Chapter Text
1
Cybertronians did not traditionally possess family units, and no one understood that better than Hot Rod. There was no inherent familiar instinct, nor was there a culture that encouraged it. Most Cybertronians did not have relatives, save for those with a twin or triplet. Protoforms were cared for by a community, but once they were fully formed they were self-sufficient. 99.99% of all Cybertronians never knew their original caregivers, and the thought of a society based on lineages was a bureaucratic nightmare.
Terrans, on the other hand, did not have the same structure. The exact reason wasn't known, but unlike their cousins, the Earthen Transformers had only the most bare-bones systems and required far more care. This was another reason Hot Rod couldn't have been a Terran — once his protoform was finished developing, he possessed all the requirements for a Cybertronian to live on their own. He didn't though.
Instead, he was raised by another Cybertronian. He learned at the age of five — the same age he realized that no one else liked how his dad smiled — that he was an outlier. Not only because he was the only child at school who could transform into a car when the others were still mastering fine motor skills, but because no one recognized Optimus as his dad. Every time he would be seen at a school event, he could hear the other parents talk to him. Hot Rod would run over to him to show him something (a reward, a prize, a trophy, a cool rock - it didn't matter), and while his dad praised him the other parents would ask if Hot Rod wanted to show his parents as well.
Every time, Hot Rod could see his dad sink a little lower as he quietly explained he was his father. The teachers were no different. They assumed he belonged to a host family, and thus they wouldn't call Optimus when something happened - he would only register as his 'older brother' to them. Instead, Sparkplug would be called, with a teacher explaining how Hot Rod needed to be picked up due to a size concern, to drop off an extra helping of energon, or that it had been a half day. It was humiliating for Hot Rod — to not only be treated as completely incapable (he knew the way home) but also to never be listened to when he repeatedly said who his father was. Sparkplug would still bring Hot Rod home before calling Optimus, all while the younger Transformer knew he wouldn't be able to do anything to change it.
When he was eleven, he learned exactly how difficult it was for his father to raise him. They had been spending the summer with Spike's new family — Daniel was eight-years old and as long as they stayed in view of the house, the two of them were allowed to drive around. That year, Sparkplug had decided to stay at the shop which meant they couldn't go out joyriding as they previously had. Despite being counted as 'too young for a license', Hot Rod naturally understood how to drive himself. That usually meant Daniel would huff and pout when he had to sit in the passenger's seat, but allowing him control over the radio usually won him back over.
It had been when they came back in, hungry for lunch, when they accidentally walked in on a discussion they weren't meant to hear.
"What do you mean? They can't do that!" Carly hissed out.
"They can." His dad had his face in his hands. "They can and I— I can't do anything."
"That's bullshit!" Spike slammed his fist against the table, "They can't— they can't just reassign him to a different host family! He's under your name! He's a Witwicky!"
"And it doesn't count." Optimus groaned, "It doesn't count because I don't own a house. My residence isn't fixed, I don't have a permanent position, and they won't— I'm not his father according to them."
"Not his fath— Jesus Christ."
"What if we adopted him? He could be listed under our address—" Carly broke off before she shook her head, "—No. Because if he isn't living with us, it will count as endangering him."
"They'll accuse us of violating the Homestay Protection Act," Spike pointed out morosely, "And if we're found guilty, they can revoke previous allowances retroactively as well — including dad's."
"I'll figure something out." Optimus had never looked smaller than he did crouched in the kitchen with his helm in hands. "I'll— I'll figure it out. I have to. There's two months— I— I can't—"
"I can't lose Hot Rod. I just can't."
Outside, scrunched on the porch, Hot Rod held Daniel as he sobbed into his shoulder. The eight-year old babbled and hiccuped as he tried to wrap his arms around his cousin's neck. The snippets of conversation kept replaying in his processor.
"I dun'— I dun' wan'chu to le—le—le—leave!"
Hot Rod stroked his back with his hand, not trusting his vocalizer to not glitch or skip if he opened his mouth.
Two months later, they moved to Witwicky, Pennsylvania so Optimus could take up an offered position at the new D. E. O'Neil Elementary & Junior High School thanks to Buster — his youngest brother — placing a good word to the principal through a college friend teaching for the K–6 program. Not only would they be living alone, but they would have a house built for them. It had been the first time Hot Rod had been in a building that was made for him. He made a passionate plea with Buster to ensure there was a garage included in the building plans (contrary to belief, he did in fact understand the limitations of the budget — he just really wanted a garage) to which Buster argued against up until his father and brother laughed at him for 'arguing against an eleven-year old'. Afterwards, he begrudgingly asked the architect to add a garage in exchange for removing the porch under the pretense he never had to go inside it. The unexpected horror of Hot Rod's final stage as a protoform devouring two old cars left abandoned in the repair shop had never quite left him.
Buster refused to even sit inside Hot Rod's alt mode to that very day.
For most of his time in junior high it had been perfect to him. He had a room with a dark red door and the town had a raceway he could actually drive in. There were other Transformers already living there as well, with six of the thirteen who lived there around his age. They were a few years younger, still part of the school's elementary program, but it was exponentially more than he was used to! It was almost perfect. The older ones, around his dad's age, often did a double take when he said he was Optimus' son. They hadn't said anything outwardly, but Hot Rod knew enough to be sure they didn't understand the fact his dad was his dad.
A little over two years ago, when he was finishing junior high, Hot Rod had fallen ill. It was a standard Cybertronian illness. Unlike human illnesses, it didn't restrict his ability to do work or even go to school. All it did was make it difficult to transform — Alt Mode Fatigue or AMF. Sparkplug had even come, leaving the repair shop in Spike's capable hands, to help out while Optimus worked — he had been promoted from an assistant principal to the principal with the former's retirement a few months prior. While his grandfather was no doctor, he knew enough about car maintenance to help Hot Rod recover faster than he would have without anything. In practice, it ended up with the older man walking him to the lake to fish after he was finished with his daily stretching (to ensure his transformation components wouldn't lock up from lack of use while he recovered according to Optimus).
He had been roused from his recharge by his pinging coolant reserves. It made his frame feel warm and uncomfortable as nothing flooded through his lines to ensure his components were kept cool. Huffing, he stared up at the ceiling as he tried breathing in the chilled air from the air conditioner to help. Peeling himself from his bed, Hot Rod quietly trudged towards the kitchen when it only helped minutely.
"You think I made a mistake?" He heard his dad whisper.
"I didn't say that," Sparkplug sighed, "I'm just — look, I know it's not a natural thing for you, and you're doing a good job despite that. I'm just worried about the kid."
"It's…AMF is incredibly common for younger Cybertronians. His systems will adjust soon."
"Optimus, I'm not talking about his illness."
Hot Rod pressed himself against the wall as he listened to their hushed conversation.
"He's … he's attached to you."
"Attached? He's not overly reliant on me—"
"Most kids his age don't… they don't spend all their time with their parents."
"He doesn't spend all his time—"
"Optimus," Sparkplug groaned, "He doesn't… he doesn't have friends. What thirteen-year old doesn't have any friends?"
"Hot Rod has friends," his dad defended sharply.
"He has classmates. He has a cousin. He doesn't have friends. No one calls him, he doesn't play games with other kids, he talks about his classmates like they're co-workers for heaven's sake. I asked him if there was anyone he liked hanging out with in his classes and do you know what he said? He said 'I just go to school with them'."
"That's…" Optimus sighed deeply, "It's…he's…he's just shy."
"Shy?!" The man's voice raised loud enough to almost be a yell before he quieted down almost immediately, "Shy? Are you behind an update or something? Hot Rod has never been shy in his life! Two days after he got an alt mode he was showing every single person who came by the shop — including people who weren't even customers!"
"What do you want me to say? He's — he's just different."
"Kids like other kids, Optimus! He acts like everyone his age is either an infant or a toddler!"
"To him they are. It—" There was a long pause — "Please, it will get better in high school. It just… takes a minute."
"And what if it doesn't? It's one thing to be close to your kid, it's another when you're the only one he hangs out with!"
"I know, I know."
"I'll…I'll fix it." Optimus mumbled, "I'll fix it."
Hot Rod had sat down in the hallway, curled up as much as he could manage, and waited for one of them to leave the kitchen table. It hadn't been entirely wrong. He didn't have friends — but how was he expected to make any when it felt like everyone else was permanently younger than him? What did it matter that he hung out with Optimus the most? There weren't many options to begin with — everyone was either too young or too old.
When he finally stood up and walked into the kitchen to get more coolant, he pretended he didn't notice how his dad's vocalizer clicked when he asked how he was feeling.
It was worse afterwards. His dad started adamantly encouraging him to make friends at school and to hang out away from home more often. He pointed out part-time work openings around town. Posters for school clubs always found their way onto their dining table. Hot Rod would smile each time and tell him he'd think about it.
Then, Hot Rod had come home with a failing test grade. He hadn't intended to, the teacher even agreed to let him retake it the next class. The time had run out, and he had turned in a test that wasn't finished. When he showed it to his dad there hadn't been a scolding. Optimus had just asked if he needed any help with the material. Hot Rod lied to him — he didn't need help with it at all, but this was the first time in months that his dad hadn't tried to push him towards someone else. Listening to him explain the formulas reminded him of when Optimus would work on his own homework with him in his lap.
So he kept doing it. He lost assignments, let due dates pass, and even started turning in work incorrectly just so he could get his father to help him study. That started to lose its effectiveness as Optimus let him get away with late work and started discussing with teachers study methods. Hot Rod started to skip his classes then. The first time, Optimus had been so worried he had practically broken a speed limit to get home and check on him. As it went on though, he started watching him in the morning to make sure he left for school. He would offer him rewards like games and fishing equipment every time he went a certain number of days. When he wouldn't, Optimus stopped trying to encourage him to attend classes and instead tried to discourage him from skipping.
All of it only made him angrier. During one talk, he had just shouted at him that he didn't want to go to school and left the room. His dad came by his room later, apologizing and asking what he could do. It didn't feel good, but Hot Rod started arguing with his dad more and more. At first it was only over major things, like school, clubs, and work but then he started picking a fight over minor things; what he did that day, what he wanted for dinner, and how he was feeling.
Then he picked up smoking. He understood the concept of it — television and the internet were brilliant after all — but it never interested him. Most of the time, the character's parents would complain about it. So he picked up a pack at the gas station. The first few times were awful — he hated the taste — but he felt calmer afterwards. Hot Rod allowed himself to become messy, leaving empty containers around his room and in the living area. When Optimus asked him to smoke outside the first time, he started smoking inside. The second time, Optimus bought him an ashtray.
It had made him infuriated. Nothing was enough — no, everything was enough and Optimus would let him do whatever he wanted. Except be around him. Hot Rod just wanted his dad back — it felt like he was living with a stranger. The third time he smoked inside the house, the person arguing with him felt even less like his dad than before.
"Well maybe I wouldn't end up thinking such things if it didn't feel like you were dead set on ruining my life!"
Hot Rod felt his entire world shatter in an instant. The regret that crossed his features was like a gunshot. His dad had said that. Optimus had looked him in the optics and said that. He had been arguing with his dad — and his dad hated him. He hated him enough for that one slip up. His frame felt cold and empty.
He had just wanted his dad back.
2
More than a week had passed, and Hot Rod hadn't called. He wanted to — he had stared at the number and unanswered messages longer than he should have — but he couldn't bring himself to select the 'call' button and hear his dad on the other end. He didn't want to hear his voice glitch and skip, for him to apologize, or to be told he wasn't in trouble. The worst outcome though, would be if he called and Optimus didn't pick up. Hot Rod didn't think he could take that.
It took longer to drive back — not only because he wasn't running on adrenaline, but he didn't want to deal with a speeding ticket. He had only barely gotten away with it before. A day and a half of driving — and walking when traffic decided to erupt — brought him back to Witwicky, Pennsylvania.
His frame ached, and his tanks were needing a refill. There had been plenty of gas stations for him to grab a pick-me-up in the form of gasoline (to Transformers, gasoline was closer to a sports drink) but Hot Rod had kept going to make it home. His tank flashed a pointed reminder he was only at 30% when he started driving down the pathway. It was low but it wasn't deadly. Maybe if he was dipping below 10% he would worry, but he still had enough fuel to drive around the entire town three or four times.
He pulled up to the garage door and transformed before pausing. He could hear the front door open. Which was…odd. It was Sunday a little after noon, his dad didn't normally head out on Sundays at that time — a holdover from when they lived back in Portland. Hot Rod peaked over the protruding wall separating the main house from the garage.
Someone — another Transformer — stepped out from his house. He didn't recognize him. Aluminum silver with dark grey paneling and red detailing; bigger than his dad and with small wings by his stabilizers. Then his dad — blue and red with two smokestacks as always — stepped out and caught the stranger's hand. Hot Rod watched as his dad kissed the stranger.
He turned away, his optics going in and out of focus over a small rock in the middle of the driveway. His dad didn't kiss people. Especially not on the mouth. His processor kept confirming what he had seen. Optimus — who didn't date, who didn't kiss, who didn't even react when someone flirted with him at the store — was seeing someone.
And he hadn't told Hot Rod.
He was only away for a week and a half. That wasn't enough time, he argued to himself. There was no way his dad was dating that stranger. He would— he would have mentioned something about it at least!
Hot Rod felt the pool of dread begin to seep into his struts. The attempts at distancing and encouraging him to stay out replayed one by one. The small, undeniable facts were piling up. A stranger was kissing his dad, had exited from his house, and— and had probably been there plenty of times before. It felt like his tank threatened to bottom out. His dad had kept trying to move away from him — was this another reason? Had this stranger been telling his dad to cut him off? His frame was shaking as the sound of an aircraft lifting up into the air echoed in his audials.
He needed to find out who that stranger was — and he needed to get rid of him.
3
Finding out his name had been the easy part. Witwicky wasn't a big town when its population was barely pushing 7,200 people. An even smaller number were Transformers. Smaller still were the ones registered as adults. There were eight adults excluding his dad, and that meant everyone knew them.
Hot Rod stopped by a little shop near the edge of town — Witwicky Donuts. He had leaned down to the order window with a wide smile as he asked the worker a few questions. They had happily answered, whether because they finally had someone to talk to out there or simply because they liked to talk. Leaving them with a few dollars for answering, Hot Rod started driving back towards the town proper.
Megatron Malto. Part-time worker at the ranger station, and a new resident that only moved in a couple of months ago.
Even if he wasn't their guardian — it was always a scandal when an educator dated a relative of their student. There were always accusations of corruption or secret motivations, some would even damage the reputation of the educator for years. But Megatron wasn't an established member of the community yet — he was still new. The town knew Optimus, and rumors preferred easy targets. A newcomer seducing the straight-laced, hardworking principal for good grades wasn't a far fetched story to throw around. Especially if the newcomer was someone no one knew.
It was evening when he finally got back home a second time. He stood in front of the door, hovering his hand over the handle. His frame was still shivering from all the adrenaline that day. Clasping the door knob, he turned it—
There was no click of a lock.
Optimus had left the door open for him.
He swallowed down the choking feeling in his throat as he stepped inside. Everything inside was the same. The living room had an old couch and a coffee table - with the bright, crimson ash tray sitting on top like a bloodstain you couldn't wash out. The kitchen had its dining table stacked with too many fliers and pamphlets. It was like he had never left. He closed the door behind himself as he walked forward.
"Hot Rod?"
His dad stood at the other end of the room, staring at him with round optics and transparent shock painted across his face.
"Hi dad," he whispered as every inch of bravado evaporated in a second, leaving him dizzy and cold, "I— I'm home."
Optimus reached his hand out, and Hot Rod felt himself be crushed against his chassis. The hug was so tight he could barely move his arms to hug him back. His lip started to quiver as his voice box started to skip. His dad sounded worse — with static and missing words building up in an endless cascade as he cradled him in his arms. It felt like he was found all over again, the half formed protoform being picked up by a wandering student.
Hot Rod choked out a wretched sob as he clutched onto him, afraid that if he let go he'd disappear all over again.