Fire in the Sky
folder
S through Z › Transformers (Movie Only)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,446
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Transformers (Movie Only)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
2,446
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I don't own Transformers: I make no money doing this.
Return
(AN: for those saying, hey, this isn't so depressing! All I can say is....tomorrow.)
******
Return.
The cold was what woke him from the overpulse. He opened his eyes. Blackness. Blankness. He felt a knot of fear in his capacitor. Don’t panic. He ran a diagnostic on his optics, struggling to ventilate evently. I t wasn’t until he transformed and passed a hand in front of his face that he really believed that his optics were not malfunctioning.
It was that dark in space.
His comm was out. He’d known that was part of the Navigant, too, but he hadn’t counted on how—lonely it felt. He shifted quickly back to his jet mode, the cold already biting into his exposed joints. He also knew how this worked—he knew he’d have no idea where they’d released him. He just hadn’t known how…VAST it would be.
Calm, he told himself. Panic will not get you anywhere except dead.
He found two faint stars. Logged their relative positions and then, setting his chrono and speed, set off toward them. After regular intervals, he stopped, measured the shift in their relative positions. Marginal. They were very far away.
He turned and flew at an angle, logging two more points. Flew another interval. He repeated this several more times, creating a 3-D map, slowly, piece by piece. He began rotating the map methodically, checking it against his standard-issue astrogation charts. A few points that might be matches. Might be.
Home, he thought, heartsick. I want to be with the others. Thundercracker. Skywarp. Skyfire. Home. He wanted to be with his quaterne more than anything else in the universe right now: more than being a Seeker. More than his honor. More than his dream of being a warrior. He just wanted his quaterne.
Home. He felt a pull in one direction, as if something had a hold of his spark and was tugging him. This way. This way. It had Skyfire’s voice. And Skywarp’s. He altered his vector to that heading, and flew, fast and straight. Maybe it would take him to his death, but he would get there as fast as he could. He flew for what seemed like an eternity.
And then his astrogation popped up an exact match. And he knew where he was.
He would make it. He would make it. The whole quaterne had worried about him—the weak one, the fearful one. He had not let them down. He had proven himself.
It took all of his self-control to slow his descent through the atmosphere so that the sudden change in temperature didn’t both crack his developing plates or scramble his circuits. After the cold of space, the atmosphere’s heat—home’s heat—felt like love.
He’d probably be the last to arrive, he thought, and they’d tease him for his cautious strategy, call him a scaredy-bird. He looked forward to it. He looked forward to Skyfire’s obviously elaborated version of his Navigant, Thundercracker’s downplaying it, Skywarp’s silence. Home. His true home. His quaterne.
******
Return.
The cold was what woke him from the overpulse. He opened his eyes. Blackness. Blankness. He felt a knot of fear in his capacitor. Don’t panic. He ran a diagnostic on his optics, struggling to ventilate evently. I t wasn’t until he transformed and passed a hand in front of his face that he really believed that his optics were not malfunctioning.
It was that dark in space.
His comm was out. He’d known that was part of the Navigant, too, but he hadn’t counted on how—lonely it felt. He shifted quickly back to his jet mode, the cold already biting into his exposed joints. He also knew how this worked—he knew he’d have no idea where they’d released him. He just hadn’t known how…VAST it would be.
Calm, he told himself. Panic will not get you anywhere except dead.
He found two faint stars. Logged their relative positions and then, setting his chrono and speed, set off toward them. After regular intervals, he stopped, measured the shift in their relative positions. Marginal. They were very far away.
He turned and flew at an angle, logging two more points. Flew another interval. He repeated this several more times, creating a 3-D map, slowly, piece by piece. He began rotating the map methodically, checking it against his standard-issue astrogation charts. A few points that might be matches. Might be.
Home, he thought, heartsick. I want to be with the others. Thundercracker. Skywarp. Skyfire. Home. He wanted to be with his quaterne more than anything else in the universe right now: more than being a Seeker. More than his honor. More than his dream of being a warrior. He just wanted his quaterne.
Home. He felt a pull in one direction, as if something had a hold of his spark and was tugging him. This way. This way. It had Skyfire’s voice. And Skywarp’s. He altered his vector to that heading, and flew, fast and straight. Maybe it would take him to his death, but he would get there as fast as he could. He flew for what seemed like an eternity.
And then his astrogation popped up an exact match. And he knew where he was.
He would make it. He would make it. The whole quaterne had worried about him—the weak one, the fearful one. He had not let them down. He had proven himself.
It took all of his self-control to slow his descent through the atmosphere so that the sudden change in temperature didn’t both crack his developing plates or scramble his circuits. After the cold of space, the atmosphere’s heat—home’s heat—felt like love.
He’d probably be the last to arrive, he thought, and they’d tease him for his cautious strategy, call him a scaredy-bird. He looked forward to it. He looked forward to Skyfire’s obviously elaborated version of his Navigant, Thundercracker’s downplaying it, Skywarp’s silence. Home. His true home. His quaterne.