bettsplendens:

(7078 words of Duo finding a bedraggled little nerd and proceeding to try their best to help him. It… mostly works. They’re too enthusiastic for this. 

No significant warnings, but the unfortunate nerd is some degree of traumatized. Somebody manhandled him pretty badly before this.)

It was an abandoned laboratory, so of course they needed to inspect it! Especially with the temptingly
large hole in the roof, a hole that turned out to be directly over a relatively
solid floor, and no signs of Insecticons in sight. That was an absolutely
perfect place to inspect and/or loot, and Duo climbed inside with barely a
second thought.

There was less inside than expected, unfortunately. Someone
had clearly looted the place already, taking everything they had easily found.
Duo could find more, though, as they were entirely willing to crawl under
crumbling walls and creep through any gaps they could fit through. Basic
chemical supplies, a tool here and there, the occasional shatter-proof test
tube or flask. All useful to them, albeit not terribly exciting.

Something else was more exciting, though. Prints! Tracks
through a spilled puddle of paint from an old closet. And not Cybertronian in
origin, the shape was too pliable. More like footwear, with toes. Interesting-
organics? And large ones, judging by the prints, but long gone. The paint was
dry and starting to show some weathering. Presumably the ones who had nearly
emptied the place before. Shame Duo didn’t get any of that, but- ah well,
everything on the planet was free-for-all at this point. Too many dead people
to worry much about who got the scraps.

A scraping noise up ahead caught their attention, and they
crept up onto a leaning cabinet to peer through an air vent into the next room,
checking whether it might be any sort of predator.

Reasonable expectations included a turbo-fox, a lone
Insecticon, or a very large wire-rat. Unreasonable expectations included a
Sparkeater.

It was none of those things. Fortunately.

It was a mech. 

Keep reading

(Followup, 4444 words more or less in Spinflask’s point of view. Additional warnings: fairly vague mentions of testing on live, sapient subjects, and a mech with a particular blend of depression and guilt.)

It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for him to be wary of
Duo.

They were agile, nimble, and definitely stronger than him.
One would be stronger, both could easily restrain him- and had, before. To add
to that, they had extra limbs, sharp dentae, flexible frames, and-

Well, he wasn’t certain of the mechanism, but he’d seen one
put a test tube mostly into his mouth and then withdraw it full of a
toxic-green fluid that sizzled when it hit the mixture in progress. Evidently
at least one of them had something
like a poison gland in their mouth or throat.

They were strange to
look at up close. The splotched colors were unnatural for Cybertronians,
asymmetrical and rounded, and the green areas looked almost toxic. He’d almost
have taken it for some sort of disease if he hadn’t seen them up close, even
touched them- their plating was too smooth, felt healthy. Their smiles were
odd, as well, despite their efforts. Fanged, and a bit too wide, even with what
looked like an attempt at restraint.

And then there were the brands. 

High up on the backs of
their shoulders, clearly having been carved off by something, the base outlines
not yet healed over by standard plating nanites. They’d worked in a bioweapons
institute. Spinfoil had met several mechs who were probably their bosses, who
had been interested in what he’d learned from his work, who had worn the same symbol in much more prominent areas.
That wasn’t where people wore brands of authority or alignment, though. Brands
on the back were labels. They hadn’t
been supervisors, they’d been lab workers.

Might explain the drug they’d used on him, though it was
oddly harmless for bioweapons
manufacturers to be carrying around. What- change of spark? Escape? The removed
brands would certainly indicate something of the sort. Wouldn’t be the sort of
thing one would remove for safety, mechs would see it as a sign to avoid them.

Bioweapons manufacturers who could easily overpower him,
could probably eat him, could poison
him in any number of ways… who should probably have been frightening.
Especially since they kept touching him-
moving him around in the nest, stroking him, realigning bits of plating, even
taking his servos and playing gently with his fingers. Far more than he was
used to, but… that was all right. He was too tired to feel particularly upset
about it, and… probably wouldn’t have minded that much if he hadn’t been tired.

They were… gentle. The inspection really should have been
upsetting, given previous circumstances, but it definitely wasn’t. Perhaps because
they had distinctly Cybertronian servos? Rather a lot of servos, but metal. In
addition, they smoothed plating back down rather than lifting it, and they
didn’t push. They didn’t dip under his plating, didn’t try to lift it, hadn’t
lifted anything aside from checking
inside his hatch earlier. They were just curious. Respectfully curious.

Almost… cute.

An observation that made him feel a bit, agh- a bit perverted.

How old were they?

Young, to be sure, and here he was looking them over and
strongly contemplating touching them both. They wouldn’t want his servos on
them, not if they knew what he’d done. Wouldn’t want him alive. That or they’d like it,
want his research, but- no, no, they were so gentle, trying to help him, reassuring him as much as possible-
they’d be angry if they knew.

Might want him dead.

It’d be reasonable.

He’d rather not be dead, though, so he’d avoid telling them
and hope like Pit that they didn’t read his file too closely.

At least they hadn’t shown any more interest in his file.
For now, they were working on- something. Spinflask hadn’t seen half the
components, so he didn’t know what it was, but they were certainly invested it
in. Practically climbing on top of each other as they worked, stretching up to
work with a complicated apparatus meant to distill and concentrate chemicals,
at least seven servos occupied at all times- either working on it or fiddling
with various small tools, fidgeting about. They couldn’t sit still, could they?

Again, cute.

It still didn’t quite feel right, but Spinflask found
himself watching them. Forget almost climbing on each other, they were. Spinflask couldn’t tell exactly
how, but he was fairly certain the mech on top had one pede on his brother’s
shoulder and the other on his thigh. Was that comfortable? It certainly looked
like something they did frequently, it was too casual to be new.

Whatever they were working on, they seemed excited about it,
if their body language was anything to go by. Which body language usually was.
They weren’t speaking, aside from single words now and then, but that wasn’t
surprising given-

Well, they had to be twins, didn’t they? Too similar for
anything else, but not identical enough to be clones or specifically developed
that way. And the flawless coordination, communication without words- they had
to be split-spark twins. Probably incredibly useful for teamwork, though with
potential to be fatal if one of them was killed. The term was literal-
splitsparks had one spark each, but barely. They lacked long-term stability if
not allowed to merge occasionally, and the death of one would frequently result
in the immediate death of the other. If the other survived the backlash of the
broken link, the combination of grief and a lack of a way to stabilize would
prove fatal.

The coordination, though… that was amazing. They functioned
almost as one being, transferring items from one mech to the other, even
holding containers between two servos belonging to different mechs. Spinflask
had read about splitsparks before, but never actually met any, let alone seen
them at work. That- that was extraordinary! Spinflask couldn’t have coordinated
four servos at once belonging to him, so
coordinating a total of eight servos between two beings was amazing.

Before long, Spinflask found himself moving closer, edging
in to watch them more closely. Their servos, this time, their work- how fast they moved. It was fascinating,
better coordination than he’d seen anywhere before. Primus, he’d seen
assortments of AI-run limbs with less coordination than these two. Absolutely
worth watching.

…oh- oh Pit, they’d noticed him watching. Spinflask
retreated slightly, on the verge of apologizing, but-

No, that- that was another smile, from both of them, just
enough to show dentae. Were they-

One of them flipped a test tube into the other’s servo, a
clearly playful gesture that they hadn’t been doing before, and that left no doubt.
They were- what, showing off? Another glance up at their faces to be sure, then
Spinflask sat more comfortably where he was, watching their work to see what
they might be doing. Now- what was this? They’d labeled most things,
fortunately, but some of the ingredients were things he was completely
unfamiliar with.

And then there was- whatever the one twin had spit out. The
color was ominous, but it couldn’t possibly be Tox-En, they’d be dead and
making him sick if that was the case. So, what- a venom? Mechs weren’t usually
venomous, but mechs didn’t usually have transparent domes in their backs,
either.

Eventually, one of them must have picked up on what he was
watching in particular, because the twin who’d provided the unknown substance
picked up a piece of scrap metal from nearby and- oh!

What Spinflask had originally taken for some sort of
auxiliary audial fins unfolded from low on the mech’s helm, spreading into a
set of fins brightly patterned in that same toxic green, and sharp fangs parted
uncannily far as the mech spit more of the same substance onto the metal. Which
popped, sizzled, and began to corrode, pits
appearing and widening with alarming speed.

Ah. Acid.

Spinflask didn’t have a way to tell what that might do to
living plating, not without knowing what the scrap metal was, but anything that
would corrode metal that way would hurt anyone without acid resistance. It
stopped before it ate through the
metal, but that would still hurt, and it would be alarming as Pit. And on soft
materials, muscle cables, protoform, optics-
urgh. No wonder they weren’t afraid- who would think to guard against that?

Probably would have unnerved most people.

Spinflask?

Spinflask leaned in closer, helm tilted, winglets raised,
and almost reached to touch the mech
in question. That was fascinating. Would
they- would they let him-

“Oh my. Ah… I do apologize, but… is- is there any way I
could…”

He didn’t even get a chance to finish the question. The twin
in question moved away from the table, coaxed Spinflask’s servos to his face,
and, once again, opened his mouth uncannily wide.

Spinflask blinked, taken aback, but leaned in nonetheless to
get a better look. The frills weren’t up, so hopefully this wasn’t a trap? It- okay, no, he could see the
apertures now. Two small slits in the roof of the mech’s mouth, just above his
throat, and-

The frills rose just a fraction, and, in the same motion,
the slits widened and a pair of what looked like small nozzles extended
slightly. They retracted after a moment, though, and the fangs clicked back
together. However, the larger mech made no attempt to move out of Spinflask’s
servos, which… was… huh.

Confused, Spinflask sat entirely motionless for several long
moments, staring at the mech who was evidently content to sit with his helm in
Spinflask’s servos. What was he supposed to do here? Start petting?

Eventually, he did- stroking along a spatter of green
pigment on the other chemist’s cheek with his thumb, at a loss for what else to
do. Which didn’t get any complaints, so
he kept going- and felt the pretty mech lean into his servos.

…oh.

Oh dear.

Guilt curled taunt in Spinflask’s tank at his own thoughts,
and he started to pull away from the other, but that lanky frame uncurled and
followed him- and Primus damn him, he liked it. He liked this sweet young bot following his touches, looking up at him
like that, with those soft, wide optics and a hint of a smile- damn him for this.

They must have felt something in his field, because the one
in his servos tensed after a moment, and his twin immediately turned to see.
But they weren’t afraid, they were concerned,
servos lifting to pet at him again and draw him close- they must think this
was about before, about the raiders, they were pitying him when they should- should hate him!

A distressed noise escaped his vocalizer and he flinched
away, curling into himself and taking his servos off the mech’s face in favor
of covering his helm. And there was the pity
again, an attempt at comfort in their odd combined field, clinging to him
and pressing around him and trying to help-

That massive surge of adrenaline didn’t come, but Spinflask
shoved at them nonetheless, his voice high and quivering in distress. “No, don’t, don’t let me- don’t let me touch you, I shouldn’t, I’m- don’t, I
don’t deserve, you don’t know what I-
what I did, it’s- it’s in the files,
you- you got my name, must have the file- read it, just- just read, you’ll-
you’ll know-“

They had the file, yes, but Spinflask kept talking, not
wanting to wait for them to find the data and start reading. Too long, he just-
he had to tell them now, get this
over with so they’d stop letting him touch
like this, so he could get whatever they’d do over with. “I should have known it wasn’t how they said, but I- I
needed subjects, and the- I studied dark energon, y’see, its main- main effects
are psychoactive for a long- long period of time, you can’t test that on animals, have to have people and their minds, and they- they told me
it was convicts, and it was
important, it was, there had to be a cure somewhere, but-“

A tighter curl, a deep vent, and he continued, his voice pitching
high enough that it no longer sounded like him, “-but I should have known, they didn’t look like criminals, they looked like soldiers, like warframes, and nobody- nobody read the cure data, just infection, what-
what was fastest, most effective, most violent,
I should have known so much sooner, should
have wondered sooner why they wanted information on what- what dark energon
does to soldiers, but I didn’t think, I was too eager, I wanted to know- and
I knew, but I murdered people to do it, I poisoned
innocent people and watched how they died
and I never asked why! I’ve-
ngh-“

And then there was a servo over his mouth, and Spinflask
yelped once before going limp and shutting his optics, fully expecting them to
hurt him.

Who wouldn’t?

They didn’t, though, in fact nothing happened. They just…
stayed like that.

So he opened his optics, just enough to see, and he saw. Two
lanky frames, twisted around to show him the insignias on their backs.

After a long moment, the twins spoke, voices so soft he
barely heard.

“And what do you think
we did?”

…what?

Oh.

Oh.

Bioweapons.

They’d made bioweapons.

Weapons had to be tested.
Over and over and over again, and then used.

He had dozens of bodies on his servos. They’d have, what-
hundreds? Thousands, likely, counting the ones killed on battlefields.

Well. No wonder they weren’t horrified.

Spinflask made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob,
then again, then they were curling against him and his vocalizer fritzed out as
he was flooded in remorse. Not his,
theirs, their field was dripping with it.

Primus.

What did he do now?

The twins stayed pressed against him for a few long moments,
then leaned up just enough to put the caps back on a couple of containers
before lifting him between them. Back into the nest, and they curled against
him once again, but only because he was between them- they were more focused on
curling against each other. He could still hear them talking, though- and they
were almost out of sync. They weren’t hopping between each other in fluid
motions in the middle of sentences, these were short, choppy half-phrases.

“Didn’t want to.”

“Tried not to.”

“Split us up.”

“Hurt us if we
didn’t.”

“Wasn’t us.”

“Our servos, but them.”

Two helms raised, four optics met his, and the twins kept
talking, still out of sync but starting to get closer, voices and field laden
with conviction.

“Wasn’t you.”

“Feel this? Is not- murderers don’t-“

“Murderers don’t hurt like
this.”

“They lied. Was them, wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t us, wasn’t you.”

Well that- that wasn’t-

That wasn’t the same, and Spinflask tried to say it, he tried, but all he could get out was “that’s not-“ before his vocalizer cut out. They
were- they were touching him, still,
curled against him- for comfort, yes, but- against his servos, against-

A quick set of motions, and they’d shifted positions, each
putting one of his servos against their cheek and placing a servo on the hatch
in his chassis.

Well. That… that wasn’t disgust. Or fear. Or some sort of
sick enjoyment.

That was… sympathy. Understanding, of a sort.

Oh.

Maybe… maybe it was okay to touch them, just a bit, just for
right now. They- they needed comfort, after all, didn’t they? He should try to-
to comfort them, yes? That was the right- right thing to do. Just… just him
comforting two young mechs, nothing creepy, nothing perverted… nothing to do
with the fact that they were still cute…

Pit.

But they were leaning into him, their field was soft and
upset (and wasn’t that an odd thing, an identical field from both sides), they
wanted touch-

They wanted him. Maybe
just his servos and warm frame, but they wanted him, and that made something deep in his chassis start shimmering.

So he stroked carefully against their cheeks where his
servos had been placed, then up to their audial fins, then down until his servos
brushed against the smooth domes in their backs. What were those? The material
looked and felt like something akin to glass, it was definitely transparent,
and it wasn’t as warm as the rest of their frames. And inside- liquids, not
energon, liquids in green and yellow and silver-blue, swirling idly against the
insides of the domes. Must be some sort of storage areas. Where was the outlet,
though? Couldn’t be in their mouths, that would risk the mixtures within
interacting with whatever came from their throat glands. Maybe hidden ports
somewhere, or, Pit, even their vents. Could be something volatile enough to
turn to gas if it hit the air. He’d have to- would they tell him if he asked?
They’d showed the throat glands without him even asking, so- yes, unusual
details like that, he’d have to ask.

Spinflask’s musings were cut off by the larger mechs
re-settling, clearly aware of his presence, and-

Giggling quietly at the sound of Spinflask’s vents
stuttering, the twins settled with their helms against his chassis, petting
lightly at his plating once again. “There… see? No- no nastiness, just this.
Oh- never introduced. Scissors, Syringe- collectively, Duo. Only separate when
needed. Uh- splitsparks, probably noticed. Now… where, exactly, is…”

A pause, both of them lifting their helms and blinking in
confusion, then they pressed their helms back down and shifted around- clearly
listening to his chassis. “…no sparkbeat. Explain?”

Spinflask shook his helm slightly, stirring himself back to
reality and out of the swamp of confusion, and looked down at his own chassis.
“I- oh. That’s- you found the hatch earlier? My alt is a centrifuge, the rack
folds into my chassis and stays semi-accessible. My spark chamber is located
further back than usual to allow for the rack and the thick lining which
protects my spark from any incidents while my alt is in use. I would imagine my
sparkbeat is… ah… is muffled?”

Voice faltering, Spinflask stared down at the lanky mechs
curled up against his chassis once again, something like a smile trying to
sneak onto his face. They… liked this. Seemed to like him, to some extent, or
at least found him interesting. And, oh- could be useful to them. They were
chemists, after all, and he was a centrifuge- a good centrifuge. Voice still
soft and servos still petting at their backs, he slowly listed off his own
statistics, rotation speed and capacity and everything else they might need,
ending it up with “…and I would be happy to assist you.”

They –Duo- were listening. Clearly listening, looking up at
him, and still petting his frame. “Will take offer- not now, but definitely
later. Nice strong engine, yes?” they chuckled, patting his chassis, and
grinned when he obligingly revved his engine. “Oh, yes. Very strong engine. Very nice. Now-“

Scissors arched his back for a moment, presenting the
transparent domes, then settled back down. “Can pet, but not sensitive- only
around bases. Try around seams in armor, down spine- there. Domes are for
storage, chambers to retain chemicals. Mostly gases. Outlets in vents, inlets
just below neck and in throat mechanisms. Can swallow substances to retain and
use later. Smallest chambers usually used to hold new substances, see? Flat
windows. Domes contain useful chemicals to breathe through vents- mostly Scraplet
repellant, sedative-substance made to intimidate and slow potential threats,
scent disguise for avoiding predators. Show you later.”

After a moment or two, they pushed their faces further into
Spinflask’s frames, tugging blankets up further, and wrapped the whole group in
softness. “Here- cuddles now. Yes? Nice, soft… think nice things. Talk, get
ideas. Working on more of drug we used before- need to keep a supply. And,
honest? Might need more for you. That okay? Don’t- don’t want to use drugs, just- don’t want you hurt, not sure how else to
stop adrenaline,” they whispered, stroking his arms a bit more firmly, field
flickering apology/regret/reassurance to
the mech between them.

The mech between them was not pleased by that idea. Being
drugged into a temporary stupor was alarming at first, unpleasant in
retrospect, and he didn’t like the clinginess
it wanted from him. However… the alternative was that strange blackout.
He’d experienced it before, multiple times, and it always left him exhausted.
And usually in some degree of pain.

Adrenaline was an… interesting
thing, apparently. And not a pleasant one for him. Dear Primus, he was a biochemist. He didn’t even have any built-in
weapons. He wasn’t supposed to have aggressive responses to anything! What sort of defective adrenaline response would it take to make him act
aggressive enough to injure himself?
Systems assessments warned that he’d newly wrenched his shoulder joints, his
hip, and his ankle on the same side, almost every latch on his frame was trying
to repair itself (though that was from a prior
and incredibly unpleasant incident), and there were enough minor dents and
scrapes that they were in their own subcategory. Organized by date, of course,
with an option to sort by severity or by percentage repaired.

Spinflask distracted himself for a moment re-sorting the
list to at least get the basic idea of his injuries, then sighed and re-focused
himself on the matter at servo. Namely, his thoughts on being drugged again if
he had another panic response of the sort. None of the thoughts were positive, but…

Sighing quietly, Spinflask patted the nearest
silver-and-green servo, resigned to his fate. “I would rather you not use the
drugs either, but… I do understand the need. If I have a similar response
again, and I cannot guarantee that I will not, you have my permission. Though I
would… like to request that you only use the same substance as before, as I
have some idea of how my frame responds to it.”

Murmuring “apologies, don’t want to, low on options”, the
twins snuggled up close, humming their reassurances and stroking everything
that came into their servos. “Sorry. Promise- only same thing. Still no
negative response? Felt touch-need, but nothing else?”

Not bothering to wait for an answer, they started moving,
servos tracing over his frame in search of answers. Up to his throat to check
his energon pulse, under the edges of his chassis plating to check his
sparkpulse and the thrum of it, lingering against his stomach and wrists and
anywhere else they might find information.

“I- oh, there’s- goodness, you’re- you’re quite thorough,”
Spinflask managed, honestly a bit taken aback by the sudden exam, but relaxed
into the touches. “I’m- thank you, no, nothing else. System reports are coming
back, ah- not normal, but not with
anything that can be linked to your… efforts. And I- I cannot believe I am
saying for this, but… thank you for dosing me.”

Oh, they were- Primus. They were smiling now, looking relieved beyond expression, even nuzzling into
his servos. Like they’d, what- had they expected him to be angry? He… no. He
wasn’t angry. They’d helped. Maybe not in a way he liked, but they’d helped.
More than just calming him down- he was here
instead of being chained to a table. Here, tank full, being snuggled and
stroked by two lovely mechs. They-
they were- oh.

Spinflask’s vents hitched and he whined, overwhelmed by the shameless affection being offered to
him. They were probably contact-starved, touchy mechs like this out on their
own, but they were touching him and
actually seemed to be enjoying it. They knew
what he’d done, they knew, and
they weren’t acting any differently than before. They’d just… accepted it,
tried to reassure him, and kept petting.

The petting was amazing. Dear Primus was it amazing.

How was he supposed to deny them? They wanted to touch him, and
he wanted to be touched. He couldn’t deny it- he wanted. Even if he shouldn’t.

Well… it wasn’t as if they were going to stop petting him
any time soon, by the look of things. Surely it wouldn’t hurt anything if he…
tried petting them back?

Spinflask had never done anything like this. He didn’t just…
start petting random people. Nor did people start petting him. Ever. He had no
experience, which was unnerving, and- what if he did this wrong? What if he
accidentally touched an erogenous zone and gave them the wrong idea, or worse,
made them feel uncomfortable? He didn’t want to upset Duo, they were so sweet, those optics and the careful
servos and the- the care-

His vents hitched again in a quiet sob, servos curling on
thin air, field shuddering gratitude/uncertainty/confusion
as he tried to figure out what to do.
He wanted to touch, and it was probably expected, but- but what if he-

Scissors nuzzled into his servo, cooing a quiet noise, and
Spinflask’s uncertainty-laden, near-panicked attempts at figuring out what he
was doing slid to a grinding halt. Voicebox click-sputtering awkwardly as the
twins curled around him and into him,
he slowly ran his fingertips over the silver-speckled cheek, earning a gentle
crooning sound and a firm press into his servo. That… oh. Oh.

One thing that people didn’t usually know about natural-born
chemists was that they had something built in to clear their optics of
potential contamination. Namely, an extremely well-developed tear duct system.
Which responded exactly as it was supposed to in this situation, a clear signal
of his distress. One that had him trying to hide his face in embarrassment as
thick, fat tears dripped down his cheeks, coating his optics so thoroughly that
he couldn’t see properly even when he opened his optics. Mortified and overwhelmed
but unquestionably safe, Spinflask
pushed his face into Scissors’ chassis and sobbed,
wrapping his arms around-

Primus this mech was lanky. But warm, so very warm, pulling him close and settling him so both twins
could press their warm, soft, un-armored stomachs against him. Like they knew
what he wanted, what he needed, what-

Spinflask’s servos tightened on Scissors’ back, and he
curled into a ball between the two larger mechs, his vocalizer giving a series
of soft little noises as they continued to pet him. They knew, they knew what
he wanted, what felt good for him- and they were doing it.

“Thank you.”

 

Duo crooned reassurance and curled more firmly around the
small mech, whispering “most welcome” to the shivering bundle of silvery-white.
At least he was relatively calm now, working out emotions rather than panicking
and trying to kill them again.

He’d probably be fine. 

Poor, cute mech.