Chapter Text
Nightshade was not an unobservant mech.
On the contrary-- for as much as they were prone to getting lost in whatever project had most recently swept up their attention, they never failed to notice the slightest alterations in their surroundings. Jawbreaker accidentally knocked over one of their devices and hastily tried to right it? They noticed the slight variance in the angle at which it was placed. Twitch decided to rearrange her fairy lights for the fifth time that week? They noticed that there were now blue lights where there had been red, and vice versa. Mom left to do something and got back before any of them had even woken up from their nightly recharge cycles? They noticed the most minute shift in where she’d parked her truck.
So when gaps in the foliage at the edge of their property suddenly started appearing where there had been none before, Nightshade noticed.
They didn’t bother bringing it up. No one else seemed to notice, or if they did, it was likely they had reasonably assumed that it was simply a result of one of the many wild creatures who made a home out of the woods bordering Witwicky’s outskirts. It really was so mundane that it shouldn’t have stood out to them at all.
And yet it did.
It seemed that every time they found themself idling out on the lawn, their gaze would end up inexplicably drawn away. Their attention would end up split between whichever sibling decided to occupy their time on any given day and the shadowy gaps in the trees.
It was, without a doubt, only this divided attention which allowed them to notice when one time out of a hundred, they glanced at the forest and there was a person standing there.
They had glanced away again on reflex, only to do a double take and find the figure had vanished in the milliseconds it had taken them to avert their gaze. They hadn’t known that humans could move that fast.
And, perhaps, they couldn’t.
Absent glances became outright staring, and it got to the point that even their siblings started to notice their distraction. Jawbreaker was concerned, though clearly hesitant to outright bring it up. Hashtag had no such reservations and actually outright waved a servo in their face when they failed to respond to one of her questions.
“Hello? Ground control to space cadet?” She followed Nightshade’s gaze, though given that the woods had remained staunchly empty that day, she’d see nothing of note. “Are the trees really that interesting?”
“They are to me,” Nightshade lied.
Everyone had been kind of... delicate with them, immediately following the Tarantulas incident. Not enough that they felt inclined to bring it up, but enough that they noticed. Walking, perhaps, not on eggshells, but on carefully folded paper cranes. Delicate enough that one wanted to be cautious but resilient enough to not warrant any special treatment. Their gentle approach was particularly noticeable when it came to the topic of Decepticons.
Perhaps they thought Nightshade still harbored some sort of nervousness from the whole incident? Or that they had been left confused about their stance on the faction in general? Whatever it was, it meant that everyone sort of tried to gracefully nudge the conversation forward when it lingered too long.
Which was why they couldn’t really tell anyone that they were pretty sure they kept seeing Tarantulas’ hologram in the corner of their vision.
Unless it was another human who happened to be identical to the hologram’s design and also made a habit of standing ominously in the woods, but all data pointed towards that being a highly unlikely explanation, and Nightshade dismissed it without much thought.
Disconcerting as it might have been to be seeing phantom humans everywhere, it did bring them an amount of comfort to know that Tarantulas had managed to escape GHOST’s clutches in the end. He had known the risks even when he’d decided to draw them off, they had no doubts about that, and the fact that he’d been willing to sacrifice his own freedom for theirs (even if it hadn’t panned out that way) spoke volumes about the truth behind his intentions.
They never managed to catch his hologram. The one time they tried, transforming and swooping towards the hologram as fast as their wings allowed, it had simply walked behind a tree and disappeared before they could get close. There wasn’t even a sign of the projector-- though given the original had been destroyed in their little scuffle, he must have had to rebuild it. Perhaps he found a way to add a camouflage feature. Or maybe it was more maneuverable than its previous iteration.
Regardless, Nightshade never caught the hologram or its projector. Both just slightly out of reach. It was as confusing as it was completely understandable. Part of them wondered why Tarantulas would bother to let them see him if he wasn’t going to let it go beyond that, but another part understood his hesitation completely. He likely wasn’t certain how his presence would be received after the circumstances behind their parting of ways.
Which, really, he could just ask.
But alas, he and Nightshade were of kindred sparks in that they both had a tendency towards melodrama. They could only assume that Tarantulas found the theoretical possibility of how Nightshade might treat him more of a threat than the known quantity that was the aloof distance between them.
Unfortunate, but not the end of the world. There was always room for that to change when it was left so open-ended.
Only then, several weeks after the whole charade had begun, all previous observations had to be thrown out the window when the hologram left the woods and approached them.
It was well into the night, perhaps closer to the next morning than anything, with the rest of the Maltos long since comfortable in their beds and the other Terrans engaged in a movie night in their home beneath the barn. Twitch’s turn to select their film(or films, because it always turned into a marathon despite their best efforts) meant they were in for an excess of explosions and action, neither of which really appealed to Nightshade, so they’d taken their leave in favor of laying flat on their back in the middle of the cow field and staring up at the stars.
It was hard to believe that other Transformers had once traveled across the stars as easily as Mom might drive to the store. Humans had only recently figured out space travel (when viewed from Cybertronian scale, at least, it was a recent phenomenon), yet their mechanical compatriots had been jumping light years centuries before they developed even the most primitive of steam engines.
And yet, humans had also spent millennia mapping the stars. Some of the earliest records of human history detailed the complex movements of the sun and moon across the sky. They looked at stars, super-heated collections of burning gases floating through an endless void, and they’d found pictures.
(Robby and Mo had been remarkably lackadaisical when Nightshade had tried to express how astonishing the boundless imagination of humanity was. “Yeah, those are constellations,” they’d said, bored, like it wasn’t worth finding wonder in.)
What a marvelous world Nightshade had been born into.
They assumed at first that their distraction with the night sky had kept them from noticing the footsteps of whoever was approaching to cast a shadow over their optics, but a moment later they consulted their audial feed and found that no footsteps had been recorded at all. Which had them immediately sitting bolt upright to face the figure silhouetted by the glaring lights attached to the outside of the barn.
“Nightshade,” the man-shaped projection of light said, not in the generic male voice it had used the first time they’d seen it, but a slightly accented tone that they were all too familiar with. “I need your help.”
“Of course,” they agreed without a second’s delay. “You could have asked before now, you know.”
The projection sighed. “In truth, I had not intended to seek you out at all. I thought it best to let you live your life in peace, and remember me with whatever fondness still lingered rather than risk souring my memory any further.”
“That assumes it has been soured at all. I missed you,” Nightshade said, all open honesty. “What is it you need help with?”
Silence followed for several lengthy seconds. The projection’s fingertips flickered with orange light, and when Nightshade looked a little closer, it became clear that the lower half of its legs were nearly translucent. They could faintly see a few blades of grass poking out through it’s pant legs.
“I’m afraid I failed to escape GHOST’s pursuit unscathed,” he said quietly. “And I am insufficiently prepared to correct the damage myself.”
Fear like lightning, cold and hot at the same time, struck through Nightshade’s spark. “You’re injured.”
“I have had worse.”
“That is not an acceptable metric!” They leaned closer to the hologram. They were certain that if they tried to reach for it, their hands would go right through the flimsy light-show. Whatever attempt at recreating the projector Tarantulas had managed, it was clearly paltry in comparison to what they had achieved together. “Injury should not be measured against previous experiences. How bad is it really? What do you need? Where are you?”
“It is... presently manageable, though that may be subject to change if I cannot fix it soon. I need energon and medical supplies. As for where I am...” He read off a series of coordinates, and Nightshade immediately pulled up their internal GPS to input the numbers. The location marker placed him over a dozen miles outside Witwicky, deep in the forested mountains, well away from potential discovery. “I have found refuge in a cave, but it is rather lacking in infrastructure.”
After double and triple checking to make sure they had the correct location, Nightshade gave him a resolute nod. “That will not be hard to get to-- I have flown further distances before. I will be there as soon as I am able. Until I arrive, please, stay alive.”
The projection’s face was relatively inexpressive, but they could hear a wry grin in the words that followed; “I will do my level best.”
It disappeared without fanfare, and Nightshade’s vents loosened in a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. Tarantulas was not only free of GHOST’s confinement, but he was injured and alone. He’d been hurt for the sake of Nightshade and their family. And unlike if it had been Nightshade who was injured, he had no one to help him.
No one but Nightshade themself, who was just sitting there when they had places to be--
They leapt to their feet, scrambling towards the barn as fast as their legs would carry them. They were half inclined to transform and bust in through the wall instead of fighting with the stubborn doors if they didn’t know such a commotion would draw a lot of unwelcome attention. There was still a pretty good chance of them getting out of there undetected and thus as quickly as possible. Part of them did feel bad about running off to places unknown in the middle of the night like some kind of “rebellious teen,” but if Mom and Dad knew the depth of the situation, they would probably be understanding about it.
Probably. Then again, they had been personally slighted by Tarantulas’ actions-- maybe they wouldn’t be understanding if Nightshade explained exactly why they were taking off at such an unreasonable hour.
It was a good thing they weren’t asking, then.
They gathered their supplies from the corners of the barn where Cybertronian accoutrement was still stored thanks to Bumblebee’s presence and subsequent dispersion of his belongings, and without further ado, transformed and took off through the darkened sky.
Every terse beat of Nightshade's spark felt like the swinging of a clock's pendulum, another second counting down towards their friend's worsening condition. They had hoped to see him again-- but not like this. Not injured, not for their sake. Still, they supposed it was preferable to finding him confined to a GHOST holding cell.
Drag pulled at their wings as they flew. They weren't designed for speed in the air as much as they were maneuverability, but they were by no means slow.
They could only hope they were fast enough.
Dense tree cover only grew thicker as they continued on for at least an hour, Witwicky miles behind them, and the coordinates they'd been given drawing ever nearer. A dip in the foliage was the only sign of the cave they'd been instructed to find, and without a shred of hesitation they pulled their wings close and took a nosedive.
An alert popped up on their HUD displaying their rapidly-declining altitude, growing more and more urgent as the number grew smaller and smaller. At around a hundred feet above ground level, the alert turned blaring red, and they flung their wings out to catch themself, stopping short before they crashed into the thick plant-life. Far slower, they flapped their wings as they descended, and once they were a mere thirty feet off the ground they transformed and landed cleanly on their pedes.
"Tarantulas!" They called as they hurried towards the glowing location marker on their display, the untamed wilderness doing nothing to assist them in their haste. There was no need to worry about alerting any humans to their presence out here. No reason to keep quiet. "Tarantulas!!"
It would be generous to call the rock formation half-obscured by trees and moss a cave, but it was just deep enough that Nightshade's scanners couldn't reach the back of it. So they crept forward, dropping low to the ground to fit through the opening-- short but wide, perfect for Tarantulas alt-mode-- and staying hunched even as they once more stood when the cavern opened up before them. The knowledge of heavy rock hanging over their head sent an odd twinge up their struts. Unfamiliar. Though, not a pressing concern, considering the much more important issue at hand.
"Tarantulas," they hissed, voice echoing, "are you there?"
No response. But, a moment later, the scuffle of shifting rock in the very back of the cave. Nightshade scrambled to find its source. For a moment they envied Hashtag and Thrash-- having headlights would come in serious handy at a time like this.
As if summoned by the thought of how convenient it would be to see in the dark, their helmet snapped over their head, and the stone walls around them flickered to life in shades of green.
"That would have been handy to know at an earlier time," they muttered. An alt with built-in night vision. It made sense, they supposed. Owls were nocturnal creatures. Though they weren't sure the same applied to D.E. O'Neil's Sentry Owls.
Along with the rest of the cave's natural structure-- mostly composed of limestone, their scanners helpfully supplied-- their visor lit up on a dark shape squeezed into the corner of the space. Out of sight, unless you were looking for it. Far more organic than the rigid rocks around it.
It moved as Nightshade zeroed in on it, and there was a sudden bright spot on their visor. When they turned the night-vision off, the cavern was lit by a dim orange glow.
"There you are!"
They ran forward as the glow dimmed, dropping to their knees and enabling their night-vision in time to see Tarantulas head listing to the side. He would've cracked it right on the edge of a stalagmite if Nightshade hadn't surged forward to catch him.
"You found me," he murmured. "I had worried my instructions were insufficient."
"Your instructions were perfect. I apologize for how long it took me to get here-- I'm afraid I'm not the quickest of fliers."
"Oh, I'm sure you could give any Seeker a run for their shanix." His voice was quiet, even raspier than it had been before. His mandibles scarcely moved as he spoke. "I will admit, part of me was afraid you would decide to leave me to my fate."
"Never! You are my friend, Tarantulas. You were willing to give yourself up for me and my family. Even if I weren't concerned about your well-being-- which I am-- I would owe you on grounds of returning the favor alone." Speaking of his well-being, they pulled the medkit they'd swiped from Bumblebee when he wasn't looking out of their subspace (and they really wished he'd taught them about that sooner, it would've been so handy to know they had portable storage from the beginning, but sometimes Bumblebee forgot how uninformed they were about some of the basic factors of being a Transformer) and set it on a clear patch of stone beside them. "I am no medic, but I understand enough about engineering that I should be able to at least get you stable. From there I can call Optimus, and see if he's willing to--"
"No!" Tarantulas hissed, jerking upright, and Nightshade made an alarmed noise at the sudden movement. He sagged back against the wall, though stayed seated as opposed to lying down again. "I will not cavort with Autobots or Decepticons. Once I have the energon to spare, my self-repair will come back online, and I have done enough work on my own frame to know how to fix it."
Right, energon. Another thing they had stolen from Bumblebee, because they didn't actually need the stuff, and he had staunchly denied them the freedom to experiment with it. Apparently energon had a habit of exploding if it was tampered with too much.
But they had managed to snag a couple cubes from his personal supply when he wasn't looking. They had intended to ignore his direction and experiment with it anyway-- a safe distance from all people and structures, of course-- but this was a far more important cause to lend it to.
They pulled out the first cube and shoved it straight into Tarantulas' claws.
He... hesitated.
"What are you waiting for? You're injured, Tarantulas, you need the fuel."
"I know. It's just..." He sighed. There was something resigned in his tone. "Please, try not to react too badly."
"React badly to what?"
Rather than answering with words, Tarantulas simply bowed his head. Then lifted it again, raised the cube to his helm, and split his mandibles apart to reveal a strange configuration of parts that could only loosely be called a "mouth" if one were to be lax about the specific definition of the word. Nightshade would admit they'd never seen anything like it, but the fact that Tarantulas apparently expected them to have a negative reaction to something that was simply a part of him only made their spark sink.
"I do not find you disturbing," they said gently, depositing the rest of their pilfered cubes within arm's reach (technically, "within arm's reach" for Tarantulas was a far broader area than the average mech given the length and number of arms he actually had, but they digressed) and setting a gentle hand on Tarantulas' shoulder. "I know you are different. But so too am I when compared against my siblings. Everyone is different in some way or another, but that is what makes us all so wonderfully unique."
Tarantulas stared at them for several moments. Then shook his head with a quiet laugh. "Yet again you fail to sink to my expectations. One day I will learn to stop anticipating cruelty."
"And I will continue to be kind for however long it takes," they affirmed. Then nudged the cube in his hands. "Now drink. You are still injured."
"Yes, doctor," he mumbled good-naturedly, sipping at his cube as Nightshade turned their scanner on him to actually get a read on how bad his condition was.
Certainly worse than he was making it out to be, if the multiple flashing alerts that followed their scan were any indication. Damaged struts in one leg, melted plating, critically low energon levels, and that was just the surface level problems. The digital map of his frame showed several systems that weren't firing correctly, dead spots in his wiring that showed up as sickly black patches on the model of his frame on Nightshade's HUD.
"Did GHOST do all this?"
"I wasn't in perfect shape before their assault, thanks to our little scuffle," he said, and Nightshade felt a twinge of guilt despite the complete lack of resentment in Tarantulas' tone, "but most of the damage was at their hands, yes. Their weapons have only improved as time has gone on, I expect thanks to the studies performed on the multitude of Decepticons they've imprisoned."
Another twinge of guilt, though it was followed by the echo of Mom's voice reminding them that they had second chances, and chose not to use them. "Will your self-repair be able to fix it all?"
"Most of it, particularly the internal problems. The energon will help." He hissed softly as he raised one arm to reveal a stretch of crumpled, half-melted plating along one side. The edges of the wound were still sparking, and Nightshade felt slightly nauseous as they realized they could actually see some of his internals through the gap. "External is a little bit more of a problem. Self-repair is a powerful tool, but it cannot generate new plating from nothing. Hopefully I am able to either synthesize some replacement nanites or find a suitable sample of pre-existing metal to integrate."
"I will help," Nightshade said firmly. "Whatever you need from me, I will assist."
His cube drained, Tarantulas set it aside, then turned to face Nightshade. He cupped both clawed hands around one of theirs. "You are kinder to me than I deserve," he said, voice soft, "and once I am in better condition, I promise that I will find a way to repay you."
Nightshade simply smiled, squeezing his hands in thanks. "You do not have to earn kindness, nor do I need it repaid. As I said before, you are my friend, Tarantulas. I want to help. The same way you helped me when I was at my loneliest."
"By horribly misjudging a situation and kidnapping-slash-threatening your loved ones?"
They gave him a dull look. "By offering a like-minded companionship when you feel there is no one else in the world who truly understands you."
"I suppose that is a gentler way of putting it." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I am sorry for that, by the way. Had I taken the time to learn the truth of your circumstances as opposed to making assumptions, I am certain I would have taken a different course of action. What a fool of a scientist I am, to draw a conclusion from an inadequate collection of data."
"Apology accepted. I know you thought you were doing me a kindness, and I cannot fault you for that." Mom and Dad were startled by the whole ordeal and maybe a little bruised, but otherwise unharmed. It was likely that if they'd been truly hurt Nightshade would not be so welcoming towards Tarantulas, but it did neither of them any good to loiter on potentials. "You have been hurt in the past. How could I blame you when all you were trying to do was protect me?"
"Others could quite easily," Tarantulas muttered, bitterness lacing his words, but it immediately shifted back to his usual steady tone; "But you are not like others, as has been established."
"I am not," Nightshade said with pride.
With the lull in conversation, Nightshade freed their hand from his and pushed another cube forward. He tilted his head in a manner that suggested he might be rolling his eyes, if he had them in his root form, but lifted the cube to sip from it regardless. His pace was far more lax than it had been with the first cube.
"Where will you go, once you're repaired?"
Tarantulas hummed. "I suppose I will stay here, at least until I am able to get the new hologram generator up to par with our previous design. As I'm sure you noticed, it lacks many of the advancements we were able to achieve. I failed to bring your construction with me when I ran, and there is a significant lack of technology out here in the wilderness, so I was forced to work with only what I had. My injured state did not help in the slightest."
"Well, I am here now, and I will bring you whatever materials you need to repair it. Once you have the option, though, do you still intend to remain in hiding?"
He stared at them, and they could tell he was incredulous despite his lack of an expression. "That was the whole point of this device."
"Well, I simply thought..." They tapped their fingertips together idly. "...Witwicky is quite peaceful, you know. Few will question a newcomer. I understand you do not wish to cower in the dark any longer, but there is a plethora of uninhabited land around the town, and... I happen to have a laboratory of my own design. Fully outfitted with all the tools a scientist could need. At least, from the perspective of Earth sciences. I'm afraid I have little exposure to the Cybertronian fields. But there is always room to add more..?"
Were they laying it on too thick? They were probably laying it on too thick. Twitch always said they had a penchant for the dramatics. Subtlety just wasn't in their nature.
Tarantulas was definitely picking up on their suggestion, based on the way his shoulders fell and he sighed. "While I admire your optimism, I am not confident that I would be welcomed as openly as you describe. I'm sure your family has not forgotten the stress I put them through."
"Perhaps, but neither have they forgotten the risk you took to help us. I'm not sure if you're aware, but my Mom is a close personal friend of Megatron's-- and if she can forgive him for all the damage he caused, I am certain the rest of them can forgive you, too." They didn’t know exactly what Tarantulas had done during the war (actually, he’d been pretty vague about his involvement in it at all), but Megatron was literally the guy who started the Decepticons. Anything else kind of paled in comparison.
There were still a few sips left in the cube he'd been nursing, but he set it aside, sighing again. "That does bode well for their willingness to look past our prior experiences, I will admit. But still-- can you be sure that it's safe?"
That did make Nightshade hesitate. "Well..."
"Your mother does work for GHOST. And while I know she would never do you any harm, they could come calling at any time. If I am discovered, they will not hesitate to use whatever force is necessary to bring me in, particularly after I've already evaded them once before. And if you are caught up in the fighting... I cannot be sure of my ability to protect you."
Nightshade straightened up, stony determination on their face. "We are in danger of being discovered whether or not you take up residence with us, and you would do well to remember that I am fully capable of protecting myself. Or have you forgotten that I have already bested you in combat once before?"
Tarantulas let out a cackling laugh that lacked any humor at all. His secondary legs flexed in some sort of threatening gesture. (It wasn't very effective.) "Please. That was not a true fight! I never really wanted to harm you, Nightshade, I only sought to teach you a lesson. I maintain that my initial assessment of sufficiently nonthreatening has yet to be disproven."
"Be that as it may, I am not incapable. And I will have my family to fight at my side." Their steely tone softened as they continued, reaching forward and setting a hand on Tarantulas' arm. "I understand your fear. And I do not wish to force you into anything you don't wish to do. I know you desire freedom, and while I cannot provide that in its truest form, I can offer you a place where I promise no one will ever seek to make you feel outcast again."
Silence followed. At least he seemed to be giving their offer some serious thought instead of dismissing it outright.
"I need time to decide," he said, an air of finality indicating that would be his last word on the subject for now.
"You may take as long as you would like. My offer remains open indefinitely." Maybe it was good he was taking a minute to settle on an answer. That would give Nightshade time to try and convince Mom why harboring a Decepticon in their lab wasn't a totally bonkers thing to do. "And regardless of what you choose, I will continue to help you however you need."
"Thank you, Nightshade."
"You are quite welcome." They patted Tarantulas' arm once more, then leaned back on their heels. Their internal clock helpfully informed them it was nearing on five AM. And Mom was a chronically early riser. "I should be getting home soon, though. I left without telling anyone, and I fear my family may soon awaken and worry about where I've gone."
Tarantulas tilted his head. "Can you not simply comm them to inform them once you're able to find a signal?"
"What?"
"Your comms," he repeated. "Internal communications array. They come standard in most mechs. Even if we are all unique as you say, there are some constants between us."
Internal communications array?
Like with their visor before, the phrase seemed to act as a sort of query, and a new interface opened up on their HUD. It was mostly blank, aside from the blinking red "no signal" alert in the top corner, but there was a little symbol which looked like some kind of antenna that, when Nightshade nudged it, sent a buzz of static through their head.
"I see you've found the local channel," Tarantulas mused, mirth warming his tone. A moment later, there was another buzz of static in Nightshade's head, though this one was accompanied by a series of digits popping up in front of their eyes. "That is my comm code. Once I am able to leave this cave and reach Earth's satellites, you will be able to contact me from anywhere, assuming you are able to do the same."
"What marvelous technology," Nightshade said, slightly awed, and Tarantulas cackled again, though this time the sound was much friendlier. They were too caught up in the usefulness of being able to contact another mech from anywhere to be offended that he was laughing at them. "You can contact me as well?"
"I was able to pick up your frequency when you pinged the local channel, so yes. Assuming we both have a signal."
"Incredible! You will have to utilize this so I know what supplies to bring you next time I visit."
Tarantulas hesitated. "...Of course."
And Nightshade, for all they were not particularly well-versed in picking up the finer points of the emotions of others, noticed. "Is something the matter?"
"No, no, everything is fine."
Unconvincing, but very well. He clearly didn't wish to elaborate. "If you're certain." They made to stand; "I promise to return soon, and I will do so with whatever supplies you need to aid in your recovery."
"Wait," Tarantulas said abruptly, leaning forward to grab their arm. They paused, staring at him curiously. "I..."
Ah.
"You are lonely," Nightshade said softly, and Tarantulas' plating rattled. "You know I cannot stay. My family will be concerned."
"I know. But-- please. Just... a moment more."
How long had Tarantulas been alone in that cemetery before they had found him? Certainly long enough to be well-established in the particular mausoleum where he'd made his home. Long enough to develop a near-perfect functioning hologram generator. Quite possibly since the end of the war.
Cybertronians were long-lived creatures, and Nightshade knew it. The oldest among their kind were millions of years old-- they were born long before humanity was even close to their present evolutionary status, and they would survive until long after the Earth's sun imploded on itself and wiped out their solar system. That didn't change the fact that they were still social creatures, though, whose natural state was community and coexistence. And fifteen years of isolation would be hard on anyone, no matter what species they were.
"I will return," Nightshade promised, returning to their previous kneeling position at Tarantulas' side. "You will not be left alone for so long ever again. I swear it."
Tarantulas seemed to deflate at that, lowering his head and reaching forward to set one hand on Nightshade's shoulder with a sigh. "Thank you. Your assurances mean more than you know."
It still felt like something was missing...
Oh! Right. Their siblings had well equipped them for this sort of heartfelt scenario.
Nightshade leaned forward, wrapping their arms around Tarantulas’ chest and tucking their head against his shoulder. He froze under the contact and for a moment they wondered if they might have miscalculated, but before they could draw back and apologize for their sudden gesture, Tarantulas' arms settled around them as he returned the hug. Then a second set of limbs wrapped around them, then a third, and a fourth, and Nightshade regretted not doing this sooner because getting hugged by five pairs of arms (or one pair of arms and four pairs of legs? It was a little unclear what his additional appendages qualified as) at once was awesome. It was like that sort of pressure-inducing blanket Robby was so fond of, only warm and sturdy and fully cocooning them.
They hummed in delight as Tarantulas hugged them tighter, and in return he exhaled softly.
"I cannot remember the last time I was... given this sort of opportunity," he whispered, voice thick with static.
Something about the way he phrased that implied it had been much longer than their earlier assessment of fifteen years since he'd received a hug . Which was absolutely tragic. Even Nightshade, who sometimes felt like they needed to rip their plating off at the idea of anyone touching them, reveled in the casual contact offered by their family. To go so long without anything...
Nightshade tightened their hold as much as they could while still taking heed of the injury on Tarantulas's side. They'd just have to start making up for lost time, then, wouldn't they?
"I will see you again soon," they said, half-muffled by Tarantulas' plating. "I promise."
"I will hold you to that." He was clearly reluctant, but he did eventually withdraw all his various limbs and release Nightshade. They found themself idly missing the pressure. Ah, well. They'd have plenty of other chances. "Be safe, Nightshade. Take care of yourself."
"So long as you do the same." They stood, pointing at the cubes still sitting nearby, as well as the long-forgotten medkit. "Drink that. Do what you can to repair yourself. When you're able to do so, comm me with the list of everything you need, and I will find a way to acquire it."
"Cross my spark," Tarantulas said, gently amused.
Right. If they hesitated any longer, they'd get drawn into a conversation again, or decide Tarantulas needed another hug and spend several more minutes loitering, and they really needed to get home. No doubt their absence had been noticed by now.
"I am glad you're alive," they said for lack of anything else. "Goodbye."
Tarantulas laughed softly, far from his earlier harsh cackle. "Goodbye."
And Nightshade turned, made their way back through the cave with the help of their visor, and departed the area with a sweep of their wings.
A far cry from how they'd arrived, they left for home with their spark feeling lighter than it had in weeks.