motormaster’s eyes glazed over the text as Blaster began to play the song. He was confused as soon as the third word – what the frag was an angel? – and the whole thing was lost on him. He closed his eyes and just listened to the song, and it was… kinda nice. He guessed. He didn’t really listen to music. But at least this didn’t sound like the dumb music he’d heard at the last peace party.

(I'm an angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun

Angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun)

Jazz began the lecture by explaining the concept of an angel and the earth belief system it came from. Motormaster didn’t quite get it until he explained that Primus and the Matrix were their version of creator and afterlife, and that an angel was like a guardian of the Matrix. That all made sense. Guardians of peace, loyalty to Primus, and all that. Sure, whatever.

“But a shotgun is obviously a human weapon, which is where we get our immediate contradiction. What could it mean for an angel to be wielding a shotgun?”

“How are we supposed to know? I never met an angel.”

“No, but you can infer.”

“It’s someone who’s defying their creator, changing sides of the war, or following a different cause,” Dead End explained lazily. “Not doing what they’re supposed to.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said.

“Nerd,” Dragstrip muttered under his breath.

“And with that, you have all you need to know to get the rest of the song,” Jazz said happily, but Motormaster didn’t quite believe him.

Get out your guns, battle’s begun

Are you a saint, or a sinner?

If love’s a fight, then I shall die

With my heart on a trigger

“What’s a saint?”

“Well, a sinner is someone who does something wrong, or commits a crime. So a saint would be… the opposite?”

“Very good. The singer is just asking you to consider what kind of a person you are, but also calling back to the themes of human religion. On to the next line. ‘If love’s a fight–’”

Motormaster started to zone out at the word “love.” He heard the others snicker, saw Jazz put his hands on his hips and start to chastise them. He found his optics glazing over toward the window. Not that there was anything more exciting happening out there.

“Motormaster! Pay attention!”

He grumbled to himself as he tore his optics away and back to the front. The snickering picked up again, with little jabs from his brothers through the bond. He jabbed them back, harder, and looked up at Soundwave, who moved them on to the next paragraph.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

“Ugh, is he gonna keep going on with all this love crap? It ruins a totally good song,” Dragstrip complained.

“Contradiction. Comparison between love and war: crucial to meaning of song.”

“Yuck.”

“Let’s start with the first line. Air Raid, what do you think of it?”

Air Raid, who’d been exchanging hand gestures with Wildrider under the table, went still. “Uhhhh…”

“First line.” Soundwave’s visor turned red, and everyone jolted in their seats.

Air Raid read it quietly to himself, then paused. “... Uh, isn’t it pretty self-explanatory?”

“It should be. But it isn’t always. Why do people fight wars? What starts them? What keeps them motivated? That’s what the topic for today is,” Jazz explained.

“Isn’t it just… cuz you have to?”

“Everyone has a choice. No one is moved against their will. But motivations can make it seem like there is no choice, especially if the alternative seems worse.”

“What are some reasons we start wars? Let’s brainstorm.”

Wildrider’s hand shot up. “Because you hate the other side!”

“I… guess that works.”

Silverbolt’s hand reluctantly rose. “Because they have something you want?”

“Good,” Soundwave intoned, and Silverbolt blushed with pride.

Dead End, surprisingly, went next. “Because your family or friends are on one side so you go with them.”

Motormaster looked at Dead End quizzically. He knew his brother didn’t care much for the war, or very much at all, but he’d assumed he hated the autobots just as much as the rest of them.

“More reasons!”

Slingshot. “Revenge? If one side hurt you or someone you cared about.”

Skydive. “Territory.”

Air Raid. “To show how strong you are and take control of the world!”

Fireflight. “Resources. Like if you ran out of energon.”

Breakdown spoke up next, hesitant. “Because it’s all you know?”

And if that didn’t tear at his spark. That was the thought that’d been plaguing his mind since the end of this war. What was life without a war? What was he supposed to do? Why did all of this feel so wrong ?

After a moment of silence, Motormaster realized the instructors were looking at him, waiting for him to contribute.

“Uhh… because you believe in your leader?” Motormaster said, feeling sheepish. He half-expected his reasoning to be rebuked, but they all nodded like he’d said something wise instead of the first thing that came into his mind.

“Yep, strong leaders capable of rallying others to their cause is a big one. Remind me, Sounders, we gotta talk about some of the human wars sometime.”

“Acknowledged.”

Motormaster tried to think back to all the reasons that had been given. Revenge. Resources. Hatred. What reason was his? Sure, he believed in Megatron. But how could he not, when he’d given him life? He didn’t know anything about Megatron’s reasoning for the war, or what would happen after. He only believed in Megatron , not his war.

Yes, he hated the autobots, but he hated the other decepticons, too. Sometimes he even hated his brothers. Sometimes he even hated himself. Was he gonna go to war with them? Nope, never.

No one he ever cared about had died in this war, so there was no point in revenge. Maybe the aerialbots embarrassed him a couple times on the battlefield, but he had a feeling Soundwave wouldn’t accept that excuse as reason enough to go to war.

Motormaster was still lingering in these thoughts as the rest of the class moved on to the chorus. His helm was beginning to hurt already as he shifted his attention to catch up with them.

I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘till the war’s won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have?

And I, wanna live, not just survive, tonight

This didn’t make any sense at all. Of course, besides the weird words like angel and heaven that they’d gone over already. He didn’t understand the singer’s reasoning one bit. How could you care about someone so deeply, you turn your back on your cause and creator? For Motormaster, cause and creator was everything. Megatron was everything – and he never would have turned his back on him, ever .

“Query: thoughts on lyrical meaning?” Soundwave asked, and while Motormaster was convinced no one would give a serious answer, Breakdown’s servo came up lazily, like he was being asked something as simple as the first letter of the alphabet.

“Well, yeah, obviously , it’s like a gestalt, because you put your gestalt first no matter what,” Breakdown answered, and Motormaster felt like he was being slapped in the face. Soundwave nodded in approval and prompted for other reasons, but Motormaster was zoning out again, Breakdown’s words on loop in his mind.

A gestalt. ‘Obviously,’ Breakdown had said.

Obviously .

Primus. He was an idiot. He was such an idiot.

Motormaster felt himself quietly begin to panic as the rest of the discussion continued without him. He felt Breakdown nudge him in the bond, saw Dragstrip and Wildrider turn their heads to watch him in confusion.

Obviously .

Obviously Motormaster was a failure of a leader if his brothers understood their situation better than he did.

The moment class ended, Motormaster shoved past the aerialbots and into the hallway first. He pinged the stunticons. ‘Going out for a drive. Don't bother me.’

‘Aw, but we were gonna go to a drive-in for Die Hard tonight. Aren'tcha gonna come?’

He stumbled outside, wincing at the bright light, and transformed. His engine roared as he took off into the daylight. ‘No. Don't bother me.’

‘I'm gonna bother you all night.’

He decided to ignore the rest of his brothers’ comms. He needed to think.

***

He’d decided, about ten minutes into his drive, that he needed to hear the song again if he wanted to pick it apart. He sent a comm to Soundwave asking how to access it, and within twenty nanoclicks he was downloading the file sent his way.

Sometimes to win, you've got to sin

Don't mean I'm not a believer

And major Tom, will sing along

Yeah, they still say I'm a dreamer

He didn’t know who the frag this Tom was, or why it mattered whether he sang along or not. He also didn’t really get the “dreamer” part. He’d tuned out this part of the conversation in class earlier. Was it a good or a bad thing? Frag, it didn’t matter, he didn’t care, it wasn’t the part he had to grapple with, anyway.

Sin. That was something you did that was wrong. Things that were wrong – basically things you did in a war. Basically everything he ever did, he’d been finding out. Not that the other decepticons, and even the autobots, weren’t just as guilty. Fighting, killing – that sort of thing. They did it to win. To live. They had all sorts of reasons, but basically, it was to win.

No one had really won their war, though. Or maybe they all won? Primus, he was so confused, he just wanted to scream.

This was a good song for wanting to scream, he supposed. The singer sounded like he was yelling in the chorus, at least. And he could put it on full volume and it just sounded right .

Believer. A believer in what? Primus? Or, whatever the squishy version of it was. Believer in… the war? In Megatron? All of it, he did believe in. It didn’t contradict anything. Megatron had fought and killed many times, many years before the stunticons were created. The song sounded like these “believers” weren’t supposed to “sin”, though.

He didn’t get it. He comm’d Soundwave with his question. He didn’t get a response right away, but that was fine. He had half a mind to punch himself in the face for sending it in the first place.

He restarted the song again, ruminating over those lines until he finally heard them again, and knew he was moving on to the next part.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

Ah. It was just repeating. Fine, that was the part that mattered most anyway.

He hadn’t started the war, but he had a feeling the meaning wouldn’t change much if you replaced “start” with “join”. Had he really known what he was fighting for from the start? Lord Megatron, sure, but not the cause . He’d never understood a thing about the cause they were fighting for. Very few of the younger decepticons did.

You are all that I adore. Ugh. What a weak line. Pathetic. Expressing such weakness, such dependence, for the world to hear.

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be.

He suddenly pictured himself, standing between his stunticons and the autobot army. A soldier they needed. He was needed . He couldn’t have done anything differently. They had needed him there, or they wouldn’t have survived. Not with Dead End’s loafing around and Wildrider’s lack of foresight and Breakdown’s shakiness and Dragstrip’s lack of awareness.

Love. Another weak word, one he wished he could change. If strength is what you need. If a shield is what you need. If rage is what you need. Any of those, he’d take as a replacement any day. But love?

(He loved his brothers so much he could never put it into words.)

I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘till the war’s won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have?

And I, wanna live, not just survive, tonight

That ‘obviously.’ He still couldn’t get over that ‘obviously.’ The way Breakdown had heard the song once and understood, felt it resonate in his spark. The gestalt, which came first no matter what, over everything. The way Breakdown never would’ve hesitated if he’d had to choose between his brothers and the cause.

The way Motormaster would have.

He felt ashamed of that thought, and with that shame, he knew it was wrong. A sin. That no cause could be worth the loss of a single one of his brothers. He tried to imagine them dead. Dead. Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead –

He sucked in a deep breath. No. No point in being a Breakdown right now. He didn’t need to discover what it was like to panic on the highway.

I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘till the war’s won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'm an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘till the war’s won

I don't care if heaven won't take me back

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe

Don't you know you're everything I have?

(I'm an angel with a shotgun)

And I, want to live, not just survive, tonight

(Live, not just survive)

And I'm gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight

He didn’t know a thing about wings. But if an angel had wings and was hiding them, that was like the ultimate defection, right? Leaving the cause. Turning to another.

He didn’t know if he had the power to do something that insane. He was glad he’d never had a reason to. He didn’t want to think about it anymore – because the thought that he might not have, that he might’ve let anything happen to his brothers–

Maybe this feeling he had, this revulsion, was a sign that he would’ve taken that stand. He wanted to think he would’ve. He thought that was the stronger, braver , move.

They say before you start a war

You better know what you're fighting for

Well baby, you are all that I adore

If love is what you need, a soldier I will be

Again. He wasn’t satisfied yet.

***

When Soundwave heard his name shouted from behind by the voice of an angry decepticon that was not Megatron, he considered ignoring the call and continuing on his way. On his shoulder, Laserbeak turned her head. Her curiosity and amusement led him to pause.

The stunticons, minus their leader, were approaching him, faces displaying various levels of annoyance.

“We never shoulda done that song! Motors has a scrambled processor now and it's all your fault!” Dragstrip exclaimed.

“He's been gone all day. Not answering his comms.”

“And his spark is getting mushy.”

“It's fragging annoying!”

Laserbeak chirped, amused.

“Soundwave: sees no issue. Stunticons: already possess scrambled processors.”

“Hey!”

“Well, he's kinda right.”

“Don't you dare side with him!”

Soundwave turned and continued on his way, leaving them to complain among themselves.

***

Breakdown's internal alarm went off in the early morning, breaking him free of another dull, terrifying dream of being late for class. Even though a third of the class was made up of his brothers, the thought still mortified him, especially with a disappointed Soundwave looming over him.

As he rose from his berth and shut off the annoying sound, he chided himself for his foolish nightmare, considering how his brothers never would've gotten up for school, if not for him. He wouldn’t be alone in being late.

He didn't notice the object next to his door at first, not until he woke up Wildrider and noticed there was one beside his door as well. And beside Dragstrip's, and Dead End's.

After the four of them had woken up, they examined their respective offerings.

“... Presents?”

“Aww, Motors, you shouldn’t’ve,” Wildrider said teasingly, holding up the black and red blanket left by his door. As it unfolded, a monster was visible, along with the text, ‘Make me crazy.’

“This was strangely thoughtful of him,” Dead End noted, holding up his unrolled poster, a large imposing image of a human philosopher with the quote, ‘Keep the prospect of death, exile and all such apparent tragedies before you every day – especially death – and you will never have an abject thought, or desire anything to excess.’

Breakdown smiled down at his, a soft stuffed sort of blue plush shelled creature with its eyes closed. It fit in his arms snugly.

Dragstrip lifted up his #1 mug, staring down at it in his hands for a moment, before gently setting it on the table. “He didn’t hafta do this.”

“Guess something about that class really affected him.”

“He’s – ugh, what do we even say?”

“He’s not expecting a thank-you, you know. It’s Motormaster. He’ll want to brush it off just like you do.”

“I didn’t say – okay, yeah, fine. Is he even getting up? We’ve got school soon.”

“How late did he get back?” Breakdown wondered. “I woke up at 2, and he wasn’t back yet.”

“Great, he probably got like one hour of recharge, and he’s gonna be in a slag mood all day.”

“Or, you know, we could always skip,” Wildrider mused.

“You know we’re not supposed to do that. They’ll come get us –”

“In what, an hour? Two hours? C’mon.”

“‘C’mon’ what – oh, no no no no no. Ride. Ride !”

Wildrider opened the door to Motormaster’s room. Sure enough, he was sound asleep in his berth.

“Don't wake the beast,” Dragstrip whisper-yelled.

“Oh I won't.”

“What are you doing?” Breakdown hissed. Wildrider ignored him, instead carefully tiptoeing across the room. With slow movements, he pressed one knee into the berth, then another. Then he curled up against Motormaster's side with an arm wrapped around his brother's torso. He snuggled into a comfortable position and exhaled contentedly.

His brothers watched, gaping, as Motormaster's snoring halted, his body twitching, before continuing more softly. He didn't wake or push Wildrider off – he must've been too out of it.

Dead End, Dragstrip, and Breakdown exchanged glances, and then they each moved to join their brothers in the berth. It wasn't a very big one, so they struggled first to crawl into the bed without Motormaster stirring, and then to find a comfy position that wasn't taken. Breakdown ended up taking his left side, curling up against his chest; Dragstrip laid down at their feet like a cat, and Dead End managed to crawl directly on top of Motormaster, covering him like a blanket from above.

“Don't fraggin’ kick me,” Dragstrip grumbled.

“Then watch where you fraggin’ sleep.”

“Shhh. Don't wake him.”

“There's no room up there.”

“You could find room.”

“Like Deads? No thanks. I choose life.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh.”

“I fraggin’ hate you all.”

“Nighty night aftholes.”

“Good night, sleep tight. I hope the bed bugs bite your fraggin’ face off.”

Motormaster tried not to smile as he listened to his idiots, their voices lulling him back to sleep.