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wyntir_knightTitle: Untitled Transformers/MCU crossover
Warnings/Content Advice: None for this part
Rating: M
Continuity: AU - Marvel Comics/Bay-ish-verse crossover
Characters: Smokescreen, Swindle
Disclaimer: Not mine ... This was originally inspired by LadyDragon76's Cracka-verse, but now it's evolved into something more.
Note: The characters are human and they don't know why. And no, I have no clue where this is going, it just needed to be written. More will likely follow eventually. Right now though, this is still crack. However, any comments or thoughts would be appreciated.
Part 1 is here, and it's been updated since I first posted this, as this story seems to actually be evolving.
Smokescreen woke with a groan, curling up under the covers in an attempt to fight against waking. He felt like a Barrow Spider had moved into his mouth and built her nest and that a gang of Insecticons were tap-dancing on his skull. And this was before he had even opened his eyes. It would have been so very tempting to just go back to sleep and let the hangover run its course, but Smokescreen's bladder started to complain and the fact was that without some water and an aspirin, there was no way that he'd start feeling better.
With another groan he rolled over and extricated himself from the cocoon he'd created of his sheets and blankets before making his lurching way toward the en suite. He turned on the bathroom light and immediately regretted the action as the glare of what felt like a million light bulbs flashed off the white and chrome surfaces. Thankfully Swindle had left the toilet seat up so there was no need to fight with his less-than-steady hands and balance.
He sighed deeply as his bladder stopped yelling at him, and in that moment he smelled the enticing scent of bacon coming from the main room. He had no idea what time it was, but it didn't matter. Swindle had ordered food; more importantly, he had ordered bacon. Smokescreen made a mental note to thank his partner thoroughly.
"Shower first though," he muttered to himself as he tugged the bandage off of his chest to examine Vortex's little gift.
The wound was healing nicely and it looked more like a bloodied scratch than a true cut. It was still tender though, and the bruising on his chest and sides were blooming from yesterday's red to a purpling blue, with the edges tinted a vaguely green hue. They were healing and there was no spread. Apparently even while organic, Cybertronians healed quickly.
Smokescreen was carefully examining the damage when he heard the rumble of voices coming from the main room. Swindle should have been alone, but there was a possibility that Onslaught had stopped by in response to Vortex's visit. Taking a chance, Smokey cracked the bathroom door open slightly.
"Breakfast smells great. I'll be out as soon as I've washed up," he called out casually, never showing himself. "Leave me some of that bacon!"
"No rush, Blake," Swindle replied and Smokescreen's brows furrowed.
There was no reason for his partner to use his chosen human name. No reason unless the visitor (or visitors) was a human and not an ally who was in the know.
"Take your time. It's all copacetic."
Those words made Smokescreen's blood run cold. In this context, "copacetic" meant that whatever was going on out there was anything but and he had to be on his highest guard.
"Okay, I'll be out in ten, Greg," Smokescreen replied casually as he turned on the water in the shower.
He quietly slipped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, pulling on his boxers as he did. Then it was to the bedside table, where Swindle kept a gun, ready for just such an occasion. As soon as he had confirmed that the gun was loaded and ready, he moved silently to the bedroom door and cracked it open just enough to look out.
There were four people - three men and a woman - in the living room with Swindle, who was sitting on the couch, his arms behind him. Most likely they had him bound either with cuffs or with a zip tie. The first of his captors was a slender man, slightly on the shorter side with short-cropped brown hair that was showing the early signs of pattern baldness. His suit was obviously high end and he stood like a man who knew what he was doing. As casual as he seemed, this man was dangerous.
The second man was tall, over six feet and built like he meant business. This man would easily be able to take on Brawl, so there was no way that Smokey would be able to handle him in a fair fight. Thankfully he didn't seem to be carrying any weapons, only a strange round backpack, though the casual jeans and flannel could be hiding anything.
The third man sat perched on the edge of a chair. He was wiry and trim, and even with the dark glasses it was clear that he was surveying the room with a nervous sort of intensity. He ran his hand through short cropped golden brown hair, but even in that casual movement, Smokescreen could see more movement - his fingers seemed to twitch as if pulling on a trigger or pulling back on a bowstring. There was something positively bird-like about him.
The last person, a woman with slender, feminine curves and shoulder length red hair had her back to the bedroom and Smokey could see nothing of her save her back and silhouette. She was obviously athletic and fit, but compared to the men, she was the smallest in the room. A part of him wanted to mark her off as the least dangerous, but experience had taught him better. Very often it was the minibots and the cassettes who were the most dangerous on the field.
In order to save Swindle, he'd need cover and a distraction. Once he entered the room he calculated that he'd have bare moments before the one in the suit and the bird pulled the guns he knew they were hiding, and before the behemoth came into the fray. No, he'd have to be careful and calculating if he wanted to save Swindle's life.
Concentrating hard he focused on the shadows in the room. He had no idea how he was able to do this, since humans didn't normally have any kind of abilities like this, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth as the room began to darken and the shadows from the corners deepened. It wasn't as effective as his smoke cloud had been when he had been a robot, but at least it was something. Judging his moment carefully, he slipped out of the room and moved to disable the woman.
It should have been easy. She had no way on knowing that he was coming and she should have gone down easily. Instead he was flat on his back, his arm twisted painfully up and out, as a black, heeled boot came down hand on his chest, right over where his spark chamber would have been had he still been a robot.
"Nat, don't break his arm," the suited man said calmly, a touch of humour tinting his words.
Smokescreen instantly looked to Swindle, checking if his partner was still okay and apologizing all in one glance. Swindle nodded in response but said nothing.
"Now," the suited man said, "we have two choices here. All we want to do is talk, and we can do that a lot easier if you'd let some more light in here. So you can either tone it down voluntarily or we can shut you down temporarily."
He pulled out a small device that was clearly intended to attach to Smokescreen's head.
"I hear that these can be quite uncomfortable, so I think it'd be better if you obliged us this."
"If you just want to talk, then why is my colleague tied up?" Smokescreen asked tightly, allowing himself to lean into the twist of his arm to relieve some of the pressure. "You could have just asked like civilized people."
"Smokescreen, please drop whatever this field is that you're creating. Miss Romanov, please let my psychologist up off the floor."
Smokescreen twisted his neck to look at the speaker, a fourth man he hadn't noticed before. The voice was familiar but his memory didn't want to place it until the man came into view. Tall, almost seven feet, and built of strong muscles. There was a reagalness to the movement and a deep sadness to the dark blue eyes. But it was the face that gave him away; a face that only a handful of mechs had ever seen.
"Optimus?" Smokescreen breathed as the lights came back up in the room and the shadows retreated.
Warnings/Content Advice: None for this part
Rating: M
Continuity: AU - Marvel Comics/Bay-ish-verse crossover
Characters: Smokescreen, Swindle
Disclaimer: Not mine ... This was originally inspired by LadyDragon76's Cracka-verse, but now it's evolved into something more.
Note: The characters are human and they don't know why. And no, I have no clue where this is going, it just needed to be written. More will likely follow eventually. Right now though, this is still crack. However, any comments or thoughts would be appreciated.
Part 1 is here, and it's been updated since I first posted this, as this story seems to actually be evolving.
Smokescreen woke with a groan, curling up under the covers in an attempt to fight against waking. He felt like a Barrow Spider had moved into his mouth and built her nest and that a gang of Insecticons were tap-dancing on his skull. And this was before he had even opened his eyes. It would have been so very tempting to just go back to sleep and let the hangover run its course, but Smokescreen's bladder started to complain and the fact was that without some water and an aspirin, there was no way that he'd start feeling better.
With another groan he rolled over and extricated himself from the cocoon he'd created of his sheets and blankets before making his lurching way toward the en suite. He turned on the bathroom light and immediately regretted the action as the glare of what felt like a million light bulbs flashed off the white and chrome surfaces. Thankfully Swindle had left the toilet seat up so there was no need to fight with his less-than-steady hands and balance.
He sighed deeply as his bladder stopped yelling at him, and in that moment he smelled the enticing scent of bacon coming from the main room. He had no idea what time it was, but it didn't matter. Swindle had ordered food; more importantly, he had ordered bacon. Smokescreen made a mental note to thank his partner thoroughly.
"Shower first though," he muttered to himself as he tugged the bandage off of his chest to examine Vortex's little gift.
The wound was healing nicely and it looked more like a bloodied scratch than a true cut. It was still tender though, and the bruising on his chest and sides were blooming from yesterday's red to a purpling blue, with the edges tinted a vaguely green hue. They were healing and there was no spread. Apparently even while organic, Cybertronians healed quickly.
Smokescreen was carefully examining the damage when he heard the rumble of voices coming from the main room. Swindle should have been alone, but there was a possibility that Onslaught had stopped by in response to Vortex's visit. Taking a chance, Smokey cracked the bathroom door open slightly.
"Breakfast smells great. I'll be out as soon as I've washed up," he called out casually, never showing himself. "Leave me some of that bacon!"
"No rush, Blake," Swindle replied and Smokescreen's brows furrowed.
There was no reason for his partner to use his chosen human name. No reason unless the visitor (or visitors) was a human and not an ally who was in the know.
"Take your time. It's all copacetic."
Those words made Smokescreen's blood run cold. In this context, "copacetic" meant that whatever was going on out there was anything but and he had to be on his highest guard.
"Okay, I'll be out in ten, Greg," Smokescreen replied casually as he turned on the water in the shower.
He quietly slipped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, pulling on his boxers as he did. Then it was to the bedside table, where Swindle kept a gun, ready for just such an occasion. As soon as he had confirmed that the gun was loaded and ready, he moved silently to the bedroom door and cracked it open just enough to look out.
There were four people - three men and a woman - in the living room with Swindle, who was sitting on the couch, his arms behind him. Most likely they had him bound either with cuffs or with a zip tie. The first of his captors was a slender man, slightly on the shorter side with short-cropped brown hair that was showing the early signs of pattern baldness. His suit was obviously high end and he stood like a man who knew what he was doing. As casual as he seemed, this man was dangerous.
The second man was tall, over six feet and built like he meant business. This man would easily be able to take on Brawl, so there was no way that Smokey would be able to handle him in a fair fight. Thankfully he didn't seem to be carrying any weapons, only a strange round backpack, though the casual jeans and flannel could be hiding anything.
The third man sat perched on the edge of a chair. He was wiry and trim, and even with the dark glasses it was clear that he was surveying the room with a nervous sort of intensity. He ran his hand through short cropped golden brown hair, but even in that casual movement, Smokescreen could see more movement - his fingers seemed to twitch as if pulling on a trigger or pulling back on a bowstring. There was something positively bird-like about him.
The last person, a woman with slender, feminine curves and shoulder length red hair had her back to the bedroom and Smokey could see nothing of her save her back and silhouette. She was obviously athletic and fit, but compared to the men, she was the smallest in the room. A part of him wanted to mark her off as the least dangerous, but experience had taught him better. Very often it was the minibots and the cassettes who were the most dangerous on the field.
In order to save Swindle, he'd need cover and a distraction. Once he entered the room he calculated that he'd have bare moments before the one in the suit and the bird pulled the guns he knew they were hiding, and before the behemoth came into the fray. No, he'd have to be careful and calculating if he wanted to save Swindle's life.
Concentrating hard he focused on the shadows in the room. He had no idea how he was able to do this, since humans didn't normally have any kind of abilities like this, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth as the room began to darken and the shadows from the corners deepened. It wasn't as effective as his smoke cloud had been when he had been a robot, but at least it was something. Judging his moment carefully, he slipped out of the room and moved to disable the woman.
It should have been easy. She had no way on knowing that he was coming and she should have gone down easily. Instead he was flat on his back, his arm twisted painfully up and out, as a black, heeled boot came down hand on his chest, right over where his spark chamber would have been had he still been a robot.
"Nat, don't break his arm," the suited man said calmly, a touch of humour tinting his words.
Smokescreen instantly looked to Swindle, checking if his partner was still okay and apologizing all in one glance. Swindle nodded in response but said nothing.
"Now," the suited man said, "we have two choices here. All we want to do is talk, and we can do that a lot easier if you'd let some more light in here. So you can either tone it down voluntarily or we can shut you down temporarily."
He pulled out a small device that was clearly intended to attach to Smokescreen's head.
"I hear that these can be quite uncomfortable, so I think it'd be better if you obliged us this."
"If you just want to talk, then why is my colleague tied up?" Smokescreen asked tightly, allowing himself to lean into the twist of his arm to relieve some of the pressure. "You could have just asked like civilized people."
"Smokescreen, please drop whatever this field is that you're creating. Miss Romanov, please let my psychologist up off the floor."
Smokescreen twisted his neck to look at the speaker, a fourth man he hadn't noticed before. The voice was familiar but his memory didn't want to place it until the man came into view. Tall, almost seven feet, and built of strong muscles. There was a reagalness to the movement and a deep sadness to the dark blue eyes. But it was the face that gave him away; a face that only a handful of mechs had ever seen.
"Optimus?" Smokescreen breathed as the lights came back up in the room and the shadows retreated.
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