Spinflask needs the belt version of those “nervous” collars you can get for dogs.

₩ (which muses shall it be? that is the question)

Spinflask tended to hyperfocus on his work. Most chemists did. Having explosive blood tended to make one rather cautious when working with corrosive chemicals and fire.

However, most chemists probably did not make a sound like a robotic duck being stepped on if someone were to unexpectedly re-occupy their chair. But Spinflask did, and had, and it was adorable.

Looking a bit like his thought processes had shorted out, Spinflask blinked and automatically placed both servos against warm plating, staring up at the bot who’d distracted him in such a strange manner. Even if he’d noticed the approach, the last thing he would have expected was being picked up out of his chair and then placed back- in someone else’s lap.

After a moment’s staring, he shook his helm and blinked hard, seeming to reset himself just enough to speak. “Um- hello? Can- can I help you?”

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.

(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.

Chained to a heavy table by one leg,
stretched out full-length along the ground, straining to reach a blowtorch that
was just out of reach. The ground was covered in scratch marks, suggesting that
this had been a frequent activity, and some of the scratches were starting to
look weathered- this had evidently been happing for a long time. Another table
had tipped over across the room, shedding contents that included the blowtorch,
and the mech was struggling to reach it.

Duo, of course, sprang to assist, shoving the vent covers
aside to get down into the room. Crooning “ease, friend, calm, here to help”,
they scooped up the blowtorch and moved closer, reaching for the chain to cut
it-

And jerked back in shock when the mech responded by trying
to bite Scissors.

The mech in front of them was a bit smaller than them,
minimally armored, formerly white plating stained and dirty in spots. From what
Duo saw before he scrambled back underneath the table, much of his plating was
dangling loose, some of it tied in place with wires and some of it simply
hanging as if half the latches had been broken. His optics were an odd light
color, pinkish-red, and one was dim and flickering as he glared out at them. A
shard of what looked unpleasantly like his own sharpened arm plating was on the
ground next to the little mech for a moment before he snatched it up, and he
brandished it at the twins like a knife, hissing in the back of his throat in
what must have been an effort to frighten them away.

It didn’t exactly work, but Duo retreated quickly out of
range, sitting with their backs against the other table. A bit shaken by the
sudden aggression, they pressed together and went silent, watching the mech who
they’d meant to help but had only managed to scare. That, oh, that wasn’t their
intent, but what had scared him? Had they moved too fast, or was it the size
difference? Granted, they weren’t that much larger, but smaller mechs tended to
be more aware of who was larger than them- and there were two of Duo versus one of him.

<Oops. Remorse.>

<affirmation/apology>

<Repair method?>

<Release?>

<Release!>

In hopes of calming the poor mech, Duo slunk closer once
again, Scissors holding out the blowtorch in one servo. “Apologies, friend,
meant to help. Take? Get free of chains,” he offered, low to the ground, trying
to be as friendly and unintimidating as possible.

Oddly, the little mech didn’t take the blowtorch, just
glared suspiciously at them. Even when Scissors put the blowtorch down in easy
reach and backed up, nothing.

<Afraid, still.>

<Understood, poor
mech.>

<How to fix- thinkthink->

<Thinkthink->

<Fuel?>

<Won’t take this,
won’t take that. Earn trust?>

<How-think?>

<Check!>

Suddenly excited at their new idea, the twins hopped up and
sprang over the upended table on their way out, through the door they hadn’t
yet passed, hoping to find computer banks somewhere. Labs had staff rosters,
staff rosters had pictures and identifying marks so cleanup crew could ID staff
after disasters, pictures had names attached.
If they could find his name, they could use it, and that might help.

The door they hadn’t entered through led to another hallway,
mostly caved in, with a massive hole in the floor. Probably from an Insecticon
scavenging for corpses. Whatever it was, the edges were weathered, the creature
was long-gone, and the hole was the perfect size for Duo to spring down
through. Off along that hallway, peeking in every door, then along another
hallway and over- ah! A heap of rubble, on the other side of which was a set of
bunk cots and an empty energon dispenser. Standard laboratory staff crash room,
for mechs too exhausted to continue working. Which meant- here!

Under a collapsed slab of ceiling was a small console, meant
for staff sign ins. It had been left alone by scavengers, either due to low
value or due to being hidden, and seemed to be in decent shape. Duo popped the
side panel off and dove into the internal wiring, coming out with the spent
battery that would hold a charge if the main power was shut off. Swap out the
battery, and the console fired up, albeit with a beeping alarm at not being
able to connect to any sort of network.

From there, simply plug in a simple bottleneck computer to
trap any data that tried to come their way without permission, then slip into
the computer and past the standard sign-ins to the emergency files. It was
simple enough to find their mech’s image, as well, those distinctive pinkish
optics stood out. His name was Spinflask, and he’d been the head researcher.
Duo took the image, that description, and all the attached files –job records,
health data, everything available- in case anything could be useful, then just
about climbed over each other getting back up to where Spinflask was. They
could help now! Maybe! Hopefully!

Really, they should have expected the sight that met them
when they bounded back into the room.

Namely, Spinflask vanishing out the other door, having
grabbed and used the blowtorch in their absence. It wasn’t a clean getaway,
though, not from the sound of it- there was a messy, clattering crash as if
he’d tripped over something and hit the wall, and the retreating pedesteps were
shaky and skidding.

Glancing at each other in concern, Duo ran after Spinflask
with a flash of <find-catch>
<need-help> <find-and-help> to each other, wanting to catch up
to him and head him off before he hurt himself or got out to where they
couldn’t help.

Duo shouldn’t have caught up to him with no warning, Syringe
shouldn’t have gotten around in front of Spinflask, and they both shouldn’t
have spread their arms to keep him from running further. And they realized
that, but only an instant after Spinflask reacted within the bounds of
reasonable expectation- namely, by swinging the lit blowtorch at Syringe’s
face. To which Scissors also reacted
reasonably, by leaping at Spinflask’s back and knocking the blowtorch from his
servo, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Both of them reeling from and flaring at the threat, Duo
stayed frozen for an instant, Syringe with his servos up to block and Scissors
on top of Spinflask. There was an instant of <rage/protectiveness> from the both of them, but it vanished in
an instant when Spinflask started screaming.
It was a high, shrill, vibrating sound, one that could have been
intimidating had he been in a different situation, but given where he was it
just sounded desperate.

<oh>

<bad>

<very bad>

<fix>

<how>

<how-fix>

<release??>

<no, run, hide,
hurt>

<help-fuel?>

<choke>

<scared>

<set-free
careful>

<OUTSIDE>

<take-outside-sun,
breathe>

<lift-careful?>

<lift-careful-now>

In agreement as usual, Duo converged on Spinflask, each
lifting him by an arm to put him more or less on his pedes. It would probably
have been easier to outright carry him, he kept alternating between bracing his
pedes and trying to pull away from them, but this felt wrong enough without picking Spinflask up. And what else could they
do but take him outside? If they let go, he was either going to run
–potentially hurting himself- or attack them, and they couldn’t just- what, sit
on him until he got tired? That- that was worse!
Hauling him outside felt like the least creepy thing to do here. Hopefully
it would calm him down, or at least get him to stop screaming.

It did. Hauling a fighting mech up onto the roof was
difficult, but, once they got him up and into the light, Spinflask tilted his
face up and finally stopped screaming. It didn’t make him silent, though, his
cooling fans were wheezing alarmingly and he was still alternating between
trying to escape and trying to bite them. Primus
this mech had endurance- or at least a deep supply of adrenaline.

Well.

Now that he’d gone silent, it was time for a full
conversation, or at least the closest thing they ever got to one over the bond.
More like words than impulses and concepts, at least.

<Pit. Now what?>

Worth a shot. Scissors tried, crooning in his softest voice.
“Spinflask, yes? Easy, friend, trying to help- look, outside now. Sunlight- nice, yes? Breathe, relax- won’t
hurt you. Just- want you to not hurt us! Make
a deal- you calm, stop biting, we let
go. Clear?”

That worked. For about half a nanoklik, in which Spinflask
paused and stared at them, then he shrieked
another wordless sound and tried to bite Scissors’ nasal ridge off.
Fortunately, he missed.

<Nope.>

<Understands, even?
No words in- that. Just screams.
Maybe- doesn’t understand? Codex messed up?>

<Definitely, yes,
so other trouble.>

<Just- insane?>

<Could be, agh.>

<So- what now?>

<Drugs?>

<…hm? Ah- riot
suppressants?>

<So… yeah. Drugs.
Just to- to get to places. But not sedative.>

<Brother, feels
gross- loose plating, not- not good, probably explains.>

Duo made a face at each other over Spinflask’s helm, neither
twin bothering to hide how terribly uncomfortable they were with restraining
and drugging a mech who was so upset, but neither of them had any better ideas.
They couldn’t leave Spinflask here, he’d either hurt them or himself if they
let go, and they couldn’t wait forever. Nor could they hold on forever- they
were starting to get tired, where Spinflask didn’t seem to be tiring at all.

How could one mech have this much adrenaline? Because
Spinflask was clearly running on adrenaline, his EM field almost entirely
hidden but throwing aggressive stabs at them now and then, and he didn’t seem
to be looking at either of them as he
bit. His vents were getting louder, too, starting to wheeze roughly with every
violent action- this couldn’t be good for him. He was going to hurt himself
doing this, or get loose and hurt them.

So… drugs it was. Creepy as it felt, getting him high would
make him much less inclined to hurt somebody, and they could override that
adrenal response. Plus ,they had just the thing in subspace- a mixture intended
to be dispersed into a riot via aerosol grenades to put all the rioters into a
less-than-violent mood. Their aerosol grenades were loaded with a mixture that did act as a mild aphrodisiac in cases,
so they… weren’t going to be using that. It tended to only have that effect on
people who had exhibitionist tendencies anyway, which was why they kept it
around- wasn’t strong enough to be creepy,
it just meant that sometimes your former rioters would end up fragging.
Nevertheless, they were not using
that on Spinflask, Primus no, that
felt downright perverted. Fortunately, they did have a vial of a different
mixture, mostly because it was a decent recreational drug and good for trading.

And, with his vents outright shrieking at the speed they
were reaching, it was a simple matter for Syringe to pull the vial out with a
spare servo and place a few drops near half-hidden vent inlets.

As intended, the drug worked quickly. Spinflask arched in
blatant alarm, trembling in one last, desperate attempt to get away, then went limp between them as the drug did its job and
cut off the adrenaline response that had been keeping him going.

Within a few kliks, Spinfoil went from a desperate bundle of
fury to a limp heap barely supported between the twins, optics unfocusing and
staring up at the sky. Seeming to give up, he stopped moving entirely and
curled into himself, and he didn’t respond to being released and allowed to
curl onto the ground.

…well. That had… worked?

Yes, it had worked, the intended effect had occurred, but…
ugh.

Duo made another face at each other, then sat down next to
Spinflask, needing a moment to rest after… that. Primus.

<Agreed. Next time
we find a mech chained to a lab table, we walk up slowly.>

<snk- agreed.>

Instead of turning their comforting urges against Spinflask,
who they were sure would object very strongly to being stroked, Duo pressed
together and hugged each other close. Burying their faces in each other’s
shoulders, they stayed still and silent, pulsing comfort/reassurance/understanding back and forth until they both
calmed down.

With their sparkrates back to normal and Spinflask showing
no signs of doing anything other than lying on the roof looking buzzed, the
twins uncurled and stood up, Scissors (cautiously) lifting the small mech with
them. “Easy, friend, apologies. Won’t hurt you- had to keep you from hurting us
or you, is all. Nothing bad, promise, is only a riot-calm mixture. See? Very
calm now.”

Maybe “calm” wasn’t the word so much as “drugged”, but… hey.
No more biting and screaming, at least, and Spinflask didn’t seem to be panicking internally.

Getting off the roof with a drugged Spinflask was easier
than getting onto the roof with a fighting Spinflask, but it still felt like
something that was illegal for very good reasons. Fortunately for them, they’d
brought a sled in case of larger found items, and Spinflask counted. He fit
onto the sled, and they were able to tuck a tarp over him to hopefully keep him
comfortable.

Just in case, Syringe walked alongside the sled as Scissors
hauled it, keeping an optic on the mech they’d found. It was unlikely that he
would suddenly snap awake and jump up, he seemed to be busy staring at the sky,
but being careful couldn’t hurt.

And it didn’t, though it turned out to be unneeded.
Spinflask, curled up under the tarp, stayed curled up until they got back to
the spot Duo had claimed. Somebody’s old bunker, long since cleaned out by
Insections, which had been easy to re-clear with a smoke grenade and some
repellant applied around the area. They’d added a very thick door, stocked the
bunker with plenty of metal-cutting supplies in case the door got stuck, and
rigged several booby traps containing various aerosol grenades that could repel
Insecticons or other predators.

Inside the bunker, they’d set up a comfortable
berth-slash-nest made of two berth pads placed against each other, heaped with
every soft, clean bit of fabric they’d been able to find. Syringe lifted a
chunk of padding off of it with a few blankets, and Scissors brought a folding
table over and down, the both of them quickly putting together something that
would lift Spinflask to a reasonable working height without looking or feeling
like a medbay berth. From there, they lifted him up and settled him onto the
table-slash-berth, covering the lower half of his frame with a blanket to make
this just a fraction less creepy. It… didn’t help that he was still limp and
incredibly compliant.

<Agreed, augh.>

Their mental correspondence stopped entirely as Spinflask
shifted. It wasn’t the movement that had their attention, though, not really-
more that they’d just gotten a look at his forearm. Someone had pried off the
plating over his wrist connectors, and… oh dear.

Syringe took Spinflask’s arm gently in two servos, lifting
it to settle it across his chassis where Scissors could see, the two of them
sharing a grim look at the sight. Whoever had removed the plating had evidently
tried to fit several plugs into ports that weren’t meant to take something that
large, and, judging by the scratches around the rims, weren’t even the sort of
cables designed to fit into wrist connection ports.

A thought hit the both of them, and, crooning quiet
reassurance as they did, Duo lifted Spinflask’s other arm to inspect the other
pieces of loosened plating. More marks, these from tools of some sort,
something like a tiny pry bar. An image of the tracks they’d found flashed
between both of them, and that- that seemed plausible, didn’t it? Organics
getting overly curious about Cybertronian anatomy, evidently not taking “no”
for an answer- those had been large
enough tracks, and Spinflask was on the smaller side.

Plating pried off, wrist paneling removed, ports forced open
around foreign plugs- ugh. Shudders. No wonder
Spinflask was so guarded! Couldn’t blame him. Made this feel nastier, but… he was looking at them, at least, watching
them with no signs of alarm.

Duo sat back and met each other’s optics, then both sighed
quietly and reached for their medkit stash, deciding to help as much as they
could while he was still relaxed. Even if it was artificial relaxation. All
that plating hanging half-off, they could fix that, couldn’t they? Could try
and work the ports back into shape, as well, get that panel back into place
rather than having it dangling askew like it was now.

That was the conclusion they came to, eventually, after a
good deal of fidgeting and uncomfortable stares. They had to help, this was
probably their best opportunity to help… uncomfortable as it felt.

The first thing to do was fix those strained ports, while
Spinflask was still dazed enough to, hopefully, not be frightened by the touch.
The calipers needed to be reset, so Syringe inspected the ports in question for
a moment, then sighed and pressed a fingertip against the wall of one. A slow,
firm stroke from the depths of the port to the rim spread the calipers a final
fraction, realigning them from where they’d been pushed askew, and they made a
series of tiny clicking noises as they reset to a neutral position. Easy enough
to do. Next, Syringe gathered up the loose connection cables, which had been
clumsily looped and tied around Spinflask’s wrist, and coiled then back into
where they were supposed to be.

He was about to work on fixing the panel, as well, but
Scissors cut him off with a flash over their link.

<concern/awareness/alert>

<Brother?>

<looking>

…oh. Oh dear. Yes, Spinflask was definitely looking at him.
Not just facing his direction, actually looking,
optics fixed as much as possible on his face.

<alarm/concern/worry>

<agreement/concern>

<what do we do>

<let me->

Scissors took Spinflask’s other servo, circling a fingertip
against his palm until he turned to look up at Scissors instead, and hummed
softly to the smaller mech. “Hello, friend. Is okay- not hurting you. See?
Putting everything back, and doing it now
while you stay calm. Very sorry about the drugs, friend- were afraid you
would hurt yourself or us. Thought it might help if no possible fear. This
okay?”

Spinflask was definitely watching them now, with as much
focus as a drugged mech could muster. Brow furrowed slightly, helm tilted a
fraction, optics focused on Scissors with clear attention. He didn’t look
frightened or angry, at least, just… a bit puzzled. As if he wasn’t certain
what was happening, or why.

Well. That was… not a positive reaction, no, definitely not,
but probably the closest to positive that they were going to get. Spinflask
seemed confused and at least somewhat interested, and that was all. Nothing
negative, not yet. He wasn’t afraid, at least, nor was he trying to murder
them.

Improvement!

Sort of!

That would work for now!

Duo shrugged at each other, broadcasting a certain level of
discomfort at the situation, then sighed and went back to work. They’d best
take advantage of Spinflask’s artificially imposed calm. “All right then,
friend- put your pieces all back on now, okay?”

Not okay, not really,
but- closest thing they could get at the moment. Hopefully it would calm
Spinflask down if he came to and found that his armor was all fastened back in
place instead of, ugh, hanging askew everywhere.

At least it didn’t seem to be any specific armor that had been pulled free. Tiny mercies.

Something else was odd, as well. This seemed to be a genetic
oddity, though. Spinflask’s silvery-white plating was oddly slick, and much of
it felt quite thin, especially around the edges. They’d seem something a bit
like this before- common in chemists. It wouldn’t support a vehicular alt mode,
though, so what was he?

They shouldn’t exactly have been doing it, but Duo paused in
their repair work (mostly trying to figure out what lined up where) to inspect
Spinflask’s frame. Gently enough, of course, but they looked him over as much
as possible without touching, then lightly touched what looked like a hatch in
his lower chassis. What was this? Almost looked like the door to an internal
symbiote dock, but symbiotes would be throwing a fit about this whole situation. Primus- did that mean the mech’s
symbiotes had been taken, or killed? That
would explain his reactions.

Duo made the bond-sensation equivalent of an apprehensive
face at each other, both eyeing the panel, and both reached for the panel at
the same time before hesitating.

<understood, but
need to find out>

<ugh,
apprehension/worry>

<agreed,
brother>

Another pause, then Syringe sighed and eased a fingertip
under the loose panel, lifting it just enough to see-

Oh, thank Primus, not
a symbiote dock.

Rather, a test tube rack, one sturdy enough to be-

Oh!

Not a rack, a centrifuge! That’s what that was! He was a
centrifuge!

They’d never met a centrifuge! A microscope, yes, more than
one, but not a centrifuge!

Cool!

Realizing that their fields were absolutely conveying their
interest, Duo lifted their winglets in a friendly manner, gently pressing the
panel back into place- no matter how much they wanted to see more. “Apologies,
checking for symbiote dock. Useful information. Interesting, though! Never met
centrifuge-alt mech, just microscopes. Used regular centrifuges, though. Hm- must
have impressive strut assembly to not shake apart, yes?”

“Quite. Hence the armor, as well- the- the slickness sheds
chemical spills easily.”

Spinflask still looked dazed, but having something to focus
on seemed to be helping him stay coherent, and he propped himself up just a
fraction to get a better look at what they were doing. “Or. Used to. Not…
properly aligned.”

Oh!

There he was!

Duo lifted their winglets further and grinned down at the
scientist, both of them gently easing his chassis plating further into place.
“Hello! Awake now, yes? No worries- fixing your plating for you. See? Not too
bad, just- ah, here, misaligned latch. Relax- back down, hold still.”

Scissors tucked a pillow behind Spinflask’s helm, and they
both gently pressed him down, coaxing him to lay back so they had a steady
surface to work on. “Calm, calm- breathe. Let us fix- see? Is okay. Just trying
to help, friend… easy.”

Thankfully, Spinflask still had nothing more negative than
confusion in his expression, so Duo continued their careful work at replacing
his plating. Nothing was too badly damaged, but most of the latches had been
wrenched open too wide as the plating was ripped off, keeping them from closing
properly and fastening shut. It was simple enough to grip the latches with
fingers or a set of tiny pliers and bend them back into place, and Spinflask
either didn’t mind the discomfort or was too high to feel it.

Going by his slightly more focused optics, it was the
former. Spinflask was definitely watching them, and he seemed to be processing
what was happening. Moreover, when he spoke, his voice was slow but stable.

“Pardon. What- what did you give me? I- I am feeling-“

Spinflask’s vocalizer clicked once or twice in evident
confusion, and he almost reached for
them, helm cocked and reattached plating starting to flare. “-this- this is-
I’m- oh.”

Slightly concerning. Duo cocked their helms in a silent echo
of him, winglets flicking slightly to the sides in a deliberately casual
motion. “Relatively unsuccessful variation on an anti-riot drug. Intended to
halt adrenal responses, induce calmness. Altered further due to inability to
disperse properly through large group. Harmless, no concern- won’t hurt you,”
they crooned, each petting one of Spinfoil’s servos, then paused and glanced at
each other before continuing. “Also made to induce desire for touch, contact-
furthers positive effects via endorphins. Apologies- thought this was best
suited to calm you. Ah… complaints about contact? Can lean against you somewhat
for work. No pressure, no motive, only want to help- if comfortable.”

Understandably, Spinflask eyed them with a degree of
suspicion at that, but the drugs apparently won over, as he nodded and reached
for them after a moment. Muttering “apologies again for drugs”, they pressed up
close on either side of him, their stomachs against his armor for him to feel
the warmth. Hopefully pleasant enough, especially since he didn’t have very
thick armor on most of his frame.

In fact, most of Spinfoil’s armor looked almost like the
thin plating that people would sometimes get as decorative pieces meant to
cover exposed muscle cables or other mechanisms. It definitely wasn’t, not
sharing the same odd, slick texture with the few thick pieces, but it was very
thin- some of it had even been crumpled slightly by what had apparently been
organic hands. The more durable pieces were along his shoulders and upper back,
including some that, hm, probably formed the lid of his alt, and the rest-

The rest was pretty. Smooth
white with tinges of silver, fitting together with minimal gaps along his
frame, especially along the front. He was almost wearing an apron, the armor
along his front flowing down to join skirting panels in a waterfall-like stream
of silvery-white, which actually made a lot of sense now. He was a chemist,
after all, born to be one, and born chemists often had built-in protection
against incidents. Duo had an unusual degree of acid resistance and a system
made to redirect unusual substances to be analyzed and used rather than merely
ingested, some others had thick shields or even plating that could be rapidly
shed if tainted, and Spinflask here had extremely slick armor with minimal gaps
along the front.

It was pretty! And presumably effective! Doubly good!

Oh- shoulder armor out of place, but awkward angle, probably
needed them both to maneuver it. Scissors leaned over Spinflask’s frame to
help, to pull the armor up to where it belonged-

And Spinflask jolted, tensed, hissed, and shrieked. His claws were too dulled to
do any damage, but he tried, clawing
at their armor in the few instants before they jerked back. Optics wild and
plating flared as much as possible with how loose most of it still was,
Spinflask scrambled onto the edge of the table, balancing there and striking
out at Duo with one servo whenever his swaying balance made it look like they
might be getting closer.

Duo, understandably, did not try to get closer. They went
with the initial impulse to retreat, slinking backward and partially under the
table, and leaned on each other in unease as Spinflask shrilled down at them.
Oh dear… what had they done this time?

<Brother- was doing
well, but- this?>

<too rough? No->

A pause, the two of them calling up an image of the scene
the instant before Spinflask had panicked, and even with the distraction of
Spinflask hissing at them it was easy to see what had gone wrong. They’d…
loomed a bit, hadn’t they?

<oh. Leaned.>

<concern/worry/sorrow>

<agreed>

<opposite.>

That seemed reasonable. Now, what was the opposite of
looming over someone?

A few quickly pinged mental images, then they glanced at
each other, nodded, crouched, and stretched out along the ground on either side
of the table.

This. This was the opposite. So… hopefully it would get the
opposite response? Or at least calm Spinflask slightly, let the adrenaline wear
off- because this must be an adrenal
reaction! Something going wrong, somewhere, that magnified the effect from
merely a jolt of energy to this. Because
this wasn’t a normal level of response, and it wasn’t a normal type of response, either. Mechs like
Spinflask, with no integrated weapons and a frametype designed for nonviolent
work, didn’t attack like this when
frightened.

There were exceptions, of course, but this wasn’t just
lashing out- this was a violent, prolonged response, the “fight” in
fight-or-flight taken to the extreme. For Primus’ sake, the mech had tried to stab them with a sharpened piece of his
own arm plating! That wasn’t how mechs like Spinfoil usually responded, he was-
he was a nerd. Like them. They didn’t
attack people, even when upset, they got out of the way and retaliated from
safety. This had to be an overblown adrenal response, it all made sense.

Hopefully their approach would help calm that down. Field
flaring and pressing friendliness/reassurance/security
against the indistinct stabs of Spinflask’s anger/threat/anger, they chirped up at him in a friendly manner,
offering little smiles carefully adjusted not to show their fangs. “Spinflask,
hello- easy, friend, calm. Not going to hurt you- sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to
startle. Is okay- shh, friend. Calm, lay back down… too unsteady for that,
might fall.”

Much to their relief, it worked. Without anything to keep
him going, Spinflask swayed, whined quietly, started to relax-

And, whoops, fell over the edge of the berth-

Right into at least six servos.

Duo weren’t about to just let him fall like that! Friendly
field wrapping around Spinflask, they gathered him up in both sets of arms,
crooning reassurance to the small mech as he went limp between them. Too tired,
looked like, and no wonder. Cold, too, starting to shiver. Oh, poor mech-

Berth time. No more putting him on a table, he was joining
them in their nest. That was a bit awkward to manage without looming over him
again, but they managed to curl up on either side of Spinflask, placing him on
top of a thick blanket where he could easily be reached for the rest of the
needed repairs.

There was a confused expression being aimed at them, once
again, but Spinflask looked too tired to
be anything other than sleepily baffled. Most likely that was due to him having
spent his last bits of energy on an extremely aggressive, drawn-out startle
response.

Probably not much point in it, but Scissors tried to meet
Spinflask’s optics, speaking quietly to him to explain what was going on. If he
could understand it, at least. “Hello, Spinflask- this better? Apologies for
startle. Going to rest here for now, sit, slowly continue repairs. Also, keep
you warm- too cold. Probably need more energy- here, drink. Energon processed
from dead animals, but safe- sterilized and filtered.”

People sometimes made a bit of a face at being offered a
cube of energon taken from an animal. Not unreasonable!

But people didn’t usually turn away, cover the mask over
their mouth, and mutter “don’t want it”.
Especially not when they were clearly low enough on energy for such a refusal
to be dangerous. Baffled, Scissors cast a glance over at Syringe, then crouched
and attempted to meet Spinflask’s optics. “Hey- need fuel! Is okay, safe to
drink, just… drink, please?” he crooned, holding the cube just in front of the
scientist’s optics, and purred gently down at him in hopes of coaxing him into
taking the cube.

Spinflask wanted the
energon, clearly. His fuel pump made an audible grinding sound as it tried to
start up, the mask covering the lower half of his face retracted, and his field
pulsed hunger/want/need, but he didn’t
try to take it. Instead, he twisted away from the cube, growling “haven’t earned it”, and pushed his face into-
well, he probably meant to hide in the blankets, but he ended up with his face
in Syringe’s chassis.

…well then.

Syringe instinctively curled around Spinflask in response,
used to it being his twin pressing into him like that, and shared a confused
look with Scissors. That was, uh… something,
and… not necessarily a surprise. Duo were familiar with the “you haven’t
earned this yet” attitude, it wasn’t a shock to hear that Spinflask had also
been subjected to it. What was surprising,
though, was him seeming to agree.

They weren’t going to stand for that.

No question, no hesitation, no consideration, just outrage. They would not stand for that. Scissors mimicked Syringe’s action, pressing
gently to Spinflask’s back, and stroked a servo over his arm in hopes of
calming him and coaxing the servo off his face. “Oh, shh. Living being, yes?
Then earned enough fuel to not die. No price, just drink, please? Come, Spinflask…”

There was no objection to their touch, so Scissors carefully
stroked trembling silver-white fingers out of the way, growing bold enough to
brush two fingertips over Spinflask’s cheek. “Drink?”

Spinflask’s response was a soft, needy whine, a pleading sound, but he still made no move to accept
the energon. He wanted to, clearly, he was hungry,
but his resolve was firm enough that he stayed perfectly still despite
that. Even as Scissors petted his cheek again with one servo and cupped another
other servo under his helm.

They had an idea. Scissors trapped Spinflask’s helm as
gently as possible, Syringe casually brushed a servo over his optics for long
enough to hide them, and Scissors tipped the cube- spilling a few drops of the
energon against Spinflask’s lips. Whatever his mind thought, Spinflask’s frame
was starving, and they needed to get energon into him. This was less likely to
injure him than an IV. Granted, his mind might not much like them taking
advantage of instinct, but those violent adrenaline reactions meant he needed
to be fueled or he was going to pass out halfway through the next one. And who
knew what it would do to him if he passed out in the middle of another
violence-toned panic attack! They certainly didn’t know. Probably something
bad. So… this.

A moment of nothing, then Spinflask licked his lips,
seemingly a subconscious motion. Another few drops, another lick, a few more
drops-

And Spinflask moved, jolting
against their servos, practically launching himself up to grab at the cube. Duo
let him, and he gripped it in both trembling servos, only managing to keep it
in his grip and himself upright thanks to their steadying servos. All reluctance gone, he gulped at the
energon with desperate hunger, his mismatched plating fluffing against their
servos as he drank deeply.

The cube was far more than his small tank could manage, but
Spinflask did his best to drink the entire thing, stopping only when he
physically couldn’t swallow any more. Gasping softly, he lowered the cube,
still holding tightly to it, and slumped back against Syringe’s frame where he’d
been curled up before. His vents were running low to save energy, so he had to
gasp a few times to properly get them started again, and he made no effort to
lean away from any of the contacts.

And there were a lot of contacts, not least because Duo gave
in to the impulse to brush away the energon that dripped from the corners of
his mouth as he gasped for air. They couldn’t help it- soft, silver-white
cheeks, pretty faceplates, little mech all mussed up- who wouldn’t try to put
him back in order, especially when it meant stroking?

He didn’t seem to mind, at least. His optics were focused on
them, he seemed aware of what was happening, and he wasn’t pulling away. Those
were all good signs. Either he liked this or he didn’t mind it, and both of
those things would work for now.

Hopefully not showing his dentae too much, Scissors offered Spinflask a pleased grin, unwinding
himself slightly from where he’d braced himself against the smaller mech. “There-
see? Better? Now- relax again, relax, fix your plating for you. Stretch out,
hm? Reach your back.”

A slow blink, then another, then Spinflask nodded and
stretched out on his front. Setting the cube aside, he gripped the blankets in
both servos and kneaded lightly, glancing over his shoulder now and then to
watch them work.

After a klik or two
of silence, he tilted his helm further and lifted his winglets a fraction,
looking considerably more lucid than before. “That was… odd. I… I’m sorry,
what- what happened? I… seem to have something of a void in my memory, but, clearly, something happened.”

That… that was going to be one Pit of an explanation.

Duo aimed an apprehensive look at each other, then sighed,
shook their helms, and went with the truth. “Would appear you have an adrenal
overreaction. Frame responds to startles with aggression.
Fight-flight-or-freeze response, yes? You have permanent fight. With sprinkling of
attempted murder.”

Oops, Pit, he was looking guilty. Field softening
considerably and thrumming reassurance/apology
with an accidental-but-distinct undercurrent of affection for the poor, worried little mech, Duo crooned and petted
Spinflask’s shoulders until he started to relax, offering a vocal purr along
with the purr in their fields. “No, no- is fine, easy. Didn’t hurt us, and
reaction is fine. Calmed down now, see? Just… fix all your plating, then we sit
nice and quiet, let adrenaline calm down.”

Spinflask blinked a few times, slowly, looking down at his
scuffed-up servos and dulled clawtips.
He’d never had long claws, clearly, but he ordinarily had sharp tips to his
fingers that could work as claws. They… weren’t really claws any more, though,
he’d worn them down against the floor.

“…oh. Well, that… that might explain the… gaps in my memory
lately. Some… rats, I think, kept trying to figure out if I was edible. I must
not have reacted well. My- my sincerest apologies for the… attempted murder, I-
you seem harm-harmless enough. More- more than that, actually, you- I- thank
you, I don’t- I don’t deserve- Prim-Primus,
I-“

Shoulders heaving, Spinflask hunched into himself, starting
to curl into a shaking ball- and squeaked as the twins abruptly pressed up on either
side of him. He didn’t panic this time, though, just made a few soft noises of
confusion and gently pawed at their plating in bewilderment. “I- pardon? What- what
are you- ah- I- oh. Oh dear. I-
goodness, I-I- oh-“

Gradually, Spinflask went still and leaned his helm against
Scissors, vents cycling in an odd, hiccupping pattern somewhere near a sob. He
wasn’t crying, but he was close, servos
skidding against silver-and-green plating as he was gently pressed between two
narrow frames.

Oh, oh- poor mech, but, there, that wasn’t a surprise. Duo
cooed gently down at Spinflask, bundling him up in a thick blanket, and leaned
back into their nest with another blanket pulled over all three of them. “There,
there, shh- is okay, sweetie, relax. Vent… there. Is okay, okay- cry, is fine,
let emotions out, just relax. Got you, Spinflask, okay? No danger, nothing
else, just us. Relax, vent, eventually recharge… fix your plating now, feel
better later, maybe try alt mode? Don’t know if… hm.”

A pause, a glance at each other, then the twins attempted to
meet Spinflask’s optics. “Immobile alts- fidgety or no at not transforming?
Never tried- mobile alts. Very mobile. Fidgety frames.”

No response.

Right, he was too busy not-quite-crying. Oh well- they could
ask later. Right now, they’d just snuggle him. Seemed to be… good? He wasn’t
wiggling away, at least, was mostly relaxed, and-

Oh!

Duo stilled as Spinflask pushed his face into Scissors’
chassis, clearly on purpose, then the twins cooed
and curled around him to hold him close.

Aw!

Cute!

A bit sad, but cute!

Spinflask gradually went limp in Duo’s arms, wrapped up in
blankets and scientists, still baffled but calmed by the sensation of gentle
servos replacing the plating all down his back. An unusual number of servos, to
say the least, but the touches were soft and the work was good. Even if it came
with some extra petting to various innocent places.

Eventually, the twins had gotten all of Spinflask’s plating
back on, but he was too asleep to notice.

He’d probably notice when he woke up.

Though that might take awhile.