Convoy:

*Convoy is relaxing in his room - after spending a good extra forty minutes trying to find it after leaving Dead End - musing over random things that wander into his processor.  It's been long enough for Convoy to forget most unimportant things, but one thought process leads to another, which leads to him thinking about a certain stuffed camel, and therefore the owner of said camel.  He debates for a while if it's decent to actually comm Dead End, but hey, he could use a distraction - sooo...*  ::...Dead End - are you back from your meeting?::

Dead End:

*has managed to crawl just around a corner in the time between being thrown out of Motormaster's quarters and the comm reaching him. He's been lying on the floor, unmoving, for...he has no idea how long he has been taking this rest. Dead End had been taking them with increasing frequency the longer he had gotten himself distanced from that door, still clenching lower jaw in a hand. It takes several moments before he answers the comm - it takes several moments before he even registers it, and when he speaks, his voice is exhausted, filled with pain, but still calm* ::...Convoy...::

Convoy:

*doesn't, at first, quite register anything other than Dead End's voice, but after a few seconds he notices the tone -*  :: Dead End, where are you?  You sound...:: *trails off, unable to really put a word to just how Dead End sounds*

Dead End:

*isn't feeling up to the task of telling Convoy where he is; especially not since he has no idea where he actually is. It's a significant pause before he transmits an emergency beacon signal via the comm, pinging his exact location to the truck, and he slumps down on the floor, jaw a sharp reminder of his unwanted behavior as he rests (the leftovers of) his cheek on the cold material*

Convoy:

*takes a moment to mull over the beacon before deciding that it's probably more important to just go, rather than wait around and see what happens next.  So he leaves his room at a much more purposeful speed than normal, taking the hallways and following the signal to the best of abilities.  He's still berating himself for getting turned around at a hall intersection when he comes up to the origin of the signal - and just stops, staring at Dead End in rising... unease*

Dead End:

*Dead End is more or less a pile on the floor, black holes surrounded by remains of red glass where his optics used to be, face being given a grotesque look by the lack of a lower half. His engine gives a whine as he hears someone, to be seen in this state is demeaning beyond words*

Convoy:

*moves faster than he probably ever has in robot form, rushing forward and kneeling over the Stunticon, taking in all the damage in a few short seconds.  He notes, in an almost dazed state of mind, that Dead End can't precisely see him, but when he tries to come up with something to say, it all falls short* ...Dead End...

Dead End:

*puts a considerable amount of effort to push himself off of the floor with an anguished grunt, mind a confused mess. His voice somehow sounding horribly off, though it's not that easy to pinpoint why, although it's pretty obvious the reason is the missing jaw-component* ...Convoy.

Convoy:

*immediately reaches out, gripping Dead End's shoulder firmly, in order to - what, exactly?  Help him up, make him lie back down?  He's not sure, so he shifts his weight to do one or the other, depending on just what Dead End tries to do*  Dead End, I - we... *blast it, he can't even form a coherent sentence - he'd consider this a new low for himself if he weren't so busy focusing everything on the other*

Dead End:

*jerks from the touch automatically, not knowing it was coming. The resulting jolt sends much pain through his systems, and he sinks down onto the floor again with a low groan. He has no idea which circuitboard was knocked loose, the information lost and at the moment unretrievable, but it's making him unable to do much but crawl slowly, which is hardly dignified, so he picks the option of resting on the floor instead. At least he knows he can do that*

Convoy:

*the thought finally surfaces that perhaps finding someone more capable would be a good idea-*  Dead End.  We need a medic.  *and an unfamiliar feeling tinges Convoy's proecessors for a moment - if he got his hands on who did this...  But it's gone in a second, his concern for Dead End overpowering it*  I want to -- where do you want to go?  *it's a stupid question, considering the right answer would be "medbay" - but he's more in favor for doing what Dead End wants, and he's not sure how the other would react to being put in a potentally public place*

Dead End:

*again, it takes a little hwile before he responds, Motormaster's last words ringing clear in his mind when he hears the word medic.* Glit. *he doesn't try to get up again, the blindness combined with his confused processors making the world seem surreal, and the hand holding his own jaw twitches, almost as if he needs some sort of reassurance*

Convoy:

*is quite patient with the pauses before Dead End's responses, shifting once he hears an unfamiliar name* ...I... Will you mind if... I want to take you back to my room.  The path is more familiar to me right now - are you okay with that?  *his tone is quiet and dazed, but full of concern, the hand on the other's shoulder squeezing slightly to indicate just where he is*

Dead End:

*a weak nod - more like a slight shift than the actual thing* As you wish. *doesn't really care where he's taken right now, as long as it's away from the public eye. He doesn't flinch away again, but rather raises his hand, the one not hanging on to his ripped off part, painfully slowly lifting it high enough to put it on Convoy's own arm*

Convoy:

*immediately moves, sliding his hand carefully across Dead End's upper back, other arm coming down to hook under his knees.  He's not even considering making the other walk, choosing instead to carefully lift the Stunticon up into his arms, rising to his feet once he adjusts his grip for maximum support*  Forgive me.  *it's loaded with an apology for not only carrying the other like this - no doubt Dead End will find it rather demeaning - but also for not being nearby enough to help prevent this level of abuse*

Dead End:

*doesn't make any attempt to fight the way of transportation Convoy has in mind for him, with the way his gyros are sent spinning again, and the world turns into something dizzy he loses his strength, which wasn't that great to begin with. He doesn't say anything, just uttering pained and weak sounds, the great dents on his chestplate obvious at this angle, as wekk as the bad state of his paintjob. His tight grip on his lower jaw slacken when he is once again thrown into confusion, almost dropping it to the floor before grasping it as hard as he's able to again*

Convoy:

*starts back the way he came, walking with an unusual amount of self-assurance and speed, optics focused on their surroundings and audios only registering the noises Dead End is making.  He recognizes, for once, places where he previously got turned around, and correctly guesses which hallways to turn down as he makes his way back to his room, holding Dead End close to his chest*

Dead End:

*engine revs pitifully as he tries to fight for the control over his own systems again, neck bent at an unnatural angle without a chin to stop it and rest on his chestplate, the empty optic cavities giving him a hollow, dead look, almost as if he had completely lost his spark*

Convoy:

*finds his room in record time, shifting and bending to sloppily input the access code before getting the door open and stepping through, letting it shut behind him.  He steps around a case of Pepsi and moves to his berth, pretty much kneeling to gently lay Dead End down*  We're in my private quarters now.  *he's not sure why he told Dead End that, but it's not important, really, the why's - not when he's looking the Stunticon over in horribly-concealed worry*

Dead End:

*is oblivious to where they're heading; if Convoy really is taking him to his room. He blesses the steady and unmoving surface beneath him as Convoy settles him down, acknowledging the information with a soft noise. He must be quite the sight, broken and sightless, almost faceless. As the forces affecting him stabilizes, so does his systems, and he manages, slowly, to collect coherency, and the ability to think. Motor quiets down to an idle rumble, subdued in volume* Thank you.

Convoy:

*stills at that for a brief moment, before putting a hand against Dead End's cheek - at least, what's left of it*  This is what friends do.

Dead End:

Friends. *almsot sounds like he's trying the word on to see if it fits, not just going along with it, carefully not moving a milimeter in fear of upsetting his mind again. He's tired, but has no idea why, and he can't fall into a recharge in this state, diagnostics almost constantly warning him about something, never giving him a moment's peace*

Convoy:

Precisely.  I'll get a hold of... Glit, was it?  And have them come here for you.  I promise.  *his thumb moves and brushes lightly down, almost to the point where Dead End's jaw was removed, repeating the motion as comfortingly as possible*

Dead End:

*quietly* Yes. *something that may have been a sigh escapes him, but it's difficult to tell if it's that or if his air intakes are beginning to become irregular*

Convoy:

You...  *frowns slightly, thumb pausing before repeating the motions again*  ...You should have called for me.  I wouldn't have let this happen.

Dead End returned at 5:30:39 AM

Dead End:

It was Stunticon matters. You had no right being there. *voice is more calm than usual, silent, seemingly trying to keep any jarring to a minimum - and it still sounds a bit eerie*

Convoy:

...

Convoy:

He had no right. *sounding surprisingly dark, considering the source*

Dead End:

*slowly, very carefully, he turns his head towards the sound of Convoy's voice, and thus into the hand on his cheek* He is my commander.

Convoy:

...*he's not even sure if it makes sense to phrase it like this, but it's the closest approximation:* He is your commander, but he does not own you.  He cannot do whatever he pleases to you.  *his voice sounds more concerned now than anything*

Dead End:

But we are just appendages. Expendable. *empty sockets stare at the truck, almost haunting in their appearance*

Convoy:

*his intakes come to life suddenly, sounding almost too loud for the already quiet room, and it takes a moment for him to calm himself down.  When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but determined, his optics locked onto where Dead End's should be, where they would be if he could have just gotten through to him before-* You are not expendable.

Dead End:

*listens, using some of the processing power that would normally be used to process visual input to heighten his sense of hearing  - which came pretty naturally in the first place* I was made to be used and thrown away.

Dead End:

We all were.

Convoy:

*nearly pulls his hand away from the other's face at that, feeling suddenly both helpless and utterly frustrated at the situation, but he stops himself.  Instead of pulling away, he moves his other hand to the joint between Dead End's neck and shoulder, massaging it gently*  You...  You won't be discarded so easily.  You can move past your original blueprints.

Dead End:

*misses both emotions, still leaning into the touch* It is not up to me to decide. *an almost submissive tone enters his voice*

Convoy:

Then whose decision is it?  *his voice is low, but it's not without a kind of intensity Convoy's words don't normally hold*

Dead End:

My commaders'. *says it matter of factly, but the tone the other is using isn't passing him by*

Convoy:

*finds himself very nearly snarling out a snap response* He is no commander.  *his hands pause as he shakes his head, clearing the sudden rush of very-nearly-anger*  ...Dead End...

Dead End:

*isn't feeling up to par to go through the whole commander-discussion again, not when he's feeling so worn out* ...yes?

Convoy:

He has no right - you shouldn't have to...  *sighs, shaking his head again*  ...You can think for yourself.  They wouldn't create an... an appendage with a will of its own.

Dead End:

I have no say in what my leaders may or may not do. *the pain is starting become a dull ache instead of the sharpness it had before, allowing some of Dead End's systems to fall into an idle mode*

Convoy:

You should.  *quietly*  This shouldn't happen.  For what?  Infighting?  This shouldn't have happened.  This is infighting in itself.

Dead End:

Discipline. Higher ups do not mind a well-disciplined troop. *passive tone as he says it*

Convoy:

Discipline...  This is torture.

Dead End:

I am sorry.

Convoy:

*frowns, tilting his head in confusion and looking at Dead End with just pure concern - even if the other can't see it, his voice is practically thick with it*  You have nothing to apologize for, Dead End.

Dead End:

*doesn't say anything to that, instead moving his jaw-gripping hand up, uncurling his fingers from around the metal, offering the component to Convoy*

Convoy:

*only hesitates a moment out of confusion before moving his hand from Dead End's cheek, taking the jaw from him and looking at it almost curiously - not even really sure what the other wants him to do, since he's hardly a medic*

Dead End:

*lets his hand slip back down to rest just under his bulked chassis, some sort of tension present in him before fading away*

Convoy:

*pauses, then moves away from the berth for a moment, putting the jaw to the side - somewhere where it's visible, so that not even he could forget it.  He returns to the berth after a moment, sitting at the edge and putting a hand on top of Dead End's, looking him over and again feeling that almost-angry urge to find the Stunticon's superior*

Dead End:

*hand jerk lightly at the touch, but lies still under Convoy's. With the lack of stimuli, his systems settles into idleness, effectively making Dead End doze off ever so slightly*

Convoy:

*sits there, thumb sliding across the back of Dead End's hand as he just... stares.  Dead End had been perfectly fine just a while ago, and now...*

Dead End:

*air intakes and fans quiet down as they too go into standby modus, ache from his optics and jaw now familiar and dull enough to allow him to fall into recharge, which was more or less badly needed*