Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Despite being darkly colored and quite dirty, the seemingly abandoned car stood out like a sore thumb between the scorched evergreens.

Dark purple and black. Dented to shit but still beautiful in a way, it drew you to it. Not like any other abandoned car didn’t pique your attention, of course, but something about this was different. The fact that the damn thing was at least a mile from the closest paved road and surrounded by burnt marks engraved into the closest trees did nothing to stifle your curiosity. No, it fanned those particular flames. Questions of ‘How?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Who?’ and, most importantly, ‘How?’ came to mind. There wasn’t enough room to get a car like that through here, let alone get it moving fast enough to wrap around a tree like that. This was hiking territory, with hills and rocks that a car with a few inches of undercarriage clearance had no right to be in. It wasn’t even well-traveled hiking territory. If it wasn’t for you, the car might not have ever been discovered.

It was obvious that you were the only person brave or stupid enough to come out this far in early spring. There was a reason why Oregon was known for its rain. The showers this time of year were bitingly cold and miserable, a fact that the native population of Nimrod, Oregon knew very well. Besides, the helpful souls at McKenzie Fire & Rescue Station 16-5, named after the local river of the same name, didn’t take kindly to dragging asshats like you out of the muddy and unforgiving forest. You’d know - you’d gotten lost enough times to know all of their names.

Yet, you persisted. The wilderness called, you were bored, and apparently, your impulse control was far worse than you’d feared, so here you were. Smack in the middle of Deschutes National Forest, looking at a car that's seen better days. Did the air smell more ozone-y than normal, or was that just the rain?

Your hand traced the burnt crater within a fallen tree as you lifted yourself over, eyes set on the smudge of purple. The green undergrowth curled underneath its form, already trying to retake the car. Grey, cloudy skies drifted high above the canopy. If you looked close enough, you could see each wispy cloud race across the sky. The surrounding trees swayed none too gently in the damp wind, masking your footsteps and rustling last fall’s leaves from their place on the ground. The stoic evergreens walled you in from every side.

Only a few feet away now, you were looking at the car like it was a wild animal about to strike. It certainly looked like a car, sitting there pitifully. The fact that you were pitying an inanimate object didn’t even make a blip on your radar, considering the number of times that you’d greeted your client’s vehicles with a sympathetic ‘aw’. You came close enough to rest your hand on the dejected thing’s hood, feeling the dust beneath your palm and the cool metal under that. Besides the decidedly fucked up paneling on the left side, everything else looked good. No rust, no signs of tampering.

Score!

Scavenging parts from misused and pathetic-looking cars weren’t legal in the slightest, but that didn’t stop the Itch from crawling down your arms and building between your fingers like static electricity. It wasn’t kleptomania, or at least you didn’t think that it was. The pleasure was in the process; working in your garage and seeing your client’s cars wasn’t enough. So, you occasionally splurged on whatever abandoned vehicle you stumbled upon. While the legality of the situation certainly didn’t concern you, ‘borrowing’ parts from some overworked mom’s beat-up Honda did.

Last time you checked, mom didn’t park her souped-up sports car in the middle of the woods via ramming it into a tree. Whatever you could carry out of here was free game, at least in your books.

A childish grin lit up your face as you popped the hood but quickly melted into an expression of awe at what you found. Shiny, showroom-floor chrome sparkled in the weak light, framing a pretty little high-displacement V8 engine that sat like the crown jewel in the middle of it all. The battery was unmarked and- what was that? You traced some shiny doohickey that hung off of the transmission and snaked farther back into the car’s frame. You, an experienced mechanic, had no clue what it was. Awesome!

You were officially fawning over this cute little setup, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Everything was beautiful, absolutely spotless, as far as you could see. Taking this thing back to the shop part by part - where would you even start?!

Logically, you’d start with the whole damn thing because only the devil himself could convince you to take apart this work of art.

If roads were veins, fire roads were the minuscule venules that weaved through Oregon’s forests. Considering said forest’s penchant for bursting into flames every summer, they were well used and relatively well maintained. The good boys and girls at Station 16-5 somehow found the time to keep the forest from reclaiming the dirt trails in between rescuing hapless hikers and holding the yearly Fisherman’s Breakfast.

You were vehemently thanking their hard work as you drove your tow truck along the bumpy path. To your luck, the car was only a few yards off of this fire road, if you’d read the map correctly. Now, to find exactly where the car was…

A few hours later and you were doubted if you’d ever find the troublesome thing. The forest was big, the car was relatively small and hidden from the road. You were one person, but you also had a mission and were very determined. Determination had its limits, however, and you eventually found yourself cold, frustrated, and angry. An irritated kick to the base of a tree only soured your mood even more. The birds above scattered at the sudden slew of curses as you clutched your aching foot

Then, you smelled it. Ozone and metal, like someone had shoved a penny up your nose. It lingered in the back of your throat, rising like bile. Yet, you were propelled forward. Gravel crunched beneath your feet as you climbed the slight slope up onto the road. There, etched into the pine across the way, was a strikingly familiar scorch mark. Whatever birds that hadn’t been disturbed by the curses flew away at the cheer.

There it was, the same as you left it. The odd smell was much stronger now, though it was easy to ignore through your excitement. Soon the tow truck’s winch was hooked up to the car’s front axle and the controller was in your hand. Extracting the car was just as irritating as finding it - unhooking the winch to move a log out of the way, cutting down a stubborn patch of blackberries, yelling at that one raccoon - but the car’s wheels finally touched somewhat-flat dirt just as the sun started to set.

You got the thing on the truck and set off towards home, completely unaware of the newly downed trees and giant, footprint-like divots that littered the area.

The Car, capital C now, had found its place right along with the other busted-up pieces of work in your workshop’s garage. Any moment that wasn’t spent on those cases was spent on making Mr. Car drivable again. Once you got him up on the garage jack you’d found that the damage was much worse than you’d thought.

It looked like something had grabbed the underside of the chassis and yanked. The forward track bar and drive link were gone; it was a wonder that the bent axle was there at all. Thick oil mixed with dirt coated everything from the oil pan back to the rear driveshaft. While cleaning it out you’d stumbled upon a good amount of dried blue… stuff. You chalked it up to a new type of coolant or something and continued.

Being out in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t constitute much patronage if the path through nowhere didn’t lead anywhere interesting. As it was, people breaking down on the way through Nimrod kept you good and busy. Work on Mr. Car was slow since you had to focus on earning money so you could pay your ‘mortgage’ or whatever.

A week or so passed before everything was replaced. You weren’t surprised that you had the parts on hand, considering a good portion of your client's cars ended up in your shop thanks to their ill-advised attempts at offroading. It was surprising how many people overestimate their car’s clearance or underestimated the height of the bumps in the road. Missing oil pans were a regular occurrence around these parts.

The paneling and door on the left side weren’t as easy of a fix. You didn’t have a whole-ass door just lying around, and the metal paneling needed to be worked into shape. You ended up just taking all of the bent stuff off, banging out all the dents that you could, and replacing whatever seemed good enough while putting the rest in the recycling. Not a lot of the stuff was salvageable. Whatever the panels were made of was tough. But the car was driveable. ‘Course, the lack of door would have the local state trooper on your bumper as soon as you hit government pavement, but still.

You counted it as a job well done as you cleaned up for the day. You’d sent Hoover, the kindly old man that worked for you at the shop, home early. The fella was limping for some reason and wouldn’t take being told to go home unless the whole shop closed down. You, being as stubborn as a mule, called his bluff and closed up for the day.

The three bays were silent as you tidied up, two of them pulled closed while the third enjoyed some of the weak afternoon sunlight. Mr. Car sat in the third bay, a tarp halfway pulled over its roof. No walls separated each bay from the other, allowing you a glimpse of a dark purple hood gleaming in the light. Birds chirped outside, you could smell the blooming daffodils down the way.

Something moved

A cart on the other side of the bay jostled to the side as the sudden roar of an engine broke the peaceful atmosphere. It cut off abruptly with the grinding of metal. The oily rag dropped from your hand as something below the tarp jerked around before disappearing from view. Silence reigned yet again, and you could almost fool yourself into thinking that it was just an auditory hallucination. That didn’t explain why you couldn’t see Mr. Car anymore. Last time you checked hallucinations didn’t make cars disappear.

You grabbed a pipe, clenched in your fists until your knuckles turned white, and shuffled your way down to the last bay. The closer you got, the more you could hear the soft whines and clicks. It sounded like someone was gently rewinding a tape in the other room. You rounded a workbench, hoping to see, well, anything but the giant metal arm laying in front of you. The giant, spiky arm was attached to a giant torso, half-hidden beneath the tarp. That torso was connected to an oddly angular… head?

You could feel your brain stalling in real-time as the head tilted to the side, revealing a ruby red visor. Your pulse raged underneath your skin, fingers aching around the pipe in your hands. Teeth ground together and eyes wide with shock. It was looking at you. Still as the night. The arm holding the pipe lowered until it rested at your side. You blinked. The visor flickered.

“What the fuck.”

A little over nine thousand miles away, high up over the south pole, a silent alert appeared in the corner of a giant terminal. One long, spindly arm reached over and tapped on the smooth keyboard and the alert disappeared, though it certainly wasn’t forgotten.

Chapter Text

V-27C-12 was flying. Considering that it's alt-mode was a car and not a jet, that was a decidedly bad thing.

Its gyroscopic sensors raged against the quickly changing direction of gravity as it was flung bumper over bumper by the big green one. One moment the Vehicon had been rolling along the organic-constructed dirt path and the next the green Autobot had his hands in its undercarriage. There hadn’t been time to react, let alone fight back. Nothing that big should have been able to hide that well, frag it!

Instantaneous diagnostic reports revealed that in the process of grabbing and chucking it out of the altercation, big green had torn out a few components essential to locomotion in its alt-form. Genuine fear - caused not only by the escalating battle around it but also the knowledge that it'd have to visit Knockout once all of this was over - bloomed in its processor; fear that it had no time to process. An alert buzzed on the corner of its HUD. Ah, the ground was approaching, along with a large piece of flora. Simple - it would transform and alter its course. Just a matter of -

V-27C-12's world exploded into pain as metal ground into metal. Its transformation cog squealed in protest and a mess of notifications rained down on its HUD. In one singular moment, it found itself overwhelmed by the response from its processor and the pain radiating from its undercarriage. One particular notification shoved its way to the forefront for its HUD. Although it'd been lucky to have no ruptured energon lines before, attempting to transform into its root form had shoved a ragged piece of its alt-modes drive link into a secondary line, among other things. Starscream would be displeased, it distantly realized through the pain. It'd be put on a stellar-cycle of ferrying duties after this disaster.

If it survived, that is. If Starscream deemed recovering its incapacitated body important enough. If Knockout was even on the Nemesis. If Knockout didn't write it off as a complete loss before even bringing it out of stasis. Its lifeless body would be stripped for parts. The smelter was in its future - that fact was certain from the moment it came online - but it didn't think that it would come so soon.

Realization dawned on its processor as the tree's trunk came ever closer. This was it. It hadn't even made it a decivorn of operation and now it was going to be permanently offlined. It was going to die.

And, in a way, it did.

Consciousness came back in parts. First was a vague sense of being. It could feel itself - feel the edges of its mind and a steady thrum that came in waves. The flickers of energy that made up its thoughts bloomed and disappeared in flashes of white light. Physically, it wasn't much different than stasis, but emotionally it was lightyears better than the blank feeling of nothingness that stasis brought. Feeling anything was better than being numb. Yet, it was still wrong. There should be more, it knew that. Blankness was not what it was programmed to interact with.

It felt like eons - or was it a matter of klicks? - before anything else happened. Even then, it was slow. A hint of feeling there, a scrap of pain here. Something was pulled aside and some of it was replaced again. It hung onto each sensation, both the good and the bad because all of it was far better than the alternative. It could hear something far off in the distance. The sound was soft and rhythmic, rising and lowering from distance and intonation. It was comforting, in an odd way.

Suddenly, the darkness flickered before being overlaid with lines of red. Angry red script - Cybrertronian, some distant part of its processor realized - surrounded by urgent identifiers ran across the bottom.

DEFRAGMENTATION INCOMPLETE

SECTORS 000M - 990M INACCESSIBLE

RECOMMENDATION: SEEK IMMEDIATE MEDICAL CARE

Even it knew that wasn't good.

However, there wasn't anything that could be done for it at the moment. The recommendation was lost on the mech. Instead, it prodded along the edge of its consciousness, feeling where it ended and the darkness began. As it felt its way along, a crawling sensation - the feeling of being looked at far too closely - washed over it. Something was doing... something. Was it doing that? Or was it someone else? Was there anyone else? It couldn't tell, and that fact frightened it. It could feel the suffocating blanket of fear falling over it as something shifted. The fog was retreating, more text scrolling along the bottom of its HUD.

BOOT INITIATED

COMMENCING THREAT ASSESSMENT

SCANNING...

SCAN INCOMPLETE. CAUSE: UNKNOWN

ACTIVATING OPTICAL SENSORS...

The darkness wasn’t as resolute this time. There were silhouettes of edges and curves within its vision. They flickered dangerously, fuzzy in some places yet perfectly clear in others. Well, this wouldn’t do. It wanted more. It had to be missing something…

And just with that thought, it felt itself shudder and break apart. It wasn’t afraid - the motions and sensations were ingrained into its base coding. Within seconds it was in a different shape, supine with its arms at its sides. It could feel the cool floor beneath the panels of its back. The solar radiation emanating from behind it cast its faceplate in gentle warmth. It forced its optics online yet again.

The darkness flickered and then retreated altogether. An overwhelming sense of sensation made its helm ache. It couldn't help but wince at the light as it streamed in through an opening behind its head. Above it, beams of brown crisscrossed off to its left, ending at the wall to its right. Its optics flickered as it tried to parse what it was seeing.

Something moved.

There was noise to its left, the sound of hesitant movement. The realization came tumbling through its processor - it wasn’t alone. It reached out to its scanners, causing the script along the bottom of its HUD to repeat the current status of those particular systems. Having found itself confined to visual sensors only, it jerked its head to the side and stared at the little squishy thing as it approached.

Though the mech didn’t know it - it really didn’t know much of anything at the moment - the fact that humans were so similar to cybertronians was simply illogical. Born from drastically different environments. Earth, with its low gravity, oxygenated atmosphere, and vast oceans. Cybertron, dry and warm with a thin atmosphere composed of noble gasses. Separated by lightyears - one organic and one mechanic. Yet, the dominant species of both planets were (mostly) bipedal - two legs, two arms, twin visual sensors located on the front of the head. Both could feel love, wage war, create mythos and art. The fact that both could recognize themselves in each other, whether they liked that fact or not, was improbable. Yet, here they were. Mech and human staring face to faceplate. Optics to eyes.

The similarities terrified some. In others, it spiked curiosity or fostered kinship. Disgust was also a prevalent emotion among one particular faction of cybertronians and humans.

The newly awakened mech felt none of these emotions as it looked at the little… thing in front of it. It did not know what to feel, or if it should feel anything at all. It simply did not know enough to make a decision. Human, the atmospheric package offered from the side of its HUD. A request for more information bombarded the mech with a multitude of language packs, guides for interaction, and reports written by individuals that it did not recognize. Pests. Pets. Weak. Squishy. Insolent, those opinions were mirrored in every account. The mech skipped over them once they became repetitive. It considered abandoning the search altogether when it stumbled upon a different class of entries.

Threat assessments, schematics of guns and ammunition. Details on armor-piercing sabot rounds and their effect on other mechs. Images of war machines - familiar and frightening - flickered in the back of its mind. It cross-referenced the length of metal in this human’s servos and the weapons pictured. It let out a soft sound - the shape was just close enough to send a sliver of fear through the mech’s mind. It was in danger.

So, it did what cybertonians did best. It hid.

Just like that, the giant metal thing folded back into itself. The movement caused you to raise the pipe again and keep it at the ready even as Mr. Car appeared yet again. It sat there, innocent looking in the midday sun. The only evidence that something had happened at all was the tarp; it was now caught in between two otherwise seamless panels on the roof of the car.

For a few long moments, you just stared. Birds resumed their songs and the daffodils still bloomed. The world had moved on in just a matter of minutes. You hadn't.

Because a giant robot was hiding in your machine shop as if you hadn't seen the damn thing laying there only a few seconds ago. Briefly, you had the presence of mind to feel insulted.

"Absolutely not," your incredulous words sounded biting even to you as you took a few hesitant steps towards the quiet car. "There is no place on God's green earth that that would work. Nope. I saw you, dammit. There's no use in hiding." You stuck the pipe out and poked at the hood. Had you not seen it just stand up you would have written the shudder off as a trick of the light. You tapped a little harder. “Come on, gig’s up.”

It took a long moment before anything happened. The car shivered again before speaking(?!) “...No.” You almost didn’t hear the tentative (afraid?) answer over the gentle breeze. Again, it would have been easy to ignore if not for, well, everything else. Your mind did loops, reeling at how ridiculous this entire situation was.

“You- you just answered me. Last time I checked, cars can’t talk. At least, regular cars can’t. I know you’re… well, whatever you are. Not a car. Definitely not a car.” You lowered the pipe but kept your grip on it tight despite the protest from your knuckles. Briefly, you wondered what the hell you were doing here. Running screaming would have been the right response to this. Threatening a giant robot with a length of pipe was not. Oh well, it wasn’t like you could turn back now.

“-hurt me.” You blinked and almost asked it to repeat itself before something clicked and the car shuddered again. “Will you hurt me?”

That was enough to send a cascade of guilt onto your shoulders, along with a considerable amount of confusion. It was afraid. Of you. You, a comparatively small person armed with only a pipe and a strong wish not to die, were scaring this huge robot. Right then and there you decided that this must be a dream, if not one hell of a hallucination.

“Listen, buddy, I doubt I could hurt you too much even if I wanted to. Here, look.” You crouched down and laid the pipe on the floor, going against whatever was left of your survival instinct as you gave up your only weapon. Hands up and palms forward, you took a tentative step back. “See?” Nothing happened for a few long seconds. You considered asking if it was still there when that same grinding noise came from the car.

It broke apart slowly this time, almost hesitant in its movements. Seamless panels appeared and moved independently of each other as the form lengthened and narrowed. Two legs materialized along with two arms, though one was missing a considerable amount of bulk. Distantly you realized that that was where the left passenger door should have been.

Its back was to the wall this time. Lanky, purple legs were drawn up against its chest with its arms wrapped around its body. The long, deadly looking spikes protruding from its knees hid the majority of its head from sight, but you could still see the red glow of its visor and a glimpse of its stainless steel face.

“See, bud? That ain’t that bad. Everything’s…” You trailed off as one of its arms unfolded from its chest and slowly swung towards you. Despite your stubborn desire to stay still, as if you weren't also scared out of your mind, you couldn’t help but shuffle back as the robot grabbed the pipe. It brought the pipe close to its visor, twisting it so it could observe it from every direction, before grabbing the other end and bending the pipe in two.

Seemingly satisfied, it placed the pipe back at your feet before returning its arms to their former positions. You looked at the robot, to the bent pipe, and then back to the robot.

“I needed that!”

"...Sorry."

Aw hell, there was the guilt again, crushing around your ribcage like a couple of tons of concrete. Dimly, you realized that you were snarling, and that was causing the robot to cringe away. As if you were going to hit it. As if it had been hit before.

You wrangled your face into some semblance of neutrality and relaxed your shoulders, forcing your eyes closed. Mentally, you recapped the last few minutes. Alright. So, there was a robot in your garage. There had been a robot in your garage for multiple weeks. You’d put the robot back together (minus the door - you were still waiting for the shipment to come in). Now, the robot was scared and you felt like an absolute heel. If you hadn’t sympathized with inanimate cars in the past, you’d be wondering why a robot with no eyes or mouth or anything able to facially express emotion was inspiring such a surge of protectiveness. You opened your eyes again; the robot was in the same position, just looking at you.

“Don’t- don’t worry about it.” You rubbed at your forehead with one hand and waved off the robot with the other as you let out a muffled sigh. The robot’s hook-shaped shoulders (was that a wheel hidden in there?) dipped down just slightly. If you anthropomorphized this robot, you might say that it was relieved. Could robots feel relieved? Could it feel fear in the first place? It certainly looked like it could - like it did - but why would anyone program that? Doing so certainly didn’t seem beneficial, yet...

You wanted to find the asshole that had programmed their robot with anxiety just so you could strangle them.

Somehow you managed to physically shake those homicidal urges from your head and refocus on the giant robot in your garage. It had been sitting quietly, simply watching you as you wrangled your thoughts.

"Alright, okay," you dragged a hand down the side of your face. "What are you and why are you in my garage?" The robot tilted its head, sunlight flickering over its red visor. It was quiet for a long moment before speaking.

"I am a Cybertronian. I do not know." You waited for the robot to elaborate, but, of course, it didn't. Either you weren't asking the right questions, or it genuinely didn't know. Another sigh forced its way from your lungs.

"Cool. Uh, is there anyone I can call for you? Whoever built you, so I can get you-" You nearly jumped out of your skin when a horrible grinding sound came from the robot. It squeezed itself tighter to the wall, the plating on its torso protesting as its long, sharp talons scrabbled against the purple metal. Did the visor look brighter, or was that a trick of the light? Before you knew it, you were stumbling closer to it with your hands up and waved at the robot to stop - as if that would do anything. "Okay! Okay, I won't do that. Just stop - you're gonna ding yourself up even more than you already are." Slowly, the grinding sounds stopped and its grip on the plating on its chest lessened.

Scratch strangling whoever made this fella - you were gonna straight up stab them if they ever had the misfortune of meeting you.

Your hand found its way back up to your head as the start of a migraine brewed beneath your skull. If this were a movie or some kitschy sci-fi cartoon, the robot would be an escaped government prototype or an alien. In other words, you were either living out the Iron Giant or Short Circuit, and neither of those options was good. In both cases, the government would be on your doorstep at any moment and you would get shot at. With guns.

If this was a movie, which it was not. No, this was your satisfyingly boring life. The day-to-day of a mechanic out in Nimrod, Oregon did not warrant the attention of any pompous producers or business execs. There wasn't nearly enough explosions or car chases. This type of stuff - giant, talking robots - was not supposed to happen, let alone to you of all people. Yet-

-something cold and hard tapped against the arm that was holding your head. You stumbled back and looked up at the robot just in time to see its arm return to its chest. It looked almost as startled as you were - its visor bright and body tilted away from you. A small trail of dust and debris trickled down from the roof as the robot tried to merge itself with the wall.

"You were quiet," it offered by way of explanation, “and holding your helm.” It seemed genuinely, humanly, concerned. It took you by surprise, shoving you even more off-kilter than you already were.

"This is crazy." In any other situation, you'd be embarrassed by how much your voice shook. "Absolutely insane. You shouldn't exist." Did it flinch? You were too preoccupied with your rapidly beating heart to notice. "You're a huge robot-"

"Mech."

"Mech, whatever. In my garage." Your hand rested on your chest, feeling the organ beat into oblivion beneath it. The air felt thin and your lungs were filling with ice. Soon, there wouldn't be enough room to breathe. "I think I'm panicking," you pointed out the obvious, just in case the robot - no, mech - didn't know.

"Sorry."

Oh geez, there was the guilt again, adding to the rest of the emotional hellstorm in your chest. You dropped your hand from your chest and glared at the r-mech. "Stop saying that." It looked at you, producing a quiet click before going silent for a whole second.

"I apologize." Apparently, anxiety wasn't the only thing the mech was programmed with - it was a smartass, too. You flung your hands up in amazement. If it’d been Hoover or literally anything but a giant robot, you would’ve punched it by now.

"That's the same damn thing! You haven't done anything wrong, 'cept for trespassing, but honestly? I can't bring myself to care. Why? I don't know." What was the right response to having a giant robot in your garage? Probably not this, whatever it was. Yet again, your hand gravitated towards your head.

"Where- uhg. You got a home? Anywhere you need to be?" It looked at you before jerkily raising its fish-hook shoulders and letting them drop again. A shrug? Lord, you didn't know. "No home," you said, just to be sure. It repeated the same clumsy motion. Great.

Your feet decided that it was time to move, so you started to pace. No home. Nowhere to go. Even if it was lying, whoever it was with didn't care enough to help it after being slammed into a tree. Hey, at least that whole situation made more sense now. The poor fella probably tripped or something and fell into the tree. That didn't explain why it was a car, or why it didn't just walk away. Maybe it couldn't? You didn't know.

Not knowing was becoming a common theme here. You didn't like it.

But, back to the situation at hand. Your feet slowed until you were in front of the mech again. Curled up, spiky knees to its narrow chest. It watched you silently. If it wasn't huge, a robot, and vaguely bird-like, you'd liken it to a scared child. A very scared, very alone child with no home.

God, now you couldn't kick it out. You could just see the sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering where the mech was. If it was dead (could a robot die?) or hurt again. You might as well spare yourself the pain.

"Okay. You can stay here for a while, I guess." The light behind the mech's burgundy visor flickered. "But," you pointed your finger at the mech, "if anyone asks, I don't know you. Actually, no. Anyone asking would be a bad thing in itself. People finding out about you bein' here in the first place is probably a bad idea. I dunno how I could get in trouble by you bein' here, but I don't doubt that this," you gestured to the entirety of the mech, "is against the law." Gosh, you'd thought that the state trooper'd have a field day with you driving a car without a door. Wait until they got a load of this.

The mech just continued staring. Then it nodded. "I can hide." With that, it folded up again and within seconds a car sat where the robot used to be.

"Okay. Cool. Cool." You shuffled backward, fully intending to slip out of the garage and run the few yards back to your house. But, you were an adult. You had a job that needed to be done. You retreated to the oil rag you'd dropped and went back to wiping the workbench down.

It was eerie how you could feel the mech watching you even though it didn't have eyes. That ominous prickle on your back followed you no matter where you went in the garage - to the far windows, then the bay doors, over behind one of the trucks. It said nothing, and that put you more on-edge than anything. It was quiet in a way that no living thing should be. You wouldn't admit to the half-assed job you did in your haste to put a door or two between you and the mech. That didn't change the messy splotches of oil that were still present when you turned off the lights and closed the garage door.

Halfway across the gravel lot that separated the garage from your humble adobe was when you realized that you didn't ask for its name. Oh well. You'd ask if it was still there tomorrow - which it will not be. You were still convinced that it was an elaborate hallucination. Maybe you should call your doctor in the morning. You were pretty sure that you didn't have brain damage but better safe than sorry.

You went to bed with that thought cocooned around you. It'd all be alright when you got up. Mr. Car would be Mr. Car and not a giant talking mech. You'd get back to work, fussing over whatever car came in and nagging Hoover about his limp. It'd be okay.

It would be okay.

Chapter Text

8,500 miles away, weaving between commercial airline routes high over the Atlantic Ocean, was a giant warship. It was all sharp points and jagged edges. Deadly. It was a weapon in itself, and it looked the part.

Inside the ship teemed with life. Thousands of robots, most of them clear copies of the others, with pointed knees and red visors. Some had wings, some had wheels, others had tank treads. Very few of them had nothing. They did not speak, because that was not their duty. They worked and refueled and defragmented and worked some more. If they were unlucky, they would fight. Not many of them survived.

That didn't matter. There were always more of them. Cut off from the production lines as they were - separated by lightyears and the cloying presence of death - there were still thousands, and even more in stasis.

A missing drone was of no importance. A simple drop in an ocean-sized bucket. The energon required to retrieve it was more than it was worth. The Decepticons had bigger, brighter plans - a mere drone was nothing within such a grand scope.

In the end, V-27C-12 was simply an anomaly - something worth monitoring, but nothing of concern. It was replaced without much fanfare, and the Decepticons marched on.

The human left. For some reason, that made it uncomfortable. It wasn't supposed to be alone. It didn't want to be alone. Yet, it didn't seem like it had much choice. It wasn't like it could follow the human through such a tiny door.

Well, it could, but it doubted that the human would appreciate the building being knocked down.

So, it stayed where it was. Remembering the green, wet world outside of the building it was in could only hold its attention for so long. Eventually, its attention turned inwards. The same alerts lined the bottom of its HUD - no change there, not like it expected there to be. Further investigation revealed nothing more than a slew of errors, ones that it had no idea how to interpret.

At least the atmospheric package was intact. Further investigation revealed the sheer amount of changes that it’d done to its frame. Coolant lines had migrated closer to the underlying protoform in the name of heat preservation. Its vents were incredibly augmented - so many filters, redundancies, and adjusted flow rates - all of it under the influence of automatic environmental response programming. It couldn’t even tamper with any of it without a medical override - something that it definitely did not have.

Finding nothing entertaining there, it dove into the information on the dominant species of this planet. They named this planet Earth - a silly name, not that it had many references to compare that name to. It knew that it came from Cybertron, it was a Cybertronian, but what was any of that? All that answered it was error messages. Oh well.

Moving on - humans. They were an interesting lot. It didn't quite understand the vitriol attached to most of the information on them. Sure, there were the weapons and aggression and inferiority - well, maybe there was something. Yet, it hadn't seen any of that with the human it'd met, barring the length of steel it had disfigured. The human had let it stay here. It tried to calm it once that odd glitch had revealed itself. It could still feel the groves in its chest armor, talons fitting perfectly in the ragged gashes. No. None of it added up, there had to be something it was missing.

A brief scan of the language package left it stunned. The bulky file took up an incredible amount of space, and the sheer amount of languages, not to mention dialects! There were so many of them! One of them - apparently the second most used by humans - had already been integrated once it had been talked to, automatic programming picking up on the sound and identifying it in seconds.

Now that they'd gotten a bit of time to pour through it, some things started to make a bit more sense. They - easily referring to themselves with the (seemingly) appropriate pronouns as they learned more - tweaked the integration parameters until it was satisfied. A few terms required more research, though the discovery of this planet's information network systems made this easy. The little password on the local access interface barely registered to them as they dove helm-first into the world wide web.

The more they learned, the more curious they were - a horrible feedback loop. A general query about humans sparked an interest in where they were. The answer made no sense to them - it didn't know what an 'Oregon' was, nor the significance of the 'microbreweries' and 'forests' this 'Oregon' was known for.

Microbreweries gave way to the frankly horrifying notion of alcoholic drinks. Why would one willfully consume something that could cause bodily harm? They did not understand - thus, further research became necessary. 'Cirrhosis' was the next search term, though the mech didn't linger long on that subject. Those images of squishy, red blobs were already seared into their memory cortex, even after they gave themselves a few klicks to recover.

Listening to the rain became boring yet again. Back to forests. Before they transformed into their alt-mode, they'd seen the towering, brown, and green things that surrounded the building. They were taller than them, even when the building wasn't. They were incredible - their opinion of the Ponderosa Pines (their common designation, they quickly learned) was only solidified the more they investigated.

Not only were they giant and comparatively long-lived, but they also provided refuge for other creatures of the forest. This piqued their curiosity in the local fauna. Fish were an interesting commodity - the fact that anything could survive within such high concentrations of dihydrogen monoxide was a surprise in itself. Considering how quickly that compound could decay metal and the number of changes the atmospheric package required simply because of its presence, the mech couldn't imagine living in it.

Mammals eventually caught their attention thanks to the similarities between them and the mech's host. A cursory glance at what separated mammals from other earthen creatures told them all they needed to know - that they simply didn't want to know. There were so many different creatures, so incredibly varied and yet sharing one, little planet. They flicked through each creature, moving from rabbits to deer to bears and then, to something that made them pause.

The sasquatch.

The mech stiffened on their axles. A giant, human-like creature. Some called it mythical, others swore it to be true. Some even dedicated their short lives to finding this 'Bigfoot'. There was even a 'microbrewery' named after it, and a slew of bounties for its capture! Excitement and curiosity buzzed through their circuits. The mystery! The intrigue!

Suddenly, a wonderful thought graced the mech's processor. The humans were obviously obsessed with this creature, and they were currently in debt to a human. Perhaps, if they captured this 'Bigfoot,' they could repay the human for sheltering them...

You fully expected the giant robot to be gone when you opened the door to the garage.

What you didn't expect was Mr. Car to be gone too.

You hadn't closed the bay door, being too skittish to get that close to the mech. The morning light shone white through the opening, illuminating the space where the mech should have been. You came to a stop just a few feet from where you'd left your 'guest', throwing your keys onto the nearby workbench. No. No way. It had to have been stolen - but that made no sense. Why wouldn't they steal any of the other, expensive equipment scattered about the shop?

Prodding at the oil stains on the ground with the tip of your shoe revealed no clues. Was it all a figment of your imagination? No, Hoover had seen the car. He'd teased you about bringing home 'another stray.' Besides, it'd been here for weeks. Could hallucinations last that long? Maybe, but even still, you needed to check.

Carefully, you walked through the large bay door and out into the morning air. Morning dew coated everything, grabbing the sun's light and scattering it every which way. You - hoping that summer would come faster if you dressed the part - suddenly regretted wearing sandals as your feet became soaked the second you left the gravel path. The chill on the wind - the last tendrils of winter threatening to pull the world back into its icy grasp - made you shiver. You pulled your jacket tighter around your body and almost made you retreat back inside.

Of course, you didn't have the good sense to go through with that thought before you noticed tire tracks leaving the gravel road and heading towards the forest.

"Fuck." You couldn't turn back now. Either someone had stolen Mr. Car, or you were still hallucinating. Either way, you needed to get everything smoothed over before Hoover got here. Trekking through the wet forest was the last thing the old man needed, but you knew that he wouldn't take no as an answer.

So, off you went. The tire treads led you through a patch of knee-high grass, recently knocked down by something vaguely car-shaped, and off to the side of your property. There, the ground dipped down as it led off into the forest. You were struck with an acute sense of deja-vu, staring at the purple metal through the low lying tree branches.

"What the fuck-." the entire car jumped with a rev of its engine, shifting on its axles in a futile attempt to move from its muddy passion. You jumped in turn, stumbling back and almost landing on your rear. You weren't too startled to see the cracked side mirrors angle back towards you, nor the slowly quieting purr as its engine slowed.

"Oh, good morning," came a sheepish reply. The voice was smooth and androgynous - modulated and soft and completely unlike the monotone drone it had used last night. It still had no accent, some part of you noted. What that meant, you had no idea. "Did I scare you? My apologies. It seems like my form is outfitted with scanner modules and the appropriate programming, but they are not operational." A brief pause. "You, ah, surprised me." It shifted downwards this time, looking almost ashamed.

Again, you were struck with the bizarreness of the situation. Though the feeling wasn't as potent as your small freak-out last night, it was just as off putting. You blinked and forced yourself to breathe, determined to not have a mental breakdown before noon. No, losing your mind was an afternoon activity and you couldn't be told any different.

"Nah, don't worry. Sorry about," you breathed, gesturing to it before remembering that it apparently couldn't see. Still, you moved towards it - down the small embankment and into the mud. Yeah, sandals were definitely not the right shoes for this job. You placed your hand on the car's roof in an attempt to stay on your feet, almost flinching at the unexpected warmth. "What-what are you doing out here? I thought we decided that you'd stay hidden. This is not that." Somehow it shrunk down even more, past what a normal car's shock system could accommodate. Just add some big, watery eyes and the kicked puppy look would be complete.

"I, ah, I wished to - hm," it shuddered, producing a small click that was almost carried away by the breeze. "I wanted to repay you for letting me stay here. However, I... I did not think my methods through before embarking on my mission, Though," it shifted under your hand as it perked up "I did remain in my alt-mode, so my true form has not been revealed. I remembered." It sounded quite proud of that fact. You found yourself forced to smile.

You sighed and shook your head before looking down at the car's tires. "Well, buddy, that's sweet of you, but you've got yourself in quite the pickle now," you nudged at the tire, knocking away some of the mud that'd accumulated almost all the way to the rim. The car shook in response.

"Yes, I pondered transforming and simply walking back to the building, but I remembered our conversation." That elicited a frown from you.

"Wait, how long have you been out here?" You asked slowly as guilt returned and settled like a rock in your stomach. It'd rained all night, and it was chilly out here! You didn't know if your big guest could get cold, but if it was a human you figured that it'd be chilled to the bone.

"I am unsure." You'd never seen a car shrug, but whatever this mech just did was close to what you'd imagine. "Many of my systems are offline - my chronometer is one of them." It continued with its answer. You groaned and glanced at your phone. It was still early o'clock. No one would be out here for a while, and you really didn't want to break out the tow truck before your first cup of coffee.

You sighed and rubbed at your face as you made up your mind. "Just do whatever you do to become a person-" "Transform." "Yeah, that. Pull yourself out and get back to the garage before anyone gets here."

It hesitated. "Are you certain? I do not want to-"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Just be quick," you hurried it along, giving the roof of the car a pat. It shivered and stiffened, making you pull your hand away.

"Alright. Please, stand back. I do not wish to harm you," it cheerily said. A moment of hesitation gave way to a shrug before you took a few steps back.

"Alright, buddy, let's-" That same sound from the night before - metal sliding along metal and gears clanking together - rang amongst the trees as the car broke apart and reformed into the spiky, bipedal mech. Its head smacked one of the lower tree limbs as it stood up, eliciting a startled chirp from it. It took a few steps back until it was out from underneath the tree. One taloned hand rose to rub at the back of its head while the other grabbed at the tree.

"Pseudotsuga menziesii," it rumbled. Was that a hint of awe in its voice? You didn't have time to ponder that before its red visor and narrow, featureless face turned to face you. "The common name is Douglas Fir, though it is not a true Fir." The visor flickered and it ducked its head. "I did some research once you left. I hope you do not mind."

The robot likes trees. Of course it does.

You shrugged. "I really don't care. But c'mon, we gotta get you out of the open." You turned and began the walk back to the garage. After a second, the rhythmic 'thunk' of giant metal feet sounded from behind you. Though you knew it was following, you couldn't help but turn around and look at it. Its head was craned down to watch the ground as it walked, each step slow and calculated. No wonder you were going faster than it, despite its longer leg span.

You reached the garage first and stood just inside with your arms crossed, simply watching the mech's slow path. Was it broken? It said something about systems being offline. But it was walking just fine. It wasn't stumbling, it was just slow. A deep frown cut across your face as concern welled in your mind. You could fix its door and get it running, but anything else? No. You were way out of your league.

Eventually, it reached the garage. It stared at the inside before doubling over on itself just to get through the bay door. Without too much fanfare, it was back in its usual spot against the wall. You relaxed and let your arms fall to your sides.

"Alright, crisis averted. You're gonna have to be a car again-" "Transform." "Yeah. My employee's coming and I can't have him seeing you. So, uh," you gestured to the mech. Its visor flickered for a moment before lighting up again.

"Oh!" One moment it was sitting in front of you, and the next it was a car again. It flashed its headlights - a gesture that you had no idea how to interpret, but had you smiling nonetheless - before going still.

"Cool, good job," it perked up with another flash. "Uh, yeah. Just stay quiet and still. Okay?" You were forced to take its silence as its answer as someone yelled your name. You turned and walked out of the bay door towards Hoover's familiar voice, only sparing a backward glance at the car before continuing on your way.

Chapter Text

"What is that?"

A huge, sharp metal finger glided between you and the underside of the car you were working on. Everything was illuminated by the red glow of the mech's visor as it squished its face into the concrete in an attempt to watch you. One of its arms - the one with the missing door - were tucked beneath its chin while the other hovered around the back of the car. Every once in a while, it'd poke at one component or another and ask you about it. With the number of times it'd stopped you, you'd probably be annoyed by now. But its genuine curiosity was refreshing in a way, and you simply didn't have it in you to tell it to stop.

It waited patiently as you leaned back and wiped your messy hands on your jeans. Its talon was curved upwards and pointing towards the exposed oil pan gasket. "S' the sump gasket. It keeps the oil from leaking everywhere. It looks fine, but I'm gonna put a new one in," you started doing just that as you spoke, prying the piece of old silicone from the car's chassis. "If it doesn't fit right with the new oil pan, the car'll leak and it'll be back in here in a week. Might as well do us all a favor and just put a new one in." Your big metal guest hummed, removed its finger, and went back to watching.

That's how it'd been for the last - you checked your phone, trying in vain to keep your greasy fingers from smudging the screen - four hours. If this had been a normal day, you'd be vegging out in front of your computer screen. Or even be asleep already. In all honesty, it was a normal day, if not for the giant mech car watching you from the corner of your garage. It was spooky how easily you forgot that it was here, and all the more jarring when you caught a glance of purple metal and remembered its existence.

Even spookier still was the feeling of guilt that increased in potency throughout the day. If you were the mech, you'd be miserable. Forced to sit there, still and quiet, watching all of the work going on but not being able to do any of it... ugh, you felt twitchy just thinking about it. Maybe that's why you were still out here, contemplating rolling in the old box TV that was currently gathering dust in your shed. You could hook it up and keep it on during the day in the name of white noise. But wait - it apparently couldn't see while it was a car. Would it even -

“May I ask you a question?” The mech spoke, voice just slightly different than what it'd used only seconds before. You looked up from your phone and made a face.

“Buddy, that’s what you’ve been doing for the past few hours. S’ a little too late to start asking that now," you said with an amused smile. The red glow filling the space under the jacked-up car flickered as the mech's visor dimmed in what you supposed was thought. You heard that same click from earlier before the visor brightened again.

"You are a medic." It seemed real smug about getting around your apparent refusal. Cheeky little-

Wait. It thought you were a doctor. Oh no.

The shambling gait, inability to see. That large dent on the side of its head - oh God it wanted you to-

"No, no, no," you waved your oily hands at the mech's face, eliciting another blink from its visor. You weren't about to be responsible for this. Shoving your arms elbow-deep into a broken car was only a valid solution when the car couldn't talk back. "No, I- I'm a mechanic. I'm not-."

Its big finger came up, slow but startling enough to make your words die in your throat. It gently prodded at the car before gesturing to your other job, a flashy Chevy suffering from - you guessed it - an oil pan rupture, set to be picked up tomorrow morning. "You fixed them," it argued, "You answered my questions. I cross-referenced your methods on the 'internet' and they were valid." It paused, voice softer - almost pleading - when it continued. "I require your assistance."

Fuck. How were you supposed to say no? 'Yeah, sorry buddy but I'm too scared to try anything, so you're shit out of luck.' No. Even thinking that made you feel guilty. You worried your bottom lip as you stepped out from underneath the car and studied the mech's unexpressive face.

A few tense seconds passed before you sighed. "What do you need help with?"

The mech's visor brightened, almost blinding you for a few seconds until it sat up and away from your face. Spurred legs soon sat criss-cross in front of you, red light shining from above as the mech craned his neck in an attempt to not hit the overhead lights. Despite how careful it was being, one of its pointy legs hit the bay door with a resounding clang. It quickly pulled away, revealing a brand new dent. It wasn't the first it'd accidentally caused, and you had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be the last.

The red light around you increased in brightness as it turned to sheepishly look at you. "Oops." You waved it off with one hand and rubbed at your temples with the other.

A moment passed and you didn't speak. "Anyway," the mech said carefully. "I cannot access my sensors, beyond my optical band. I do believe that I have additional scanning systems, but I cannot use them." You heard it shuffle and the sound of metal tapping metal. You looked up and saw that it was fiddling with a dent just behind its temple. "I am no medic, so I cannot be certain, but relieving the pressure on my processor from the dent might allow my self-repair systems access to the damaged area."

Another moment passed as you let that information sink in. Brain surgery. It was asking you to do brain surgery. Sure, the army hadn't come knocking on your door, looking for their robot yet. That didn't mean that they wouldn't in the future. How dead would you be if they showed up and you'd broken their very expensive toy? 'Shot on the spot', or 'Guantanamo bay' dead? Neither was a very good option.

Yet... it couldn't see. It had to spend most of the time as a car to stay hidden, thus most of the time it was blind. You couldn't imagine how terrifying that would be - people walking around, the loud sounds of the equipment. Forget being bored, you'd be spoked out of your mind.

Besides, it was just a dent. How hard could it be?

"Fine. I'll- I'll try," you conceded shakily. Its visor brightened and it maneuvered so it could lay on its back as you got the dent puller from the other side of the shop. That well-used tool sat atop one of the many rolling storage chests littered about the shop. The fact that it hadn't gotten put away was a testament to how much you needed it. Ironic, considering it was just a glorified plunger. You doubted that it would actually work on your big, metal guest. Whatever the mech was made out of, it was tough. You still needed to replace the little power saw you'd broken in the process of removing the mech's door. Still, it was worth a shot.

In the few moments it took you to get the tool, the mech had settled onto its back. Its head was tilted, allowing it to watch you as you approached. "Okay, so, I have no idea if this is going to work," you said worriedly. "If it, like, starts to hurt or anything, tell me to stop. Okay?"

The mech nodded, and you could hear the little motors and hydraulics hiss and whirr with the simple movement. "I do not think you can harm me unless you push on the area." It twisted until it was looking up at the ceiling, revealing the dent. Up close, it was a lot bigger than you'd anticipated. Oblique shaped and about as long as your arm, it snaked from behind the mech's silver face back towards the top of its head. It barely missed a series of small, finger-sized holes that were arranged in a circle. They looked too uniform to be from the crash, so you left them alone.

But the dent - goodness. You didn't know how the metal was still intact. As it was, a good amount of the matte black paint had chipped off, revealing the silver metal below. Gently, you reached out and touched the rim of the depression. It was warm. Much warmer than the rest of its body. If you didn't know any better - if the mech was a flesh-and-blood human - you'd be worried about infection. Dumbly, you stared down at the punny little glorified plunger in your hand. How the fuck was that supposed to do anything? What if you just made it worse? How could you-

As if hearing your internal panic, the mech spoke. "Don't worry. I trust you."

Like that made you feel any better.

"Okay. I'm gonna put it on," you did as you said, gently pushing the rubber plunger onto the metal. It stuck. You wrung your hands. "Um, I know this is kind of stupid, but could you keep talking?"

You could hear the soft sounds of the mech's internals as it considered you. Small clicks and gears turning overlayed upon a steady, whirring thrum. "Why?" It said after a moment.

"Just a human thing." You were probably overthinking it. It had already said that you probably couldn't hurt it. It wasn't like you had your hands inside of its head or anything. There was no need to keep it talking.

You just wanted to make sure that it was okay.

The mech hummed. "Alright. There are a few questions I have been wishing to ask."

The snort was out before you could stop it. More? Well, you probably shouldn't be surprised. "Yeah? Go for it," you said as you gripped the dent puller's handle and started to slowly pull.

"Humans have designations, correct? What is yours?" Your hand almost slipped. Aw, shit. You hadn't asked its name! An acute sense of embarrassment fell over you and, as if the universe decided to spite you, your hands started to sweat.

"Yeah, yeah we do." You told it your name, excluding your surname out of pure paranoia. "Sorry about that. Guess there hasn't been a good time to introduce myself." You hesitated, adjusting your grip on the puller. A steady ache was building in your shoulder, yet the metal hadn't even budged. "How about you, buddy? Got a name?" Your hand slipped, eliciting a grumble. You grabbed it with both hands, barely noticing the mech's extended pause. You nearly asked what was wrong when it spoke.

"I do not have one. Or, at least, I don't think I have one," it finally said, sounding almost morose. "I have been researching the subject, however. There are many interesting options." You hummed in agreement, though it might have sounded more like a grunt. You put in a little more pressure, the dregs of whatever strength you had left.

"Have you decided on-" POP! The dent came up, but that wasn't what sent you stumbling backward into the workbench. No, it was the unnatural jerk of the mech's head. Its body jackknifed for a horrible moment. One foot hit the roll around cabinet, the other dug into the ground and cracked the concrete. Thankfully, its arms didn't move from its chest. If they did, there was a good chance that you'd have gotten squished. As if the last few moments hadn't happened, everything went still. You peeled yourself off of the cabinet, side aching in time with the rapid beating of your heart.

The mech didn't move.

"Buddy?" You hobbled closer, panic in your voice. Nothing. You placed your hand on its arm. Nothing. You yelled. No reaction. You looked to its visor.

Blank.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Consciousness came back in parts. First was a vague sense of being. It could feel itself - feel the edges of its mind and a steady thrum that came in waves. The flickers of energy that made up its thoughts bloomed and disappeared in flashes of white light-

Wait. It - no. They had been here before.

They weren't scared this time. No - irritated was more apt. They had already been here! Why would they be back? They hadn't done - oh.

The dent. How troubling.

Nothing too sensitive was beneath the damaged area. At least, they didn't think there was. They were far from a medic, after all. Yet, they knew their systems. They were quite certain that relieving the pressure wouldn't knock them offline. Not like this. The thought that something so small could cause this troubled them. There had to be more information - something they were missing. As the darkness steadily brightened they focused on remembering what had happened...

They were on their back, in the garage. They were safe. Talking to the human. They were on their left, just above their temple, standing nearly in front of their audials. Humans were surprisingly loud up close. Steady breathing, the movement of cloth on skin, the fast pace of their heart. Wait, was it supposed to be that fast? They certainly didn't think so. Why would it be -

-oh. They were afraid.

For the millionth time since they had come online, they wished for the use of their sensors. They had outright blocked their body from moving - a neat little trick that they'd discovered earlier in the day - concerned about accidentally squishing them. Thus, turning their head to look at the human was out of the question. When it came to humans, so much was communicated through visual cues - ones that they could not replicate no matter how hard they tried. They did not have a mouth to smile with, no brows to quirk. It was odd that they didn't have them, considering how similar the mech was to the human. Wouldn't including those modifications within the atmospheric package make communication easier?

But they were off-topic. Their human's fear had to be addressed before their heart gave out. Or exploded. Apparently, they could do that.

It took them a moment to find the appropriate words - "Don't worry. I trust you." The sharp increase in heart rate instead of the expected decrease startled them. At least it had knocked them out of whatever stupor they had stumbled into. They moved, heartbeat fading as they shifted out of range. The odd request caught them even further off guard. They wanted the mech to speak. Such a strange request, but it was simple enough. They would gladly do if it meant that the human would calm down.

The feeling of the silicone device on their helm was odd. They didn't like it, so they muted the feedback from the area. It made it easier to focus on the human, anyway. The conversation drifted. They could hear the human shift, stumble, and grumble with annoyance as they considered their question. A name, they asked. They could not remember theirs. However, they could not remember much at all. The odds of them having one were equal to the opposite.

So, they told the truth and moved on to the more exciting prospect. Picking their own name was uncommon for humans, though certainly not unheard of. Hopefully, the human would not -

A previously unnoticed pressure gave way, leaving the mech reeling. Their vocalizer fizzled, and an acute sense of vertigo hit them. It felt like they were moving - were they moving? They couldn't see! What if the human didn't move? They didn't stand a chance. If they squished them -

INNITIATING EMERGENCY STASIS

Oh no.

A sickening wave of fear overtook the mech. If the human was injured, it would be nearly a quarter of a solar-cycle before the other human would find them. Far too long, considering the type of injuries they may have caused. Without them, they would have no shelter, no safety. No friends. They would be alone - a viscerally frightening thought for the mech. Those few moments after coming online - when they were only met by darkness and fear - they knew how it felt. They didn't wish it on anyone, especially not the strange little creature that was sheltering them.

That thought buzzed around their slowly awakening processor as they rushed through every reboot procedure and cast aside diagnostic. The writing on their HUD turned from white to red at their carelessness, but what other choice did they have?

Four long, painful days.

In the moments right after the mech went still, all you could do was stare. Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest before sinking into your stomach. The edges of your vision threatened to turn black - ah, a panic attack, your old friend. Your chest ached, ribs crushing inwards. Though, you really didn't have the time to think about the heart attack you were possibly having.

You'd killed it.

"Fuck." The dent remover fell from your hand as you shuffled closer - scaling the panels that made up its side and chest until you could look into its visor. Blank. It'd never been blank before. Without the light, the inner workings of the strip were laid bare - an orderly amalgamation of wires and circuits that made you feel sick. It wasn't something you were supposed to see, like peering into the inside of someone's ribcage. You half-slid, half-fell back down to the ground, hand over your mouth.

You knew you shouldn't have done it. They'd trusted you, and you killed it.

You spent the first night on the floor of your garage, crying into your knees.

The morning came, and you peeled yourself off of the concrete just in time to call Hoover. You were sick, as far as he knew. No, you didn't need him to come by and hold the fort while you rested. No, you had chicken soup. Yes, you were going to pay him for the time off - "No arguing," you rasped into the receiver, and he must have heard something in your voice that kept him from objecting any further. You must have really sounded like shit, then, to prevent him from refusing money that he 'didn't earn.' Somehow, that only made you feel worse.

After all, you weren't the one dead on the floor. No memories, no name. No family - at least, none that they had mentioned. Were they looking for them? Was there someone out there, worrying their head off about the big mech? Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you stubbornly shoved them away. This wasn't about you.

The tarps were easy to find. You dusted them off as much as you could and draped them over the mech. Having them sprawled out in your garage - an area that your customers and Hoover frequented - was just about the worst place for them to be. You could imagine Hoover coming back to work just to see a giant metal person supine on the concrete. The poor man would have a heart attack then and there.

They would have to do. Moving the mech with your tow truck was just about out of the question. Even if you got them out, where would you put them? In your front room? No. The other alternative - disassembling them and disposing of the parts - made you sick after just thinking about it. They were alive. They were good. Ripping them apart just to throw in the garbage can -

-you felt like you were going to throw up.

You made a hasty retreat from the garage after that. Stepping into your modest home should have been a relief, but all you felt was strangely empty. You hadn't known them for long - just a few days, not counting the three weeks it took to repair them. Yet, you felt like you'd lost someone close to you. Your mind drifted to your grandma - the miserable days stuck in the hospital, long nights filled with agonizing waiting. The eventual funeral, on a bright sunny day, one that she would have loved.

The mech wouldn't get any of that. No funeral, no mourning - except for you. You, the person that killed them. You shoved your head into the pillows and tried to sleep.

The next morning wasn't all that better. Considering you were running on a few hours of sleep despite going to bed so early, it was a wonder that you managed to get out of bed. It was hard to even think about brewing some tea and starting the day. Yet, you persisted. You forced yourself to eat, unwilling to take your meds on an empty stomach, despite each bite of the protein bar tasting like cardboard. Outside was a dreary spring morning, wet and miserable. At least it wasn't all that cold. Still, you hugged your jacket close as you hurried back to the garage. Summer was coming, you could feel it in the air. Fire season would be here soon. You'd need to -

You nearly fell face-first over the large parcel right outside of the rear entrance to the garage. What the hell? You hadn't ordered any parts in - in three weeks...

Sure enough, when you opened the parcel, a black door accusingly stared back at you. Your stomach ached as you gingerly placed it beside the tarp-covered form in the middle of the garage. You didn't need it anymore. Not now. The rest of that day and the three following it were spent in a haze of forced smiles and motor oil. Another fucking busted oil pan - something you wouldn't be too upset with if it wasn't under such circumstances. It wasn't taxing enough to keep your mind from wandering. You could feel the gleam of red light on your back.

Hoover hovered throughout the entire ordeal, staring at you with some unidentifiable emotion. You could feel his gaze on you every time you dabbed at your eyes or snarled just a little too loud at whatever you were working on. It was close enough to pity to keep you from looking him in the eyes. You didn't want pity - not now and not ever. It took everything you had to keep from lashing out at the poor guy. None of this was his fault, after all. He didn't understand, nor did you want him to understand. How the hell would you explain murdering a giant mechanical person to anyone? Hopefully, you'd never find out.

Every night you'd flop into your bed feeling exhausted, yet you'd only get a few hours of sleep at best.

That was why you wrote off the sudden clang of metal on concrete as being a particularly cruel hallucination. You simply continued to tidy up the garage in preparation for the day - that is, until it happened again. The wrench dropped from your hands and clanged on the workbench as you spun around to a bright red visor.

It took a moment for your ears and eyes to catch up with your brain. You let out a sound that was half a sob, half-squeak, and stumbled forward. "You're alright!" Though, you started to doubt your initial assessment after the mech remained silent. Their optics seemed brighter as they sat up, one hand clutching at their head while the other supported them. You opened your mouth to warn them but were a little too late to prevent them from bonking their head on the ceiling.

Carefully, as if approaching a strange dog, you shuffled forward. The mech gazed at their hands, flexing their talons before jerking their head down to look at you. For an odd moment, all was silent. Your skin tingled oddly before stopping just as quickly as it came. The mech's shoulders sagged.

"Rudy."

You blinked, giving a small shake of your head. "What?"

Their helm tilted as if you'd grown a third arm and challenged them to a fistfight. "My designation. I would like to be called Rudy. It is the diminutive name for Rudolf, though many simply use Rudy as their forename instead. It is... unique. I like it. Therefore, I -" They paused as if actually noticing you for the first time. Their visor brightened even more, and they leaned forward. "You are crying!" Sure enough, you could feel a traitorous tear making its way down your cheek. Bastard.

You sniffed and rubbed it away. Now certainly wasn't the time. Shakily, you sucked in a breath. "I thought you were dead."

To the mech - no, Rudy's defense, they looked shocked. Well, as shocked as a person with no face could be. Even then, their visor flickered, and their hand twitched. "Oh." Something clicked. "No, no. I am fine. It seems that the dent - well, I'm not entirely sure what exactly happened. But, it worked!" Their visor glimmered and they clasped their hands. "I can see!"

Now it was your time for your shoulders to sag in relief. Some irrational part of you wanted to feel angry about the four miserable days of waiting. Thankfully, you were able to push it away. It wasn't Rudy's fault, after all. You were confident that they didn't enjoy being knocked out for so long, either. You stepped forward with a smile and patted their leg. "I'm so, so happy you're alright. You - you really spooked me, y'know? I- I thought I'd killed you. Are you-"

Rudy jerked his head up just as you heard the door to the garage creak. One taloned finger pushed you away as that odd grinding noise sounded again. By the time you caught your bearings and spun around to look at the door, Rudy'd turned back into a car again. You didn't have time to check if any of the tarps had been caught between their plating before Hoover pushed open the door. The old man furrowed his brows at your shocked expression before setting the two cups - presumably full of coffee - on the closest table.

"Hey, kiddo. Got the car back? Don' tell me that's what you've been mopin' about," he grumbled, already busying himself with getting the shop ready for opening. The moment he turned his back to open a drawer on one of the workbenches scattered amongst the garage, you blindly grabbed the edge of the tarp and yanked it out of the seam on Rudy's hood. You could have sworn you heard them grumble and shift on their shocks, though your attention was on Hoover.

"Nah - well, yes, actually," you replied, busying your hands with folding up the tarp. It wasn't a lie. "Had to let my pal look at the, uh, carburetor. Y'know, Jessica in Eugene? Couldn't get the damn thing to work, so she gave it a whirl. Sure as shit, she got it running. What a kick in the head, huh?" More of a lie than you were comfortable with, but you tried not to think about it. Tarp folded, you walked over to Hoover and placed it on the workbench. Hoover looked up through his glasses and smiled.

"It's good to have ya back, boss."

You smiled for the first time in four days and resisted the urge to glance at the inconspicuous car behind you. "It's good to be back."