LICK UR WOUNDS ->
SUMMARY - loser got patch up. That's all I can tell u
PARING - black shadow/reader
(reworked/edit version)
Actions have consequences. Blackshadow had always known that. Whether it was raiding random ships in deep space or casually committing mass murder on Autobot battlegrounds at Megatron's behest—he never really felt bad about it. That was the job
He knew exactly what he signed up for when he joined the Decepticons
Instead of caring about the noble ideals or grand vision of the faction, he mostly cared about one thing: himself. And the profits. That was it. Yes, he was that selfish—but who wasn’t, really? Blackshadow just wasn’t ashamed to show it off in the most brutal, over-the-top way possible. And that, conveniently, was also the excuse he used when the Autobots once bribed him with a frankly obscene amount of credits
And as I said, actions have consequences
Phase-sixer would surely regret his poor life choices eventually—and he did, the moment he saw DJD in his line of sight
.
.
You found it mildly—okay, maybe more than mildly—frustrating when you realized Phase-sixer wasn’t offline yet, despite very much needing to be. His condition was so bad that even the thought of reusing or recycling his body parts felt like trying to repurpose a toaster after it went through a supernova
Still, with a shred of pity you somehow hadn’t burned out yet, you decided to help. Not too much, of course—you weren’t about to throw resources at a bot that looked like he’d been chewed up by a black hole and spat out sideways
If he got better, great—miracle of the century. If not? Well, there were probably still some parts left you could make use of. Legs. Maybe an arm. A wire or two
Dragging his wreck of a body onto the ship without turning him into even more of a scrap heap was a challenge on its own. And the missing parts? That was a scavenger hunt from hell. Honestly, you might’ve felt a pang of sympathy for what he’d gone through—if he hadn’t been such a monumental jerk during the war. But hey, you tried to help. That’s got to count for something, right?
“Primus—he really refuses to die, huh…”
The first few repair attempts? A disaster. Phase-sixer wasn’t showing even a hint of recovery. His systems—thankfully still salvageable, or he’d be space dust—were an absolute nightmare: circuits fried, networks glitchier than a bootleg holovid, fuel lines shredded, wires doing interpretive dance, and metal that looked like it lost a fight with a sun. Disgusting. But all you could do was complain while servos kept working away on this pathetic excuse for a bot
.
.
Pain. That was the first thing Blackshadow noticed. Everything hurt. His systems were slowly rebooting, and it honestly felt like his circuits had been deep-fried and then stabbed for good measure. Electric jolts shot through him like sparks with a grudge. His limbs were numb, paralyzed, and honestly? He didn’t want to find out how much it’d hurt if he could move. His processor crawled to catch up, dragging in fragmented memories of the catastrophe that had landed him in this mess, trying to assess his surroundings. Where the frag was he?
His optics still worked, barely. The right one was cracked to hell, giving him a distorted view that made everything look like a nightmare through a funhouse mirror. He shut them instead, focusing on the persistent, burning ache from his last encounter with—ugh—those DJD bastards. Loyal lapdogs of Megatron, bringing justice with a chainsaw. He should have been angry, but he was too exhausted to feel anything that complicated
...Shouldn’t he be dead by now?
He forced his remaining good optic open, just to get a read on where the universe had dumped him this time
Some kind of lab or medbay, maybe. White. Sterile. Looked like the inside of a stasis pod got into a fight with a hospital and lost. A wave of brief relief hit him—until he realized he wasn’t dead, which meant someone had saved him. Whoever it was either had serious medical talent… or the universe had pulled off a miracle and was now just showing off. Either way, he kind of wished they hadn’t bothered. This was the kind of pain that made death sound like a spa day
“You’re awake. I see. How you feeling?”
“Hurts like hell, right? Of course it does. You were a wreck when I found you. Like—half a bot, literally! You were missing a leg! But I found it. Took some doing. Honestly, would’ve been easier to just bolt a new one on, but hey”
Blackshadow gave you a skeptical glance, equal parts confused and annoyed. You talked too much. Sounded a little too proud of yourself. It reminded him uncomfortably of himself—back when he wasn’t a pile of pain with attitude. His brow furrowed instinctively, and you noticed
“Oh, so you can hear me! Can you talk, big guy?”
You sounded amused, not serious at all. But really—who takes a dying bot seriously?
Phase-sixer's silence said enough. He was pretty sure his voicebox still worked, but just thinking about speaking sent a shock of pain through every fried wire and scorched servo. Even twitching his neck felt like asking the universe to kick him in the spark again
Pathetic
And you seemed to realize that—your tone softened a little, your expression shifting into something almost sympathetic
“Worse than I thought, huh? But don’t worry. You’re in good hands”
Oh great, sympathy. Just what every Decepticon war veteran wants to hear while he’s flat on his back, being pitied by someone who clearly thinks “bedside manner” is a personality trait. Part of him wanted to scoff. Maybe even crack a joke. If he were feeling better, he probably would have. But he wasn’t. And he couldn’t deny… something about it—your tone, your words—actually made him feel slightly better. Warmer, somehow. Safer
Which was ridiculous
Phase-sixer, feared enforcer of the Decepticons, taking comfort from some nobody bot who'd dragged him back from the brink? If someone had told him that back in the day, he would’ve laughed in their face
Now? All he could do was lie there, lick his wounds, and hope to either recover… or die properly this time
Strange, though—he didn’t mind so much when your hand gently touched his frame, steady and reassuring, just for a moment