Title: don’t kill the babysitter Fandom: Transformers Prime Summary: AU. Another Transformer-Human meeting happens right under Starscream’s nonexistent nose.
A/N: Set after season one finale.
Featuring
http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Sierra%27s_friend
And obfuscobble’s Octane.
For and inspired by obfuscobble. Specifically, inspiration from his comics here (and which make the fic below more clear):
http://obfuscobble.tumblr.com/post/12142437154/i-accidentally-this-comic-part-1-part2
http://obfuscobble.tumblr.com/post/12147795197/i-accidentally-a-dreadwing-part-2-part-1
This is pretty much in continuity with these fics here:
http://fannishcodex.tumblr.com/post/13954226183
http://fannishcodex.tumblr.com/post/16961042427
Have had this drafted for a while, finally decided to just share this, categorize it as a drabble. The POV was a fun experiment.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything related to Transformers Prime, i.e. Sierra’s friend. Octane is an OC from obfuscobble’s imagination.
Anne really should not have suppressed the memory of those violet cars trying to run the Darby boy down. It was easy enough at the time since he showed up the next day at school unscathed, so no harm, no foul, right? And it was none of her business. And even after a year in Jasper and with Miko around now to draw attention, she still felt like the New Girl, so there was really no incentive to make waves, right?
But now the swaths of purple on the baby robot were making her think of those crazy purple cars that tried to run Darby down and that was a freakin’ baby robot. Reaching down for her like she was another toy like the one in his other hand that was actually as big as her and baby. Robot. She was abosolutely certain it was that human equivalent, it crawled around like a baby, its head was larger than its body like a baby, it babbled nonsense like a baby, but no baby had little budding metal wings on its back or a budding metal unicorn horn thing or was, y’know, covered in metal. That, and there was that much larger robot, looking like a full grown version of him but with different colors, like no purple. And he had handled him like a baby and said farewell to Octane before leaving on his heels, why do robots have heels, why did he have a man’s voice if he had heels—
Anne tried to scramble away, but her leg was still uncooperative, was it twisted, broken, Anne was panicking, she didn’t know the deal with it. As the giant infant drew closer, babbling gibberish, Anne’s life flashed before her eyes, or the last few hours of it: field trip into the woods, hoo-freakin’-ray, get separated, get phone actually goddamn busted; night fall, rain fall, look for shelter in a cave, slip and bust up leg, realize it’s the one cave that apparently houses robots. Of all the luck—or maybe she’d gone insane.
The baby robot was smiling wide, and though its claws were small and rather dull-looking, they were still claws, and what if they were actually sharp like a human baby’s, human baby nails were supposed to be sharp enough, right? That’s why they wore mittens, so they wouldn’t claw their eyes out by accident, or anyone else’s—the baby robot drew closer.
“No!” The girl finally shouted, horrified and arms trying to shield her face. Seconds passed, and when nothing happened, she cracked one eye open, peeked through her arms. When still nothing happened and she didn’t see much, Anne slowly dropped the rest of her arms, and found the baby robot watching her intently, looking confused and a little hurt. His eyes were…weird, like violet glass windows with violet, softly glowing light filtering through them or something. Shit, those were puppy dog eyes. Really damn effective ones, Anne was immediately feeling bad. Bad for a giant baby robot—okay, still, a baby. Oh god, what if he cried, shrieked? What if its parent robot came back and found her?
“Ba?” The baby—Octane asked, head tilted and hand outstretched, larger than her but small in comparison to the adult robot’s. Anne still flinched back, as did Octane, hugging the human life-size doll to him. Anne shivered, looking at it more closely—it was like a scarecrow with a creepy-ass smile. But she also saw the way those claws held the toy, clutching it protectively, and how well worn the toy was.
Anne felt her weird guilt only grow in the pit of her stomach as the baby robot still shot her a confused, hurt look. He pressed the straw toy closer under his chin, then slowly lowered it to the ground and pushed it toward her, gently. Anne still recoiled instinctively, but Octane persisted in pushing the toy toward her.
“Na ba,” he babbled, his voice sounding insistent. His eyes and the set of his mouth looked half-nervous, half-determined.
He pushed it up against her feet now, and though it was slight, the pressure against her messed up leg was becoming too much. Uncertainly, Anne bent down and petted the straw toy’s wooden skull, watching the baby robot closely. He stopped pushing the toy toward her. Octane picked it up and tipped it toward her, letting it fall. Instinctively Anne grabbed it, catching it under its arms. She felt vaguely put upon when the baby robot ineffectively covered his giggling mouth with his claws.
And so things went: Anne would make her protest loud when he tried to touch her, and Octane seemed to learn that she was not to be touched. But he still somehow figured out how to pull her into playtime. Eventually some walls fell and she allowed him to gently touch her blonde hair. He was very curious about her hair, the touch of it, he kept running his claw tips through it and making curious cooing noises over it. Anne imagined this was what a cat felt like. That hair-touching privilege was revoked when Octane experimentally tugged too hard and she cried out. That had sent Octane whimpering as if it was him who had some fragile part of him yanked upon, and Anne was completely baffled. Her bafflement turned to horror when she heard the adult robot approach, calling for Octane.
The baby robot crawled toward his parent, making crying noises in earnest, and screwed up leg or no, adrenaline rush pushed Anne forward to a better hiding spot, that large-ass robot could not find the little bug that had just distressed his precious baby.
And Anne watched him treat Octane as a precious thing. The larger winged robot swooped up Octane like any normal human parent would with his child, reassuring him softly and hugging him, rubbing his back (in between the wings). Octane hiccuped into his shoulder, rubbing his eye with a curled up fist.
“Now, where’s your toy, hmm?” The larger robot asked in a low, though not unkind growl. Anne found it a weird contrast.
Octane sniffled, then pointed to where he dropped it.
Anne held her breath as the larger robot walked over, bent and retrieved the straw toy with little fuss. Anne kept her breath in, listening to Octane’s laugh fade away until both robots were gone, then she finally let it out.
She tried to review her leg with a clearer mind—yeah, it was a bit broke, as far as her little medical knowledge went. Anne used the first aid kit her mother had packed. She reviewed the snacks in her pack; she’d have to ration them. Tried to get some sleep, tried not to cry herself. Anne tried to play over and over again the sounds of Octane, laughing or crying. She found it was too quiet otherwise.