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Chapter Text

Hot Rod whooped as he threw himself from the railing of the fire escape across the alley to the identical stairs on the opposite building. A blast from an energy rifle clipped his shoulder, but he barely felt it as he caught the bottom of a landing in his hands and hauled himself up. Another nano-klik and he had his feet on the textured metal, and he took the time to pull a face at his pursuers before bolting up the stairs. The roof was empty, because who would think to put a cop on the roof when the perp was a cassette, and he hurried across the thin beam that stretched over the wide boulevard between this roof and the next. A few more shots flew by him, but he kept his optics forward and made it to the building pretty easily. Now he just had to get to his descent point with enough of a lead to vanish into the undergrid without being seen.

His hands shook slightly, fuel pump thudding hard in his chest as he started running for the edge of the roof. The autobots below were yelling, swarming around the whole block, and he heard the clang of pedes much bigger than his thudding up the steps of the fire escapes. Well, at least he’d not used all the bombs he brought with him. If he timed it just right, he could probably use one of them to drop back to street level a lot faster than just clambering down a drainpipe.

“Gotcha!” an autobot popped his helm up over the edge of the building, and Hot Rod jumped to plant a pede just behind his chevron and launch himself across to the next roof. Morons hadn’t learnt anything since his last time here. He ducked an arm held out to catch him, flicked a magnetic device from his subspace to stick to the officer’s plating, and turned off his audials as it powered up. The blast was strong enough to make him stumble, and he nearly missed his jump to the next roof, catching the edge with his chestplate and having to haul himself the rest of the way up as broken glass rained down to the ground below.

“No ya don’t!” he shouted over his shoulder and turned his audials back on as he kept running. the next roof had a hole in it where an autobot had fallen through last time he came this way, and he dropped down into the habsuite with an easy roll on landing. the closet with the door stuck open had a false wall in the back into the next unit, and he slid through that silently as pedes pounded on the roof above him. Hot Rod grinned to himself and resisted the urge to hum as he checked out the window for autobots below. Nobody on this side of the building yet, awesome. He reached out the window to grab the line the previous tenants probably had used to air out their berth tarps and swung out onto it, moving forward hand over hand to the open window opposite. From here it was almost criminally easy. Just get onto the drain pipe on the other side of the building, shimmy down, and he could vanish without a trace.

After the overclocked rush of being chased, it was a little boring. But, he reminded himself, he wasn’t doing this for kicks. The dataslugs sat heavy in his subspace as he popped the drainage grate and hopped down into the old tunnel below, information the insurgency could use to help keep autobots out of their city, their home. Hot Rod turned on the little projector mounted on his wrist, and shook his arm a few times to get it to actually display the map loaded on it. He’d had to detour to keep the autobots off his tail, so he was... there. He touched a finger to the marked grate he’d come in through and dragged it along the web of drainage tunnels until it met up with the line of the route he’d meant to take. Best laid plans of glitchmice and mechs and all that.

Tracing his finger down the route a few more times, Hot Rod mouthed the instructions to himself until he was sure he’d remember them and shut off the projector. No sense running down its battery. He headed down the tunnel with his thumbs hooked under the upper edge of his pelvic plating and a grin on his face. Data retrieved, autobots ditched before they could tail him into the undergrid, and he didn’t even- a sound up ahead made him freeze, and Hot Rod wished not for the first time that he’d been forged with an alt mode that had headlights. He could try diverting power to his biolights, but that was more likely to make him a target.

There was another sound, the scrape of plating on plating, and Hot Rod steeled himself. He had fire in his lines and a plasma dagger in his subspace, he could handle himself. “Who’s there?” he asked, readying heat in the palm of his off hand in case it was a feral turbofox or something.

“A friend.” a rough voice answered after a moment, which didn’t reassure him at all.

“Show yourself.” he demanded, and dim biolights flickered on far closer than he’d expected. The plating they illuminated was grimy, and Hot Rod clamped his own plating down so he wouldn’t shudder at the thought of how long this mech must’ve been down here to look that bad.

“What’s your badge.” the mystery mech asked, and Hot Rod dropped the hand he’d readied fire inside of, letting the heat dissipate back through his frame.

“Not interested.” he said flatly, and hopped over to the other side of the tunnel to walk past the mech, pulling out his dagger and letting its glowing blade deter the recruiter from any attempts at grabbing him. “Tell your boss he can knock it off, I’m not joining up.”

“Wait, I’m not-”

Hot Rod picked up his pace, letting the splash of his pedes in the sludgy residue on the bottom of the tunnel drown out the recruiter’s complaints. Slaggers didn’t understand how to take no for an answer, but at least he hadn’t had to stab this one like he did that one seeker last stellar cycle. He only slowed once the recruiter’s voice faded out behind him, but he kept his dagger in hand until the dark tunnels grew narrow and craggy, far too small for anything he couldn’t handle with his fists. The ground under his pedes sloped up gradually at first, rising as the passageway widened, and by the time it became a steep incline of large scree he didn’t even have to see to navigate. He leapt unerringly from one stable rock to the next, arms held out for balance until he was able to jump up onto the mostly-flat tunnel floor that had survived the collapse.

He booted up his comms suite as he strolled up the gently inclined tunnel and fired off a message to Slinger to meet him outside the fuel hall. He felt it when he entered the acroplex with his field before he felt it with his feet, the old temple’s peculiar warmth enveloping him like Jumpstart’s field did when his carrier was in recharge, and finally the tension eased from his shoulders. His pedes carried him through familiar halls, his steps silent on the ancient scuffed metal floors, until he came to a stop outside his favourite and most hated part of the temple. Slinger was already waiting, and Hot Rod pulled the stolen data from his subspace without prompting.

“Nice haul.” Slipstream remarked, looking over the drives. “We should be able to crack these, use the data, then trade it for more supplies.” he subspaced the drives and looked Hot Rod over, crouching to touch his shoulder. “Run into trouble?” he pulled his hand away, and Hot Rod blinked at the sight of mostly-dried energon on his fingertips. Oh, right, he’d gotten a little bit shot hadn’t he.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” he promised with a grin, rolling his shoulder. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“Any more of those weirdos?” Slipstream asked, and Hot Rod pulled a face.

“A real grody mech in the drainage tunnels.” he shuddered at the thought of what that much gunk all over his frame would feel like. “I told him to frag off.”

“Good.” Slipstream grinned and patted the top of his helm, straightening back up. “I’d hate to lose our best saboteur.”

Hot Rod laughed, and waved Slipstream off as he turned to head into the tank-lined hall. Hookglider, Speedline, Motorpede, he knew the name of each mech lying half-dead against the tanks of energon that looked purer than anything he’d ever tasted. And in the back, lying on a beaten-up recharge mat, was Jumpstart. The pink light made his carrier’s black paint look nearly the colour of dried energon, and his red plating and dulled silver accents looked like far fresher injuries. Even knowing it was just a trick of the optic, Hot Rod’s spark lurched every time he saw his carrier in those colours.

“I’m back.” he said softly, kneeling at Jumpstart’s side.

“Hot Rod.” Jumpstart’s voice rasped over his rusty vocaliser, and Hot Rod did his best to smile when his carrier’s dim yellow optics met his.

“Yeah, I’m here.” he leaned into the hand Jumpstart lifted to caress his cheek, making sure his frame shielded his hand from the rest of the hall as he pulled out an energon cube. It was only half full, cloudy with coolant and unknown additives, but it was better than nothing. “Brought you something.” he said softly, holding the cube out as Jumpstart shifted to prop his helm and shoulders up a little.

“You shouldn’t-” Jumpstart began, but a harsh cough cut him off before he could finish protesting. Hot Rod nearly dropped the cube, but a klik later when the coughing fit passed Jumpstart took the energon from him without complaint and downed it in one swig. Hot Rod caught the cube before it could hit the floor, and let Jumpstart pull him close against his side. “You shouldn’t have to provide for me, Hot Rod.” he whispered, grief and disappointment seeping through their bond.

“I don’t mind.” Hot Rod pressed the side of his helm against Jumpstart’s chassis. “If it’s between being the fuel-winner and letting you die, I’ll pick the first one every time.”

“Still shouldn’t have to.” Jumpstart sighed, his vents making an unhealthy sound as he did so. “Stay?” he asked after another moment of silence. “You’re always out these mega-cycles, miss having my little firecracker close.”

“You miss having me home and safe.” Hot Rod rolled his optics, but let Jumpstart nudge him to lay on his side tucked between his carrier’s arm and chassis.

“You’re my responsibility, is it so bad to want you where I can be sure you’re not getting shot at?” he tapped next to the injury Slipstream had pointed out earlier, and Hot Rod winced. He’d kinda hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable, in all the pink light.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, and shifted to press closer to Jumpstart’s frame. “I miss recharging in your dock.”

“Me too, Hot Rod.” Jumpstart agreed, his hand stroking down Hot Rod’s backstrut with just the right amount of pressure. “But it’s not safe anymore.”

“I know.” he huffed, letting his frame go lax under his carrier’s touch. “Still miss it.”

“Recharge, Hot Rod.” Jumpstart urged softly, protectiveness filling their bond and his field. Hot Rod smiled as his optic shutters closed, and sent back a pulse of affection and gratitude before letting his systems power down.

Chapter Text

“Did you manage to save the guns?” he asked as he ducked into the bolt hole, looking around at his fellow insurgents where they sat or sprawled on the dilapidated furniture.

“Only half of them.” Phasewave huffed, not looking up from the weapon they were inspecting.

“Damn.” Hot Rod scowled. “Any of the ammo?”

“Most of it, actually.” Crankbuster grinned, showing off his chipped denta. “And we didn’t have to pay Swindle!”

“Small blessings, I guess.” Hot Rod huffed. Swindle would definitely try to upcharge them on the next shipment to make up what he’d lost this time, but Phasewave would shout him down, Hot Rod was sure.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Crankbuster turned and grabbed a smaller crate, hefting it up to set on the low table. “Got the last of your phase-charges.” he cracked the lid open and stepped back with a grand gesture.

Hot Rod grimaced as he walked forward to lift the lid. Sure enough, the crate was full of softly glowing bombs. “I still don’t like this plan.” he grumbled, lifting one of the charges and fiddling its arm and detonate frequencies to the same as all the others he’d already set.

“Primus willing, we’ll never have to use it.” Phasewave clicked a magazine into their gun and magnetised it to their thigh as they stood. “Pack it up everyone, we’re headed back to base in ten kliks.”

“Oh, that was some good shooting earlier.” Hot Rod remarked as he placed the phase-charge back in its box and leaned on the lid to snap it back in place.

“Huh?”

“Distracting the autobots.” Hot Rod elaborated, and Phasewave chuckled.

“Oh, thanks. It’s not like it’s hard to miss.”

Hot Rod shrugged and accepted the stack of magazines handed to him, tucking them in his subspace. “Hard to make it look like an accident.”

“Stop flirting, you’re just gonna make their helm even bigger.” Hazard laughed, and Hot Rod sniggered as Phasewave started protesting the idea that they had an ego.

“You folks know Jumpstart’s views on me flirting with anyone.” he pointed out, and was met with optic rolls and scoffs and one or two mutters that sounded an awful lot like ‘overprotective old coot’. Honestly, he agreed with them, but Jumpstart was adamant he wasn’t half old enough to think about relationships with anyone more than a thousand or two meta-cycles his senior, and his carrier asked so little of him.

“Jumpstart’s not here now, is he sweetspark?” Crankbuster teased, stooping as he passed to pinch Hot Rod’s aft. Hot Rod yelped and swatted at his friend’s arm, and despite their injuries and less-than-expected stock of weapons, the fields around him were warm and bright. This had been a pretty good mega-cycle.

---

Hot Rod looked up from fiddling with his puzzle ring at the sound of running pedesteps coming his way, and a few nano-kliks later Phasewave came skidding into the room. “We’ve got a problem.” they blurted, and Hot Rod shoved the puzzle ring in his subspace as he popped to his pedes and followed his friend out into the hall, then down it to a balcony where Slipstream stood with a hand shading his optics.

“What sort of problem are we looking at here?” Hot Rod asked, boosting himself up onto the railing for a better view.

“An autobot-shaped one.” Slipstream growled, pointing at the closest thing Nyon had left to a main thoroughfare. Sure enough, a small caravan of mechs far too shiny and vibrant to be local were coming in hot.

“Alright, I’ll grab Crank and-”

“Wait.” Hot Rod interrupted them, focusing his optics in as close as he could. “That’s Orion.”

“Orion Pax?” Phasewave asked as Hot Rod reset his optics to their standard focus. “The ‘How do we get rid of the Senate’ guy from the holovid?” Phasewave pitched their voice down in an imitation of the viral video, and Slipstream nodded as his optics clicked loudly back to standard.

“The very same. Let’s not drive him out.”

“You want to recruit him.” Hot Rod guessed, and Slipstream nodded.

“Why’s he here, though?”

“Maybe they’re coming back to pick up the guns we left behind?” Phasewave offered, and Slipstream shook his helm.

“Oh, frag.” Hot Rod winced and let his helm fall forward. “They might’ve spotted me, after I blew up Orion. Plus my other bombings in Gilgax and Iacon, and Swindle...”

“Well, at least we know what he’s after.” Slipstream said after a nano-klik. “Makes the bit where you bait him in the easy part.” Slipstream smiled, and Phasewave laughed as Hot Rod hung his helm back to groan. “Get him to the fuel hall, if anything’ll convince him we’re in the right it’s that.”

“Will do.” Hot Rod gave a mock salute and hopped down off the railing. Time to go bait an autobot. If nothing else, at least the fact that Orion and his entourage were headed straight for the Acroplex made that part easier. He knew the temple better than the back of his own hand some mega-cycles, and with his small size there were any number of routes he could escape through if things went sour. Which wasn’t anywhere close to an impossibility, considering he’d never met a squad of autobots without at least one trigger-happy moron.

He got two steps back into the Acroplex, then turned around and grinned at Phasewave. “Actually, could I borrow something from you?”

---

Hot Rod hopped a few beams out into the exposed rafters of the Acroplex’s once-grand entryway and seated himself as casually as he could, demagnetising one of Phasewave’s guns from his leg and holding it up like he was inspecting it as the Autobots walked in, guns drawn and optics sweeping the main room. But, he quickly realised, only the level they were on. Well, that was part of why he’d wanted the guns. He got to his pedes, shuffled over a bit for a better angle, and shot twice over the helm of the enforcer. The autobots started yelling, and Hot Rod put on his best Crankbuster-esque smirk as he held the guns out to either side lazily.

“Autobots.” he spoke loudly and clearly, drawing all optics to where he stood well over their helms. Not a flier among them, which was good news. “I’ve been waiting for you.” he told them, twirling the guns and sticking them to his thighs. “You’ve got guts coming here... I’ll give you that.” he inclined his helm to them with a smirk they probably couldn’t see. “Now, let’s see if you can keep up!”

“Keep up with this, punk!” the red one bellowed and raised a gun that probably weighed as much as Hot Rod did, the end of its barrel glowing a golden orange that would’ve been pretty nice coming from anything but a gun.

“There’s always one.” he muttered and turned on his heel, leaping to the next rafter to avoid the blast. Another two leaps and he was back on a solid floor, running fast and reckless, leaving plenty of tracks for the autobots to follow. It wasn’t hard, they rarely used the main entrance these mega-cycles and nobody had the time or energy to keep the unused parts of the Acroplex clean, so there was plenty of dust for his pedes to leave prints in. He didn’t slow until he reached the fuel hall, fuel pump pounding in his chassis so hard he heard each stroke loud and clear in his audials.

“You okay?” Slipstream asked, and Hot Rod nodded.

“You owe me- ten shanix.” he huffed, drifting deeper into the pink-lit hall until he reached Jumpstart. “Also, here, you can give these back to Phase later.” he pulled the guns from his legs and lobbed them over to Slipstream, who subspaced them without complaint.

“You up to giving them the monologue, or do you want to jump in after I give them the brunt of it?” Slipstream asked as he drifted back towards a niche between two tanks which would hide him from view of mechs entering the way the Autobots were going to.

“I’ll give it.” Hot Rod said, and Slipstream nodded as he angled himself to be perfectly invisible from the door. Hot Rod made to move further out into the hall for better visibility, but Jumpstart’s field flickered against his for a moment before cutting out again and his spark chamber clenched painfully at the pulse of confusion pain Stay(?) that washed over him through the bond. Frag it, he’d stay right here. Jumpstart needed him close more than he needed to be super-visible for these autobots.

“Yeah, end of the road for li’l ol’ Hot Rod.” one of them sneered just outside the doorway. The mechs came into view a nano-klik later, and unsurprisingly Orion Pax was the first to step through.

“Are those... energon tanks? What is this place?” Orion asked as his optics swept over the hall. “And what are all these bots doing here?” he at least sounded a little concerned as the latter question left his vocaliser, which made Hot Rod feel a bit better about the decision to recruit him this way. The blast door behind the autobots snapped shut, and Orion had his blaster up and whining with charge in under a nano-klik. “Sealed shut!” he exclaimed, hands already moving on his gun, turning- had he had the safety on this whole time? Huh.

“Defensive formation!” Orion ordered, his gun whining slightly as it charged. “Weapons primed!”

Aaand that was his cue, because otherwise things were about to go very bad very quickly. “I wouldn’t start shooting in here, officer.” he drawled, shifting his weight to bring all optics to him. The trigger-happy one from earlier levelled that same massive gun at him as before. Hot Rod might’ve laughed if there wasn’t the very real possibility that a slip of that mech’s finger would end it all not just for him but also for Jumpstart and Slipstream and every other mech in this temple. “These tanks are highly volatile and don’t react too well to blaster fire.” he continued in his most level tone, locking optics first with Orion Pax and then his overzealous lackey.

“You’re under arrest, Hot Rod.” Orion levelled his gun at Hot Rod’s chest, though the barrel thankfully stayed dark. “Submit to our custody and no-one else will be hurt!”

Hot Rod’s spark leapt at the else, processor flashing through a dozen different mechs who usually hung out in the Rust Narrows Orion Pax had approached the Acroplex from. He forcibly killed that thread before it could escalate to debilitating levels. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from muttering “Let’s hope so.” before spreading his arms and addressing their armed ‘visitors’. “Autobots, I want to welcome you to the Acroplex. Once the shining center of the Golden Age, now a den of rust and suffering.”

“What’s this about?!” the trigger-happy one yelled, brandishing his weapon which had a fair glow in it again. If that afthelm brought this whole place down on them Hot Rod was going to haunt the frag out of his surviving friends.

“Take a look around.” he flicked his hands to indicate the hall they were in. “Tell me what you see.”

“I see desperation.” the horned yellow one said softly. “Fear.”

“Hopelessness.” added the green one next to him.

“These mechs have been bled dry of their energon.” Orion Pax said a few nano-kliks later, his voice deep and somber as he lowered his gun. “You led us here so so that we’d see...” his free hand clenched in a fist, and Hot Rod wondered if he was imagining the way it trembled. “Zeta did this.” a growl of Orion’s powerful engine underscored the rage of his tone and sub-glyphs, and Hot Rod made to step towards him but was stopped by Jumpstart’s hand around his leg. Okay, he could talk to the mech from here. Was probably better than having to crane his neck to meet the autobot’s optics, anyways.

“And you’ve helped him.” he pointed out, drawing all optics back to him which had strayed to the other mechs in the hall. “These folks come here, desperate to soak up any drops of energon that have been spilled. They’re-” his vocaliser caught, and Jumpstart’s thumb moved weakly over the plating on his calf. He could hear the effort it took to move the relevant servos from here. “They’re dying.”

He took a few nano-kliks to steady himself, stooping to catch Jumpstart’s hand with his own and resetting his vocaliser as he straightened back up. “There are facilities like this all over Cybertron.” he informed them, and the autobots looked shocked. Was it really so hard to believe? “Your government bleeds us dry and you wonder why we bomb you, why we fight to drive you from our neighbourhoods.”

“Why show us this?” Orion Pax asked, walking deeper into the room and taking a knee to be at least closer to Hot Rod’s height.

“Because I believe, we believe, that you’re different, Orion Pax.” he lifted his chin to meet the convoy’s optics unflinchingly. “You’re not like your Prime.” he spat the title like a curse, layering the glyphs with disdain.

“What makes you think that?” Orion leaned in closer, and Hot Rod held himself firm as Jumpstart’s arm moved to wrap around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

“Because of the holovids.” Slipstream inserted himself into the conversation, and once Orion’s optics were off him Hot Rod let his carrier pull him close, opening the bond wide so Jumpstart could see he wasn’t hurt at all. “They’re all over the data-net, showin’ you standin’ up to the Senate and callin’ ‘em out on their corruption. Deep down, like the ancient ones who built this place, you believe in justice. Rod brought you here, showed you all this, so you could prove it.”

Orion’s optics swept back to him, and Hot Rod extracted himself from Jumpstart’s hold as gently as he could. “I won’t resist.” he said, and there was an awful grinding sound behind him as Jumpstart abruptly tried to sit up. “No promises on my carrier’s behalf, though.” he managed a chuckle as Jumpstart propped himself up against the tank behind him and pulled Hot Rod close. “You can either arrest me, or stand with us. It’s your choice, autobot. Make it count.”

Chapter Text

“What are they doing out there?” Slipstream muttered, glancing down the hall to the balcony where Orion Pax and his lackeys had retreated to ‘consider their options’.

“Talking, probably.” Hot Rod shifted, scratching the back of his shoulder against an uneven bit of the wall. “Want me to go make them hurry up?”

“Please.” Slipstream sighed, and Hot Rod patted his friend’s arm. The light coming in from the balcony had grown significantly warmer and brighter as Hadeen dropped below the clouds, and Hot Rod found himself actually smiling a little as he headed down the hall. He’d gotten to annoy some autobots and they probably weren’t even going to arrest him. To the contrary, the length they’d been discussing his and Slipstream’s offer meant they were getting allies out of this, more likely than not. It had been a pretty good mega-cycle, and Jumpstart would definitely want to have him close when they recharged in a few cycles.

“We’re all out of options.” Orion’s voice drifted in from the balcony, followed by tense silence.

“Should we-” one of the others started, and Hot Rod kicked a bit of scrap metal on the floor to send it clattering ahead.

“Come to a decision ye-” the question died in his vocaliser as he stepped out onto the balcony and saw the monstrous shapes towering over Nyon, the arcs of red light leaping down from their guns to the ground, the towering flames which had already consumed buildings he grew up exploring with Telltale and Gemrise. “No.”

“Hot Rod.” Orion Pax turned to watch as he ran to the edge of the balcony and leapt onto the railing. “I swear on my spark, I knew nothing of this.”

“What- Why-” his vocaliser crackled, vents hitching as one of the towering forms took a step and knocked down the old habsuite tower Telltale had squatted in for most of a meta-cycle once.

“I claim no knowledge of Zeta’s motives.” Orion intoned, looking out at the flames. “Lock and load, Autobots!” he raised his voice to address his lackeys without turning. “We’re rolling out!”

“That’s it?” Hot Rod squawked, spinning on the railing to stare at Orion. “You’re just abandoning us?”

“No.” Orion’s voice was as heavy as the hand he placed on Hot Rod’s shoulder, as heavy as the weight of his gaze when his optics bored into Hot Rod’s own. “We will buy you time to get these people out of here. This whole city is going to burn.”

“Are you kidding?” Hot Rod stepped back, dislodging the autobot’s hand and letting his field flare with disbelief. “They’re in no condition to evacuate!”

“You’re their leader now, cassette.” Orion’s optics darted to the side, and when Hot Rod followed his gaze he saw Slipstream standing in the entry to the Acroplex, jaw dropped and optics wide in horror. “You and your friend need to find a way, or they will all die here amongst the ruins.” Orion stepped back and turned to face his lackeys, raising an arm in a signal. “Let’s move!”

“Are those-” Slipstream’s voice shook, optics clicking loudly as he refocused them and turned to grab Orion’s arm before the autobot could fully leave the balcony. “Are those vamparc ribbons?”

“Yes.” the enforcer answered for his boss as he swatted Slipstream’s hands away. “So do what Pax said and get your mechs out of town, now.”

“What’s a vamparc ribbon?” Hot Rod asked, jumping down off the railing and hurrying to his friend’s side.

“A weapon.” Slipstream was shaking, his armour clattering as his vents rattled. “It- it pulls energon from its targets and uses that to fuel itself to work longer. I didn’t think-”

“Don’t think.” Hot Rod snapped, shoving at the back of Slipstream’s thighs. “I’ll get everyone out of the fuel hall that can move, you alert the folks down below.” he raced ahead a few steps once Slipstream started moving, then slowed to let his friend catch up. “Get Telltale to herd everyone else to a meeting point. Uhh, that ridge to the southwest.”

“The one just north of the sonic canyon?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet up there.” he twisted and reached up to clasp Slipstream’s forearm, his friend returning the grip with a squeeze before they split, Slipstream heading down to the archives and Hot Rod turning into the fuel hall. Optics drifted towards him as he entered, and before they could drift back he tucked his pinkies in his mouth and let out his most piercing whistle.

“Empties, rusters, and general derelicts!” he shouted, and there was a low rumble of discontent but hey at least everyone with working audials was listening. “The Acroplex is being evacuated. If you can walk, get on your feet. If you can limp, grab someone to lean on. We’re headed for the sonic canyon, and everyone who is not out of the city in the next half a cycle will die.”

There was a nano-klik and a half of silence, then the screeching of dozens of rusty joints and under-exercised servos as everyone who could staggered to their feet. Those who couldn’t quite manage it got a helping hand, and Hot Rod hurried between them all to where Jumpstart laid with dull optics. “C’mon.” he grabbed his carrier’s available hand and pulled, dragging Jumpstart into a sitting position. “We gotta get out of here.”

Jumpstart chuckled, and what little fuel Hot Rod had in his tank soured at the pulse of resignation across their bond. “‘M afraid this is the end for me, Hot Rod.” Jumpstart smiled, and Hot Rod’s spark surged with grief and denial.

“It can’t be!” he cried out, ducking against Jumpstart’s side and trying to find a place to wedge his shoulder to push him up. “We’re- getting out of here- together.” he grunted, shifting around to Jumpstart’s back and pushing harder. “Bend your knees.”

“I can’t.”

Jumpstart’s quiet words stopped him almost as hard as the pulse of regret which accompanied them. “What?” his vocaliser wavered around the glyph, and he ducked around to stand in front of Jumpstart again. “Jumpstart, this isn’t funny.”

“I know.” his carrier soothed, lifting a hand to cup the side of his helm. Hot Rod grabbed his wrist with both hands. “My knees are frozen solid, Rod. I can’t stand, let alone run.”

“We can-”

“Hot Rod.” Jumpstart silenced him with a stern press of authority through their bond, and Hot Rod sagged slightly against the hand cradling his helm. “You need to go.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” his vocaliser wavered again, the glyphs sounding as small as he felt right now. He’d been so alone before Jumpstart found him, small and weak and scared. It had been millennia since he felt as helpless as he did right now.

“You have to.” Jumpstart’s tone was even, his optics shining brighter than they had in stellar cycles. “Hot Rod, you need to go. You need to live.” he lifted his other arm with a horrible screech of rusted joints and reached into his subspace. “You’re gonna be big some mega-cycle, I know it.” he pulled something from his subspace and pressed it to Hot Rod’s chest, over his spark. “But remember what the first step of that plan’s always been?”

“Get out of Nyon.” his vocaliser hitched on a blip of static, and he used one arm to hold Jumpstart’s mesh-wrapped gift tight to his chest as he dove forward to wrap his other arm around as much of his carrier’s chest as he could manage. “I’ll never forget you.”

“I love you too, li’l firecracker.” Jumpstart murmured, and it hurt like a knife in Hot Rod’s spark to pull away.

---

There were too few frames on the ridge, barely a hundred if that. He spotted Crankbuster and Telltale knelt with their helms together, and Slipstream moving from group to group as if taking helmcount, but there was no hint of Gemrise’s single-optic’d helm or the familiar frames of Phasewave and Telltale’s conjunx-to-be. Slipstream’s helm whipped around as Hot Rod led his group up onto the top of the ridge, and Hot Rod found the strength in himself to break into a run to close the space between them.

“How many?” he asked, and the chill of Slipstream’s field was answer enough.

“Too few.” he rasped. “Jumpstart?”

Hot Rod couldn’t suppress the whine that slid from his vocaliser as he buried his face in Slipstream’s thigh, free arm wrapping around his friend’s leg.

“I’m sorry.” Slipstream’s hand stroked down the back of his helm, and Hot Rod pulled himself together with no small effort, tucking his field tight against his frame.

“What now?” he asked, stepping back to a more casual distance and looking out at the city he’d never truly thought he’d leave. “So much destruction... even with the autobots’ help we’ll never make it to safety in time.” Not without losing people, but he refused to accept any more losses. “How did this happen?”

“We always knew they’d invade our homes, Hot Rod. It’s why we prepared the contingency.”

He’d never heard Slipstream sound so tired as he did in that moment, as if every spark which guttered at the touch of the vamparc ribbons rested on his shoulders. “Yeah.” he sighed, shoulders slumping under the memory of those mechs who’d not been able to make it to the edge of the city. “I finished wiring the whole city with phase-charges last mega-cycle.” he reached his free hand into his subspace and retrieved the detonator. It was disproportionately heavy in his hand. “They’re ready to detonate at any time, I just... I never thought it would come to that.”

“Better that our people should die at our hands than be drained to serve Zeta’s war machines.” Slipstream’s hands curled into tight, shaking fists and Hot Rod looked down at the device in his hand.

“I don’t think I can...” he choked out, static filling his vocaliser. Just holding the detonator had primed the bombs, but the button on top would have to be pressed for all of them to go. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want his city, his beloved Nyon, to end the mega-cycle as dust and ashes and so much molten slag. But with Zeta’s weapons running amok, it was going to end that way no matter what he did. Better... better to give them a quick death.

“Primus, forgive me.” he murmured, and pulled the trigger.

A cold stab pierced his spark, and he fell to his knees with a strangled cry that was lost in the roar of wave after wave of plasma-charges detonating. Jumpstart- Jumpstart was gone. His city, his carrier, both gone. Both dead at his hands. He straightened up sharply and pitched the detonator off the ridge as hard as he could. His optics stung, vision wavering as coolant and cleanser fluid welled up in them, and he fought to keep silent as Slipstream quietly urged the others back to their pedes.

“Rod, we have to go.” he said softly, and Hot Rod looked up to see his friend offering him a hand.

“Yeah.” he agreed, but when he reached up the bundled gift he'd been holding to his chest slipped from his other hand and fell to the ground. He let out a startled burst of static and snatched it back up, the loosened wrappings falling away to reveal the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Copper and polished plasmite, shining in the light of Nyon's pyre like a disc of crystalized flame. The outer rim had been scraped down, rust and flakes of dull metal clinging to the rough edge where a name should've been carved. And just inside the ground edge, carved by an unsteady hand, the glyphs of his own name. Not the ones he used but ones that conveyed affection, adoration, pride.

“Is that-”

Hot Rod snatched it up and hurriedly bundled it in the grubby cloth again, stuffing the protegere medal in his subspace. “Jumpstart, he- he-” his vocalizer cracked into a high screech of static and he curled in on himself again, shaking hard enough his plating rattled.

“Telltale said he knows some caves we can hide in until Zeta leaves.” Slipstream placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Meet us there when you're ready, okay?”

Hot Rod nodded, and when he looked up Slipstream was long gone. The Autobots were just stumbling from the edges of the fire though, and maybe he could get them to bring a medic out here, someone to help their sick and injured. After Orion failed to stop Zeta's war machines, it was the least they could do. If he played up the small helpless cassette angle maybe he could even get them housing on the autobots’ credit.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod pressed himself flat against the rubble, vents sealed shut so he wouldn't give away his position with their rattle. First Zeta, now Megatron? He'd not get any help for the others at this rate.

“Coward!” Megatron bellowed, and Hot Rod chanced a peek around the edge of his hiding spot to see the massive silver mech shaking a fist at the sky. “This isn't over, Zeta! I'll make a long career out of killing primes!”

Hot Rod looked up, and couldn't help a small gasp as he realized the retreating thrusters belonged to Zeta Prime. Zeta hadn't flinched at Orion's presence, but from Megatron he ran with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

“Gather these autobots and bring them back to base.” Megatron ordered, looking to the flight frames who'd arrived with him. “Astrotrain, assume shuttle mode and get us out of here.”

A chunk of metal broke off under his hand, and Hot Rod quickly spun to sink out of sight again. Could he make it if he ran? No, Megatron would pick him off with that horrifically powerful cannon on his arm. If he stayed very still, he just might survive this.

“You must be Hot Rod.” Megatron's voice from directly over his helm made Hot Rod freeze, some ancient strand of coding insisting that if he didn't move he wouldn't be seen. “I've a mech who wishes to speak with you.”

Hot Rod fully expected to be grabbed by the back of his collar faring and lifted, but instead a mechanimal frame no larger than he was glided down to perching a bit of twisted piping in front of him. “Hello!” they said, and he blinked as he took in the design of their wings.

“You're a cassette.” he said dumbly, forgetting for a moment that he was speaking to a Decepticon. He'd never actually met another with the same alt-mode as him.

“Yes, I am.” the red-winged razor-raptor preened, field radiating smugness. “My carrier has wanted to ask you some questions for a while now.”

Hot Rod frowned, pulling himself to his pedes using the debris he'd been hiding behind. “I'll tell you what I've told every recruiter who's tried to drag me into your gang. Not. Interested.” he pushed off the debris, and made it all of six steps before his legs gave out under him. The little low fuel icon he'd had blinking in the corner of his HUD for meta-cycles had gone red, the only warning his modded display gave for systems reaching critical.

“Frag.” he hissed, trying to push himself up. He just had to get back to the ridge, Slipstream would come find him if be just- got-

“Easy, there.” Megatron murmured, large hands wrapping around his waist with room to spare and lifting him from the ground. “Laserbeak, can you-”

“Low fuel, I'd bet my wings on it.” the razor-raptor squawked, and when Hot Rod was turned to rest with his back against Megatron's arm he saw the cassette perched on the shoulder of the Decepticon leader.

“Then we will bring him back to base with us.” Megatron said, and Hot Rod found the energy to struggle. “Easy, mech.” Megatron chuckled, using his other hand to pin Hot Rod down. “My Third would have my helm if I caused you harm.”

“He would.” Laserbeak bobbed his- no, her helm. Then, as if reading Hot Rod’s processor, she said “We’ll not keep you longer than it takes to refuel and meet my carrier, promise.”

“And why should I trust a promise from a Decepticon?” he spat, shoving ineffectively at Megatron’s restraining hand as he was carried into a shuttle.

“Because I’m making it as a cassette.” Laserbeak rolled her optics. “Now stop fussing.”

Hot Rod stuck his glossa out and Megatron’s mouth quirked briefly up on one side, amusement flickering in his field for a nano-klik before it vanished. Megatron didn’t set him down until the shuttle was off the ground, and as soon as he was deposited on the bench Hot Rod scooted back until his shoulders pressed against the wall. Megatron strode off to confer with the only one of his seekers on the shuttle, and Laserbeak pecked his helm once before taking wing and gliding over to land clumsily on the bench next to Hot Rod. It was an awkward klik or two of silence between them before Megatron finished conversing with the seeker and came over to sit on Hot Rod’s other side.

“Hot Rod of Nyon.” he said, his voice pitched softer than it had been outside, the Tarnish accent thicker in his glyphs. “I have heard much of your actions.”

“From who?” Hot Rod’s nose wrinkled, and Laserbeak sniggered at his side.

“Not the Autobots, I assure you.” Megatron chuckled, hands folding in his lap as he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, optics fixed somewhere on the far wall. “You’ve fought them admirably. Few could sacrifice what you have and continue to function, let alone lead.”

“I’m no leader.” Hot Rod shook his helm, thinking of Slipstream and Phasewave. They’d been the leaders, he was just... “I’m just the mech who pulled the trigger.”

“I know few mechs who possess the will to do even that.” Megatron mused, turning his helm slightly to look at Hot Rod from the corner of his optics. “To sacrifice so many, purely to deny Zeta his victory.”

Hot Rod opened his mouth to protest, but what came out instead was “The price was too high.”

Because on some level, yes, he had wanted to cheat Zeta of his victory; had wanted to rob the Prime of the satisfaction of killing everyone Hot Rod knew and loved. He’d pulled the trigger and in that fraction of a nano-klik before Jumpstart’s death ripped through his spark there had been a vicious satisfaction in him.

“Do you truly think so?” Megatron asked, and Hot Rod’s helm snapped up to meet the Decepticon leader’s optics. “If you hadn’t acted decisively, Zeta would have become unstoppable. Your people would have perished at his hands, and you would have died with them.”

Hot Rod looked at his hands, at the one which had clutched the detonator so tight he was amazed it hadn’t left paint transfers. “I should have found a way.” he said softly, not objecting as Laserbeak’s field brushed his own. “Orion told me to save them, and I-”

“Orion Pax,” Megatron glared at the unconscious autobot on the floor of the shuttle, “is a fool.” he said it so decisively Hot Rod’s optics widened. “He, like so many Autobots, is blinded by idealism. Zeta Prime is an exception.” Megatron’s stern mouth curved up in a smirk that Hot Rod would almost have called cruel. “His ruthlessness makes him a worthy opponent. You would do well to remember that.”

“Why?” Hot Rod asked. Laserbeak sniggered and whapped him on the arm with one of her wings.

“Because if you want to make a real difference, avenge the mechs Zeta killed and the ones who died to spite him, then you should stick with us.” her avian face couldn’t grin, but her optics and field more than conveyed a smile with far too many denta. “And we’re ruthless fraggers.”

Hot Rod stared at her for a moment, but before he could come up with a response the bench under him juddered and Megatron rose smoothly to his pedes. “That would be our cue.”

“For what?” Hot Rod asked, then yelped as Megatron scooped him up and tucked him in one arm again. “I can walk, you know!”

“Right, because that worked so well when you tried to run earlier.” Laserbeak deadpanned, flapping up to perch on Megatron’s shoulder again. Hot Rod flushed and looked aside, crossing his arms before a thought occurred to him.

“Do you carry minis often?” he asked, swinging his pedes slightly. He wouldn’t be able to get a decent kick in without twisting, and Megatron had proven earlier that he could stop him from doing that with almost insulting ease.

“Not so often anymore, but in the mines, quite often.” Megatron strode up to the seeker, and Hot Rod reflexively clamped his plating down tight when those cold red optics fell on him. “Have Orion Pax brought to Shockwave for repairs as soon as we’re landed.” Megatron ordered, and the seeker’s gaze thankfully left Hot Rod. “The rest, keep under watch.”

“In the brig?” the seeker asked, and Megatron shook his helm.

“I must have a discussion with Orion. Having his mechs in the brig will only cause delays.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” the seeker bowed, and Hot Rod relaxed as Megatron turned and strode towards the back of the shuttle. Hot Rod held still as the door opened and Megatron disembarked, hoping against hope to avoid attracting attention by simple inactivity. Remarkably, there wasn’t so much as a single Decepticon between the shuttle and the room Megatron stopped outside of to key in a passcode.

Two cries of “Beaky!” and a loud Caw rang out as soon as the door slid open, and Hot Rod’s optics cycled wide. It was clearly a habsuite, but unlike any other habsuite he’d seen this one had furniture sized for cassettes right alongside accomodations for larger mechs. And on that furniture were two mechs like him, a second razor-raptor beastformer, and a cougaraider beastformer.

Laserbeak trilled and hopped off of Megatron’s shoulder, gliding over to land next to the mech who could only be her brother on the back of the couch. “Is your carrier still working?” Megatron asked as he followed Laserbeak into the room, and Hot Rod flushed as he was transferred from Megatron’s arms to the small couch.

“Yeah.” the blue cassette looked him over critically. “He’ll be done soon now, though.”

“Typical.” Megatron huffed as he straightened up. “Do try not to break Hot Rod before Soundwave returns.”

“I’ll keep a handle on them, Sir.” said the cougaraider, of all bots, and Hot Rod sat very still as Megatron’s heavy pedesteps left the room. Once the door shut, though, the red and blue cassettes burst into motion, all but throwing themselves on the couch on either side of him. Their fields bombarded him with unrestrained curiosity in such perfect synch they could only be spark siblings, brothers according to their public data-tags, and after so long surrounded by mechs whose field emitters were either weakened or disabled by chronic underfuelling the surge of data from their sheer proximity was overwhelming.

A third field abruptly forced the two riotous ones away with a burst of indignation, and Hot Rod realized he’d clamped his plating down so tight it ached a little. He relaxed it slightly, and as his audials came back online- when had they shut off?- he realized Laserbeak was yelling at the red and blue cassettes.

“We just wanna ask some questions!” the red one whined.

“Laserbeak’s right.” the feline beastformer said, sounding very much like he wasn’t particularly invested in the outcome of this argument. “Give the mech some space.”

“Ravaaage.” the blue cassette whined, and Hot Rod startled as the red one sidled right up to him, field barely restrained.

“So, you’re the one the Boss’s had his optic on.” he leaned in as if examining Hot Rod, red visor bright over a thoughtful frown. “I can see why.”

“I don’t see anything special, Frenzy.” the razor-raptor who wasn’t Laserbeak huffed, then squawked as his sister smacked him with one of her wings. “What was that for?”

“Being an aft.” Laserbeak said, glyphs heavy with the disdain of someone who’d dealt with this too many times to get properly worked up over it anymore.

“Why don’t you take turns?” Ravage tossed out, not even looking their way.

Frenzy and his near-identical brother shoved each other a bit, then the blue one whose name Hot Rod still hadn’t caught elbowed Frenzy in the intake just over his vocaliser. “Were you always a surgeon?”

“Insurgent.” Laserbeak corrected, and Frenzy laughed through the static of his vocaliser rebooting.

“Wow Rumble, you’re a dumbaft.” he caught his brother in a helmlock with a slag-eating grin.

“I wasn’t.” Hot Rod spoke up, drawing their attention before they could start fighting, because getting blamed for putting dents in two of Soundwave’s cassettes sounded like a really bad first impression to make on the mech. “I only joined them a few meta-cycles ago.”

“What’d ya do before, then?” Frenzy asked, dropping Rumble on his face.

Hot Rod looked down at his pedes, scuffed his heel against the floor. “Advertising.”

“Haha, you were an Adbot!” Rumble laughed from the floor, pushing himself up to sit cross-legged. “Hey, what’s it like being on the radio? Soundwave never lets me do the faction broadcasts.”

“Because last time he let you have a mic you played back interfacing noises.” Buzzsaw sniggered.

“You say that like you didn’t help keep Soundwave from catching him.” Ravage deadpanned, and Hot Rod had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling. From everything he’d heard, he would’ve thought Decepticon cassettes would be more intimidating.

And that was just it, wasn’t it? They were Decepticons. Autobots, Decepticons, he’d never dreamed he would pick a side in their stupid conflict. Life in Nyon hadn’t been easy, but it had been simple. They’d fought to protect their home, their fellow citizens, the history and way of life that the Senate was trying so hard to crush and wipe out. But... he looked at his hand, flexed his fingers. With Nyon gone, with Jumpstart gone... what was there left for him to fight for?

Chapter Text

“Yo, Rod!” A red hand waved in front of his optics, and Hot Rod cycled them quickly has he looked up to meet Frenzy’s gaze. “You alright? Kinda checked out there.”

“Just thinking.” he smiled, and a sharp pain on the top of his helm made him yelp, to sniggering from Rumble Frenzy and Buzzsaw. “What was that for?” he asked Laserbeak, and she huffed as she shifted her wings.

“It’d be troublesome if you fell into recharge before Soundwave arrived.”

“You don’t have to hit me, though.” he muttered, rubbing the top of his helm. It wasn’t dented, but the spot she’d pecked stung like an absolute slagger.

“If you’re worried, you could always ask him questions.” Ravage suggested, seemingly absorbed in examining his claws. They looked very sharp.

“Oh, good idea Ravage!” Frenzy beamed, and hopped up to sit on the arm of the couch, just far enough off that his field wasn’t overwhelming. “You didn’t answer earlier, what’s it like doing radio?”

“Uhh, kinda boring?” he hedged, and Frenzy pouted. “Jumpstart did most of the work, I was just in charge of playing back ads in the order he told me to.”

“What sort of ads?” Buzzsaw asked, and Hot Rod shrugged.

“All sorts. Events, sales, propaganda.” he scrunched up his nose at the last, and the other cassettes that he could see pulled faces as well.

“Gross.” Rumble said forcefully. “You didn’t get any cool ones?”

“Well, I got to play ads for races sometimes.” Hot Rod smiled at the memory of the last racing ad he’d played. “Those were pretty fun.”

“Like the Ibex Cup?” Ravage lifted his helm, looking interested for the first time since Hot Rod had walked in.

“Yeah.” Hot Rod nodded with a small smile. “Local stuff too, since it was a local station.”

“That’s so cool.” Rumble’s optics shone, and Hot Rod chuckled awkwardly.

“Thanks?”

“How long have you been a cassette?” Ravage asked, optics now focused on Hot Rod.

“I’m a little over twelve thousand.”

“Not what I asked.” Ravage sat up, and the flash of light on silver claws reminded Hot Rod that while the black cassette may have the processor of a mech he had the frame of a mechanimal more than capable of ripping Hot Rod’s intake out. Still, he’d already almost broken down in front of these Deceptions once, he couldn’t afford any more weakness if he wanted their carrier to let him go.

“What do you want to know then, when I met my carrier?” he challenged, leaning forward in his seat. “Because that wasn’t more than a few stellar cycles after my mega-cycle of first functioning.”

“You mean you’re a forged cassette?” Buzzsaw asked, avian optics going very wide and very round.

“You’re not?” Hot Rod frowned, looking around at them. Each one shook their helm.

“Ravage Buzzsaw and I were reformatted about ten thousand meta-cycles ago.” Laserbeak said after a few long nano-kliks of silence. “The idiot twins-”

“Hey, you and Buzz are just as bad!” Rumble protested.

“They’ve only been with us what, a thousand?”

“Thousand and a half meta-cycles.” Frenzy corrected.

“Does it hurt?” Hot Rod asked, and immediately regretted it. Rumble and Frenzy looked at each other, then back at him, and shrugged in unison.

“Felt a little weird the first few deca-cycles, but we were used to it by the second stellar cycle.”

“Same here.” Laserbeak added.

“Wimps.” Ravage scoffed. “I felt fine soon as the drugs wore off.”

“Sure, and you walked funny the first half a meta-cycle we were working with Soundwave for Ratbat.” Laserbeak teased. Ravage growled at her.

“Idunno about you, but my T-cog still itches sometimes.” Buzzsaw complained.

“Huh.” Hot Rod looked around at them again, acutely aware of his T-cog in his chassis. “I always thought you could only have the frametype you were forged with.”

“So did we.” Ravage remarked, settling back down again with his helm on his paws. “I doubt we would’ve adjusted half as well without Soundwave.”

“Oh we would’ve guttered in a deca-cycle.” Buzzsaw agreed, then made a noise which Hot Rod guessed was supposed to approximate a spark extinguishing.

“Huh.” he swung one leg idly, revelling in the incredibly novel sensation of being able to sit fully in a proper seat with his pedes on the floor.

“Oh, I got another question.” Rumble’s field flared wider with excitement clear and sharp as Hot Rod had ever felt. “Does your paint job match your carrier’s?”

Hot Rod’s spark lurched in its casing in a reflexive attempt to reach through a bond that wasn’t there anymore. His hand lifted to clutch at the center of his chestplate, optics returning to the floor as his legs went still.

“Moron!” Laserbeak screeched and jumped off the back of the couch, flapping around Rumble’s helm to peck at it, and his hands when he tried to swat her away.

“It’s just a question!” he protested, and Hot Rod bit down on a grin.

“Read my pings you dipstick!” Laserbeak grabbed Rumble’s shoulders in her talons and pecked his helm twice. “Read them!”

“Laserbeak, he can’t read with you pecking him.” Ravage drawled, audibly amused. Laserbeak pecked Rumble one last time and flapped back to her perch on the couch as he presumably opened up her message to read.

“Oh!” Frenzy exclaimed after almost half a klik of awkward silence. “Rumble, you moron!”

“Had you not read it either?” Buzzsaw squawked as Rumble’s visor began to fog up.

“If it had been Soundwave...” Ravage trailed off, and Rumble moved to perch awkwardly next to his twin on the arm of the couch. “I cannot imagine.” Ravage shook his head.

“Me either.” Rumble’s vents made an unhealthy sound, and Hot Rod drew one knee up to his chest as he fought to keep his own vents even and steady, despite the hot ache of overtaxed systems deep in his chassis.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Buzzsaw asked, shuffling closer to him along the back of the couch. “About him?”

Hot Rod lifted a hand from around his leg to scrub at his optics. They weren’t Nyonian, they’d never known Jumpstart to have tales of their own to tell about him, but... “Yes.” he gave a shaky nod and vented as deeply as he could stand. “I met Jumpstart in the Narrows.”

---

Hot Rod shivered and ex-vented into his cupped palms again, trying to summon up the warmth which had exploded out of him yestermeg when those thugs tried to jump him. All he got for his effort was a fresh ping from his fuel tanks telling him he was under 20% and should get fuel immediately. A sharp breeze cut through the alley, whistling around his makeshift shelter, and Hot Rod clamped his plating down harder to keep as much heat in his frame as he could. He should get up, should scrounge for energon or scrap he could trade for shanix to buy some, but it was so cold all he wanted to do was stay curled against the wall and pray he didn’t freeze. He’d not been around long, but he’d been functioning long enough to know Nyon didn’t usually get cold; this was just some freak weather that would pass soon and he could go rustle up some dregs and scrap when it got warm again.

Didn’t stop right now from being miserable, though.

He wasn’t sure how long he huddled there before he heard footsteps coming down the alley, far too loud to belong to one of his fellow drifters and too clear to belong to an empty. Maybe, if he moved quietly enough, he could trip them up and swipe a credit chip? It’d probably be enough for a full-size cube, which would keep a mech of his size fuelled most of a deca-cycle if he was careful with it. The low fuel warning icon in the corner of his HUD blinked insistently, his tank clenching at the thought of some proper fuel, and he forced himself to his feet as the footsteps passed. Pulling his field tight, he slid out into the alley and sized up the mech he intended to take down. Easily three times his own height, with scuffed black paint and a few geometric details in red and silver. The mech probably wouldn’t miss the price of a cube.

Hot Rod got a running start, aiming for the back of the mech’s knees, and grabbed the first thing he touched from his subspace. A large hand caught him around the leg before he could take two steps, sending him sprawling, and before he could kick his way free he was being lifted. “Give. That. Back.” the mech holding him growled. Hot Rod’s hands tightened around the oddly shaped thing he’d grabbed, certainly not a credit chip, and when he was twisted around to face his captor he bared his denta in a snarl of his own. The mech’s field flared against him, a tangled jumble of emotions he couldn’t decipher, then it softened and receded.

“If you give it back, I’ll buy you a cube of fuel.” he offered, and Hot Rod’s control of his field slipped. “Yes, really.” the mech chuckled and shifted Hot Rod to his other hand, this time holding him right side up. “Cross my spark.”

“What’s your name?” Hot Rod asked after a few nano-kliks thinking it over.

“Jumpstart.” the mech answered, and Hot Rod gave him back the whatever-it-was. “What’s yours?” he asked as he tucked it back in his subspace.

“Hot Rod.”

“Well, Hot Rod, there’s a nice little energon dispensary I know a few blocks from here. Do you want to walk?”

“I can walk.” he said quickly, and his plating prickled at the sense of indulgence he got when Jumpstart’s field brushed his own. This mech was strange, Hot Rod couldn’t see a single wheel or wing or rotor on his frame, but he seemed genuine and free fuel wasn’t something a sane mech would turn down.

---

Hot Rod stood in front of Jumpstart’s apartment door, Gemrise’s words from earlier ringing in his audials. He wasn’t running away, not from his carrier, and despite what Gem had implied there was nothing for him to run from. Jumpstart was overprotective, sure, but who could blame the mech? He’d already lost one cassette, so he was doing everything he could to protect Hot Rod now. He’d just, pretend he’d come back to grab something. Yeah, that would work. He forgot stuff often enough Jumpstart would totally buy that.

The door opened at his touch, and he strode in as casually as he could manage. And promptly tripped over an empty cube, nearly falling on his face as he stumbled through a tacky patch of floor that was definitely spilled fuel. Primus, this was why he never should’ve left. His carrier called him absentminded, but Jumpstart was just as bad, maybe even worse. Hot Rod rolled his optics and picked up the cube, glancing around in the darkened hab for the stepstool he used to operate the lightswitch. It was probably in the little dining room, but that was alright, he knew his way around this place well enough even in the dark. He turned the sensitivity on his optics up anyways, and made his way over to the disposal chute in the dining room.

More empty cubes sat on the table, and Hot Rod’s tanks twisted as he realized there weren’t half as many as there should’ve been. He’d been gone two whole deca-cycles and then some, but counting the cube he’d already tossed there were only ten. And Jumpstart was very picky about refuelling away from the table, it didn’t make sense that there would be other empty cubes scattered around the hab. Hot Rod bit the edge of his glossa as he cleared the rest of the cubes away into the trash, processor spinning as he tried to figure out why there’d been a cube on the floor in the first place.

Once the table was cleared, Hot Rod went and fetched his stepstool, balancing it atop his helm as he headed back towards the door. He grimaced as he walked back through the tacky fuel, doing his best not to wonder why Jumpstart hadn’t cleaned it up yet. Empty cubes left lying around was one thing, but a puddle of fuel left to dry was rather another. He set down the stepstool by the light switch, hopped up on it, and slid the control up to 70%. When he turned around, he nearly fell off the stepstool in fright. Jumpstart was laid out on the floor, one arm outstretched and the other clutched to his chest, optics dark and face twisted in pain.

“Jumpstart!” Hot Rod leapt to the floor and rushed to his carrier’s side, sliding the last stretch on his knees. His field was still present, but weak, aimless. “Jumpstart?” he grabbed his carrier’s shoulder and shook him with all his strength. “Jumpstart, wake up, please.”

“-Rod?” Jumpstart’s vocaliser crackled, and Hot Rod nearly sobbed with relief as he slumped forward against his carrier.

“You were supposed to take care of yourself.” he mumbled into Jumpstart’s side. “You were supposed to go to a clinic.”

“Hot Rod.” Jumpstart murmured, turning onto his side and pulling Hot Rod up against his chestplate. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry.” Hot Rod’s vents hitched, and Jumpstart’s field wrapped around him full of love acceptance forgiveness. “I won’t leave again, I promise.”

“You must be tired.” Jumpstart pushed himself up to sitting, hand shifting to keep Hot Rod close to his chest.

“Yeah.” Hot Rod nodded, letting the pulse of Jumpstart’s presence through their bond soothe him. “Telltale’s a good cuddle-buddy but-”

“But you’re just not built for standard berths.” Jumpstart stroked down his back, touch gentle and field warm. “Dock, we can talk in the morning.” he pulled Hot Rod away to open his chestplate, and Hot Rod nodded obediently before initiating his transformation sequence. For a moment he felt painfully exposed, vulnerable, but then the warmth of Jumpstart’s dock enveloped him. His engine purred softly as he settled in as far back as he could, just a couple thin layers of metal from Jumpstart’s spark. Between Jumpstart’s field and frame surrounding him, the gentle pulse of his carrier’s spark, and his own sucking exhaustion, Hot Rod quickly fell into recharge.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod shuddered as he finished yet another story, wrapping his arms around himself as Ravage leaned against his shins and Laserbeak’s chest pressed down on the top of his helm. His spark ached, his vocaliser too, but the words kept pouring out. Jumpstart’s rust infection, taking refuge in the Acroplex when they could no longer afford the apartment, Jumpstart’s attempts to keep him close and safe as he worked his way up in the insurgency. Buzzsaw joined Laserbeak in leaning against Hot Rod’s helm, and as he choked on the tail end of his last conversation with his carrier the twins moved to lean against his sides.

“That’s fragged up.” Rumble said, and on his other side Frenzy nodded as he wrapped both his arms around one of Hot Rod’s.

“If an Autobot told me to save Soundwave, I’d drive him crazy and make him carry the boss.” Frenzy rested his chin on Hot Rod’s shoulder, and for a klik there was silence, Hot Rod’s field meshing near-seamlessly with those around him, soaking up the unanimous warm comfort empathy support from the Decepticon cassettes.

“Is there anything you want to ask us?” Ravage asked after a few more moments, and Hot Rod considered the question.

“What’s it like?” he asked after some thought, looking up at Laserbeak. “Being a Decepticon, I mean.”

“Well, it’s better than working for Ratbat was.” Buzzsaw answered while Laserbeak contemplated the question.

“That’s not a high bar to clear.” Ravage pointed out, rising from where he’d laid down atop Hot Rod’s pedes to sit up and face him. Hot Rod sorta missed the contact, but it wasn’t like he could complain. “But yes, it’s better. We’ve a goal, the information we bring Soundwave has a purpose beyond petty blackmail and political scheming.”

“We got two new brothers out of the deal, too.” Laserbeak said with the avian equivalent of a grin.

Hot Rod hadn’t really expected that, honestly. From hearsay and Swindle’s chitchat he’d thought the Decepticons would be a violent and ruthless bunch, especially since their leader had been a gladiator.

“We kinda just followed Megs from the mines.” Frenzy chimed in, and on Hot Rod’s other side Rumble nodded.

“Being a Cassetticon is way better than mining or construction work.” he said, agreeing with the beastformers. “We’ve got the Boss, and we get to wreck slag!”

Hot Rod couldn’t help it, he sniggered. “But you’re not mistreated or anything?” he asked, and got helm shakes all around.

“Couple Seekers tried with Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, early on.” Ravage grinned, showing far too many teeth. “Soundwave and I straightened them out.”

“Yeah, nobody’s dumb enough anymore to piss off the boss by picking on us.” Rumble smirked, his field radiating smugness.

“Also, if we get picked on the boss lets us prank the slag outta whoever did it without getting mad.” Frenzy added with a mean snigger. Hot Rod guessed that meant they usually got in trouble for pranking, then.

“How’s the fuel?” he asked as Buzzsaw and Laserbeak shuffled around and rearranged how they were leaning on his helm. “What about medic visits?”

“Fuel’s alright.” Buzzsaw said, and Hot Rod heard Laserbeak peck him.

“The fuel’s more than just alright, you loose wingnut.”

“Just saying, we’ve had better.”

“When we were working for Ratbat.” Ravage’s tail flicked in irritation. “And that was because Soundwave split his fuel with us.”

“Yeah.” Laserbeak bobbed her helm, knocking it against the top of Hot Rod’s. “At least here we get our own rations.”

“Shockwave’s not the best medic, though.” Rumble remarked. “He’s super creepy.”

“Nobody’s caught rust from a bad weld yet, though.” Ravage countered.

“Hey, I didn’t say he was bad.”

“No, you just called him creepy.” Frenzy teased, reaching across Hot Rod to poke his brother’s visor.

“Anything else you want to ask?” Laskerbeak rested her beak atop his helm, and Hot Rod nodded.

“Just one thing.” he looked around at the Cassetticons as best he could, then lifted a hand and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “How long has your carrier been standing in the doorway?”

“Soundwave’s arrival: recent.” a heavily modulated voice came from behind him, and he barely heard the pedesteps approaching. “Hot Rod’s presence: appreciated.” the mech who came into view was a deep, vivid blue like Hot Rod had never seen on any mech in Nyon, his white plating pristine and joints moving silently despite the faint web of weld lines radiating out from one hip. Evidently the cassettes hadn’t been lying when they said they had a good medic.

“Why?” he asked as Soundwave lowered himself to sit on the floor in front of the chair Ravage had been occupying earlier.

“Soundwave: concerned for Hot Rod’s welfare. Lone cassettes: frequent targets of... unsavoury mechs.” his tone didn’t change, but Soundwave’s sub-glyphs and the flicker of his field made his feelings on that issue perfectly clear regardless. “Query: status of Hot Rod’s carrier?”

Hot Rod tensed, ducking his helm as he tried to master his field. He’d already shown more than enough weakness around these Decepticons. He had to remember that’s what they were, Decepticons, terrorists.

“Are you stupid?” Laserbeak squawked, and Hot Rod’s plating clamped down tight as his helm snapped up to stare openly at the razor-raptor perched just behind his shoulder.

“Yeah, Boss, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” Rumble sneered as Frenzy leaned in closer.

“Rod’s just been through the Pit and back.” Frenzy glowered, his field so sharp with disdain Hot Rod nearly choked on it. “Lay off on the heavy questions, would ya?”

Did these crazy cassettes want to be punished? Hot Rod glanced between them, then to Soundwave, wondering if he could plead leniency for them. Offer to share his social protocols with them, maybe? Jumpstart had always been on him about using the manners subset, since he paid extra for it and all.

“Apologies.” Soundwave intoned, and Hot Rod cycled his audials. What? Soundwave stretched out an arm, slow and deliberate, and Laserbeak hopped from the back of the couch to the back of his hand, shuffling quickly up to Soundwave’s shoulder where she perched and pecked sharply at his helm, with far more force than she’d given him or Rumble. “Soundwave: wishes to help.” he said once Laserbeak had settled on his shoulder more comfortably.

Hot Rod couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of his vocaliser, shaking his shoulders as he curled forward. “Can’t- can’t really help with that.” he managed, hot tears blurring the edges of his vision. He lifted a hand and scrubbed them away with his knuckles.

“Soundwave: acknowledges. Carrier: Irreplaceable.” he touched the purple brand in the center of his dock door and bowed his helm briefly, before lifting it again to meet Hot Rod’s optics. “Fuel: provideable. Repairs: provideable. Assistance: acceptable?”

“What,” Hot Rod swallowed the last of his bitter laughter, though the smile that twisted his lips in its absence was no kinder. “Lemme guess, I sign on as a Decepticon and you’ll give me the world?”

“Negative.” Soundwave said, his voice still perfectly flat but sounding almost reproachful. “Offer: unconditional. Hot Rod: grieving, injured, homeless. Soundwave: capable of providing aid.”

“What, you’re gonna let me stay the night and then go on my merry way in the morning?” Hot Rod scoffed. That would be stupid! For all the Decepticons knew he would blow up their base. He’d just torched his own city, after all, and he cared about that a lot more than he cared about this random terrorist cell.

“Affirmative.” Soundwave caught him off-guard again, and this time Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. “Soundwave: aims only for safety of Hot Rod. Soundwave: asks only for Hot Rod to listen tomorrow morning.”

Hot Rod frowned, trying to parse the stilted speech, and his optics dropped lower when a shoulder pressed against his shin. “He wants you to stay the night.” Ravage translated. “And have a chat come morning. We’ll not hold you against your will if you want to return to your people after.”

Yeah, ‘s not like you’re an Autobot.” Rumble grinned.

Hot Rod fixed his optics on his knees, clenching his hands around each other. He was still running on less than fumes, and the exhaustion which had been ever-present since he took over caring for Jumpstart was pulling at the edges of his processor, but how could he ask for anything? Soundwave was a stranger, and one he’d only ever thought badly of at that, which- he wanted to believe had been justified but everything he’d seen tonight contradicted it.

“Buzzsaw, Ravage.” Soundwave intoned, and Hot Rod froze as a hand landed atop his bent helm. “Retrieve one ration of energon.”

“Yes, sir.” Ravage smiled, rising from his place at Hot Rod’s pedes and letting Buzzsaw land on his back. Hot Rod watched them pad off, and wondered if it would be rude to ask how they were supposed to operate an energon dispenser without a set of opposable thumbs between them. Soundwave chuckled, low and warm, and Hot Rod chanced a look up at the Decepticon.

“How come we don’t get to know your override code?” Rumble whined, and Soundwave’s hand left Hot Rod’s helm to poke Frenzy just over his visor.

“Rumble and Frenzy: prone to misuse of authority.”

“Last time you two had Soundwave’s code you blew up half a hall of barracks with your slag distillery.” Laserbeak squawked. Hot Rod bit back a laugh.

“Hey, none of the ones since have blown up!” Rumble protested, and Frenzy reached across Hot Rod’s chest to punch him.

“Dipstick!” he hissed, and Soundwave sighed.

“Soundwave: will overlook engex production.” Soundwave said softly, lifting his other hand to pat both the twins on their helms before folding his hands in his lap. “Condition: product to be shared amongst family.”

“You got it, Boss.” Rumble grinned. Frenzy punched him again. Hot Rod was tempted to ask if they had any engex on them right now, even though his tank was near empty and Jumpstart had always been adamant that it was bad to drink engex on an empty tank. Which, thinking of... why had Soundwave sent Buzzsaw and Ravage off to get a cube?

“Soundwave: has information for Hot Rod.”

He met Soundwave’s optics and tilted his head slightly, wondering what sort of intel a Decepticon could possibly have for him, even one as nice as Soundwave. The carrier’s battlemask split in the middle, retracting into the blue shell of Shockwave’s helm to reveal a small, fond smile so like Jumpstart’s it made Hot Rod’s chest ache, his spark trying to reach for a bond no longer present.

“Soundwave: in possession of outlier ability. Designation: enhanced hearing, comprehension of electrical signals.” Soundwave lifted a hand and gently tapped Hot Rod’s helm with one finger. “Hot Rod’s thoughts: difficult to ignore.”

“Wait you- you read my processor?” Hot Rod’s voice squeaked up at the end of his sentence, every stupid thing he’d thought during this conversation so far flashing through his processor all over again.

“Affirmative.” Soundwave nodded. “Soundwave: has request for Hot Rod.” he paused briefly, just long enough for Hot Rod to meet his optics. “Time for grief: required. Soundwave: would be honoured to bond with Hot Rod, after grieving period has passed. Hot Rod: strong of spark.”

Hot Rod flushed, then flushed harder when Laserbeak and the twins cackled.

“Soundwave: has open slot in dock. Hot Rod: welcome to recharge inside.”

“You don’t have to.” Laserbeak chimed in, even as the twins’ fields flared bright against his.

“We’ve never had a new dockmate before.” Rumble beamed, throwing his arm around Hot Rod’s shoulders.

“You can recharge between us.” Frenzy added, his arm joining his twin’s. “You’re gonna fit right in.”

“Rumble, Frenzy, desist.” Soundwave intoned. “Hot Rod: not bonded.”

“Hey, Rod, is something wrong?” Laserbeak asked, and Hot Rod looked at the razor-raptor. His optics wouldn’t focus, even as he reset them, and he realized his ventilations were hitching.

The twins released him, scooting away slightly, and Hot Rod wrapped his arms around himself as the hitching of his vents got worse, soft static bubbling out of his vocaliser in time with the shudders of his frame. Nyon was gone, his friends were gone, Jumpstart was gone... it was only just sinking in, the enormity of it all. The destruction he’d wrought with a single press of his thumb. Telltale hadn’t even looked at him before leaving, Slipstream probably thought he’d run away, Primus he couldn’t even blame the other survivors if they hated him.

Soundwave’s field was cool and calm where it brushed his, projecting concern comfort understanding, and Hot Rod didn’t flinch when one blue hand patted his knee. “Soundwave: has no further duties tonight. Hot Rod: is not alone.”

Hot Rod’s whole frame shook as his vents hitched, and when he curled in on himself to cry it was into the embrace of a smooth and steady field.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod drank the cube of energon when it was pressed into his shaking hands, but it felt like an age passed before his tears ran dry and even longer before his vents stopped seizing and hitching in his chest. Soundwave’s field stayed wrapped around him throughout, cool and supportive and full of empathetic echoes of the grief that wracked Hot Rod’s own field. Soundwave’s hand, too, remained in contact with his plating, the gentle touch something he could ground himself with when he needed to.

“Hot Rod: requires recharge?” Soundwave asked softly, once he'd been still and mostly silent for most of a klik. Hot Rod nodded, rubbing at the edges of his optics. They felt warm, possibly singed, but he didn’t have the energy to care at the moment. Just like he didn’t have the energy to pretend he didn't like the way Soundwave's hand was straying up his side, providing something to lean against.

“Recharge would be nice.” he stretched lazily, letting his helm rest against Soundwave's hand as it lifted to cup his shoulder. “Thanks, by the way.” he mumbled, looking up at Soundwave's visor. Jumpstart hadn't asked him to dock until Hot Rod accepted him as his carrier, and he never would've dreamed any carrier would offer such trust to a cassette not their own.

“Gratitude: unnecessary. Hot Rod: deserving of care.”

A knock rang at the hab's door before Hot Rod could figure out how to respond to that statement, and Soundwave frowned before snapping his mask back into place. “Hot Rod's presence, required.” he intoned, field crackling slightly with muted irritation. Hot Rod frowned and let Soundwave help him up off of the couch, though thankfully the carrier didn't try to pick him up and carry him to the door. He trailed along at Soundwave's heels, curious and perhaps not as cautious as Jumpstart would've insisted he should've been but frag it he was tired.

The door opened at Soundwave's touch to the control panel, and as it slid open Hot Rod noticed a second panel at his own chest height. He didn't have long to consider it though, because then the door was open and he found himself looking up at Megatron and Orion both. “I told you he was unharmed.” Megatron rumbled, and Orion Pax knelt to place himself closer to Hot Rod's height.

“Hot Rod, I hoped to speak with you.”

“Can it wait?” he scowled at Orion, leaning against Soundwave's leg for support. A full tank and what his chrono suggested to be half a cycle of crying, on top of poor recharge the past meta-cycle and change, had him wanting nothing more than to recharge for a deca-cycle.

“Of course.” Orion said, his field indulgent and grating for it. He was tired, not a sparkling! “Here, should you ever wish to speak, you can reach me at this number.” Orion pressed a small piece of etched metal into his hand, optics squinted slightly in what Hot Rod assumed was meant to be a warm smile. “The Autobots could use a mech of your calibre.”

“Sure.” he subspaced the card without looking, and Orion's field faltered for a moment before drawing back away from Hot Rod's.

“Recharge well, Hot Rod.” Orion nodded, and rose to his feet. The door shut before he could say anything further, and a rude sound drew Hot Rod's attention over to the cassette-level operation panel.

“Scrap-helmed Autobot.” Frenzy bit out, then turned to Hot Rod with a slag-eating grin. “You can have Rumble's slot tonight.”

“Hey, no, he can have yourslot!” Rumble protested. “Yours is-”

“Rumble, Frenzy, desist.” Soundwave intoned, and Hot Rod giggled. “Hot Rod: welcome to dock when ready.”

“I'm ready now.” he said, and Soundwave opened the door to his dock. He jumped up, T-cog whirring his his chassis, and Soundwave caught him as soon as he settled in his alt-mode.

“Frenzy, return.” Soundwave intoned, and a klik later Hot Rod found himself slotted in alongside his fellow red cassette. It was a strange sensation, sharing a dock, even leaving aside the fact that he was surrounded by a field he didn't know. Rumble slotted in next, field rippling with discontent at being ordered to dock so early in the night, but the twins both leaned in against him eagerly. Surrounded by friendly fields and the close press of dock walls, it took no time at all for Hot Rod to fall into recharge.

---

“Soundwave: requesting Hot Rod's fuel level.”

Hot Rod checked, and had to reboot his HUD quickly to make sure he was reading it right. “Uh, eighty six percent?”

“Understood.” Soundwave inclined his helm, and Hot Rod looked over at the other cassettes seated around the table.

“He's just getting our fuel.” Laserbeak said helpfully. “He’s got all our codes memorised, so it’s just faster this way.”

“I'm-” Hot Rod frowned, trying to get his words in order. “I’m not...”

“You’re a cassette.” Ravage said, helm resting atop his paws on the edge of the table. “It’s in his coding to make sure you’re cared for.”

“And what if I don’t want him to take care of me?” he fired back, the question half rhetorical. He didn’t expect Buzzsaw to snigger. “What’s so funny?” he challenged, and a razor-raptor’s beak wasn’t built for smirking but Buzzsaw managed it somehow.

“Did you miss the part where he said you could go home if you want?” he asked, ignoring Laserbeak’s wing whapping gently against his side.

“The Boss is chill, mech.” Rumble grinned, folding his arms behind his helm.

“Yeah, so long as you’re taking care of yourself he just checks in every once in a while.” Frenzy agreed with a sage nod. “We never would’ve gotten an energon still running if he kept a closer optic on us.”

Hot Rod stared at Frenzy for a few nano-kliks, then turned his helm to look across the room where Soundwave had procured a small tray and seemed to be filling it with cubes of energon. Energon the same quality as what everyone else in the dispensary was drinking, not the barely-processed sludge he’d gotten from fuel centers when he was trying to let Jumpstart take care of himself. “So, you guys get the same energon as everyone else?” he asked, and got incredulous looks from the twins.

“Yeeees?” Rumble dragged the single glyph out long enough to fit several sub-glyphs of confusion and disbelief under it, clearly doubting Hot Rod’s intelligence.

“You two’ve only ever been Cassetticons.” Ravage said, his voice low. “Most mechs who aren’t Lord Megatron would either provide beast-formers or cassettes with low-grade, if anything.”

“That’s fragged up.” Frenzy said firmly, and Hot Rod shrugged.

“Just how it is.”

“Situation: does not need to remain static.” Soundwave said, setting a dish of energon down in front of Ravage. “Cassettes: deserving of proper fuel.”

“Thank you, Soundwave.” Buzzsaw trilled as a dish was set in front of him as well, and Laserbeak’s head bobbed as Soundwave put her fuel on the table next to her brother’s.

“Gratitude: accepted.” Soundwave nodded, handing a cube each to Rumble and Frenzy, and then finally holding one out to Hot Rod. At a glance, he guessed it’d be just about enough to top him off, and wasn’t that a strange thought. Fuelling to top off, rather than just to have enough to make it through the mega-cycle. “Hot Rod: desires additives?” Soundwave asked, and Hot Rod realized he’d just been staring at the cube in his hands for a good few nano-kliks.

“No, no, this is fine.” he managed a smile, lifting the cube to take a sip. It was richer than anything he’d had in Nyon, the perfect viscosity, smooth and warm as it went down his intake. He could see how the Decepticons had managed to draw in so many guttermechs and labourers, if all their fuel was this quality.

The fuel was gone disappointingly fast, but when he set the empty cube down Hot Rod’s tank sat at 95%. Not quite completely full, but he had a feeling a 100% full tank wouldn’t be very comfortable, especially after a whole functioning spent under three quarters fuelled. The other cassettes chattered easily amongst themselves as they drank their own fuel, and Hot Rod was content to let their voices and fields wash over him. It was no longer so overwhelming as it had been at first, being surrounded by fully powered fields, but Rumble and Frenzy’s eagerness to potentially see battle in the near future was still potent enough to set his processor spinning.

“Hot Rod: ready to speak with Soundwave?”

Hot Rod looked up from his empty cube to see Soundwave setting Ravage’s dish inside his own emptied cube, one hand held out for Hot Rod’s own cube. “Uh, yeah.” he nodded, trying to reassure himself that if this mech wanted to do anything weird to him he would’ve already done it. Soundwave nodded minutely, took Hot Rod’s cube, and Hot Rod ducked under the table to hurry over to Soundwave’s heels. “So uh, just saying, there is a reason I kept dodging Decepticon recruiters.” he pointed out as Soundwave set the empty cubes on the small conveyor belt next to the dispenser.

“Soundwave: aware.”

“You’ve been nice and all,” really nice, so nice he could still hardly believe he’d be allowed to leave if he so chose. “But I don’t really want to be a Decepticon.”

“Soundwave: aware of Decepticon public image.” the carrier intoned as he led Hot Rod out of the dispensary and down the hall. “Objective: show Hot Rod true Decepticon ideals.”

True Decepticon ideals? Hot Rod raised an optic ridge, letting his field shift incredulous. Everyone knew Decepticons were in it for the opportunity to commit violence, the chance to grab power from the upper castes and abuse it for themselves. “I’ll probably just walk out halfway through.” he warned Soundwave, though his tank twisted unpleasantly at the thought of walking away from a carrier who seemed so genuinely kind.

“Understood.” Soundwave intoned, and stopped in front of a door, opening it with a tap of his hand.

Chapter Text

The room the door opened onto was a common room of some sort, empty at the moment, and Soundwave strode over to one of the couches. Hot Rod followed, for lack of anywhere better to sit, and jumped up to sit a polite distance from the Decepticon. “Hot Rod: equipped with written language datapacks?” he asked, pulling out a datapad.

Hot Rod nodded. He wasn’t the fastest reader by a long shot, but Jumpstart had taught him his glyphs with painstaking precision. The only thing he could write by hand was his own name, and his vocabulary wasn’t the greatest, but yeah he could read. He took the datapad when it was held out, and the screen lit up at a tap of his finger to show purple words on a grey background so dark it was nearly black.

“In a society built around a Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy that is obsessively revised and reinterpreted, the one thing that never changes‒the one thing that must never change‒is the system itself.” he formed the glyphs carefully at minimum volume, turning the words over in his processor before raising his vocaliser back to normal levels. “What is this?” he asked, and Soundwave tilted his helm slightly.

“Hot Rod: has not heard of this work.” he said, a statement rather than a question.

“No, I’ve not heard of it.” Hot Rod looked down at the datapad in his hands, optics scanning over the paragraphs without really taking anything in. At least until he got to the bottom, where a familiar name was scrawled in heavy handmade glyphs. “Megatron wrote this?” he looked back up at Soundwave, who nodded.

“Towards Peace: details core values of Decepticon movement. ”

Towards Peace. Jumpstart had mentioned it once, called it slag by some hacked-off miner. He’d told Hot Rod it wasn’t worth the time it’d take to read, but... he lowered his optics to the datapad again, then looked back up at Soundwave. “I read pretty slow.” he admitted, and held the datapad back out to Soundwave. “Do you have a zapnotes version?”

“No.” Soundwave’s voice was flat as ever, but Hot Rod thought he sounded amused. “Soundwave: has time to read aloud, should Hot Rod require information in audio format.”

Hot Rod looked aside, determined not to flush. He wasn’t some newbuild, he didn’t need things read to him.

“Every revision, every reinterpretation takes place within a rigid framework of social stratification.” Soundwave read, and Primus it was weird to hear him speaking in an almost normal cadence. “Nothing must threaten the Functionists’ core philosophy: utility as an organizing principle.”

“If you could step outside the system you would recognize it for what it is: a prison. Worse than that, it is a prison full of willing prisoners. And not only are you a prisoner within the system, you are a prisoner within your own frame. Whether you were created or fabricated, forged or constructed cold, you are trapped inside your alt mode. The Functionists built the lock and the Senate holds the key; but most of us are unaware that we’re locked in.

“Make no mistake: your life is mapped out in front of you, as clear as the grooves in your transformation cog. You can no more choose to change jobs than Cybertron can choose to stop orbiting Hadeen. You can no more acquire a skill unrelated to your vocation than the sky can acquire a conscience.

Hot Rod fidgeted, spark flaring uneasily in his chassis. This didn’t sound like the rantings of a mech upset that he’d lost his job. It sounded... real. He’d never thought about it before but Jumpstart had never once seemed to take much of an interest in anything outside of radio and caring for him. And he’d tried to keep Hot Rod from striking out on his own, too. Had never liked Hot Rod running around on his own, picking up random skills without supervision.

“Hot Rod: distressed?” Soundwave asked, and Hot Rod shook his helm.

“Just, thinking about some stuff for the first time. I’m still listening.” he assured the larger mech, shifting a little closer on the couch. Soundwave nodded, and Hot Rod shuttered his optics to pay better attention to the words.

“In denying you the ability to reject your alt mode‒in preventing you from pursuing a path of your own choosing‒both the Senate and the Council say they are acting in your best interests.” another piece that struck just a little too close to his spark. Jumpstart had always insisted he was looking out for Hot Rod in keeping him close, keeping him in radio, keeping him where a cassette belonged. “They have a responsibility, they say, to ensure you make the best use of your God-given form. If you turn into a drill, it is because Primus knows that Cybertron needs drills. To deviate from your function is to risk invoking the wrath of God and bringing the world to its knees.”

“In truth, it is about control. A multi-skilled population is an empowered population. And if you reject your alt mode, what next? Would you reject your class? Would you reject your government?” Soundwave paused, and Hot Rod forced a deep ventilation through his system.

“Keep going.”

“The Functionists don’t rely solely on theology when rebutting arguments for change. Working outside your alt mode would be confusing, they say. Imagine being treated by a medic with tank treads; you would question their competence. And they extend the same question to the miners. “Would you feel comfortable working alongside a microscope?” and to the military: “Would you put your life in the hands of a soldier who turns into a data slug?”

“And it is true. The people would be unnerved‒at first. But the Functionists‒enabled by the Senate‒have created the conditions that have given rise to this culture of suspicion; and they have done so deliberately, because it reinforces the status quo.” a status quo which Jumpstart had apparently bought into wholesparkedly, regardless of his position in it. Hot Rod couldn’t help but wonder how he might’ve reacted if he’d picked up a copy of this while still in Nyon. He shoved those thoughts aside for later though, focusing his processor on the present, where Soundwave was still reading. “Moreover, it fosters division, and division is another means by which they can control the population. The more walls you can put up between people, the easier it is to contain them, and the stronger the structural integrity of the system.”

“Huh.”

“Hot Rod: has thoughts on this subject?”

Hot Rod onlined his optics and looked up at Soundwave with a shrug. “I just, guess that’s part of why the Senate hated Nyon so much?”

Soundwave tilted his helm slightly in a silent question. Hot Rod shrugged again. “Just, when I was a newbuild Nyon was really tight-knit. As things went downhill though, the Senate kept putting new laws in place that broke folks apart, and then it got worse faster.”

“Senate: vindictive. Hot Rod: interested in rest of datapad?” Soundwave showed the purple text to him, and Hot Rod nodded.

“And that is why when you see a stranger you don’t think, “What are they like?” you think, “What are they for?” you think, “What do they do?” and then you think, “Where are they positioned in relation to me? Do they sit above, alongside, or below? Are they better than me, or I them?”

Hot Rod shuddered, grabbing his own arms. It had never been in doubt that Jumpstart was above him on the social totem pole, his carrier and caretaker and the mech in charge of him.

“Even if you believe in the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy, ask yourself this: who decides on that order? And then “why should there be an order?” And that is the question that the Senate and the Functionists fear the most, because they know that their world would collapse if people arrived at the answer. Why should there be an order? I’ll tell you: there shouldn’t be.

Hot Rod’s helm snapped up to meet Soundwave’s gaze, and the carrier set the datapad down firmly and deliberately. “Be happy in your work, they say, for it enriches you. Be grateful for your alt mode, for it defines you. Be thankful for the system‒it protects you. Be mindful of your betters‒they think for you.” Soundwave’s field went sharp and angry, but the nebulous sort of anger that roused frustration in his own spark. “I say enough. Reject your work. Reject your alt mode. Resist the system. And your “betters”? You have none. We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives.”

Hot Rod looked down as the datapad was pushed across the couch to rest against his knee, then back up at Soundwave.

“Decepticons: aim to abolish caste system. Megatron: seeks to spread truth against Functionist lies.”

“So, why the terrorist tactics?” Hot Rod asked, trying to reconcile the message in the datapad’s words with everything he knew about the Decepticons.

Soundwave bowed his helm, field going cold and dark with grief. “Right option: not always an option. Sacrifices: sometimes necessary for enlightenment of survivors. Non-combatant deaths: regrettable.” his helm lifted again, and Hot Rod’s plating clamped down at the pulse of echoed grief that filtered through where Soundwave’s field brushed his own. “Nyon’s sacrifice: saved many. Deaths: honourable.” he paused, and the grief in his field flared stronger. “Deaths: regrettable. Choice:... impossible.”

Hot Rod’s vents caught, and when he ducked his helm to scrub at the still-raw edges of his optics his gaze fell on the datapad resting against his leg. Specifically on the final line. We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives.

He could leave now, return to the survivors of Nyon and the life he’d always known, the one mapped out for him by Jumpstart on the basis of his alt-mode. Or, he could stay here. Could join Soundwave and his strange, wonderful little family of cassettes who acted nothing like what he’d spent his functioning being told a cassette should act like. He knew which option Jumpstart would’ve wanted him to pick, he would’ve told Hot Rod to come home safe, to stay out of the fighting, to stay close to home, a good little cassette. The protegere medal in his subspace felt suddenly heavy, Jumpstart’s last words seeming to ring in his audials, and Hot Rod’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh plating.

“Who do I talk to about enlisting?” he looked up to meet Shockwave’s visor, and didn’t need the mech to retract his mask to know he was smiling.

Chapter Text

“Hot Rod: return.” Soundwave intoned, and Hot Rod looked up from the datapad he was slowly reading to see Soundwave with his dock door open. “Deployment: imminent.”

Hot Rod nodded and jumped up for a smooth transformation, slotting in next to Ravage. ::Where are we going?:: he commed Ravage, and received a data packet in return.

::We’ll get you in the loop soon as you’re in the bond, promise.:: Ravage sent along with the files, field apologetic against Hot Rod’s own. He shrugged as best he was able to in alt-mode and unzipped the data packet, flicking through the small cache of data as it unpacked in his processor. The Autobots were marching on Iacon? Fraggin’ Senate pedelickers, hadn’t Megatron even offered them amnesty if they turned in their badges, or something like that?

::Do you think we’ll actually see any of the fighting?:: Hot Rod commed Ravage, and his fellow cassette wiggled in his own approximation of a shrug.

::If things go to plan, no, but when do things ever go to plan?::

Hot Rod pulsed back a burst of agreement through his field, and turned his awareness outward. Reflexively he tried to reach through the bond, to tap into the systems of the carrier he was docked in and see through his optics, but all he got for it was a sharp ache in his spark as a reminder that this wasn’t Jumpstart, and Soundwave hadn’t opened the bond to him yet. He could still sense their surroundings some, but it was far less distinct. More than distinct enough to recognise they were getting in a shuttle though, one stamped with Decepticon insignias on the wings.

“Astrotrain: status report.” Soundwave said, his glyphs clipped and flat voice as close to anxious as Hot Rod had ever heard it.

“It’s not good.” came a voice Hot Rod didn’t recognise. “The Autobots are saying they’ve got a new Prime and mechs are joining them in a march on the Citadel.”

“Proceed with Operation: Extraction. Cassettes: remain ready for deployment.”

Hot Rod pulsed affirmation in his field, but after a klik of alertness his processor began to drift. Soundwave was just pacing back and forth along the length of the shuttle, probably going over data on his HUD or something.

::Yo, Rod.:: a comm came from Frenzy, and he sent back a simple glyph acknowledging the message. ::If we get deployed, stick with me an’ Rumble. We wanna see how you fight!:: Frenzy littered the message sub-glyphs of excitement and anticipation, and Hot Rod shifted uneasily in his slot.

::I’m not really good at fighting.:: he admitted sheepishly, underlying the message with apology. ::Jumpstart would’ve had a spark attack if he ever found out I was learning how.::

::Then we’ll show you how!:: Rumble butted in, cheerful and almost more eager than his twin. ::Laserbeak said you do parkour, so you’re basically halfway there already.::

“Cassette deployment: unlikely.” Soundwave said, and even without being part of the bond yet Hot Rod could feel the disappointment the others directed at their carrier. “Astrotrain: highly accurate.”

“Damn right.” came the voice from earlier, and Hot Rod refocused his attention outside of the dock as Soundwave came to a halt in front of a door that definitely hadn’t been open earlier. Astrotrain was flying dangerously low to the ground now, and Hot Rod sincerely hoped the mech was as good a pilot as Soundwave seemed to think because a mistake at this height would be bad for everyone even if they weren’t picked up by Autobots. The shuttle tilted nearly sideways, and Soundwave leaned halfway out the door with an arm extended.

“Megatron- reach!”

Megatron’s helm snapped up, and Hot Rod faintly heard a deep voice bellow in anger as Soundwave caught Megatron by the arm. The shuttle flipped the other way, and Soundwave grunted as he was thrown to the floor, Megatron’s battered and faintly smoking frame sprawled atop his. The damage to his leader’s frame filled Hot Rod’s visual feed, and Hot Rod felt anger swell in his spark. Whoever had done this, that massive blocky-framed Autobot who’d been standing nearly over Megatron when they arrived... they would pay. He’d do it himself if he had to.

“Megatron: injured.” Soundwave said as he sat up.

“It’s nothing.” Megatron stood, wobbled slightly, and caught himself on the wall. “Shockwave is calling for a retreat, there will be soldiers injured worse than I.”

“Megatron: injured.” Soundwave repeated, this time more insistent. “Recommendation: sit, rest. Soundwave: will handle-”

“You will handle our communications.” Megatron said sharply, though he did sink down onto one of the benches that lined the walls. “I am more than well enough to run the debrief when we return to base.”

“Decepticon base: no longer secure.” Soundwave intoned, and Hot Rod felt similar flares of surprise from the other cassettes. “Retreat orders: contain new coordinates.”

“As efficient as ever, Soundwave.” Megatron smiled almost fondly, then grimaced and pressed a hand to an injury Hot Rod would’ve bet his next ration came from getting clipped by a blaster. “I trust the medics are already moved and waiting?”

“Affirmative. Lord Megatron’s health: highest priority.”

“I’m still not seeing a medic until after the debrief.”

Hot Rod had to muffle a snigger as he felt Soundwave frown disapprovingly behind his mask.

---

“Cassettes: eject.” Soundwave droned, and when the dock door opened Hot Rod found himself airborne. He transformed as soon as he was clear of the door and landed easily, turning to look up at Soundwave as the rest of the cassettes popped free. “Mission: successful. Cassettes: not needed at debrief.” Soundwave’s head turned slightly from side to side, visor scanning over them all. “Behave.” he ordered, gaze resting on Rumble and Frenzy. “Docking: will commence upon return.”

Hot Rod nodded obediently, and once the door had shut behind Soundwave turned to look at his fellow cassettes. Ravage had already vanished, and the razor-raptors were perched on a pair of rods mounted high on the wall, but the twins were still right there grinning at him.

“We gotta teach you how to fight.” Frenzy said firmly, grabbing one of Hot Rod's arms and linking it through his own.

“Yeah, it’d make us all look bad if you fragged up your hand punching an Autobot or something.” Rumble added, grabbing Hot Rod's other arm.

“Hey, I can throw a punch!” he protested as the twins dragged him to the door.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” Rumble gave him a slag-eating grin.

“Gladly.” Hot Rod snarled. His inner fire flared, and he let it explode out past his plating in a plume of golden light and searing heat. The twins leapt back, and he whirled to punch Rumble square in the jaw. With his fellow cassette already off-balance, that was all it took to knock him soundly on his aft. He spun towards Frenzy next, fists raised, and found the other twin staring at him with wide red optics and a field full of amazement.

“You can light on fire?!” he asked, darting in to grab one of Hot Rod's arms and pull it out, poking at the seams of his armour. “Where’s the fire come from? How come your paint's not burnt at all? Pit, how'd a slagger like you even afford a mod this cool?”

“It's uh, not a mod.” he admitted, trying not to focus on the sensation of unfamiliar fingers prodding dangerously close to where he was most ticklish. “I just, can do it?”

Frenzy went very, very still, field filling with shock and disbelief as his open mouth slowly spread into a beaming smile. Before Hot Rod could ask what he was so happy about though, he was tackled from behind.

“REVENGE!” Rumble shouted as he sent Hot Rod tumbling to the floor and jammed his fingers right into his most ticklish seam. Hot Rod screeched, flailing under Rumble's weight as he dissolved into laughter. Frenzy joined in a few nano-kliks later, crowing victoriously, and between the tickling and the unrestrained glee of the twins' fields crashing over him Hot Rod couldn’t find the will in his spark to throw them off.

“If you want to get any training in before Soundwave gets back you should leave now.” Ravage said some kliks later, after the twins had turned on each other and subsequently collapsed over Hot Rod in strutless piles of laughter.

“Frag training.” Rumble huffed, one of his helm vents digging into Hot Rod's abdominal armour.

“I thought-” Hot Rod reset his vocalizer with a grimace. “I thought you wanted to see me flame on again.”

“I wanna see that!” Frenzy pushed himself up off of Hot Rod, kicking his twin as he scrambled to his pedes. “C'mon, let's get going.”

Hot Rod shoved Rumble off himself to accept Frenzy’s offered hand, and once he was upright Frenzy turned and kicked Rumble in the side. Rumble groaned theatrically but did rise just enough to slump against Frenzy, chin on his twin’s shoulder. Hot Rod giggled and turned to the door, spark flaring in his chassis when his optics landed on the cassette-height operation panel. This one was just affixed to the wall with a quick weld, with colorful wires running up to the half-attached panel at standard height, but it made him unspeakably happy even so.

“Hey, do either of you know where the training room is here?” he asked the twins as he walked out into the hallway.

“Yeah, we passed it on the way in.” Frenzy shrugged Rumble off and came up next to Hot Rod, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Just imagine how proud Soundwave will be when he finds out we actually went and used the training room for its intended purpose.”

“As opposed to what?” Hot Rod chuckled, and Frenzy gave him a sharp smile.

“Oh, you'll see.”

“Guess I will.” Hot Rod agreed amicably, slipping out of Frenzy's hold and gesturing to the hallway. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

Hot Rod grimaced and rubbed at his chest again, fingers tracing the angular shape now welded to his armour as the heel of his hand pressed on it. Like any amount of pressure could soothe the ache in his now-damaged spark casing that throbbed in time with the spin of his spark. The surgery hadn't hurt at all, just like Soundwave and the others promised, but now that the blockers were wearing off it kinda hurt a lot. Not in a sharp and all-consuming way, but in a way that promised it wouldn't diminish with time. He would just have to get used to it, he supposed.

“Hot Rod: prepared for bonding?” Soundwave asked, field flickering with earnest concern. It was still novel, having a carrier who was so accommodating of his wishes. He could say no and Soundwave wouldn't be the least bit disappointed.

“Yeah, I am.” he nodded, lifting a hand to flip open the data transfer ports on his shoulder. It still felt something like betrayal to let Jumpstart's bond code be overwritten, but he couldn't keep reaching for a broken bond all the time. He had Jumpstart's protegere medal, and a cache of treasured memories, and that would have to be enough. He held onto that thought as Soundwave unspooled a cable from his forearm, then cycled his optics to make sure he was actually seeing what was in front of him.

“Initiation: at Hot Rod's discretion.” Soundwave said as soon as the question crossed his mind as to why the cable hadn't been slotted into his port yet. He took the cable from Soundwave's hand, cycled a ventilation, and slid it home into his shoulder. For a few long nano-kliks there was nothing, his systems automatically requesting identification from the foreign presence now connected to them, then Soundwave sent a packet requesting access. Hot Rod ex-vented and accepted.

With Jumpstart he'd not known what to expect, and the initial connection had crashed through his processor like an error cascade, leaving him reeling for most of a cycle afterward as Jumpstart soothed him through their new bond. He braced for a similar rush of data from Soundwave, but all that came was a gentle press against his firewalls. Embarrassment flushed his field as he lowered the ones he could, though some Jumpstart had reinforced to stop him catching anything and he couldn't bring those down on his own.

«Hot Rod: apprehensive.» Soundwave's voice came from inside his helm, and Hot Rod startled at the statement. «Bonding: not required for functioning.»

“I know.” Hot Rod met Soundwave's visor and filled his field with determination. “It's going to hurt, but I want-” he flushed and looked away, cutting off his vocalizer before he could say he wanted to be part of Soundwave’s family. Affection washed across the link, and Hot Rod remembered a nano-klik too late that Soundwave was both a telepath and physically plugged into his systems at the moment.

«Bonding process: not designed to cause pain.» Soundwave informed him, and Hot Rod shuddered as a cool presence seeped across his circuits. True to Soundwave's word though, it wasn't the least bit painful. Around his aching spark casing the coolness was actually quite welcome, dulling the pain to very nearly nothing. He still braced when he sensed an incoming data packet, but there was no sensor-shocking impact. Shockwave's presence absorbed it, and there was little more than a prickle as it installed.

«Packet purpose: update recharge coding. Hot Rod: now attuned to Shockwave’s systems.» Soundwave said once the prickles faded, and when Hot Rod glanced at the settings for that system they were slightly different from before. Not very, but he had a feeling his recharge cycles would be deeper tonight. The next packet arrived a few nano-kliks later, and while Hot Rod still braced himself he didn’t tense nearly as much. «Soundwave: will not harm Hot Rod.» he promised, and Hot Rod actually believed him. Shuttering his optics, he released the tension in his frame and let Soundwave get to work editing his code. The faster this was done, the sooner he would be properly part of his new family.

---

“Hey Rumble, Frenzy?” Hot Rod leaned on the back of the couch, looking side to side at his twin brothers. “Does this place have any paint?”

Both twins’ helms snapped around to stare at him, excitement pulsing through the intra-cassette bond. “Whatcha want it for?” Frenzy asked, subspacing the blaster he’d been fiddling with as he turned to face Hot Rod fully.

“Well, I kinda clash right now.” Hot Rod gestured at his Deceptibrand, sat in the middle of his vibrant red and yellow paint job. He’d looked okay the first few mega-cycles, but with proper fuel and recharge his paint nanites had livened back up, making him stand out like a sore thumb among the rest of the faction.

“What, it took you this long to notice?” Rumble teased, punching Hot Rod in the shoulder. Hot Rod stuck his glossa out at Rumble for a nano-klik.

“Well, Rumble and I have a bit of a stash if you don’t mind our colours.” Frenzy said after a moment of thought, and Hot Rod beamed as he pushed up off the back of the couch.

“I don’t mind at all!” he let his earnestness flow through the bond, doing his best to impress upon the twins how much he meant it. If there had been somewhere to get a new paint job he would’ve picked something else to keep them from teasing him, maybe something like Jumpstart’s colours, but to match his brothers would be incredible.

“Alright, we keep it over here.” Frenzy stood, and Rumble grumbled but followed on his heels, leaving Hot Rod to trail a few steps behind. The paint cans were hidden perfectly under the floor plating half beneath the twins’ personal berth, and Frenzy hauled them out with ease, passing each can to Rumble silently and without hesitation. It wasn’t long before a small row of paints was lined up on the berth, and Hot Rod found himself actually contemplating the colours he wanted. Red was a must, obviously. He liked red, but his current vivid shade did attract the wrong sort of attention. Frenzy never got a second glance unless he was Up To Something though, so that red was probably safe.

“Wow, you’re sure thinking hard.” Rumble remarked, and Hot Rod nodded absently.

“Gotta figure out my new colours.”

“You’ve only got, what, four options?” Rumble flopped down across the berth, chin propped up in his hands.

“Something like that.” Hot Rod agreed, looking from the red to the black to the blue and purple. “I’ll go with the red and purple, at least for now. And I’ll keep the gold trim.” he traced the line that cut across his chestplate just above his Deceptibrand, optics flicking over the smaller can of silver contemplatively for a moment before discarding that idea. He did rather like the gold. It felt fancy.

“Cool.” Frenzy stood up and kicked the storage hatch shut, lifting a small airbrush in one hand and a tarp in the other. “How do you want it styled?”

Hot Rod glanced down at his plating, considering the distribution for the first time. The yellow on his chassis, hands, and pedes with red everywhere else but his joints and face had always felt like an odd arrangement to him, though Jumpstart had assured him he looked perfectly dashing. “Like yours, I think.” he glanced up at the twins, Rumble now off the berth and helping spread the tarp out over it.

“Sweet, we’ll match!” Rumble looked up from the tarp to flash a grin at him, and Hot Rod smiled back.

“So, red on your chassis or your thighs?” Frenzy asked, looking him over with a critical optic.

“Chassis.” Hot Rod answered immediately. If he took Rumble and Frenzy’s colours in the same locations as them, that would just be silly.

“Alright, get on the berth.” Frenzy gestured to the tarped surface, and Hot Rod laid obediently on his back. “Rumble, peel-off sealant?”

“Right here.” Rumble handed over a can about the size of the metallic ones, but with a much smaller screw-on lid. “You’re gonna look awesome once we’re done with you.” Rumble promised as Frenzy leaned over the berth to paint a clear, slightly sticky material over Hot Rod’s gold plating.

“I’m guessing you two do your own paint?” he asked, and got two nods.

“You can help once you’re all dry.” Rumble offered. “Hardly hurts to have an extra set of hands around.”

“But... neither of you need touch-ups.” Hot Rod frowned, and the twins roared with laughter.

“You think we leave our paint jobs the same?” Frenzy asked, a glint to his optics that matched the amusement thick in his field.

“We swap.” Rumble elaborated. “Every couple stellar cycles, deca-cycles, once we swapped every other mega-cycle until we ran out of paint. Confused the everloving frag outta Starscream.”

“So worth it.” Frenzy sniggered, lifting the sealant brush from Hot Rod’s frame. “Now, hold still or you’re gonna end up more than a little red in the face.”

Hot Rod chuckled, but laid still as the airbrush began to hiss and spray his plating with rich red. “Hey, do you think after doing my helm in red you could put some gold trim on the vents up there?” he asked several kliks later, when Frenzy had moved from his chassis down to his pelvic plating.

“I can do the silver on Rumble’s chest without smudging anything.” Frenzy bragged, airbrush sliding smoothly across Hot Rod’s armour.

“So is that a yes?” Hot Rod teased, and Frenzy gave him a sharp grin.

“Damn right it is.”

---

Soundwave was a busy mech, far busier than most of his frametype. In the earliest mega-cycles, when his job had still been hands-on, he had been able to work directly alongside his cassettes and afford each of them all the attention and affection they deserved. As the Decepticons had expanded though, so had his list of duties and responsibilities, and much as he would’ve loved to have his cassettes near while he worked it simply wasn’t practical anymore. Ravage Laserbeak and Buzzsaw needed specialised interfaces to efficiently use computers, the twins were physically incapable of sitting still and doing work, and while Hot Rod was certainly eager to help however he could his written language subroutines were underdeveloped, making a data centre possibly the exact worst place to put him.

However, being as high-ranking as he was came with some privileges. Like the ability to make sure he and all his cassettes shared a duty shift, leaving their free cycles and rest cycles at the same time. It wasn’t much, wasn’t half enough time in his opinion to properly integrate a mech like Hot Rod into their bond, but he made the most of it. It certainly helped that Hot Rod was happy with any sort of quality time, though that was one of the many things about Hot Rod which made Soundwave darkly happy Nyon had burnt. The Jumpstart mech Hot Rod spoke of was not, by his estimation, a mech who should’ve been allowed near someone as young and vulnerable as Hot Rod had been. Even now, he wouldn’t let someone like Jumpstart within an Iaconian block of Hot Rod if he had the power.

The first few meta-cycles were... slightly odd. Rumble and Frenzy had integrated smoothly from the first mega-cycle, but Hot Rod still stood apart for the most part, some deep-seated fear keeping him from fully trusting his fellow cassettes. Soundwave did what he could to ease that fear, including Hot Rod in music-mixing sessions with Laserbeak and making sure he trained safely with the twins. Ravage took great pride and pleasure in racing Hot Rod through and around the base, Buzzsaw commentating as they went. The twins even got him an optic shift mod to let him in on their colour-swapping schemes, though neither Rumble nor Frenzy was polite enough to pass as Hot Rod once they opened their mouth.

Eventually though, Hot Rod began to relax into the group bond. He stopped tensing up if he made a minor mistake while mixing music, purred his sturdy little engine to match Ravage’s when they collapsed together after a race, spun tornadoes of fire from his palms in training and in battle. When some frontliner called him the third Terror Twin, Soundwave was lucky enough to be present to see Hot Rod smile wide and free and sling his arms around his brothers, declaring them the Terror Triplets, to Rumble and Frenzy’s delight.

A deca-cycle later Hot Rod painted energon pink flames on his chassis for a battle, and when Soundwave was released from Medical the next mega-cycle he found his firey little cassette tearing through the halls of the base with his siblings in hot pursuit, each of them detailed with intricate curves and whorls of that same pink paint. Soundwave thought he even glimpsed a few flowers on Ravage’s flank as the eldest of his cassettes ran past, howling about vengeance.

Shaking his helm, Soundwave turned and headed back to their shared habsuite. Ravage Laserbeak and Buzzsaw may have been forged before him, but being reformatted into cassettes had left them... not quite regressed, but when he’d bonded with them they had certainly seemed much younger than before. Vulnerable, perhaps was the word he was looking for, but whatever the word was they felt younger now, even the steady and sensible Ravage given to playing with his siblings. And it was good, Soundwave thought, that they be allowed that freedom. It was good that Hot Rod felt safe enough with them to play a prank like this.

They were at war, yes, but even so... life was good.