[Semi-Closed] Shine Your Light On Me

[winged_knight]

WHO: Wing, possibly others: see notes below
WHERE: The Brave Police Headquarters
WHEN: A 1-2 week period, starting near the end of the pages event. Following this which follows this.
WHAT: After stalking Vandal and Drift in the Junk Pile, Wing wrests control back from his evil self and insists on being confined. He's been holed up in a holding cell in the Brave Police headquarters ever since. Even after returning to normal he insists on staying, and is there at least a week, refusing visitors (with only a few exceptions) and limiting Link activity.
WARNINGS: Dark, depressing things? Very mild references to implied/potential mental and physical abuse, dubcon/noncon, murder and other violence.
NOTES: This is mostly a narrative since Wing states he's accepting no visitors except Drift, though he can be convinced to see Ratchet and Blurr, and any of the Brave Police members can attempt to converse since it's their headquarters, (someone needs to make sure he refuels. D:). ;) If you want to find a way to tag into this though, just ask.

Feel free to tag on a specific day or anywhere in between, but give me an idea which since his mental state varies. ;)

Soundtrack: 1 (all mood, less lyric), 2, 3.



Day 1

He huddles, shed of weapons, in a cell of his own choosing. Tall flood lights stand outside the metal bars, creating endless artificial day. The light is harsh, but he welcomes it, because he feels undeserving of gentle things right now. He's curled in the corner, his helm in his hands, shaking with uncontrolled horror and revulsion at the storm of memories that swirl through his mind.

When it's late and the building is quiet, and he assumes--hopes--that there's no one around to be bothered, that's when he keens his distress. High and dissonant, it sounds like suffering, a sound he'd wish upon no one. But he must, it's a purging, because if he does not it'll only sour and poison him.

It's not that he hasn't seen darkness before. But now, it feels like it's in him. And though he's always known that all individuals have a little bit of darkness in them--are potentially capable of immoral things--being faced with his own living persona of that very thing in all its extremity...is beyond disturbing. It shook him to the core and he felt toppled, his grip loosed and his center lost.

Remorse? He has plenty over what he'd done. But beyond that, horror over what he knew he'd been capable of. What he wanted to do. Each time he came back to himself after an episode he remembered more and more. And the thoughts, the memories, wormed around within his mind close enough that they felt like they were his own.

The gleeful fantasies of Prism's murder... Fraternization with Overlord... Eagerly corrupting Kagerou... Taking advantage of and taming Blurr... The easy way he labeled Vandal expendable in the face of his torrid obsession with Drift, and the very things that obsession would have led him to do had Drift been himself...

Each is like a demon he has to face, not only because they haunt him, but because he knows it's the only way to be free.

Day 3

He sits near the window, staring through the bars at the falling snow, his communicator nearby. Wing's never seen snow before. He wishes he could be out in it, but right now, that would be a hollow, temporary joy. It's happenstance, running across Alpha Trion's message, given how little he'd used the Link in the last few days.

So now he knows the how of it all, which even for its frustratingly simple source, was still a comfort. McCrane had been good enough to field Wing's request to fetch his page and return it to the First Forged. (Wing was beyond being embarrassed by its contents now, all things considered.) The page returned, he's physically himself again at least, but the pall of darkness remains, like a shroud that's just been temporarily pulled aside.

Much later he feels the oppressive gloom finally lift, and when he asks for his Great Sword, he then knows it's true. The weapon's resonance feels pure and clean now, not laced with agitation and foreboding.

He's been told he can go, yet he stays. Wing needs his center, his Self, to be stable and ready, before he can put any kind of true strength behind an apology. And so he sits curled around his Great Sword, the gem warm in one palm as it presses against his cheek, his other thumb tracing the glyphs in the blade's fuller. This alone is some comfort, knowing the blade hasn't rejected him. This, at least, he hasn't broken or frightened away.

He still quakes with emotion sometimes, but it's no longer crippling. Each of the demons he faces, he pulls their ugliness into the light, and though he then knows them fully for what they are, they are diminished in the face of their own truths. He slowly takes each, recognizes it for what it is, tries to accept and then puts it its place. Because it's all a part of him now--that can never change--but to let these things flow freely through him, unmanaged, could corrupt in time, seeping into his foundations.

Day 6 - ??

He kneels, the Great Sword standing against the wall before him. His spinal struts are straight and tall, shoulders back, his helm bowed. Not even his pinions move as his cooling system passes slow, steady breathes through his vents.

The flood lights are now off, for he shall remain here, like this, until he fears the dark no more. Because despite all that we fail to be, all the mistakes we make and the regrets we have, in the end what matters is how we exercise the good in ourselves to make things right.

Wing is not certain he feels worthy to be with people yet, but he knows that when put in perspective what he feels and what is true are two different things. And that in itself leads to a revelation on many other levels, but especially when it comes to a very special person in his life. Now that he's climbed from the pit and stands at the edge, in a way he's thankful for this, the experience, because it brings him perspective he did not have before. He's not certain what to do with all these various other bits of new insight, but time will hopefully tell. And as horrible as Drift's experience as a human girl had likely been, Wing is thankful for that too, being well aware that it spared the one he cares for most from some of his dark counterpart's more dreadful and depraved intentions.

Healing is something that requires time, more so for the mind and spirit than the body. And though Wing still has much of it to do, and many amends to make, the stregnth to do so is gathering in him now. It's illuminated by hope and love and the simple desire to do better.

Comments

Day 4-ish

[mccrane]

He's been working on finishing the Decker room for so long that, when he's finally done, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sometimes he brought Drill Boy along to help, other times he worked alone.

It's been strange for him. Back on earth, there'd been a set schedule. They had times on duty and times off duty, and crises in-between, but it was all centered around Yuuta and around the Brave Police. Now, there's no one to tell him to stop working, so most of the time he doesn't.

He doesn't have reason to, and it means that he can be at the station to watch its one occupant.

"You were quiet last night," he reports, coming into the small, barred holding area with a pink energon cube. "And I...think I am finally done." It wasn't much to celebrate, but any news is good news, right now.

Too much has happened these last few weeks.

[winged_knight]

Wing is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't hear the other mech approach. His world is so internalized of late, he's rarely stretched his awareness beyond the walls of the cell. He looks up, almost surprised to see McCrane standing there. His optics land on the cube, idly licking his lips as he realizes he's not sure when the last time was that he refueled.

McCrane's words distract him though, and he bows his head slightly, his words small. "I'm sorry...if I disturbed anyone...before." Still, the prospect of good news, however minor, is welcome. "Done? With the building?"

He realizes then that he should accept the energon, since McCrane's been good enough to bring it. He rises wearily, his joints stiff, releasing his grip on the Great Sword to lean it against the wall. Moving to the bars he accepts the cube with a twitch of an upturned mouth and a grateful nod.

[mccrane]

"If you did, they did not complain to me."

He hasn't known what to do, himself, listening to the sad sounds while he's worked. Wing, however, has asked to be alone. He respects that. He respects that, sometimes, one needs the silence to come to grips with themselves before they can face the world again. It was that way for him, once.

He nods, instead, and slides the cube through so that Wing can grab it. "I finished the exterior. There are some...other parts that I wish to add, that the old building had, but they can wait." His desperate wish for a firing range would go unanswered for a few more weeks.

"You are you, again. This won't happen again." In a way, he's trying to offer consolation. In another way...he's offering a chance to talk.

Oh McCrane, you're such a bro.

[winged_knight]

"That's good." He smiles a weary smile. "I wouldn't want that."

It's feels like hiding, though more from people than from the problem itself. And in many ways it's been best, being left alone the first few days, for Wing was not certain what he could have, or would have said to anyone during that time. Drift's visit the day previous has helped though. It's the start of healing and forgiveness, plus knowing that he hasn't severed something beautiful after it had only just begun, that gives him hope for the rest.

"Thank you." Wing holds the cube to his lips and drinks the energon slowly. It's the first he's had since arriving and his hands shake slightly, but it helps bring back some of the shine to his optics.

"That's good to hear. It must be nice, having somewhere that's your own, where you don't feel like a guest." Not that what the First Forged offered them was bad...it just felt like a thing borrowed instead of owned.

"I am." A wan smile, and then more strongly, "I am." Because it goes beyond his dark counterpart no longer having control, it's also about reaffirming himself in the other's wake. "No it won't. But, I have much to answer for."

Aww Wing you're so accepting~

[mccrane]

"I know. You don't want to impose on anyone." You're too polite for that. "But I don't consider this imposing. If nothing else, it is a chance to test our jail cells." He considers for a moment, weighs the options, and decides that you look settled enough that he'll try a joke. "You could, ah, try breaking out of them? For me?"

After you have your strength back. That is the most important part, and McCrane watches to be certain you drink the whole cube, wondering how often Cybertronians need to refuel. His own systems had been built to function as a matter of distance--the further he walks, the further he drives, the sooner he has to fuel. It had been that way...but everything here is different. Just as Wing says.

"It reminds us of home. Of those we've left behind, and those that give us strength even if they aren't among us." It sparks an idea in his AI unit. "Is there anything of home you'd want here, if you could?"

Because if there is one thing he can do for the people and robots he cares about, it is building.

"Maybe you do have much to answer for. Perhaps we all do..." He trails off, reminded too much of his own time with the demoness of greed. "The worst questions, however...those will come from yourself. Knowing what you did, and knowing what's within you, and knowing that no matter what external force you faced or how ever many others tell you it's alright, that it's still there." He reaches out, and clasps one hand around the bars. "It is, however, also why you can't stay in these walls forever."

You're just such a good friend McCrane!

[winged_knight]

"No." He bows his head, there's really not much else to say. But McCrane's following comment surprises him a bit. "Break out? I--I suppose I could. Not that I have experience in such things, but I will try my best." As a meleeist his hands were strong, at the very least he could check the integrity of the bars. And it'd give him something to when his troubles became too much.

His systems start to feel more flush with the addition of energon, minor systems pinging readiness after going idle during his fasting. He does finish the cube, his first tentative sips becoming more hearty gulps.

"I imagine it would make this place feel less alien to you. And memories of friends are certainly a grounding influence." He flashes a half a smile, tentative, the expression too well practiced to fall completely into disuse. "From home....?"

There was a lot about Crystal City he missed... The Pious Pools, the museums, the parks, the little shops...it's hard to pick one. "It might sound like a luxury, and really it is, but I miss the bathhouse." It was the only way he every felt truly clean, something that right now, he definitely does not feel, figuratively or literally.

He nods, slowly, mulling over McCrane's words. "I suppose you are right. In...a number of ways." his eyes shutter slowly as his own hand reaches out to grasp the bar beneath The detective's hand. "It's part of me now, part of my history, making me who I am. There...must be good I can learn from this right? Strength or wisdom I can take from it?"

He nods, because it's true, he can't hide here forever. "I need to discover those things. It is...quiet here. May I stay, until I'm ready to leave?"

Day 5ish?

[4_toteachus]

The sound of Four's family had vanished, making his trips to the junkpile both very lonely, yet not as heartbreaking as before. Day after day of chasing ghosts, it came almost as a relief to finally hear them stop. He had to either accept that he was always going to be here on his own, the only one of his kind; or always hope that he would find them. This would drive him crazy, he knew that.

It was a hard decision despite that.

That he somehow ended up stumbling across this place was probably due to his tired, befuddled state. His curiosity instantly piqued, shaking him out of his daze long enough to decide that he should go inside. Ordinarily this would seem like an extremely bad idea, but Four found that he didn't care as much as he would usually. If he was stepped on... then so be it. He wanted to avoid detection though, it was easier to explore if others didn't take interest in him. Of course he was seven inches tall, he probably didn't have that much to worry about.

Through the halls he crept, his eyes clicking as he catalogued everything in sight, from the high ceilings to what passed as decoration. Eventually his travels lead him to the bars of a certain cell, and that was where Four paused. Cells were made for keeping dangerous things in right? Cautious now, he tip-toed up to a metal column (as if anyone could hear his tiny feet) and peeked inside. For whatever reason, the robot he saw there wasn't what he was expecting.

Four's memory was perfect; he never forgot a face. This was Wing, probably the kindest bot he had met so far. Wing promised he would show Four songs and dances.

With that in mind, he crept between the bars and entered the room with less fear than before. His eyes click twice, making about as much sound as two tiny camera shutters. Maybe this would get his attention.

[winged_knight]

He's seated, back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. He hugs the sword like its a lifeline, the one grounding force he has right now. His eyes open, shutters shifting back from the pale gold of his optics as he looks up at the sound. His gaze casts about the room, confused because there's nothing there, until he looks down and sees the long shadows cast by the little stitchpunk.

Wing tilts his head quizzically, something nagging at his memory about curiously tiny creatures. But Four's almost always used text to communicate, and Wing is not certain if it's him or not?

[4_toteachus]

Four tilted his head back in response, his eyes clicking some more as he observe Wing's face in person for the first time. How defeated he looked, holding onto the sword as he did. What was the story behind that, Four wondered.

He supposed he should get closer.

With quick, rodent-like movements, Four crept a little closer to the mech's foot. He stopped just shy of it and peered up into Wing's face again. Cybertronian faces always made him feel like he was staring up at the sun or moon whenever he saw them in person, they seem to fill his entire line of vision.

Tiny hands clasp each other worriedly as he waited to see what the robot would do. Was this a bad idea after all?

[winged_knight]

There is something in those inquisitive round eyes that strikes a cord in Wing's memory: the still image that often accompanied Four's posts on the link. But the tiny creature's moments both distract and fascinate him, and he watches quietly as the stickpunk approaches. The empathy in that tiny body, the hint of concern in his posture, also strikes an emotional note in Wing.

And then Wing realizes he's staring, wordlessly, which in many cultures is not the most polite way to interact with others. He takes a guess, hoping he's right.

"...Four?"

[4_toteachus]

Four's posture relaxes slightly at the mention of his name. So Wing does remember him! That's a relief. This gives him the confidence to creep a little closer until he touches Wing's leg. After a moment of indecision, he decides that a little boldness won't hurt.

His disappears from Wing's sight for a moment, before reappearing on top of his knee a moment later. Pleased with himself, Four waves happily at the robot and clicks his eyes a few more times. He's standing on top of a robot knee! How exciting!

[winged_knight]

It seems he's right given Four's reaction. Wing holds quite still when the stitchpunk disappears, little tickles over his plating the only indication of Four's activity, until he the tiny creature takes up residence on his knee. It's really quite charming, and it goes bring back some of the gleam in Wing's optics.

"It's been a long time Four. Have you been out exploring?" His voice is quiet and weary, but not unwelcoming.

Day (s) 1,2,3,4,5 and 6, because he comes and goes.

[raceme]

Day 1

When Blurr first came back to his senses he found himself in the Junk Pile with no memory of how he arrived there. His whole body hurt, there were memory blanks in his processor and his engine started to overwork.

Error messages flashed before this optics, a long list of past events that happened this last week. Things that he did, say, or tried to do, mixed with memory gaps that needed filling. It was too much to deal all at once and he suffered a massive system shutdown.

Day 2

The next day Kay found him in the Junk Pile, in his car mode, system still shut down. She woke him up but he refused to change, afraid that he would hurt more people that way. Kay comforted him and eventually Blurr decided that he had to talk with those whom he had hurt.

Day 3

His communication went as well as he expected. Drift’s words were well deserved and justified but made Blurr felt more scared and insecure about talking to Wing and Ratchet. He spent the night with Starscream, trying to calm himself and not think about Soundwave’s memory.

Day 4

Blurr spent all day looking for Wing and Ratchet everywhere. They weren’t in the temples nor in the medbay and Blurr tried asking around with little success. He barely made it past the door of the Brave Police headquarters when he heard McCrane talking about how the pages needed to be returned to Trion as soon as possible. Just the idea of seeing the page again made Blurr jumpy and uneasy but it had to be done. It took him 3 hours to find it and 5 more to actually get the courage to give it back to Trion.

Day 5

Ratchet was still avoiding him, and everyone, and Blurr knew he had to find Wheeljack and talk to him as well. He went back to the headquarters and discovered that Wing had been there all along. He rushed to the cell but stopped short at the door, panic growing on him. He seemed to stare beyond the cells, to some unknown beyond, in which he finally realized the severity of what he had done to Wing.

He made a chocking sound that sounded embarrassingly like a whimper and fled from the headquartes as fast as he could.

Day 6

This needed to stop, he told himself. He had to talk to the other mech and hope Wing would listen long enough for him to apologize. He knew, however, that an apology was not enough, that it would never be enough. He approached the cells again, staring at the floor and silent for a long time.

"W-Wing?" He finally muttered, sounding distressed.

[winged_knight]

He's been deep in meditation all day: searching, petitioning the greater wisdom of the sword, for guidance, reassurance, anything to help ground him in this challenging time.

He knew on an instinctive level that he had to stop feeling sorry for himself. That he has to push past his own pain and fear if he's to make things right. Certainly he could express his regrets at any time--punish himself or offer restitution--but what healing could come of it if he was unable to accept forgiveness in the event it was offered?

And vice versa.

But knowing and doing are two different things, and thus he seeks the strength needed for the latter.

It's not until Blurr speaks that Wing becomes aware of the other mech's presence. His audials twitch and optics open, turning towards the door. Air catches in his vents as he recognizes his unexpected visitor, the striken form of Blurr a stark comparison to the one Wing saw last. Those memories rear up and he fights them for dominance, brow furrowing under his helm. He's not been on the Link for days, so these are the last memories he has of Blurr.

Wing cycles air deeply through his cooling system and turns what he hopes is benevolent gaze upon the other mech.

"Blurr."

There are so many things to say, to ask, but for once he does not know where to start.

[raceme]

Blurr ventures a glance in Wing's direction and looks down immediately when he sees the frown. It was to be expected.

Maybe he should leave Wing alone all together, but it hurt to see his friend in a cell. He should be there instead, and mostly it was just because of Elita, Gunmax and Barricade's words that he didn't lock himself in one. He's not sure for how long he could have stayed in one without panicking, anyway, considering his new acquired claustrophobia.

This is probably the stillest he ever has been, and misses the softer look on Wing's face because he doesn't dare to look a him again.

"I'm sorry Wing all this is my fault and IhadnoideawhatthatpagecoudldoI...I was..just doodling..it was nothing improtant..or _{so I thought} and now I have hurt people and I ^{ruined everything} and..."

[winged_knight]

Wing feels he has plenty to apologize for, not to mention somehow dealing with any awkwardness that might result from what happened between them.

But the blue mech seems overwrought about something else, and Wing listens patiently to what he has to say. He's quiet for more than a few moments. He'd assumed it'd been another page that had affected him, it had to be, but he'd been unsure of anything else.

"So... it was your page that...changed us?"

[raceme]

Blurr nodded, looking just plain miserable.

"It was an accident." It wasn't an irritated snap. It had a layer of guilt, and a good helping of remorse behind it. "I..didn’t knew it could do what it did. You shouldn't be in there.”

He thought of apologizing again, but he waited for Wing's reply.

[winged_knight]

Wing's palms stroke over his thighs as he kneels, it's a both a thoughtful and comforting gesture. He's quiet again, contemplating.

"I know. A lot of things happened that were...unintended." More than he can count really. "I'm more upset at Alpha Trion really... but. What good does blame serve anyone?"

He lowers his head, thinking on his own words. Because though he's used to issuing them for the benefit of others it was time for to follow some of his own advice.

"But...can I ask....why? Why me, why so..._dark?" Did some people, could some people, see him like that already?

I guess day 3 going by Blurr's timeline?

[sword_redemption]

He goes because he's summoned there. He goes because he has the note from Wing, slightly crumpled now, in his hand.

He doesn't go because everyone has been yelling at him to go. It's not their decision to make, after all. And however good their intentions, they don't know the history between Drift and Wing. They don't know how complex it was, a net of obligation, guilt, and longing. They all make it sound so easy and all their protestations tell Drift they simply...don't know.

He doesn't go for himself, either. This is, quite possibly, the last place he wants to be right now. He's tried meditating, sitting in the Junk Pile, gazing into the jewel in his sword's hilt, hoping to scry some sort of sense or stability in the pattern of light sunraying through the gem. But it feels like that was lost to him, too, his final, only consolation.

He feels like he's falling apart, that his armor held together shards of glass, that grated and shattered with every movement.

Still, he's been summoned, by the only person whose word obliges him. Even now. Even after....

"You wanted to see me." Five words, about all he could manage, and simple fact, if the message didn't lie.

Okay!

[winged_knight]

He's seated in the corner, huddled around the sword as his only source of comfort, shivering silently. Familiar footsteps break through his reverie and for a moment he thinks he's imagining it. It's not until the light beyond the bars shifts and he hears Drift's voice that he understands it's real.

Wing looks up, his optics pale, though if it's from lack of recharge, fuel or something else is hard to tell. But when they alight on Drift the jet's face transforms, the flutterings of weak winged joy spreading over his face, weary from struggle but not less there. In that bright moment he wants nothing more than to leap up, wrap his arms around Drift and sob into the other mech's shoulder. His body twitches impulsively, ready to do so--but... no, he's not certain if such a thing is welcome. How could it be, after all he'd done?

He tries to compose himself, and though Wing is not capable of his usual poise he manages a calm sort of deference with quiet words to match.

"I...wasn't sure you'd come. If--if you'd want to see me." His head bows. As much as he yearns to it's difficult to meet Drift's eyes, to see signs of the weight and pain he carries, knowing the source. "...but I wanted you to know where I was. At least. Now that it's...over."

Or just beginning, as it is.

[sword_redemption]

Wing. Behind bars. It was something he couldn't believe, even as he was seeing it. And it hurt more than he could imagine, also. Wing, behind bars, because of Blurr's....stupid idea. The blue mech had meant no harm, and of course he hadn't made it happen, but still. It was one of the big 'if onlies' that would have prevented this whole thing.

He wasn't angry at Blurr. But he was angry. And standing here, he couldn't be angry at Wing. After all, who was he to hold anything against anyone else, with his past?

" _{You knew I'd come}." It's almost a rebuke. That part of Drift, at least, hasn't changed, won't change, that he could refuse Wing. And that's the danger, because even after watching Wing on the link, seeing him slick with innuendo and hostile in turns, he still couldn't.

He cycles a sigh. "You don't belong here."

[winged_knight]

Wing closes his eyes at those quiet words, because as much as he knows there are plenty of reasons for the other mech to be repulsed, Wing can't refute Drift's point because he realizes now how true it is. His darker self had known, counted on that very thing in fact. It makes him shudder now to think of it. All he'd ever wanted was to make Drift realize he had a choice. The idea of taking that from him...

"I..." He never wanted power over another. And as much as it's a power he'd like to give up, he knows it's not his choice. But it is his responsibility. "You don't have to stay--if you don't want to." He almost blurts it out, before he loses the courage to say the words.

"It's not locked..." It's a response with a hidden invitation, because Wing doesn't want to force Drift past the safety of the bars. He looks down again, "I...can't face them yet."

[sword_redemption]

Drift cycles a long, slow vent of air, the sigh rattling through him, as he reaches one hand around one of the bars. "I'm not leaving."

Part of him wants to, because the sight of Wing in so much pain is something he doesn't want to see. But that's cowardice, to want to turn away from suffering and it doesn't make it not happen. He knows better.

"Wing." It's a plea and a prayer that he could do more than just talk to take the hurt away. He drops to the floor, hand still curled around the prison bar. "I know. Believe me. Every day I see some Autobot who remembers me, from before. Every day I've been doubted, questioned, either silently or out loud. Sometimes to my face. Because of what I did, who I was."

He stares at his hand, curled around the metal bar for a moment as though it was a symbol, but he had no idea what it was a symbol of.

"It's not easy. But the longer you wait, the worse it gets. Like a weld, building up and hardening."

Seventh Day

[docbot]

It takes perhaps the better part of a week for Ratchet to get up the nerve to come find Wing. He's known where the mech is for a little while now, but between his own guilt and a certain incident involving Fortress Maximus, the medic has been ... putting off this visit.

Finally, though, he's come knocking at the door.

"Wing? I... I was wondering if you..."

He shutters his optics, suddenly unsure of what to say.

"Could we talk?"

^_^

[winged_knight]

Wing's palms rest calming on dark thighs as he kneels. His meditation today is troubled, but not so much by his recent challenges, but more the slowly building need to do something about them. He knows what he must do, the thing that holds him back now is...how to do it.

It's for this reason that Wing looks up so readily at the sound of footplates outside the cell. The red and white form of the medic is not a surprise to him, given all that's happened. In recent days the bars of the cell have been more to keep others out than to keep him in, but in this case his visitor is not unwelcome.

He offers Ratchet the ghost of a smile. Though it lacks its usual brightness it is illuminated by a flicker of hope. "Of course Ratchet. The door is not locked..." Whether the other mech wishes to enter or not, is up to him.