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Megatron could appreciate that the DJD were trying.
Breaking through to Tarn had involved a lot of awkward weeping and embarrassing hugs, but it had been worth it. His Justice Division had helped them retake the Lost Light with startling ease. After that, they’d done their best to integrate with the crew. Kaon had offered to act as a power generator for Perceptor’s latest experiment. Nickel, who Megatron could immediately see was the most well-adjusted of all of them, had volunteered to serve as a medic under Ratchet. (A duty she was undertaking with heroic amounts of sass). Although they all retained their fearsome personalities, every member of the former DJD was doing their best to try to make themselves useful.
This, however, was taking it too far.
“Put him down, Tarn,” said Megatron.
Tarn’s powerful hand tightened around Swerve’s neck, nearly crushing the smaller mech’s vocalizer. He paused and shuttered his optics at Megatron. After a moment he nodded and let Swerve drop to heap on the floor. “Of course. You want to torture him yourself.” He curtsied and made a sweeping gesture towards the trembling Autobot. “As you wish, Lord Megatron.”
Megatron ground his back teeth. The uncomfortable, unfamiliar tightness that he’d learned to recognize as guilt clutched his spark. The mech before him was still the same Tarn. More than that, he was still the same Damus. Still eager to please and to serve. Still desperate for Megatron’s approval.
And you made him that way, didn’t you? You did this to him. Given that, how could he abandon Tarn now? More importantly, how could he explain to his former enforcer all the complicated ins and outs of the Autobot social lifestyle?
“Release him,” said Megatron. “No one’s getting tortured.”
Still shaking, Swerve crawled away from Tarn and took refuge behind the bar. For once, he was completely silent.
Tarn cocked his head. “But he has engex illegally stashed here.”
Rodimus, who Megatron dearly wished hadn’t accompanied him to answer Swerve’s distress comm, managed to recover from his shock. “What!? It’s called a bar.”
This seemed to offend Tarn even further. “He’s running an illegitimate bar? He deserves punishment!”
Megatron explored the very edges of his patience. “No. Swerve has permission to conduct business here.”
“You legitimized drinking aboard the ship?” Tarn sounded a mixture of baffled and hurt. “For profit?”
“Only when mechs are off duty,” said Megatron.
Tarn stroked his chin thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the border of the mask. Megatron had allowed the purple Decepticon symbol to remain on Tarn’s face out of respect. He hoped that soon the mask would be removed entirely, but he was beginning to suspect that it would be replaced with an Autobot symbol.
“It’s fine,” said Rodimus. He dropped his voice and spoke to Megatron out of the corner of his mouth. “What did you do to these poor freaks?”
Megatron glared at him. It was a glare that would have made any Decepticon (save Starscream, and possibly Overlord) shrink in terror. On Rodimus it had zero effect.
Before any of them could speak again, the clomping of enormous feet shook the bar.
“There you guys are!” Helex burst in, spinning around to let them see what was apparently his new ornamentation. “Check it ouuuuut!”
Rodimus’ engine whined at a high, amused pitch. He ducked behind Megatron, his shoulders shaking.
Helex’s entire frame was covered in crude Autobot symbols. Both pairs of arms were splashed red, although the constant heat from his body had melted them to where they looked like they were crying. He pointed to the crooked badge across his smelter. “You like?”
“Not bad,” said Tarn. He picked up a polishing rag from one of the nearby tables and started wiping at the edges of one of the symbols. “Let me clean you up a bit.”
His smaller hands wringing together, Helex gazed at Tarn eagerly. “Yeah? It’s okay?”
Tarn nodded. “It’s very nice. Perhaps if we removed a few of these. Less may make a more artful display.”
The spark-suffocating feeling in Megatron’s chest returned. It was touching how each DJD member still looked to their leader for guidance and support. Tarn inspired loyalty as passionately as he desired to live it himself.
“What…” Rodimus swallowed a strangled giggle. “What’s all this?”
Helex beamed proudly. “The Act of Affiliation. I affiliated myself. See how affiliated I am?”
The statement seemed to suck all the humor out of the situation for Rodimus. “Whoooooaaa hold on now. I’m the Prime. Only I do the Acts of Affiliation around here. I do them. Me.”
Tarn was quick to jump to Helex’s defense. “You never informed us of this. We require proper documentation of the rules if you expect us to operate effectively.”
“Stop. Just stop,” said Rodimus. “You sound like the evil Magnus.”
Megatron’s response was drowned out by an audial-shattering shriek.
“Let me go! I’m innocent!”
All heads turned to see Kaon skip into the bar. Tesarus was behind him, holding a struggling Brainstorm. The scientist wriggled and kicked, one wing dangerously close to Tesarus’ whirling grinder. “Mmphh. Rodimus, help!”
It was admirable how unintimidated Rodimus was by any of them. He marched up to Tesarus and snapped his fingers at the larger mech’s face. “Let him go. Now.”
Tesarus frowned and spared a questioning glance towards Megatron. When Megatron nodded, he released his captive.
Brainstorm was a jet before he hit the floor. He flew in a wobbling path towards the bar and disappeared behind it. “You’re here too? Move over,” he said, presumably to Swerve.
A datapad was suddenly being waved in Rodimus’ face. “Wait,” said Kaon. “He’s on The List.”
Megatron snatched the datapad. “There is no list, Kaon. We’ve talked about this.”
Kaon’s pushiness towards Rodimus melted into acquiescence towards Megatron. He bowed low, his coils crackling slightly. “The new List, my Lord. Brainstorm is a known Autobot traitor.”
“For serious?!” Rodimus sounded like he was on the verge of blowing a gasket. “He betrayed the other Lost Light to you. He was your spy. And he was exon…eckson…he was that word Magnus used. We’re over it.”
“I believe you mean exonerated.” Tarn laid a hand on Rodimus’ spoiler and delicately ran his fingers down the edge, his motor purring. “And with all due respect, one does not simply get over that level of treachery. Some form of punishment is surely in order.”
Megatron deftly diverted Tarn’s hand from Rodimus’ spoiler and guided it back down to his side. Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about the Commandant’s penchant for flirtatious, intimidating touching. They’d have to work on that. “Brainstorm has been forgiven. We’re not policing ourselves like this anymore. There’s no list.”
Tarn, Kaon, Tesarus, and Helex all looked at each other and shook their heads. “No List,” they murmured, as if they couldn’t grasp the concept.
Kaon raised his hand. “Does that mean no List at all, or that we’re just not writing it down?”
“No list,” snapped Megatron.
Rodimus pointed to the door. “Crazy murderers understand now? Maybe you should all take a relaxing little time out-“ He stopped suddenly, gasping.
A shrill, unintelligible voice came from the doorway. Megatron recognized it, in that he couldn’t understand the words. Primal Vernacular. That meant it could only be one mech.
Vos.
“Holy slag,” whispered Rodimus.
Megatron didn’t want to turn around, but he knew he had to. Slowly he moved his head, taking in the sight of his loyal sniper rifle. Oh.
Oh!
Rodimus elbowed him in the side. “You wanna handle this one, big guy?”
Vos triumphantly hoisted the prize in his hands. It was a head. A head with no body. Getaway’s head, to be precise. “Funnnn timesss,” said Vos, and then he dissolved into eerie, hitching laughter.
The rest of the DJD started laughing along with him.
Stay calm, thought Megatron. We’re all Autobots now. Stay calm. “Vos,” he said, attempting a neutral tone. “What do you have there?”
“Oops,” said Rodimus softly. “You know, this one might be my bad. I told him he could have a little fun with Getaway. But I only meant he could rough him up a bit. Not…” He gestured to the disembodied head in Vos’ grip, the face frozen in a rictus of horror. “Not do that!”
“Rodimus,” growled Megatron. “You have to understand what ‘have a little fun’ means with this team.”
A playful, dazzling grin spread across Rodimus’ faceplates. The charming smile was almost beginning to engender a sort of exasperated fondness in Megatron. A fondness buried beneath mountains of irritation and ire.
Rodimus’ smile grew broader. “Did you just say ‘have a little fun’ with air quotes?”
Megatron looked down at his fingers, mortified. Yes, they were curled into air quote formation. He quickly straightened them.
Vos said something else, and then punted the head towards Kaon. It sprayed energon across the bar and smacked wetly against the wall.
Tarn’s terrifying chuckle pulled on every spark in the room. “Well, it looks like he didn’t get away after all.”
Megatron sighed and put his head in his hands.
The DJD were trying.