Work Text:
As the setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange, blue, and purple, and Mount Saint Hilary cast its shadow across the land, Hound sat on a hillside a short distance from the Ark, a human book in his hands. He loved reading during the last few hours of daylight, relishing that feeling of anticipation as the night crept closer. He didn’t need the light to see, of course--his Cybertronian eyes could handle low-light environments just fine. But there was something special about reading like this; watching the words on the page grow dimmer and dimmer, eking out just a few more pages before it became too dark for a human to see.
Hound brought his thumb up to his mouth, rubbed it across the technomatter of his lips, and turned the page. He’d picked up the habit from Sparkplug, who claimed it made the skin of the finger stick to the paper more easily. Of course, the humans used the moisture on their tongues, something the Autobot was (regrettably) incapable of doing. It was so fascinating, the human body; all of its little processes and intricacies, the miracle of organic matter giving rise to consciousness, powering creatures that built cities and took flight to the stars. Sometimes, Hound felt that he had been blessed, by Primus or whoever else was in charge out there, to have landed on such a planet.
A sudden sound of footsteps from behind caused him to turn around. Coming up the hill was Sunstreaker, his chassis gleaming brightly in the fading light. Hound waved, smiling as his comrade approached.
“Hi, Sunstreaker, what are you up to?”
“I was thinking of going for a drive,” the yellow Autobot said, “but the weather’s lousy for it. Can you imagine how it would affect my paint job?”
Hound looked around and frowned. It hadn’t rained for days, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. “Seems fine to m--”
“Anyway, Hound,” Sunstreaker said, cutting him off. ”What are you doing out here, sitting in the dirt?”
Hounded smiled shyly. “Oh, I was just reading this,” he said, holding up his book. “Sometimes I sit out here with a few books. It’s such a relaxing way to pass the t--”
“Is that a human book? Why would you ever waste your time with those?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice incredulous.
“It’s called Pinocchio,” the green Autobot said, ignoring his fellow Autobot’s constant interruptions. “It’s about a puppet who wants to become a real human boy and the journey he goes on to make that dream come true.” Hound ran a finger along the cover of the book fondly. “Say, Sunstreaker -- have you ever wanted to be something...different than you were? Something more?”
The other ‘bot scoffed. “Be something else? When I’m already perfect? What a stupid idea. Spending too much time around humans has fried your circuits, buddy.” He looked off into the distance, a bored look on his face. “Anyway, I’ve got better things to do. Catch you later.” With that, he transformed and sped away into the distance.
Hound sighed. Sunstreaker could be so insensitive. The green Autobot took a last, wistful look at the sunset and headed back into the Ark.
- - - - - - - - - - -
It was later in the evening, and Hound was holding a piece of machinery off the ground while Spike, lying on his back on a roller seat, performed the finishing touches on some repairs. The human gave a final twist with his wrench and let out a satisfied sound.
“Phew! That’ll just about do it. Thanks for your help, Hound.” Spike slid out from under the machinery and wiped his face with a handkerchief from his pocket.
“No problem, Spike.” He placed the machine on a rack of similar looking equipment and sat down on the floor. Cybertronians didn’t get tired or need to sit down like humans, but Hound enjoyed it nonetheless.
His human companion yawned and gave a big stretch. “What a job. If Perceptor has me doing too many more of these, I might just quit.” He winked and pulled a sandwich from a pocket in his overalls and took a bite.
“Turkey or ham today?” Hound was always amazed at the variety in the organic diet, how each meal could be a new and wondrous experience.
“Falami an’ chedduh.” Spike swallowed and grinned sheepishly. “Bad manners, sorry. Salami and cheddar.”
“No worries, buddy.” As the humans had explained, talking with your mouth full of food was considered terribly impolite. One of the limitations of the communication mechanism being connected to the fuel intake mechanism, he supposed.
“I’ll tell you,” Spike said, gesticulating with his sandwich. “If it isn’t Galvatron or the Quints keeping us busy each week, it’s everything else. I feel like I’m getting so little time with Daniel lately. I feel like he’s been through more than I had to at his age.” Spike’s son Daniel was adored by the Autobots, but it was true that circumstances led him to get caught up in some interesting scenarios, like having his dreams experimented on by Quintessons. Spike shrugged, and gave Hound’s leg a playful tap. “Anyway, I’ve been getting so little time with you, too! How’ve you been lately, anyway?”
The green Autobot looked down at his feet. “Oh, you know, same as it ever was. Keeping busy as best as I can. There’s been...a lot on my mind, so it’s...you know, it’s good to keep busy.”
His human companion gave a worried look. “Hey, that sounds like you’re really going through something there. Wanna talk about it?”
Hound cursed himself internally. He had known this would happen; he was no good at keeping his emotions a secret, at least not about something so personal. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, the perfect position in which to be pensive. “Well, I…” The words hung in the air and he let the train of thought die, afraid to follow it. “Have you ever wanted to be something you weren’t?”
Spike tilted his head quizzically. “How do you mean?”
“Well, just...wanted to be something different. Something more than you are.”
The human scratched his head in thought. “Sure I have. When I was a kid, I wanted to be the President, and when I was a teenager -- right around when we first met -- I wanted to be quarterback for the Seahawks, even though I was lousy at football. But I could have done those things, if I’d really worked at them. Sometimes it’s just about having the confidence to go for it.”
Hound shook his head. “But sometimes confidence and hard work aren’t enough. You couldn’t...say, grow a third leg just by trying hard enough.”
Spike took another bite of his sandwich and contemplated for a moment. “That’s true. Some changes, like that, just aren’t possible, I guess.”
Hound nodded. “But just because something’s impossible doesn’t mean that you can stop wanting it any less.”
“Mind elaborating a bit?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hound said, waving his hand in the air nonchalantly. “Like if you really wanted...if you wished you could be a robot.”
His human companion tensed up, and the green autobot realized his mistake immediately. “Oh, Spike, I wasn’t...I didn’t mean to…”
Spike took a deep breath, his body shuddering a bit. “No, no, I’m...I’m okay. It had just been a while since I even thought about it.”
Hound’s face contorted with worry. The “Autobot X Incident” of ‘85, in which Spike’s consciousness was transferred to a robotic body temporarily, had left deep scars on the human’s psyche. Years of therapy had helped, but all the Autobots knew that the wounds would never fully heal.
Spike stood up, his movements unsteady. “I’m sorry, Hound, I...I need to go lay down for a little while. Thanks for keeping me company.” He hurried off, and Hound thought that if he had a heart, it would be aching right now.
- - - - - - - - - - -
It was almost midnight, and after the stresses of the day, Hound sat comfortably in one of his favorite places on Earth: a rocky outcropping nestled into the slope of Mount Saint Hilary, teeming with horsetails and ferns, phlox and lupine. It was such a beautiful thing, the ability of organic life to thrive in seemingly any environment, to change and adapt and evolve over and over again. Cybertronians could transform--some even had more than two alt modes--but the ability to go from bipedal robot to four-wheeled vehicle seemed trite compared to the process by which birds, snakes, lizards, and mammals had descended from a common ancestor. Hound rubbed a patch of moss on the side of a stone lovingly with one hand, his copy of Pinocchio in the other, and he gazed up at the night sky.
A short while passed, until Hound noticed a figure in his peripheral vision. He made a noise of surprise, then sighed with relief when he realized it was a figure he recognized. “Ultra Magnus! Wha...how did you get up here?” Either his sensor module was shot, or the Autobot had hiked up the mountain completely silently.
“Well, by putting one foot in front of the other, I think,” he said, in that strong and slightly weary voice of his. “Jokes aside, I try to be as quiet as possible on the mountain at night. You and Beachcomber taught me how important it is not to disturb the local ecosystem.”
Hound smiled. If there was one Cybertronian as enamored with Earth as he was, it had to be Beachcomber.
Ultra Magnus gestured towards the green Autobot. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Oh, um, not at all.” He scooted a bit to make room for his superior.
Ultra Magnus sat down, letting out a sigh. “This is a nice place. I can see why you like it so much.” He brushed his fingers over a plant. “What’s this one called?”
“Oh, that’s Equisetum arvense, the common horsetail. It’s um, it’s actually sort of ancient; it’s technically a fern, and it evolved millions of years before flowering plants. Oh, and what’s interesting is that it pulls silica from the soil, so…” Hound shook his head. “Sorry, didn’t mean to ramble.”
“There’s nothing to apologize about. I’m the one who asked, after all.” The larger autobot stared out at the night sky, the starlight glinting off his chassis. The two of them sat like that for a while, wordlessly.
“I heard you’ve been...having some difficulties,” Ultra Magnus said at last, “and I thought you could use someone to talk to. Rodimus may be the leader, but he’s got a lot to learn when it comes to lending a helping hand.” He chuckled, a bit sadly. “Though, so do I. I’m not nearly as good at this as Optimus was.”
The two allowed a moment of silence to pass between them. It had been a year since the Battle of Autobot City, in which so many of their comrades had gone dark forever. Each loss was unbearable, but the most jarring was that of Optimus Prime. He had been invincible, invulnerable, immortal even...until, of course, everyone was forcefully reminded otherwise.
“All this is to say,” Ultra Magnus said at last, after a respectful amount of time had passed, “is that I’m here if you need me.” He put his hand on his companion’s shoulder, and in a voice softer than a meadow of lavender, asked “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hound looked away, feeling as if eye contact would cause him to shatter into glass. If he were an organic, surely he’d be on the verge of tears, blushing furiously with shame and embarrassment, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest. This was the closest he had ever gotten to talking about his biggest secret, his deepest wish, and in the moment he wanted to hide, or run away; if only he had a spacefaring alt mode, that he could fly away into the blackness and never stop.
No one would understand. Inside, he harboured a desire so bizarre and alien, so abnormal; how would anyone take him seriously? Why should he expect anything other than scorn and derision, even disgust? For over twenty years, he had bottled up this thing, this insane and incomprehensible fixation, this unspoken and unnameable urge. So many times, he had vowed that he would finally come clean, that he would let it all out and damned be the consequences, only to push that feeling down again, the weight of the fear and anxiety too much to bear.
But it was torture, living like this; it was such agony, denying something so deeply felt. It was like trying to sustain oneself on half as much energon as they needed, that sensation of emptiness and starvation. Even if what he wanted was impossible, even if he lived until the heat death of the universe and never attained what he so desperately sought, staying silent was worse. Lying to himself, punishing himself, hating himself for it was so much worse.
“I wish I was human,” he shouted suddenly, and in that instant he finally knew what dying felt like, as his circuits screamed with hot fire, as his chassis melted and his gears ground to dust, as every transistor and servo detonated and the energon poured out of him like a frog crushed underfoot, like a ripe berry squashed, and every electron that that made up his consciousness was annihiliated and he spiraled out of control, out of control, out of control--
And after what seemed like an eternity, the moment passed--he was alive, undamaged, intact. It had been nothing more than a panic attack, and while he still felt as if he might explode, he was grounded. He was here, beneath the sky and stars, atop the wondrous and sacred Earth, next to his friend, and finally free of what had plagued him for so long.
“I...wish I was human,” he repeated, still not looking at Ultra Magnus. He faltered, searching for the words, and when he found them they came tumbling out with an urgency uncharacteristic of the mild-mannered Hound. “I do. I have for a long time. It feels like forever. It, it hasn’t actually been forever, of course, but um. It started...well, not long after we woke up in the Ark, really. Maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. It took me a while to understand it, to...process what I was feeling. But...that’s the truth.” As suddenly as he had made his confession, he stole a small glance at Ultra Magnus, who was sitting quietly and looking at him with a gentle expression on his face. He waited for a response, but none came, which he realized was because somehow, his fellow Autobot knew: he still had more to say.
“It was actually somewhat of a shock,” he said. He closed his eyes to steady himself, to force himself to speak slowly and calmly. “Before the War...before we left Cybertron, I’d been offworld a few times. I’d seen organics before, and while I did think they were interesting, I didn’t feel...the way I do now.” He put his arms around his knees, pulling himself together as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “But when I saw Earth for the first time...it was different. I almost couldn’t believe it. Something about the air, about the plants and animals…” He smiled wanly. “For a while I thought maybe it was some kind of egotism, that it was because I’m colored green and most of the vegetation here is too.” He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, hoping to find strength in the moonless night.
“I thought about it for a while. Why a ‘bot like me would want to be human, when we’re stronger, faster, more durable, and live longer. And I came to understand something.” He wiped away a bit of dust from his leg, letting himself imagine that it was a drop on his face from the tears he wished he could cry. “It’s that being built to last isn’t all that great. We can live for millions of years, but we don’t change. I mean, as people we do, as individuals we learn and grow and our opinions change. But as a species, we’re so static. We can go eons doing the same thing over and over again while the galaxy passes us by.” He tucked his knees against his chestplate, holding himself tightly.
“Humans are so diverse, though. Nothing’s ever the same on Earth. Everything’s different now than it was twenty years ago. Clothing, politics, technology...it’s amazing how fast it all goes by.” He sighed, his head swirling with thoughts.
“And lastly, I think…” He brushed his hand across a tuft of grass. “I want to know what it’s like to smell. I want...to know what it’s like to taste, to eat, to feel the wind on my skin.” He rested his head against his knees. “I look at myself sometimes and all I can think about is...that I’m just metal, and wires, and that...I guess, that I’m lifeless. I’m alive, but I don’t have life in me. I don’t know how to explain it. Humans call these kinds of feelings dysphoria, and...that feels like a good word to describe it. That’s...that’s all I had to say, I think.”
Ultra Magnus nodded. “When Optimus was still with us,” he began, slowly and carefully, “he taught us so much. But the most important thing I ever heard him say was something that he would repeat countless times. It was a perfect summary of everything he believed, and he fought for it with every fiber of his being.”
Without prompting, the two of them repeated that sacred phrase in unison: ”Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.”
When he resumed, Magnus’ voice quavered with emotion ever so slightly. “And while we’ve used that truth ever since to fight tyranny and oppression, to make the galaxy a safe and just place, I think it goes deeper than freedom from evil. I think we have to remember that freedom is also about...being able to be yourself. It’s about being able to share your truth with the world and not be shunned or judged, but to be recognized and accepted; not in spite of who you are, but because of it.” He turned, his whole body facing towards Hound, his attention undivided.
“I may not understand what it’s like to feel the way you do,” he said, his tone kind but serious, “but I know for certain that it would be a betrayal to the Autobot Creed, and to you, if I didn’t believe wholeheartedly that it’s your right to speak your truth, and to define yourself on your terms, regardless of circumstances. And my job, my one and only responsibility, is to believe you and your truth, and do whatever I can to help you.” He paused for a moment, then continued in a soft, quiet voice. “I’m honored that you told me, and I will always be here to support you. ’Til all are one.”
“’Til all are one,” Hound repeated in a whisper, nodding with heartbroken gratitude. His circuits were burning, processing a million operations per second, so many thoughts and emotions crashing into each other, but one thing penetrated through the fog; that, contrary to what he had expected, this wasn’t the end. This was a beginning, the first step on a journey out of a narrow place and into the light. Admitting that had been living a lie so that he could become…real, on his own terms.
’’What...what do we do now?” he asked, in a very small voice.
“That’s up to you,” Ultra Magnus said. “It happens at whatever pace you need it to.”
Hound thought for a moment. “I think,” he said, a little louder now, “that I need to sit here for a little bit.”
Ultra Magnus smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do, for as long you need to.”
Hound gave a shy smile in return, feeling not quite happy, per se, but at the very least, a little lighter. He picked up his book, realizing that in the flurry of emotions he had dropped it, and ran his finger along the cover fondly. He looked back up at the velvet-dark sky, and it dawned on him why he found such comfort in it. In a barely-audible whisper--what humans would refer to as “under his breath”--he began to recite the words that had been inside him all along, when looking out into the night.
”Star light, star bright, first star that I see tonight..."