Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Grease stopped, seeing an older con sitting in a trench. He ignored him and heads towards the fighting, towards Optimus Prime. He was about to charge when a rocket hit near him, knocking Grease into the trench. He got up, stumbling as he did so and holding his helm in pain. Grease had just made it over the ridge when an arm yanked him down, the old Decepticon.

“What the scrap?!”

Grease fell to the ground, a true sign of how beat up he was, barely able to put up a fight at all.

“Stay down kid.”

The older Decepticon was dark pink and what could’ve been teal if there wasn’t so much dirt covering his frame. Over his shoulders were two silver cannon barrels and a black rifle the size of Grease in his lap. The Decepticon looked down at Grease with something similar to pity and annoyance. Grease rolled his optics and moved to get up. The Decepticon sighed and put a large pede on his back.

“H-hey! Get the frag off me! You rusted gearstick!”

The Decepticon didn’t move, if anything he shifted to get more comfortable! Grease squirmed, his dark yellow paint only getting darker and covered in dirt, mud embedded into the seams. 

“Stop squirming, it's annoying as all scrap.”

Grease began to squirm, attempting to throw the pede of him. 

“Y’know, I never get why all you kids go after Optimus. It don’t work.” Quickwar leaned forward, getting comfortable, “Optimus Prime fights Megatron on the regular and wins about half the time. I have no idea why you think it’ll work. All you do is get beat to scrap on loop”

Grease didn’t listen and the older Con didn’t seem to care. 

“I mean, whattadya think is going to happen? One of ya will get some lucky shot and make it big? Well, lemme say, making it big as a con isn’t all its cut out to be. Met Deadlock once, loved his men but the loneliest scraplet I ever did see.”

Eventually, Grease ran out of energy, falling limp on the ground. 

“We’d be a lot better off if y’all learned to stay down every once in a while. Optimus won’t kick ya when you’re already down.”

Now that he focused, the sound of fighting had grown distant, artillery fire was still loud but no longer deafening with the need to shout at each other. Grease sighed as he enjoyed the moment of peace, content to rest before getting up again. The pressure lifted off the back of his chassis and he was lifted by the scruff and placed next to the older con. It was barely a moment before a cube was in his servos and he was being bugged to drink.

“So, what’s your designation?”

“Quickwar.”

Grease nodded, uncomfortable with the tense air, choosing to cover it up with a drink from his cube. Quickwar cleared his voice box, giving Grease a look that clearly said he wanted Grease’s designation.

“...Grease.”

Quickwar smiled but said nothing. Grease sighed, “Yeah yeah I know. All the good names were taken, it's not my fault!”

“It’s not that bad. Knew this mech called Fornicator.”

Grease nearly dropped his cube laughing so hard. Quickwar smiled, either amused by the name or the reaction, Grease couldn’t say. Grease was nearly wheezing before Quickwar smacked his chassis to calm him, though that nearly knocked into the mud.

“That’s hilarious!”

“Yeah! Though it means something entirely different on Cybertron, not that it helps in the slightest. After that whole Earth business, he changed his designation to Pillage.”

Grease calmed, agreeing that it was a much more suitable designation than Fornicator . When the cubes were finished, Grease stood, wiggling his digits in his seams in a poor attempt to get the mud out. 

Quickwar stood with an aching groan and, for the first time, Grease realized how big he was. Quickwar was double his size in height and width, and could probably carry him easily. It was no wonder that he could hold him down with one pede!

“You coming?”

Grease snapped out of his thought process and followed Quickwar out of the trench. As he looked over the ridge, Grease paused. The sun by this moon had set, letting the blackness of space bring out the bright stars dotting the sky. The planet above them glowed with the swirling beauty of mint greens and light blues. Grease stopped, gaping at the sight. 

Quickwar watched Grease, he could remember being that young and naive before the war started. It had been so long. He couldn’t help but want to protect him, that slim hope of…optimism that Grease had. Quickwar laid a servo on his shoulder, careful to keep his full weight off the smaller mech. 

After a while, Quickwar nudged Grease, knocking him out of his stupor. 

“Come on, someone's gotta make sure your helm stays on.”

Quickwar turned and began walking away. He could hear the quick jog of a smaller mech catching up behind him. 

“How kind of you, rust bucket.” 

Grease playfully slapped the larger mech’s lower chassis. Quickwar stopped, looked at Grease incredulously, then threw the mech over his shoulder while ignoring the yelp and profuse swearing and threats of violence. Grease began to wildly kick and was then thrown to the ground. Though, for Quickwar it was about the equivalent of a rough set down rather than a throw.

Grease dusted himself off, only spreading the mud across his frame, grumbling, “could have just said no touching.”

“While appreciated, not the point.” Quickwar’s massive servo wrapped around his entire helm and directed his gaze at the mechs on the ground. Most were either dead or going to be while the rest made their way back to base. There was a large group of dead Decepticons up ahead, where Quickwar was pointing.

“See them?”

Grease nodded dumbly in affirmation.

“That is what happens when idiots go against Optimus Prime.”

Quickwar walked ahead, Grease running to catch up. “Alright alright, don’t fight Optimus Prime, noted. Primus, don’t have to be an aft about it.”

Quickwar smirked, giving Grease a friendly pat on the back that knocked him to the ground. Quickwar laughed, then picked him up and wiped the mud specks off his face, only smearing Grease in mud. Grease squirmed out of the grip, coughing the mud from his intake. Grease glared as Quickwar laughed at his misery. 

Quickwar threw Grease over his shoulder, happily trotting along with his new buddy to keep alive. Grease just crossed his arms, accepting his fate as this huge warframes play thing. At least it’ll make the war interesting.

Chapter Text

Grease was going to make a good contribution to the Cause! It was his mission and his duty to do so for the good of all! Shockwave was looking for mechs to contribute to his experiments and he fit the bill for the requirements.

He was excited, Shockwave was known for being brutal but the results would be amazing. He could move up in the ranks after so long. Grease was eager to help but had yet to sign up for it as it hadn’t become official. 

He was eating his evening ration when Quickwar sat next to him with his own cube. Quickwar was quiet, content to listen to Grease ramble on as usual.

“...and Shockwave’s sign up thing is happening soon. I’m excited that I can sign up for it so-”

Quickwar’s quick turn to face him in complete shock was enough to stop Grease in his tracks. 

“What?”

“Frag if you think I'm letting you sign up for that!” Quickwar grabbed Grease’s face, squishing his cheeks together and pulling him up, “Shockwave is a death sentence! There’s nothing honorable or helpful to the cause by doing that. He’s a psychopath and a scientist who sees mechs as tools for his experiments and disposable.” Quickwar leaned down, leaning heavily in Grease’s personal space. “I don’t care if I have to sit on you until the sign up time has passed, but you aren’t going.”

“Okay okay! Primus, calm down.”

Quickwar just stared at Grease like he’d grown another helm and both said the dumbest thing to ever be said in Cybertronian existence.

“Stop with the looks!”

Quickwar pulled back, returning to his ration, “Are you still going to sign up?”

Grease grumbled out a no which Quickwar seemed pleased about. Grease finished his ration and left for his room, Quickwar following. From then on, Quickwar didn’t leave him alone until the sign up sheet closed, with his designation not on the list. In all fairness, Grease did try to get away and sign up, but there was no luck.

The first time, he snuck out of his room and was quickly pulled into Quickwar’s berth, forced to recharge there for his trouble. His attempts at squirming away were met with arms and legs curling around him and weighing him down.

The second time, Grease simply used their differing schedule to his advantage. It was going to work too! Until one of Quickwar's buddies yanked him away. Another huge warframe lifted him up and carried him away. Grease didn’t even have the energy to squirm.

The final time, Grease just tried to run for it. This was the biggest mistake given that Quickwar may not be fast, but he could shoot him down. Grease lost a leg for that and, somehow, Quickwar convinced the medic to keep the leg off until the date passed. 

Quickwar was way too smug after the date passed. Grease could respect it if he wasn’t the one suffering for it. The medic was content to let them argue as he reconnected the leg. After that, they were swiftly kicked out, quite literally.

Grease wanted to sulk but he could admit that it was nice for someone to care so much about his wellbeing. It was just annoying how much of an aft Quickwar was being about it, all smug that he won.  

“I would’ve listened had you not been an aft about it.”

Quickwar snorted, “Keep telling yourself that.”

Chapter Text

Grease and Quickwar were back in the trenches, though Optimus Prime was nowhere to be seen. However there was a large group fighting Fortress Maximus. Quickwar could see the wheels spinning in Grease’s helm to fight.

Quickwar put a stop to that quick, smacking Grease upside the back of the helm. Grease glared at him in displeasure.

“Quit hitting me!” Grease shouted, “It makes me feel stupid!”

Quickwar rolled his optics, “A smack to the back of the helm is a wake up call, so wake up!”

“Incoming!”

The two mechs ran across the trench as cannon fire rained down where they had just been. They were now farther from Fortress Maximus, to Quickwar’s pleasure. Though, Grease was still looking toward that fight. 

Hmmmmm, how to fix that? Ah, there.

Quickwar grabbed Grease’s helm and forced it to look in the direction of new incoming Autobots. 

“See them? You can fight them if you wanna fight so badly!”

Grease seemed satisfied with that, but didn’t move to fight them. He looked around, searching for something. It was then that Grease bolted towards a small hill. Quickwar wasn’t able to follow, busy returning fire and covering Grease where he could. 

It wasn’t long before Grease was out of sight. Quickwar looked where he could but was busy with his own fights. Autobots had made their way to him, he had switched to his alt mode and fired at those who approached. 

He was winning too, until some big mech came up behind him. Then it was a brawl, one that Quickwar was losing. Quickwar was a skilled fighter, taught by time and experience but this mech was young and faster. Quickwar hoped to hit a spot lucky soon or he’d be scrap. 

Well, he would’ve been if a hole hadn’t formed in the mech’s helm. A sniper had taken him out. Quickwar looked around, seeing a glint of metal in the brush on top of the hill. He didn’t have time to process the information before he was thrown back into the fray. 

The next time he saw Grease, the smaller mech was wearing a satisfied smile and holding a heavy duty rifle. Where Grease had gotten the thing, Quickwar couldn’t say. 

“What’s got you in a good mood?”

Grease’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, “Twenty three!”

“Excuse me?”

“Twenty three autobots taken out! Nice and clean.”

Quickwar was stunned. He’d never seen Grease in an actual good mood before. It was concerning, the smile plastered on his face was very innocent despite the topic of conversation. Quickwar grabbed his helm, turning it every which way, checking for damage.

“I’m fine! Stop that!”

Quickwar let go, though the look of confusion was still on his face. Grease took pity and realized he should probably explain himself.

“I’m a sniper, a pretty good one if I do say so myself.”

“Huh.” Quickwar was shocked and mildly impressed, “Good job kid, I’m impressed.”

Quickwar patted Grease’s shoulder. Grease gaped, it was his turn to be shocked by his friend. Grease didn’t know what to say.

“Close your intake before something flies in.”

Grease closed his intake, glaring, “frag you.”

Quickwar laughed and patted Grease’s helm as they began to head back to base.

Chapter Text

Grease was tired, barely able to stand on his own pedes. He swayed, a gust of wind would send him sprawling. 

The battle was fierce. Fire had rained down on them for decacycles with no reprieve. Friends were offlining left and right, exploded into pieces, bleeding out and screaming, offlining themselves to end the horror. Grease could barely handle it. Every time someone fell, his gaze snapped towards them. Somehow, Quickwar would know when his gaze faltered, directing Grease’s gaze back to the fight, not letting him even take a break for a moment.

Grease knew that was a kindness.

The moment the comm came in that the battle was over and the autobot base was taken, there was no cheering, no joyous cries, only silence. A heavy silence as the survivors looked for the frames of their friends, collecting personal effects and saying final prayers. Through it all, Quickwar and Grease were together, walking in silence as they both knelt and prayed for every mech they knew even remotely.

It took a long time, but eventually they had prayed all they could, done all they could for the fallen. As Grease stood for the last time, he could feel the energon on him flaking off and gumming up his joints. Normally, he’d grimace in disgust but now all he could do was walk. 

Quickwar lumbered next to him, keeping pace with the smaller mech. There was a heavy servo resting on his upper back, urging him onwards. As they got closer to base, Grease could feel his energy waning. He stumbled but caught himself on the large arm in front.

“Thanks…”

Quickwar just hummed in acknowledgement. 

After Grease stumbled for the third time, Quickwar scooped up the smaller mech in his arms and carried him the rest of the way to base. Grease didn’t complain, choosing to let the silence linger. 

The cadence of the tank’s walk lulled Grease into recharge before either of them knew it. By the time they had arrived back at their hab suite, Grease was deep in recharge. Quickwar put him on his berth before leaving to get a wet towel and wipe them down. After passing some sort of cleanliness, Quickwar moved to his own berth and laid there, waiting for recharge.

He slept light, creaks and footsteps dragging him out of recharge. The only saving grace was that he was quick to fall back into it. It was in this haze of recharge that he felt a warmth from his side. He recognized the size and shape, curling protectively around it, as though he could protect him from the cruel world they all had made.

Quickwar wasn’t one to complain. An attractive trait to the higher ups, leading to promotions as he went. It also led to harder assignments. Quickwar was a tank, he could handle any beating or fight thrown at him, it wasn’t his physical strength these new assignments tested, it was his spirit.

He thought he could handle it, he was handling it, until…

He sounded so much like him.

Especially when he screamed.

Quickwar knew it was only a matter of time before Grease sunk into his spark. He didn’t know when it had happened, but over missions and battles and tender moments, he’d felt some sire-like affection bloom. 

Grease wasn’t special in any way. He didn’t remind Quickwar of anyone from his past, didn’t bring back some spark in the tank, and didn’t elicit a single emotional or nostalgic response that drew Quickwar in. It was simple interest. Why would a tiny drone rush in to fight Optimus Prime? In a time where young mechs are dying quickly, it was confusing as to why Grease just threw his life around like that. Turns out Grease was just a little stupid and enthusiastic at helping the cause.

Plus he was funny, so Quickwar stuck around. He’s glad he did.

Night patrol was beginning, they took their spot in the emptiness that surrounded them. The area was barren and cold, dry like a desert but mountainous. Not a tree in sight to distract from the stars. They sat on the ground, watching the small fire burn and keep them warm. Normally it wasn’t allowed but due to the nature of their patrol and the area, it was allowed for nightshifts.

Grease stared at the fire, unblinking and unmoving. The slender mech hadn’t spoken for a long time since the massacre a decacycle ago. Quickwar could understand as he looked up at the sky.

A soft whisper broke the silence, “Why do you help me? Why stay with me and watch over me? It only makes more work for yourself.”

Quickwar sighed. He knew why, but he didn’t know how to say it to Grease. The mech was young and, despite being at war, innocent in a way. Not to the horrors of life and pain of death, but to manipulation and lies, Grease took things as they were and reacted accordingly.

“I was forged as a warframe in Kaon, nothing special to me. I did my job, going with the motions of life. Then I saw this tank, Mercy was his designation. He was so bright and sweet despite everything. He was kind and endlessly generous, he taught me how to truly appreciate the people around me, the views around me.”

“Come on Quickwar! This view is amazing.”

The colors in the sky blended in a swirl of color.

“He was with me through it all. Working the gladiator rings, meeting Megatron, joining the Decepticons, and life was good. Even though it was tough and most times we were covered in energon and fighting for our lives, we had each other and our friends. Then…”


Grease looked up at the tank, “Then?”

Quickwar looked at the fire, “Then he died.”

Grease flinched, but stayed quiet.

“He died screaming, ripped apart under the large pede of a combiner, gasping in pain as his spark burned out. I still remember his screams but they don’t haunt my recharge anymore. After that, I became lonely. Everything felt dull, views had lost their color and I just went with the motions. Soon I found myself doing the dirty jobs, things mechs couldn’t because they didn’t have the bearings not to purge.”

Quickwar’s face was impassive, giving nothing away as he spoke.

“I ended up being in charge of rounding up mechs to be ‘traded back’.” The placement of air quotes didn’t ease Grease’s sense of foreboding. “By the time they figured out they were going to be Shockwave’s next experiment, it was too late for them. Sometimes, it wasn’t until they saw the lab that they realized what was happening, that they weren’t going home, that they weren’t going to die just yet either.”

Grease straightened, “That’s why you were so afraid of Shockwave.”

“Yeah, I know what he does. It ain’t pretty.” 

“Then, what changed?”

Quickwar paused. He knew what changed, he just didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a coward, like a weak tank that couldn’t do his job.

A tiny servo warmed his pauldron. Quickwar looked back to the small mech, an encouraging look on his face. Quickwar put his servo over Grease’s and nodded, then went back to looking at the fire.

“There was a small red mech, he wasn’t anything special but his voice sounded like his and how he spoke too. If I turned off my optics, I could pretend for a moment that he was next to me. He talked so kindly even though I was a ‘con. He was so happy to go home, all he had to do was a ‘final checkup’ and then he was free to leave but…”


Grease waited patiently for Quickwar to gather himself, choke back the coolant in his optics.

The little red mech was smiling so brightly at him. Quickwar knew it would haunt him, he could tell already. 

“Thank you! I can’t wait to get home.”

Quickwar said nothing. He didn’t know why but there was a pit in his throat and coolant in his eyes. He knew why, but how could he admit it? He couldn’t, so he wouldn’t. 

Quickwar opens the door to Shockwave’s lab and doesn’t have the heart to watch the small mech’s smile fade. Instead, the lumbering steps of Shockwave filled the silence. 

“One more test before you are allowed to go home.”

The little mech was skeptical, but Quickwar ignored the reaction and helped him onto the medical slab. After he took his leave.

A terrified scream echoed down the hall. Just like him, so similar, so painful. 

Quickwar made no sound as coolant spilled down his face. 

“...After that, I asked for a transfer. I wanted out and my superior knew me well enough before the war to get it. I was back at square one, I heard their screams everywhere I went, I could hardly stand it.”

Quickwar sat up, turning towards Grease. Coolant ran down his face but Grease made no mention of it.

“Until you came along. You, for lack of a better term, forced me to change. You were so naive and I just wanted to protect that. It was so refreshing. I didn’t plan on sticking around after that first encounter but, the way you looked at the planet above with such wonder. It reminded me of who I was and who I wanted to be. You’ve grown on me, Grease, and I couldn’t be happier for it. You’re…if I had a creation like you, I’d be the happiest mech alive no matter what happens with this war.”

Grease didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge the coolant down his own face. Grease looked uncertain, searching the tank’s face for anything other than the truth. After a moment Grease nodded to himself. 

Quickwar cocked his head to the side, opening his intake to ask a question but cut off by the small mech wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. The sobs were no longer quiet, freely weeping against his chassis. It was barely a moment before Quickwar returned the embrace and leaking coolant of his own.

“I was so afraid. Terrified that I’d die and it be for nothing. No one would care or remember me and- and then I thought about you going offline and it scared me more! I’m dumb and don’t know scrap!”

Quickwar pressed the drone closer, “that ain’t true. You’re smart, you just gotta think with yourself in mind before the Cause. There’s more to life than it.”

Grease nodded against the tank’s throat. “Mkay.”

As their crying died down and the fire’s crackling overtook the heavy silence, they broke apart from their hug. Though they stayed close, an arm thrown over the drone’s small frame, keeping him warm. Warm enough to recharge without nightmares.

“Rest Grease, I got ya.”

Grease curled up against his side, resting his helm against plating. 

“You’d be a great creator. I’d be lucky to have that from you.”

Before Quickwar could shake himself from his shock, Grease was in recharge. 

Quickwar laughed quietly to himself, “Kid, it’s me who’s lucky.”

Chapter Text

Grease was having a good cycle. He’d just won engex in a shooting competition, he finished his reports, and even got a full recharge! It was going so well that he forgot that he’s not lucky enough for that. Quickwar was out on assignment so he couldn’t bug him. So when the bucket of what he thought was some slime fell on his head, he was more sad than annoyed. 

He was getting his evening ration, ready to end the cycle on a great note. The quick scrape of metal on metal combined with the sound of pouring liquid and the cold sensation on his back had him rethinking his choices.

it ‘s fine, he’ll just get his ration, go back to their hab, and call it a night. That was the plan. Until…

THOOF

Some sort of flaky, sparkly scrap covered his face and upper chassis. The powdery substance got in his joints and stuck to the slime covering him. A quick drag across the stuff on his face coated his servo and glittered. It was an apt name because it was glitter.

Now Grease was mad.

The sounds of snickering from across the room had him glaring. Two little cassettes were covering their intakes and giggling at his misfortune. Grease knew it wasn’t personal but frag it was about to be.

Grease may be half blind and coated in gross-ness, but he was still an amazing shot. He wasn’t stupid enough to shoot a cassette but shooting in their general direction was fair game. 

The shot hit the wall just above their heads and they scattered. He yelled some choice words that would probably get him in some trouble, but settled once they were gone.

Grease debated, he could shower and come back or just have his ration now and stay in their hab suite all night…. ration then hab suite it is.

When Quickwar arrived at their hab, it was quite a surprise to see Grease scrubbing his seams with the solvent off. Normally, Grease was able to scrub all he needed with the solvent on to keep him warm and not exceed his allotted solvent ration. Grease was very mindful of his look, keeping clean without sacrificing practicality and the like.

“You need help?”

Grease just kept scrubbing, mumbling curses and threats as goop dripped onto the floor. Quickwar said nothing as he grabbed a brush and went to help scrub. Grease nodded in thanks but said nothing to him. Quickwar could glean that Grease had been the victim of a prank and was none too happy about it. 

“What happened here?”

Grease growled, “Rumble and Frenzy happened.”

Quickwar laughed. Those two were little shits but harmless in the end. Though it seemed like Grease wasn’t one to let this go so easy. 

“Well, if you want revenge, make it quick. They don’t stay on base long.”

Grease nodded and continued scrubbing.

Grease was an optic for an optic type mech, he was going to get back at those little scraplets that made him all gross and uncomfortable by doing the same. Quickwar was proud of his own little scraplet for being so devious which is why he let it happen. Besides, Quickwar may not have interacted with Soundwave in a long time, but he was sure the mech remembered him.

Once finally clean, Grease literally fell into the berth and went right in to recharge. Quickwar sighed and positioned Grease in a comfortable position then threw his blanket over him. The tank was quick to fall asleep, only partially worried about the drone’s revenge plans.

Grease woke up bright and early, refreshed and ready for the day of plotting revenge. There was a sweet smile on his face, his freckles making it seem innocent. The fact that he was also messing with a larger projectile only raised Quickwar’s concern.

Quickwar slid into the seat across from Grease, pulling the heavy warframe Rubble with him. Rubble had helped Quickwar keep Grease out of trouble with the whole Shockwave thing and Quickwar was hoping he’d help him again keep the kid in check. Rubble wasn’t entirely interested but had nothing better to do.

“What are ya doing kid?”

Grease just smiled at them, continuing to take apart a grenade round. He took great care to save any powder and the projectile from the bullet casing while leaving enough gunpowder in the case to get it to fire.

Rubble looked at Quickwar with the same concerned expression on his face, confusion and concern.

“Grease, right? We met before-”

“When you sat on me, yes I remember.”

That same smile was on Grease’s face. A tightly controlled rage was boiling in his EM field. It made the two warframes want to back away.

“If you must know,” Grease returned to focusing on modifying the casing, pouring some glitter flakes in the bottom. “I’m filling this with slime and glitter in layers, allowing me to take one shot at the terrors that will coat them and then I can run.”

Grease smiled brighter as he began swapping layers His tiny servos were able to compress and pack a lot of material inside. Once the casing was full, he laid something similar to a hackisack on top. With a small bit of pressure along the edge of the casing lip, he bent it inwards enough to secure the hackisack in place. He presented the modified grenade round to the two. There was an obvious pride in how he did so, making sure it was clean and neat. 

Grease then began on a second grenade round, beginning the process again. Grease’s movements were smooth, almost effortless, and graceful. Rubble and Quickwar were entranced. It was broken when Grease began to cackle as he loaded the first modified round into his grenade launcher, which neither warframe had seen until that moment.

Grease got up and bid the two a good cycle and left with a pep in his step, grenade launcher on his shoulder and a smile on his face. Quickwar watched him leave, concern changing to bewilderment.

“He’s just as much of a scraplet as Rumble and Frenzy.” Rubble patted his shoulder, “Good luck with that.”

Quickwar just sighed, helm in servo, preparing for the aftermath.

Grease searched each hallway as he walked through the base, searching for those two blobs about to become two splats. All he had to do was follow the sound of annoyed cursing and mechs covered in weird slimes and colors. 

Grease heard laughing down the hall coming towards him. He stopped and took aim right where the hallway reached a connection. He hid on a corner, ready to strike. The steps got closer, the laughing got louder. A small red and black frame came into view then the small purple one. They ran right past him, their backs to him with speed.

“Hey! Scraplets!”

The two skidded to a stop and turned to Grease, an offended look on their face. There was no chance to react as Grease fired his first shot aimed at Frenzy’s chest. The cassette went down with a cry. Grease quickly reloaded with speed and grace that came from experience and aimed for Rumble, who unfortunately moved and was hit in the face.

Both cassettes were stunned on the ground, frames covered in slime and glitter that dropped onto the floor.

Grease laughed, servo on his knee to steady himself. The two cassettes sat up, anger clear in their field and Frenzy’s face. Grease only laughed harder as the slime prevented any actual expression being shown on Rumble’s face. 

There were two angry cries as Grease was tackled to the ground. Small servos pushed on his helm and seams, pushing goop wherever they could get it. Grease had calmed enough to shove them off, or attempt to anyway. Each time he got one off, the other would make their way back on.

It was an effective plan, if only it wasn’t so wildly annoying. 

There eventually grew a crowd surrounding them with all the commotion they were causing. All sorts of mechs were cheering them on, keeping the fighting energy going. If only the three weren’t beginning to get tired, panting with exhaustion and movements slowing. In all fairness to the drone, he had attempted to escape once, but a cassette had yanked his helm back and Grease couldn’t get through the mass of legs from their spectators. 

With a kick to the nose, Grease reared back, knees sliding on the accumulated slime on the ground and falling all the way back onto Frenzy, crushing the cassette. Grease groaned, holding his face as he tried to get up, slipping on the ground beneath him. Frenzy let go, laying on the ground in defeat after being crushed. Grease got onto his servos and knees, trying to get his bearings when Rumble yanked an arm out, sending Grease’s face back into the ground. With a cry, Grease tried to swat the cassette but only ended up getting his helm yanked back again by Frenzy. 

“Query: what is going on?”

The crowd silenced, the cassettes paused their attack, Grease just groaned and fell to the ground, laying there in defeat. The sea of mechs parted, making a way for Soundwave to get to the front. The mech paused at the sight, saying nothing as he thought.

“Soundwave: commands all mechs back to their duties. Exception: for cassettes and other.”

Within a moment, the mechs were gone. Grease barely cared, just happy to stop being slapped and kicked and falling on his face. In his mind, he had gotten his revenge and would take the consequences. Now he just wanted to take a shower. 

He was taken to a meeting room, following Soundwave in tense silence. Though it wasn’t tense for Grease as he could not care less. When they arrived, he was forced into a chair next to Rumble and Frenzy, who were fiddling with their servos. Grease felt a little bit of pity, but not near enough to regret a single thing.

That was until Quickwar came into the room.

He looked concerned for a moment then it was replaced with stern determination. The two mechs greeted each other, talking in silence with looks or comms that they couldn’t see. In unison, Soundwave and Quickwar turned to face the smaller mechs expectantly.

“Rumble, Frenzy: explain.”

The two cassettes launched into their story. Grease was only half paying attention but picked up that they were ‘just minding their own business’ and ‘settling something with another mech’ when they were attacked without reason or provocation by Grease. Grease would be nervous but Soundwave didn’t seem to be buying their story. After they were done, he turned to Grease expectantly.

“I was getting energon, they covered me in glitter and slime, I took revenge.”

Soundwave looked at Grease, then the cassettes, then Grease, then Quickwar who just shrugged, then the cassettes, and then he sighed. 

“Rumble, Frenzy: deserved retaliation, punishment served by that method. Should have expected. Grease: no punishment but do not repeat action again.”

The two cassettes shouted with displeasure, loudly proclaiming that it wasn’t fair that Grease got a free shot at them, but Soundwave didn’t say anything as he left the meeting room, Quickwar following behind him. 

The room went quiet as he was left alone with the two cassettes angrily glaring at him. Grease really just wanted to shower. The slime and glitter gunked his gears up more when it was forcefully shoved in by annoying little servos. He was followed by the two cassettes quietly, though their EM field changed from aggression to something more calm and mischievous.

“Grease right?” Frenzy asked.

“That was a neat modification, doing the grenade like that.” Rumble added.

“It would be a shame if that artistic flare was lost in battle.”

Grease stopped and turned to look at the two, optic ridge raised in curiosity.

Frenzy and Rumble looked at Grease seriously, “Do you want to form an alliance with us?”

“Absolutely I do.”

Grease would probably regret this when they were being chased by angry bright pink warframes. For now, Grease would enjoy the moment…after he got a shower.

Chapter Text

Quickwar sat on the cliff edge, pedes hanging off the edge and leaning back on his servos. It was quiet as Beachcomber explained things about constellations and some of the birds flying about. It was peaceful, more so than Quickwar has experienced in a long time.

There were quiet steps coming up behind them, light and delicate as they moved through unfamiliar terrain. Quickwar sighed as he heard the scraping of metal and whispered cursing. Well, there went the peace and quiet.

Grease plopped down next to the tank, saying nothing about the ruckus he caused. Beachcomber just smiled politely, continuing on with his rambling about the stars. 

It was silent for a while, then to everyone’s surprise, Grease asked a question. An on topic question. Suddenly, the sky turned a warm orange as the sun rose. Grease hadn’t stopped talking for hours with Beachcomber, anything and everything about the stars then the birds that sang as they woke and flew above them.

Quickwar couldn't believe it but at the same time it was almost expected. Grease wasn’t one to tune mechs out unless he had previously hated them. Which was surprisingly a large amount for a mech as unknown as Grease.

Now that Quickwar thought about it, Grease was doing much better with the Autobots. He could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Grease stood at the shooting range, taking care to properly sight his new rifle. It was a dream of a thing, able to snap apart into two heavy duty pistols or combine into a light weight sniper rifle. Of course he had to modify it pretty heavily to get it up to snuff for both forms rather than be mediocre on each level.

He changed charge pack types to get more rounds without the added weight, improved the sights in rifle mode, added a detachable scope, changed the caliber to allow for longer distance shots, strengthened the butt for comfort and to prevent snapping, etc etc. In short, it was his piece de resistance, his magnum opus, his pride and joy. 

So changed and perfected that the mech who had it before wouldn’t even recognize it if he saw it again. Finders keepers bitch. Shouldn’t have played dead so early and maybe you wouldn’t have lost your gun. 

It was late into the night cycle, the only mechs around being the ones on shift, when Grease went to test his pride and joy without others leering. He set up in the back of the range, spreading out his stuff along the bench. His old rifle laid there too, intent on getting this new rifle to feel the same. 

Despite needing to carry a pistol and a rifle with his old gear, he would rather die than give it up. The sniper in him refused to let go of a trusted weapon so easily. 

He sent the target fifty yards down range. Not far, but enough to get an idea of how this thing would shoot, drifting left or right and able to compensate. He stepped up onto the raised platforms for smaller mechs and took aim. 

It wasn’t long before Grease had the thing in pieces as he changed pieces with a collection he’d built up. It was frustrating, the stupid fragging thing was great in rifle form but total scrap when in pistol form. The recoil was terrible on his servos and the semi-auto function was glitchy at best. 

He quickly found himself making rounds back and forth from the ground where he spread out his things and the range where he would test his adjustments. 

Eventually, his frustration grew to the point where he was barely taking aim, just shooting to shoot something and take out his anger. With a quick switch, he disengaged the charge pack and let it fall to the floor as he shoved a new one in, cocked the gun, and disengaged the front pistol. The switch took less than a nanoklik, then he was back to obliterating his target. 

He paused, venting hard as he stared at the empty space where the target had once been. He threw the pistol in his servo against the wall. He watched as it clacked to the ground. Grease was just so…he covered his intake with his servos and screamed in frustration.

There was a sharp scrapping of metal on metal when he snapped his gaze to the door. 

Frag, why me?

Standing there, in all his deadly glory, was Deadlock. 

The mech seemed unphased by Grease, merely raising an optic ridge in curiosity. Grease quickly gathered himself and looked away. 

“Apologies sir. I didn’t realize it was you.” Grease turned back to his things, “I leave you be right away, sir.”

Grease began to shove his things in his crate, hastily picking up his dropped charge packs. He paused when he turned around. Deadlock was standing over his collection of bits, picking up the pistol he had thrown against the wall and looking at it intently.

“S-sir?”

Deadlock turned to face him, “This causin’ ya issues?”

Grease nodded, wringing his servos with nerves. Deadlock dropped his things on the floor against the wall and walked towards him. Grease had to look up pretty fair to meet his gaze, the mech was deceptively large for an assassin.

“Want some help?”

There was a small smile on Deadlock’s face, it was…inviting. Grease had never seen something so soft come from anyone above a grunt.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Deadlock laughed, quiet but boisterous, “Kid, I offered. It’ll be fun.”

Grease nodded and began explaining his issues with the kickback first and foremost. Deadlock seemed to listen intently, asking questions and praising his progress so far. It took some time but together, they had gotten it working. Grease nearly cried tears of joy. Deadlock cheered as the semi-auto function kicked to life with reliable and steady patterns. 

Joors passed as they both practiced with their own weapons and chatted. Deadlock had even let Grease try one of his massive sniper rifles. Grease fawned over the pre-war weapon. That was a true work of art. The weapon was amazing but frag the kickback was terrible on his small frame. Deadlock was kind enough to support his shoulder to minimize the damage.

Once mechs started to come into the range, they took it as their time to leave. Deadlock hadn’t stopped chatting with him once they left the quiet of the range, as though he didn’t care about being seen with someone of a much lower rank.

“Grease, I’m tellin’ ya. If ya ever pass through that system, don’t drink the engex. It ain’t worth it.”

Grease laughed at the telling of Deadlock’s own misfortune. Deadlock smiled and pulled his cheek with faux anger.

“Is that funny to ya? Little scraplet.”

Grease’s HUD pinged with a warning for his shift to begin soon. He made his way back to his room, chatting with Deadlock all the way. Deadlock let him go, resting a servo on his shoulder and a kind smile.

“You’re a good mech. Take care of yerself.”

Grease nodded and smiled, “I will!”

Something flashed across Deadlock’s face, a brief wash of grief and sadness as the assassin dropped his servo. He began to walk away when Grease had an idea. 

“Deadlock sir!”

Deadlock paused, turning back to the drone. Grease stopped in front of him and held out his servo, “For you.”

Deadlock gently took the trinket. It was a small charm of a sword connected to a loop of string. He looked confused. Grease took the charm and motioned for one of Deadlock’s rifles. He put the trinket halfway through the trigger guard and pulled the charm through the loop on the other side. It tightened down and cinched to the weapon.

“A charm?”

Grease nodded, “you’re worried about me offlining right? So you gotta give this back to me at the end of the war. That way we both have to live through it.”

Deadlock smiled and pulled Grease in for a hug, “yer special, yknow that?”

Grease didn’t say anything in response, just let Deadlock hug as long as the mech needed.

Chapter Text

The smell was the first thing he recognized. He would never forget it. The smell of burning fuel and melting metal. It haunted him. The sound was the next thing. The scraping of stuck joints, of breaking optic glass and bubbling fluids boiling off the dead frame. 

Grease didn’t want to look. He couldn’t bear it, the sight of burning frames. Watch the metal turn black, paint peeling, and empty optics stare at him, able to see the flames melting the chunk of processor left in his helm. He could feel the warmth, uncomfortable and all too close. 

Grease should have listened. He hadn’t. Now he was trapped with the burning corpses of his friends from that thing. Grease hadn’t seen it, he’d been too scared to move, but he’d heard the shrieking cries. It sounded like a mech being ripped in half and screaming, full of static and screeches.

He had to move, get out and fly far far away from here. If he could get the door open, he could get out. That's it, just open the door. He could do it. He could! Then he could get back to base and be fine, just fine.

Grease opened his optics, keeping his gaze away from the ground. Instead, he focused on the door. As he approached, he kept his steps quiet even though he wouldn’t be heard over the burning metal. 

Each key press makes his spark shake, barely able to contain his anxiety. The pad lit green and the door blessedly opened quietly. Grease stepped out into the hall with a blaster at the ready. From here, he couldn’t get to the main entrance, that was much too far, but he could find the rec room with a collapsed roof to the outside. After that, its thrusters on max.

He flinched at every sound, every creak of metal and pop of fire. As he approached the rec room, the thumping of steps behind him grew louder. His fans clicked on which only made Grease panic more. Not now! He was so close!

Grease could see the rec room door. The steps grew louder. Louder! Grease ran, servos latching onto the pad and smashing it to open the door. Grease’s spark sank as it screeched open a crack.

There was a pause, total silence. 

Then…

Running. Running towards him. That screeching scream making its way to him.

Grease shoved his rifle in the crack and used it to wedge the door open with all his strength. The monster was around the corner, he wouldn’t make it! Grease pressed a pede to the door frame and pushed his entire body against the rifle. The door opened halfway and his rifle snapped in half.

Grease couldn’t care less. He slipped through the door and ran towards the collapsed roof. He jumped and transformed, launching into the sky. He felt something brush his thruster but didn’t stop, he didn’t dare to. 

As he levelled out, relief washed over him. He was free, he was! 

Then there was a wheezing through the air, a sharp high pitch from his engine and he was falling, falling, falling. The ground approaching rapidly.

The hit to the ground threw him off, systems were blaring and everything hurt. His vision was staticy, glitches making it hard to see the warnings on his HUD. 

He could see a servo sticking up and digits crushed, he could see the ground and his energon covering it, he could see…it. His legs were destroyed so there was no way to run. 

It was coming closer, slowly. Dragging bits of itself along as it went. It was just a blip, but it was moving closer.

He couldn’t hear and he could barely see. Desperate and afraid, he turned in his front and used his broken servo to drag his broken frame along, one servo grasping at the ground while his stump of a servo pushed him up and forward. His servo flailed as his wrist held his weight. 

Through the static, he sent message after message to anyone he could reach. Pings were constant and he commed Quickwar so much his HUD popped up errors.

Grease began to cry, begging to be heard. He couldn’t even offline himself with his weapons to save himself the agony.

His vision began to fade and he slumped. Helm resting against the ground, Grease squeezed his optics shut, forcing himself to think this just a bad recharge flux. 

It’s not real. Everything is fine. You’ll wake up all warm with Quickwar at your side to drag me out of the berth. This is just a-

Something touched his helm.

He could feel the thing’s vents on his back. It’s grip on his frame.

It flipped him over, slamming him into the ground hard. Grease’s optics shot open with the pain. He saw the thing in the dim light of the planet’s moon.

It was Cybertronian. It was a con. It was falling apart and greyed and offline. Its jaw was unhinged and its vocalizer exposed to the elements and sparking. Its scream nearly popped Grease’s audials. Grease thrashed as its face came closer, drool falling onto his cheek. 

In a last ditch effort, he slammed his helm forward into the thing’s face. It shrieked and fell back. Grease didn’t get to see what happened next as the world faded into static.

Chapter Text

She was beautiful. She was graceful. She could rip your head off.

Grease could admit he had a crush. Not outloud, but he could. Arcee had captivated him the moment he saw her on the battlefield. He hated to admit it but he definitely had a crush, but he wasn’t so delusional to think otherwise.

Now, Grease could appreciate the fine things in life. He would collect pretty rocks and images of the weird creatures he saw. So, he was able to appreciate the fact that he had not a single fan art, pin up, or image capture of Arcee. He wasn’t weird! He just thought she was amazing. 

Though there was one thing…his recharge was filled with images of her sometimes. Not every cycle but often enough in the beginning. It was images of him saving her or her saving him. Either way they ended up happy and smiling.

As time went on, the little crush faded. After all, he was a Decepticon and would hardly ever run into her. Little did he know he’d become an Autobot. He still knew he had no chance and didn’t delude himself into thinking so.

However, he could still at least meet her. She was a very well known warrior and working with the same mechs Grease and Quickwar were. Honestly he would have thought it’d have happened organically by now. Oh well, Grease wasn’t the type to dwell on things he couldn’t control. He could live with his little fantasy until it ran its course.

In all fairness, Grease had never imagined being in the same room as her, let alone talking to her! Ever since Quickwar’s…thing, Grease had been eager to take any mission the Autobot’s threw at him in some weird way to repay them for the medics services. Illogical but he didn’t care.

So when he was called up to act as overwatch for Arcee and some others, Grease wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he usually was for late night missions. Hell, he might even have a nice time!

It was unfortunate that when Grease arrived at the permission briefing, it was clear his presence was not desired by anyone. There were venomous glares from all around the room except commander Prowl. Prowl actually seemed almost delighted to have him! 

Grease hesitantly took the closest open seat which was unfortunately in the front, brushing off the way the mech next to him shifted over. If there was one thing Grease could thank the Decepticons for, it was getting used to hostile environments and being hated. Really, there was no beating them at that. These Autobots had a lot to learn about hating mechs. They’re just glaring at him, is that supposed to scare him?

He turned his attention back to Prowl. 

“...Arcee will head in here separately. Grease will provide overwatch specifically for her while Bluestreak will provide overwatch for the other team.”

Arcee stood sharply, her chair screeching against the metal floor. Grease looked back at her and wow, she seemed angry.

“I will not be putting my back to that filthy con.”

The delicate deadly digit that pointed at him felt like a slap to the face. Grease didn’t listen as she and Prowl argued. Something lit up in him, a fire that burned all fondness and admiration he had for her.

How dare she! The gall! Grease’s anger grew as he stood up and glared at her, face wrinkling in a snarl. Her attention snapped to him as he stood. Her anger matched his.

“What? Got something to say scum?”

Grease softened his features. He did what he always had, what he did with the cassette twins and all the others. His EM field became smooth, no longer flaring with uncontrolled emotions. It was a smooth anger that went down like find engex, soft flavor at the beginning then a burning kick to the throat at the end.

He looked up to her, face perfectly neutral, “I’m disappointed in you. At least I have the common decency to hate mechs for their dismal personalities, not their factions.”

With that he left the room, waiting just outside to go with them on the shuttle. Only, when they came out, Arcee told him to frag off and that he wasn’t on the mission anymore.

He hadn’t expected any disciplinary action. He hadn’t done anything wrong after all. If it was the cons, he’d probably get some praise depending on the mech he tore down. Either way, he wasn’t going to take that from anyone. 

As he searched for Quickwar for evening rations hours later, he was stopped by Bluestreak. They had interacted a few times and Grease did like the mech. He was a good shot and good company, even if he talked a lot.

“Hello Grease! It’s good to you! Ironhide wants to see you and I’m supposed to make sure you get there unscathed.” Bluestreak smiled and motioned for him for follow. Grease did so with a small smile and servos behind his back. If he stayed quiet, it was likely the mech would tell him all he needed to know. “Ironhide wants to check in with you. After today’s meeting, Prowl raised concerns about mechs getting along with you.”

“Oh? I didn’t know I was so popular with high command.”

Bluestreak laughed, “I get it. Prowl likes the advantage you give and Ironhide just wants you to be okay. I don’t know what happened to you and your friend, but if you need a friend I’m here!”

Grease wasn’t one for many friends. He couldn’t say it was because he never had more than two or three to find out or it just wasn’t his personality. But right now, all he had was Quickwar, so he wasn’t over the universe’s fated limit of four yet.

Grease smiled, a genuine one if small, “I would like that.”

Ironhide’s office was comfortable. Grease had gotten used to it over the period of his time here. Quickwar sat in a seat across from Ironhide, clearly waiting for him to get in the last seat. Bluestreak waved goodbye and closed the door behind them.

Grease sat, relaxing back into the chair, “What are you doing here?”

Quickwar shrugged, “Passing through.”

Grease just raised an optic ridge, “uh huh, suuure. Riiiiight.”

Quickwar looked and him oddly and Ironide just sighed, “Bluestreak showed you Emperor's new Groove?”

Grease shrugged in confirmation. “So, what did I do?”

Quickwar looked at Ironhide, “What did he do?”

Ironhide sighed, leaning back in his chair and dragging his servo down his face.

“You had a fight with Arcee and the mission was delayed because of that, losing valuable intel to take time to replace your slot.”

Quickwar looked at Grease with a stern expression, “Grease?”

“She called me a filthy con and scum. So I told her if she wants to hate me, she has to do it for my personality, not my faction. THen I left the room.”

“Grease,” Ironhide leaned forward onto his desk, “you left a command meeting, waited outside instead of actually leaving to diffuse the incident, and yelled at a superior officer.”

Grease scoffed, sitting up straight, “I did not yell. And I was waiting because I was still assigned to the mission. My personal beliefs and our fights have nothing to do with that.”

“We don’t give mechs who hate each other the same mission.”

“Well that's dumb,” Quickwar cut in, “You just shove it and deal. We hate each other in our free time only.”

Ironhide didn’t even comment on the absurdity of that.

“This isn’t a mark or a punishment. It's a warning not to get into fights like that. You aren’t going to be punished for speaking back as long as you do it civilly. Talk to me or any of high command.”

Both of the former Decepticons seemed skeptical about that but didn’t respond. Ironhide could tell this wasn’t the end of this topic but let it go, dismissing Grease with Quickwar following behind.

Quickwar walked with Grease to their shared hab suite. Quickwar groaned as he laid down, new welds pulling on his frame as his joints squeaked with effort. Grease silently pulled out his polishing and cleaning kit from under his berth before he sat down behind Quickwar.

Quickwar sighed in relief as Grease began to smear nanite gel on his welds and clean his seams. His helm tilted back as Grease worked.

“Kid, how you doing?”

Grease snorted, “Arcee is a lot more bitchy than I thought.”

Quickwar hummed, his engine rumbling, “no more fantasies of her racing through that little helm?”

“Nah, she’s pretty but not for me.”

Quickwar was happy about that. Arcee was a bit too rough for Grease. Plus, he was a bit young. He had plenty of time to grow and do the whole romance thing if he wanted. He heard the polish box click closed before he realized Grease had moved away to put the box back under the berth,

“Kid,” Grease turned to him, “Good job hating the aftholes.”

Grease smirked, an evil expression on his rather cute face. Primus, that kid had killed so many mechs, he should not be able to pull off the cute that well. 

“You hate mechs for what they can control. Not their frames, or their scars. You hate them for their fragging scrap heap personality and their fucking insipid opinions on high caliber rifles!”

Quickwar laughed, “Damn right. Whats that new word? Fucking?”

“It means the same as frag. Smokescreen showed it to me. Along with Emperor’s New Groove and this lady named Judge Judy. I gotta show you this Earth entertainment.”

Grease pulled out a datapad, “Wanna do it now?”

Quickwar sighed and got comfortable, “Lets start with that judgy lady.”

Grease flopped next to him, “Judge Judy. You’ll love her. She reminds me of me. She yells at idiots”

Quickwar let Grease lean on him, “Sounds like a fucking great time.”

Chapter Text

Grease couldn’t believe it. Well, he could. But this was just unfair!

It started twenty kliks ago when Ironhide came into his room slash closet. Quickwar was still under sedation and Ironhide had been assigned to watch over him. 

Ironhide wasn’t bad, Grease even liked him. He reminded him of Quickwar in that ‘i’m older and have seen all the stupidity possible’ kind of way. It was nice, comforting even. Ironhide was nice enough to get him energon so he could sit with Quickwar and bring him things to keep him entertained. Even sat with him if he could! 

After a few cycles of not leaving the med bay, Ironhide dragged him to the communal showers. Well, threw him over his shoulder. He had to admit that the warm solvent was nice and standing under it while doing nothing was even better.

That didn’t last too long as Ironhide grabbed him by the arm and began scrubbing off the dried mud. He groaned at the roughness of the brushes working between his plating. 

“Oh zip it. I ain’t hurting ya.”

Grease rolled his optics and mumbled, “could at least be nice about it, sir.”

Ironhide just ignored him as he kept scrubbing.

When the job was done, Ironhide threw a towel at him as he dried himself from the solvent. Grease quietly began to pat himself dry. When he went to put back on his weaponry, Ironhide put a hand in front of his chassis.

“What was your job with the ‘Cons?”

Grease raised an optic but answered, “Sniper, sir.”

Ironhide shook his helm at the formality but didn’t mention it. If he couldn’t get Grease to drop it by now, he wouldn’t be able to. Moving on from that address, he got down to business. Red Alert would pop a fuse if he found out a sniper was allowed to keep his rifle.

“I’ll be taking your rifle then.” As he picked up the weapon, Grease pushed forward and reached out to take it back. Ironhide held it up and away, getting a scornful look in return. Expected, snipers were possessive of their weapons. “I’ll keep it stored in my personal locker, it's got a lock and everythin. We just gotta keep it with the other weaponry for safety.”

Grease glared then stared down and the pistols Ironhide had reattached to his own hips. Then looked up at his face with an unamused expression.

Frag. “You can keep the pistols. Lemme inspect them and clear em, then I'll let you keep hold of them. But the rifle has got to go to my locker.”

Ironhide didn’t have the spark to tell Grease that it was mostly because someone may mess with it. Snipers were already so particular, even a minor change could be world breaking. At least, that's what Ironhide gathered. Especially, after Bluestreak cried when someone stripped the wax off his rifle accidentally, making the weight distribution slightly different. Some more aggressive Autobots might just make the rifle go missing entirely.

Grease allowed his rifle to be taken but not without seeing where it went. Ironhide could concede to that. 

Ironhide showed him his personal locker, how to unlock it, and that it was safely locked with his own personal effects. Grease seemed satisfied and calmly headed back to the medbay.

There was no need to mention that the pistols could form another rifle.

There was no notice of Grapple returning a weapon to the communal locker. Nor how he stayed quiet, overhearing every instruction and word on how to check out his rifle.

Chapter Text

Grease has lived long enough to know fear. He’s watched his friends die in his arms and through his scope and he’s taken enough lives with the same crosshairs. He’s known the grief of loss, the fear of losing another, the pain of watching them fade. All those deaths and lives he’s taken, he would live it all again in triplicate if it meant he wouldn’t get to be holding Quickwar in his arms like that right now.

He didn’t know how it happened. One moment, they were being told to press on and the next, it was retreat and everyone for themselves. 

He had no idea how quickly your life could fall apart. One moment was all it took. Quickwar had grabbed him and thrown him out of the way as a missile landed near them. Grease was thrown, landing with a harsh crash.

It took too long to gather himself. There was ringing in his audials and warnings blaring in his HUD. Energon leaked from his worms to the beat of his fuel pump.

Has he looked for Quickwar, a wave of dread slowed over him. He got up, crying out for his friend. He could hardly see, stumbling along in some pitiful attempt at searching.

He could hear the rumbling engines of auto bots and the high-pitched roar of more missiles overhead.

It could have taken moments, but it felt like eternity before he found him. And pins by a pile of rubble, quick war laid. He was a mangled mess. Grease could see his fuel pump, a sea of bright pink, and harsh, ragged venting that sounded like all the fan blades were bent inside. All the little drum could do with me at his side and take his circle in his and cry.

“No no no no no! Please Quickwar please don’t leave me. I can’t-I can’t- just! Don’t leave me.”

He pressed the larger servo to his forehead, feeling the ones on his frame. It was a little bit of tension in the hole, the only sign of life he had.

Grease shook his head and decided that he wouldn’t be losing his dad today. He let the servo go and started finding the biggest fuel leakages. He had basic knowledge, enough to know that plugging the holes would buy him time. He reached in, the holes in the tank’s side big enough to fit his whole servo in. He could feel the pumping energon against his servo. With a quiet apology, he grasped the bleeding lines tight.

Grease didn’t know how much time had passed nor how many times he had pinged anyone for a medic or help. At some point, when the sounds of all life had stopped, he did too. Quickwar was venting loud and heavy. The one joy was the uninterrupted view of the space above. 

Grease didn’t notice many things. Trapped in a haze of grief and denial. The large servo on his shoulder, the muffled voices speaking to him, the movement of Quickwar’s derma as he said what could have been his last words. Rough shaking from that large servo then the feeling of something wrapping around his chassis and tugging him away.

It was a crash back into reality. Like someone yanked him from the bottom of an ocean out of the water. He was disoriented and terrified. His servo was cold as it left the warm cavity of Quickwar’s chassis. He didn’t know who did it, only that he had to stop them. His fists hit the arms holding him, his small digits reached back to scrap at the mech's face, squirming as he tried to get back to Quickwar.

“They’re trying to help ‘im!”

Grease could make out the whites and reds of autobot medics swarming around the tank. Tears began to flow out of his optics as he gave up fighting. It was over. Quickwar was in the hands of the autobots so he was as good as dead. With a sob, he looked back at the mech holding him. He was broad and a garish red like the autobot logo on his chest.

“Please, don’t hurt him.”

The mech almost looked shocked at the request, “We ain’t gonna. We wanna save ‘im.”

Grease didn’t respond, a sharp cry taking all his attention. It renewed his determination as stupid and useless as it was. He jammed his elbow into the plating on his side, digging into any softness he could. The mech yelped and his grip loosened enough for him to squirm out and run.

He barely made it a few steps before he was tackled to the ground by something yellow and vicious. More servos pushed his down with a cruel and relentless force. A large servo pressed his neck down but he never stopped looking at Quickwar. 

Even as mud covered an optic, he tilted his helm to keep view. Even as his vents clogged, he switched to intake venting. 

Grease felt like he was falling and for the first time since he met Quickwar, there was no one to catch him.

Quickwar’s face was pale and his venting was ragged and noisy. Grease could see his servo move in his direction and his intake forming words Grease couldn’t understand. 

There was a yelp from Quickwar and then his view was cut off by large blue pedes.

Grease couldn’t look up. He didn’t need to as the large mech lowered to his knees. The servos holding him were waved off and Grease was scooped up. Large servos were delicate as they lifted his trembling from the mud and sat him on his knees. Grease looked up at the mech.

All hope died.

Sitting before him, gently trying to wipe mud off but only smearing it, was Optimus Prime. There were no more tears to cry as Grease accepted that this fight was well and truly over. 

“Are you hurt at all?”

Grease shook his head. He wasn’t self aware enough to say either way. The disbelieving hum from in front said he had answered wrong. He didn’t know how long he stared at the Prime’s knees or when he stopped shaking. At some point, there was a prick in his neck cables and darkness took him.

Waking up was a chore. He was groggy and weak but determined to get out of wherever he was. This mostly meant that he groaned, rolled over, and nearly fell out of the berth. He barely got his balance before he could fall. 

“Get back in that berth!”

Grease flinched as someone grabbed him and placed him on the berth again. No amount of struggling, more like pawing, got him out of the grip. 

“Would you, ugh, get OFF ME!”

Ratchet let him go, backing off as Grease got comfortable. He adjusted the blankets over him and remained sitting and staring at the medic.  

“What is happening?”

The medbay opened up to reveal that same red Autobot from earlier. He approached Grease and leaned against the berth. He looked at Grease with something between pity and curiousity.

Grease hated that.

“I’m Ironhide, I’ve been assigned to keep watch over ya until we make a decision about what to do with.”

Ah, so it was like that. Grease looked at his servos in his lap, picking at the mud in the seams. He nodded, more acknowledging that he heard Ironhide rather than agreeing to what he said. Taking advantage of Grease’s silence, Ironhide pushed the mech down onto the berth.

“Ya had some injuries. Recharge. I’ll come wake ya if your friend does.”

Grease turned over, back facing the mechs. 

“And then what happens to me?” 

His voice was so quiet that neither heard as they let to resume their duties.

Chapter Text

Grease sat on the floor outside the Autobot medbay. His rifle between his legs up vertically to rest his forehelm against it and close his optics. The sound of walking kept him awake and alert for Quickwar to wake up. 

That was until one pair stopped in front of him. 

Grease looked up. If it were any other time, he’d be shaking right now. He’d be pointing his rifle between those gentle blue optics and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Now though? He didn’t care. 

Optimus Prime looked down at him quietly. Despite the positioning, there didn’t seem to be any judgement in those optics. Grease out his helm back where it was and went back to shutting the world out. Just like how he didn’t before- 

There was shuffling beside him, soft scraping of metal and grunting of an old warframe. 

“Ratchet tells me you should be in recharge, even if it’s on the hallway floor.”

Grease didn’t move. The Prime’s voice was kinder than he thought it would be. Right about now Quickwar would be telling him to mind his manners. He would point out he had plenty but none of the Cons were worth the effort or would appreciate it. 

Grease didn’t move but he did answer, “I couldn’t recharge.”

Optimus seemed to understand, nodding along like he’d been in the same position. He probably had. 

Then silence fell. It wasn’t tense or suffocating, it was just…there. Optimus was there, like a presence, like a support, like Quickwar. Something about that made Grease all the more upset. 

Grease unclicked the two connecting pieces of his rifle and flipped them to his legs. Then he rested his elbows on his knees to hold his helm and cover his face.

“Yknow, Quickwar and I met because of you.”

Grease looked toward Optimus, pleased to see he was paying attention. Though the Prime didn’t say anything, content to let Grease speak. 

“It was a long while ago, but you were fighting this group of cons and I wanted to do my part. It was stupid, you would have swatted me like a bug, but I wasn’t as smart about my skills then. Quickwar saw me get knocked down by a missile and dragged me into a trench. He practically sat on me to keep me from going after you. At the time, it pissed me off. Now though…I’d do anything to go back to that moment.”

Grease’s optics began to water, tears flowing silently down his cheeks as the fond memories he had of the mech. Times Quickwar had comforted him and guided him, teaching him hard truths and realities he was too young to recognize. 

If Quickwar didn’t make it, he didn’t know what he would do. He’d stay with the Autobots, that was certain, but after that? He didn’t know. 

When had his world become so entrenched with Quickwar? It was some point between getting someone to sit on him and holding by the bonfire. It was in the little moments that Grease now realized how embedded the old tank had become.

He felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulders. Optimus looked down at him with such kindness and compassion that it almost hurt to look at. There was an understanding in those optics. Grease had felt seen in a way that was clear but not uncomfortable. 

“Our friends have a way of becoming a part of us. The effects they have on us are never truly seen until they lie just out of reach.”

Grease chuckled as he wiped the tears running down his face. 

“You really do talk like an old mech.”

Optimus let out a breathy sigh, light and with a tinge of laughter. 

“Quickwar will be alright. Well look after the both of you.” 

Grease tilted his head to the side in confusion, “to get us back? You’re going to let us go back?”

Optimus smiled, “of course. Whether you stay or go, it’s up to you.”

Grease nodded, going quiet with thought. Did they want to go back? Grease didn’t think it was a good idea for Quickwar too. He was going to need the Autobot’s medical attention for his recovery. Well, then it was no thought needed.

“I’d like Quickwar to stay.”

“And what about you?”

Grease hadn’t thought about that. Well, “me too.”

Chapter Text

It has been a week or so, since the two Decepticons joined their group. Optimus had yet to speak to Grease again since their time in the hallway. Though he had Ratchet give him constant updates to both of their health. 

From what he was told, both were improving. However, Quickwar had still not woken up. Ratchet had said it was just his body trying to recover. After taking several hits to the head in that fight, he was down for the count. Grease was doing very well. He was nearly fully healed and his paperwork was mostly squared away to properly join the autobots. Though mentally he didn’t seem to be doing quite as well.

Reports said that he spent a lot of time by Quickwar’s side. Thankfully Ironhide was able to get him outside for a time. Optimus was hoping to do it again tonight. It was New Year’s Eve and the humans had invited them to see some fireworks. Hopefully it will be enough of a distraction to get Grease to stop worrying for a few hours.

The walk to the medbay was quiet. Many autobots not on schedule had already left to set up and see friends. As he walked into the med bay, he saw Grease where he usually was, sitting in a chair next to Quickwar.

His arrival must not have been heard, as Grease made no acknowledgment of his presence. Optimus was going to pull out to the Mac when he heard soft whispering.

“So far they aren’t terrible. Nosy as everything ever, like Soundwave trying to get information on me. I think they mean well it’s hard to tell, everything is so confusing. Their attitude annoys me though.”

Optimus paused, no one had told him that Grease was talking to Quickwar like this. He felt it was a bad time to interrupt.

“I hope I made the right decision. Forcing you to stay I don’t even know if it is the right decision. But until someone throws us out, I ain’t gonna say anything.”

Optimus sighed, he had hoped everyone was more clear that their aid was not as fickle as it seemed. Though it’s entirely possible they were clear and Grease just doesn’t believe them.

He quickly knocked on the open door. Catching Grease‘s attention fully. He made no acknowledgment of anything he had heard. The last thing he wanted was to scare the mech off.

“On this planet, every new year they celebrate. There’s going to be a small party with fireworks and a late show. I was hoping you would join me if you would like?”

Grease looked the mech up and down, like he wasn’t believing what he was seeing. Slowly, he got up from his seat and approached Optimus. He gestured for him to leave the way.

Optimus took care to shorten his pace as the smaller mech rushed to keep up. Though he found that in the end, it was unnecessary. Every time he looked back to be sure he had not sped up too much, the little drone was by his side.

It was a small smile on his face that he looked up at the prime, “everyone I’ve worked with is your height. I know how to keep up.”

“So you do.” Optimus chuckled and kept moving.

The walk to the party was short. The humans had thrown the party with them in mind. There was no need to worry about accidentally revealing themselves. There were fairy lights hanging in spotlights shining with music blasting on the dance floor. It was quite a party, as Jazz and Blaster teamed up to get it set up.

Optimus felt Grease‘s anxiety coming off in waves. He quickly motioned for the mech to follow him out of the way over the bustling crowd. His subtle plan of introducing Grease to some people was clearly not in the cards tonight. Nevertheless, he got him out of the med Bay, which was a win.

On a small ledge, close enough to the party to be with them, but far enough that there was a disconnect. Optimus sat on the ground and patted the spot next to him, inviting Grease to join him. Grease did so silently and stared out at the landscape before him.

Grease was a hard mech to get a read on. He didn’t know if that was because of the circumstances or because that’s just who he was. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, it was very neutral. He assumed this was mostly due to his own uncertainty with the autobots. As occasionally that would be flashes of personality that spoke strongly of who Grease was.

Optimus was shocked out of his thoughts by the sound of the booming fireworks. The ‘ooo’s and ‘aaah’s of the partygoers could be heard in the background.

Grease leaned over towards him as the drone didn’t take his eyes off of the light show.

“Thank you for this.”

“It's no trouble. Finding company can be difficult when you don’t know anybody.”

Grease laughed to himself, “I wasn’t talking about that but sure”

The fireworks continued lighting up the sky with a myriad of colors. Grease was taken in by the amazing site.

“You’re a good mech Grease.”

Grease didn’t reply. Whether it was because he was lost in the fireworks, Optimus couldn’t tell. The solemn expression on his face said it wasn’t likely, but Optimus could hope.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long or how far he flew. He just knew that at some point a shuttle had trailed behind. The shuttle autobot, Jetfire if he recalled, hailed him on ranged comms. It was only protocol he answered.

“Grease right? Getting too far out, land where you can.”

Grease scoffed and pushed his engines harder. Jetfire kept up easily.

“Land now Grease. I won’t be asking twice.”

Grease slowed and began heading down. He had no clue where he was but the terrain was green and mountainous. He didn’t wait for the shuttle to land before he started walking. 

It was only after ten minutes he realized he didn’t know where he was going.

“Hey, slow down. This area has a lot of cliffs.”

Grease reluctantly listened and let the shuttle lead them to wherever base was. He wasn’t paying attention to anything as he followed and eventually smacked into the shuttle.

“What the frag…”

Jetfire hadn’t lied about the cliffs. Mostly due to the fact that they were standing by the edge of an absolutely massive one. Grease could see the rolling mountains and forest lining the entire area as the sun shone down. 

He looked at the shuttle for some explanation but only received a pat on the ground next to where Jetfire had sat. Everyone and their talks at beautiful scenery.

Grease rolled his optics but complied.

“Grease, why did you become an Autobot?”

Grease subconsciously reached up to the new brand on his chassis. It didn’t have that signature bump like the Decepticon brand. Merely a piece of scrap metal rather than a part of one’s spark.

“Quickwar needed the aid.”

“That’s the only reason? Then why not go back when he wakes?”

Grease laughed, “like I have a choice.”

Jetfire looked at the drone with a concerned expression. 

“Grease, you always have a choice.”

“Between the Autobots or Decepticons. Yeah I know. It’s been all anyone’s talked about with me.”

Jetfire sighed as he shook his head. He placed a large servo on Grease’s shoulder, a kind expression on his face as he looked at him.

“A choice to be better.”

Grease didn’t say anything as Jetfire turned back to the view. Nor as the sun set and the insistent comms got louder.

As they landed back at the base, a dark Praxian ran up to him. 

“Quickwar is waking up!”

Grease barely remembered the mad dash to the med bay. The moment he caught sight of Quickwar sitting up, he ran into his open and unprepared arms. 

Grease was once again wrapped up in the smell of gun oil and metal. All was right again, even in a hostile environment. With Quickwar there, things didn’t seem so bad.

Chapter Text

Grease was having a good cycle. He’d not gotten called into any fights, he had morning ration with Ironhide, and Quickwar’s physical therapy was going well! It was going so well that he forgot that he’s not lucky enough for that. Quickwar was training some of the younger mechs how to go up against a tank alt. Ironhide was…doing something important Grease couldn’t remember. He was outta luck in bugging the only few people he knew.

So when the bucket of bright flaming red paint infested with fine glitter fell on him, he was annoyed.

He was getting his morning ration, still exhausted from the intense drills they had him doing in the mud. He was hoping to start the cycle anew with a good ration.

He stood there, the mess hall quiet, as paint dripped down onto the floor. There were giggles and laughs coming from around. The doors opened behind him. He turned, two tall civilian frames walked in, and finished shining in the light. 

Grease was tall, being a flight frame he came up to their shoulders. However, he was a drone. He was lightweight. If they wanted to snap him in half, they could.

So Grease grit his denta, balling his fists as he glared. He couldn’t react. He was still too new to this Autobot thing for push back. 

In the Decepticons, fighting back was not only a given but the only way to get respect. If someone messed with you, going to a higher up was social suicide that would get you a nasty look and a lecture for ‘bothering me with this useless scrap.’ Standing up and fighting back was the only way to show mechs you weren’t to be messed with.

In the Autobots, everything is on its helm. Fighting back is a terrible idea that only makes everyone not want to associate with you. The proper thing to do is to go to your superiors for them to handle the issue. It makes you seem mature and responsible. At least that’s how Quickwar had framed the whole thing. These Autobots were so confusing.

It wasn’t long into the stare off that the twins left. Though that subtle victory left a bad taste in Grease’s intake.

“Here.”

Grease turned his helm. Standing with a towel extended towards him was a dark Praxian. Grease remembered seeing him around by Ironhide. He seemed nice enough from a distance. 

Grease deftly took the towel and immediately went for his joints. It was a failure as teh towel just got covered in more gunk and globbed together. The grossed out look on both their faces spoke to that. 

“Want some help getting to the showers?”

Grease was about to refuse. He wasn’t some weakling who needed the pity. He was perfectly fine and totally okay with all that was happening! The rising anger must have shown on his face because it wasn’t long before the mech was explaining himself in a speedy fashion.

“I don’t mean to be rude! Not at all! It’s just that if you walk to the showers you’ll track the slime throughout the base which will only piss off a lot more people which will make Sunny and Side’s punishment worse and then they’ll get more angry at you. I could get you a towel or could carry you or something…”

The way he deflated as he spoke calmed Grease’s rising anger. Grease sighed as he gave in.

“When you put it like that…”

The ride, because Grease refused to be carried like a sparkling and instead latched onto Bluestreak’s back, was quick and efficient. Bluestreak made for surprisingly good company despite the amount he chattered about. Grease liked it, especially when they got on about rifle mods. 

As Bluestreak was scrubbing the seams on his back, Grease began to plot his revenge. 

“So, hypothetically, how would it be appropriate to exact my unending revenge and what lengths could I go to achieve it?”

Bluestreak paused in thought, though it was more like a deep vent. 

“Well in most cases, reporting them would be the best option. Though I can tell your spark yearns for retribution.” Yes, Grease definitely liked Bluestreak. “In such cases, being caught would be the main issue. By that I mean the twins catching you. If they get a hold of you, its all bets off until someone strong enough pulls them off.”

Grease nodded, he needed distance then. 

“Do you know how I could acquire my rifle from the armory?”

“That will be much harder.” Bluestreak moved to his shoulder plating. “Locked up weapons are kept locked up unless preapproved or the base is under attack. Getting your rifle would put you in so much trouble it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Grease sighed, there went that idea.

“There is always the training rifles though!” Grease turned to look at Bluestreak with curiosity. There was a mischievous smile on the Praxians face. “They are essentially paint ball guns for us. They’re harmless and won’t leave a scratch.”

Grease mimicked the mischievous look, “but when you value your paint, its a nightmare.”

Bluestreak turned the solvent off, finished cleaning the last of the slime from the drone’s frame. 

It was a short trip from the showers to the training grounds where they kept these training rifles. Bluestreak handed one to Grease. A smile lit up the drone’s face as he cocked the rifle. 

Bluestreak gave him a serious nod, “Grease. This is a serious moment for us.”

Grease tilted his head. Bluestreak just smiled and grabbed his own rifle, “May I join you in battle brother?”

Grease’s smile matched Bluestreak’s, joyous and warm. 

“No clue what a brother is but yes!”

It was a slow walk down the halls. Bluestreak thought he really needed to get Grease into action movies as they walked. He also thought to get him into Judge Judy. Grease would love her. 

Grease and Bluestreak stalked the halls, getting odd looks. After some helpful information and bribery, the two snipers found their targets in the rec room. 

There was no hesitation as Grease aimed for Sunstreaker’s chassis. Anywhere that was bright yellow as a perfect spot to tag with the neon green paint balls. Holding down the trigger had the gun automatically switch to automatic. The subtle shift of movements combined with the never ending stream of paint created a lovely canvas borne of spit and friendship.

Bluestreak was having fun as well if the giggling was any indication. 

There was a large pause when the pellets ran out. The two sets of men eyeing each other. The rec room was quiet and the surrounding mechs were waiting for someone to react. 

Sideswipe moved first, launching himself at Bluestreak. The two snipers didn’t wait for anyone else to make a move and ran towards the door. Neither of them made it before they were pushed to the floor. 

Sunstreaker was on Grease, pinning him to the ground with his weight. The drone could see the fist reared back and decided to strike first. With a change of grip, he swung the gun like a bat and smacked him in the face. Things quickly devolved into chaos from there. 

The four were pulled apart from each other rather quickly. The most damage that was done could be fixed with a fresh coat of paint. That apparently didn’t stop the lectures from being just as vicious. And long. And repetitive. 

Even though they were all next to each other on the ground, it was clear that Grease was not the focus on this lecture. Mostly by the fact that he hadn’t been looked at the whole time and the statements of ‘you are better than this’ and ‘we’ve discussed this’. Prowl was furious and his stern expression had set unease into Grease. He wasn’t afraid though. Well not of Prowl anyway.

“-and you! You were doing great with integrating! I’m very disappointed in you and I know Quickwar is too!”

Grease tuned back in. Prowl was now facing him. Ah, it was his turn for a lecture.

“No he wouldn’t. I won.”

Prowl paused, somehow unable to compute the nonchalance. His intake opened and closed like he had a response but then changed his mind. With a groan and a servo dragging down his face, he left the rec room.

The four weren’t let up from the ground as Ironhide and Quickwar entered. Ironhide glared down at them.

“Well? Someone gonna explain?”

The twins immediately began the story of how they were sitting doing nothing and then they came in and shot at them with paint balls. Clearly, this was not the first time this had happened as Ironhide seemed skeptical. He turned to Grease, shook his helm, and then focused on Bluestreak.

“Blue?”

Bluestreak smiled, “Well I was minding my own business earlier having my ration when I hear a crash. Grease was standing in the doorway covered in goop! Apparently it was another one of their pranks. Grease looked really upset and when they left I helped him out. We got to talking and revenge came up and then paintballs happened. Which, you know, isn’t that bad considering the offence! They publicly humiliated him during his integration and antagonized him so really-”

Ironhide cut him off, “Thank you Bluestreak. I appreciate your effort to help your friend. Two cycles of cleaning duty is for you. Go get yourself cleaned up.” Bluestream nodded as he left. Ironhide turned back to the twins. “You two! I am extremely mad at you two. I’ve told you so many times. And now this! We are trying to make him feel welcome and doing this isn’t helping. Two weeks cleaning duty, one week sleeping in the brig, and no showers for three cycles.”

The twins didn’t say anything but their expressions were less than happy.

“Grease, I know this is your first offence so I’ll take it easy. You’ll do the cleaning with Bluestreak. This retaliation is frowned upon. Next time, come see me or Prowl and we will handle it.”

Grease nodded. His expression didn’t change until Quickwar stepped forward. Quickwar didn’t look happy but he wasn’t upset either. The room went quiet as he began to speak. Everyone waited to hear the veteran dish out a punishment.

“You planned this retaliation?”

Grease nodded.

“You shot Sunstreaker?”

Grease nodded.

“Did you win?”

Grease smiled and nodded.

Quickwar seemed satisfied and left it at that. Ironhide was a bit taken aback but didn’t say anything as the two left. Grease made his way out of the room only to be followed by the twins. They were about to split when Grease had to get the last word.

“Neon green actually makes your paint bearable to look at. You should keep it.”

The angered yelling from behind him was worth every day he spent scrubbing.