TFG1 - Oil and Water

Title: Oil and Water

Rating: G

Relationships: Soundwave/Cassettes (Familial only)

Summary: Soundwave has come to accept that he is not raising heroes, but even so...he would have given them the world.

As soon as Megatron finished his post-battle rant, Soundwave limped quickly away, thankful for a little peace at last. The queue for Hook’s medical bay was long, making the navigation of the halls of the base much shorter.

He soon reached his quarters and locked the door behind him, taking a moment to vent in the quiet before entering the washroom.

“Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage: eject. Operation: Wind Down,” Soundwave prompted, suppressing anxiety when he felt zero out of the three even attempt to follow his order. He contacted Laserbeak through their personal strand and directed him to nudge the three in question. Laserbeak knew everything that had happened and complied even more gently than Soundwave had instructed.

Rumble’s mangled arm appeared first and Soundwave carefully grasped it, helping him out and pointedly ignoring the energon making his fingers sticky. Normally Rumble protested this process through every klik of it (“I’ll deal with it later, I just wanna recharge, I can do it myself”), but now he simply wheezed and curled further into himself.

Frenzy was…quiet. Complacent. It unnerved Soundwave every time he saw it. The spymaster tried to remain patient as Rumble’s twin struggled out of cassette mode, finally flopping in Soundwave’s cupped hands and not really seeming to notice when Soundwave deposited him next to his brother.

Ravage took a bit of coaxing from both Soundwave and Laserbeak, refusing to come out until Laserbeak gave him a fair push. The cat wanted to leave Soundwave’s hands even less than he’d wanted to leave his chest, hooking his claws into his arms firmly but without drawing energon. Only when Soundwave promised not to leave for a fourth time did Ravage let himself be placed in the wash-racks beside the twins.

The water was cold when Soundwave turned it on and remained that way; the other Decepticons had likely stolen all the hot water while nursing their own wounds. Primus tricurse them. But even if cold water was all they had, they would use it. Letting a small pool form in his hands, Soundwave poured it over the little ones, delegating an even amount for each before going for a refill.

He used to do this for them on Cybertron. He’d had a vast suite with wash-racks for each of them, designated for them, and he would take his time warming oil, never water, at the temperature they liked it. They did like it, even if they put on a front by trying to flee from his hands or dodge past him. All it took was his stern voice or a tug through the bond to bring them back.

Those had been much happier times—the times that Soundwave could occasionally let them escape, occasionally give in. Now this time had to be enforced daily and it was never pleasant, for more often than not there was energon and foreign soils to scrub off and it was painful. The cassettes tried to stay quiet because they knew that Soundwave hated even the thought of causing them pain, but he knew. He always knew.

The drain was now edged a familiar blue as their spilled blood left their armor. Soundwave readjusted, leaning closer so he could inspect their washed wounds. Frenzy suddenly reached up, latching onto the edge of Soundwave’s facemask with one hand and his visor with the other.

“Can you take ’em off?” he whispered. “No one’s here. Just this once, boss?”

Soundwave hesitated. He could hear the regret in his own tone as he replied, “Request: rejected.”

“Please?”

“Request: rejected.” This was breaking Soundwave’s spark. It was rare that they asked this of him, but it was even rarer that he gave in.

“Please, Soundwave. I’m even saying ‘please’.”

“Request: rejected.”

Frenzy paused, his optics flickering down as he murmured pleadingly, “…Sire?”

Ravage and Rumble both perked up, apparently just as startled as Soundwave. The rule of refraining from calling Soundwave their sire had just been rendered faulty and they didn’t quite know what Soundwave’s reaction would be.

The visor slid up and the facemask slid back. Soundwave blinked purple optics, acclimating to the change in vision, and pursed his lips, reaching for a coarse, stained shammy to dry down the damaged forms before him.

He would have given them clean, synthetic bandaging and a heat-treated tarp and energon with any range of flavored metals. He would have spoiled them until they couldn’t remember why. He would have given them the world.

For now Soundwave hoped that he would keep them long enough to do so someday.

 

You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes.