Strength in Two Parts - Transformers G1, Raoul (x Tracks)

[thecrazyalaskan]

You knew Raoul was working hard when he discarded his jacket and gloves.

Such was the case now—hanging out of a vehicle, radio blasting and his jacket and gloves draped over his friend's knee. One of the perks of having an Autobot for your main machine, he said, was having a set of wheels at your beck and call, and a coat rack. Tracks may have complained about "how little I must mean to you, Raoul," but it was clear he would have his relationship with the human play out no other way.

"Bueno," Raoul announced, putting down the hood of the car on which he was working. "Nearly done tryin' to figure what's wrong with this stupid thing." He kicked the bumper for good measure.

"That stupid thing is making you money, remember?" Tracks reminded. It was nice, visiting the repair shop when Raoul was working overtime—he was the only human there, leaving the pair free to socialize. Tracks would sit alongside and watch Raoul work; he had to admit, the human had some fiercely talented hands when it came to the engines of non-sentient vehicles.  

"Sí, lo sé," Raoul replied, wiping his brow. "Some moron's been drivin' this too hard an' he expects me to figure out what's wrong with it." He took a deep drink from a bottle of water, muttering something about idiot dragsters between gulps. "Some people jus' gotta learn to take care of their cars, y'know?" He shot Tracks a sidelong, teasing glance.

"I can't imagine what you mean, Raoul," Tracks returned, just as teasing. These words coming from a human who took time out of his few and far between days off to give his Autobot companion the wash and wax of a lifetime when the latter was anywhere near New York.

Raoul laughed and stepped behind the vehicle. "Just gotta give this a once over on the undercarriage," he announced, pushing against the vehicle.

"Shouldn't you be in the driver's seat for that?" Tracks questioned.

"Naw, I got this," Raoul replied, putting all of his weight into the push. Damnit if he didn't get the thing pushed forward a few inches, too.

-.-.-.-

The lights were dim, the music was loud and the bar was crowded. Even the most careful person would have bumped into her. "Sorry," Raoul mumbled, trying to step past her without bumping into anyone else.

It would have worked, but it didn't—whoever she was, she decided that Raoul was the object of her affections—her drunken affections, he noted with a grimace. Drunk was never something he looked for in a significant other, and besides which—

A rough hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around. For a second, Raoul was looking into a black shirt; he tipped his head back, and found that the shirt belonged to another club patron who was easily twice his size and very angry. "You tryin' to get with my girl?" The words were short and far from friendly.

Raoul's face twisted in annoyance. "Hell no, man," he denied. "She's drunk and not even my type."

The other man grabbed Raoul by the collar, despite the latter's protests, and jerked him forward. "That supposed to mean sumpm?"

"That your girl isn't my type?" Raoul deadpanned.

The other man looked the youth over once or twice before asking, "You fuckin' queer?"

Honestly? It was to closest thing to right he'd been the entire conversation, though Raoul preferred… well, some other term that wasn't that one, and even then keeping this info as quiet as he could—not because of any personal shame, but for his own safety. Before he could deny the accusation, he found himself pressed against the wall. "Oye, ¿qué pasa?"

"Shut up, faggot." A small crowd was gathering around them—exactly what Raoul didn't want. "It's bad enough that you're a fucking spic, but a faggot, too?"

"I'm not Mexican, jackass," Raoul spat, taking even more genuine offense at that. "I'm Colombian."

He was punched in the gut, hard, for that. "Hijo de puta," he muttered. It was obvious his assailant didn't speak any Spanish; it was also obvious that he decided he didn't especially care for the tone Raoul used, and punched him again.  God, that hurt like nothing on Earth ever should have…!

"May I help you?"

Raoul looked up the words, the voice that spoke them very cultured and sounding almost out of place at a New York City nightclub. The speaker was a young man, a few years older than he, who looked as out of place as he sounded—pressed khakis, button down shirt, nice jacket. Clean cut, sandy brown hair, striking blue eyes. To anyone else, he was a fool just begging to be mugged later; to Raoul, he was not only a close friend, but a fucking saint.

The assailant looked over his shoulder at the challenger. "This faggot yours?"

The blonde lifted his eyebrows at the way to which Raoul was referred. "I don't know who on Earth you're referring to—" He laid his hand on the other man's shoulder and leaned in close, his next words so soft Raoul could have sworn he imagined them—"but if you don't release my friend this instant, I'll take you out back and make you one very sorry inbred."

The thug looked him over a few times and, apparently deciding it wasn't worth the trouble, pushed Raoul into the other man's arms. "Take your little bitch and go home," he snarled as he stalked away.

Raoul frowned after him before turning back to the other man. "Thanks, Tracks," he mumbled, trying to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. "You saved my ass."

"Consider it my way of repaying you for those two incidents," Tracks (or rather, his newly perfected holoform) replied.

"Come on—need to get outta here." Even as he said the words, Raoul was halfway toward the door, leaving his confused Autobot companion no choice but to follow.

Tracks caught up with him in the alley between the club and the florist next door, leaning wearily against the wall, his gaze tilted skyward. He looked worn out, almost shaken, and if Tracks didn't know better, like he was about to break down into tears. "Raoul, are you…" He didn't dare insult the youth's pride by suggesting he was about to cry. "¿Estás bien?"

Raoul chuckled humorlessly at Tracks' attempt at his native language. "Sácame de aquí. Joder, yo quiero ir a casa.

Tracks' holoform flickered slightly as energy was shifted to a translator computer he'd quietly commissioned from Perceptor. It was new and still buggy, but he caught "here," "I want" and "home." "You got it," he replied, taking Raoul by the arm and tugging him into walking.

Raoul followed and all but collapsed in the passenger seat. The holorform was in the driver's seat and looked like it was turning the key and backing out and going through the motions of driving, though it was actually Tracks' doing. They sat in silence for several moments, Tracks driving and Raoul swiping insistently at his eyes. "Raoul…" Tracks said softly. "If you feel the need to break down, I won't call any attention to it."  

There was no real indicator that Raoul had heard him, until he started to silently cry. As promised, Tracks said nothing, and even averted the holoform's eyes slightly.

By the time they reached Raoul's apartment building, Raoul had calmed down and was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Fuckin' hate guys like him, man," he muttered.

"I understand," Tracks said as sympathetically as he could—gender labels were highly foreign concepts to him as a Cybertronian, but knew how much humans valued them, for whatever silly reason they had. "You have to be stronger than them, though."

"Why?" Raoul scoffed.

"Because you're better than them. "

Raoul quirked an eyebrow and looked at the radio. "How do you know I'm stronger and better—"

"Easy—you're driving a Corvette," Tracks explained. Raoul could just picture the smile on his friend's face when he said that, too.

He couldn't help but smile in return. "… You suck."

--- --- ---

Title: Strength in Two Parts
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Transformers G1, pre-1986 movie
Characters / Pairings: Raoul (x Tracks)
Rating: T+
Genre: General, light romance
Warnings / Notes: Gratuitous if IC Spanish, some ideologically sensitive materials
Prompt from locoexclaimer : Two-shot / drabble set, any TF human character. Theme: Strength.
Relevant Quotes:

Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will. – Mohandas Ghandi

Strength is Happiness. Strength is itself victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a human being. – Daisaku Ikeda

Write-a-Day fill.
The humans need some love up in here. <3 I gave Chip some love last time, so now I’m working with my other favorite human.

I have come to the conclusion that it’s impossible to write Raoul without including Tracks and making it a pairing. God, I’m so glad I ship this because there’s no way in fucking hell that I could make this platonic ever. 8D

So—in two parts. The physical was given, but I like the mental emotional end of things as well. The last one sort of… came up out of nowhere. And on that note—God, I hated writing all those slurs and insults. It felt like I was betraying everything I held dear. :c I love the sentiment of part two, but I don’t know how it fits the theme. >.>; Oh well—it’s still good.

Raoul, Tracks, The Transformers © Hasbro
 

Comments

[locoexclaimer.livejournal.com]

I haven't commented on this? Fucking shame on me! ;A; This is amazing. You've gotten leaps and bounds better with Raoul in particular-- like holy shit, I love this. And it fits the theme perfectly.