Jealous Breakdown

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A/N: This is a follow-up to Dragoness Eclectic's Get Well Soon, which is itself a sequel to her Bring Flowers.

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"You were with Starscream," Breakdown hissed, something not unlike hate in his voice. "Starscream, of all jets, the best of jets. The Air Commander."

They'd always had problems with jets, hadn't they? Even when he could stir himself to irritation, Dead End found jets drawing most of his ire after Motormaster and Drag Strip. After all, the Stunticons had been built to fight Autobots, and to trump them, the Autobots had built jets. There was a sly, dark little thought that niggled in the back of all the Stunticons' minds - 'they think jets are better than cars'.

Dead End set aside such thoughts. He knew where Breakdown was coming from, yes, but that alone wasn't enough to placate the Lamborghini. (And wasn't it almost amusing how Lamborghinis, any Lamborghinis, had such terrible tempers? Surely, their alt-mode couldn't cause that.) "Yes, I was."

The blow came almost too fast, but Dead End didn't even try to flinch out of the way. The back-handed return blow did catch him by surprise - Motormaster usually contented himself with one hit or used both hands when he needed to pound a lesson in.

"So you went to Cybertron and dug him up- Because, what? I'm only good enough for sloppy seconds?" Breakdown's violet optics flashed and flared. "Or did he decide he wanted two cars to be his worshipful toys?"

"I didn't invite him," Dead End said, each word clipped. "What he did to you was beyond stupid, and should he show his face around here again, he will be punished for it."

"Stupid," Breakdown repeated. "But not unpardonable?"

"I think you mean unforgivable," Dead End dared to murmur. "And that wasn't actively malicious on his part, I suspect."

Breakdown hit him again. He was far faster than Motormaster, and the Porsche had only ever watched Drag Strip hit other people. The yellow racecar simply didn't bother trying to fight with Dead End physically.

"He was watching us! For who knows how long-! How much did he hear, how much did he see? Everything?" A high edge of hysteria colored the Lamborghini's voice.

Dead End reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles across Breakdown's face, optics brightening at how much that seemed to soothe his brother. "He'll be punished, Breakdown. You have my word on it."

"What good is your word?" Breakdown asked. "You hardly bestir yourself from your e-books when you're not in a depressed funk. Wildrider's promises are worth more."

That hit harder than Breakdown's fists, and Dead End could see it in the set of the Lamborghini's shoulders and hear it in the jagged edge of his engine rumble that Breakdown had meant it to. "You're not precisely helping with that, Breakdown..."

"I'm sorry, getting fucked by Starscream, getting used for that bastard's pleasure, doesn't exactly make me want to." His engine-snarl was more full of wrath than his too-clipped words. "Especially not when I find out that you went to him willingly!"

"Not when you were there!" Dead End snapped. "I needed to know about death, and he was- is- the only person who could answer such questions!"

"You let him spin your steering wheel!"

"I didn't go to Cybertron to have sex with him! It was more important than that!"

"But you did wind up letting him work your accelerator, didn't you, Dead End?" Breakdown's hand closed around the Porsche's throat, and he snarled, "And then when you came back from him, you decided I could make a nice little replacement."

"You pursued me." Sometimes Dead End wondered why he said such blatantly suicidal things when he actually wasn't feeling particularly despairing.

"Maybe it's time for you to pursue me, then." Breakdown's engine screamed as he turned and walked away from the Porsche.