Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“HOT ROD!! MOVE YOUR AFT!!” Deadlock screamed into the comm link.

“Dammit, Lock! Gimme a few more seconds!” Hot Rod mumbled around a mouthful of wire ties clenched in his teeth.

The Decepticons had taken the territory on the perimeter of Nyon. Pockets of fire smoldered in the mounds of rubble, the slow hiss of dying embers drown out by deafening bursts of artillery. The rolling thunder of heavy ordinance shook the city’s remains to their foundations. Try as they might, the Autobots struggled to advance within the city limits. Scorched and scarred, Nyon remained defiant.

When Nyon burned, it incinerated the last remaining vestiges of the old Functionist regime. After Starscream assassinated the entire Senate, Zeta Prime seized total control. Seeking to solidify his own power, Zeta attempted to use the vamparc technology to drain the citizens of Nyon as fuel for his private army. He didn’t count on the fierce Nyonian love of independence. They chose death over being used as tools in the hands of their oppressor, entrusting their last act of defiance to Hot Rod by giving him the responsibility to activate the detonator.

Zeta disappeared along with his hopes of conquest which burned to ashes with Nyon. The sudden vacuum of power caused the tensions between Auotbots and Decepticons to erupt into a full scale civil war.

Hot Rod didn’t like the idea of retreating. As the last surviving Nyonian, he felt like as long as they held onto this Primus forsaken bit of charred land, then somehow Nyon still mattered. But with the newly organized army of Autobots approaching, Megatron made the strategic decision to fall back to a more defensible position.

Hot Rod slipped away from Deadlock’s watchful optic to do his part in covering their retreat. The least Hot Rod could do was blow the last bridge and slow the Autobots' advance without inflicting unnecessary casualties. He already incinerated the rest of the city and its entire population. What’s one more piece of infrastructure?

“You don’t have a second! How am I supposed to be your bodyguard when you frag off and disappear every chance you get?!” Deadlock snarled. Static crackled across the comm as he shouted.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do!” Hot Rod laughed.

“Don’t test me!” Deadlock snapped. “With the field supposedly clear of our troops, fragging Starscream decided to launch an airstrike. He just took off with the rest of the seekers.”

“What?! Seriously?!” Hot Rod groaned.

Dark bursts of flak peppered the sky. The steady screech of surface to air missiles signified the Autobots were well prepared to repel any airstrikes. A few minutes ago, Starscream emphatically vowed he’d never risk his seekers in such dangerous conditions.

Hot Rod rolled his optics. Starscream probably heard that he was going to blow the bridge to cover their retreat and wanted to overshadow Hot Rod’s efforts. If it helped save more of their embattled forces, Hot Rod didn’t care who got the credit. Especially when everyone already knew it was his idea first.

He smiled bitterly as his fingers moved with practiced ease. How many similar devices did he make to ensure his own city’s destruction?

“RODDY! Where the frag are you?!” Deadlock yelled. “Megatron ordered me to keep an optic on you, but I can’t do that if I don’t know where the hell you are!”

“Coming!” Hot Rod huffed.

He twisted the last wires together. Now to put some distance between him and his improvised explosives before hitting the detonator. Hot Rod shifted into his alt mode and gunned his engine. He raced across the battlefield, scattered bursts of gunfire coming from all directions.

Hot Rod skidded through piles of smoking debris. When he rounded another bend, he activated the detonator. The shockwave from the explosion rushed over him like a flash of fire. A sound like rolling thunder filled the smoky air as the sequential explosives tore the bridge apart at the seams. Hot Rod’s engine revved with grim satisfaction. At least that should impede the progress of the Autobots’ heavy artillery.

Suddenly a trio of colorful jets shrieked low overhead. He was out of time.

“Scrap!” Hot Rod swore. He shifted back into his bot mode and dove for cover.

A barrage of bombs fell around him. He shielded his head with his arms and huddled tight to a large chunk of debris for shelter. Shrapnel pelted his exposed armor. It stung, but he could deal with it. The incendiary bombs on the other hand...

The first blast of heat struck Hot Rod like a volcanic tidal wave. He gasped. His engine revolutions sped up, whining fast and shallow. Roaring flames leapt up all around him. Like a twisted phoenix, Nyon's ashes burned again.

He shuddered, shutting his optics in a vain effort to block out the violent destruction. His right hand trembled, desperate to drop the detonator he no longer held. It had been several months since the initial destruction of the city but with the firestorm swirling around him, he lost all concept of time. He was trapped in a horrific memory with no chance of escape.

Although his innate affinity for fire protected him from the flames, the falling debris was another matter entirely. A massive slab of a collapsing building thudded into the ground not thirty yards away. The impact reverberated through his frame. He had to move. He was going to be crushed.

Despite the intense heat from the fires raging around him, Hot Rod was frozen.

Hot Rod was vaguely aware of garbled static screaming over his comm link. It sounded like a lot of swearing. The words broke against his consciousness like lapping waves on a distant shore. He couldn’t comprehend any of them.

Another bomb detonated closer. The percussive blast threw him out of his scant shelter. He tumbled across the ground. His audials rang. Something cracked on his side. Energon ran down his back. Tears stung his optics.

He curled tightly around himself. He needed to run. He wanted to run. But he couldn’t move.

Rooted in place by the raw memories of burning his own city. His friends. The people who looked to him for protection. They pinned him down with ghostly hands, clawing at his plating, crying for him to stay and join them in oblivion.

Although the Autobots refused to aid in the evacuation, Hot Rod was the one that pulled the trigger. No matter how hard he fought for the Decepticons, it could never be undone. Perhaps he should die here. The last citizen of Nyon, crushed to death while destruction blazed anew.

Hot Rod shut his optics. He desperately tried to focus, to get his aft in gear. At the very least for Deadlock’s sake. Much to his chagrin, Megatron assigned Deadlock to serve as Hot Rod’s body guard. Although Hot Rod totally didn't want or need a babysitter, Deadlock accepted his position with deadly seriousness. Once given a mission, Deadlock hated to fail. If Hot Rod gets himself killed by a falling rock on his watch, the assassin would be furious.

But he couldn’t move.

He felt oddly detached from his situation, from the exploding ordinance and muddled cursing in his comm. The last vestiges of Nyon would kill him. He couldn’t burn like everyone else, but he could still die. Somehow, it felt right. Poetic justice. He willed himself to have the courage to accept it.

The dark shadow of a crumbling tower cut off the inferno’s heat. A low rumble heralded the ruined structure's imminent collapse. Hot Rod flinched, preparing himself for the final blow.

Which never came.

“Hey? Are you still alive?” A strange voice asked from above him.

Hot Rod’s optics snapped open. Still in the cold shadow of the falling tower, Hot Rod gasped. A massive bot painted in every color of the rainbow loomed over him. His crimson optics glowed bright through the smoke. He had caught the huge chunk of debris midair and held it aloft, preventing it from crushing Hot Rod to death.

“Uhh...” Hot Rod said intelligently.

“Oh! Thank goodness!” The giant bot vented a sigh of relief. His struts groaned with the strain of holding the incredible weight. “Better get clear. I can’t hold this thing forever.”

Still reeling from his flashbacks to the destruction of Nyon, Hot Rod scrambled to his feet and scurried away. He tripped on a pile of tangled rebar and tumbled over to watch his savior drop the slab of debris with a loud crash, directly on the place Hot Rod just left.

“It’s alright now. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” The big bot reached down and gently pulled Hot Rod to his feet. He dusted off Hot Rod’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. His glittery top coat sparkled in the dancing flames. Stunned, Hot Rod shielded his optics from the dazzling display.

“Take care of yourself!” The big bot smiled. He offered a casual salute and a charming wink as he turned and ran into the conflagration.

Hot Rod opened his mouth to thank him, when he noticed the glaring red badge on his chest.

An Autobot?! This far into Decepticon territory?!

Hot Rod’s trauma burned away in a rush of righteous anger. Who did that big idiot think he was?! And that smile?! Was he mocking him?! Hot Rod could totally take care of himself! He didn’t need anyone’s charity, especially not from an Autobot!

The Autobots couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger when the people of Nyon needed help. Despite Hot Rod’s desperate pleas, no help came from Autobots. Optimus Prime had the audacity to show up moments before Zeta’s vamparc machines to sadly shake his head and say there was nothing he could do. The Autobots were there and still did nothing. They abandoned Nyon in its hour of need. Hot Rod would be damned if a fragging Autobot thought he could waltz in with the city in ashes and expect his gratitude.

Hot Rod’s engine revved. He leapt to chase after the colorful idiot and give him a piece of his mind. Not having gone two steps, he jerked to an abrupt halt when someone grabbed his dented spoiler with an iron grip.

“WHAT THE FRAG?!” Deadlock yelled. He yanked Hot Rod back. “Have you gone deaf?! I’ve been yelling at you over the comm! Why didn’t you respond?!”

“That Autobot just saved my life!” Hot Rod screamed in exasperation. He struggled to escape Deadlock’s grasp.

“You can thank him later,” Deadlock growled as he dragged Hot Rod along behind him.

“Th- Thank him!?” Hot Rod sputtered. “I’m going to-”

“LATER!” Deadlock snapped. Done with Hot Rod’s protesting, he threw the smaller bot over his shoulder and carried him. “I didn’t put myself in the line of fire to lose you now! We gotta get out of here before Starscream starts the next bomb run!”

Hot Rod quit flailing. Carefully buried under all the snarling, he recognized concern in Deadlock’s voice. Not at the danger to himself, but at the prospect of losing Hot Rod. Although Megatron insisted that as the last citizen of Nyon, Hot Rod was too important to fight in the trenches, Hot Rod insisted with equal fervor that as the last citizen of Nyon he couldn’t not fight. Especially in defense of his ruined city. Assigning him a bodyguard was Megatron’s attempt at compromise. Discovering a close kinship with Deadlock was an added bonus.

“Yeah. You’re totally right. Let’s get out of here!”

“Hmm. Great idea. I guess you're more than just a pretty face,” Deadlock teased as more explosions rocked the city to the crumbling remnants of its foundations. He continued his relentless pace towards the safety of the Decepticon base.

"All this and brains too!" Hot Rod quipped. With a quick twist of his hips he broke Deadlock’s hold, leapt off his shoulders, and landed on his own feet. He offered a cheeky bow to his stunned bodyguard.

“Show off,” Deadlock grumbled.

A frame rattling screech heralded another low pass by Starscream’s forces.

“Scrap! Quit fooling around, Lock! We need to get to cover now!” Hot Rod raced away.

“Me?! You’re the one- Ugh! Nevermind. Let’s move!” Deadlock gave chase, struggling to match Hot Rod’s speed with his heavy augmented armor.

“Move your aft, slowpoke!” Hot Rod teased. He scanned his surroundings as they ran. There should be an entrance to the sheltered network of underground passages around here. Hot Rod prayed that it was still accessible.

“*huff* Right *huff* behind you *huff*” Deadlock strained to keep up.

The jets screamed overhead. Out of time.

“HERE!” Hot Rod yanked open the passage blast shield just as the seekers dropped their bombs.

He and Deadlock dove inside. It took both of their strength to pull the thick armored door safely back in place behind them.

“Damn.” Deadlock huffed, flopping flat on his back. His vent fans wheezed.

The muffled sound of exploding ordinance rocked their shelter. At least they would be safe here until the barrage stops.

“Perfect timing.” Hot Rod grinned proudly dusting off his hands. “With your speedster frame, you should really consider switching to lighter armor.”

“And you should really consider shutting up,” Deadlock grumbled.

“I’m just saying,” Hot Rot shrugged with a mischievous grin.

“The tungsten upgrades might slow me down, but at least I’m not bleeding.” Deadlock grimly nodded towards the gash on Hot Rod’s side.

“Oof. Point taken.” Hot Rod sat down next to Deadlock as his bodyguard recovered from their frantic dash to safety. He ignited his finger to use and an impromptu torch and began patching the crack.

“You’re repairing yourself?!” Deadlock recoiled. "Right now?!"

“Um. Yeah. I do it all the time.” Hot Rod bit his lip against the pain.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I can handle it,” Hot Rod winced. He was extremely lucky the gash wasn’t too deep. After a quick weld, his self-repair systems should handle the rest. His mind wandered back to the battlefield and how he froze as Nyon burned around him once more. He could have died, if it wasn’t for… his unexpected savior.

Hot Rod’s anger flared.

“That fragging Autobot!” He growled through clenched teeth.

“Oh yeah. You mentioned something about an Autobot before. What was that all about?” Deadlock asked, desperate for a change in subject from Hot Rod’s self surgery. In need of further distraction, the assassin fidgeted and began carefully cleaning his rifle. For someone who made death his business, Deadlock was surprisingly squeamish.

“He pulled me from the rubble like I needed a big fat hero to save me. Like I can’t take care of myself. If the Autbots couldn’t be bothered to help Nyon before, I sure as hell don’t want their help now,” Hot Rod spat bitterly. “He just saved my life without even asking first.”

“Non-consensual life saving. How rude.” Deadlock rolled his optics.

“He should have at least asked if I needed help! Then I could have told him to frag off!”

“Yeah. Because there’s always so much time to have thoughtful conversations while bombs are dropping from the sky.” Deadlock droned sarcastically.

“You don’t understand,” Hot Rod hissed as he continued welding his wounds. Primus. It hurt so bad. Good thing he had his anger to keep his focus off the pain. Ugh. Something else he owed to that fragging Autobot.

“Do you want me to kill him for you?” Deadlock looked up from oiling his trigger mechanism. His finials perked up and his optics glowed bright with excitement. “I’m really good at it. Since I’m your official bodyguard, I won’t even charge you.”

“What?! No! I need the opposite. In Nyon, we have a custom… Between the fuel shortages, crumbling infrastructure and Zeta’s goons, you never knew when you’d run into trouble. Life was hard. But we all agreed to survive together or not at all. So out of love and respect for one another, when someone saves your life, it forges a life-bond. The only way to fulfill that bond is to watch their back and save their life in return.”

“But he’s an Autobot, not from Nyon, and you didn’t even want his help.” Deadlock counted out on his claws. “Your traditions shouldn’t even apply. Let me kill him. End of story.”

“No. If any part of Nyon is to survive, I have to keep our- my traditions alive and honor the life-bond. I need to save his life in return.”

“Boo.”

“Then you can kill him.”

“Yay!”

“Don’t get too excited. I have to find him first. Then save his life. Who knows how long all that could take,” Hot Rod muttered. He finished his welding and tentatively tapped the shiny silver weld bead. Although his self-repair systems should finish mitigating the rest of the damage, he’d have to visit Knockout for a paint touch-up when they got back to base. What a pain.

“Then let’s speed things up, shall we?” Deadlock flashed a fanged grin and produced a small datapad from a secret armored panel on his forearm. “Let’s put a name to your target.”

“What’s that thing?”

“I do have other jobs when I’m not busy babysitting you, ya know.” Deadlock took smug pleasure in Hot Rod’s glare before continuing. “I’m the best assassin in the entire Decepticon army. People might think it’s all about my skill with my rifle, but the real advantage is information. Working with Soundwave, I keep a database filled with information about any potential targets.”

“Is there an entry about me?” Hot Rod asked, craning his neck to view the tiny screen.

“Pfft. Yeah. It shows a picture of a cinnamon roll and says “not a threat”,” Deadlock laughed. Hot Rod whacked him with the back of his hand. “But seriously, describe your sparkmate to me. Maybe we can figure out his identity.”

“First of all, he is NOT my sparkmate,” Hot Rod grumbled. “We share a Nyonian life-bond which I must fulfill to honor my heritage. Nothing more.”

“Whatever,” Deadlock snickered. “What do you remember about him? Give me distinct, searchable features so we can narrow down your list of targets.”

“Well…” Hot Rod conjured the image of the Autobot towering over him in his mind, his reassuring hands heavy on his shoulders. “He was big.”

“Wow. Breaking news,” Deadlock droned. “Everyone is bigger than you, short stack. Try again.”

“No, dumbaft. I mean he was really big. Like bigger than Megatron big.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? That narrows it down to the heavy-weight class. What else you got?”

“He had red optics. Between that feature and the size, I honestly thought he was a Decepticon until I noticed the Autobrand.”

“Huh. Red optics, massive size, likely a transport or heavy artillery, definitely not a favored frame for the Functionalists. He fits right into the Decepticon demographic. Wonder why he chose to become an Autobot?” Deadlock mused as he updated the search parameters.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Hot Rod grumbled. Why should he ponder the thoughts of someone who obviously didn’t care about Nyon. The Autobots showed up when it was already too late to help the citizens and then watched the city burn. They didn’t deserve one second of his concern. He just wanted to honor his traditions and move on with life.

“I’m just saying,” Deadlock shrugged, “those few details rule out most Autobots leaving only a handful of possibilities. Remember anything else?”

“Yeah. He was colorful. Optics-meltingly obnoxiously colorful. I’m talking full-on rainbow-palooza. And he was sparkly too, like he never turned down glitter polish in his entire life. A true fashion disaster.”

“Said the bot who plasters his own frame in a pyromaniac color spectrum from hot pink to orange with shiny gold accents and more flame decals than should be allowable by law. You two would make a stunning pair.”

“Shut up! It’s not my fault most Decepticons have zero style. I make it look good!” Hot Rod grinned, striking a pose.

“Sure you do,” Deadlock rolled his optics. “The good news is, there’s only one candidate in the entire Autobot roster who fits all your descriptions. Does this bot look familiar?”

Hot Rod leaned forward to view the tiny screen. The surveillance photo showed a massive colorful bot sporting a lopsided dopey grin. Tiny lens flares danced around him caused by his glittery top coat. Bright red optics glowed beneath the brim of his cobalt helm.

The Autobot’s cheerful well-wishes as he jogged away echoed in Hot Rod’s audials and made his anger burn. How dare he waltz into Nyon and tell Hot Rod to “take care of himself.” Hot Rod struggled to contain his flames. If he singed Deadlock by accident, he’d never hear the end of it.

He vented deeply, allowing his anger to cool and temper his fire.

With this information, he could honor the Nyonian life-bond tradition and keep part of his heritage alive. The sooner he could somehow save this Autobot’s life, the sooner Deadlock could end it and Hot Rod could put this whole infuriating escapade behind him.

“That’s him alright! What does your profile say about him?”

“Quite a lot, actually.” Deadlock scrolled through the notes. “Basically, he’s well-liked, a bit of a goody-goody hero-type, and his name is… Thunderclash.”

Chapter Text

“Thunderclash,” Hot Rod muttered the name to himself again. It wasn’t a terrible name. A little long maybe, but not terrible. Better than Hot Rod at least. He fidgeted. His name never quite felt like it fit right. He wondered if Thunderclash liked his ridiculous name. Too bad the idiot was an Autobot.

“Yeah. So I’ve heard. You’ve mumbled his name several times now. I’m starting to worry you can’t say anything else,” Deadlock grumbled. “You know, if you would just let me-”

Before Deadlock could repeat his offer of a free assassination job, both of their comm system alerts chimed an invitation to a Decepticon High Command audio meeting. With all the smoke and interference, it was amazing the comm system even worked at all. It was a true testament to Soundwave’s mastery of communications technology.

“Yo, Megs. What’s up?” Hot Rod asked, connecting to the call.

Deadlock snorted.

“Hot Rod,” Megatron sighed deeply over the comm link. “I thought we discussed your continued use of informality in official communications.”

“We did,” Hot Rod agreed cheerfully. “And I want to thank you for your dedication to upholding my Nyonian traditions. We never used official ranks or anything. It’s very important to me to keep as many of our- my traditions alive as I can.”

“Yeah, Megs,” Starscream cooed, joining the call. “We’re all just trying to do our part to help Hot Rod. It's the least we can do after Nyon made such a huge sacrifice for the sake of all Cybertronians. Isn’t that right, Megsy Wegsy?”

“Ugh- I didn’t call you all to discuss Nyonian etiquette,” Megatron groaned, quickly changing the subject while Starscream cackled. “We are in the middle of a war. We need to discuss our next move.”

“I already sent the Autobot forces scurrying away for cover, earning us a small respite. You’re welcome.” Starscream declared.

Hot Rod could just picture Starscream admiring his own claws as he proclaimed his achievements. He hadn’t been with the Decepticons long, but he already associated various mannerisms with everyone he had met. Visualizing images made paying attention easier. Especially during audio-only comm link meetings.

“Precisely, Starscream. Now is the time to press our advantage-” Megatron began.

“I wouldn’t,” Hot Rod interrupted.

Deadlock’s optics widened so much that their crimson light filled their cramped shelter. He stared at Hot Rod.

“Excuse me?” Megatron growled.

“I said: I WOULDN’T” Hot Rod repeated louder. Something must be wrong with his volume controls.

Starscream burst into laughter.

“And WHY wouldn’t you?” Megatron asked slowly with a strange mix of impatience and curiosity.

“Because of the acid rain, obvs.”

“Weather forecast: Clear.” Soundwave droned. He always chose only the bare essential words necessary to convey the desired information. Hot Rod had a harder time picturing him because his outward expression never changed.

“Yeah, it’s clear now. But in about an hour or so, there’s gonna be a huge acid storm. Nyon sits close enough to the Acid Wastes that there’s always evaporated acid droplets hanging around in the atmosphere above the city. Normally they mind their own business but when they combine with particles like dust or smoke, they condense into droplets. With all the smoke rising from Starscream’s incendiary bombs, it’ll surely cause a huge storm to spring up out of nowhere.”

“Hmm… A huge acid storm, you say? You’re sure?” Megatron asked. Hot Rod pictured Megatron with his thumb on his chin, tapping his upper lip like he always does when he’s deep in thought.

“Absolutely. I’ve lived here all my life. Any time too much dust rises, it creates an acid storm. They usually spring in the summer, during the dusty season, but smoke can cause them too. After I- I mean- after Nyon burned, it rained for days…”

Hot Rod clenched his fists to keep them from shaking. After the destruction of Zeta’s war machines along with the rest of Nyon, he searched the rubble for survivors all alone as the black smoke from the burning city gathered into growing thunderheads above. Sickly green lightning, roaring thunder, corrosive acid rain. He shuddered. Acid burned his plating in a way flames never could. Although he sought shelter, he still dared the storm for short forays in his futile search. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to reliving.

“Excellent. Thank you, Hot Rod. Your knowledge is the most powerful weapon we have right now. We can use this information to our advantage. Optimus will expect me to make a big move after an air raid. It’s a proven strategy after all.”

“Sir?” Deadlock asked, speaking for the first time during the entire meeting. Hot Rod was glad Deadlock asked because he was also curious why Megatron sounded so happy to hear about something as awful as an acid storm.

“The acid rain will do our work for us,” Megatron answered. “Soundwave! Order all companies to fall back and seek shelter against the coming storm. Meanwhile we’ll send out a decoy to make a showing at the front lines. With any luck, the Autobots will take the bait and rush out to confront what they think is our advance only to get caught in the storm themselves.”

Cold gripped Hot Rod’s spark at Megatron’s words. Surely the rest of the council would disagree with such a gruesome plan.

“New orders: preparing… Sent,” Soundwave intoned.

“WHAT?! You want to trick the Autobots into going out in an acid storm?! That’s horrible!” Hot Rod gasped when he recovered enough from his shock to force words through his vocalizer.

Everyone knew to hide during an acid storm. He shuddered at the memory of dodging between cover as the acid burned every inch of his plating during his futile search for survivors. He wouldn’t subject his worst enemy to such pain. Not even Autobots.

“We are at war. It is not meant to be easy or kind.” Megatron said softly.

“Decepticons: outnumbered, outgunned.” Soundwave added.

“But still! To knowingly condemn someone to death by acid? It’s wrong.” Hot Rod couldn’t believe anyone could agree with something so horrific, logic be damned. Since he warned Megatron about the brewing storm, he felt responsible. He was no stranger to taking desperate measures. Once more he was staring at a detonator grasped in his trembling hand, asking himself the same question: Is this truly the only way?

“In war right and wrong fade away to leave only opportunity. We must grasp every opportunity if we hope for victory.” Megatron’s quiet voice rang like drawn steel. “Knowledge is power, Hot Rod. In the right hands, it can be wielded more effectively than any weapon. You know Nyon better than anyone alive, making you the Decepticon’s most puissant asset right now.”

Hot Rod flinched. Although he wasn’t sure of the exact definition of Megatron’s words, he got the gist of it. Even if he meant it as a compliment, Hot Rod never wanted to wield power or be a weapon for anyone. All he wanted was to protect his home. And he destroyed it himself.

“Our forces are outnumbered, beleaguered, but tenacious. We will never yield to Autobot oppression,” Megatron continued, his voice alone enough to raise an army, acid storm be damned. “We will muster all the power at our disposal. I thank you for sharing your knowledge. You have saved countless Decepticon soldiers and given us the opportunity to strike a blow against our enemy. It’s as if Nyon itself is rising up to fight with us against our foes.”

“While you’re waxing poetic, we’re wasting time,” Starscream huffed, somehow perfectly conveying the roll of his optics solely through his voice. “Hot Rod said we only had an hour at most. If we’re going to make a move, it needs to happen now.”

“Right,” Hot Rod agreed, internally forming his own plan. He hardened his own resolve and then rolled the dice on his gamble. “You make sure everyone gets to safety. I’ll handle the rest.”

“No. I don’t want to put you directly in danger. You’ve already done so much. Return to base. We’ll send someone less important. Perhaps Starscream-” Megatron mused.

“No way! I know Nyon better than anyone. If the storm churns up faster than I predicted, I know all the proper hiding places,” Hot Rod cut off Megatron’s orders and Starscream’s extremely dramatic offended gasping. He had to hustle them off the line fast for his plan to work.

“I don’t like it-” Megatron muttered.

“You said it yourself, big guy. War’s full of stuff we don’t like. Nyon is my city. I’ll handle it. Don’t worry. Just make sure all of our soldiers get under cover.”

“Very well. Be careful, Hot Rod.” Megatron relented.

“Always! Til all are one!” Hot Rod responded with a cheerful confidence he didn’t quite feel. Fake it til you make it. Right?

With his final proclamation, the meeting ended. The comm cut off abruptly as Starscream continued huffing and puffing like a broken ventilator. Hot Rod could practically see his wings twitching wildly. He shook his head, looking up to find Deadlock staring at him.

“What?”

“I don’t know how you talk to him like that,” Deadlock vented deeply.

“Talk to who like what?”

“Megatron. Who else?”

“How else would I talk to him? When I first joined the Decepticons after I- after the city burned, Megatron promised to help keep our- my traditions alive. Familiar informality among Nyonians is a sign of respect. It means all are considered equal.”

“Whatever you say,” Deadlock chuckled. “You openly contradict his orders and call him “Megs” to his face. I’m just saying… I’ve seen him shoot people for less.”

Hot Rod had no concept of formal ceremony or chains of command. Nyon operated like a giant chaotic family. Why should he treat Megatron any differently than anyone else? Was this yet another Decepticon custom that he didn’t understand? Maybe he’d ask Ravage about it later. The beastformer knew everything. But right now he had to get moving! He motioned for Deadlock to help him shove open the blast shield door.

Once they wrenched the door open again, they stepped back out into a city once again aflame. Pockets of fire from the recent bombardment smoldered and crackled. Hot Rod shuddered. If his plan was going to work, he didn’t have time for another flashback. Shoving all of his memories aside, he looked towards the coordinates of the Autobots front lines and grinned. Just like he thought, it was the same direction the Autobot- Thunderclash ran after saving his life without permission. With any luck, Thunderclash will have fallen in a ditch or something. Hot Rod could pull him out before the acid rain starts and fulfill the life-bond. Bingo bango!

“Alright, Lock. Haul your slow aft back to base. You’ll never outrun the rain with your heavy armor mods. I’ve got this.”

Before he could take off, Deadlock sidled into his path. He folded his arms and narrowed his optics.

“Got what exactly?” He asked, raising a brow.

“You know. The plan.”

“Plan? What plan? You never actually clarified the plan.”

“Um- well- you see-” Hot Rod fumbled for an explanation.

“You’re not going to lure the Autobots out, are you?”

“You got me,” Hot Rod grinned, sheepishly rubbing the back of his helm. “What gave it away?”

“You never actually agreed to do anything. Megatron usually likes people to repeat their orders back to him to be sure that everyone is on the same page, but all you kept saying was “I’ll handle it” over and over again. What exactly are you planning?”

Hot Rod’s spoiler twitched. He didn’t expect Deadlock to figure things out so easily. He shrugged. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide.

“If the Autobots are stupid enough to go out in an acid storm, that’s their business. I won’t stop them but I’m not going to drag them into it either. I might be new to war, but I know right and wrong. I’m tired of doing terrible things because there doesn’t seem to be another way. There’s no such thing as ‘no choice.’ I chose to burn Nyon like I’m choosing to spare the Autobots. Besides, I have more important things to handle.”

“Like what?”

“Like finding Thunderclash and resolving our life-bond.”

“I knew it!” Deadlock flashed a fanged grin. “I’m coming with you. Once you save that idiot’s life and satisfy your traditions, I’ll do what I do best!” Deadlock drew two matching pistols, one black and one white, spun the guns on his index fingers then re-holstered them with a flourish.

Hot Rod had never seen those guns before and wondered how many weapons Deadlock carried on his frame at any given point in time. He shook his head to clear away the distracting thoughts about where he hides them all to focus on the issue at hand.

“NO way! When I told Megs I know all the secret passages, I meant it. Unfortunately, many of the partially collapsed tunnels simply aren’t large enough for certain individuals with hulking armor upgrades.” Hot Rod answered with a smirk.

“Protecting you is my job.”

“I thought you had other stuff to do then babysit a harmless cinnamon roll?”

Deadlock canted his finials back and glared at him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. Besides, no one should be out and about after Starscream’s air raid. Thunderclash ran off right before you showed up. He couldn’t have gotten far before having to find cover from Starscream’s second bomb run. Hopefully he fell in a ditch or something. I can pull him out, save him from the acid rain and put the whole thing behind me.”

“I don’t like it,” Deadlock growled. “You shouldn’t go alone. What if there’s other Autobots around?”

“There won’t be. But if you wanna stop me, you’ll have to catch me!” Hot Rod laughed and bolted.

Deadlock swore. He lunged to tackle Hot Rod and missed. Hot Rod expertly dodged and sprang up over a pile of debris. Heavy footfalls heralded Deadlock’s futile efforts to catch up. Hot Rod grinned as he ducked into a ruined alley and sped around another tight corner. He had loads of experience running from Zeta’s oversized goons. With all his heavy mods, Deadlock didn’t stand a chance of catching him.

“Meet you back at the base in a bit,” Hot Rod called into his comm.

“Goddammit! If you get yourself killed, I’ll-”

Hot Rod deactivated his comm just as Deadlock began a string of creative curses mingled with threats. He laughed to himself as he ran. Escaping pursuit by speeding through ruined alleys? It was just like old times.

Now all he had to do was find one stupid Autobot amidst the destruction, somehow save his life to fulfill the life-bond, and make it make to shelter before the storm unleashes acid hell upon the battlefield.

Simple. Right?

Chapter Text

Racing further into the devastation, Hot Rod ran around and leapt over debris with practiced ease. He shouldn’t be able to recognize the familiar routes amid destroyed landmarks, but the memories were burned into his brain. Nyon would always be a part of him, even if only as electrical impulses through his memory circuits.

Checking his chronometer, he increased his already fast pace. He cast a glance at the sky. No clouds yet, but Hot Rod knew acid storms formed with frightening speed. He had to hurry.

He skidded to a stop at the spot where he first met Thunderclash. His spoiler twitched. The reassuring pressure of Thunderclash’s hands weighed on his shoulders while the comforting cadence of his words rang in his audials, “It’s alright. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Tears welled up in his optics. Hot Rod clenched his fists. He was not definitely not okay. Nothing was okay. No Autobot had the right to speak such words to him. Anger burned in his spark, manifesting as flames flickering along his plating.

Where was someone like Thunderclash when Nyon fell? When Hot Rod stood alone upon the cliff above the city as Zeta’s vamparc machines siphoned the life out of his friends? As he activated the detonator that killed everyone he ever knew to save them from being drained as fuel for the Functionist war machine?

Or even before? Where were the Autobots when there was still a Nyon left to save?

Why did no one care until it was too late?

Hot Rod had no one. Not until the Decepticons took him in and promised to help uphold Nyon’s traditions, not that they understood any of them. Which was fair, since he didn’t understand any of theirs either. Hot Rod sighed. He shook his fire out. No need to waste his own fuel. He had a life-bond to fulfill. The sooner he finished this fool’s errand, the better.

Looking around for any hints of Thunderclash’s route, Hot Rod found a line of large clear tracks in the ash.

“Bingo!” He murmured.

Hot Rod jogged along, following the obvious tracks for a short distance before becoming supremely confused. Thunderclash’s trail looped through the debris and wound back upon itself in several places, almost like he was wandering around aimlessly. Why take such a circuitous route? Did Thunderclash think he was being followed? In the middle of an air raid??

“Leave me and GO!” A loud shout broke the eerie silence.

Hot Rod clamped his hands over his mouth and flattened himself against a broken wall.

“I can’t, Thunderclash! You’re stuck in that pit because you jumped in to help me out.” A second, higher-pitched, voice replied.

Thunderclash?! And it sounded like he might be in trouble! Hot Rod rubbed his hands together with a grim smile. Could he possibly be so lucky? Primus must be smiling upon him for once. Hot Rod crept along, carefully angling towards the sound of the voices.

“Refute! GO! You have to warn Optimus about the coming acid storm. All the smoke is interfering with our comm systems, I’ve got no other way to warn him. If he sends the army out now, they’ll all die!”

Hot Rod froze. How did Thunderclash know about the acid storm? Soundwave secures all Decepticon transmissions. There’s no way the Autobots could break through his encoding protocols.

He climbed to the top of a mound of mangled metal and peered over the edge.

The ground below him fell away into a wide open plain with a crater blown deep into thick ash at the center. A tiny orange bot knelt at the edge of the crumbling edge of the pit. At the bottom, his unmistakable rainbow paint work streaked with black was none other than the mighty Thunderclash.

Hot Rod almost laughed out loud. The situation unfolding in front of him was exactly what he teasingly told Deadlock. Thunderclash had gotten himself stuck in a ditch.

“But, I can’t just leave you-” Refute protested.

“I’ll make my way. I always do.” Thunderclash cut him off with a smile.

Even far away, Hot Rod detected an air of sad resignation in Thunderclash’s words. Was he truly trapped? Did he think he was going to die in the coming acid storm while still trying to save his friends? Something twisted in Hot Rod’s spark. He crept closer.

“Fine. I’ll go.” Refute stood up and clenched his fists. “I’ll warn Optimus. But I’m coming back for you with help. You saved my life, Thunders. If you’re right about the acid rain, I can’t leave you here. Hoist has a crane alt mode. He can get you out.”

“There’s no time. Please. Go.”

“I’ll be right back. I promise.” Refute nodded with firm resolve, then turned and ran off towards the Autobot forces.

Hot Rod rolled his optics. Autobot offers of assistance were worthless, all pretty words and empty promises. They’ll abandon Thunderclash like they abandoned Nyon. Lucky for the colorful idiot, Hot Rod had a life-bond to fulfill. He waited a few seconds to give Refute a chance to put some distance between them.

As soon as Refute disappeared into the lingering smoke, Thunderclash threw himself against the pit’s wall again in a desperate attempt to climb out. He barely made any progress before the black ash crumbled under his heavy weight and he slid back to the bottom.

“No no no no. Come on!” Thunderclash whimpered. He tried again. And again. And again. His once glittering armor was now stained pitch black. He didn’t even bother dusting himself off in between his frantic efforts to scale the fragile soot walls.

Hot Rod found himself begrudgingly admiring the Autobot’s refusal to give up in the face of insurmountable odds. As someone defending the ashes of a dead city, he felt an odd kinship with such indefatigable stubbornness. Any Nyonian would respect such tenacity.

Straining his audials for any sign of additional Autobots, Hot Rod cautiously slipped out of his hiding spot. He quietly picked his way across the exposed terrain, ever attentive to any sound of approaching reinforcements.

“Not again. Please.” Thunderclash pleaded, mumbling to himself.

The uncomfortable whine of strained vent fans joined the subtle sounds of fires crackling in the distance and the rough rumble of sliding soot thwarting Thunderclash’s escape attempts. And… was that a sob?

Satisfied no one else was in the vicinity, Hot Rod threw caution to the wind and strode towards the precipice. He put his hands on his hips, raised his spoiler high, and casually leaned over the edge.

“Well, well, well, what have we-” Hot Rod stopped mid-gloat in shock.

Thunderclash stared up at him, equally in shock. Black ash coated his frame except for streaks on his face where tears had washed away the soot exposing his shining bronze cheeks. His optics were wide and his hands trembled. Despite their frames being nearly perfect opposites, Hot Rod felt like he was looking in a mirror.

Hot Rod clenched his fists. No one should ever look as lost and alone as he felt. He resolved to save this stupid Autobot’s life. No matter what.

“You? You’re still alive?” Thunderclash wiped his face with the back of his hand, streaking the soot into diagonal stripes. He offered a shaky smile. “I’m so glad.”

“Yeah- well- you saved my life. I’m here to return the favor.” Hot Rod proclaimed. He hoped it sounded heroic. When Megatron spoke, you couldn’t help but believe every word he said. Hot Rod aspired to one day give a speech with such power.

“Oh? But- but you can’t!”

Hot Rod bristled, thinking that Thunderclash was about to disparage his small size. Proving himself over and over again to everyone larger than him was getting extremely tiresome.

“An acid storm is coming! I know it doesn’t look like rain, but trust me, it will happen fast. You have to get out of here and save yourself!”

“I know all about the acid storm. I’ve lived here all my life. The real question is: how do you know about it?” Hot Rod stared at Thunderclash. Although he was the one trapped, Thunderclash seemed truly concerned about Hot Rod’s safety. He didn’t think any Autobots actually cared about others.

“Before the war, I worked as a transport.” Thunderclash threw himself at the steep crater walls again in another futile attempt to climb out. He continued talking as he slid down the ash once more. “Not much else choice for a frame of my size. While delivering supplies to a crew of scientists studying the Acid Wastes, a storm took me by surprise. By the time I found shelter, most of my armor was corroded. I don’t even have words for the pain. No one should know what it feels like to have your fenders melt and run down your back.”

“Recovery was no joke either.” Thunderclash continued. “It’s a good thing my best friend is a doctor. Anyone else might have written me off as a lost cause and let me die. Even though I survived, my joints always ache right before a storm.” Thunderclash winced and massaged his dusty fingers. “The pain has never been wrong.”

“If you know a storm is coming, why are you out here?”

“I know how bad getting caught in acid rain hurts. I don’t want something so terrible to happen to anyone else so I’ve been looking for anyone that needs help to get to cover. Speaking of which, you need to go.”

“I’m a Decepticon. I don’t have to listen to you, Autobot,” Hot Rod smirked.

“I don’t care about your faction.You need to leave. There’s not much time left.” Thunderclash cast a nervous glance at the greenish gray clouds gathering overhead. He then turned his gaze to Hot Rod and pleaded with earnest sorrow, “Please.”

“If I get out of here, who will save you?”

“Me?” Thunderclash asked quietly, like he never considered the question.

“I don’t see anyone else around.” Hot Rod shrugged. He chuckled to himself. Who knew fulfilling a life-bond with an enemy soldier would be so easy?

Living in Nyon taught Hot Rod to be prepared for anything. He opened the small tool kit he carried with him at all times and withdrew a spool of fine steel rope. Much like himself, the thin cable was stronger than it looked. He looped one end around a huge boulder, securing it with a clove hitch knot. His hands moved with practiced ease, just like how-

Hot Rod stopped. What was his name? He could picture the rusty old bot, his steady hands a faded shade of teal. The tire on his right shoulder was perpetually flat. He taught Hot Rod how to tie every knot that he knew so why couldn’t he remember his name? Only his image and his knowledge remained.

Casting a quick glance at the sky, Hot Rod gasped. Thick columns of smoke were slowly twisting into a rising thunderhead. A bolt of toxic green lightning flashed. They didn’t have much time.

Shoving his strange memories aside, Hot Rod moved faster. He finished securing the rope and threw the other end into the pit. The cable bounced off the unsuspecting Thunderclash’s helm.

“The soft ash walls are too delicate to support your weight directly. Wrap the rope around yourself rappel style to stabilize your ascent. Pull yourself up a step, let the rope take your weight, readjust your grip and take another step,” Hot Rod instructed.

Thunderclash followed his instructions perfectly, without question. Slowly but surely, he began working his way up the crater wall. Hot Rod grinned. He could get used to people taking him seriously.

He was a lot smaller than most of the Decepticons. Hot Rod knew they meant well, but sometimes it felt like none of them truly trusted him to handle anything important. Everyone worried, asked if he wanted help, or tried to get him to stay behind. The bitter irony that despite his size, he personally had altered the course of the history by destroying Zeta’s machines and killing more people than the entire casualty count of the Decepticon army was utterly lost on them all.

“You’re doing great! Keep moving!” Hot Rod shouted. His spoiler twitched. He didn’t want to rush the big bot because if he slipped, he’d have to start all over again, but time was literally running out. The growing electrical charge in the air tickled his plating. Once the storm clouds were fully formed, they’d only have minutes to get to safety.

When Thunderclash neared the top, growing impatient, Hot Rod reached down and grabbed him. He dug his heels into the soft ground and threw his all weight backwards, using his smaller size to leverage the large bot over the precipice. Thunderclash flew forward and crashed down on top of him.

“Hey! Watch it! Get off!” Hot Rod wriggled, trapped under the huge heavyweight. “You’re safe now.”

“I’m- I’m safe?” Thunderclash slowly raised himself up to his hands and knees, pinning Hot Rod beneath him. His plating trembled. He blinked and met Hot Rod’s optics.

“Duh. That’s what I said.” How stupid was this Autobot?

Thunderclash vented slowly like he still didn’t believe he was out of danger. Hot Rod shifted his weight, struggling to get free. His annoyance at Thunderclash falling on top of him quickly escalated into fear and his thrashing became more desperate. He was pinned down by an enemy soldier with a huge advantage in both size and firepower. Maybe he should have brought Deadlock.

His brain raced through a myriad of horrible outcomes, each one worse than the last. Hot Rod’s plating was ready to ignite into an inferno when Thunderclash moved with surprising speed. He sat back on his heels and wrapped Hot Rod in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much!” Thunderclash exclaimed. “You’re my hero!”

“Hero?!” Simultaneously shocked and relieved, Hot Rod wanted to be angry about the unsolicited embrace but being called a hero did something strange to his spark. After all the terrible things he’d done, it felt… kinda good.

“I was so scared,” Thunderclash continued, totally unconcerned that he was currently cuddling an enemy soldier. He nuzzled his helm against Hot Rod. His massive engine purred. “With the storm coming-”

“About that-” Hot Rod planted his hands firmly on Thunderclash’s chest and pushed himself away. “The storm is still coming, you know.”

Thunderclash looked down at Hot Rod, the realization that he was tenderly embracing a complete stranger slowly dawned on him. His red optics went wide and he gently set Hot Rod down.

“Ohmygosh! I am so sorry! I never should have hugged you without asking. That was so rude of me. I’m sorry,” Thunderclash profusely apologized. “I was just so happy- I mean I was terrified and then you saved my life- But that’s no excuse- I’m sorry”

“Yeah, yeah. Quite apologizing. Don’t worry about it,” Hot Rod waved off his concern, not about to admit he didn’t find the surprise hug completely objectionable. “I owed you one for helping me earlier. Now we’re even.”

“No way! The thought of getting stuck in an acid storm again absolutely terrifies me. And you rescued me from all my fears. You could have easily walked by and left me alone, but you didn’t. You went out of your own way to help me. What you’ve done for me today- I’m in your debt forever!” Thunderclash beamed.

“That’s not how it works,” Hot Rod groaned. He definitely should have brought Deadlock. If he were here, this conversation would be over already. “The Nyonian life-bond isn’t a debt to be paid, it’s about balance. A life for a life. You saved me, I saved you. End of story.”

“We share a life-bond? That means we have to look out for each other, right? Awesome!”

“No. Not awesome. The life-bond is fulfilled. We’re done,” Hot Rod repeated. He dragged his palm down his face. Somehow he managed to get his fate entwined with a gigantic idiot.

“I’m sorry. We have such a special connection and I haven’t even introduced myself. Where are my manners today? I’m Thunderclash, at your service.” The big bot placed one hand over his spark and bowed slightly at the waist.

“Hot Rod, at yours,” Hot Rod returned the gesture automatically before his frame locked up. Thunderclash just offered him a perfect traditional Nyonian greeting. No one’s greeted him like that since… Tears stung his optics. “Where did you learn that?”

“Oh? You mentioned you lived here. Traveling to different cities and colonies is a dream of mine. Reading up on the local customs, like Nyonian culture and history, gave me something to do during the recovery from getting burned by the acid rain. Although I’m sure you can tell me more, I have read a bit about life-bonds. I am honored to share one with you-”

“Hang on a second. I told you before, the bond is fulfilled. Done. Over. We’re even-” Hot Rod wasn’t sure if he found Thunderclash’s knowledge of Nyon endearing or infuriating. On one hand he was thrilled that someone cared about Nyon, on the other hand, he’s an Autobot. If he cared so much, where was he when Nyon needed help?

“HEY! I heard voices over there!” Someone shouted.

Hot Rod froze. He didn’t recognize the voice. No time to discuss Nyonian traditions now.

“Sunstreaker, wait! What if it’s Decepticons?” A second voice yelled.

“I fraggin’ hope it is,” Sunstreaker growled. “Did you see what their bombs did to Sides? Ratch said he’d make it, but the next Decepticon I see is gonna pay for hurting my spark-brother.”

The unmistakable clack of a round being chambered sent a chill down Hot Rod’s spinal struts. He cast his optics around wildly for an escape route. He was out in the open. With another Autobot. Trapped. Hot Rod could take care of himself, but he couldn’t defeat multiple opponents in an open brawl. He really should have brought Deadlock.

“Don’t worry about them,” Thunderclash whispered, taking him by surprise. “I’ll distract them.”

“What?!” Hot Rod asked. He searched Thunderclash’s soot and tear-stained face for any hint of malice.

“Sunny’s alright, but if someone’s hurt Sideswipe, there’s no reasoning with him. We share a life-bond and you’re my hero. I’ll protect you anyway I can. Always and forever!”

“Whoa! Let’s not go overboard! That's not how it works-" Hot Rod’s chiding died in his vocalizer.

His optics widened as Refute, the little orange bot Thunderclash saved, emerged from a gap in the debris. He looked up at Thunderclash, ashamed of the fear shining in his optics.

The big bot smiled and winked. Hot Rod’s anger rose again, burning away the fear. Out of options and desperate to prove that he didn't need Thunderclash’s help, scrambled a short distance away to the only cover available. He curled up tightly behind the largest boulder in the open debris field. The first rumble of thunder shook the city to its ruined foundations.

“Refute!” Thunderclash called. He deliberately placed himself between Hot Rod’s scant hiding spot and the incoming Autobots.

“Thunders! Wow! You got out! I brought Hoist and Sunstreaker to help, just like I promised.”

“I heard voices.” Sunstreaker snapped.

“Probably just me,” Thunderclash answered, laying on the charm absurdly thick and using his massive frame to shield Hot Rod. “Wondering to myself how I was going to find my way back to base after getting so lost. You lot showed up just in time.”

Hot Rod rolled his optics. Thunderclash’s circuitous path wasn’t some kind of strategy to throw off pursuit. He was just lost. Dummy.

“No kidding.” Hoist, another heavyweight with a crane boom on one shoulder, chuckled. He gestured towards the darkening sky. “You were right on the money about the storm. How’d you know?”

“The hips don’t lie," Thunderclash winced and stretched. His joints cracked. "Ow. Now let’s get out of here. By the looks of things, we don’t have much time.”

Pressed flat against the ground behind the boulder, Hot Rod looked up at the sky. Roiling green-gray clouds swirled above. A gust of wind stirred up a cloud of ash. His vent fans whirred softly against the particulates. Hot Rod manually shut them down a moment too late.

“Wait. I heard something.” Sunstreaker said, shoving past Thunderclash. “Let me look around. I don’t wanna go back without killing at least one Decepticon. For Sides.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Hot Rod berated himself. All he wanted was to keep Nyon’s traditions alive and now it would get him killed. He steeled himself, wondering if he could bring down several Autobots with his flames before they shot him. If they don’t kill him, Deadlock will.

“Whoa.” Thunderclash stopped the advancing frontliner with one large hand to his chest. “Shooting someone won’t do anything to help Sides, but losing you will only increase his pain. None of us can survive long exposure to acid rain. Trust me, I speak from experience. Plus, it will absolutely ruin your fine gold finish.”

As if to emphasize his point, a sharp crack of thunder roared and an intense spiderweb of green lightning lit up the sky. Hot Rod flinched. Thunderclash yelped.

“We need to go! Now, now, NOW!” He spun Sunstreaker around and shoved him forward, herding Hoist and Refute along as well. “I thank you for coming to collect me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it-”

“But you didn’t even need our help,” Hoist grumbled.

“Maybe not in getting out of the pit, but I’ll never make it back to base without you. Lead the way! Hurry!!”

“You know, you should really take some navigation classes or something,” Sunstreaker chuckled, yielding to Thunderclash’s charming insistence.

“Yeah, yeah. Later. Let’s get out of here!”

With the sound of retreating footsteps, Hot Rod dared to peek out from the worst hiding spot in the history of hiding spots. To his infinite shock, Thunderclash gave a quick glance over his shoulder as he continued shoving the other Autobots along. The big idiot flashed his stupid dopey grin and mouthed the words, “My hero.”

It took all of Hot Rod’s self control to not instantly burst into flames.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod kicked along an errant stone as he made his way back to base. It skittered along the broken ground before coming to rest a few steps ahead. Wind howled through the broken buildings and static electricity tickled his plating. The rain could start any moment, but he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to worry.

What had he done?

He thought it would be simple, and it nearly was. He found Thunderclash in need of assistance and helped him out. That should have been the end of this whole stupid saga. What he hadn’t counted on was Thunderclash’s instant adoration. As much as he wanted it to be true, Hot Rod wasn’t anyone’s hero.

He kicked the stone again.

The other stupid Autobots had no business showing up when they did. They ruined everything. Although he pulled Thunderclash out of the pit, the other Autobots would have done the same. Did it even count as saving his life? Then Thunderclash distracted them to protect Hot Rod. Would they have killed him? Did Thunderclash just save his life again???

“Ugh. Frag me,” Hot Rod groaned. All this trouble and the life-bond was still unfulfilled. If anything, it was even deeper than before.

He drew his foot back and kicked the stone again. Harder. It flew through the air and impacted a low wall, bursting into dust with a soft clack. Hot Rod scanned the ground for a new rock to kick when he noticed a bright red dot glowing in the center of his chest right above his purple Decepticon badge.

A laser sight point!

He froze. His spark stopped. Hot Rod’s optics darted frantically through mangled debris for Autobot snipers. He was practically on top of the Decepticon base. How could an enemy soldier slip past all of their defenses? Was he followed by one of Thunderclash’s Autobot buddies?

Should he run? Should he hide? Could he move faster than the unseen sniper could pull the trigger? He was already in their sights! His vent fans whirred.

A soft huff of laughter drew his attention to the top of a ruined column and the familiar silhouette of sharp edged heavy tungsten armor.

“Bang. You’re dead.” Deadlock flashed a wicked fanged grin.

“Goddammit, Lock! You scared the scrap out of me!” Hot Rod snapped. He found an appropriately sized stone and kicked it with all his might. It pinged off Deadlock’s armored shin.

“Serves you right,” Deadlock grumbled, hopping down from his perch. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?!”

“I told you not to worry about it.”

“Oh. Thanks. That’s so very helpful to remember when the person I’m supposed to be protecting frags off alone into a dangerous situation and deactivates our only method of communication. I can’t believe I forgot to simply not worry.”

“Whatever. You were supposed to wait for me back at the base. Where it’s safe from the storm,” Hot Rod muttered. He continued trudging along. Deadlock fell easily into step alongside him.

“Pfft. And face the consequences of going back without you? No thanks.”

Hot Rod stopped in his tracks. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m your bodyguard. Keeping you safe is my job. Which I really messed up when I actually started to like you. What a huge mistake!” Deadlock rolled his optics. He bumped his shoulder into Hot Rod, nearly knocking him over.

“Shut up!” Hot Rod playfully shoved him. Despite the teasing, Deadlock’s words gnawed at his spark. “Seriously though… I’m responsible for my own choices, even the terrible ones. Would you have gotten in trouble because I left you behind? That was all me. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Take your own advice: don’t worry about it,” Deadlock shrugged.

“Lock-” Hot Rod narrowed his optics. He cast Deadlock a sideways glance as they continued towards the shelter of the Decepticon base together. Hot Rod always assumed Deadlock’s heavy armor was meant to protect him from Autobot artillery. What if there was more to it?

Thunder crashed above them. Green lightning lit up the world. Hot Rod fought against his fear instinct to bolt. His plating shivered with the intense need to run. They’d be under shelter in a few moments. Keep it together.

“Did you find your sparkmate?” Deadlock changed the subject with a smug grin.

Hot Rod sputtered. He knew what Deadlock was doing, shifting the topic of conversation away from something he didn’t want to talk about. He struggled to not take the bait.

“Ooo! Thunderclash! I’ll be your white knight! The bright light in your darkest hour! I’ll save you from all danger and distress,” Deadlock cooed, doubling down on his teasing.

“It’s not like that!” Hot Rod burst out, losing all focus. He spun to shove Deadlock again but the assassin dodged his playful attack with a laugh.

“Then what is it like?” Deadlock’s face curled into a wolfish grin.

“It’s-,” Hot Rod opened his mouth to yell at him, but the image of Thunderclash covered in soot stuck at the bottom of the pit came into his mind. As infuriating as the Autobot was, Hot Rod felt the overwhelming urge to protect him. Part of him rationalized that he was just projecting his own feelings onto the big idiot. Another part reveled in the idea that someone thought of him as a hero. But mainly he wanted to honor his Nyonian traditions, fulfill the life bond and never think about Thunderclash ever again.

Hot Rod’s spoiler drooped. “It’s complicated-”

“Oh scrap! You DID find him!” Deadlock’s optics flared brightly. His finials perked up. “What happened?”

Another roar of thunder. Hot Rod’s plating twitched. Catching sight of the toppled skyscraper the Decepticons were using as their base of operations sent a wave of relief over him. They strolled under the outer shelter as the first drops of acid rain hissed into the ground.

Hot Rod wondered if Thunderclash made it undercover in time. He better not get himself killed before Hot Rod could fulfill their life-bond. He already left too many unsatisfied when Nyon burned. Even if this one was forged by accident, Hot Rod wanted to honor the bond.

“To make a stupid story short, I pulled him out of a ditch but another group of Autobots showed up. They’d have helped him if I didn’t. The life-bond still stands.” Hot Rod sighed.

“More Autobots?! What happened? Did they hurt you?” Deadlock growled. His hands automatically went to his holstered guns.

“Pfft. Of course not. They never even saw me,” Hot Rod waved off his concern.

“I don’t know how,” Deadlock huffed. “I spotted your gaudy paint work a mile away.”

“Thunderclash- kinda- sorta- covered for me,” Hot Rod winced.

“Sweet Primus!” Deadlock burst into laughter. “You owe him twice now?!”

“No!” Hot Rod protested. “I told you! I pulled him out of the ditch. That cancels out distracting his friends. I still only owe him for the first time he saved me. And it’s not a debt anyways. It’s a life-bond! It needs to be fulfilled, not repaid! Like I told you before-”

VORP! A cloud of purple smoke suddenly appeared between them.

“AHHHH!” Hot Rod and Deadlock screamed and leapt away. The telltale side-effect of teleportation could only mean one thing.

“Roddy!” Skywarp shouted. He pounced on Hot Rod, sweeping him up in a surprise hug. The seeker’s broad black and purple wings bounced happily. “I’m so happy you’re back!”

“Nice to see you too, Skywarp.” Hot Rod laughed.

Deadlock canted his finials back and growled. Skywarp narrowed his optics and stuck out his tongue at Hot Rod’s perturbed bodyguard.

“Me and TC have something super cool to show you! We found it earlier today!” Skywarp grinned.

“Sorry, Warp. You and Thundercracker will have to wait a bit. I need to do something with Deadlock first.” Hot Rod wriggled out of the seeker’s embrace. Much to Starscream’s chagrin, Skywarp and Thundercracker had adopted Hot Rod as an honorary seeker. They always teased him about his broad spoiler being practically wings and said he could drive almost as fast as flying.

“Aww… No fair,” Skywarp pouted. His wings drooped.

“What are you talking about?” Deadlock crossed his arms. “You can go with them. I have to report to Turmoil right now. That doesn’t involve you.”

“It does this time. I’m going with you,” Hot Rod put his hands on his hips. If everyone was going to keep telling him he was so goddamn important, he might as well lean into it. Deadlock might be his bodyguard, but in Nyon, everyone looked after each other equally. If Deadlock was going to protect him, Hot Rod was going to do his damnedest to return the favor. Something about the way Deadlock avoided discussing his superior officer didn’t sit right with Hot Rod.

“NO! No way.” Deadlock snapped. “I don’t want you anywhere near Turmoil.”

“I can handle myself,” Hot Rod replied. The scant fuel in his near empty tanks churned. Hot Rod wasn’t entirely sure what was happening between Deadlock and his commanding officer but he had a few bad suspicions. Turmoil had no right to get upset with Deadlock because of Hot Rod’s actions. Deadlock might feel like he had to adhere to the strict chain of command, but Hot Rod had no such qualms. The fire inside him burned.

Skywarp’s optics darted between the two of them.

Deadlock cast a quick glance at Skywarp. He returned his gaze to Hot Rod and a wolfish grin spread across his face.

“You can’t come with me, Roddy. You need to have those WOUNDS checked at the medbay after you were caught in the bomb run,” Deadlock said with a smug grin.

“OH SWEET PRIMUS! YOU’RE HURT?!?!” Skywarp gasped. The large jet grabbed Hot Rod again and ran his fingers across his frame searching for damage. “The battlefield was supposed to be clear before we dropped our bombs! Why were you still out there?!”

“Warp, please. I’m fine,” Hot Rod struggled to extricate himself from the frantic seeker. He glared at Deadlock, already grasping his plan.

“Nooooo, Roddy!” Skywarp whined when he found the silvery scar from Hot Rod’s self repair and the dents in his spoiler. “We were the ones dropping the bombs. It’s our fault you got hurt. I’m so sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. It was my choice to be out there. I needed to blow the bridge. You, Thundercracker and Starscream were just doing your jobs. I’ll take responsibility for my actions. Besides, I handled my own repairs and everything worked out fine.” Hot Rod tried to brush off Skywarp’s concern.

He was getting real tired of everyone taking credit for his own stupid decisions. The next person that told him he had “no choice” but to burn Nyon was getting slugged. Of course he had a choice. It was a terrible one and he made it. To say otherwise discounts the sacrifice of the citizens of Nyon. Staying out during an air raid was also stupid. So was going to find a wayward Autobot with the strict purpose to save his life on the edge of an acid storm. Confronting Turmoil might be stupid too, but Hot Rod was on a streak. Why stop now?

Deadlock has always been there for him. Hot Rod needed to be there for him, even if Deadlock didn’t want the help. Somewhere in the back of his mind, echoed Thunderclash’s words proclaiming him a hero. Although he put no stock in an Autobot’s opinion, he desperately wanted it to be true.

“Hmm... I don’t know. At the very least, you should see Knockout for a paint touch-up. Not to mention the chance of a rust infection…” Deadlock innocently shrugged.

“RUST INFECTION?!” Skywarp yelped. He tightened his grip. “That’s it! I’m taking you to the medbay right now!”

Hot Rod’s optics flared. “Warp, NO!”

Too late.

The last thing Hot Rod saw was Deadlock’s stupid smug face as he waved good bye.

Skywarp hugged Hot Rod tight to his frame and activated his outlier teleportation ability. The world went black. Every shade of purple imaginable swirled before Hot Rod’s optics. It felt like someone reached their hands inside his plating and personally rearranged all of his internal components. There was no pain but an overwhelming sense of uncomfortable wrongness. His whole frame shivered.

The first time Skywarp teleported him, Hot Rod rematerialized at their destination, dropped to his knees and purged every last drop of fuel in his tanks. Thundercracker laughed. The blue seeker said he’d get used to it. Having experienced what Skywarp called “the warpy place” several times now, Hot Rod doubted he’d ever get used to it.

They appeared in the medbay with a pop of violet smoke.

Hot Rod clung to Skywarp. He shut his optics, willing his tanks to settle. His plating crawled. It felt like his insides were freely floating inside his frame, untethered by any physical connections. All his circuits buzzed. Maybe he won’t get sick this time…

Nope.

Doubling over, Hot Rod retched. For once in his life, he was grateful that his tanks were almost empty.

“Take it easy, bud.” Skywarp gently patted Hot Rod’s back. “The first few times are always rough. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Hot Rod coughed, spewing out the last few drops of energon in his tanks. He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand.

“Who just messed up my nice clean floor?” Crooned a voice smoother than oil. “Despite the crumbling walls and shoddy electrical service, I am trying to run a professional medical facility, you know.”

“Hey, Knockout,” Hot Rod looked up at the flashy red medic standing over him. He smiled weakly. “Sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Knockout nonchalantly waved off his apology. He purred, “Nurse! I need you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” A massive blue bot sidled up next to him. When he glanced down to see Hot Rod kneeling on the floor, his golden optics lit up. “Hey there, Baby Blue Eyes.”

“Hey, Goldy.” Hot Rod grinned. Breakdown was the only person that he allowed to call him a nickname based on his optics color since Hot Rod had his own color-based nickname for the gentle giant.

For whatever reason, most Decepticons had red optics. Hot Rod’s bright matrix blue optics and flashy speedster alt stood out like a diamond in a coal mine amongst the majority of massive heavyweights with unimaginative paint work. Perhaps that’s why Hot Rod felt a special affinity for Knockout, the sleek crimson medic, and Breakdown, his massive conjunx with bright gold optics. The fact that they were originally from Velocitron and therefore also outsiders in the Decepticon army only increased his affection for them. At least Hot Rod wasn’t the only one feeling out of his depth.

The teleportation induced tingling in his plating gradually subsided. Hot Rod accepted Skywarp’s assistance in getting back on his feet, steadying him when he wobbled.

“To what do you owe the pleasure of a visit by my favorite patient?” Knockout asked.

“Roddy’s HURT!” Skywarp shouted. He held him up and pointed to the silvery fresh weld. Hot Rod wriggled in his grip to no avail.

“Hmm. We can take a look at that. Breakdown-”

“Clean up the mess and then mix up a bit of Baby Blue’s custom paint colors for retouching.” Breakdown completed Knockout’s thought. He already had the bucket and mop in hand.

“Whatever would I do without you,” Knockout cooed, watching Breakdown get to work with a dreamy smile.

“Let’s hope you never have to find out,” Breakdown grinned.

“Right this way, Hot Rod,” Knockout directed Hot Rod to an open berth.

Since most of the army was recalled while Hot Rod was out looking for Thunderclash, the medical staff had already tended to all the other wounded.

“You comin’, Warp?” Hot Rod called over his shoulder.

“Um- No- I-”

Hot Rod stopped and turned to Skywarp. The huge jet wrung his hands. His broad wings shivered.

“You okay?”

“Fine! Never better! Totally fantastic! But- I can’t- Um-,” Skywarp answered. All his plating twitched. Hot Rod furrowed his brow with concern. What’s got him so upset?

“It’s okay. I know you and Thundercracker had something to show me. Why don’t you go keep him company? I’ll catch up with you later. The acid storm will keep the war in hold for a while. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“That would be great!” Skywarp instantly brightened. “After Knockout fixes you up, swing by the airforce hanger. We found something really cool! You’re going to be so surprised.”

Hot Rod waved goodbye as the purple jet warped away in a puff of shining mist. The medbay really bothered Skywarp. Sure medical stuff made a lot of people uncomfortable, even Deadlock got twitchy during Hot Rod’s recent self-repairs, but Skywarp seemed extra freaked out. Hot Rod couldn’t help but wonder why.

Another issue to add to the growing list of things bouncing around in his head. In Nyon, things were rough but at least Hot Rod understood them. Everyone shared the same experiences and ideas. Although he was grateful the Decepticons took him in and gave him a home, he felt increasingly out of place. The more he learned, the less he understood.

He longed to have a conversation about Nyon that didn’t involve him explaining everything. Not that he minded sharing stories about his home, but it would be nice to be able to talk about something without providing all the necessary background information. Unfortunately, the only person he’d met with any in depth knowledge of the city was a certain sparkly Autobot.

Hot Rod groaned as the image of Thunderclash cheerfully offering a perfect Nyonian greeting replayed in his brain.

Chapter Text

Shuffling into the medbay with the weight of the world pressing down on him. Hot Rod hopped up on the berth while Knockout evaluated his injuries.

“Tch tch tch.” Knockout shook his head. He ran his hands over Hot Rod’s scuffed spoiler. “Your poor paint work.”

“I know... It’s bad… I hope you can save it,” Hot Rod smiled weakly.

With all the life and death situations they encountered on a daily basis, worrying about his finish felt at best frivolous and at worst totally selfish. On the other hand, taking care of himself with something he could control, felt really good. Knockout was the only one who appreciated his logic. And the medic didn’t even know about the Nyonian significance of decorating your frame with personal motifs. Due to his own innate fire ability, Hot Rod always painted himself with shining flames.

Hot Rod pictured the person who taught him the art of choosing the right colors. She wore deep indigo paint work, spattered with iridescent silver glitter to represent her love of the stars. Her optics shone like golden fire. With her wicked sense of humor, she and Knockout would have gotten along like a house on fire. Despite being able to see her clearly and remember how she helped him paint his first flames, he couldn’t remember her name. What was going wrong with his processor?

He thought about mentioning something to Knockout, but the thought of admitting his memory issues twisted in his spark. Besides feeling like a betrayal to everyone he knew, he didn’t want anyone to think it made him less capable. Although most of the Decepticon army respected him as the last citizen of Nyon, he didn’t want to give anyone ammunition to disprove his capability. He had enough issues to deal with due to his small stature.

“You may not have noticed, but I am very good at what I do,” Knockout placed his slender hand over his own spark in feigned modesty. “Although your paint work has suffered greatly, your wounds are already healing. I must commend your first aid skills. Top notch work, as always. Are you sure I can’t convince you to join my medical staff?”

“Not right now. I need to be out there. As long as Nyonian territory is contested, I will fight for it.”

“If you ever change your mind, Baby Blue, you’re welcome to join us. I bet you’d make a great field medic,” Breakdown said as he entered the exam area with a cart that appeared comically small in his large hands. He handed Knockout a collection of glass tubes filled with Hot Rod’s custom colors. Then he pushed a full mug of warm energon into Hot Rod’s hands. “Since you came in with Skywarp, I figure your tanks are pretty empty.”

“Thanks,” Hot Rod smiled. He slowly sipped the energon while Knockout buffed the scratches out of his spoiler. It felt so good. Hot Rod’s engine purred.

Knockout laughed. “If you liked that, you’ll love this! I managed to get my hands on a bit of ruby dust for my own personal collection. Very rare and very shiny. No one else in this entire army would appreciate such extravagance and I’d love to share it with someone who will cherish this treasure. It’ll add a great depth to your flames. What do you say?”

“Oh frag yes!” Hot Rod exclaimed.

The tiny vial of crystalline powder sparkled in the bright medbay light. For a brief second, it reminded him of Thunderclash’s glittering paintwork. He wondered why the Autobot chose his rainbow color scheme. Did he come from somewhere that valued self expression like Nyon or was he simply colorblind? Hot Rod shook the thoughts of the gigantic idiot from his mind. Focus!

“Thank you so much!”

“No thanks necessary,” Knockout said. “It’s nice to have someone around here with some artistic appreciation. Not to throw shade, but most of the Decepticons are so damn dull, in every sense of the word.”

“About that…” Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at Knockout and Breakdown. They were from an entirely different colony. He couldn’t really talk about his feelings of isolation to anyone else, but perhaps they’d understand. He chewed his bottom lip, unsure if he should even broach the topic, but he had to talk to someone, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Breakdown finished mixing the ruby dust into the paint and handed it to Knockout.

“Fit in,” Hot Rod asked quietly. He picked at the worn paint around his knuckles. “I’m only doing what I know. I’m trying to uphold my Nyonian traditions, but no one else understands them. At the same time, I don’t understand their traditions. Apparently I’m committing all kinds of cultural crimes, but I don’t know any other way to do things.”

“Hmph. Fitting in is highly overrated,” Knockout snorted. He finished repairing the damages to Hot Rod’s spoiler and prepared to touch up the scratched flames. “Fabulous people such as ourselves were born to stand out!”

“You can only be yourself. If other people don’t like it, that’s their problem. Not yours.” Breakdown playfully poked Hot Rod’s chest. “I don’t usually talk about it much, but I didn’t exactly fit in back on Velocitron.”

“Really?” Hot Rod’s spoiler perked up. Getting many other Decepticons to talk about their pasts was harder than loosening rusted bolts. Hot Rod was pleasantly surprised to hear Breakdown offer a bit of personal information unprompted. “But you’re so rad!”

“While you and I both agree on the extreme rad-ness of my conjunx, not everyone values the same things,” Knockout muttered bitterly as he delicately traced Hot Rod’s flames with the new ruby paint. The detail brush’s fine bristles tickled his plating. Hot Rod struggled not to squirm and smudge Knockout’s work. “On Velocitron, speed is the most important quality.”

“I am many things, but fast is not one of them,” Breakdown chuckled.

“Although we initially came to Cybertron as official delegates from Velocitron to investigate reports of a civil war, we decided to stay. Megatron’s goal of establishing a society where form and function are two unrelated qualities is something that we both support.” Knockout continued.

“Honestly, I’m fairly certain the Velocitronian council was hoping we’d both become casualties of war. Then they’d finally be free of our “ridiculous” ideas about equal rights for all frame types.” Breakdown shook his head.

Knockout and Breakdown continued excitedly talking about Velocitron, but Hot Rod lost focus on their conversation. His brain struggled to rectify their conflicting messages. Knockout said it was okay to stand out and not fit in, but then they left the home that ostracized them in favor of an active warzone. They also had the option to return to Velocitron if things went south on Cybertron.

Hot Rod didn’t have that luxury. Although technically he never left, there was no returning to Nyon. The city and his people burned to ashes around him, leaving him all alone with no one who understood any of his customs. Try as he might, he still felt like a foreigner among the Decepticon ranks. He hoped talking with Knockout and Breakdown would help, but now he felt more lost than ever.

“Ta da! All done! Tell me how happy you are!” Knockout’s proclamation shook Hot Rod from his spiraling thoughts. Breakdown held up a polished tool tray to serve as an impromptu mirror.

“Ooooh... Woooow…” Hot Rod stared at his reflection in awe. His optics flared.

While he always loved his fiery orange and magenta color scheme, something about the deep ruby red resonated in his spark. It was like he was always meant to wear it.

“Ah yes. The sounds of aesthetic ecstasy! As if I would ever expect anything less than complete satisfaction. I am simply too good,” Knockout preened.

“You totally are!” Hot Rod agreed. He hopped off the recharge slab and admired his finish. It shone under the lights. “Awesome work!”

“Watch it, Baby Blue! You’ll make him even more insufferable than he already is,” Breakdown teased.

“Preposterous!” Knockout gasped. “I have already perfected the art of insufferability!”

Breakdown laughed.

“Next time you come to visit, be sure to bring that sullen bodyguard of yours.” Knockout purred with a sly grin. He gave Hot Rod a conspiratory nudge.

“Deadlock?”

“Is that what he calls himself? How perfectly boorish.” Knockout rolled his optics. “Whoever installed those unimaginative heavy armor mods on him should be taken out into the street and shot. A frame like his should be celebrated! Not hidden away under shapeless gray blocks. I’d love to outfit him with some lightweight maneuverable armor and maybe a few dramatic slashes of color. He’s got the sleek frame to pull it off. And it would improve his performance.”

“Keep your claws to yourself,” Breakdown gently chided. “People have their own reasons for choosing their personal mods.”

“But he’s a walking fashion tragedy,” Knockout pouted. “Hot Rod understands. Don’t you?”

“Yeah. Totally.” Hot Rod absent-mindedly replied.

Hot Rod stared at his reflection, turning slightly so the light caught his new paintwork. Something about that deep shade of red just felt… right. With the vibrant gem infused flames sparkling like living fire, he was absolutely stunning. Looking so good made him feel really good, like someone worthy of being a true hero.

Although… Thunderclash called him a hero before Knockout’s rare ruby paint work. When he was still battered and scarred from the days’ battle, looking like little more than a scruffy Nyonian refugee. Thunderclash looked past the soot, the dents, and his small size and saw a hero. Hot Rod wished he could see himself like that sometimes. He wondered what exactly he looked like through the autobot’s bright crimson optics.

Heat rushed through Hot Rod’s frame. His inner fire threatened to ignite.

Hot Rod yelled this thanks one more time and then raced out the door. He couldn’t deal with Knockout noticing the sparks dancing along his spoiler or the bright pink glow warming his face plates. He’d press him until Hot Rod spilled the entire story, and it wasn’t a big deal. Definitely not. Thunderclash was only a random Autobot, nothing more. Nothing to get excited about.

All he wanted to do was preserve his Nyonian traditions and fulfill the life-bond. And yet…

Why is he still thinking about that stupid Autobot and his stupid opinions?

Chapter Text

Hot Rod shifted into his speedster alt mode and raced through the long corridors of the toppled building currently serving as the main Decepticon base. Speed always helped him clear his mind.

He threw himself into a hard right turn. His tires squealed, burning black trails of rubber on the clean floor. If the Constructicons got angry about having to clean up again, he’d blame the skid marks on the Stunticons. The two combiner squads had a long standing rivalry and sometimes Hot Rod couldn’t resist stirring up a bit of chaos.

He tried contacting Deadlock again and was met with only static. His engine growled. No wonder Lock was always so hacked off at him when he turned off his comm. It was super frustrating. He wanted to make sure Deadlock didn’t get into trouble on his account, but he had no idea where to find him. Annoyed and feeling extremely petty, Hot Rod deactivated his comm as well. Two can play at that game.

Talking with Knockout and Breakdown made him feel simultaneously better and worse. Too many thoughts ran through his processor. Broken memories of Nyon, worries about his best friend, concerns about fitting in, weird feelings about how good the new paintwork looked, and worst of all, certain stupid ideas about certain stupid Autobots.

He longed for the vast plains outside of Nyon where he could run with his throttle wide open, pushing the boundaries of speed. With the wind rushing over his spoiler and the loose gravel pinging off his undercarriage, there was no room for disturbing thoughts. The raw exhilaration of pure speed took all-encompassing focus. You can’t think about anything else when you’re pushing yourself to the limit. Unfortunately, the acid storm totally ruined his favorite outlet for excess energy. Without the ability to burn off his anxieties in a reckless race against himself, Hot Rod was in desperate need of a distraction. The good news was, he knew exactly where to find one.

Hot Rod screeched around a wide bend and burst into a huge open space, the partially collapsed auditorium claimed by the seekers as a makeshift air force hanger.

His engine roared in the cavernous space. Slipstream and Acid Storm waved hello. Dirge rolled his optics and flashed a rude gesture. Hot Rod cheekily honked his horn as he sped past.

“RODDY!!!”

Hot Rod searched for who called his name.

VORP!

Sky Warp warped right in front of him in a puff of purple smoke.

“AHHHH!!” Hot Rod slammed on his brakes. His bumper nudged Skywarp’s knees as he skidded to a full stop in record time.

“Glad you made it!” Skywarp smiled, completely unperturbed about the near collision.

“Primus, Warp! Be more careful!” Hot Rod huffed as he transformed and hopped to his feet. “I just had my finish buffed.”

“Yeah? It looks great! I like the shiny new red details on your flames.” Skywarp scooped him up and held Hot Rod aloft to verify that all of his wounds were healing properly. “All your dents are fixed too! And no rust infection?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m all good.” Hot Rod sighed, patiently enduring Skywarp’s fussing. “So what did you want to show me?”

“Right over here!”

Hot Rot noticed the telltale shimmer of Skywarp’s teleportation ability activating.

“WHOA!” Hot Rod wriggled out his grasp. “I just fully refueled. Warping makes me sick. Can we walk? Please.”

“I guess.” Skywarp threw his arms up in a dramatic pout. “If you want it to take FOREVER. Walking is SO SLOW.”

“Yes. Yes, for once in my life, I will be perfectly happy going slow,” Hot Rod laughed. “Especially if it means I won’t purge my tanks again.”

He followed as Skywarp made a theatric display of shuffling towards a far corner of the huge space. As they approached, a strange sound froze the fuel in Hot Rod’s lines. The sharp click of metallic tarsus on smooth stone. His plating shivered. He hadn't heard that sound in a long time but he'd never forget it. Hot Rod shook his head. There’s no way it could be what he thinks it is. Now he was hearing things. Maybe he should have mentioned his weird processor issues to Knockout.

“Hey, Roddy!” Thundercracker waved. The large blue jet sat on the ground, playing with something. “Check it out!”

Thundercracker held up a tiny wriggling creature. Its piercing blue optics gleamed bright with hunger. A mouthful of razor fangs clacked as it constantly tried to nip the seeker’s fingers. Hot Rod’s spark stopped in his chest.

“Wh- What the hell is THAT!?” Hot Rod shouted, recoiling in shock, despite the fact he knew exactly what it was.

“Wow. Rude.” Thundercracker huffed. “Her name is Bitey! We found her on the edge of town while we were circling around before joining the battle.”

“Isn’t she neat?” Skywarp wiggled his finger at Bitey and she jerked forward and bit him. He giggled. “Ow!”

“B- BITEY?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Hot Rod sputtered. “Do you know what she is??”

Hot Rod couldn’t believe his optics. He wanted a fun distraction not to stare death in the face. Hadn’t he dealt with enough trauma already today?

“Adorable?” Thundercracker offered.

“Hungry?” Skywarp asked.

“NO!! She is a SCRAPLET!!” Hot Rod yelled.

The seekers stared blankly at him. Bitey’s jaw clanked constantly in the silence like a whirling circular saw. Her spidery legs flailed wildly in Thundercracker’s grasp.

“Don’t you two know anything about Nyonian wildlife??”

“Roddy. We are from Vos,” Skywarp answered matter of factly, like that explained everything.

Hot Rod vented deeply. He pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten to avoid totally losing it. Now he knew why Megatron often looked the way he did, like he was 100% done with the world. Dealing with constant shenanigans was exhausting. Skywarp and Thundercracker meant well, but their ignorance endangered the entire Decepticon army.

“Okay. Look. Scraplets are total bad news-” Hot Rod began.

“What?!” Thundercracker gasped, offended on behalf of his new parasitic pet. He covered the sides of her head as if to protect her from hearing Hot Rod. “Bitey is NOT bad news!”

“Scraplets EAT METAL!!” Hot Rod shouted.

“So?” Skywarp and Thundercracker shrugged.

“SO!? WE are made out of metal! She eats idiots like us! I’ve lost friends to those monsters!”

“Bitey is not a monster! She is our pet!” Thundercracker huffed.

“Besides, we’re huge and she’s just a tiny little dude. How could she eat us?” Skywarp asked. He teased Bitey by wiggling his fingers just out of her reach. She thrashed in Thundercracker’s grasp.

“Not by herself, obviously, but scraplets are never alone. They hunt in HUGE SWARMS!”

Hot Rod’s mind raced. He needed to get Bitey out of the base as soon as possible. As much as Hot Rod was opposed to unnecessary cruelty, tossing her out into the acid rain wasn’t off the table. His last encounter with a scraplet swarm left him without a right arm until he could cobble together a replacement.

Like Megatron said, he had more Nyonian knowledge than anyone. If knowledge is power and power brings responsibility, then he has a responsibility to protect everyone… apparently from themselves. Since he couldn’t protect his Nyonian family, he’d be damned if he let anything happen to his new one.

“Wait.. Scraplets live in big groups? Do you mean Bitey has a family?” Thundercracker protectively clutched Bitey close to his chest.

Hot Rod internally screamed as Bitey’s teeth clacked off Thundercracker’s glass cockpit. The sharp clinking shivered his circuits.

Thundercracker loved all types of creatures. Even the super dangerous ones. Hot Rod latched onto the concern in his voice when he mentioned Bitey’s family. Maybe he could avert disaster by appealing to Thundercracker’s soft spot.

“Yes. She has a family. A big, gigantic, belligerent, hungry family. I bet they all miss her very much.” Hot Rod began hatching a plan. He had no idea if scraplets cared about each other in a family sense, but they did send out scouts to find new sources of food. If he didn’t get Bitey out of the base fast, there was a good chance of them being overrun with a ravenous swarm.

“Oh my gosh! Bitey, I took you away from your family. I’m so sorry.” Thundercracker cooed apologetically and held the thrashing scraplet aloft.

“Awww… Does this mean we can’t keep her?” Skywarp whined.

“Nope. Roddy is right, Warp. Bitey needs to be with her family. They are probably so worried. Remember when you disappeared? I didn’t know what happened to you. It was terrible. I couldn’t put Bitey’s family through that.”

“I guess…” Skywarp’s broad wings drooped.

“Absolutely! Bitey needs to go back-” Hot Rod quickly agreed before all of Thundercracker’s words sunk into his processor. “Wait… Skywarp disappeared? Skywarp always disappears. Why was that a big deal?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Skywarp turned away and crossed his arms.

“Alright. Fine. Tell me later.” Hot Rod rushed them along. He hopped to his feet, nervous energy coursing through his system. “Let’s get Bitey back to where she belongs. You said you found her near the southern edge of town, right? The scraplets are probably living in the Crystal Caverns. There’s giant veins of natural metallic ore running through the caves. We can’t go out in the acid rain but thankfully the old tunnel system should lead us right to it.”

“Tunnel system?!” Thundercracker halted. His wings trembled.

Bitey thrashed in his grip, constantly trying to get her sawblade teeth into his plating.

“Yeah, sure,” Hot Rod shoved them to a dark corner of the large open space. He wrenched open a hidden blast door similar to the one that sealed the passage where he and Deadlock sheltered from the bomb run. Darkness rolled out the tunnel. No big deal. Hot Rod spent loads of time running through the labyrinthine network to stay one step ahead of Zeta’s goons. He activated his headlights and dropped into the passage. “Let’s go!”

Thundercracker and Skywarp didn’t move.

“Come on!” Hot Rod beckoned over his shoulder. They had to get the scraplet out of the base. If Thundercracker wanted to return her to “her family” Hot Rod would totally go along with it since it achieved his end goal while keeping his new friends happy.

“I- I can’t-” Thundercracker whispered.

“Why not?” Hot Rod crawled back out of the passage. “We have to get Bitey back to her family. Remember? This is the fastest way without going out into the acid storm. Some of the passages are a bit tight, but my spoiler fits. See! You’ll be fine!”

“Can’t I warp her home?” Skywarp asked, wings twitching nervously.

“We don’t know how Bitey will react to the warpy place.” Thundercracker mumbled. He tenderly pet her tiny head with one finger, which she tried valiantly to bite. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

Hot Rod rolled his optics. He appreciated Thundercracker’s dedication to kindness, but Bitey was actively trying to eat him right now. If she had her way, she’d eat them all.

“Plus, you’ve never been where we’re going. You can’t warp places you’ve never been.” Thundercracker sighed.

Hot Rod stared at them. He didn’t understand their sudden reluctance. They were both so gung ho about returning Bitey a second ago.

“Yeah… I guess…” Skywarp kicked at the ground.

Hot Rod watched the two seekers. Skywarp fidgeted with his fingers. Thundercracker’s broad wings shivered. Hot Rod’s optics widened as he put the pieces together. They looked like he felt when he was lost in the memories of Nyon’s inferno during their bomb run. Their faces mirrored Thunderclash’s fearful expression as the acid storm bore down on them. They were afraid.

“Hey? Um- Are you two okay?” He asked softly.

“Yeah! Totally! We're fine! We’re definitely not scared of crawling through the dark creepy tunnels because they remind us of the time we spent trapped in some laboratory while a bunch of nasty scientists tried to figure out how we can do weird stuff. Nope! That’s not it at all. We are fine. Totally fine.” Skywarp blurted out.

“What?!” Hot Rod gasped.

“Okay. You dragged it out of me! Primus!” Skywarp threw his hands up in defeat. “That is exactly the problem.”

“What are you talking about??”

Skywarp cast a quick glance at Thundercracker. The blue seeker shrugged.

“Roddy is weird too. He’ll understand.”

“I am NOT weird!” Hot Rod protested.

“TC means your outlier ability. I can warp. TC can make sonic booms at any speed. You can light yourself on fire. We’re all weird.”

“Outlier?! I don’t know what that word means, but I don’t like the sound of it.” Hot Rod huffed. His plating flared. "Nyonians hold unique abilities in high regard. Everyone has special talents. Sure, they’re all different and ours might be a bit flashier than being good at math or something, but that doesn’t make us weird.”

“Tell that to the Functionist scientists in Vos,” Thundercracker sat down slowly and hugged his knees to his chest. Bitey switched tactics and gnawed on his leg plating, now within her reach. “They grabbed Warp first. When I couldn’t find him, I was so worried.”

“Then those jerks had the nerve to grab TC while he was looking for me. Once they had us, they did all kinds of experiments that I am definitely not going to talk about,” Skywarp sighed. “If I never have to enter another medbay in my entire life it’ll be too soon.”

“Holy Primus! That’s terrible!” Hot Rod couldn’t believe his audials. And he thought things were bad in Nyon. Ducking Zeta’s goons was one thing, dodging scientists eager to dissect your special skills was another thing entirely. The more he learned about the wider world, the more he longed for Nyon, even with all its troubles.

“Yeah. It was Not Great.”

“The thought of being stuck in an enclosed space…” Thundercracker said quietly. He shivered. He shut his optics and vented deeply. “Too small to move... Unable to generate my sonic booms… I don’t know what we’d have done if Starscream hadn’t found us.”

“Starscream?!”

“Oh yeah. He was so cool! I don’t know how he found us, but I’ll never forget how he ripped the cell door off its hinges with his own claws and rescued us. He tore the place apart, all by himself.” Skywarp said, memories of their rescue brightening his mood. “How many people do you think he killed that day?”

Thundercracker just shrugged.

Hot Rod’s anger at the Skywarp and Thundercracker’s treatment burned into new respect for Starscream. Sure they’ve had their differences, but Hot Rod could appreciate anyone going to great lengths to protect their family. He would have done anything to save his people. He tried. Oh Primus, he tried so hard. In the end, he did the only thing he could do.

“He was so worried.” Thundercracker muttered. He gently stroked the scraplet’s head. She twisted her head around to gnaw on his finger tip. “And we’re putting Bitey’s family through the same thing.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Hot Rod’s mind raced as he tried to process what the seekers told him. He didn’t want to rush them face first into reliving their nightmares, but they needed to get Bitey far away from the rest of the Decepticons. He didn’t dare tell anyone else about the scraplets, especially because Megatron would probably suggest that they lead them to the Autobots.

“I don’t like it, but we have to do it. I took Bitey away from her family. I have to put her back.” Thundercracker set his face. He hitched his wings up. He rose to his feet and stared into the small dark tunnel system. The high pitched whine of laboring vent fans contradicted his brave words.

“If you’re going, then I guess I’m going too,” Skywarp mumbled. He wrung his hands.

Hot Rod’s spark twisted in his chest. He had no love for Bitey, but these two idiots were willing to face their darkest memories for the sake of a wild parasite that would eagerly devour them both given the opportunity. Although they were willing to brave their trauma, they shouldn’t have to. A true hero would protect them.

“I’ll take her.” Hot Rod said with what he hoped sounded like strong resolve. “By myself.”

“What?” They both stared at him.

“It’s okay. Now that I think about it, some parts of the tunnels are partially collapsed,” Hot Rod lied. “Your wings won’t fit. I’ll take Bitey to the Crystal Caverns, return her to her family, and take a few pics for you. Wham, bam, in the van. Job done.”

“You would do that for us?” Thundercracker asked.

“Sure. No problem.” Hot Rod shrugged. Technically the absolute last thing he wanted to do right now was carry an angry scraplet through a dark tunnel in search of even more, even angrier scraplets, but if it would save his new friends from reliving their nightmares, he’d do it. How bad could it be?

“Oh thank Primus,” Skywarp vented in relief. “I was NOT looking forward to buried memories rising up to haunt me.”

Thundercracker glared at him.

“I mean- It’s a shame our wings won’t fit. Oh darn.” Skywarp innocently rocked on his heel thrusters.

Thundercracker carefully placed Bitey in an empty energon cube. The wild scraplet rushed the glass, bouncing off the walls of its container. Her metal tarsus clinked sharply against the glass.

“No worries. Besides, I have a job for you two as well. If we’re gonna save Bitey, it will take teamwork.” Hot Rod said.

He accepted the securely contained Bitey from Thundercracker and wrapped a few more wires around the cube's closed lid, just to be sure. The cube vibrated with Bitey’s every movement. Hot Rod swallowed his own fears. She couldn’t get at him from inside an energon cube. Everything is fine.

“Yeah?” Both of their wings perked up. “We’ll do whatever we can to help!”

“Good! Because it’s super important. If Deadlock comes looking for me, distract him. Don’t let him know where I’ve gone.” Hot Rod hopped back into the tunnel. Deadlock would not be happy, but Hot Rod was still annoyed Lock shut him out. Two can play that game. He knew it was petty, but he couldn't help himself.

“We have permission to give Deadlock an endless hard time?” A mischievous grin spread across Skywarp’s face.

“That’s not exactly-”

“Don’t worry, Hot Rod! We’ve got your back! Come on, TC. Roddy needs our help! We’ve got to stand guard!” Skywarp grabbed Thundercracker, eager to get far away from the small dark tunnel. “We won’t let you down!”

“See you around, Bitey. I’m sorry we took you away from your family.” Thundercracker waved as Skywarp dragged him away.

“I’ll get her home safely and be back before you know it,” Hot Rod waved, ducked in the tunnel and waded into the darkness.

“Roddy, wait,” Thundercracker called after him, struggling against Skywarp’s pulling. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I mean it. You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’re doing, for Bitey… and for us,” Thundercracker said quietly. His crimson optics shone. “I know trines have three members, but I feel like ours has four.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Hot Rot smiled. He wasn’t sure what Thundercracker was talking about, but it sounded important. He’d have to ask them to explain it more when he returned.

Hot Rod quickly crafted a makeshift strap for Bitey’s energon cube and slung her across his shoulder. There was no way he was stuffing a live scraplet into his subspace.

“Well, Bitey. Let’s get you home.” Hot Rod said as he jogged down the dilapidated tunnel. He wanted a distraction and dammit he found one. He shivered as the scraplet’s chattering jaws echoed in the darkness.

He thought of the Nyonian guard who always chided him for being too reckless. Hot Rod could picture him: bronze paintwork with gold accents, great strength, super charming, he wore his spark on his sleeve to the point of often being brutally honest. Although he could see him clearly, Hot Rod once again couldn’t recall his name. They often sparred together and Hot Rod always lost when he ran out of patience. Every time he knocked him on his aft, he teasingly said Hot Rod’s recklessness would be the death of him.

Hot Rod hoped today wouldn’t prove his old friend right.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod checked his maps again. He had to be getting close to the area where Thundercracker and Skywarp picked up Bitey. The smooth Nyonian tunnel system gave way to the rough natural caverns running deep underground. Although he managed to keep up a fast pace, navigating the dark treacherous terrain wasn’t easy. Sharp stalagmites rose from the cavern floor and partial cave-ins made for a tight squeeze through a few passages. Hot Rod had to be careful not to scuff his new paintwork. It was a good thing the seekers stayed behind after all.

The scraplet skittered around inside her empty energon cube. The constant plinking of her crashing into her glass prison in a vain attempt to escape was driving him crazy. Hot Rod shivered every time, worried the glass would break and she’d get free to maul him.

“If you could just chill out, this would be so much easier for both of us,” Hot Rod grumbled.

Bitey responded by opening her terrifying little mouth and roared like a revving chainsaw. The strut-chilling sound echoed in the oppressive darkness.

“Rude!” Hot Rod huffed.

He rounded a corner and the narrow passage opened up into a cavernous space. His headlights couldn’t even illuminate the far end. Silvery ribbons of metallic ore gleamed in the closest walls. Hot Rod double checked his navigational data.

“Well, Bitey, this looks like as good a place as any for you. At least there’s plenty of food here.”

Hot Rod crouched down and carefully set Bitey’s case on the ground. He piled up a few nuts and bolts from his emergency first aid kit next to her. The scraplet eyed the metal hungrily. She snapped her jaws and rushed the glass container walls.

“Yeah. I figured you’d like that stuff. Better a few spare parts than me!” Hot Rod smiled. Great. Now he was talking to the monster parasite. Thundercracker must be rubbing off on him.

He scooted back as far as possible and stretched forward to undo the wires securing the lid on the cube. The glass vibrated as Bitey repeatedly rammed against the lid. Hot Rod swallowed his fears and unfastened the last wire. Bitey burst out of her prison and happily chomped on her offering of spare bolts. The sharp crunching echoed loudly in the vast chamber. The horrific sound set chills down Hot Rod’s spinal struts.

“Now to take proof of your safety for TC.” Hot Rod pulled out his battered datapad to snap a quick picture of Bitey in her natural habitat. “Smile.”

Bitey paused and looked up from her meal. Her bright eyes shone pale blue.

Hot Rod took the picture. For a split second, the flash lit up the entire cave.

“Dammit,” Hot Rod swore. After operating in the darkness for so long, his vision swam with spots of light. He reset his optics and froze.

The spots didn’t vanish. Thousands of points of blue light glowed across the ceiling of the cavern, like glittering stars on a moonless night. Except every light came in pairs…

“Uh oh…” Hot Rod whispered. The fuel in his lines turned to ice. He took a cautious step backwards, careful not to make any noise.

Bitey happily munched on her pile of bolts, grinding the hard metal into dust. She looked up at the gleaming lights, all the same exact shade of pale blue as her own hungry eyes. Bitey opened her ravenous maw and screamed. The noise grew, her roar answered by thousands more, swelling all around him. Hot Rod clamped his hands over his helm as the cacophonous volume increased to painful levels.

“Oh frag-oh scrap-dammit-dammit-dammit!” Hot Rod swore, blindly stumbling backwards, unable to tear his optics from the horror unfolding before him..

The ceiling came alive with movement. The lights blinked and swayed. They seemed to pour off the walls and pool into a roiling wave on the floor. Thousands of sharp metallic tarsus clicked harshly on the hard cavern walls.

He found Bitey’s family alright. All ten thousand of them. The entire scraplet swarm surged towards him. Hot Rod didn’t know if they were angry because someone kidnapped one of their own or were simply hungry but he wasn’t about to wait around to find out. He staggered a few more halting steps in shock then bolted.

Fear jolted his system like an electric shock. He was once struck by lightning during a race through a thunderstorm and even it didn’t compare with the energy ripping through him right now. Raw terror spurred him to blind speed. Every circuit, every wire in his system jittered with motion. Primal fear erased all rational thoughts.

RUN!

He had to run. He had to move. He had to get away.

Go. GO. GOOOO!!

The darkness behind him roared with the gnashing of thousands of jaws. When he dared to throw a quick glance over his shoulder, the seething mass of blue lights rushing towards him like an inescapable tsunami chilled him to the core. His vent fans kicked into overdrive.

Hot Rod ran. He ran as fast as he could, scrambling over the broken terrain, dodging sharp stalagmites, ducking under stalactites. If only he could use his alt mode. Wheels were always faster than legs. He’d escape for sure. But the sharp rocks would shred his soft racing slicks. He couldn’t afford anything that would slow him down.

Hot Rod pushed every system to the limit. His vents came shallow and labored as he diverted more power to his legs. Keep going. Faster. Faster. FASTER!

The scraplet swarm fell further behind. Hot Rod pushed himself harder. He skidded around a tight corner and-

BAMMM!

He slammed into what felt like a solid wall and fell hard on his aft.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

Hot Rod’s head snapped up at the polite apology. His headlights lit up something large, colorful, and covered with glitter. Prismatic rainbows scattered across the dark cavern walls.

“THUNDERCLASH?!” Hot Rod screamed.

“Hot Rod? Wow! What a pleasant surprise! I never expected to meet you down here-” Thunderclash began.

“No time! RUN!” Hot Rod sprung to his feet, grabbed Thunderclash and shoved him forward with all his might. Thunderclash stumbled a few halting steps. If the big stupid Autobot didn’t get his aft in gear pronto, Hot Rod would totally leave him behind.

The darkness behind him roared. The scraplet swarm rapidly regained all the ground they lost.

“What is that terrible sound?” Thunderclash asked.

“Scraplet swarm!’ Hot Rod yelled just as the first scraplets rushed around the corner.

“Oh my gosh!” Thunderclash gasped. He staggered in shock for a split second then bolted after Hot Rod. Although Hot Rod was much faster, even in his bot mode, Thunderclash managed to keep pace with his longer limbs. “Are those Arconian scraplets?”

“I dunno! I didn’t ask!” Hot Rod snapped. He was simultaneously relieved that Thunderclash knew what a scraplet was and annoyed that he apparently knew more than a native Nyonian like himself.

“Well, they are native to this area, so we’ll assume they are.”

“First of all,” Hot Rod huffed as he ran full throttle, “We are not a “WE”. Second of all, why does it matter?”

“Arconian scraplets-” Thunderclash wheezed as his larger systems struggled to maintain enough speed, “are extremely territorial. They’ll chase and devour anything that ventures too close to their nest.”

“Fragging great. Best news I've heard all day,” Hot Rod grumbled.

“But once the threat leaves their territory, they’ll give up the chase,” Thunderclash continued, completely undeterred by, or possibly oblivious to, Hot Rod’s sarcasm.

“Wait? Really?!” Hot Rod asked. He always thought the scraplets gave up because their quarry was too fast. He never realized it was simply about distance. They needed to get as far away from their nest site as possible before they caught them.

“Yeah. I read all about them while researching this area. I wanted to explore the Crystal Caverns, what with the acid storm putting the war on hold for a while and all, but I never expected to encounter a scraplet swarm.”

“Around here, you learn to expect the unexpected.”

“Good thing I like surprises! I’ll brave a few scraplets if it means I get to see my hero again!”

Hot Rod turned his head to comment on the stupidity of that remark. No one willingly braves a scraplet swarm. His retort died on his lips when he looked up and found Thunderclash smiling at him. Heat rushed to his cheeks. Stupid Autobot.

The scraplets roared behind them.

“Ugh. I can’t keep up this pace.” Thunderclash gasped. His engine whined, vents coming fast and shallow. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell. “Not on foot anyway. I’ve got to transform.”

“Wait! The terrain is too rough. It’ll shred your tires-” Hot Rod shouted.

Before he could finish his warning. Thunderclash took two bounding leaps and launched himself into the air and activated his transformation cog. Hot Rod gasped at the sound. It was so much deeper than his own and yet, it reverberated so pleasantly through his plating. Still in mid-transformation, Thunderclash vaulted off the ground in a front handspring and twisted into a flip. He continued transforming without losing any of his forward momentum.

Hot Rod gaped in awe as he ran. By combining his transformation sequence with a gymnastic maneuver, Thunderclash was able to transform on the run without losing any speed. He was totally gonna steal that technique.

A split second later, the final pieces of his plating slid into place and a massive transport vehicle slammed heavily to the ground beside Hot Rod. Thunderclash’s burly dual wheels tore into the rocky terrain. His aggressive tire tread easily rolled over large stones and crushed smaller ones into powder. Big, chunky, and heavy, Thunderclash definitely wasn’t built for speed but he was STRONG. He could probably drive through anything.

“Whoaaa…” Hot Rod stared at the colorful transport currently racing along beside him. Thunderclash’s alt mode was impressive. So big and powerful. Sparks shimmered along his spoiler. Not that he cared or anything.

With the advantage of rolling on wheels, Thunderclash actually began pulling ahead. The tunnel narrowed, amplifying the scraplets’ roar from terrifying to deafening.

“Climb aboard!” Thunderclash yelled.

“WH- WHAT?!” Hot Rod screamed, more out of shock than not being able to hear. Life-bond or not, he wasn’t simply going to go for a ride on a random Autobot. He had standards dammit.

“I said! CLIMB ABOARD!” Thunderclash yelled louder. Obviously not built for such high speed, his vehicle mode bounced roughly but he stubbornly kept up his breakneck pace.

Hot Rod was going to protest but the chainsaw scream of the scraplet swarm spurred him into action. He leapt up and scrambled onto Thunderclash’s roof. He dug his fingers into Thunderclash’s seams to avoid getting thrown from the jostling vehicle. Although he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of riding on Thunderclash, it was still better than being eaten alive. At least Deadlock wasn’t around to see it. His teasing would be relentless.

“I don’t know my way around and your alt mode can’t handle the terrain. I’ll drive and you navigate. Okay?”

“Right!” Hot Rod shouted.

Thunderclash turned sharply to the right, speeding down a narrow side passage.

“What the hell did you do that for!” Hot Rod screamed.

“You said RIGHT! I turned right!”

“Listen, idiot! I was agreeing with you! Not giving you directions!” Although Hot Rod was super annoyed that he needed to recalculate their escape route, he couldn’t help but be a little pleased with how quickly Thunderclash listened to him. Just like when he pulled him out of the ditch, Thunderclash simply accepted Hot Rod’s instructions. It was nice to not have to prove himself first. Hot Rod could get used to that kind of acceptance.

“Oh scrap! Should I turn around?” Thunderclash hesitated on the accelerator.

Hot Rod took one glance over his shoulder at the ravenous swarm rapidly gaining on them. His headlights glinted on the whirling sawteeth of the closest scraplets.

“NO!! Whatever you do, don’t slow down!” Hot Rod shouted.

“WHAT?!”

The scraplets’ screeching echoed even louder in the tighter space, their deafening roar overwhelming all other sounds. They swarmed faster, completely filling in the tunnel behind them. Thunderclash had only inches of clearance on either side while his headlights barely brightened the impenetrable darkness in front. The stone walls rushed past at dizzying speed. It seemed like the world was closing in on them from every side.

“I SAID-” Hot Rod yelled as loud as he could, straining his vocalizer to the max.

Suddenly his hud pinged an incoming message to his private comm system. A personal frequency? With Autobot coding?? Hot Rod accepted the request and added the frequency to his authorized contacts list to clear his security codes.

“Did you just throw your personal comm frequency at me?” Hot Rod asked over their newly established private comm link. “Awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Yes. It is. I’m sorry.” Thunderclash apologized. “I need to be able to hear you properly so I don’t screw up, make another wrong turn and get us eaten. The scraplets are so loud I can barely hear myself think. It was extremely rude of me but thank you for accepting.”

“Whatever,” Hot Rod huffed.

He fully expected an argument, with Thunderclash getting up on his self-righteous Autobot soapbox, pontificating about how his impropriety was absolutely necessary. He was shocked that Thunderclash admitted it was inappropriate to fling your personal frequency at someone unsolicited. Hot Rod supposed he could forgive the lapse in manners due to their emergency situation. It was much easier to talk over a private frequency than screaming over the deafening roar of the scraplet swarm.

“I’m not giving you mine.”

“You don’t have to.”

“AND I’m deleting yours as soon as we are safe.”

“Fair enough. So how do we make that happen? The safe part, I mean.”

Hot Rod quickly recalculated their position based on Thunderclash’s impromptu navigational change. They were currently traveling parallel to where he stumbled into the scraplet nest. If Thunderclash was right about the scraplet’s territorial nature, they needed to make a left as soon as possible. A grim smile spread across Hot Rod’s face as he found a perfect escape route. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was their best chance.

“Got it! We follow this passage for about another mile then make a sharp left. Next we-”

“Left after a mile.Got it. I tend to mix up my directions, so give me one step at a time. Let me know when we get close.”

“Will do!” Hot Rod responded, making a conscious effort to avoid any words that sounded like directions. No more answering questions with ‘right’ until they’ve left the scraplets in the dust.

“In the meantime, could you check my right rear fender-”

“Is that some kind of weird Autobot pickup line?”

“What?! NO!!” Thunderclash gasped. His entire vehicle mode glowed soft pink.

“Because if it is, it’s super lame.” Hot Rod teased.

“It’s not an innuendo, it’s a problem. There’s a sharp pain in my fender. It’s killing me. I’m worried there’s a rock jammed in my seams but we can’t afford to slow down and check.”

“Fine.” Hot Rod groaned. “I’ll check. Just keep the pedal to the metal.”

He carefully shimmied along Thunderclash’s broad roof. Bright blue lights from thousands of glowing eyes filled the passage behind them. It might have been pretty if Hot Rod didn’t know each pair of lights belonged to a ravenous metal-munching monster. Ignoring the luminescent wave of death pursuing them, Hot Rod leaned over to inspect Thunderclash’s fender and screamed.

“AHHHH!!”

“WHAT?!” Thunderclash yelled. “WHAT IS IT?!”

“There are scraplets on you!” Hot Rod shouted.

A handful of scraplets were happily mauling their way through Thunderclash’s armored fender. They must have latched on when Thunderclash hesitated after making the right turn. They gleefully tore into a fuel line and energon sprayed down his side panel.

“AHHHH!!! Get’em off! Get’em off!” Thunderclash screamed. He swerved in his fright and scraped the sides of the narrow tunnel, careening from one wall to the other.

“Take it easy! If you wreck, we’ve both scrapped! I’ve got you.”

“Yeah?” Thunderclash’s erratic driving stabilized.

“Yeah. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.” Hot Rod ignited his inner fire and flames licked at his fists. “This might hurt a bit.”

Without further warning, Hot Rod clenched his fists and aimed at the scraplets chewing their way through Thunderclash’s glittery armor. Twin jets of flame blasted from the piping on his forearms. Hot Rod swept his fire along Thunderclash’s injured fender.

At the sight of the fire, the entire scraplet swarm quailed. Eager to escape the brightness of Hot Rod’s flames, the scraplets flung themselves off Thunderclash into the darkness. The few that remained were incinerated into dust. The intensity of the sudden burst of heat ignited the fresh energon running from Thunderclash’s ragged wounds.

“Yee-ow!” Thunderclash yelped. To his credit, he kept plowing through the cavern at full speed ahead despite being mauled and lit on fire.

“Oops!” Hot Rod yelped..

He frantically patted out the flames. Once Thunderclash was no longer on fire, Hot Rod blasted a few gouts of flame towards the scraplet swarm in hopes it would convince them to abandon their relentless pursuit. They did back off a bit, but were still right behind them.

“Sorry bout that,” Hot Rod winced. In addition to the scraplet bites, Thunderclash's rear fender was also badly burned, scorched by his fire.

“What are you apologizing for? You just saved my life! Again! I must be the luckiest bot alive to have you as my personal hero!”

“Not many people consider themselves lucky to know me. And don’t start that hero stuff again. I don’t want to hear it,” Hot Rod groaned, despite the fact that he very much wanted to hear it. “Our left is coming up by the way.”

“Thanks!” Thunderclash skidded around the tight turn and barreled down an even narrower chamber. “Both for the navigation and for saving me!”

“I lit you on fire.”

“And it’s a good thing you did!”

“I don’t think anyone has ever thanked me for lighting them on fire before,” Hot Rod laughed.

He was trying to remain angry at Thunderclash, reminding himself of the glaring Autobot badge in the center of his broad hood, but the gigantic dope was making it so damn difficult. Why did he have to be so pleasant and understanding??

More importantly, why would someone like Thunderclash become an Autobot? He mentioned his massive alt mode limiting his job options. He genuinely cared about Nyon and its customs. How could he join the faction that showed up only to watch Nyon burn? He longed to ask… Why?

“What do we do next?” Thunderclash asked, snapping Hot Rod out of his thoughts.

The new tunnel ran arrow straight with the floor canting slightly uphill. Hot Rod cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The scraplets roared after them in a tumultuous wave of chainsaw screams and flashing blue lights, albeit a bit further behind them than before Hot Rod noticed with grim satisfaction. Scraplets don’t like fire. Good to know.

“Give it all the speed you’ve got!” Hot Rod said as he double checked his navigational data.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“You’ve been doing great, but if you have any extra gears, now is the time to find them. At the end of this straightaway, there’s a deep ravine. The stone arch that used to bridge the gap collapsed a while ago, so we’ll have to jump it.”

“JUMP IT?!”

“Yeah. Just go fast. No big deal.”

“Maybe for you! You’re built for speed. I can’t jump over a ravine! Have you seen my alt mode?! I’m too big!” Thunderclash screamed. His vent fans whined.

“I am currently seeing your alt mode. You can do it.”

“NO! I can’t! I’m too big. I’m too heavy. I’m not-”

“Hey!” Hot Rod cut him off. He didn’t like hearing Thunderclash get so down on his size. Did people give him a hard time about it? Nyonians respected unique sizes and alt modes but through his time with the Decepticons, Hot Rod learned that wasn’t always the case. His weird protective streak flared.

“I don’t know who told you that you’re too big or too heavy. Or that you’re not the right size. Or- or- whatever! Because it’s all scrap. Your frame is yours. Not theirs. No one else has any right to tell you what you should look like. You are who you are. And that’s something no one else can be.”

“But-”

“But nothing! I know you’re not used to this sort of thing, and it’s scary. Both of our lives depend on you. I know you can do this. I believe in you.”

“You believe… in me?”

“Damn straight.” Truth be told, Hot Rod was a little nervous. However, he was a firm believer in make it til you make it.

“Then I can’t fail!” Thunderclash exclaimed.

He pushed himself even harder. His engine roared almost as loud as the scraplets hot on their heels. Hot Rod wasn’t sure how it was possible, but they were actually gaining speed.

Aiming his headlights straight ahead, Hot Rod caught his first glimpse of the ravine.

“Don’t let up now! We’re almost there!” He encouraged Thunderclash. While Hot Rod didn’t know the mathematical formulas to figure out their jump parameters, he knew speed. He couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it. With his newfound acceleration, Thunderclash could make this jump. They were gonna be fine.

“Okay! We’ve got this! Here we GOOOOO!!!”

Hot Rod didn’t even correct Thunderclash’s use of ‘we’ this time. He was right. They were in this crazy situation together. Whatever happens next, happens to both of them.

Thunderclash revved his powerful engine past the redline and launched himself right off the edge of the cliff with zero hesitation. Hot Rod clung tightly to his roof. Time seemed to slow down as they sailed through the air over the bottomless black chasm beneath them. Thunderclash’s huge tires spun freely. For a split second that dragged on like an eternity, Hot Rod felt completely weightless. As they approached the far side of the canyon, time rapidly sped up again like a cresting wave.

“WHOOOOAAA!!”

Thunderclash crashed into the ground on the other side with all his considerable weight landing hard on his tires. His massive vehicle mode bounced violently. After running fast for so long, he slammed on the brakes to halt his wild careening. Hot Rod flew off his roof as Thunderclash’s desperate attempt to regain control toppled him over. He slid to a stop on his side and burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe we made it!” He shouted out loud, giddy with the rush of defying death. “I never in a million years thought I could-”

“Shh! Quiet! We’re not in the clear yet!” Hot Rod whispered sharply.

Thunderclash squeaked and fell silent. Hot Rod crept cautiously towards the rim of the ravine. He flattened himself to the ground and peered through the darkness at the other side. They had traveled quite a distance from where he disturbed the swarm. Hot Rod desperately hoped it was far enough.

The scraplet swarm spilled out of the narrow passage onto the broken platform where the natural bridge used to be. They milled around, the blue light from their eyes drifting through the shadows like fireflies. The deafening roar gradually quieted to gentle chattering. The scraplets gathered together and slowly drew back into the narrow passage like the receding tide. After a few seconds, only silent darkness remained.

They had done it. A broad grin spread across Hot Rod’s face. They had escaped the scraplet swarm!

“AW YEAH!” Hot Rod shouted out loud, switching from their shared private comm to regular vocal communication. He pumped his fist in the air. “The scraplets are gone!”

“Really? We did it?? AWESOME!!” Thunderclash shouted. He was still on his side in his vehicle alt mode. He spun his tires in jubilation.

“I knew you could do it!” Hot Rod laughed. He playfully cuffed Thunderclash’s fender.

“Aw shucks.” Thunderclash’s entire massive truck mode glowed soft pink. “I’ve never done anything like that before. That was probably the fastest I’ve ever driven in my entire life, including the time I tried to outrun the acid storm. I didn’t think I could do it but your confidence gave me confidence. Thank you.”

“Whatever. It’s no big deal,” Hot Rod lied. He hoped Thunderclash didn’t notice the sparks shimmering along his spoiler.

“I hate to ask, but… could you help roll me over?” Thunderclash asked. He rocked his vehicle mode back and forth, trying to regain his wheels.

“The scraplets are gone. Why don’t you just change back into bot mode?” Hot Rod asked as he put his shoulder against Thunderclash’s roof. He wedged himself against the stone wall for extra leverage, diverted extra power to his legs and shoved with all his might. Slowly the massive transport tipped sideways and thumped heavily back onto his burly tires.

“Thanks. That’s better,” Thunderclash vented in relief. “I don’t want to transform because I’m pretty sure if I do my leg will fall off.”

“WHAT?! Fall off?!” Hot Rod gasped. “Are you sure?”

He raced around to Thunderclash’s other side to inspect the wounds to his fender. The scraplets mauled deep gouges through his armor, energon leaked from multiple cracks, and his entire quarter panel was scorched black. His luminous paint work bubbled and peeled where his energon burned from Hot Rod’s flames. Hot Rod knew basic first aid well enough, but limb reattachment was a bit more than his emergency tool kit could handle.

“Yeah. It doesn’t feel great. There’s more connections holding it together in vehicle mode. It’s probably better if I drive back to base. It’ll be a lot harder to hop the entire way on one leg.”

Hot Rod started. Back to base? He had been so focused on survival, so ferociously determined to escape the scraplet swarm, that he forgot about everything else. It was only himself and Thunderclash against the ravenous hoard. All of his compounding problems disappeared, overruled by the immediate mad dash for survival.

One glance at the glaring red badge surrounded by sweeping teal wings on Thunderclash’s hood brought it all back. Autobots. Decepticons. The world was at war. Nyon was gone.

Nyon was gone…

Tears welled up in his optics. His spark twisted in his chest. As nice as Thunderclash was, he still was a member of the faction that watched Nyon burn and did nothing to help. Struggling with his grief, Hot Rod reminded himself that he shared a life-bond with Thunderclash. Since he roused the scraplet swarm when returning Bitey, this whole situation was kind of his fault. Hot Rod decided nothing they did today affected their bond. He still needed to save Thunderclash’s life to fulfill it. He expected to be annoyed that they still shared a connection, but he felt surprisingly relieved. As long as the life-bond lasted, it felt like part of Nyon was still alive.

More than anything, he wanted answers. Although neither one owed anything to each other, they shared a life-bond. At the very least, Hot Rod wanted to know why Thunderclash chose the Autobots. He clenched his fists. He wanted to ask but right now Thunderclash needed medical assistance not a difficult conversation.

“Hot Rod? Are you alright?” Thunderclash asked quietly. His powerful engine rumbled as he rolled forward and gently nudged Hot Rod with his bumper.

Hot Rod groaned and dragged his palm down his face. Thunderclash was literally falling apart at the seams, he was probably in terrible pain, and yet he still found the energy to be concerned about someone else. How could someone like that become an Autobot?

“Yeah. Great. Some dust is bothering my optics is all.” Hot Rod nonchalantly rubbed at his optics and blinked away the tears. He tried for the fake smile that he had come to rely on like armor but found it shaky at best. “But enough about me. You better get back to your Autobot buddies and head straight to the medic.”

“Yeah… about that…” Thunderclash sheepishly rocked on his wheels. “You’ve already done so much for me and I don’t mean to impose, but… Could you point me in the right direction to the beginning of the cave system? We drove so fast for so long, I have no idea how to get back.”

“Honestly I don’t know how you ever get anywhere alone.” Hot Rod laughed and his smile softened to a more genuine expression. He quickly drafted an easy to follow route back to the mouth of the Crystal Caverns. On a whim, he impulsively added a second location to the map and sent both to Thunderclash over his private frequency.

“Honestly, neither do I,” Thunderclash laughed. His engine purred. “I get lost all the time but somehow I always wind up exactly where I need to be. I’m glad I ran into you today.”

“Me too.” Hot Rod answered before he realized it.

“Wait… You sent two maps. I only need the one to get out of the caves. What’s the other one?”

“Well…” Hot Rod rubbed the back of his helm. “You said you were interested in Nyonian culture. On the first night after an acid storm, there’s a good chance the Aurora Sparklights will be visible. I thought you might like to know the best spot to see them.”

Hot Rod knew he probably shouldn’t share his secret location for watching the Aurora, but sometimes he just did things without thinking. Or maybe he was thinking and didn’t want to admit the answer to himself. Truth be told, he hadn’t gone out to see the lights since Nyon burned. Tradition says the lights that dance across the night sky after an acid storm are the sparklights of all Nyonians that have already gone to the Allspark. It’s supposed to be a sign that eventually terrible times end and that good endures forever.

When the storms that raged after Nyon burned finally subsided, Hot Rod hid. He stayed curled up deep underground in the tunnel systems. Despite always loving watching the brilliant sparklights, he worried that he might not be able to see them anymore. What if destroying the city and all its citizens made him unworthy to see any good sign? What if the lights wouldn’t come anymore since Nyon was gone? What if all that is good was truly gone?

“Oh my gosh! Really? Will you be there too?” Thunderclash gasped.

“Maybe. Who knows.” Hot Rod shrugged. He might brave his fears if it gave him a chance to talk to Thunderclash. After all, he had some questions that deserved answers.

“I’ll take those odds! I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Thank you so much!” Thunderclash nudged Hot Rod with his bumper one more time, then turned around and slowly trundled off into the darkness. He gave his airhorn a cheery blast. “See you later!”

“Yeah. Later.” Hot Rod waved.

As soon as Thunderclash’s tail lights faded into the shadows, Hot Rod brought up his contacts list on his hud. He highlighted Thunderclash’s personal frequency, the only Autobot coded contact in his list. His cursor hovered over the “delete” function.

Alone in the darkness, Hot Rod’s spoiler twitched.

He huffed, hit “cancel”, saved all contacts, and closed his hud. Sure he told Thunderclash that he’d delete his frequency when they were safe, but there’s a war going on after all. Is anyone really safe?

It was only a comm frequency. No big deal. What harm was there in holding on to it for a little bit longer?

Chapter Text

Hot Rod yawned.

When was the last time he properly recharged?

He shuffled through the dark tunnels unsure if days or weeks had passed. So much had happened in such a short time. Dodging Deadlock multiple times during the last battle, a flashback to Nyon burning that rattled him to his core, Thunderclash saving his life, Hot Rod saving Thunderclash, getting touch-ups done by Knockout and Breakdown, hanging out with Skywarp, Thundercracker and fraggin’ Bitey. Everything ran together in a giant rainbow blur.

Hot Rod snickered to himself. Know who else was a giant rainbow blur??

The image of certain massive transport with huge powerful tires and more glitter than should be allowable by law popped into his mind. Warmth raced through his circuits. Hot Rod smiled to himself. He must be truly exhausted, possibly delirious, if thinking about an Autobot felt sort of comforting.

He patted his cheeks to wake himself up. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was Aubobots, especially one in particular.

Hot Rod heard raised voices as he drew near the door back to the airforce hangar area. He recognized Deadlock’s angry growl right away. Thoughts about Autobots would have to wait. It sounds like he has enough problems to deal with among the Decepticons right now.

Hot Rod leaned against the secret hatch and listened for a few seconds.

“FOR THE LAST TIME!! Where is he? I know you know,” Deadlock snarled. “AND DON’T YOU GODDAMN TELEPORT ME AGAIN!”

“Hmm… I wonder?” Thundercracker pondered.

“Where is who?” Skywarp asked innocently.

“OH FOR FRAG’S SAKE!!”

“Speaking of frag-” Skywarp started.

“Were we?” Thundercracker cut him off.

“Were we what?”

“Speaking of fragging?”

“AHHHHH!!!” Deadlock screamed in exasperation.

Hot Rod snickered. Skywarp and Thundercracker were doing their part to cover his absence fantastically. The seekers could be downright infuriating when they had a mind to be, circling any answer back into a question,constantly straying further and further from the topic at hand.

It might be petty, but Hot Rod was still annoyed Lock turned off his comm on him. A little harmless pranking served Deadlock right.

He carefully eased the door open and quietly slipped through. Sneaking around a shelf of supplies, Hot Rod tiptoed right behind Deadlock. His bodyguard was so consumed with rage at the seekers that he didn’t even notice.

Thundercracker and Skywarp totally noticed though. Wide mischievous grins spread across their faces. Their wings bounced. Hot Rod held a finger up to his lips and winked.

“NO!! YOU IDIOTS!! For the TEN-THOUSANDTH TIME!!” Deadlock yelled. His engine roared and his finials canted all the way back. “We are speaking about HOT ROD!!”

“What about Hot Rod?” Hot Rod asked innocently.

Deadlock whirled around. His optics went wide and his plating flared.

“Y- YOU-?!?!”

“Me!” Hot Rod flashed a smug grin.

The seekers burst into laughter. Apparently that was one push too far. Deadlock snapped.

“Where. The frag. HAVE YOU BEEN?”

“I’ve been here the whole time.” Hot Rod lied nonchalantly.

“NO YOU FRAGGIN’ HAVEN’T!! I asked these idiots where you were and you know what that got me?? Teleported to different parts of the base. THREE FRAGGIN’ TIMES!!”

Skywarp giggled and high-fived Thundercracker.

“I’VE TRIED YOUR COMM AND YOU TURNED THE DAMN THING OFF!! AGAIN!!” Deadlock ranted. His engine growled. He waved his arms frantically, stopping just short of grabbing Hot Rod and shaking him. “I NEVER KNOW WHERE THE HELL YOU ARE!!”

“ME?! What about YOU?!” Hot Rod snapped back. His temper flared. He was tired. Tired of everyone telling him to be careful. Tired of no one taking him seriously. Tired of not being able to protect the people he cared about. “I told you I would go with you and you totally ditched me. I couldn’t find you anywhere! I WAS WORRIED!!”

“YOU?! You were worried?! About ME?! That’s fraggin’ hilarious!” Deadlock sputtered, taken aback by Hot Rod’s outburst.

“What’s so funny?” Hot Rod growled. The fire inside him raged. Flames licked his forearms.

“IT’S MY JOB TO PROTECT YOU!”

Hot Rod winced. That one hurt. His fire burned hotter. In Nyon they protected each other out of love, not some imposed obligation.

“Oh? Is that what I am? Your JOB?? I’m sorry if I’m making your JOB so difficult.” Hot Rod spat bitterly.

“You’re not making it DIFFICULT, you’re making it damn near IMPOSSIBLE! EVERY TIME YOU FRAG OFF TO PRIMUS KNOWS WHERE WITH YOUR COMM FRAGGING OFF!”

“YOU TURNED OFF YOURS FIRST!” Hot Rod’s temperature rose.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! Of all the IMMATURE, IDIOTIC-”

“Umm- Hey- Excuse me but- Things are escalating quickly here. You two probably shouldn’t-” Thunderclash tentatively interjected.

“MIND YOUR OWN GODDAMN BUSINESS!!” Deadlock roared and rounded on the blue jet.

“Alright. That’s quite enough.” Skywarp said brightly like he was wrangling a brace of exuberant turbo fox pups and not the deadliest assassin on the face of the planet. Dodging in front of Thundercracker with his wings flared wide, Skywarp grabbed Deadlock’s shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Deadlock, you really need to cool down.”

Deadlock’s optics went wide. “Skywarp, don’t you DARE-!”

VORP!

Deadlock never got to finish his threat. Skywarp and Deadlock disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. Left with his rage and no opponent, Hot Rod felt like a burning hot coal dunked into ice water. He hadn’t realized how heated his argument with Deadlock was getting until it stopped without warning.

“Roddy? Are you alright?” Thundercracker asked. He approached cautiously, wings swept low.

“Y- yeah. Sorry about that…” Hot Rod answered sheepishly. Unsure if it was his temper or his raging inferno making Thundercracker nervous, he shook out his flames.

“You don’t have to apologize. Deadlock should never have yelled at you.”

“Maybe... But I shouldn’t have yelled at him either. Talk about escalating the situation…” Hot Rod vented deeply. He was so worried about Deadlock getting hurt on his account and the first thing he did when he saw him was nearly lose control of his fire. Tears burned his optics and shame roiled in his spark. He struggled to keep an even tone, “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Thundercracker shrugged. “It’s okay to be upset.”

“But I really was worried about Lock. And I never meant to upset you.” Hot Rod wiped at his optics. He was barely keeping it together. Primus, he was exhausted.

Thundercracker wrapped him in a gentle hug.

“Family is like that sometimes. I would literally die for Skywarp, but there are times when I feel like choking the life out of him myself. It’s like he’s walking around with the nuclear codes for making me angry. Sometimes we irritate the scrap out of each other.”

“Scrap? Scrap! Scraplets!” Hot Rod’s processor abruptly shifted gears. He’d never been more grateful for a change in subject. He wriggled out of Thundercracker’s embrace. “Speaking of which, I returned Bitey to her family!”

“Really?!” Thundercracker lit up. “You found them?”

“Oh yeah. They were very happy to see her and very angry to see me.”

Hot Rod pulled out his battered datapad to show Thundercracker the picture that nearly got him eaten alive. The blue seeker snatched the pad and caressed the screen.

“Aww! Look at her! She looks so happy in her cave! Thank you so much for taking care of her!” Thundercracker cooed. “Are all those other lights her family’s eyes? Primus! There’s a lot of them!”

Watching Thundercracker fawn over the image, Hot Rod smiled in spite of himself. Sure the whole ordeal nearly got him killed and spawned a terrific argument with Deadlock, but Thundercracker genuinely cared about the little monster. He would have braved his own nightmares to return Bitey to her home. It felt good to help him out and protect him and Skywarp from reliving those memories. Sort of… heroic.

Seeing Thunderclash again was a nice bonus too. Hot Rod hoped the big idiot made it back to safety before he fell apart. After all, he’d like to see him again after the storm to finally have a chance to talk.

VORP!

Skywarp reappeared... Alone.

Hot Rod’s spark sank.

“Warp! Look!” Thundercracker held up the picture. “Roddy returned Bitey to her family!”

“Cool! Lemme see! Lemme see!!”

While the seekers excitedly rambled about the world’s worst pet, worry gnawed at Hot Rod. He tried to push it away until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Hey, Warp?” He asked quietly, anxiety rising like a tide.

“Yeah?”

“Where did you take Lock?”

“To the washracks! I told him he needed to cool down. Get it??” Skywarp laughed.

“Can you take me there too?”

“You sure, Roddy?” Thundercracker looked up. He copied the picture to his own datapad and handed Hot Rod’s back to him. “For being worried about you, he was kinda mean. You don’t have to deal with that scrap.”

“Well… aside from pushing him to the edge in the first place, I kinda gave it right back to him. He’s my friend. I wanna apologize.”

“Personally, I think Deadlock’s a jerk, but if you like him that’s fine. As long as he’s not a jerk to you. I mean we hang out with Starscream all the time and no one likes him.” Skywarp shrugged. “I’ll take you.”

“Call us if you need us,” Thundercracker added. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, Roddy! Let’s go!” Skywarp pounced on him and activated his teleportation ability.

VORP!!

Hot Rod hugged Skywarp tightly, burying his face against the seeker’s chest. He thought maybe shutting his optics would ease the intense disorientation of teleporting but it didn’t make a difference. The same weird weightless discomfort washed over him. Swirling visions of purple invaded his mind. All his circuits tingled. The fuel in his tank churned.

A nanosecond later, they materialized in the washracks clear across the base. Hot Rod desperately hoped things would be different this time. He focused on his vent cycles and willed his systems to stabilize.

No such luck.

Hot Rod dropped to his hands and knees and coughed up the little fuel remaining in his tanks. At least they teleported right over a floor drain.

“Three seconds before puking this time! Congrats! That’s a new personal best! Ya know, I think you’re starting to get the hang of warping!” Skywarp said proudly. He patted Hot Rod’s back. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”

“Great. Thanks.” Hot Rod grumbled. He wiped a bit of energon off his chin. He sat back on his heels and surveyed the deserted washracks. His optics stopped on a familiar sharp edged shadow in the far corner out of the light. Deadlock curled around himself, hugging his knees to his chest. His plating was pulled tight to his frame and his finials canted all the way back.

“Thanks for the lift, Warp. I’ve got it from here.” Hot Rod said to the seeker without taking his optics off Deadlock.

“No problem, Roddy. See you around!” Skywarp gave him a mock salute and disappeared in a flash of violet mist.

Alone with Deadlock, Hot Rod sat on the floor and scooted a little closer to his bodyguard. Deadlock didn’t react. Hot Rod moved a little closer. Deadlock didn’t even spare him a glance, keeping his red optics locked on the floor. Hot Rod scooted even closer to Deadlock’s side. Deadlock’s engine growled. Hot Rod halted. Close enough.

“Hey.” Hot Rod said softly.

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Deadlock’s finials perked up but he didn’t move otherwise..

“I was worried that you’d get in trouble on my account. When you turned off your comm, I thought you didn’t trust me to have your back. I got angry and turned off mine as well. You’ve always been there for me. I want to be there for you as well.”

“Why?” Deadlock mumbled. “You’re not my bodyguard.”

“No, you idiot. I’m your friend.”

Deadlock huffed. “You might wanna reconsider. My friends have the nasty habit of dying.”

“I could say the same to you,” Hot Rod shrugged with a sad smile. “Everyone I ever knew is dead, and I’m the one who pulled the trigger.”

Deadlock flinched.

Hot Rod vented deeply. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his forearms. Maybe he read too much into their friendship. Maybe Deadlock didn’t feel the same way about him. Did he mess up another cultural cue?

His spark ached. Tears stung his optics. He longed for Nyon.

He wished he could run to his old friends. He could see them in his mind, a myriad of colors, scuffed and dented but full of love. Although he could picture them clearly, why couldn’t he remember any of their names?

He thought he had made a new friend in Deadlock, but maybe he fragged that up too…

“I’m sorry.” Deadlock blurted out.

Shocked, Hot Rod turned to face him. Deadlock tentatively raised his optics to meet Hot Rod’s.

“I’m sorry I yelled like a raging idiot. I’m sorry I said you were just my job. I’m just- I’m sorry.”

Hot Rod scrubbed the tears from his cheeks with the heel of his palm as Deadlock continued.

“When I couldn’t contact you again I panicked. Lately anything I feel comes out as anger. But I don’t want to be angry at you, I was afraid of losing you. Not because keeping you safe is my job but because I’d genuinely miss you. I like you, Roddy. I really do. You make me feel, I dunno, like the world isn’t such a dark and terrible place. It’s been a long time since someone called me their friend. I- I want to be your friend too. If- if you still want me.”

Hot Rod smiled. He offered his hand to Deadlock, made a fist and extended his pinky finger.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Deadlock asked.

“Just do what I do,” Hot Rod rolled his optics.

Deadlock mirrored his pose. Hot Rod hooked his pinky finger tightly around Deadlock’s.

“I, Hot Rod of Nyon, solemnly offer this sacred promise to never shut you out again. I can’t promise I won’t run off, but I’ll keep my comm on and keep you posted.”

Deadlock stared at him.

“This is a Nyonian Pinky Promise, the highest, most solemn oath one could make. I care about you. You’re important to me, Lock. I want to make an important promise to show it.”

Deadlock straightened up. He curled his pinky around Hot Rod’s.

“I, Dr- I mean- Deadlock of Rodion, accept your promise. I promise to never shut you out again either. Sometimes I might need to handle things without you and I need you to trust me, but I’ll always keep my comm on too. I- I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

Hot Rod grinned. He shook Deadlock’s hand. Looking up at Deadlock’s face, Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. Deadlock was smiling. Not one of his teasing smug grins or intimidating snarls. For the first time since Hot Rod met him, he looked genuinely happy. Hot Rod’s spark spun. His own smile grew brighter.

“You know,” Deadlock said softly. “I haven’t done anything like this in ages. We had a similar tradition in Rodion where you spit in your palm and then shook hands.”

Hot Rod instantly let go of Deadlock’s pinky, spit in his palm, and offered his hand back to Deadlock.

Deadlock startled.

“What? You promised me using my tradition. I wanna promise in your tradition too. What do you say? Friends?”

Deadlock burst into laughter. Hot Rod basked in the sound like the joyous glow of a campfire in the cold Nyonian nights. Deadlock spit in his own hand and clasped Hot Rod’s. He vigorously shook his hand.

“Best Friends!” Deadlock answered with a smile as bright as Hot Rod’s spark.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod and Deadlock picked up their daily ration of energon and wandered back to their shared room in companionable silence. Hot Rod stifled another yawn. With the recent whirlwind of events, he totally lost track of time. He wasn’t sure if it'd been a long day or a long week, but either way, he was exhausted. Although he couldn’t wait to crash on the nearest available recharge slab, he still had one more task to accomplish.

As soon as they closed the door to their room, Hot Rod flopped onto Deadlock’s berth. Deadlock canted his finials at asymmetrical angles. He flashed a fanged grin and then sat right on top of Hot Rod.

“Hey! Watch it!” Hot Rod laughed. He thrashed, carefully so as to not spill his energon, until Deadlock let him up.

“You asked for it!” Deadlock laughed. He sat down next to Hot Rod, nudged him with his shoulder and nodded towards the empty recharge slab across the small room. “You have your own berth over there.”

“Yeah, but I need to talk to you…” Hot Rod pouted. He sipped his energon and wondered the best way to bring up the subject of Turmoil. They promised to not shut each other out. He hoped Deadlock would keep his word.

“What? You don’t think I can hear you from your own berth? This room is not that big. Sometimes your engine rumbles so loud when you sleep, it keeps me up all night.”

“That is so not true!”

“Prove me wrong.” Deadlock took a gulp of his energon and licked his lips with a smug grin.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Hot Rod groaned and rolled his optics.

“And what is the subject that I’m trying to change?”

“It’s… um…” Hot Rod struggled. Serious words were never his strong suit. He wanted to say something supportive, something to let Deadlock know he cared without sounding insensitive. Instead, he blurted out, “What’s going on with Turmoil?”

Deadlock stiffened.

Hot Rod’s spoiler drooped. He was off to a fantastic start. Why couldn’t he speak like Megatron? The Decepticon leader’s words flowed with grace and power. He could rouse armies to action using only his voice while Hot Rod couldn’t even reassure his friend properly. Although Hot Rod wanted to help, he felt like he was making everything worse. But he refused to give up. Maybe he could make up for his lack of finesse with sheer stubborn determination.

“Lock. We’re friends. I rely on you more than you realize. You always have my back, even when I make it super difficult. I want to do that for you too. I know you told me not to worry about it, but I care about you. We promised to not shut each other out anymore. If there’s anything-”

“Hot Rod,” Deadlock cut him off. He stared blankly at the energon in his cube and continued quietly without raising his optics. “You can’t understand because you’re a good person-”

“Thanks,” Hot Rod huffed bitterly, “but I have more blood on my hands than anyone in this army. I have plenty of experience dealing with the awful side of life.”

Deadlock cast him a sideways glance and sighed.

“Fine. Turmoil’s got a temper. Sometimes he lashes out, but he’s not half as bad as the gearsticks that I dealt with on a daily basis in the Dead End. Plus my armor is a lot thicker now than it was back then.”

Hot Rod wanted to say something, but he didn’t dare interrupt. Guilt gnawed at him about teasing Deadlock about his heavy mods. He fidgeted while Deadlock continued.

“I get the impression that things worked quite differently in Nyon, but the Decepticon army is based on a Kaonian command structure. Ranks are to be respected. Although Turmoil is my commanding officer, I often work missions outside of his authority, like Megatron appointing me to be your bodyguard, and that really hacks him off. He outranks me so there’s nothing I can do except make sure my armor is stronger than his temper.”

“Have you talked to Megs about it?”

“I still can’t believe you call him that,” Deadlock snorted. “But, no. I’m used to dealing with this kind of scrap on my own. I can handle it.”

“But-”

“But nothing.”

“Come on, Lock. You CAN handle it alone, but you shouldn’t have to. Turmoil has no right to lay his hands on you. It’s wrong. If I come with you-”

“NO!” Deadlock snapped. He straightened up and finally faced Hot Rod. His crimson optics burned. “No way. I told you before. You stay the hell away from him. Turmoil may have his issues with me, but he really hates you.”

“Turmoil hates me? What did I ever do to him?” Hot Rod scrunched his face in confusion.

“You exist,” Deadlock shrugged. “Everyone likes you. You’re practically a member of the Elite Trine. Megatron respects your opinion. Hell, even Ravage watches out for you, and he hates everyone. You basically have everything Turmoil wants but could never have because he’s awful. Jealousy is a terrible thing. He’d kill you if he could, but Turmoil’s not as stupid as he looks. He knows attacking you directly would be suicide, so he’ll take a more strategic approach. If he finds out what you care about, he’ll take it away just to hurt you.”

“Ha. The jokes on him,” Hot Rod laughed bitterly, “everyone I love is dead.”

Deadlock flinched.

Hot Rod’s spark twisted. He regretted those words as soon as they left his mouth. So much for saying the right thing.

The bitterness bled out of Hot Rod’s smile. He nudged Deadlock’s side. “Well, almost everyone.”

“Thanks,” Deadlock’s expression softened. “I don’t want to see you hurt. By anyone. For any reason. And not because it’s my job, but because you’re my friend. I’d do anything to protect you.”

“I appreciate it, Lock. I really do, but I know a thing or two about protecting myself. I know you’ve got my back. Let me have yours.”

Deadlock smiled. The genuine warmth in his expression took Hot Rod by surprise. Which left him completely unprepared for Deadlock’s ultimate subject-dodging counterattack.

“Okay. But what I really want to know is… what was so damn important that buggered off on some super secret adventure with your comm system deactivated? Did you have a hot date with THUNDERCLASH?” Deadlock teased. His smile turned sly as he sipped his fuel.

Heat raced to Hot Rod’s cheeks.

“It wasn’t like that!” He blurted out.

Deadlock choked and nearly spit out his energon.

“Oh my god!” He sputtered. He laughed so hard his vent fans hiccuped. “I was just teasing, but you’re serious! At least you had a good reason for turning off your comm. You actually snuck out to go on a date with an Autobot?!”

“It wasn’t a date! It was an accident! I swear!”

“An accidental date?! Fraggin’ hell! It gets even better!” Deadlock wheezed. “Oh, Roddy! You’ve got it bad!”

“I DO NOT!!” Hot Rod protested. He hoped Deadlock didn’t understand the sparks dancing along his spoiler contradicted his words.

“Oooo! Roddy, save me!” Deadlock cooed between fits of laughter. “Don’t worry, Thunderclash! I’ll be your hero!”

“Oh, Primus. Shut UP!” Hot Rod shoved him. “It’s not funny.”

“No. You’re right. It’s not funny.” Deadlock grimmed up. He attempted to stifle his laughter, before losing it again. “It’s fraggin’ hilarious!”

Hot Rod sighed and flopped down on his back on Deadlock’s berth. He stared at the ceiling. He didn’t have a crush on Thunderclash. Why should he? The rainbow idiot was an Autobot after all. A member of the faction that stood back and let Nyon burn. The Autobots showed up too late to even assist with evacuations. But Thunderclash didn’t seem like a bad person and being called a hero made Hot Rod’s spark spin sideways.

Why does every new day bring more complications than the last?

After a few moments, the berth shook as Deadlock flopped heavily down next to him.

“So…” Deadlock asked. “If it wasn’t a date, what was it?”

“A long story,” Hot Rod mumbled.

“Then tell me,” Deadlock nudged him. “We promised not to shut each other out. Remember?”

“Alright. Fine. Only if you promise not to laugh.”

“I promise to do my best,” Deadlock snickered.

“Fair enough,” Hot Rod smiled.

He snuggled next to Deadlock and told him the whole story from the seekers to the scraplets to him literally running into Thunderclash and their mad dash for safety. For his part, Deadlock didn’t laugh. If anything he grew more somber as Hot Rod went on. Although he promised to be open with Deadlock, Hot Rod left out the bit about saving Thunderclash’s personal frequency. After all, it was a very small, totally insignificant detail.

By the time Hot Rod finished, Deadlock seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Hot Rod yawned and leaned against Deadlock. The steady revolutions of his engine hummed pleasantly against Hot Rod’s side. It felt so nice. Hot Rod grew drowsy.

Truth be told, he’d been having trouble recharging, aside from the nightmares that he never talked about, he felt crushingly lonely. In Nyon, he rarely recharged alone. For him, there was nothing romantic about sharing a berth. It was a matter of survival. They rarely had enough energon to go around so most bots deactivated their internal temperature controls. When you rationed fuel to stay alive, you couldn’t afford to be comfortable. Hot Rod’s innate affinity for fire meant he always ran hot, even on low rations. His friends used to huddle around him during recharge, basking in his constant warmth.

His empty berth was another reminder of everything he lost.

“Are you gonna go see those aurora lights after the acid storm with him? Thunderclash, I mean?” Deadlock asked quietly.

“Mmm hmm,” Hot Rod hummed. He was so tired and Deadlock’s berth was so cozy. His optics flickered.

“I know you wanna ask him about why he became an Autobot, but you might not like the answer.”

“Doesn’t matter. I want to know,” Hot Rod mumbled sleepily. He curled up next to Deadlock and hoped he didn’t ask him to move. Hot Rod felt safer and more comfortable than he had since Nyon burned.

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Hot Rod yawned. “It’ll be okay. He’s a good person.”

“There’s plenty of good people who are Autobots, including the best person I’ve ever known,” Deadlock muttered. “But we’re at war. It complicates things.”

That comment caught Hot Rod’s attention. Deadlock sounded so sad and distant. Hot Rod tried to say something, but his brain couldn’t put words together. He was already halfway into recharge. He hoped he remembered enough to ask Deadlock about it later.

“Be careful, Roddy. Autobot? Decepticon? It’s an awful big gap to bridge right now. No matter how much you want it, there is no good outcome.”

Deadlock continued talking, but the soft cadence of his words and the steady rhythm of his engine lulled Hot Rod into recharge. He passed out in a peaceful sleep full of half remembered dreams of rainbows.

Meanwhile…

Thunderclash trundled through the dark cavern system, slowly navigating his way back to the Autobot base. Every bump, every jostle shot pain through his mangled fender. Whenever his endurance waned, he checked his map again and it felt like he was driving on clouds.

Not only did Hot Rod provide him with a map back to safety, he gave him the coordinates of the best spot to watch the Aurora Sparklights after the storm. No matter how severe his injuries, Thunderclash would survive on sheer determination if it meant seeing the Nyonian speedster again.

Hot Rod.

Thunderclash repeated his name. His massive engine purred. Over the past few days, whenever Thunderclash found himself in trouble, Hot Rod swept in to the rescue. He was so cool.

Finally passing the border checkpoint back into safety, Thunderclash sighed with relief. He cheerily beeped without stopping as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe waved from their guard posts. Wearied by the pain, Thunderclash worried if he stopped to chat, he might not be able to get moving again.

He dragged himself directly to the medbay. Unfortunately, his gigantic truck alt mode was too big to fit through the door. The familiar insecurity about his large size flared. Before he could apologize for being too big, Hot Rod’s words rang in his audials.

“You’re not too big. You are who you are. And that’s something no one else can be.”

Thunderclash smiled, feeling more comfortable in his plating than he had in a long time. Hot Rod knew exactly what he needed to hear. Not only was he ferociously brave and extremely good looking, but he was also incredibly eloquent. And they shared a life bond. He must be the luckiest bot in the entire universe.

Now that he finally stopped moving, the pain quickly caught up with him. Thunderclash had to get into the medbay but wouldn’t fit until he transformed. Since he was reasonably certain his leg was going to fall off when he activated his transformation cog, he didn’t want to do it without a medic present. Instead of calling out, Thunderclash chuckled to himself and simply blasted his airhorn.

HOOOOONK!!!

Thunderclash laughed as he heard a crash followed by a string of obscenities that would curdle motor oil. It sounded like Ratchet fell asleep at his desk again. Maybe another rude awakening will teach him to actually go recharge in his room for a change.

“What the HELL?!” Ratchet stormed to the door brandishing a wrench. “This is a goddamn medical facility. Use a little damn decorum, would you?”

“Nice to see you too!” Thunderclash laughed.

“Where the hell have you been?” Ratchet grumbled. “With the acid storm, I thought you’d be hiding out here like usual.”

After his first run in with an acid storm nearly killed him, Thunderclash made a conscious effort to never repeat that experience. Since the medbay was always the most sheltered place on any base, he usually hunkered down in Ratchet’s office to weather the storm. Oddly enough, the acid storms which were once his greatest fear became sort of comforting to him because it meant he'd get to spend time with Ratchet.

"Aw. Did you miss me?" Thunderclash teased.

"Like a hole in the head." Ratchet rolled his optics with a fond smile. “I haven’t refueled yet-”

“Wow. Big surprise.”

“Shut up. Come on in and we can catch up. You won’t fit through the door in your alt mode though. Transform and haul your aft in here.”

“About that…” Thunderclash nervously rocked back and forth on his wheels preparing himself for an intense explosion of pain. “I might need a bit of help.”

“What? Why?”

Thunderclash answered by spinning his transformation cog. The plating around his damaged fender ground harshly along the torn and burned seams. His mauled fuel lines stretched and snapped with an excruciating tug. Thunderclash grit his teeth. As he stood up, sure enough, all the damaged connections ripped apart and his right leg fell off in a spray of energon.

Ratchet’s optics flared bright blue. Thunderclash leaned heavily on the door frame. They both stared in silence at his mangled leg laying on the floor in a growing pool of fresh energon. Thunderclash shuddered. Even though he knew it was coming, looking at one of your limbs laying on the ground apart from your body was a surreal experience.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Ratchet yelled, quickly recovering from his shock.

“I guess you could say, I don’t have a leg to stand on,” Thunderclash grinned sheepishly.

“For frag’s sake!” Ratchet grumbled. “Why is your leg on my medbay floor? What happened to you??”

Despite his barrage questions mingled with profanity, Ratchet leapt into action. He rushed to Thunderclash’s right side and steadied him as he hopped towards the heavyweight side of the medbay with the extra large berths, leaving a trail of spilled energon in his wake. Thunderclash winced although it didn’t hurt as bad as he expected. Then again, what could possibly be worse than getting caught in an acid storm? After nearly being chemically burned to death, his tolerance for pain was set pretty high.

“I suppose I should give you a leg up on the situation.” Thunderclash snickered. Partially delirious, possibly going into shock, he wondered if Hot Rod appreciated a good pun, especially if it annoyed someone else. He had a feeling that he did.

“Oh my god,” Ratchet huffed. “Is that really what you’re going to do? Show up on my doorstep with an impromptu amputation and make leg puns?! Are you serious?!”

“If the shoe fits!” Thunderclash grinned.

Ratchet glared at him.

“If you must know, I went exploring the Crystal Caverns under Nyon. Fun fact: they apparently are home to a large colony of Arconian scraplets!”

“Scraplets? That explains the ragged nature of the damage. It doesn’t explain the burns though.”

“There’s more to the story. I’m going to go out on a limb-”

“Stop it! Damn!”

“Ratch. Please. I have a leg-itimate problem here.”

“If the next words out of your mouth include anything starting with ‘l-e-g’, I will manually deactivate your vocalizer.”

“Okay! Dang! Sorry for being such a heel.” Thunderclash laughed.

Ratchet groaned as he eased Thunderclash down onto the medical berth. He ran back to grab Thunderclash’s leg, placed it next to him, then raced for his tool kit.

Thunderclash winced. Although it wasn’t as bad as being burned by acid, losing a limb still hurt like crazy. Instead of focusing on the pain, he thought about Hot Rod. Escaping the scraplets together, jumping over the ravine, making a plan of sorts to watch the Sparklights when the storm was over.

Logically he knew his condition was serious, but he was with his best friend who also happened to be the most skilled doctor ever to walk the face of Cybertron. Plus he had another opportunity to meet with Hot Rod on the horizon. Under the circumstances, Thunderclash genuinely felt like the luckiest person alive.

“You know,” Ratchet began as he prepped all the equipment needed for the limb reattachment surgery, “you’re awfully chipper for someone who’s literally falling apart at the seams.”

“It’s probably because the universe is so full of wonder-”

“And you’re so full of scrap.You might be the eternal optimist, but this is a bit much even for you. Waltzing in here on one leg with stars in your optics. What really happened? Did you meet someone?”

Ignoring Ratchet’s interruption, Thunderclash continued his romantic rambling, “Tragedy and hatred might get more play on the news cycle, but everyday there are thousands of unspoken acts of kindness and love. When you get down to essential elements of creation, it’s fundamentally good. There’s so much love-”

“Cut the scrap. What’s his name?” Ratchet cut him off.

“Hot Rod.”

“HOT ROD?!” Ratchet sputtered, nearly upsetting his tray of neatly aligned torch tips. “The Nyonian rebel leader who is now a respected member of Decepticon High Command?! That Hot Rod?!?”

“I guess? Unless there’s another one?”

“NO! There’s not “another one”,” Ratchet made the air quote with his fingers. He rushed around, gathering more tools for his unscheduled limb reattachment surgery. “Goddammit, Clash! What are you thinking?!”

“That Hot Rod is amazing, wonderful, and so super cool?” Thunderclash answered with a dreamy smile.

“Frag it all, Clash! He’s a Decepticon!” Ratchet lightly rapped his helm with a wrench.

“So? He’s my hero.”

“So, in case you haven’t noticed, we are at war.”

Ratchet nudged his arm and Thunderclash opened the medical access panel on his forearm so the medic could connect the cables that would ease him offline for the surgery.

“It doesn’t matter. When I first met him during the Decepticon’s last bomb run, Hot Rod was obviously struggling. Seeing Nyon on fire again had to be awful for him. But that didn’t stop him from going out of his way to pull me out of a ditch and save me from the acid storm. Just now he saved me from the scraplets. He’s so incredibly brave, courageous, and inspirational. When I’m with him, I don’t worry about being too big, or too colorful, I can just be myself and it’s enough. I really like him, Ratch.”

“I’m sorry. As a medical professional, it is my duty to inform you that there is no saving you.” Ratchet shook his head. “I can reattach your leg, but you are headed for a terminal case of spark break.”

“It’ll be fine, Ratch. Hot Rod is a good person. One of the best.”

“There’s plenty of Decepticons who are good people,” Ratchet sighed with sudden weariness, “and there are plenty of terrible people who are Autobots. War doesn’t take personal virtue into account.”

“But-” Thunderclash struggled to concentrate. His remaining limbs felt so heavy. Ratchet must have already started the sedative drip.

“But nothing. Clash. I say this because you’re my friend and I don’t have many. I don’t want to see you get hurt. It doesn't matter how badly you want it or how fiercely you care, as long as we’re at war, the gulf between Autobot and Decepticon is too deep to bridge. There can be no good outcome.”

Lately Ratchet rarely showed any emotion beyond annoyance, but right now he seemed so overwhelmingly sad. Thunderclash wondered why. His spark twisted. He longed to comfort him but he could barely keep his optics open.

“Everything will be alright, Ratch... You’ll see…” he murmured before passing out into a peaceful recharge filled with warm dreams of dancing flames.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod doodled in his datapad, barely aware of Soundwave droning on and on. He didn’t want to be rude, but the communications officer’s inexpressive delivery and unchanging tone made it incredibly difficult to pay attention. Although the meeting only started half an hour ago, it felt like ages.

For the past few days, the raging acid storm kept the war on hold and Hot Rod had thoroughly enjoyed the down time. He played pranks with the seekers, raced the Stunticons, listened to Ravage explain other cities’ cultural customs, and shared stories of Nyon with Deadlock. Since he and Deadlock promised to be more open with each other, Hot Rod confessed about his trouble recharging alone. To his shock, Deadlock completely understood, as he did the same thing in the Dead End to conserve fuel. So they pushed their berths next to each other, started recharging together, and they’ve both been sleeping better.

Honestly, Hot Rod didn’t care if the acid storm lasted forever. Secretly, he sort of hoped it would. Through the mundane daily routines, he was almost beginning to feel normal again.

Unfortunately, the storm clouds were breaking up and the war machine was slowly waking from slumber.

Megatron called a strategy meeting to plan their next phase of attack. Hot Rod was totally gonna bail to catch up on the latest gossip with Knockout and Breakdown, but Deadlock was adamant about attending. Since Turmoil was also invited to attend, there was no way Hot Rod was going to let Deadlock go alone. He deliberately sat himself right between them.

Hot Rod focused on his doodle of a super rad dragon. He narrowed his optics. Did it need more flames? Yeah. It needed more flames.

“Ow!” Hot Rod yelped when Deadlock kicked his foot under the table.

Hot Rod looked up to find everyone staring at him.

“Well?” Megatron asked. He leaned forward on the table and templed his fingers as if expecting an answer.

“It’s a deep subject!” Hot Rod joked. “Get it? Well? Because it’s a hole in the ground?”

Starscream burst into laughter. Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Soundwave’s expression didn’t change but Ravage purred and swished his tail in amusement. Turmoil’s engine growled, low and dangerous.

Hot Rod cast a desperate glance at Deadlock. His bodyguard rolled his optics and sent him a private internal comm.

>>Megatron just asked you about when it would be safe to launch a new attack after the storm. These meetings are important. You should really pay attention.<< Deadlock huffed.

>>I tried,<< Hot Rod whined over their internal link, >>but they are so tedious. Thanks for the hint!<<

“All joking aside,” Hot Rod cleared his vocalizer and continued out loud, “We should wait until morning before venturing out of the base.”

“Acid rain stopped,” Soundwave intoned. “Weather forecast: clear.”

“Yeah. But it’s still super dangerous.” Hot Rod said.

“Please explain,” Megatron commanded.

“No worries, Megs. I was just about to!”

“Yeah, MEGS!” Starscream purred. “Let our Nyonian expert finish.”

Megatron groaned. Starscream flashed a wicked grin, wings held high. Hot Rod nodded. At least someone else was adopting the Nyonian tradition of informality among leaders. Deadlock shook his head.

“As I was about to say,” Hot Rod continued, “the acid rain is over, but now there’s loads of corrosive puddles everywhere. If someone falls into one of those glowing green death-traps, that’s it. Game over.”

“How long does it take for them to dissipate?” Megatron asked, ignoring Starscream’s snickering.

“The puddles should sink after a few hours. Once the sun rises, they will evaporate fairly quickly. Since I discovered that the Autobots have someone familiar with this weather pattern on my last scouting mission before the storm, they will likely wait until morning as well.”

Hot Rod deliberately left out any details about Thunderclash. After all, the Nyonian life-bond they shared was his business alone. No one else needed to know about it. Especially not Turmoil.

Plus he needed the war to wait a little while longer. If the rain had stopped, tonight the Aurora Sparklights should be visible. Hot Rod had pre-existing plans.

“Hmm…” Megatron tapped his chin deep in thought. “I wonder what Optimus will do…”

“I’ll go find out,” Hot Rod shrugged.

“What?”

“I know this city. I can easily sneak across the battlefield and scout around the Autobot-held territory. Then I’ll report back my findings.”

“Very well. This meeting is adjourned.” Megatron slammed the table with one hand. “Hot Rod, go. See what you can discover and report directly back to me. The rest of you, prepare your troops for battle. Unless Hot Rod brings back new intelligence, we attack at dawn.”

Everyone stood up and gathered their notes. Mobilizing the entire army after days of downtime was no small task. Hot Rod didn’t envy any of the commanders. He grabbed his sketch pad and bolted for the door. When Deadlock stood up, Turmoil laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Deadlock, you’re with me,” Turmoil said, tightening his grip. “We have much to prepare.”

Deadlock froze.

Hot Rod stopped in his tracks. His protective streak flared. He focused his fire on his right hand, superheating his fingers and whirled around.

“Sorry, bud. If I’m going scouting, I’m gonna need my bodyguard,” Hot Rod said. Although he kept his tone light, he batted Turmoil’s hand away with his scorching hot hand.

Turmoil hissed in pain and released Deadlock. He clutched his burned hand tight to his chest and glared at Hot Rod. His engine growled.

“Ain’t that right, Megs?” Hot Rod asked over his shoulder with a smug grin. He stoked his fire a bit hotter and edged himself between Deadlock and Turmoil. If Turmoil thought he was gonna hurt Deadlock on Hot Rod’s watch, he had another thing coming. Hot Rod had no qualms about roasting him to ashes on the spot.

“Absolutely,” Megatron absent-mindedly agreed as he pored over a stack of data pads. He waved vaguely in the air. “Turmoil, find someone else for your purposes.”

“But, sir-” Turmoil began to protest.

Megatron locked Turmoil in his gaze and narrowed his optics without a word.

“I mean- Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Turmoil saluted and skulked out of the room. He glared at Hot Rod as he slipped out the door. Hot Rod flipped his middle finger at him.

“Oh, Roddy, never change.” Starscream cackled. “Things are so much more interesting with you around.” He flipped his wings and casually snatched a datapad from Megatron’s grasp to review it himself.

“Thanks?” Hot Rod shrugged. He still didn’t quite get what the big deal was.

“The sooner we have an idea about the Autobots movements the better,” Megatron murmured, deep in thought processing all the information before him.

“Right! Totally! My scouting mission! Which I am leaving for right now! See ya soon, Megs!”

Hot Rod grabbed Deadlock and shot finger guns at Megatron as he ran out the door. Starscream laughed so hard his vent fans wheezed.

Once they were alone in the hallway, Deadlock came to an abrupt stop. Hot Rod nearly tripped over him.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Deadlock mumbled. His finials canted back.

“Did what?” Hot Rod asked.

“Scorched Turmoil and sent him packing. He’s a commander, Roddy.”

“He’s also a jerk. I don’t care what his rank is.”

“But-”

“I told you, I have your back,” Hot Rod grinned.

“Thanks… but… what if he tries to retaliate?” Deadlock pulled his plating tight to his frame. “I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt on my account.”

“Frag him. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Hot Rod slung his arm around Deadlock’s shoulders. His bodyguard flinched at the unexpected contact. Deadlock’s reaction made Hot Rod’s spark twist. He warmed his plating a bit and squeezed Deadlock a little tighter.

“Don’t rent Turmoil any more space in your brain. Evict him from your mind.” Hot Rod said. “We’ve got other stuff to worry about right now.”

“Ah, yes!” Deadlock agreed. He snapped out of his daze and grinned. “If the acid storm is over then the Aurora should be visible soon. We wouldn’t want to be late for your secret date tonight, would we?”

“It is so NOT a date,” Hot Rod protested.

“YES! It so totally is!” Deadlock teased. He playfully elbowed Hot Rod’s side.

“No way!” Despite his adamant protests, Hot Rod’s cheeks warmed. He really hoped Thunderclash didn’t forget, or get lost.

“Roddy.” Deadlock deadpanned. “You specifically asked Thunderclash to meet you at a specific place at a specific time to witness a specific event. Together.”

“Exactly! So not a date.”

“That is the literal definition of a date!” Deadlock laughed. “If you look up the word date in the dictionary, that is exactly what it says. I bet there’s even a picture of Thunderclash there! And the caption reads “the perfect date”.”

“Oh my god! Stop!” Hot Rod shoved him. The bright pink glow from his blushing face reflected on Deadlock’s heavy armor.

“I can’t say that I agree with you meeting him again, but if we’re gonna do it we better get moving.”

Hot Rod nodded. Deadlock made a valid point. He might not like the things Thunderclash had to say about becoming an Autobot, but he still wanted to know. Besides, even if Thunderclash doesn’t show up, Hot Rod still wanted to see the Aurora Sparklights.

Anxiety gripped his spark. What if he couldn’t see the lights anymore? What if they were gone like the rest of Nyon? What if-

“Hey.” Deadlock tentatively poked him. “You okay? You went all quiet on me.”

“Yeah. I’m fine-” Hot Rod steadied himself. He was about to plaster on a fake smile when he remembered his promise to Deadlock. They promised not to shut each other out anymore. He vented deeply. “Although... I’m a little nervous.”

“Ah yes. First dates will do that,” Deadlock nodded sagely.

“Ugh. Shut up,” Hot Rod groaned.

Deadlock laughed. Hot Rod playfully shoved him again, which was a mistake. This time Deadlock easily caught him in a headlock. Despite his best squirming, Hot Rod couldn’t escape Deadlock’s grasp.

“Okay! Okay! I give up! Lemme go!” Hot Rod tapped Deadlock’s side in surrender. He laughed. The playful roughhousing burned up Hot Rod’s anxiety, leaving him with only excitement.

“I win!” Deadlock proudly proclaimed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hot Rod brushed him off. “Quit fooling around so much, Lock. Our top secret scouting mission is super important. We should really get moving.”

“Me? But you- Ugh. Nevermind.” Deadlock shook his head. “Come on, Sparkbreaker. We don’t want to keep your date waiting.”

Maybe he was just excited about getting outside again and seeing the Aurora, but this time Hot Rod didn’t even bother correcting him.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod and Deadlock crouched behind a low rise at the base of a cliff on the edge of town far from either base. Towering high above them was the point that Hot Rod marked on the map for Thunderclash. From the dizzying precipice they’d have a clear view of the entire sky, unobstructed by Nyon's burnt out remains, to witness the Aurora Sparklights.

How many times did he wander up that trail with his friends to view the Sparklights together? Now that he thought about it, Hot Rod realized he never came here alone before. He was grateful for Deadlock’s company, annoying as it was at the moment.

“If I’m supposed to meet Thunders up there, why are we waiting down here?” Hot Rod whispered impatiently.

“Because!” Deadlock distractedly answered. His finials canted back as he scanned the darkness.

Cybertron’s remaining moon peeked through the breaking clouds, casting silvery beams of light onto the shimmering green pools of acid dotting the landscape. Twisting shadows danced among the rising mist. Acid hissed as it slowly dripped off overhanging debris, creating the only sound in the eerie silence.

Hot Rod shuddered. He hated waiting. He hated the sound of the dripping acid. He hated the empty streets and wandering shadows. More than anything, he hated the increasing anxiety that he might not be able to see the Sparklights anymore. After all, he’s the one who pressed the detonator and destroyed the city. It’s his fault that he had to come here alone. He clenched his right hand to stop its trembling.

“‘Because’ is not an answer! Not this time or the first six times.” He snapped.

“If you don’t like my answer, then quit asking.” Deadlock never broke his focus. He continued his silent vigil.

“Whatever,” Hot Rod huffed. His plating twitched. He couldn’t keep still any longer. He planted one hand on Deadlock’s shoulder and easily vaulted over his bodyguard. “I’m outta here.”

“No you don’t!” Deadlock leapt up and grabbed Hot Rod’s spoiler. He yanked him back to their hiding spot.

“Hey! Watch it! Don’t smudge my polish!” Hot Rod yelped. He visited Knockout for a quick touch up before they left tonight. Not that it was a date or anything, but there was no harm in looking good.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Deadlock hissed.

“To the cliff where I told that idiot to meet me. Duh.” Hot Rod rolled his optics. Maybe Deadlock could sit quietly forever like some kind of super boring stone, but Hot Rod had reached his limit of silent stillness ages ago, if he ever even had one at all.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

Hot Rot glared at him. His engine growled.

“Because,” Deadlock sighed wearily, “there is only one trail up to the point.”

“So?” Hot Rod’s plating twitched, but Deadlock held him firm.

“So… if your Autobot buddy brings reinforcements, there’s no other way out. What if he’s planning some kind of ambush? You are a member of the Decepticon High Command. He could try to kill you or take you prisoner. We need to be sure he comes alone. And even then, he has a fairly big size advantage over you. Meeting him alone is dangerous.”

“Are you kidding me right now? Paranoid much?” Hot Rod laughed. “I’ve met him alone several times already and everything was fine. Not everyone is some kind of secret assassin, you know.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You can’t be too sure. The good ones keep it hidden extremely well.” Deadlock stated grimly. “Watching out for you is more than my job…” His serious expression softened, “I’m not just your bodyguard anymore. I'm your friend. Your- your best friend. Right?”

“Hell yes! Best friends forever!” Hot Rod exclaimed emphatically because the uncertainty in Deadlock’s voice broke his spark.

“Well…” Deadlock’s plating twitched. “I haven’t had one of those in a long time and I don’t intend on losing you any time soon.”

“Relax, Lock,” Hot Rod waved off his best friend’s concerns. An image of the glittery Autobot’s lopsided grin came to his mind. “There’s no way Thunderclash is a secret assassin. In fact, I don’t think he’s capable of even minor malice. If anything, he’s too trusting. Like to the point of being gullible. For example, we’re on opposite sides of the war and on several occasions he’s helped me and followed my instructions without question. For all he knows, the map I gave him could be a trap. Honestly, he needs a bodyguard more than I do.”

“Hmm… I guess… But we are on an active battlefield. There could be other Autobots out there.”

“Puh-lease,” Hot Rod groaned. “We’re standing in the burned out husk of a city surrounded by corrosive pools of acid in the dead of night. Who in their right mind would be out there?”

“You mean besides us?” Deadlock asked with a teasing grin, flashing a hint of fang.

“Yeah right,” Hot Rod laughed. “We’ve got to be the only bots crazy enough to-”

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted Hot Rod’s teasing. Deadlock tackled him. His hand clamped over Hot Rod’s mouth as they tumbled back behind a pile of debris into the safety of the shadows. They slammed hard into the ground. The weight of Deadlock’s heavy armor mods pressed down on him.

Hardened bits of ash loudly crunched as the approaching person drew near. Fear shot through Hot Rod’s circuits. What if Deadlock was right? What if Thunderclash brought a whole squad of Autobot assassins here to kill him? Or take him prisoner?? Or- or worse???

Hot Rod struggled to maintain control over his fire. If he flared out in fright now, he'd burn Deadlock to a crisp. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for another friend’s death. His vents came fast and shallow. Hot Rod closed his optics and struggled to master his fear.

He focused on the calming techniques one of Nyon’s energon scouts taught him. Although he couldn’t remember his name either, Hot Rod could picture his dusky pink paintwork, meant to match the energon he searched out for them all to share. He could feel his steady hand on his shoulder. He could hear his even tone instructing him to count the revolutions of his engine. Hot Rod vented deeply, and slowly counted piston pulses. Much to his relief, his flames calmed.

Another noise broke the night’s silence. Soft and lilting, the sound drifted along on the night breeze like the swirling mist. It sounded almost like… humming?

A massive figure materialized out of the shadows. Moonlight illuminated the huge form like diamond fire.

“I think this is the right spot?” The figure mumbled.

Hot Rod’s optics widened. Heavy footfalls? Distractedly humming a jaunty tune while traversing dangerous terrain? Shining glittery appearance? Only one person could walk that thin line between oblivious wonder and foolhardy bravery: Thunderclash!!

“Wow. That cliff looks really high. I bet you can see the whole city from up there. Hot Rod was right. It is the perfect spot to see the Aurora Sparklights,” Thunderclash mused to himself.

He put his hands on his hips and looked around for a few seconds, likely considering an alternate route.

“Well. I suppose the cliff isn’t going to climb itself and I don’t see an easier way. I better continue following Hot Rod’s map and get moving. It took longer than I thought to navigate around all the acid pools. I hope I haven’t kept him waiting.”

Thunderclash smiled dreamily and sighed. “Hot Rod… My hero… I really hope he comes. I can’t wait to see him again. He is so awesome!”

Deadlock snorted. He released Hot Rod to clamp his hands over his own mouth as he struggled to stifle his laughter. His whole frame shook. It tickled. Hot Rod elbowed Deadlock. While he was looking forward to seeing Thunderclash again, he was hoping to make a more heroic entrance than tumbling out of a pile of debris entangled with his hysterically giggling best friend.

“What was that?” Thunderclash turned their way. He narrowed his crimson optics. “It almost sounded like… laughter?”

>>Primus, Lock! Knock it off! He totally heard you!<< Hot Rod hissed over their private comm link.

>>Sorry, Roddy.<< Deadlock wheezed. >>He’s so ridiculous. The size! The glitter! The talking to himself! Plus he’s got a crush on you the size of Luna 1! OooOoo! Hot Rod My hero!!<<

>>Shut up!<<

“Oh my gosh! I heard it again!” Thunderclash gasped. “I know exactly what it is!”

Hot Rod and Deadlock froze and stared at each other. The jig was up.

“A hyenabot!” Thunderclash proclaimed with excitement.

Deadlock nearly lost it. He was barely containing his laughter now. His vent fans shuddered, rattling the debris obscuring them from Thunderclash’s view. Hot Rod hugged him tightly in an effort to calm his shaking plating.

“It’s okay, buddy. Don’t be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you,” Thunderclash cooed. He crouched down a respectable distance from their hiding spot, careful not to encroach on what he thought was a wild mechanimal’s space. “I read all about you. Known for your distinct laughter-like vocalizations, you’re native to Nyon and its surrounding cliffs. Your resilient plating is immune to acid rain and you scavenge almost anything for food. But you probably know all that already,” he chuckled.

Hot Rod clung to Deadlock and rolled his optics. The big idiot sounded like an audio dictionary, reciting facts at what he thought was the local wildlife. Wouldn’t he be surprised to discover that his “hyenabot” was actually two members of Decepticon High Command. Although he definitely didn’t care what Thunderclash thought about him, Hot Rod refused to let him find him now. He might die of embarrassment.

“As much as I’d like to stay and chat, I’m supposed to meet someone tonight. I’d hate to keep him waiting. Maybe you know him? He’s also from Nyon, like you! His name is Hot Rod. He is so amazing. Although brilliant flames decorate his frame, the true fire burns inside him with bravery, creativity and pure strength. Once you’ve met him, you’ll never forget him. I know I never will.”

Heat rushed to Hot Rod’s cheeks. Flames glowed within his frame. Deadlock’s frame vibrated with stifled laughter.

“Gosh. Here I am going on and on while you’re probably just hungry, huh? I bet it’s hard finding something good to eat these days. I’m sorry that our war has ruined your life too.” Thunderclash said with a sad smile. He opened a small pack of energon goodies and set the box on the ground. He nudged it towards their hiding spot. “It’s not much, buddy, but it’s all I have. Take some back and share them with your pack. I hope we meet again sometime!”

Thunderclash stood up and dusted himself off like extolling Hot Rod’s virtues to a random wild animal was a completely normal thing to do. He hummed the same familiar tune and turned up the steep cliff trail, strolling along the path like he hadn’t a care in the world.

Deadlock waited until the sound of Thunderclash’s heavy footfalls faded once again into silence before laughing out loud.

“Oh my god! Roddy!! I’ve read his profile, but he’s so much goofier in person!” Deadlock wheezed. “He thought I was a hyenabot!”

“Because you’re laughing like one, dummy!” Hot Rod shoved him. “You almost gave us away!”

Hot Rod detangled himself from Deadlock and stood up. He pulled his recovering bodyguard to his feet. Deadlock wiped the laughter-induced tears from his optics. Hot Rod shook his head.

“Well, Mr. Silent but Deadly, is the coast clear of Autobot assassins? Have you officially confirmed that Thunderclash is alone?” Hot Rod teased. “Do I have the “all-clear” to go ahead?”

“Yes. I don’t detect anyone else in the area. You’re welcome.” Deadlock snickered, not fully recovered from his fit of laughter. He sauntered over to the packet of energon goodies Thunderclash left on the ground and snatched them up.

“What are you doing?” Hot Rod gasped.

“What?” Deadlock shrugged as he popped a candy into his mouth. “He thought I was a hyenabot so technically, he left them for me. These are energon goodies, Roddy! It’s not like I’m gonna let them go to waste. Besides, it would be rude to refuse an offering of food.”

Hot Rod startled. They had a similar type of custom in Nyon. Aside from being essential to survival, sharing fuel was seen as an intimate gesture between friends. Refusing freely offered generosity was akin to denying the existence of the relationship.

“Here. Have some. They’re really good! I can’t remember the last time I had anything this delicious!” Deadlock shook the packet and held it out for Hot Rod.

“Me? You sure?” Hot Rod tentatively reached out, wondering if Deadlock knew the significance of his offer.

“Absolutely! Captain Glitters said to share them with my pack, and you’re the only member I have,” Deadlock flashed a fanged grin.

“Thanks!” Hot Rod beamed. He hadn’t felt this close to anyone since Nyon burned. He pondered asking Deadlock to become his official amica on the spot. In a moment of self-doubt, he teased, “You know you can’t easily get rid of pack members, right? I mean friends come and go, but this makes us family.”

“Good.” Deadlock nodded with his mouthful. “I’m not used to having someone to depend on, but you’re growing on me. Me and you. A wayward pack of two.”

Deadlock enticingly shook the container of sweets. Hot Rod laughed and joyfully snatched a few candies. After all he was now part of a very small pack of laughing hyenabots. As absurd as it sounded, it made him feel like walking on air.

Thunderclash’s random gesture of kindness provided the opportunity for this joy, which did something strange to his spark. Hot Rod wasn’t sure how to process that information. Ever since Nyon burned, each new day brought more complex complications.

Hot Rod licked his lips as the sweet energon goodies melted in his mouth. He stared up the trail with a mix of excitement and dread. Sensing his trepidation, Deadlock gripped his shoulder in firm support. He joined Hot Rod in silently staring up the empty path towards a certain glittery Autobot.

“I just want you to know that my initial offer still stands. If that Autobot does anything, anything at all, to make you the least bit uncomfortable-”

“You’ll shoot him,” Hot Rod laughed.

“Absolutely.” Deadlock answered without the slightest hint of jest.

“Okay.” Hot Rod nodded, a little taken aback at Deadlock’s sudden seriousness. “But I hope it won’t come to that.”

“Me too,” Deadlock agreed. He gave Hot Rod’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and flashed a fanged grin. “I’ll be here if you need me. Now get up there and have a nice time on your big fat date!”

“It is so NOT a date,” Hot Rod groaned.

He grabbed a few more energon goodies for the road and then set out on the trail to meet Thunderclash and determine if he was still able to see the Aurora Sparklights.

As Deadlock’s snickering faded into the darkness behind him and his anxiety overwhelmed his excitement, he couldn’t help but wonder to himself… what hell was he doing?

Chapter Text

Hot Rod crept up the trail. Each switchback brought him closer to discovering answers to questions that gnawed at his spark. Deadlock warned him that he might not like the answers he found. Curled up cozily in their shared berth, Hot Rod insisted that knowing the truth was important, even if it hurt. Now standing alone, on a precarious trail in the middle of the night with pools of acid glistening far below and uncertainty up ahead, his confidence wavered.

Maybe some questions were better left unanswered…

What if he couldn’t see the Sparklights anymore? They were supposed to be the visible sparklights of everyone who had already entered the Allspark as a sign that good endures forever. When he activated the detonator, he personally sent every Nyonian to the Allspark before their time. He already couldn’t recall anyone’s names. What if that was a sign that he wasn’t worthy to remember Nyon at all? What if he eventually forgets everything about Nyon?

What if he simply wasn't good enough?

His plating twitched with every step he took. His right hand trembled. He shook it to remind himself that he no longer held the detonator. His vent fans sped up, fast and shallow. As his anxiety spiraled, a memory came unbidden to his mind:

“It’s alright now. You’re okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”

Hot Rod vented deeply. He smiled and shook his head. Stupid Thunderclash.

The last time memories of burning Nyon threatened to overwhelm him, Thunderclash saved him from being crushed by falling debris, creating the life-bond that Hot Rod couldn’t fulfill, at least not for lack of trying. Despite their different faction badges, Thunderclash yanked Hot Rod out of his waking nightmare and uttered those few kind words. Tears welled up in Hot Rod’s optics. It was everything he ever wanted. Simply to be told everything was going to be alright… even if it was a lie.

He drew strength from the intention behind those words. And from Deadlock’s friendship. And his own broken memories.

He was Hot Rod of Nyon. He could handle anything.

He rounded the last bend and stopped in his tracks. Thunderclash sat on the edge of the cliff, happily humming his tune and casually kicking his feet over the precipice. At the sound of Hot Rod’s approach, the Autobot turned around. Seeing Hot Rod, he lit up like a sky full of fireworks and the most adorable lop-sided grin spread across his face. It was so cute, Hot Rod’s spark nearly stopped.

Uh oh… maybe there were limits on what he could handle.

“Hi, Hot Rod! I’m so happy you came!” Thunderclash exclaimed with genuine joy.

“Roddy,” Hot Rod blurted out. He was never crazy about his name and for some reason, he really didn’t like the sound of it on Thunderclash's lips.

“I’m sorry?” Thunderclash titled his head in confusion.

“You can call me Roddy,” Hot Rod answered. “I mean, I like my nickname better.”

“Oh! No problem, Roddy!” Thunderclash beamed, instantly switching names with no further questions.

Hot Rod’s mind blanked. He needed to say something else, but he couldn’t think of any proper words. The way Thunderclash pronounced his nickname drove all rational thoughts from his mind. Desperate to say something, Hot Rod went with the first thought that came into his mind, “You look good.”

Stupid! Hot Rod could have kicked himself.

But judging from Thunderclash’s reaction, Hot Rod found the perfect words after all. Thunderclash’s optics widened. A bright pink blush warmed his cheeks and grew until practically his whole frame glowed.

“Yeah? You think so? Thanks!” Thunderclash smiled brighter than any sparklights Hot Rod had ever seen.

“I mean- your injuries! Obviously!!” Hot Rod frantically grasped for logical reasons why he would compliment Thunderclash’s appearance out of the blue. “From the scraplets! No more bites or burns!”

“Oh yeah! Check it out!” Thunderclash leaned back and raised his right leg, flexing it dramatically. “It was pretty bad. My leg did fall off as soon as I transformed, just like I thought. But my doctor friend was able to put me all back together.”

“That sounds like a real leg-itmate problem,” Hot Rod snickered. His optics flared as soon as the words left his mouth. He probably shouldn’t be making fun of Thunderclash’s serious injury, but living on the razor’s edge between life and death in Nyon had given him a weird sense of humor.

He was about to apologize when to Hot Rod’s surprise, Thunderclash burst into laughter.

“Oh my gosh! I made that exact same pun when it happened!”

“Really?” Hot Rod’s spoiler fluttered. “You showed up in the medbay seriously injured and made a stupid leg pun joke?”

“Not satisfied with just one, I make a bunch of leg pun jokes. Each one was stupider than the last. They majorly annoyed my medic friend which made it even funnier. I couldn’t help myself.”

“No kidding?! I love a stupid pun! I wish I was there to see it,” Hot Rod laughed.

“Me too!”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Thunderclash shrugged. “We’re friends, right? I mean, I would never have made it back to safety on my own. I’d still be wandering around those tunnels. By giving me those maps, you saved my life. Again!”

“Nah. You’d have been fine,” Hot Rod waved off Thunderclash’s praise. After all, he set the scraplet swarm in motion when he returned Bitey to her family. He couldn’t really accept the heroic accolades, not when the whole thing was sort of his fault in the first place.

“Not without you.” Thunderclash smiled.

Hot Rod’s cheeks warmed. He always dreamed of being important. Of being more than a scruffy refugee struggling for survival in a ruined city. Of being someone who mattered. Of being a hero. Whenever he looked in a mirror, all he saw was poor little Hot Rod but when he was with Thunderclash, he felt like all those things were more than dreams. They felt real. He wished he could see himself like Thunderclash saw him.

Chewing his bottom lip, Hot Rod pondered his response. The sweet taste of Thunderclash’s energon goodies lingered on his lips. He contemplated coming clean about the laughing hyenabots when Thunderclash gasped.

“Roddy! Look!” He excitedly pointed across the sky.

Hot Rod followed Thunderclash’s gesture and froze. Even his vent fans stopped. High above them in the velvet dark sky, a dim blue light flickered. The light grew stronger, gradually joined by more dancing lights until the entire night was aflame. A myriad of shades of blue twisted and twirled in the silence.

The Aurora Sparklights.

Far above the burnt out husk of Nyon, the Sparklights danced across the sky. Their reflection illuminated shimmering pools of acid and bathed the dark ruins in celestial light.

Tears welled up in Hot Rod’s optics. He dropped to his knees next to Thunderclash, keeping his optics fixed on the dazzling display.

After all he did… He could still see them. It felt like forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

He remembered watching the Sparklights with his friends. While they all shared tales and legends about the Aurora being a visible manifestation of their deceased comrades, his friend with the purple paintwork flecked with starry silver glitter teased them for being sentimental dipsticks. According to her, the Sparklights were a totally normal natural phenomena caused by ions meeting magnetic fields or something. He never really understood what she was talking about. Hot Rod preferred the supernatural explanation anyway. Every time they watched the Sparklights, they had the same playful argument.

Except this time…

His friends were gone. His city was in ruins. He was utterly alone.

But when he looked up and saw the sparklights playing with absolute freedom among the stars dotting the limitless universe, he knew something survived. Against all odds, the spirit of Nyon endured.

Hot Rod’s right hand trembled. Tears ran hot down his cheeks. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

A warm weight rested gently on his shoulder. “May I?” Thunderclash asked quietly.

Hot Rod choked back another sob and nodded.

Thunderclash gathered him into a tight embrace, and Hot Rod broke down. He buried his face against Thunderclash’s chest and cried. His whole frame shook. It wasn’t until this very moment that he realized that he never cried for Nyon. For himself and all he lost.

He didn’t cry at first because he couldn’t accept that everyone was truly gone. Instead he put all his energy to work searching the rumble for non-existent survivors, dodging the acid storm and clawing through debris until the paint wore off his fingers. Then when he joined the Decepticons, he already had enough trouble fitting in without bursting into tears anytime he thought about Nyon. When he realized that he couldn’t remember anyone’s names, he thought maybe he wasn’t worthy of keeping their memory. But now, watching the Sparklights shine all around him, he couldn’t contain his grief any longer.

So he cried. He clung to Thunderclash and wept until he thought he might break.

“I’ve got you,” Thunderclash said softly. “Everything is okay.”

“NO. No. Nothing is okay,” Hot Rod sobbed.

“Can you tell me a bit more about it?” Thunderclash asked gently.

If his breakdown shocked Thunderclash, the big idiot didn’t show it. Hot Rod figured at this point things couldn’t get much worse. Thunderclash was an Autobot. There was a good chance they might never see each other again after tonight. It didn’t matter if Thunderclash thought he lost his mind. So much for being someone’s hero…

“I can’t remember anyone’s names,” Hot Rod cried. He curled up tightly against the big Autobot.

“You can’t remember anyone’s names?” Thunderclash cradled him in his strong arms.

“No. I can picture them all clear as day. All my friends from Nyon. Everyone who died when I burned the city to stop Zeta. I remember their faces, their colors, everything they taught me, but not their names.” Hot Rod sobbed. Shame roiled in his spark. He was supposed to be their friend, their leader, and now he couldn’t even remember their names.

“You still remember everything that made them… them,” Thunderclash reassured him.

“Yeah, but-” Hot Rod stopped. The night breeze chilled his face, damp with tears. He never thought about it that way. He could picture everyone in his mind so vividly, every dent, every color, every running gag they shared, every lesson they taught him. Everything but their names.

“Even if they changed their names, all the things that made your friends unique would remain the same. Names are important, but we are so much more than our names. Right, Roddy?” Thunderclash asked with a slight smile.

“Heh. I guess you have a point,” Hot Rod scrubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. He couldn’t remember anyone’s names, but maybe that was okay for now. It might be easier to grieve if he wasn’t fighting through guilt and shame the entire time.

“All of their knowledge, their passion, their dreams… you still carry it all with you. Right here,” Thunderclash pat one large hand gently over Hot Rod’s spark. “They may be physically gone, but some part of them remains alive with you. Always.”

Hot Rod vented deeply. He looked down at Thunderclash’s hand on his chest and gasped.

The brilliant blue fire of the Aurora Sparklights reflected on his highly polished plating. He pushed back from Thunderclash to expose more of his armor to the night sky. It was beautiful. Dancing lights shifted and shimmered on his ruby infused paintwork flames, like they were part of him. The light of all his friends' sparks shone like it burned within him.

Tears of a different sort welled up in his optics. Hot Rod stretched out his hands and slowly flexed his fingers, watching the Sparklights’ reflections play across his armor. Warmth bloomed within his own spark. Tiny golden flames danced along his spoiler.

Although he alone survived, some part of his friends would always remain with him, their passions, their lessons, their love. His tears spilled over and flowed down his cheeks again.

Hot Rod briefly considered apologizing for his emotional outburst, but one look at Thunderclash changed his mind. Meeting Thunderclash’s gaze, Hot Rod found only love and support glowing warmly in his crimson optics.

Hot Rod smiled. Although his spark still broke for his loss, and tears still fell freely from his optics, he smiled. To his surprise, it wasn’t forced or faked. He turned his face towards the sky and basked in the ethereal glow of the Aurora Sparklights.

When he absent-mindedly reached out his hand, Thunderclash grasped it. They sat, side by side and hand in hand, both utterly entranced by the celestial wonder unfolding before them.

Chapter Text

As they sat together in companionable silence watching the gradually dissipating Sparklights, Hot Rod stole a quick glance at Thunderclash. A soft blush warmed his cheeks. The big idiot was growing on him. After all his earlier concerns, he was glad Thunderclash was here with him. It felt strangely comforting to finally cry for Nyon with someone who knew a little about his lost city, even if it was only through books.

But something still rubbed him wrong, like grit caught in his gears. The bright red Autobot badge glared at him from the center of Thunderclash’s broad chest. His right hand trembled. Hot Rod quickly clenched his fist.

“Hey? Can I ask you something?” Hot Rod shifted nervously, drawing courage from the Sparklights’ reflection shining on his plating.

“Technically you just did,” Thunderclash teased, turning away from watching the fading Sparklights to face Hot Rod. “But sure. Ask away.”

“What’s the deal with that?” Hot Rod asked, pointing at Thunderclash’s badge.

“My Autobot badge?” Thunderclash titled his head in confusion and stared at his own chest.

“Yeah. Functionalism couldn’t have been great for you. Some of the things you’ve mentioned make it seem like you got a hard time about your large frame. That’s so wrong. No one has the right to make you feel bad about yourself. Your frame is your own business. Megatron says-”

“I know what Megatron says,” Thunderclash cut him off. “I read everything he wrote. Heck, I even attended many of the early Decepticon rallies while visiting my friend at his free clinic in the Dead End of Rodion. I very much agree with a lot of what Megatron says.”

“Then… why?” Hot Rod asked, genuinely confused. Life would be so much simpler if Thunderclash was a Decepticon. “If you agree with Megatron, why join the Autobots?”

Although he dreaded the answer, he had to know. The Autobots arrived too late to help Nyon. Optimus’ apologies were a cold comfort as Hot Rod watched his home go up in flames. The more he learned about Thunderclash, the more he liked him. He didn’t seem like the type of person to stand by and watch someone else suffer. Acting with pure kindness when no one else was around to witness it, the gigantic idiot gave away his last energon goodies to what he thought was a pack of laughing hyenabots. The candy’s sweetness lingered on Hot Rod’s lips.

“While I do agree with much of what Megatron says,” Thunderclash vented deeply and continued quietly, “I don’t agree with what he does.”

“What do you mean?” Hot Rod asked. Megatron spoke of changing the world and actively pushed back against the Functionist Senate and Zeta Prime. Although Zeta’s defeat plunged the Autobots and Decepticons into civil war, their broken world was still better than the one that allowed Nyon to burn.

“During an early Decepticon rally protesting conditions in the Dead End, explosions rocked a nearby abandoned building. It toppled over burying a large portion of the crowd. Cheers for Megatron’s speech turned into screams of terror. People fled for safety, scattering in every direction. Those who couldn’t get away fast enough were buried by falling debris. Blinding dust choked out the light and clogged vent fans. It was chaos.”

“That’s terrible! What happened?”

“While the official story blamed Decepticon terrorists, everyone knew that was a load of scrap. Why would Megatron destroy his own rally? Zeta’s goons were obviously behind the attack. They were trying to squash Megatron’s momentum. He spoke the truth and rattled the status quo. As you well know, Zeta would resort to anything to maintain his position of power.”

“Yeah…” Hot Rod hugged his knees to his chest and stared blankly out across his ruined city, dimly illuminated by the disappearing Sparklights. If his people weren’t prepared to sacrifice themselves, Zeta would have stolen the very energon from their bodies to fuel his war machines.

“Between the fleeing citizens, scattering Decepticons, and shouting guards, no one seemed to care about the people trapped under the rubble. I couldn’t leave them, so I started digging. I knew I couldn’t get to everyone in time, but if I could only save one person, it would make a world of difference to them.” Thunderclash met Hot Rod’s optics with a sad smile.

Hot Rod’s spark twisted. He was vaguely aware that other cities suffered under the Zeta’s rule, but he never heard any personal accounts of what happened outside of Nyon. He was too preoccupied with struggling to keep his own people alive.

“As I frantically threw mounds of debris aside to rescue the few survivors, Megatron rushed past. I nearly wept in relief. He was a miner, with plenty of experience moving overburden. With his expertise, maybe we could save everyone before they succumbed to their injuries. But when I asked for help, he refused.”

“He refused?”

“He assured me the Decepticon cause would honor their sacrifice and their deaths would not be in vain. Before I could protest that not everyone was dead yet, he was gone. He barely broke his stride. The dust cloud quickly obscured him from my sight. Shocked, I continued digging by myself. I managed to save a few of the trapped people, but I couldn’t get to them all in time. If only he could have helped… even a little.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, remembering the heat of the flames and the stench of scorched energon as Nyon burned. He knew that feeling all too well.

“There was so much wrong with the Functionist Senate. No one mourns their loss. Cybertron needed change. But we have to do it together. Megatron is far too eager to accept martyrs to his cause. If you sacrifice everyone along the way to revolution, who are you even fighting for?”

Hot Rod opened his mouth to defend Megatron, but stopped short. A few days ago, Megatron was fully prepared to lure the entire Autobot army out into the acid storm. He was willing to condemn countless soldiers to an excruciating death by corrosive chemicals. If he knew about the scraplets, he’d likely devise a way to weaponize their voracious appetites as well. Megatron’s words echoed in his head and sent a chill down his spinal struts:

“War is not meant to be easy or kind… Right and wrong fade away to leave only opportunity.”

When Megatron first discovered him alone in the ashes of his city, Hot Rod joined them without question. The Decepticons took him in, gave him a place to stay, a place to belong. He had gotten to know many of them and slowly forged new friendships.

But what if there was more to the story? A chill ran down his spinal struts.

“What about the Autobots? They seemed perfectly fine accepting Nyon’s sacrifice,” Hot Rod spat bitterly. After seeing the Sparklights and openly crying, Nyon’s loss was painfully raw.

“You’re absolutely right,” Thunderclash agreed, shocking Hot Rod with his instant acquiescence. “They should have done something, anything to help. Especially because they had so much time and squandered it all.”

“What are you talking about? They arrived right after Zeta’s Vamparc machines. There was to time do anything except…” Hot Rod clenched his trembling right hand. The fuel churned in his tanks. “Except activate our contingency plan and detonate all the plasma charges we had carefully placed throughout the city. Nyon… my people… preferred to die rather than be used as fuel for Zeta’s war machine.”

“You’ve spoken with both Optimus and Megatron… didn’t either of them tell you?” Thunderclash gasped in pure horror.

“Tell me what?” Hot Rod asked quietly. The fuel turned to ice in his lines.

“They were here. Both of them. They arrived in Nyon several days ahead of Zeta’s Vamparc machines.”

“Liar,” Hot Rod said coldly. He stared at Thunderclash, daring him to deny the charge.

Thunderclash flinched like Hot Rod physically struck him, but continued, “I’m sorry, Roddy, but it’s true. Someone obtained Zeta’s plans for stealing Nyon’s energy to fuel his war machine. His timetable was much sooner than anyone anticipated. Both Optimus and Megatron knew if he used Nyon to strengthen his forces, there would be no defeating him. They agreed to meet on the outskirts of Nyon and mobilize their combined forces to come to your aid.”

“If that’s true, why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Hot Rod asked numbly. The thought that help was assembled just out of his reach, chilled him to the core.

“Once they met, they couldn’t agree on the best strategy to aid Nyon. I don’t know exactly what they discussed, I wasn’t there, but neither Optimus nor Megatron would budge. They wasted their entire lead arguing.”

“Impossible- that can’t be true- you’re lying-” Hot Rod’s mind raced faster than he could form words.

“If it is a lie… it’s not one told maliciously,” Thunderclash said apologetically. “I’m sorry. It’s the only version of the story that I know.”

Hot Rod’s vent cycles came fast and shallow. He never discussed Nyon with any of the Decepticons. Not even Megatron. It was possible they were there. He honestly didn’t know. Hot Rod shivered.

He joined the Decepticons because the Autobots offered no assistance to Nyon. But what if they weren’t the only ones? What if no one really cared about Nyon except one stupid glittery idiot who only read about it in books?

“Where were you?” Hot Rod whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to add ‘when my city burned.’

“I was in the Dead End,” Thunderclash answered, without asking Hot Rod to clarify what he meant. “There were rumors of a planned attack on my friend’s clinic. Of course he refused to abandon his patients for his own safety’s sake. He is my best friend. Possibly my only real friend. I had to stay with him. But it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. When I ventured out on my nightly patrol around the clinic, I found a shocking number of Zeta’s goons dead in the streets. A single gunshot wound to the spark casing of each one. Needless to say, someone else was watching out for my friend. He didn’t really need my protection after all…”

They sat in silence for a few moments. As the night wore on, the Sparklights grew dimmer. Hot Rod didn’t know what to feel let alone what to say.

Thunderclash vented deeply. “I wish I had gone with Optimus to Nyon. If I’d have been there- Maybe I could have made a difference. Maybe I could’ve have- I dunno- done something.”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod muttered bitterly. “Someone doing something to help would’ve been fraggin’ fantastic.”

“I’m so sorry,” Thunderclash hung his head.

Hot Rod wanted to be angry at Thunderclash. It would be easy. Thunderclash was just another Autobot. One quick comm to Deadlock would put an abrupt end to all his inner turmoil. He wouldn’t even need to feel guilty about it. After all, it was war.

But… he couldn’t hate him. The more their paths intertwined, the more he grew to cherish the life-bond between them. Having that responsibility of care towards someone reminded him of looking out for his friends in Nyon. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Thunderclash, but he certainly didn’t like the idea of Deadlock shooting him. The thought of a world without Thunderclash made him sad. And he already had enough to grieve for.

Somehow it made everything hurt so much worse.

“It can’t be true. It can’t…” Hot Rod shook his head.

Tears stung his optics again. Grief mixed with anger and shock. He didn’t think Thunderclash would lie so that meant he genuinely believed his story. But it had to be worthless Autobot propaganda… Right? It couldn’t be true. Did the rest of the world really care so little about Nyon that they sat on the sidelines arguing while Hot Rod made the most difficult decision of his life?

“Roddy? Are you alright?” Thunderclash asked with such gentle concern it twisted Hot Rod’s spark.

“Don’t.” Hot Rod held up one hand. He wrestled with all his emotions but was quickly overwhelmed. It was too much to sort out by himself.

“But-”

“Just don’t!”

Hot Rod didn’t know what to feel. He started pacing. Faster and faster. His plating twitched. He wanted to run, to scream, to ignite his fire hot enough to consume all his raging emotions.

When Nyon burned, it felt like ripping his own spark out of his chest. He activated that detonator and the shockwave tore through every last shred of his being. Although he literally set his life ablaze, he was determined to move forward, to help Nyonian culture survive in any way he could. As long as he fought, it meant, in some small way, Nyon survived. Defending Nyonian territory against the Autobots was a big part of that. But if the Decepticons were there… If they didn’t help Nyon either… what was he even doing?

What was the point of anything?

Was Megatron there? Did he watch the city burn from a comfortable distance, simply accepting Nyon as more martyrs necessary to his cause?

Another thought cut Hot Rod to the quick:

Was Deadlock?

His engine raced. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to move. He needed speed. Without another word, Hot Rod spun his t-cog and shifted into his speedster alt.

“Roddy!! Wait!!” Thunderclash leapt to his feet, reaching out.

Hot Rod revved his engine and whipped around on the narrow ledge. His tires scrabbled for purchase, kicking up a wave of gravel. Pushing his throttle past the red line, Hot Rod raced down the steep winding trail. Thunderclash’s alt mode wouldn’t even fit on this narrow path. There was no way he could catch him.

Thunderclash frantically called after him, but Hot Rod couldn’t stop. He thrust the fleeting pang of guilt for abandoning Thunderclash from his mind.

Recklessly throwing himself around every blind curve, Hot Rod pushed faster and faster as if he could outrun the pain. Maybe if he ran fast enough he could reverse history back to a time where everything made sense. Back to a time before he was a high ranking official of an army with a command structure he didn’t understand and customs so different from his own. Back to a time when there were plenty of Nyonians to keep their traditions alive.

The last vestiges of the Aurora Sparklights faded from the sky above. Their reflection no longer illuminated his plating. Hot Rod choked back a sob and drove faster.

Back to when his friends had names.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod careened down the cliffside trail. His screaming engine shattered the deathly silence. As he neared the bottom, his comm system pinged an alert.

Deadlock.

Hot Rod contemplated not answering. Everything Thunderclash said rattled around in his brain. It was all too much. He might have even turned off his comm again, but they made a promise. He swore he wouldn’t shut Deadlock out anymore.

>>Yeah?<<

>>Hey. Sorry to interrupt, but… is everything okay? I think I hear your engine.<<

>>Yeah. Fraggin’ fantastic.<<

>>You sound upset. Your definition of fantastic must be different than mine.<< Deadlock teased.

>>Transform. I’ll be there in a second. We’re leaving.<<

>>Why? What’s going on? Are you okay??<<

Hot Rod rounded the last bend and nearly slammed into Deadlock. His confused bodyguard leapt out of the way as Hot Rod sped past.

“RODDY!! What the frag?!” Deadlock shouted.

“I said, we’re leaving. NOW!” Hot Rod yelled over his roaring engine. Guilt gnawed at him about leaving Thunderclash in the dust. Embarrassed about literally running out on him, Hot Rod couldn’t bear the thought of the Autobot catching up to him.

Deadlock growled. His finials canted back as he drew his matched set of black and white pistols. He turned from Hot Rod and marched towards the trail leading up to the top of the cliff.

“Where are you going? I said we’re leaving!” Hot Rod drifted a donut around Deadlock and screeched to a halt, blacking his path to the trail.

“I’m going to kill him,” Deadlock stated.

“WHAT?! WHY?!”

“You are obviously upset. I promised that I’d protect you-”

“From Thunderclash?! The gentle idiot who gave you his last energon goodies?!” Hot Rod yelled. He felt strangely defensive.

“I swear to Primus, if he laid a hand on you-”

“NO!!! He didn’t do anything to hurt me.” Hot Rod screamed. His rapidly cooling engine pinged softly. “And I don’t think he ever would,” he added quietly.

“Then why are you running out of here like your tailpipe is on fire?”

“Because-” Hot Rod vented deeply. Why was he running? “It’s complicated.”

Deadlock shook his head and holstered his firearms, as if he guessed more than Hot Rod said. “I’m sorry, Roddy. I told you there would be no good outcome. Not with the war.”

“It’s not that- It’s-” Hot Rod struggled.

If what Thunderclash told him was true- If the Decepticons were there with the Autobots when Nyon burned- Was Deadlock there too? Did he watch Hot Rod burn his world to ash without so much as a single word of support? Although they didn’t know each other back then, the thought tore Hot Rod’s spark to shreds.

The only thing that kept him from bolting was his promise. And the thought that if he left, Deadlock would likely murder Thunderclash.

“Look. I’ll explain as we go.” Hot Rod’s engine whined, eager to continue running full throttle. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Alright. Fine.” Deadlock relented. He transformed into his heavily armored speedster alt mode. “But if I find out that Autobot hurt you in anyway, he’s moving to the top of my assassination list.”

“Noted.”

Hot Rod gunned his engine and raced across the ruined city. Too many thoughts bounced around in his brain and mingled with his complicated emotions. The further he ran, the worse he felt about abandoning Thunderclash.

Instead of turning around, he pushed himself faster. He already hurt the big idiot by running away without any explanation, no sense in making it even worse. Why did everything he did turn to ash? Was his outlier flame ability merely a sign that he was doomed to burn everything around him? Maybe he shouldn’t even go back to the Decepticons? Maybe he should just keep running…

Skidding around a treacherous pool of acid, Hot Rod’s tires scrabbled for purchase. Bits of gravel careened into the acid pool, splashing his fender. Hot Rod hissed in pain.

Memories of fleeing the scraplets with Thunderclash came unbidden to his mind. He thought about Thunderclash making stupid puns about his own leg falling off. Hot Rod chuckled. Maybe there was hope for him yet. He slowed his mad dash.

He wished the Sparklights still danced in the sky. He wished he could still see their light on his plating. Hot Rod recalled crying in Thunderclash’s arms. It was the first time he openly mourned Nyon and told anyone about his memory issues. Thunderclash was there for him. He listened, offering quiet support free of judgment. Hot Rod reduced his speed a bit more.

There was a lot wrong with the world right now, but the more he thought about it, the more Hot Rod realized that maybe a certain sparkly Autobot might be one of the few good things.

“Goddamn!” Deadlock huffed, finally pulling alongside Hot Rod. His engine labored. “Why are we in such a hurry?”

Suddenly recalling Deadlock’s extra heavy armor mods, Hot Rod slammed on his brakes. Deadlock nearly crashed into him.

“Sorry.” Hot Rod apologized.

He transformed and Deadlock followed suit, huffing and puffing. Hot Rod winced. He didn’t mean to make Deadlock struggle, and wouldn’t dare make a comment about the armor being too heavy for his speedster frame. After learning why Deadlock chose to protect himself, Hot Rod secretly vowed to never tease him about it again.

“So- *huff* -you wanna tell me- *puff* -what’s going on?” Deadlock wheezed. His overheating engine pinged after running so hard and stopping so abruptly.

Hot Rod sat down and hugged his knees to his chest. He thought of all the ways to describe his evening with Thunderclash. But before anything else, he needed an answer…

“Where were you?” Hot Rod asked quietly. His voice sounded distant in his own audials. He stared blankly across the devastated plains.

“I was there at the bottom of the cliff the entire fraggin’ time!!” Deadlock yelled, waving his arms in exasperation. “If you needed me you should have called! I kept my comm link open! We promised-”

“Not tonight, Lock,” Hot Rod mumbled. “I meant- where were you when Nyon burned?”

“In Rodian. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?” Deadlock responded, slightly confused. His finials canted back at asymmetrical angles.

Hot Rod vented a sigh of relief. Maybe Thunderclash’s version of events was Autobot propaganda after all.

“Was Megatron with you?”

“No. I have no fraggin’ idea where he was. Why? Roddy, what the hell are you talking about?”

Hot Rod’s spark stopped.

“But you were a Decepticon then right?”

“Yeah. I was one of the first Decepticons. But like I told you before, sometimes I work missions on my own. I left Megatron for a while at that time because I had a personal matter that needed my attention. I stayed in the Dead End until I was sure things were taken care of properly.”

Hot Rod’s spoiler drooped. What if it was true…

Deadlock sat down heavily next to him. Close enough for Hot Rod to scoot over and lean against him. Deadlock’s plating stiffened at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Hot Rod gently stoked his flames. They sat in silence, drawing comfort from each other’s presence.

Knowing that Deadlock was far away from Nyon’s destruction was oddly comforting. They didn’t know each other then, but somehow, the thought that Deadlock might have been there, watching Hot Rod’s life burn, felt like a betrayal of their friendship.

“Roddy?” Deadlock spoke his name like a plea to keep his promise, like he was afraid of losing Hot Rod to something he didn’t understand.

Hot Rod vented deeply. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he promised. A Nyonian pinky promise was an unbreakable bond. He would honor Nyon by honoring his promise. So he started talking. He told Deadlock everything from Thunderclash’s stupid cute smile, to the Sparklights, to discussing Thunderclash’s reason for joining the Autobots to the revelation about Megatron’s presence at Nyon’s destruction.

“Everything together, it was too much. Sometimes- when it gets like that- i just need- i dunno- space? Activity? Something…” Hot Rod hung his head. Shame burned in his spark at this confession. If he were stronger, more heroic, he wouldn’t feel this way. “I had to run.”

“Hmm…” Deadlock hummed thoughtfully.

“Yeah.”

“It’s alot.”

“I know. I don’t want to believe it, but I don’t think Thunderclash would lie.”

“Thunderclash believing the story doesn’t necessarily make it true. It could still be Autobot propaganda.”

“I guess… it could be…”

“There’s one way to know for sure: ask Megatron.” Deadlock said. “I wouldn’t suggest just anyone confront him. But he likes you and you have an uncanny knack for making stupid ideas work out okay.”

“Shut up,” Hot Rod bumped his shoulder against Deadlock, grateful for the light teasing. After the heavy emotional toll this night had exacted so far, it felt strangely good, like having a normal life might still be possible. “I think I will ask him. I want to know. For Nyon and for myself.”

“And for Thunderclash?” Deadlock doubled down on his teasing.

“I don’t know? Maybe? I think I-” Hot Rod’s optics widened as he suddenly remembered leaving Thunderclash in the literal duststorm of overwhelming emotions. He leapt to his feet. “Oh scrap! I left the big ol’ idiot on top of a cliff with so much as a ‘so long’. I took off because my own brain space was fragged up, but there’s no way he could have known what I was feeling. I should go back and apologize.”

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed. It’s getting late. Megatron is waiting for your “scouting report”.” Deadlock made the air quote motion with his fingers.

“Dammit. You’re right. What should I do?”

“Go give your report to Megatron. Like I told you before, the war complicates things. Plus, it’ll give you a chance to talk to him.”

“But what about Thunders?”

“Thunders?!” Deadlock’s face curled into a wicked grin. “You have a nickname for him now?”

Hot Rod’s face lit up bright pink. “What?! NO!! It’s- I mean- his name is so long, why not shorten it? It’s a Nyonian thing to give nicknames. You know that! It’s why I usually call you ‘Lock’.”

“Sure thing. Whatever you say,” Deadlock purred before softening his teasing. “Seriously though, if Thunders is someone worth your time, he’ll understand.”

“I guess you’re right…”

“I’m always right,” Deadlock proclaimed. Hot Rod shoved him and he laughed. “Now let’s get moving, but maybe not quite so fast this time.”

“No promises!” Hot Rod laughed. He transformed, revved his engine and sped off into the night.

Deadlock cursed and chased after him.

After his initial burst of speed, Hot Rod pulled back on his throttle so Deadlock could easily keep pace. Despite being rather annoyed at first when Megatron assigned Deadlock to be his bodyguard, Hot Rod was now eternally grateful that he did.

When they returned to the Decepticon base, Deadlock wished him luck. He went to collect their nightly ration of energon and promised to meet Hot Rod back in their room while Hot Rod went to report to Megatron.

Walking down the long corridors to the room that served as the makeshift command center, Hot Rod’s mind raced. He wanted to know if Megatron was there when Nyon burned, but how did one start that conversation? More importantly, what would he do with that information?

His plating twitched as the door slid open. Mercifully, Megatron was alone, leaning over a huge map of the ruined city, deep in thought.

Megatron looked up at the sound of the door opening. “Hot Rod. Excellent. I am reviewing our army's planned routes for tomorrow. What do you have to report?”

“Report? Oh! Right! Report!” With all that had happened, and all that he wanted to ask, Hot Rod had forgotten he was supposed to be spying on the Autobot army, not sneaking out to watch the sparklights with one specific Autobot in particular.

“Well?” Megatron asked, raising an expectant brow.

“Yes. Report. Everything is just like we thought at the meeting. The Autobots aren’t going anywhere tonight,” Hot Rod lied. He figured it was close enough to the truth. Thunderclash probably wouldn’t have snuck out to meet him if the Autobots were preparing to attack.

“Hmm... Just as you suspected. You have excellent judgment, Hot Rod. Well done.” Megatron laid a hand on his shoulder.

Hot Rod felt like the weight might crush him.

Megatron paused, concern filling his intense crimson optics. “You seem… unwell. Is everything alright?”

Hot Rod flinched.

“Hot Rod. The Decepticon cause will never forget what you’ve done for us. For Cybertron. I know these are difficult times. If there is anything you need, I want to assure you that you have all of our support. You have my support.” Megatron gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Megs, I-”

“Yes? If something is bothering you, don’t hesitate to speak. War is not for the timorous or the pusillanimous.”

“Umm…” Hot Rod said, not sure what those words meant. “Actually, I-”

Hot Rod floundered.

He wanted to ask Megatron about Nyon, but one memory kept replaying in his head…

He was all alone, lost in the broken husk of his ruined city, exhausted from his endless search for survivors that he’d never find. He had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, he had nothing left but dust and ashes. Until a strong hand reached down and pulled him to his feet.

Hot Rod would never forget that feeling. When he was at his lowest, Megatron was there. He lifted him up and offered Hot Rod a place with the Decepticons. He took him in. Gave him a place and a purpose. Megatron supported his attempts to preserve his Nyonian customs.

When he finally stopped to think about it, Hot Rod realized he might look up to Megatron.

But… if Thunderclash was right… if Megatron watched Nyon burn from a comfortable distance… how does that truth jive with Hot Rod’s memories?

What does it mean if both things are true?

While Hot Rod was still organizing his thoughts, the door burst open. Starscream stormed in with Shockwave hot on his heels.

“LORD Megatron! Tell this TWO-BIT HACK to keep his experiments out of my section of the lab!” Starscream screeched.

“Illogical. Munitions research requires ample space. I need the entire lab,” Shockwave droned.

“Take you logic and-” Starscream finally noticed Hot Rod. He easily slipped from exaggerated outrage to sly amiability. “Why hello there, Roddy!”

“Um- hi?” Hot Rod waved, rapidly losing his momentum to talk to Megatron.

“As I was saying, Megs,” Starscream purred. “I need you to deal with this.” He waved dismissively at Shockwave. The purple Decepticon scientist narrowed his single gold optic and glared at Starscream.

Megatron sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Handle your own squabbles. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” He gestured to Hot Rod.

“Don’t mind us,” Starscream draped himself across the table and inspected his claws with a smug grin. “Carry on. We’ll wait.”

“You know what? Nevermind,” Hot Rod yanked out of Megatron’s grip and nervously edged towards the exit. “I- uh- I’ve got to go. You know, with the war and everything. Plenty to prepare and all that.”

“Hot Rod, wait.” Megatron called out. “You wanted to talk about something.”

“Yeah- um- I do- but…” Hot Rod’s plating twitched. “I’ll catch up with you later. Okay?”

“As you wish,” Megatron responded. “You know where to find me.” He turned and glared at Starscream and Shockwave. “Everyone does.”

“Okay. Will do. Thanks.” Hot Rod waved and bolted.

Starscream and Shockwave began shouting anew as the door slammed behind him. Hot Rod’s pace quickened until he was running full tilt down the hall. Tears stung his optics. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to Megatron. His spark twisted in his chest.

Thunderclash was wrong. Hot Rod was no hero. He was nothing more than a coward.

Chapter Text

>>I hope you’re ready, Lock!<< Hot Rod yelled into their private comm link. >>I’ve got another bunch of Autobots all lined up for ya!<<

Hot Rod raced through the tumbled debris, leaping over broken rocks and tangled rebar with several Autobot soldiers in hot pursuit. Gunfire erupted all around him. Jets screamed overhead, locked in the deadly ballet of aerial combat. Frame-rattling crashes heralded a large-scale combiner fight. Somewhere nearby Devastator and Menasor traded blows with the Autobot gestalts Defensor and Superion, shaking the ground beneath his feet.

War had returned to Nyon.

>>I’m always ready, Hot Stuff,<< Deadlock purred.

Hot Rod heard the distinct clack of rounds being chambered into a sniper rifle over the comm link. A grim smile spread across his face. This was even easier than dodging Zeta’s goons.

The past few days ran together in a blur of brutal trench warfare, fighting for the city street by street. After the incendiary bombs set off an acid storm trapping both armies undercover for days, Autobots and Decepticons came to an unspoken agreement to avoid causing another such disaster. Heavy ordnance and artillery warfare gave way to hand to hand combat.

Hot Rod found this new strategy strangely comforting. It was almost like a larger version of fighting for Nyon as the resistance leader, except instead of a handful of ragtag refugees versus a few angry guards, entire armies were involved. Although the scale was larger, many of the techniques were familiar. After all of his recent emotional turmoil, it felt good to lose himself in the routine. As he ran from his pursuers, he could almost pretend that everything was as it used to be and it was just another day in Nyon.

Megatron ordered him to hold the Decepticon line here to protect their flank as the main army pushed towards the Autobot base. Hot Rod gladly accepted his orders. Defending Nyon is what he always wanted to do.

Whenever he thought too much about Thunderclash, it made his spark twist. So he did his best to distract himself by taking dangerous missions. When his very survival depended on making the right moves, he couldn’t afford dwelling on intrusive thoughts. Right now he and Deadlock were working a deadly trap to clear the area. Hot Rod would sneak around to locate an Autobot soldier or two and lure them out into the open. Then Deadlock would snipe them from his hiding spot on top of a skeletal tower, the shattered remains of an old apartment complex.

So far things were working out great. They had taken out dozens of enemy soldiers, and Hot Rod had no intention of stopping now. Especially because a break in the action might remind him that he still needed to talk to Megatron.

He sped out of the narrow alley into an open plaza. Broken buildings leaned precariously over the wide street. Scattered gunfire erupted behind him. He made several bounding strides, leapt over a twisted steel beam, and ducked flat to the ground. The instant the Autobots followed him around the bend, three rifle shots rang out.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

All three of the soldiers chasing Hot Rod fell to the ground dead, each killed by a single shot to their spark casing.

>>Well done, as usual,<< Hot Rod chuckled.

>>As if you expect anything else,<< Deadlock teased. >>I’m the best sniper on this entire planet.<<

>>Really?! The planet?!<< Hot Rod laughed. >>Yesterday you were the best sniper in this army. What’s with the sudden jump?<<

>>What can I say? Modesty doesn’t suit me.<<

>>Oh sweet Primus. And people say I’m the cocky one.<< Hot Rod rolled his optics.

>>You are the cocky one. Unlike you, I am as good as I say.<< Deadlock teased.

>>Pfft. Whatever. I’m just glad you’ve got my back.<<

>>Always, Hot Stuff. You ready to go again?<<

>>Yeah. I guess so.<< Hot Rod got up and dusted himself off.

>>Be careful out there. Those last three got pretty close to you. If you run into trouble, I’m too far away to back you up.<<

>>Relax. I’ve totally got this. Finding Autobots is getting a bit harder though. I think we’ve done a good job cleaning out this area. We might have to reposition soon.<<

>>Should I come down now?<<

>>Nah. Let’s go once more and then we’ll see. See you in a few. I’m bringing company so have that rifle ready.<<

>>You’ve got it, boss.<< Deadlock snickered.

>>Alright. Later!<< Hot Rod spun around and waved towards the top of the ruined tower. Although he couldn’t see Deadlock he knew the sniper could see him clear as day through his high powered scope.

Just as Hot Rod was about to take off, he caught a flash of light out of the corner of his optic. It was the bright fuel trail of a screaming missile. HEADING RIGHT TOWARDS DEADLOCK'S PERCH!!

>>LOCK!! WATCH OUT!!!<< Hot Rod screamed. He bolted towards the tower, towards Deadlock, but the missile flew faster than he could ever run. His warning came the exact instant it struck.

The explosion’s shockwave threw Hot Rod back and scrambled his audials. He tumbled across the ground, jagged rebar tearing at his plating as he slammed to a stop against a mound of debris. Energon leaked from dozens of small cuts, but the pain didn’t even register as he watched the destruction unfolding before him in horror.

The missile impacted the most precarious point on the ruined structure, toppling the entire thing. It fell in slow motion. Small fires from the explosive warhead flickered in pockets and chunks of debris flew in all directions as the tower imploded into itself. With a deafening screech of rending metal, the remaining floors collapsed.

Dust rose. The deep rumble of crumbling stone melted into the cacophony of war. Hot Rod shook his head and reset his audials.

This can’t be happening. It was all his fault. If only he agreed. If Deadlock had come down when he suggested maybe he would’ve been clear of the explosion.

>>Hey? Lock? You alright?<< Hot Rod whispered into the comm link, his own voice marred by static.

His only answer was silence. Dread crept into every circuit.

>>This isn’t funny, Lock,<< Hot Rod said, his voice cracking as panic welled up inside him.

No response.

>>Lock,<< He pleaded as he struggled to his feet. >>You gotta answer me. We promised. Remember?<<

Static.

>>You made a promise, dammit. You promised! You wouldn’t shut me out anymore. Don’t you dare break your promise!<< Tears burned his optics. The fuel churned in his tanks.

Hot Rod stumbled forward. The cacophony of warfare sounded far and distant as he strained his audials for any sign of Deadlock. Drawing closer with each halting step, he stared at the massive pile of rumble. This can’t be happening. He felt numb.

>>Come on, Lock.<< He begged. His voice broke. >>You promised. You have to answer me.<<

Still nothing.

It didn’t make sense. Hot Rod saw the missile streaking towards Deadlock’s perch when he turned around to wave. It didn’t come from the Autobots side so it must have been fired from behind the Decepticon lines. Nothing made sense.

Was it an accident? Did he just lose his best friend to a goddamn accident?!

At least burning Nyon was a choice.

He couldn’t lose anyone else. Stubborn resistance mingled with denial burned in his chest. Deadlock had to be okay. Maybe his comms were damaged. Yeah. That had to be it. Hot Rod switched to regular audio and screamed with his vocalizer at full volume:

“DEADLOCK!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME??”

The lack of response spurred him into more desperate action. Hot Rod dropped to his knees and started digging. Frantically throwing aside chunks of stone and twisted metal. Deadlock had to be okay.

“Come on, Lock. Where are you?” Hot Rod called. It began to feel like a rhetorical question. “I swear with my hand on Primus’ spark, if you’re messing with me, I’ll kill you myself.”

The rubble shifted beneath his feet. Hot Rod slid down the gravel pile, slamming hard into the unforgiving ground. He clawed his way right back up, digging through dust and ash. Ghosts of nightmares past came to haunt him. He was all alone again. He didn’t find any survivors after burning Nyon and dark thoughts began to whisper that he wouldn’t find any now.

Hot Rod dug his hands into the debris and clenched fistfulls of ash. His engine raced. His vents came fast and shallow. Deadlock had to be okay.

Despite his rising panic, Hot Rod forced himself to focus. His energon scout friend never let anything phase him. Although Hot Rod couldn’t remember his name, he'll never forget his unflappable attitude. He was always calm under pressure. While Hot Rod would always wear his spark on his sleeve, right now he had to control his emotions. He would never get anywhere if he broke down now. Deadlock was depending on him.

Hot Rod counted the revolutions of his engine. He vented deeply.

He was alone when Nyon burned, but now he was a member of the Decepticon army. Even if he often didn’t understand their customs, the Decepticons took him in. They were his friends and allies. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Hot Rod brought up his command contacts in his comm link. He went down the list of those most likely to come to his aid. Knockout and Breakdown were among his closest friends but neither one would leave the base during a battle because they were likely neck deep in casualties and their status as representatives of Velocitron made them official non-combatants. The Constructicons and the Stunticons were both in their combined forms. Although Hot Rod was fairly close to their individual members, it was extremely difficult to speak to the gestalts. Screaming jet engines overhead meant Skywarp and Thundercracker had their hands full.

Frag it all.

Deadlock needed help and he was wasting time. Hot Rod shoved all the other contacts aside and opened the main command comm channel. This was an emergency. Might as well go straight to the top.

>>MEGS!!<< He screamed into his comm link.

>>Hot Rod?<< Megatron answered instantly.

As soon as he heard the deep, oddly reassuring rumble of Megatron’s voice, his calm veneer crumbled. Tears streamed hot down his cheeks, streaking the black ash coating his face.

>>I need help, Megs,<< he sobbed. >>There was a missile- and I can’t- the tower fell- Deadlock- he was-<<

>>Hot Rod. Slow down. I don’t understand. What’s happened?<<

Hot Rod vented deeply and forced himself to carefully describe the terrible turn of events.

>>Hot Rod. I am so sorry. You’ve already lost so much.<< Megatron said, his tone slow and heavy. >>I know you had become close with your bodyguard-<<

>>Don’t talk about Lock in the past tense, Megs. I know he’s still alive. He has to be. I can’t leave him. I just- I just don’t know how to find him. I need help to reach him in time.<<

>>War takes and takes until you feel as if you might break, but we must keep moving forward. We can’t allow it to claim our will. You must harden your resolve… and your spark.<<

>>NO. Megs… don’t say stuff like that….please…<< Hot Rod responded quietly. An insidious chill crept into his lines.

>>Deadlock believed firmly in the Decepticon cause. He was one of my finest warriors. He will be sorely missed.<<

>>He’s not dead. We can save him,<< Hot Rod pleaded. His voice sounded so small and weak compared to Megatron.

>>Although our metal frames are astonishingly durable, our bodies do have limits. Even if he survived the initial impact, the is only so much that a person can endure before system failure becomes inevitable.<<

>>But-<< Hot Rod protested. As someone who spent his entire life fighting an impossible battle, words like inevitable made him extremely uncomfortable.

>>The Decepticons will always remember Deadlock’s sacrifice. We will move forward in his memory. For now, fight in his honor. After the battle today we will mourn together. We need you in this fight, Hot Rod. Join the main ranks until I can assign you a new bodyguard.<<

Hot Rod flinched as if Megatron’s words were drawn swords. They pierced him straight through his spark. He didn’t want a new bodyguard, he wanted Deadlock. Unable to form a response, Hot Rod terminated their comm link.

He slumped to sit in the ashes, completely gutted. The war raged around him, the world kept turning, but it felt like it all left him behind, outside of space and time, as if he was the one buried under tons of rubble. He had become one of the ghosts haunting his nightmares, empty and dead.

Megatron would rather have another martyr for the cause and push forward with the war than risk a rescue.

>>Hot Rod?<< His private comm link sprang to life with an unfamiliar voice.

>>Yeah?<< Hot Rod responded blankly as if across a great distance, still reeling from Megatron’s brusque acceptance of Deadlock’s apparent death.

>>Heh. Thought so. I listened to your conversation with Megatron on the open command circuit. Everyone heard it. You probably should have used a private channel. Damn shame about your bodyguard though,<< a voice purred smoother than oil.

>>Turmoil?<< Hot Rod guessed. His optics widened. Realization struck him like a runaway tank. Turmoil had a heavy artillery alt mode capable of firing the type of missile that destroyed Deadlock’s perch.

>>That’s right. Like I said, too bad about Deadlock. I heard you two were quite close. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about crossing me in front of Megatron.<< Turmoil sneered.

>>It was you?<< Hot Rod gasped. His tanks dropped as he recalled Deadlock’s warnings about his commander’s temper. And how he would destroy anything Hot Rod loved just to hurt him out of jealousy. >>You no-good, rotten, rusted-<<

>>Now. Now. You can’t prove anything.<< Turmoil cut him off with a laugh. >>Let’s just say, no one would blame you if you decided to disappear too. Do everyone a favor: just run away. And don’t come back.<<

Hot Rod disconnected their comm, deleted and blocked Turmoil’s frequency from all of his contacts. He couldn’t believe it. Deadlock warned him, but he didn't take it seriously. Hot Rod was trying to protect Deadlock and ended up putting him directly in Turmoil’s sights, simply by being his friend.

Anger and grief burned inside him, welling up until it tore from his lips. Hot Rod screamed as his flames erupted from every seam. For once he just burned. He let it go. He roared until his voice cracked and the surrounding metal melted into molten pools.

It was all his fault. He burned Nyon. He lost Deadlock. He had nothing. He was nothing.

He never burned so fiercely before. His normally golden flames increased in temperature until they raged white hot. Wisps of pale blue flickered on the tips of the inferno. Hot Rod gasped. It was almost the same color as the Aurora Sparklights.

He might be alone, but he was far from nothing.

Hot Rod reigned in his flames and drew strength from their raw power to refocus. He had a bodyguard to save. If he burned himself out here, who would save Deadlock? If no one else would help him, he’d do it himself. It’s not like he’d never gone it alone before. No one thought he would burn Nyon but he proved them all wrong. Defying the odds is his whole deal.

Setting his will like flint, Hot Rod climbed back up the debris pile and started digging. Black ash coated his pink paintwork and vibrant ruby flames. Tongues of fire licked along his spoiler, giving him the appearance of a vengeful wraith.

Every pebble, every handful of ash he moved, was one more closer to saving Deadlock. He would do it. He would keep his promise and rescue Deadlock if he had to move the entire city piece by fraggin’ piece.

He was Hot Rod of Nyon and he had a friend to save.

Chapter Text

As the war raged around him, Hot Rod’s focus narrowed to moving mounds of dirt and ash. He couldn’t even tell how much time had passed.

The more he worked, the more the futility of his task weighed on him. Despite laboring furiously, the wreckage looked unchanged. It was so big and he was so small. He stared blankly at his aching hands. The gold paint was scuffed and worn away down to his silver base coat. Energon leaked from numerous slice wounds. He drew a shuddering vent.

Despair gnawed at his very spark, but he defied it. He kept digging.

Out of sheer stubbornness, Hot Rod refused to quit. He and Deadlock made a promise to each other and he'd be damned if he’d be the one to break it. He had to find Deadlock. His fire raged against his exhaustion as he cut away tangled debris and shoved broken stone slabs aside.

Nyonian principles held that they were always stronger together than apart. But he didn’t have anyone to call. Megatron had already given him new orders. Since he used the open channel, everyone heard and they wouldn't go against Megatron. There was also Turmoil to contend with. If he knew Hot Rod was still here, he might launch another attack. Who could he possibly ask for help?

Aside from the Decepticons, he had no one else… or did he?! Hot Rod’s optics flared.

He brought up his contacts list and frantically scrolled through the frequencies until he found one that didn’t belong with the rest. One that he said he’d delete but could never quite bring himself to do it. One that no one else knew he possessed. A solitary red mark in a sea of purple. The lone Autobot frequency…

Thunderclash.

Hot Rod stared at his hud. He hesitated. Did he dare call Thunderclash for help after abandoning him on the cliff? What if he hates him now? What if he wouldn’t even answer? They were in the middle of an active battlefield… what if he was dead?

Another thought intruded into his mind: What if Deadlock died while Hot Rod agonized over calling an Autotbot for help?

He clenched his fists and pinged the frequency. He might have ruined his relationship with the sparkly idiot, but he had to take a chance. For Deadlock’s sake. Hot Rod’s mind raced through what to say in the off chance that Thunderclash might pick up his call.

>>Hello?<< Thunderclash answered instantly. Confusion plain in his voice.

>>I need your help!<< Hot Rod blurted out. Thunderclash answered so fast that he didn’t even have time to plan a speech.

>>Roddy?? Oh my gosh. I'm sorry! I didn’t recognize the frequency. I’m on my way.<<

>>Wait- just like that??<< Hot Rod gasped. He thought he'd have to explain the whole situation to justify his need, but Thunderclash agreed to come with no information at all. He was either a much bigger hero than Hot Rod would ever be or terminally stupid.

>>Yeah. Just like that. If you need me, I’ll be there. Send me your coordinates.<< Staccato machine gun fire erupted over the comm link.

Still in shock, Hod Rod automatically transmitted the data, including a quick description of the area so Thunderclash wouldn’t get lost. After Megatron’s dismissal, Hot Rod was fully prepared to beg Thunderclash for help. And yet… the Autobot was willing to run to his aid with no further questions or conditions, simply because Hot Rod asked.

>>Got it. I’m not far. Hold on, Roddy. I’ll be there soon.<<

Hot Rod gaped in shock as the comm link fell silent.

When Nyon first called for aid, no one answered. To be fair, everyone had their own hands full with simply trying to survive under Zeta’s regime. If Thunderclash spoke the truth, then both Autobots and Decepticons arrived in time to help and still did nothing. Hot Rod wondered what type of assistance he could honestly expect when everyone failed Nyon in the past.

He didn’t have to wait for long to find out.

“RODDY?? WHERE ARE YOU??” A panicked voice screamed over the explosive cacophony.

Hot Rod’s head snapped up. He quickly scanned the terrain. His optics alighted on a large figure whose glittery topcoat shone in the dim light.

“Thunders?”

“RODDY!!” Thunderclash turned and ran towards him.

“Stop yelling, dummy!” Hot Rod huffed. “You’re gonna get yourself shot.”

If Thunderclash heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. The big idiot ran at full tilt towards him. Thunderclash slammed into Hot Rod, scooping the speedster up in a crushing embrace.

“I’m so glad I found you!” Thunderclash mumbled against Hot Rod’s shoulder as he squeezed him tightly.

Shocking himself, Hot Rod automatically clung to Thunderclash. Although he couldn’t even get his arms fully around the big bot, he hugged him fiercely. For a split second he was back in Nyon before the fire. Zeta’s forces were closing in and he had just returned from wiring another batch of plasma charges as part of their “last resort” plan. Hot Rod was worried and upset and generally an emotional wreck but before he could even say a word, his friend with the gold filigree swept him up into a crushing hug. At that moment, much like this one, it was precisely what Hot Rod needed.

“You called for help,” Thunderclash said as he gently pulled away. “I’m here. What do you need?”

“My best friend got caught in the tower’s destruction.” Hot Rod gestured to the rubble all around them. “I’ve got to find him.”

“Yikes,” Thunderclash muttered as he surveyed the devastation.

“He’s alive. I know it.” Hot Rod said with conviction he didn’t quite feel. “I was already given new orders but I can’t leave. I’ve got to find him. I can’t lose anyone else. I didn’t know who else to call. Please-”

“We’ll find him,” Thunderclash said with such certainty that Hot Rod instantly believed him. No wonder everyone loved this big dope. “What’s his name?”

“Deadlock.”

“DEADLOCK?!” Thunderclash gasped, his optics flared wide. “The most feared assassin on the planet?! That Deadlock?!”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod snorted. Deadlock would be so pleased to hear that the Autobots agreed with his self-assessment. “Is that a problem?”

“NO! Not at all.” Thunderclash quickly recovered from his shock. “Autobot high command doesn’t generally warn us to avoid particular Decepticons, but Deadlock is an exception. Everyone is afraid of him.”

“You have no idea how happy that will make him,” Hod Rod grinned.

“I’ll tell him all about it when we find him.”

Hot Rod nodded. He appreciated that Thunderclash used “when” and not “if.” His own confidence was growing. Together they would do it. They would save Deadlock.

“Let’s get started,” Hot Rod said as he returned to where he was digging a moment earlier. They had no time to waste.

“Right. But first we have to narrow our search area.” Thunderclash waved an arm over the vast debris field. “I have a bit of experience in this type of rescue operation. We could dig forever and still miss him if we’re not careful.”

“How are we supposed to decide where to dig? He was on top when the tower crumbled. He could be anywhere?” Hot Rod asked.

“We get creative,” Thunderclash smiled. He cast a quick glance around before leaning in close. “I’m gonna share a secret with you. I am literally putting my life in your hands right now.”

Hot Rod narrowed his optics. What was the Autobot up to?

Thunderclash unfastened the edge of his left shoulder fairing and exposed his collar struts. A strange iridescent greenish bolt gleamed against his white inner armor.

“See that weird bolt? My medic friend gave it to me after I got lost in the acid storm. It’s made out of chondrite, a non-metallic mineral commonly found in meteors but not on Cybertron. If I ever get lost again, he can adjust his sensors to search for chondrite and when he finds it, he’ll likely find me as well.”

“Whoa! That’s a rad idea.” Hot Rod’s optics widened. His mind raced, already anticipating Thunderclash’s next question.

“My point is, does Deadlock have anything we can use to find him? Like, I dunno, a good luck charm? A religious talisman? A special weapon?”

“AW YEAH!!” Hot Rod’s optics flared. He snapped his fingers. “Not a weapon, but armor! He wears custom tungsten armor! It’s heavy as hell but super strong.”

“Perfect! It’s too heavy to be used as a construction material so there shouldn’t be much else around. If you can find a large concentration of tungsten, it’ll likely be Deadlock! Can you recalibrate-”

“Already on it!” Hot Rod quickly set his sensors to search for concentrations of tungsten. It was such a simple idea it was almost stupid.

A quick scan of the pinged a Deadlock-sized tungsten hit on the opposite end of the debris field.

“Oh my god! He’s over there!” Hot Rod scrambled up into the mangled rubble. His spark spun wildly in his chest. They did it. They found him. “Hold on, Lock. We’re coming!”

Thunderclash crashed along behind him. Debris scattered in their mad dash. Together they raced onwards, following the tungsten hit on Hot Rod’s sensors.

“Come on!” Hot Rod called as he scrambled up a twisted pile of wreckage. His spark raced as he neared the source of the tungsten. He was gonna save Deadlock. Let the world tell him ‘No,’ he would do it anyway. Nyonians could never resist an impossible cause.

When Hot Rod reached the point of tungsten concentration on his scanner he skidded to a stop. His optics darted around the destruction, but he couldn’t see any sign of Deadlock.

“I don’t get it. My scanners say the tungsten source is here. We’re right on top of the hit, but I don’t see any sign of Lock. Did I calibrate them wrong?” Doubt gnawed at him.

“Nope.” Thunderclash flashed a grim smile and cracked his knuckles. “Now we dig.”

“Right. Because the scanners don’t account for depth. Let’s do it!”

“Together!” Thunderclash nodded and Hot Rod’s spark spun sideways.

The debris field here was different from where Hot Rod had been digging earlier. Down below it was mainly gravel and ash. At this site there were more heavy slabs of old flooring supports and jagged shards of metal. Thunderclash grabbed massive boulders and tossed them aside like they were nothing. Hot Rod watched in awe for a few seconds before getting to work himself.

Together they worked furiously. Hot Rod cut through twisted rebar, freeing the large chunks of debris for Thunderclash to move. They made great progress. Hot Rod kept an optic on his scanner to make sure they remained over the tungsten. As they easily fell into silent teamwork, something tugged at Hot Rod’s spark.

“Hey? Thunders? Um- mind if I call you that?” Hot Rod began cautiously.

“Not at all,” Thunderclash grunted as he hefted a massive slab off the pile. “I kinda like it.”

“Okay- So… Thunders… About the other night, when we saw the sparklights… I’m really sorry about the way I ran away.”

Thunderclash stopped digging. He wiped the ash from his face and stared at Hot Rod.

“I- um-” Hot Rod’s spoiler twitched, suddenly at a loss for words, but he had already started spilling his guts, he couldn’t stop now. “I know we share a lifebond, which I will totally balance out one day by saving your life, but it’s more than that. I can’t think of anyone else I would have rather had by my side that night.”

“Really? You mean that?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod vented deeply and melted another tangle of metal to free an extremely large slab. “I didn’t mean to abandon you like that. Seeing the Sparklights, thinking about Nyon, talking about how I can’t remember any of my friends names, hearing about the Autobots and the Decepticons? It was all too much at once. I had so many emotions, I couldn’t process them all. When I feel like that, I have to move, to burn off energy, so I ran. I’m sorry.”

“Well… I can’t pretend like it didn’t hurt to see you speed away, but I understand now,” Thunderclash smiled softly. “Thank you for telling me and for the apology. You truly are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh please,” Hot Rod huffed. “You’re the big fat hero, not me.”

Hot Rod finished cutting through the rebar pinning the massive chunk of debris in place. He nodded for Thunderclash to move it.

“I beg to differ!” Thunderclash said. “No matter how hard things get, you keep moving forward. In the middle of all this horror, your spark still burns brighter than any star. To hurt so deeply and still have strength to care about others, it’s really special. You’re really special.”

“I dunno about all that.” Hot Rod flushed.

“Well, I do!” Thunderclash grinned. “And I don’t mind saying so! Even now, you’re doing everything in your power to rescue your friend. If that’s not the definition of heroic, then I don’t know what is.”

Thunderclash gripped the newly freed slab. His joints groaned as he struggled to lift the heavy load. It was the largest piece they’ve had to move so far. Thunderclash roared as he put all his strength into raising the slab. He slowly raised it about chest height and was preparing to tip it aside when-

BANG!

A single rifle shot rang out from under the slab. Thunderclash jerked back and nearly dropped the slab as a bullet tore through his midsection. He screamed but heroically held the giant stone aloft.

If Thunderclash weren’t so stupidly tall, the shot would have hit him dead center in the spark chamber.

Chapter Text

“THUNDERS!! Holy frag!” Hot Rod screamed.

Hot Rod rushed forward, throwing himself in front of Thunderclash. A shot like that could have only come from one source.

“LOCK, STOP!! We’re trying to save you!!”

“R- Roddy?” A familiar voice marred with static whimpered from deep within the rubble pile.

“Yeah, you dummy! I’m right here. Don’t shoot!” As excited as Hot Rod was to find Deadlock, he had to protect Thunderclash too. He had a responsibility to their life-bond after all. Satisfied that Deadlock would hold his fire, Hot Rod whirled around to check on Thunderclash.

"Thunders? Scrap! You've been shot," Hot Rod gasped.

"Yep. Sure have." Thunderclash winced.

Thunderclash’s whole frame trembled but he still held the chunk of debris aloft. He shifted the heavy slab to rest on one shoulder so he could use his other hand to apply pressure to the gunshot wound in the center of his midsection. Bright pink energon oozed around his fingers and ran down his multicolor plating.

“I- I didn’t recognize the voice,” Deadlock rasped. He sounded like someone cut his vocalizer into shreds and welded it back together wrong. “I thought I was going to get taken prisoner. I- can’t- I won’t-”

“It’s all right, Lock. You heard Thunderclash. He is helping me dig you out. We were doing great until your dumbass shot him,” Hot Rod shouted down into the dark debris pile. He looked up at the big bot. “How are you holding up, Thunders?”

“I’ll survive.” Thunderclash grimaced and grit his teeth. “You gotta get him outta there as quickly as possible. I can’t lift the slab enough to move it anymore, it hurts too bad, but I can hold it steady until you’re clear.”

Hot Rod nodded and shimmied down into the crevice where Deadlock was trapped. Hot Rod was overjoyed to discover Deadlock alive, until he caught a better glimpse of him.

Deadlock was as mangled as the debris they had been digging through to rescue him. Although his heavy tungsten armor protected him from being crushed to death, Deadlock was barely clinging to life. Rebar speared straight through his armor in numerous spots, pinning him in place. Energon pooled beneath him. His plating shivered. Dust and ash coated his entire frame, clinging to his numerous wounds. One optic was completely blown out, the other was cracked and dark.

“Oh Primus, Lock,” Hot Rod muttered quietly. He had to hurry, but he didn’t know where to start.

“You shouldn’t have come, Hot Stuff.” Deadlock coughed, choking on his own energon. Tears streamed from his cracked optic. He modulated his vocalizer in a futile attempt to steady it, but his voice trembled. “My comms are down. I can’t see. I can’t move. I can’t protect you like this.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna protect you this time.” Hot Rod proclaimed. Seeing Deadlock injured so severely broke his spark into pieces. But he didn't come so far to lose his best friend now. Despite the horrific conditions, determination burned in Hot Rod’s spark. It was ultimately his choice to destroy Nyon just as it was his choice to rescue Deadlock. If he went through with the first, he could sure as hell do the second.

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Thunderclash grunted. His frame shook. The strain of holding the debris aloft made his gunshot wound bleed freely. “Having a hole blasted through my torso is making holding this stone a lot more difficult. I’m doing my best, but you need to get out from under it before I drop it. Hurry. Please”

“Sorry, Thunders. Just hold on a few more seconds. Speed is what I do.” Hot Rod called up to Thunderclash before turning to Deadlock. “Okay. Lock, this is gonna hurt like nobody’s business, but I’m gonna have to cut you free.”

“Do it.” Deadlock growled.

Hot Rod nodded. He ignited his fire, superheating his hands and began cutting the twisted metal skewering Deadlock in place. Deadlock clenched his fists. His engine whined. Hot Rod knew every bump, every jostle of Deadlock’s battered frame shot waves of excruciating pain through he best friend.

Hot Rod struggled to focus. His flames flickered. He never wanted to hurt Deadlock, but it felt like everything he did just made things worse. It was his fault Deadlock got hurt in the first place. If he didn’t provoke Turmoil-

“You’re doing great, Roddy!” Thunderclash yelled encouragement, interrupting Hot Rod’s intrusive thoughts.

Hot Rod gasped and cast a quick glance up at the big bot. Thunderclash flashed his stupid adorable lopsided grin through the pain plain on his face. Thunderclash cared about him enough to race blindly across the battlefield to come to his aid. He helped Hot Rod search for Deadlock even though the sniper struck terror into the sparks of all Autobots. Even now, after Deadlock shot him, Thunderclash hadn’t abandoned them.

The more he got to know him, the more Hot Rod realized that Thunderclash was someone special. Thunderclash was so amazing and yet he chose to put all his faith in Hot Rod. With someone so awesome believing in him, Hot Rod couldn’t fail.

“Thanks, Thunders. We’ll be out of here in a jiffy.” Hot Rod said with more confidence than he felt all day. He would save Deadlock, then he’d fix up Thunderclash. He was going to save everyone. Hot Rod had to sacrifice everything he loved once before. He would never do it again.

“OooOOoo! Th-Thunders,” Deadlock snickered through the static.

“Shut up,” Hot Rod grumbled.

Deadlock could barely talk and apparently he chose to use his rapidly waning energy to tease Hot Rod about a crush that he totally didn’t have! Nope, not him!

“How’d you find him this time?” Deadlock wheezed. His voice was more garbled and lower volume than before. “Do you have his private comm frequency or something?”

“What if I do?” Hot Rod retorted. He worked faster. Once he cut Deadlock free, he still had to pull him out.

“You got his number?! And didn’t tell me?! What the frag, Roddy?!”

“Now is not the time, Lock,” Hot Rod grumbled as a pink blush lit up his cheeks. At least Deadlock couldn’t see his reaction.

“Now is the only time I have left,” Deadlock said quietly.

“Don’t talk like that. I’m gonna save you. We promised each other. I’m not breaking my promise, don’t you dare think about breaking yours.”

“That's right! No one is dying today!” Thunderclash called. His frame trembled as he held up the heavy debris and energon oozed freely between the fingers of the hand keeping pressure on his gunshot wound. Despite his obvious pain, the rainbow idiot radiated steady confidence. Hot Rod couldn’t help but believe him.

“You heard the Greatest Autobot of All Time, Lock. He’s a big fat hero, all stupidly strong and handsome. He can’t be wrong,” Hot Rod teased. “We’re gonna get you out of here. You’ll see.”

“What did you call me?!” Thunderclash asked.

Hot Rod could have sworn Thunderclash’s frame glowed soft pink, but it might just be a weird reflection of the flickering lights of nearby explosions.

“Don’t worry about it.” Hot Rod teased.

“Ugh. Haven’t I suffered enough? If all I have to look forward to is you two flirting like a couple of sappy sparklings, then just kill me now,” Deadlock groaned.

“Flirting?! That’s not- I mean-” Thunderclash sputtered. Yep. Now he was blushing for sure.

“Sorry, Lock. You’re stuck with us,” Hot Rod snickered.

He cut through the last piece of wreckage impaled through Deadlock’s armor. Although he cleared away the debris from everywhere he could see in the cramped, dark, crevice, Hot Rod knew there was likely more damage he couldn’t see. He shuddered to think about the condition of Deadlock’s back. Deadlock had already lost a lot of energon, he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

“All fooling around aside, I’ve cleared away enough debris to lift you out of here, but it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

“I can take it,” Deadlock growled.

Hot Rod straddled Deadlock’s mangled body and firmly grasped his sturdy tungsten pauldrons. He steadied himself, ready to throw all his weight into pulling his best friend free.

“Brace yourself, Lock,” Hot Rod said. He didn’t even count before throwing his whole frame into the task of lifting Deadlock.

Deadlock went shockingly quiet. Hot Rod’s fuel turned to ice in his lines, but he couldn’t stop now. He had a promise to keep. He pulled Deadlock harder. Twisted metal shards tore off his battered back. Deadlock still didn’t make a sound. The sickening screech of rending metal filled the air.

Hot Rod’s engine whined. He nearly had Deadlock free, but his tungsten armor was so heavy.

“Roddy! Do you have him?” Thunderclash asked from above.

“Yeah. But I can’t- Sorry, Lock, but you are so heavy.” Hot Rod yelled through gritted teeth. He wouldn’t give up.

Deadlock responded by wrapping his one good arm tightly around Hot Rod’s waist. The unexpected silent movement made Hot Rod jump, but he drew comfort from the strength of Deadlock’s grasp. For all his talk about how Hot Rod shouldn't have come, Deadlock wasn’t giving up either.

“Hold on to him as hard as you can. I’m gonna pull you both out together.” Thunderclash shifted his load and steadied it with one hand. He took the other hand from keeping pressure on his gunshot wound and reached down to Hot Rod.

Hot Rod grasped Thunderclash’s energon slicked hand. Deadlock weakly clung to Hot Rod, using every ounce of his waning strength. In return, Hot Rod gripped Deadlock’s armor tight enough to dent it.

“Don’t let go!” Thunderclash pleaded.

“I won’t.” Hot Rod looked up, directly into Thunderclash’s crimson optics. He squeezed the big bot’s hand and made another promise, suddenly struck with the realization that he currently held on to the two most important people in his life right now. “I won’t let go. Not now or ever again.”

Any doubts he had about Thunderclash blushing before were quickly brushed aside as the Autobot glowed bright enough to illuminate the cramped cavern soft pink.

“Oh! Y- yeah?” Thunderclash stared at Hot Rod, completely stunned. His grip went slack with shock.

“Thunders. Focus.” Hot Rod chided him with a smile.

“Right! Okay.” Thunderclash nodded. Like a true professional hero, he easily slipped back into serious mode. He gripped Hot Rod’s hand tightly, vented deeply, and braced himself against the imminent burst of pain. “On three: One. Two. THREE!”

Thunderclash roared as he used every ounce of strength in his massive frame to pull Hot Rod and Deadlock up out of the pit while still holding up a huge stone slab. He pivoted and flung them free. As soon as Hot Rod and Deadlock were clear, Thunderclash’s legs buckled. He dropped the huge stone and slumped to the ground.

Hot Rod curled his smaller frame around Deadlock. They hit the ground together and tumbled across the debris field. Although he was oddly silent, Deadlock clung tightly to his frame, so Hot Rod knew his best friend wasn’t dead… yet.

Hot Rod and Deadlock skid to a stop a short distance away. Still tightly embracing Deadlock, Hot Rod frantically looked for Thunderclash. He vented in relief to see the sparkly hero leaning back against the giant slab. Despite being covered in his own energon, the Autobot flashed Hot Rod the most charming grin and a shaky thumbs up.

“We did it!” Thunderclash laughed, delirious from pain and exhaustion.

“Hell yeah we did!” Hot Rod grinned. He felt wobbly all over, giddy from their success and low fuel levels. “As if there was ever any doubt!”

Logically, Hot Rod knew they were in a bad situation. One that somehow keeps getting worse. After using his flames so much, he was dangerously low on fuel, Thunderclash was bleeding from a gunshot wound inflicted by the very person they were rescuing and Deadlock was barely clinging to life. Distant rumbles of gunfire reminded him of the war he chose to ignore in favor of rescuing his best friend. Things looked bleak…

But they were alive. And together.

With Deadlock cradled in his arms and Thunderclash’s laughter in his audials, Hot Rod felt more hope than he had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod hugged Deadlock tightly. Energon bled from his best friend’s battered frame and ran down his own arms. He knew he had to do something, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. After the rapid progression of events from finding Deadlock, to Deadlock shooting Thunderclash, to freeing Deadlock from his internment in the wreckage, they were probably all in shock. His spoiler twitched. As Hot Rod knew all too well, there’s only so much your brain can handle at a time. Hot Rod’s plating shivered with the need for activity, but he couldn’t run away this time.

While Hot Rod was lost in his thoughts, Thunderclash made the first move. The big Autobot dragged himself to his feet and limped towards them.

“Roddy? Are you alright?”

Hot Rod nodded. He clutched Deadlock protectively. He buried his face against Deadlock’s busted pauldron.

“And Deadlock?”

“Not so much.” Hot Rod replied. He couldn’t bring himself to actually describe the horrific extent of Deadlock’s injuries.

Thunderclash took one look at poor Deadlock and clamped his free hand over his mouth to stifle his gasp.

“Oh Primus.” Thunderclash muttered.

“Yeah.” Hot Rod whispered.

“It’s… bad. Deadlock is in desperate need of medical care. We have to-”

“My injuries have left me blind not deaf,” Deadlock snapped, his normally sonorous voice sounded raspy and weak. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Oh my gosh! My apologies!” Thunderclash instantly knelt down next to them, applying constant pressure on his own wound with one hand. “You were so quiet, I assumed that you had passed out.”

“I was quiet because I manually deactivated my vocalizer,” Deadlock growled.

“Lock! Why would you do that?” Hot Rod gasped.

“Because.” Deadlock’s cracked finials canted all the way back. “Getting pulled out of the rubble hurt. So bad. No one needs to listen to me scream.”

Hot Rod hugged Deadlock a little tighter.

“Ow. Damn. Roddy, that hurts.” Deadlock groaned. “Everything hurts.”

“Oh my god! I’m sorry.”

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but I’m glad that we found you,” Thunderclash said as he gently took Deadlock’s hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Thunderclash. I’m a friend of Hot Rod’s.”

“Call me Deadlock. I’ve heard all about you, Thunders.” Deadlock weakly nudged Hot Rod with his elbow. Hot Rod rolled his optics, cheered by Deadlock’s stubborn refusal to quit teasing him. His friend still had some life left in him.

“All good I hope?” Thunderclash asked with sincere interest.

“More or less. For what it’s worth…” Deadlock vented deeply and continued in a whisper. “I’m sorry I shot you.”

“Ohmygosh! You’re totally forgiven. I understand. You were hurt and scared and didn’t know who was approaching you. You had to defend yourself. If I was in your place, I might have done the same thing, but with much less accuracy.” Thunderclash squeezed Deadlock’s hand.

“I totally wasn’t scared,” Deadlock grumbled in denial.

“It’s fine to be scared, Lock. I’m positively terrified right now.” Hot Rod said.

“That’s fine for you, but I don’t get scared.” Despite his strong words, Deadlock’s voice wavered. Deadlock settled weakly into Hot Rod’s arms. “I still think you shouldn’t have searched for me, but I am happy you found me. At least now I won’t have to die alone.”

“You’re not gonna die, Lock,” Hot Rod protested. Tears welled up in his optics.

“Death comes for us all, Hot Stuff. I’ve been close enough to it before to know what it feels like.”

“Lock- NO,” Hot Rod whispered. Tears ran hot down his cheeks, washing streaks through the dark ash coating his frame. He gripped Deadlock tighter as if he could keep him alive by sheer force of will. Hot Rod could patch gunshot wounds and fix minor dents, but Deadlock’s injuries were well beyond anything he could handle. The damage to his frame was so severe, Hot Rod wasn’t entirely sure how Deadlock was still alive. He knew Deadlock needed medical attention, but he had no idea how to get it for him.

“Sparkles? You still around?” Deadlock wheezed.

“Me?” Thunderclash asked. He held Deadlock’s hand. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. Keep an optic on Roddy for me. Please.” Deadlock coughed. He turned his head and spit up a mouthful of energon. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to keep my promise to watch his back.”

“I absolutely will. Because Hot Rod is my friend. But our relationship is different from the bond you two share. If you made a promise, you must honor it yourself.”

“But-”

“Which is why we’re going to get you the care you need. You’re going to be okay,” Thunderclash reassured him. “We are not far from the Autobot front lines. We have a well-stocked medical facility and-”

“NO! Absolutely not!” Deadlock snapped.

“I’ll be right there with you, Lock,” Hot Rod said. “Anywhere you go, I go. If Thunders says the Autobots can help-”

“I said NO!” Deadlock struggled against Hot Rod’s grasp but he couldn’t really move. “I won’t be taken prisoner. I’d rather die.”

“But you need medical attention as soon as possible and the Autobot facility is closer to our position than the Decepticon base. I’ll vouch for you as my friends. You won’t-” Thunderclash pleaded

“NO! Things happened to me in a Dead End jail cell that I never want to revisit. I’m Megatron’s top assassin. I know some Autobot slagger probably can’t wait to get his hands on me in this condition. I won’t be trapped under someone else’s power. I WON’T! If there is even the slightest chance that I might be a prisoner, I’ll kill myself. You couldn’t stop me. You don’t know every weapon I carry. I’ll-”

“STOP!” Hot Rod cut him off. “You are not dying, Lock. Especially not by your own hands.”

“Roddy is right. I apologize for suggesting it. I have no intention of forcing you to revisit your past trauma,” Thunderclash said. “That settles it. We head for the Decepticon base.”

“We?” Hot Rod asked.

“Yeah. I’m going with you. Deadlock can’t support his own weight. You’ll need help carrying him.”

“But you’re an Autobot...” Hot Rod’s spark sank.

Hot Rod wouldn’t dare force Deadlock to seek aid from the Autobots but he also didn’t know what would happen if Thunderclash waltzed up to the Decepticon base with that stupid Autobot badge plastered to his chest. The idea of Thunderclash becoming a prisoner of war for their sake made his tanks churn. Especially because he wasn’t entirely sure how the sparkly idiot would be treated.

“It doesn’t matter. I said I’d help you save your friend, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Thunderclash proclaimed.

“Goddammit,” Deadlock muttered. He vented deeply and the sound rattled hollow in his chest. “Roddy, you can’t let Thunderclash anywhere near the Decepticon base. He’ll be taken prisoner. Maybe I can’t protect you anymore, but at least I can protect him.”

“Megs trusts me. I’ll just say Thunders is my friend. It should be fine.”

“Yeah but… do you know who’s in charge of the POW exchange?”

Hot Rod shook his head. It took a few moments of silence for him to remember that Deadlock couldn’t see him. “No. Who?”

“Turmoil.”

The fuel in Hot Rod’s lines turned into ice while his fire roiled under his plating. Deadlock’s warning about Turmoil’s jealousy came crashing back to him. Turmoil tried to kill Deadlock because he was Hot Rod’s friend. And Deadlock was one of Megatron’s most trusted soldiers. If Turmoil found out he held an Autobot prisoner that Hot Rod cared about…

The thought of Turmoil torturing Thunderclash made Hot Rod want to purge his tanks. Sure the big idiot was an Autobot, but he was so kind and gentle. Even imagining his stupid voice crying out in pain sent a chill down Hot Rod’s spinal struts.

“I don’t know who this Turmoil is, and I don’t care. I’m not going to let him stop me from helping you.” Thunderclash said with such stubborn resistance, it warmed Hot Rod’s Nyonian spark.

“What if I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way for me?” Deadlock rasped.

“It’s a little late for that,” Thunderclash muttered, pressing hard on his gunshot wound. Energon oozed out around his fingers.

While his two friends squabbled, Hot Rod’s mind raced. If he opted to seek help from the Autotbots, Thunderclash would be saved, but Deadlock would kill himself. If he went to the Decepticons, he could save Deadlock, but Thunderclash would likely be tortured to death by Turmoil. He would have to sacrifice one friend to save the other. It wasn’t fair.

How was he supposed to choose?

Hot Rod was tired of having to sacrifice things he loved. He wanted to save everyone.

A plan began to form in his brain. If he couldn’t go to either base without sacrificing one of his friends, he’d go to neither.

“Hey, Thunders?” Hot Rod asked. “If you called your medic friend, would he come? Could he fix Lock enough that we could get back to the Decepticon base by ourselves?”

“Oh my gosh! Yes! Absolutely! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” Thunderclash exclaimed.

“Wait? Are we talking about calling more Autobots?!” Deadlock thrashed weakly in Hot Rod’s grasp.

“Technically, yes,” Thunderclash responded. “But he takes his calling as a medic far more seriously than loyalty to any faction badge. He’ll treat anyone who needs care, and he’ll come alone if I ask.”

“Do it,” Hot Rod commanded.

Thunderclash nodded and stepped away to make his comm call.

“Roddy! NO!” Deadlock protested. “What if he brings a whole troop of Autobot soldiers here? I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself.”

“I’m sorry, Lock, but you need more help than I can give. We need a skilled medic. I thought about calling Knockout, but he never leaves the base during combat. All of our other medics are too unreliable. I’m not going to lose you because Spinister got distracted by a shiny object on his way to save your life. Worst comes to worst, I can roast any disagreeable Autobot that shows up with my flames, but I trust Thunders. If he says it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even know who Thunderclash is calling. What if-” Fear raised the pitch of Deadlock’s voice. His battered engine whined, broken and sputtering.

“Relax, Lock. It’ll be okay,” Hot Rod repeated to reassure himself as much as Deadlock. “I know the medic is an Autobot, but he’s Thunders’ best friend. True, I don’t know his name. I can’t recall if Thunders never told me or he told and I forgot. I’m not doing too great with names right now... Maybe you know him?”

“How would I?” Deadlock snapped.

“Thunders said he ran a clinic in the Dead End of Rodian.”

“He- He what?” Deadlock whispered. His finials canted back and his plating locked up.

“Good news!” Thunderclash called as he rejoined them. “He’s nearby and will be here in a few minutes. Don’t worry, he’s coming alone.”

“Here that, Lock. You’re going to be alright.” Hot Rod smiled. Maybe he can save everyone after all!

Deadlock canted his finials all the way back and went strangely silent. Hot Rod wondered if he deactivated his vocalizer again.

Thunderclash rubbed the side of his helm as if his audials were bothering him. “He totally gave me an audial full about running off on my own again. He’s the kindest person I know, but sometimes he can be a bit gruff. You know-”

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOU GREAT THUMPING LUMMOX?!” A voice shouted from the other side of the debris pile.

“Wow that was fast,” Thunderclash muttered. He turned and yelled, “RATCH!! OVER HERE!!”

“Quit all your damn shouting! You’re going to get yourself shot!” A red and white Autobot replied. He stomped right across the wreckage and headed straight for Thunderclash. Hot Rod’s optics widened at the imposing figure. Dried energon flecked his white armor and stained his hands up to his elbows. The bright red chevron on his forehelm made his steely gaze even more intimidating.

Thunderclash shifted his position to block the incoming medic’s view of Hot Rod and Deadlock. Hot Rod hugged Deadlock a little more tightly. Deadlock’s finials perked up as if he was straining his audials to listen to the incoming medic’s voice. His plating shivered but he didn’t make a sound.

“It’s a little late for that warning,” Thunderclash laughed. The motion of his laughter jostled his gunshot wound. Energon oozed between his fingers. “Ow.”

“What the hell?! You’ve already been shot?! I told you to be quiet!”

“Hey! You’re yelling too!” Thunderclash whined.

Hot Rod stifled a laugh. He could see himself and Deadlock having a very similar type of conversation.

“Of all the goddamn, idiotic- don’t fraggin’ lecture me about battlefield safety. You’re the one who ran off alone and got yourself shot. You called ME for help,” The medic ranted. “Although I’m not sure why. You’ve dragged yourself back to base with far worse injuries than one bullet in your midsection. Not too long ago, you limped into my medbay on one leg, half-mauled by scraplets.”

“Heh. Yeah. Good times,” Thunderclash chuckled.

“You know there’s a war going on, right? Let’s get you fixed up so we can-”

“Wait, Ratch. I didn’t call you here for me.” Thunderclash stepped aside, revealing Hot Rod cradling a severely injured Deadlock. “I called you here for them.”

The medic’s jaw dropped. His rant died on his vocalizer. He stared at Hot Rod and Deadlock, shock plain in his brilliant blue optics. Hot Rod’s tanks dropped. Did the medic recognize Deadlock, the deadly assassin that struck fear into the sparks of all Autobots?

“Ratchet,” Thunderclash began calmly. He gestured towards Hot Rod with his free hand. “This is Hot Rod of Nyon, the friend that I’ve been telling you about.”

Hot Rod’s spoiler hitched up. His spark spun with pride at the way Thunderclash introduced him, not only as a Nyonian, but as his friend.

“His best friend was caught in the wreckage of this fallen tower. He needs emergency medical care, but his condition is too bad to attempt to move him.” Thunderclash quickly explained. “I didn’t know who else to call. You gotta help him. Please.”

Ratchet simply stared at Deadlock. He looked like he saw a ghost. He wasn’t even listening to Thunderclash. All of his attention was firmly fixed on Deadlock.

Hot Rod clutched Deadlock protectively to his chest, struggling to ignore his best friend’s energon bleeding over his own frame. The medic had to recognize the assassin. What if he refused to treat him?

“Hot Rod’s friend’s name is-”

“Kid??” Ratchet cut him off. His voice a disbelieving whisper.

To Hot Rod’s surprise, Deadlock finally moved. He canted his finials back. He huffed a short laugh and managed a half smile. The motion caused his split lip to bleed more freely, but he didn’t seem to care. Deadlock’s fingers twitched in as much of a wave as he could muster.

“Hiya, Doc. It’s been a while.”

Chapter Text

They all stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Explosions rumbled in the distance, but Hot Rod couldn’t think of anything more earth-shattering than the revelation that Deadlock somehow knew Thunderclash’s best friend.

What the frag?!

Hot Rod was formulating the words to ask what in the hell was going on when Ratchet snapped out of his shock first and leapt into action. He rushed forward and shoved Hot Rod away.

“Give me some space, goddamnit!” Ratchet huffed as he dropped to his knees next to Deadlock. The medic’s piercing blue optics darted over Deadlock’s battered frame.

“Hey!” Hot Rod’s plating flared. He was about to protest further, until he noticed that Ratchet only had optics for Deadlock.

“Holy frag, Kid, you’re in a state. What the hell happened to you?” Ratchet asked Deadlock as if Hot Rod didn’t even exist.

“Aw, come on, Doc. This is nothing,” Deadlock wheezed.

Hot Rod stared in shock. Deadlock was actually smiling! One of his super rare, unironic, genuinely happy smiles. While talking to an Autobot?!

“Like hell it is!” Ratchet chided. “Last time I told you to take better care of yourself. Remember?”

Last time?! Hot Rod screamed internally. What is happening?!

“Heh. You know me. I live on the edge.” Deadlock’s laughter quickly dissolved into static.

“Don’t give me that scrap. ‘Live on the edge’ my ass.” Ratchet made an air quote motion with his hands. “Being far too careless is more like it. You’ll be lucky if I can patch up this mess.”

Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. Nothing made sense. Hot Rod cast a quick glance at Thunderclash, pleading for answers. The big bot shrugged and looked just as confused as he felt.

“You’ve pulled me back from worse,” Deadlock whispered.

“Rust wash. You’ve never been this bad.”

“Come on, Doc. You’ve got the magic touch.”

“Pfft! It’s not magic, it’s an advanced degree,” Ratchet grumbled as he gently ran his fingers along the torn edges of Deadlock’s armor, still assessing the damage.

“Maybe… but… in case you can’t… if… if I don’t make it-” Deadlock stammered.

“Nope! Don’t you dare!” Ratchet cut him off. “Whatever you’re going to say can wait until you’re in stable condition.”

Hot Rod felt nothing more could surprise him today until Ratchet easily scooped Deadlock up into his arms, tungsten armor and all. Hot Rod could barely move Deadlock himself and even Thunderclash struggled. Although, to be fair, Thunderclash was also dealing with a rather painful gunshot wound.

“WHAT? THE? HELL?!” Hot Rod yelled, finally finding his vocalizer. He threw himself in front of Ratchet, blocking his path. Medic or not, this autobot wasn’t going to run off with his friend without some answers.

“Sorry- Hot Rod, was it?” Ratchet muttered. “I need to operate on this idiot stat, but out here in the open we risk drawing the wrong kind of attention. We have to find a more sheltered location as soon as possible.”

“Be nice, doc,” Deadlock rasped. He vented deeply and relaxed in Ratchet’s arms. “That’s my best friend you’re talking to.”

“I’ll be damned. You went and found yourself a friend. Good for you, Kid.” Ratchet smiled.

Hot Rod sputtered. It felt good to hear Deadlock call him his best friend, but he felt like he was missing some very important details in this entire situation. Especially the fact that Deadlock and Ratchet had nicknames for each other. Hot Rod wasn’t sure if it meant something different in Rodian, but in Nyonian tradition giving each other nicknames implies a certain degree of familiarity.

“Over here, Ratch!” Thunderclash called.

While Hot Rod’s world turned upside down, Thunderclash apparently anticipated Ratchet’s needs. While in great pain himself, the big bot had quietly rearranged a few massive slabs of debris to create a sheltered alcove.

“It’s not Iacon General, but it’ll do,” Ratchet dashed towards Thunderclash’s makeshift field hospital, leaving Hot Rod in the dust.

“HEY! Wait up!!” Hot Rod yelled as he chased after them. Now he was physically as well as metaphorically being left behind.

Some doctor that he just met ran off with his dying best friend. Hot Rod felt like he should be more concerned, except he saw Deadlock’s reaction when Ratchet picked him up. He practically melted. Deadlock often flinched when Hot Rod touched him without warning but not now. Deadlock nuzzled his head under Ratchet’s chin as the medic cradled him gently to his broad chest. And, to be fair, Ratchet held Deadlock with more care and obvious tenderness than strictly necessary for professional courtesy.

Deadlock had better survive, because Hot Rod might die himself if he never gets the chance to ask him what the frag is going on.

Still cradling Deadlock in his stupidly strong arms, Ratchet swept the floor of the sheltered space clear of loose debris with one firm swipe of his foot. He gently placed Deadlock on the cleared floor, towards the back of the scant shelter.

Just as Hot Rod skidded to a stop, Ratchet whirled around and pointed to him and Thunderclash.

“Listen up, you two! It’s gonna take a lot of work to save Drift and we’ve got less than ideal conditions here. I’ve got to devote all of my focus to a very serious operation, so I can’t afford to be looking over my shoulder for interruptions. Don’t let anything disturb me. I don’t care if Lord Megatron himself waltzes across the battlefield to grace us with his presence.”

“Yeah, but-” Hot Rod furrowed his brow. Today just keeps getting weirder… What did Ratchet call Deadlock? Drift?? Is that another nickname???

“What about a visit from Primus?” Deadlock snickered.

“Yeah. Not even figments of the imagination are allowed in here,” Ratchet rolled his optics. “There’s clearly not enough room.”

“You got it, Ratch! Nothing will get by us!” Thunderclash removed his hand from his bleeding gunshot wound to offer a crisp textbook salute.

“And YOU!” Ratchet rounded on Thunderclash. “Keep pressure on that wound! I don’t need you bleeding to death while I’m operating on someone else.”

“Oops!” Thunderclash quickly snapped his hand back over his wound. He cracked one of his stupid lop-sided grins. “You got it, doc.”

Ratchet shook his head and sighed. He turned to Hot Rod and nodded his helm towards Thunderclash, “Keep an optic on him for me, will you. He’s quite hopeless.”

“I’ll keep two optics on him.” Hot Rod said with a quick nod.

“I’ll bet you will,” Deadlock wheezed.

Hot Rod’s cheeks flushed as he did his best to ignore Deadlock’s teasing. He drew himself up to his full height, and even then was quite a bit shorter than the Autobot medic.

“I don’t understand everything that’s going on right now, but… Thank you for coming, Ratchet. I’m not an official medic, but I have plenty of first aid experience. You don’t have to worry about Thunderclash. I’ll take good care of him. Just… Save Lock’s life. Please.” Hot Rod said. Given the gravity of the situation, he wished that he could say something more poetic or powerful, but at least these words came from his spark. They would have to do.

To Hot Rod’s surprise, Ratchet actually smiled, warm and genuine. The transformation the gesture gave the battle-tested medic made Hot Rod gasp. It was like the first light of dawn after a dark stormy night. Hot Rod suddenly understood Thunderclash’s extolling of Ratchet’s kindness. It was always there, just buried under a heavy armor of grumpiness, not unlike Deadlock’s tungsten.

“Alright, Hot Rod. We’ve got some very special people to take care of,” Ratchet firmly shook his hand. “Let’s do it.”

Hot Rod nodded. He still didn’t quite understand what was happening, but explanations could wait until no one was actively dying.

Ratchet knelt next to Deadlock and began putting an array of tools in order. “Okay, Kid. Let’s get you sorted.”

“Just like old times,” Deadlock rasped. Hot Rod could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been a while, Doc, but you look as good as ever.”

“Pfft. Spare me.” Ratchet grumped. “Both of your optics are blown out. You can’t see anything. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how you’re still conscious.”

“I don’t need my optics to see certain things.”

“Oh, for frag’s sake. Philosophical nonsense does not replace medical care.”

Hot Rod turned and started shuffling a few paces away. He wanted to be near enough to hear if there was a problem, but far enough away to not hear every detail of Deadlock’s emergency surgery.

He paused when he heard Deadlock speak again. With the strange intimacy between Deadlock and Ratchet, it seemed rude to eavesdrop. However, the real possibility that it might be the last time Hot Rod would hear Deadlock’s voice pushed him to make a quick exception.

“Hey… Doc?” Deadlock asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Could you do something for me? Tell Roddy that even though he was a monstrous pain in my aft, getting assigned as his bodyguard was the best thing that ever happened to me. Aside from meeting you, of course.”

Hot Rod’s spark froze and tears stung his optics.

“What am I? Your fragging messenger?” Ratchet huffed. “You can tell him your own damn self as soon as I get you back on your feet.”

Hot Rod choked back a quiet laugh and wiped the tears from his face.

“Hell. He even managed to bring us back together,” Deadlock continued. “He’s pretty special.”

“Be that as it may… I happen to think you’re pretty special…” Ratchet grumbled quietly. “...Always have. In fact, I- uh-”

Hot Rod blushed. Okay. Now eavesdropping was definitely rude. He hurried away to give them their privacy. Thunderclash had absolute faith in Ratchet’s skills, so Hot Rod would trust him too. There would be plenty of time to talk to Deadlock once he was stable...

And to tease him relentlessly. Hot Rod couldn’t believe it. All this time Deadlock gave him a hard time about Thunderclash and he had a secret Autobot crush himself. If Deadlock survived, Hot Rod vowed to never let him hear the end of it.

Hot Rod looked up to find Thunderclash staring at him.

“Sooo…” Thunderclash tentatively began. He nodded his head in the direction of Ratchet’s makeshift field hospital. “Did you know about any of that??”

“No way!” Hot Rod answered, glad to hear he wasn’t the only one feeling lost. “Did you??”

“Oh my gosh! NO!!” Thunderclash gasped, his confusion reaching comical levels. He waved his arms in exasperation, totally forgetting Ratchet’s orders to keep pressure on his wound. Energon ran freely down his plating. “I mean, Ratch isn’t usually one to talk about himself, but we’re friends. I feel like I should have known something!”

“I know right!” Hot Rod exclaimed. “I mean, I told Deadlock all sorts of stuff, you think he could have mentioned something about whatever this is?” Hot Rod waved vaguely towards Ratchet’s little shelter.

“Me too! Pardon my language but… what the HECK!?” Thunderclash said in exasperation as he flopped down against a broken slab of debris that provided a little shelter while still offering a clear view of Ratchet’s workspace a respectable distance away. His optics slowly brightened with realization. “Although… if I recall correctly, Ratchet did warn me about the dangers of a cross faction relationship when I told him about you.”

“Oh my god! Deadlock did the same thing,” Hot Rod gasped. “I always meant to ask him for more details later, but I sort of forgot about it.”

“Whoa. They must have been speaking from experience!” Thunderclash exclaimed. “It all makes perfect sense. Looking back on things, I guess there were alot of signs something was going on, starting with all those goons killed by sparkshot outside of Ratch’s clinic. It’s Deadlock’s trademark method. I kind of feel like I let Ratchet down by not ever talking to him about it. Why didn’t I ever notice it before?”

Thunderclash rambled on, listing small details that, in hindsight, hinted towards Deadlock and Ratchet knowing each other. If Hot Rod wasn’t so worried about Deadlock, he’d have totally joined in. He drew a little comfort in the fact that Thunderclash was so confident in Ratchet’s abilities that he didn’t seem worried at all.

Hot Rod slowly sat down next to him, figuring this was as good a spot as any to keep watch. He hoped Ratchet could save Deadlock. Hot Rod couldn’t bear the thought of losing another friend.

He hugged his knees to his chest. His spoiler twitched.

What if he forgets Deadlock’s name too?

Chapter Text

After a few moments of keeping silent vigil, all of Hot Rod’s plating crawled with the need for movement. The grating wheeze of Deadlock’s damaged vocalizer rang in his audials. The thought of Turmoil’s jealousy putting Deadlock in this position gnawed at his spark. Hot Rod stared blankly across the short distance to where Ratchet was working on Deadlock. The few feet felt like a thousand miles.

Hot Rod hated keeping still. It made him feel helpless. He needed to do something. Although he longed to run, to push his engine to full throttle and let all his troubles rush away in a blur of blinding speed, he didn’t dare leave. Not with Deadlock fighting for his life in emergency surgery with some Autobot medic that he apparently knows well enough that they have several nicknames for each other.

He still had so many questions…

But right now he needed something else to occupy his overactive processor so he didn’t keep thinking about all the worst possible outcomes. Even during the darkest of Nyon’s hours, distractions were plentiful. There was always energon to move, equipment to fix, or someone to help…

Someone to help!! Hot Rod suddenly remembered his promise to Ratchet.

“Hey, Thunders?” He asked, looking up at the big bot.

“Yeah?” Thunderclash startled. He was half keeping watch, half lost in his own thoughts.

“Mind if I take a look at your gunshot wound? I’m pretty good at first aid stuff and I told Ratchet I’d patch you up.”

“I’d greatly appreciate it, but…” Thunderclash chewed his bottom lip. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Come on!” Hot Rod playfully cuffed Thunderclash’s shoulder. “You gave up your time to cross faction lines and help me save my best friend, who promptly shot you as thanks for your efforts. THEN! You called your super-medic best friend who is currently putting my beloved idiot back together. Even by Nyonian life-bond standards, you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty today. You are well within your rights to impose a little bit.”

“Aw shucks,” Thunderclash waved off Hot Rod’s accolades. “That stuff is no big deal. Anyone could have done it.”

“Yeah, but… anyone didn’t do it.” Hot Rod shuddered, recalling Megatron’s dismissal of his request for help. He met Thunderclash’s optics. “YOU did.”

“Oh- um- well- I-” Thunderclash stammered as his cheeks began to glow. “It was really no trouble.”

“No trouble? Really??” Hot Rod raised a brow and pointed to Thunderclash’s gunshot wound. “Are you sure about that?”

“Well…” Thunderclash blushed with a sheepish grin. “Maybe a little bit of trouble.”

“Alright,” Hot Rod laughed. “Lemme take a look at it.”

“If you don’t mind..” Thunderclash said. He shifted his position to lean back a little.

Hot Rod glared at him. “If I minded, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“And don’t apologize. Deadlock shot you. It’s not your fault that you’re hurt.”

“Oops! Sorry-” Thunderclash stopped himself and clamped his free hand over his mouth.

Hot Rod shook his head and knelt next to Thunderclash. The way Thunderclash apologized for everything, including his own injuries, twisted his spark. Hot Rod knew Nyon had issues, but there was something wrong with the rest of Cybertron as well if someone made Thunderclash feel like he needed to apologize for existing. His protective streak flared. But before Hot Rod could confront more complicated issues, he had to prevent Thunderclash from bleeding to death.

Thunderclash moved the hand that he’d been using to keep constant pressure on his wound. After a brief inspection, Hot Rod vented a sigh of relief.

With all the energon oozing out around Thunderclash’s fingers, Hot Rod feared the worst. Fortunately, the bullet disintegrated on impact, leaving no shards to remove. A few copper mesh patches over his mangled fuel lines should do the trick. Thunders’ self repair systems could hopefully take care of the rest. He had lost quite a bit of energon, but Thunderclash’s large tanks contained enough reserve fuel to prevent him from going into involuntary shutdown. As long as Hot Rod could get the bleeding to stop.

“Good news!” Hot Rod exclaimed as he took out the tool kit that his friend with the faded teal paintwork always insisted he carry. “Due to Lock’s professional pride, things look much worse than they are.”

“It still feels pretty bad,” Thunderclash winced. “Discomfort aside, I don’t understand what Deadlock’s professional pride has got to do with anything.”

“He uses titanium bullets because they are sharp enough to pierce through any armor. Although the titanium bullets are strong, they are extremely brittle. After the initial impact they generally explode. Which makes them super lethal when he goes for the usual shot to the spark. If Lock means to kill you, you’re dead, if not, the wounds generally heal quickly.”

“Deadlock uses special bullets designed to disintegrate sparks?!” Thunderclash shuddered. “Now he’s even more terrifying than before.”

“I’m totally gonna tell him you said that!” Hot Rod teased.

“Only if he’ll get a kick out of it,” Thunderclash said nervously. “I don’t want to end up on his bad side.”

“Oh, he’ll love it. He plays it cool, but he loves his big bad reputation.” Hot Rod grinned. Talking about things he planned to tell Deadlock helped Hot Rod hope for his friend’s survival.

Hot Rod rummaged through his small tool kit to find a few bits of copper mesh and his slender forceps. He remembered complaining about sitting through his first aid lessons, saying they were boring. His faded teal friend gently thumped him on the helm with a wrench and said the lessons he taught would take care of Hot Rod in his stead when he was gone. Hot Rod rolled his optics at him. At the time he couldn’t even conceive of a reason why they wouldn’t always be together.

Now those lessons were all he had left…

Hot Rod shook himself before the grief took hold again. He pushed aside the all too familiar ache of loss. Thunderclash was depending on him. He had to focus on the present.

“Okay.” Hot Rod tapped the armor panel adjacent to the shattered one on Thunderclash’s torso. “Open this one, if you can.”

“Alright,” Thunderclash winced and managed to partially open his damaged armor.

Hot Rod used a small oil cloth to clean the congealing energon away from the tears in Thunderclash’s large fuel lines.

Thunderclash hissed in pain.

“You doin’ alright?” Hot Rod asked as he deftly maneuvered the copper mesh around the numerous wounds.

“Yep. Great.” Came Thunderclash’s clipped reply. “Ow. Totally fine.”

Unfortunately, the internal damage was a bit more severe than Hot Rod originally hoped. He was going to need his entire supply of copper mesh and then some. Thunderclash likely exacerbated the original gunshot wound by continuing to hold up the giant debris crushing Deadlock. The big idiot actually made his own injuries worse by rescuing the very person who shot him in the first place. How did he survive a brutal civil war for so long with apparently zero self-preservation skills?

Hot Rod stole a quick glance at Thunderclash. The big bot’s optics were shut and he clenched fistfuls on debris in his hands. Despite the pain being plain on his face, Thunderclash’s large engine rumbled steadily as ever. Hot Rod realized that Thunderclash must be counting his engine revolutions, just like his energon scout friend taught him to do. He wondered who taught Thunderclash that calming technique.

“Almost done,” Hot Rod assured him.

“Thank goodness.” Thunderclash hissed.

“Sorry I don’t have any painblockers…”

“No worries. I’ve dealt with far worse.” Thunderclash replied through gritted teeth.

“Maybe. But you shouldn’t have to deal with any of it.” Hot Rod shook his head. While his fingers moved with practiced ease, his mind wandered.

What were they even doing? Deadlock nearly died. Thunderclash was hurt. Hot Rod’s hands were coated in his friends’ energon. Nyon was under siege again for completely different reasons.

And for what?

When they fought Zeta, they had a reason. Zeta wanted to leech every drop of energy from Nyon to fuel his war machine and oppress the entire planet. Hot Rod and his friends not only fought for their own lives but also for the freedom of Cybertron at large. In the end, they chose death and freedom in the hope of a better future for the world.

As Hot Rod sat in the ashes of his old life patching the wounds of a friend from one faction while another from a different faction fought for his life nearby, he couldn’t help but wonder…

Was it worth it?

Did he burn Nyon for this?

The sound of scattered gunfire echoed across the ruined city. Dark clouds roiled overhead. Is this the bright future his friends died for?

“Hey?” Thunderclash asked softly as if sensing Hot Rod’s dark thoughts. “Are YOU okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Sure. I’m not the one with someone else’s hands inside their torso.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Thunderclash giggled. “Ow. It makes it sound weird.”

“It is weird!” Hot Rod looked up and caught Thunderclash watching him with bright red optics glowing with mirth despite the terrible situation. Somehow their gentle light was enough to banish Hot Rod’s dark thoughts. Hot Rod smiled and shook his head. “You are hopeless.”

“So I’ve been told,” Thunderclash chuckled.

“Sweet Solus Prime. I’m so glad Lock isn’t seeing this,” Hot Rod muttered as he finished wrapping the last of his copper mesh around another ruptured fuel line. Although he had repaired the worst damage, there were still dozens of small lacerations. Since he was out of copper mesh, it was up to Thunderclash’s self-repair systems to handle the rest. At least until Ratchet got him back to the Autobot field hospital.

“There you go,” Hot Rod said as he gently eased Thunderclash’s damaged armor back into place. “It’s still gonna hurt like hell, but I’ve managed to stop most of the bleeding. Your self repair systems should be able to help stabilize the damage until you can get more help.”

“Thank you.” Thunderclash tested the repairs with a few small stretches. He winced with every movement.

“How do you feel?”

“Much better. Although still very sore. And freezing cold. Is that normal??”

“Cold? Hmm…” Hot Rod tapped his chin, trying to recall all of his first aid training. “You’ve lost a lot of energon. With self-repair systems drawing most of your depleted operating fuel right now, your internal temperature controls probably went offline. It happened alot to people back in Nyon when energon stocks got low and we had to reduce rations.”

“I don’t like to complain, but it’s fairly uncomfortable,” Thunderclash shivered and curled his massive frame around himself.

“I could help-” Hot Rod offered tentatively before quickly adding, “only if you want! I don’t understand how it works, but my fire ability gives me a much higher normal temperature. During the long cold nights in Nyon, I used to help my friends keep warm. We used to- you know- um- cuddle? For survival reasons of course!”

Hot Rod’s optics went wide. He couldn’t believe he just said that. What was he thinking??

Was he really going to use medical assistance as an excuse to get the hug he so desperately wanted?

Hot Rod chewed his bottom lip. His spoiler twitched. What was he doing?

He was exhausted. Worry for Deadlock gnawed as his spark. Anger at Turmoil burned like fire through his lines. And Thunderclash stirred up all kinds of complicated feelings. All he wanted was a hug from his friends, and he couldn’t even remember their names…

Thunderclash stared at him, with his head tilted to one side. His face slowly spread into that stupid lopsided grin as if he guessed Hot Rod’s secret thoughts.

“You know…” Thunderclash teased with radiant warmth, “If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask.”

“What?! Hug?! No- NO! That’s not it! I’m trying to help you!” Hot Rod sputtered.

“I know you are. And I greatly appreciate everything you’ve done for me so far,” Thunderclash replied. “But it’s okay to need a hug. You’ve been through a lot today. You’ve worked so hard to rescue Deadlock and then patch me up. You care so much for everyone else, it’s okay to acknowledge you need a little comfort yourself. Let me help you for a change.”

“You have helped me! I never could have rescued Deadlock without you!” Hot Rod protested. “I can’t just ask for a hug!”

“Why not?”

“Well- um- because!” Hot Rod’s cheeks burned bright pink.

“Because why?

“Because… what if you say ‘no’?” Hot Rod mumbled quietly. His spoiler drooped. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He was grateful Deadlock wasn’t anywhere around otherwise he’d never hear the end of it.

“What if I say ‘yes’?”

“What if-?! UGH! You know what? FINE!” Hot Rod ranted. “I’ll admit it! I’ve been through a lot today. Everyone I ever knew is dead because I burned my city. My best friend almost died and I feel like it’s my fault. Then he shot you and I sort of feel responsible for that too. I feel like being close to me will only cause people pain. And apparently Lock has a whole secret life that I know nothing about. It’s almost too much to deal with at one time. I could totally use a hug!”

“Okay,” Thunderclash simply agreed.

With that simple response, Thunderclash instantly swept Hot Rod up into a warm embrace. Despite it being his idea, the gesture initially shocked Hot Rod. He yelped with surprise.

“Primus! You are so warm,” Thunderclash said as he gently held Hot Rod close. His massive engine purred.

“Yeah- I guess... but… I promised Ratchet I’d help you.” Hot Rod mildly protested. Primus. It felt so good to be held.

“Hmm… I’d say you’re multitasking.” Thunderclash hugged him. “You’re helping stabilize my temperature and I’m giving you a comforting hug.”

“Well… I guess it is pretty efficient to accomplish two things at once,” Hot Rod mused. His own cheeks glowed bright pink. He supposed Thunderclash had a point.

The Autobot held him loosely, with careful consideration given to Hot Rod’s spoiler which was still scuffed from the initial implosion of the tower. Thunderclash’s touch was so gentle, so considerate, that Hot Rod instantly relaxed. It didn’t matter that they were both exhausted and covered in dust and energon. For the first time since Nyon burned, he felt completely sure that someone genuinely cared about him.

Sure, he had a lot of friends among the Decepticons. He admired and respected more than a few of them, especially Megatron. Aside from Deadlock, Hot Rod was never really sure if anyone else cared for him the way that he cared for them. Until now.

Hot Rod warmed his plating a bit more and curled up against Thunderclash’s massive chest. After all, he needed to keep the big bot warm. No ulterior motives or anything!

Hot Rod vented deeply, lost in the feeling of security. His own engine began to purr.

Saving someone’s life never felt so good.

Chapter Text

As darkness fell and the sounds of warfare quieted for the nightly retreat, Hot Rod and Thunderclash rested together in their scant shelter. No word came from Ratchet on Deadlock’s condition, but safely snuggling with the giant Autobot, Hot Rod was content to believe that no news was good news.

“Hey? Roddy?” Thunderclash broke the companionable silence.

“Yeah?” Hot Rod mumbled. He really hoped Thunderclash didn’t want to move. Hot Rod snuggled closer. He was more comfortable than he had any right to be. For once, it was nice to simply pretend that everything was okay.

“I- um- have to tell you something. I’ve been mulling it over for a while now, trying to find the proper words to bring up the subject, but nothing seems right.”

“I know that feeling,” Hot Rod chuckled. He shifted his position so he could see Thunderclash’s face. “Spit out the first words that come into your head. That’s what I usually do.”

“Okay, if it works for you. Here goes…” Thunderclash vented deeply then blurted out a jumble of words at hyper speed, “I have something to give you. Now is not the best time, but I don’t know when I might see you again. Although I want you to have it, I’m not sure if it’s going to be good or bad. It might be painful, and hurting you is NOT my intention. I made it because I thought it might help but-”

“Thunders. Whoa. Slow down. What the hell are you talking about?”

“This.” Thunderclash held up a data slug.

“What is it?” Hot Rod narrowed his optics at the tiny data storage device delicately held in Thunderclash’s large cobalt fingers.

“It’s a data slug.”

“I know what it is!” Hot Rod laughed. “I mean, what’s on it?”

“Oh! Um- Iaconian Law Enforcement data files I got from Optimus Prime.” Thunderclash nervously chewed his bottom lip. “Nothing else though! I swear on my spark. I had Ratch double check the data over and over again until he threw me out of the medbay. There’s no hidden location trackers or viruses or anything weird. Just plain old data files.”

“What kind of data files?” Hot Rod furrowed his brow, genuinely confused. What the hell was happening today? First he discovered Deadlock apparently had a secret relationship of some kind with an Autobot Medic and now Thunderclash was giving him legal data?? He’d heard that war is complicated, but no one ever told him it would be so fraggin' weird.

“I hope you’re not offended but-” Thunderclash winced and hunched his shoulders.

“Offended?” Hot Rod regarded the data slug with new curiosity. “Why would I be offended?”

“The nature of the data files is just plain wrong, but it’s the best I could do on such short notice. After the conversation that we had under the Aurora Sparklights about not being able to recall your friends’ names, my spark broke for you. Even though it hurt when you ran away with no explanation, I realized that you must be hurting in ways I could never understand. I wanted to do something to help, so I asked Optimus Prime-”

“Wait. You talked to Optimus Prime? About me?”

“Not exactly. I only asked if I could look through his personal data files about Nyon.”

“Why would the Autobots’ big stupid general have anything about Nyon?” Hot Rod’s plating flared. Asking so many questions made this conversation feel like an interrogation but nothing Thunderclash said made any sense and he was being so cagey about details for some reason.

“Before the war, Optimus used to work in law enforcement and he saved everything. You know, he didn’t really want to be a general. He only started leading the Autobots because people started following him. I don’t know how the Decepticons are structured, but the Autobots exist because of Optimus. Although he’s basically our leader and figurehead, he never wanted any of it. His real dream was to be an archivist. He loves people and their stories and wants to help preserve both.”

“He doesn’t work too hard at it though, does he?” Hot Rod mumbled bitterly, recalling Optimus’ empty apology when he arrived too late to help Nyon.

Hot Rod stared at the tiny data slug in his hands.

He didn’t want to talk about Optimus Prime neglecting Nyon. Especially because it reminded him that he still needed to talk to Megatron. Hot Rod joined the Decepticons partly because he blamed the Autobots for not providing any aid, but he never actually found out what the Decepticons did during Nyon’s destruction. Where was the Megatron when Nyon burned?

“Thunders?” Hot Rod asked quickly before he started to think about things that he didn’t want to think about. “What’s on here? Tell me in plain words.”

“Wanted posters.” Thunderclash winced and hunched his shoulders.

“Wanted posters?!” Hod Rod laughed. “That’s super weird, but okay. What’s the big deal about a bunch of wanted posters?”

Totally not the answer he was expecting, but it should be an excellent distraction from worrying about Deadlock. Hot Rod whipped out his data pad and inserted the data slug. Now he was really curious. Why would Thunderclash give him a collection of wanted posters?

Hot Rod made himself comfortable nestled against Thunderclash. He made sure to keep his plating warm to provide continued assistance to Thunderclash’s recovering systems, and opened the first image file on the data slug.

The first wanted poster featured a huge picture of Hot Rod, plating aflame, with a wicked grin flashing a rude gesture. The bold text under his picture read: “Wanted: Hot Rod of Nyon. Number One Enemy of the State By Order of Zeta Prime.”

“Oh my god! It’s me!” Hot Rod laughed. “The jokes on you, Zeta. The state is long gone but your enemy is still here!”

For the first time, Hot Rod felt a strange stubborn pride in his survival. His spark burned with defiance. Zeta tried to destroy Nyon, but in the end, Nyon destroyed him. Plus as long as Hot Rod lived, so did a little bit of Nyon.

“It's a pretty good picture, though,” Hot Rod nodded appreciatively. He hardly recognized himself. The bot on the wanted poster appeared so bold and confident. Honestly, it made him look like a movie star. “I remember this day. We raided a Senate supply convoy bound for Iacon and stole everything, even the transport vehicles.”

“You hijacked the entire convoy?!”

“Oh yeah. They grossly underestimated the Nyonian resistance. There were hardly any guards. We swept in and took the victory with no major casualties. Primus, we had such a party that night. Life in Nyon was rough, but when we had cause to celebrate, we went all out.”

Hot Rod chuckled as he read through the list of charges. “Disturbing the peace. Destruction of government property. Disregard for authority. Grand larceny. Petty larceny. General larceny. Yep. Check, check, and double check! I did all those things and loads more!”

“You were defending your home. No one had any right to call it anything else, let alone criminalize you for it,” Thunderclash said. An underlying sharpness cut through his quiet tone.

Hot Rod shrugged. Thunderclash seemed more offended by the wanted posters than he was. With his weird sense of humor cultivated by a difficult life on the wrong side of the law, Hot Rod found them hilarious. His friends would have loved them too. He imagined them hanging up the posters all over their hidden bases just to tease him.

“Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Thunders, but I don’t see what the big deal is,” Hot Rod mused as he nonchalantly scrolled through a few posters, all of him, the Big Bad Rebel Leader, featuring images taken during the same raid. He had to admit, they made him look really cool.

“Not all of the posters are of you,” Thunderclash said. He shifted nervously.

“What are you-” Hot Rod flicked the datapad screen to reveal the next image and froze.

His question died on his lips. Hot Rod stared at the tiny screen and found himself face to face with his answer.

“Oh Primus-” Hot Rod gasped. Shock jolted him like a bolt of lightning.

Staring back at him on his tiny datapad screen was an image of one of his friends, the burly guard with bronze paintwork decorated with intricate gold filigree. His amber optics shone with mischief. He wielded a massive greatsword in a defensive position almost like a shield. A grin that was half challenge, half invitation curled his lips.

He looked exactly as Hot Rod membered.

Under the vibrant image were the words: “Wanted: Amicitia of Nyon.”

“Amicitia,” Hot Rod whispered the words out loud, slowly as if out of a dream. Tears stung his optics. Something broke inside him and he sobbed as the image sparked his memory. “I called him Tia.”

Hot Rod’s whole frame shook. He clutched the datapad tightly. He didn’t dare drop it. As soon as he saw the picture, the memory of his name returned like he never forgot it. Remembering Amicitia’s name made his loss finally feel real. Tears streamed freely from his optics.

Once, in search of a thrill, Hot Rod got it into his head to try lava surfing. He had read a story about meteor surfing but had no way to get into space, so he thought he’d try the next best thing. He trekked to the nearby Mt. Eos and stood upon the precipice. Watching the fiery lava surge through a narrow channel, Hot Rod realized he had a choice. He could dive in and hope that the act didn’t kill him or he could turn away and never know the thrill of a successful run.

He stood upon the same razor’s edge between safety and pain at this moment.

In his first aid training, Hot Rod learned that parts of the body would shut down to protect vital processes, like Thunderclash’s internal thermometer shutting down to divert power to his self-repair systems. What if his brain worked the same way? What if blocking out the memory of his friends’ names was part of a survival mechanism so the excruciating pain of his incalculable loss didn’t sweep him away like a fast moving lava flow.

Then again, he always remembered images better than words. Maybe his processor was just fragged up.

Either way, Hot Rod now faced a choice. His frame trembled.

Hot Rod could ignore this information and continue to live a broken existence, or he could embrace the knowledge and all the new pain it would bring.

Never one to shrink from a challenge, like throwing himself onto a flow of surging lava, Hot Rod faced the image and smiled though his spark was breaking.

Amicitia grinned back at him.

“I called him Tia,” He whispered through his tears.

Thunderclash hugged him tightly.

“Oh my god, Thunders,” Hot Rod hid his face in one hand while he hugged the data pad protectively to his chest with the other hand. He just cried as Thunderclash held him. “I called him Tia. He thought it was funny. Why couldn’t I remember that before?

“I don’t know…” Thunderclash hugged him tightly.

Hot Rod drew comfort from the fact that seeing Amicitia’s picture and reading his name instantly jogged his memory. Before this moment, he worried that those memories were lost forever. Maybe his processor was okay after all.

“Can you tell me a little about him?” Thunderclash asked. He gently rubbed small circles on Hot Rod’s back.

“Primus, he was something else,” Hot Rod wiped at his optics and smiled. He stared at the image, absent-mindedly tracing the intricate details of Amicitia’s filigree with one finger. “Tia was super protective. He watched out for all of us, all the time. Whenever Zeta’s goons got the drop on us, Tia always leapt to the front to shield everyone with that giant stupid sword he made. He named that thing the Blade of Brennaere, although I have no idea why. Despite his tough exterior, he was a big softy with a great sense of humor. He’d have liked you. The fact that you’ve helped me out a few times would have endeared you to him forever.”

“I think I would have liked him too,” Thunderclash said quietly.

“He taught me how to fight. In return, I taught him some fancy driving moves.” Hot Rod chuckled. “His alt mode was similar to yours, but not quite as big. He used to watch me race and confided in me that he wished he could drive like me. So, I offered to teach him. He was so stoked.”

“I bet you two had a lot of fun.”

“Hell yeah we did! Once he got the hang of it and quit whining about how hard it was. Drifting is more about technique than raw speed. Honestly, he was getting pretty good at it. Not as good as me, of course, but we had a blast…” Hot Rod trailed off.

Hot Rod vented deeply. He leaned against Thunderclash and stared at Amicitia’s picture.

No one had ever really asked to hear about the friends he lost before. Whether it was because they didn’t know what to say or didn’t care, none of the Decepticons ever brought up the topic of Nyon. Hot Rod didn’t want to admit that he could remember anyone’s names so he never broached the topic either. He had enough trouble adjusting to the present without discussing the past.

He wiped at his tears and smiled. It felt so good to actually talk about his friends. He stared at the image on his tiny datapad and flicked through the files. Several more posters of Amicitia featured different images and listed more charges. Hot Rod advanced to the next file and froze again.

The next poster featured a dashing bot in purple paintwork flecked with brilliant silver. Her golden optics sparkled with the same mischievous energy as Amicitia’s.

“Wanted: Indigo Iris of Nyon,” Hot Rod read the title out loud. Reading her name instantly sparked his memories. “Oh, Primus! Indy! She’s Tia’s spark twin! They were each tough on their own, but together? They were unstoppable. She looks exactly the way I remember!”

“Wait a sec…” Hot Rod checked the number of files. There were so many. “How many wanted posters did you find?”

“Quite a few, actually, although there are multiple posters for the same people,” Thunderclash said. “I didn’t know who you might recognize, so I saved any posters from Nyon I could find.”

Hot Rod’s spoiler twitched. He was overwhelmed. Cycling through all the image files, he found that he recognized everyone, finally finding the names to match with the pictures in his head.

There was their energon scout, complete with his pink plating and disinterested green optics labeled as “Igneous of Nyon.” Then there was his survivalist friend with faded teal paintwork and the perpetually flat tire. His poster listed his name simply as “Cor.” Hot Rod smiled. Cor wasn’t a native Nyonian, no one knew where he was originally from. He just sort of showed up one day and never left.

There were even people he didn’t recall at all until seeing their pictures. Hot Rod’s optics lit up when he saw the wanted posters for Noctgar and Promnis. He couldn’t believe he nearly forgot about his Nyonian fishing buddies. They raced to the Rust Sea whenever the weather was good to see who could catch the most fish.

“Thunders- I- these people were my family and I couldn’t remember any of their names. I couldn’t even grieve properly. But now- ” Hot Rod scrubbed at his optics with the heel of his palm. “Do you have any idea what you’ve given me?”

“I only wanted to help. I know a bunch of wanted posters is not the most respectful way to remember such amazing people but-”

“Are you kidding?!” Hot Rod cut him off. He gently caressed his datapad screen and the image of Noctgar’s deep midnight blue plating. He smiled through his tears. “They would have loved these. I can already hear the endless arguments about whose wanted poster had the hottest picture.”

“You would have easily won that one.” Thunderclash said with an appreciative nod.

“Excuse me?!” Hot Rod laughed in spite of himself.

“AHHH! I mean- well- what I meant to say was-” Thunderclash’s face lit up bright pink. He quickly gave up searching for an excuse and sighed like he was accepting his fate. “It is a very good photo.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

Hot Rod flipped back to the poster of him wreathed in flames. Regardless of how he felt about himself, he did look really good. Was this how everyone else saw him? Maybe he was a bit more heroic than he ever gave himself credit for.

Hot Rod hugged his datapad. Hot Rod had no idea how long Thunderclash must have pored over Optimus’ data files before he found all these wanted posters. Somehow the time spent meant even more to Hot Rod than the images themselves and the images meant a great deal. They filled a gaping hole in his spark. He had no words to convey the depth of his gratitude.

“Thunders…” Hot Rod began. He truly didn’t know what to say. Every word fell short of expressing the emotions welling up inside of him. “Compiling these posters is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It was no big deal.” Thunderclash shrugged, his cheeks still glowing.

“You’re right. It’s not a big deal. It’s an epically huge massive deal. You’ve given me a piece of myself back. How can I ever repay you?”

“You don’t have to repay me. We share a life bond, remember? It means we look out for each other, no strings attached.”

Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. He stared at Thunderclash absolutely stunned.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that I’ve lived to see the day that someone else has to explain Nyonian traditions to me,” Hot Rod teased.

Hearing Thunderclash effortlessly and perfectly invoke their life bond warmed his spark. They’d come a long way from Hot Rod trying to balance the scales as quickly as possible so Deadlock could shoot Thunderclash and get him out of their lives forever. Although… technically Deadlock did still shoot Thunderclash.

“I didn’t mean to overstep-”

“No. You’re fine. It’s actually quite comforting to realize I’m not the only one left on this planet who understands Nyonian culture. Thank you.”

“Oh! Um- you’re welcome.” Thunderclash’s blush deepened.

“Seriously though… I want to do something…”

“Well… you could tell me a story about some of your friends. They all seem like incredible people. I’d like to know more about them than the unjust list of crimes they were accused of while defending their home.”

“Really? I can totally do that!” Hot Rod beamed.

Remembering his friends’ names made him miss them even more. Talking about them would help ease the pain while waiting for any news from Ratchet about Deadlock’s condition.

“Okay! You’re gonna love this story!” Hot Rod nestled comfortably next to Thunderclash and opened one of Noctgar’s posters. “I’m gonna tell you about the time me and Noctgar almost caught the legendary aquatic monster, the Rogue of the Rust Sea!”

Chapter Text

“Oh my gosh! No way!” Thunderclash laughed. “The fish was so strong it almost dragged both of you into the Rust Sea?!”

“Hell yeah!” Hot Rod grinned. “Neither me nor Noct could swim, but we weren’t letting go. We knew we had finally hooked the legendary sea monster. Except this legend was for real.”

“How big do you think it was?”

“I dunno, but it felt HUGE! As soon as I hooked it, I knew it was something special-”

“Damn. I’m blind and even I can see there’s something special going on here too.” A raspy voice interrupted Hot Rod’s story.

Hot Rod gasped. He cycled his optics a few times to adjust to the darkness. Two figures heavily leaning on each other stood at the edge of their scant shelter. Hot Rod had been so involved with telling his story that he hadn’t even heard them approach.

“Lock?” Hot Rod whispered. Tears stung his optics.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me you forgot all about me now that you have a big sparkly Autobot to hang out with.”

Hot Rod was so overjoyed to see Deadlock back on his own two feet he let the teasing slide. He launched himself up and tackled Deadlock. They would have fallen over in a tangled heap but Ratchet held them upright.

“Oh Primus, Lock! I was so worried!” Hot Rod hugged Deadlock tightly to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming. To his surprise, Deadlock actually returned his embrace.

“Primus had nothing to do with it,” Ratchet grumbled.

“Wait a second!” Hot Rod pushed out of their hug. “You said you’re still blind?! Are you okay? Is there permanent damage? Do you need a donor optic? You can have one of mine!”

“I don’t want one of your optics!” Deadlock huffed. “You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for me. I’m supposed to protect you. Remember?”

“Is it because they’re blue? Do you have something against blue optics? Because a lot of Autobots have blue optics??”

“What?! No-”

“My optics are red,” Thunderclash interjected. “You can have one of mine.”

“You?! I shot you!” Deadlock exclaimed. “Not like I even want it but, why the hell are you offering me one of your optics??”

“You apologized for shooting me. It’s okay. You’re Roddy’s friend and I want to help you any way I can.”

“Everyone! Stop it!!” Ratchet shouted. “No one is donating any optics.”

“But-” Hot Rod started to protest.

“There’s no way in hell I’m doing an optical replacement procedure in this dust bowl. Optical surgery requires extremely clean conditions. One speck of dust or ash in your optical sensors and you’ll be seeing spots forever. Besides, if I thought it would be a good idea, I’d have donated one of mine.”

“Wait… really?” Deadlock asked quietly. He canted his finials back.

“Of course, Kid,” Ratchet huffed.

Hot Rod narrowed his optics. It could be a trick of Thunderclash’s glowing red optics reflecting on Ratchet’s pale plating in the starlight, but he could have sworn a slight blush colored Ratchet’s cheeks. Hot Rod grinned. After all the teasing about Thunderclash, Deadlock had a receipt coming. Hot Rod couldn’t wait to get him alone to tease him.

Now that his optics had fully adjusted to the darkness and the initial burst of joy at seeing Deadlock alive and more or less well had calmed, Hot Rod finally took a step back and got a good look at his friend. Most of Deadlock’s heavy tungsten armor had been stripped away, likely to reduce the strain on his damaged frame. A spiderweb of fresh weld seams glinted in the starlight. Deadlock limped along on his own feet, but Ratchet bore most of his weight. Both optics were still dark. All in all, he looked terrible. At least his voice sounded better.

“Head straight for the Decepticon medbay,” Ratchet turned to Hot Rod. “I fixed what I could, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”

“Pfft. I’m too stubborn to die.” Deadlock smirked.

“Is that so? Because a few hours ago, you were totally ready to give your last will and testament.” Hot Rod teasingly mimicked Deadlock’s voice, “*cough* Thunderclash, look after Roddy for me *cough*.”

“That was before I knew the Doc was on his way to save my sorry aft.”

“Hey. Come on now. I’ve told you before. You’re special, Kid,” Ratchet said softly. “There’s nothing sorry about your aft.”

Thunderclash snorted. Hot Rod bit his lip but as soon as he locked optics with Thunderclash, they both burst into laughter. Even Deadlock snickered.

“Goddammit! That’s not what I meant and you know it! Get your minds out of the gutter!” Ratchet yelled at them all, brandishing a large wrench.

Somehow Ratchet’s scolding made everything a hundred times funnier. Hot Rod laughed so hard his vent fans hiccupped. He felt so strangely good. Deadlock was alive, Thunderclash was healing, and he had a record of his friends’ names safely saved on his data pad. He was more complete than he had been for a long time.

Thunderclash doubled over in laughter and flinched. “Ow.”

“Knock it off, you lugnuts!” Ratchet huffed. “You’re being held together with baling wire and good intentions and you’re howling like a pack of wild hyenabots.”

Hot Rod went to catch Deadlock’s optics before he remembered that Lock still couldn’t see. It ended up not being necessary. As soon as Ratchet mentioned the hyenabots, Deadlock lost it.

Now the three of them were dying of laughter, which only annoyed Ratchet further.

“I just spent a lot of time putting you back together, dammit! The weld seams are still tempering. Laughing so hard is going to split them wide open.”

“Sorry, Doc,” Deadlock wheezed. “I guess I’m just happy to be alive.”

“Me too,” Ratchet’s tone softened. “Happy you’re alive, I mean. And I would very much like it to stay that way.”

Hot Rod shook his head. As good as it felt to be all together, Ratchet had a valid point. Both Deadlock and Thunderclash needed additional medical care and they were all running low on fuel. Hot Rod deactivated his own low fuel warning system ages ago, but even without it he could tell his levels were dangerously low.

He cast a quick glance at Thunderclash. The big Autobot flashed his stupid lopsided grin. Hot Rod’s spark twisted. He knew they both had to go back to their respective armies, but he found himself suddenly reluctant to move.

A melancholy silence settled on their unlikely little group.

For one brief moment, Hot Rod contemplated going with Ratchet and Thunderclash. While Deadlock was adamantly opposed to seeking aid from the Autobots earlier, he was obviously comfortable with Ratchet. And if Hot Rod was completely honest with himself, he’d like more time with Thunderclash. After all, he didn’t get to finish his literal fish tale.

On the other hand, Hot Rod had many friends among the Decepticons. Although he often didn’t understand their traditions and they didn’t get his Nyonian ways at all, Hot Rod couldn’t imagine he’d fit in any better with the Autobots. Besides, he still needed to talk to Megatron, both about Nyon and now Turmoil as well.

Hot Rod’s mind wandered. There were so many things he needed to do he couldn’t choose where to place his focus.

With a medic’s blunt practicality, Ratchet spoke up first, “As much as I’ve enjoyed our little reunion, the night will only last so long. If we’re all careful, we can be back in our respective bases well before the sunrise restarts the battle in earnest or any well-intentioned search parties wander off and get themselves lost.”

“Right.” Hot Rod slipped under Ratchet’s arm to allow Deadlock to lean on his own shoulder. He wrapped an arm around Deadlock’s waist to steady him. “I guess this is goodbye?”

“For now.” Ratchet sidestepped away with a curt nod.

“Hmm... I’d like to think of it as more of a ‘til we meet again’.” Thunderclash smiled as he struggled to his feet. Ratchet hurried over to pull him up.

“Til we meet again?” Hot Rod grinned. He liked the hopefulness of that phrase. It felt less permanent than ‘goodbye’. “Alright. I can go with that.”

“Me too.” Deadlock perked his finials up and gave a shy wave. “See you around, Doc.”

“Oh my god. Was that an optic pun or something?” Hot Rod groaned.

“No! I was being serious.”

“Alright, Kid. See you around.” Ratchet chuckled. “You two take care of each other, you hear.”

Although the medic smiled, Hot Rod could see the sadness in his optics. It broke his spark. As much as he wanted to stay with Thunderclash, Hot Rod wished he could find a way for Ratchet and Deadlock to stay together even more.

“Come on, Ratch.” Thunderclash draped an arm around Ratchet’s shoulders as they slowly moseyed away. “You’ve had a busy day. Want me to carry you?”

“What?! You?? Carry me?! Is that some kind of joke?” Ratchet sputtered. “You’re the one with more energon on your frame than inside of it. If anything I should be carrying you! In fact-”

“Whoa! Wait! Don’t-”

Ratchet promptly ignored Thunderclash’s protests and easily scooped the massive Autobot up into his arms. Thunderclash laughed.

“Quit laughing! It tickles!” Ratchet scolded him through his own laughter.

“Did Doc just-” Deadlock whispered.

“Pick up Thunderclash like it was no big deal? Oh yeah.” Hot Rod answered. His own optics went wide. How could Ratchet be that strong?

“Wow. I wish I could see it,” Deadlock mumbled. He kicked at the dust in disappointment.

“Yeah. You really do.”

“See you later, Roddy!” Thunderclash twisted in Ratchet’s grasp to wave.

“Keep still, goddammit! I don’t want to drop you,” Ratchet grumbled.

“Later!” Hot Rod waved as he and Deadlock turned away to begin their long slog back to the Decepticon base.

Deadlock canted his finials all the way back. Hot Rod knew he was straining to listen to Ratchet and Thunderclash bickering until the two Autobots were out of audial range. The silent Nyonian night settled heavily around them.

After they could no longer hear even the slightest sound, Hot Rod felt like he might burst if he didn’t start bombarding Deadlock with questions. Instead of all the things he planned on asking, Hot Rod found a new question on his lips.

“Do you want to go with him?”

“What?!” Deadlock gasped.

“It’s obvious you and Ratchet care about each other a lot. That’s coming from me and I am notoriously dense about other peoples’ relationships. I didn’t even realize that Amicitia and Igneous were conjunx until their first anniversary.”

“Who- What are you talking about? Ratchet’s doesn’t-”

“Yeah, Lock. He totally does. You should have seen his face when he recognized you. And you practically melted when he picked you up. What’s the deal with you two?”

“It’s complicated.” Deadlock vented deeply. “Besides, even if I wanted to, I’m not joining the Autobots any more than Ratchet is joining the Decepticons.”

“That doesn’t matter-”

“But it does! It DOES matter, Roddy!” Deadlock raised his voice more out of anguish than anger. “We’re at war. I can’t turn my back on Megatron anymore than Ratchet would abandon Optimus Prime. I joined the Decepticons at the very beginning. I helped Megatron navigate the Dead End when he first arrived there. He trusted me and I believe in him. Ratchet has known Optimus since long before the war. Optimus helped him set up his clinic and keep it hidden. Neither one of us would ever ask the other to desert their friends.”

Hot Rod took a few more steps in silence. He weighed his own experiences against what Thunderclash told him about Optimus Prime. The more he learned, the more Hot Rod began to realize that both factions were so devoted to their leaders that perhaps no one truly knew the goal of the war at the point. Except possibly Optimus and Megatron…

He needed to talk to Megatron more than ever now. Hot Rod resolved to search out the Decepticon leader as soon as they returned to base. No distractions, no excuses.

Instead of chasing those dark thoughts, Hot Rod decided to pursue a new topic. He grinned.

“So you aren’t even going to try and deny it then?”

“Deny what?” Deadlock asked.

“After all the scrap you gave me about Thunderclash, you have a secret super massive Autobot crush yourself!”

Deadlock’s jaw dropped.

“I knew it!” Hot Rod laughed and continued in a sing-song voice, “You love him, don’t you? Ooo! Ratchet!!”

“Shut up,” Deadlock groaned but a smile tugged at his split lip. The fresh weld seam, a tell tale sign of Ratchet’s gentle touch, shimmered in the starlight.

Encouraged by Deadlock’s smile, Hot Rod doubled down. “OooOoo! Ratchet! Wrap me up in your big strong arms! Carry me away, Doc!”

“Quit it!” Deadlock shifted his weight to bump himself against Hot Rod. Despite his protests, the tone of his voice leaned dangerously close to laughter.

A loud boom like rolling thunder echoed across the pitch black battlefield. Hot Rod’s plating twitched. He scanned the night sky for any hints of acid storm clouds or Autobot fliers but the sky was absolutely clear. Countless stars shone like glittering gemstones. Although everything appeared quiet and calm, Hot Rod quickened their pace a little.

“Oh? What’s the matter? Big bad Decepticon Sharpshooter embarrassed by crushing hard on the Autobot Doc?” Hot Rod teased.

“Oh, Primus,” Deadlock muttered in what sounded like a giggle.

Hot Rod grinned. He was mentally composing his next round of teasing when Deadlock’s finials perked up.

“Roddy! Get down, we’ve got incoming!” Deadlock threw himself sideways into Hot Rod, toppling them both.

As they tumbled down together into a shallow ditch, Hot Rod heard what had alarmed Deadlock: the high pitched scream of jet engines nearing their position.

Although no one generally ventured out after dark, the Autobots must have sent out a search party. If Ratchet was friends with Optimus Prime, surely he’d be worried when the medic turned up missing. He must have sent the Aerialbots out to look for his lost friend.

“Oh scrap!” Hot Rod curled himself around Deadlock.

To his surprise, Deadlock hugged him tight. Still stubbornly taking his position as Hot Rod’s bodyguard super seriously, Deadlock twisted their positions, using his own battered frame to shield Hot Rod. They huddled in the dust. Hot Rod clung to Deadlock and buried his face against his scarred chestplate. They had been through too much today for it all to end with a single cruise missile.

Suddenly the sky above them lit up in a burst of violet light. A black and purple jet materialized out of thin air.

“Warp?” Hot Rod’s optics widened and a relieved smile spread across his face while Deadlock groaned beside him.

“Roddy!!” Skywarp called. “Hey, TC! Get your aft over here! I finally found him!”

Chapter Text

“RODDY!!” Skywarp gleefully exclaimed.

The purple jet barrel rolled and dove right towards them at top speed. Skywarp transformed and used his thrusters to slow his descent at the last second before tackling Hot Rod and Deadlock in a diving hug.

“Ow!” Deadlock snapped. He shoved Skywarp away. “Get off!”

Skywarp stuck out his tongue at Deadlock, not realizing that his rude gesture would go unseen, and continued cuddling Hot Rod.

“Primus, Warp!” Hot Rod laughed. “What are you doing out after dark? It’s dangerous!”

“Looking for you, of course!” Skywarp beamed.

The rolling thunder noise Hot Rod heard earlier cracked again, louder and closer. It heralded the appearance of a sleek blue jet.

“Thundercracker!” Hot Rod smiled. After witnessing the Autobots come looking for Thunderclash before the acid storm, Hot Rod was sure the jets must be the Aerialbots. Although the Aerialbots could still very well be other there, he never considered that some of his Decepticon friends might be out looking for them too.

For the first time, he was relieved that they had already gone their separate ways with Thunderclash and Ratchet. As much as he missed Thunderclash, the last thing he needed today was for his friends from different factions to run into each other.

“We’ve been searching for you for a little while now.” Skywarp waved Thundercracker down. “The Stunticons and the Constructicons were supposed to help, but they got into an argument about who should take which side of the battlefield to search. Things escalated quickly and… I think they’re still fighting.”

“Thankfully they haven’t combined yet. If Devastator and Menasor start going at it, Megatron will be super hacked off.” Thundercracker shook his head after he transformed and alighted gently beside them. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

Hot Rod laughed. The two combiner squads were perpetually at odds. Since he liked hanging out with both groups, he’d done his fair share of stirring the pot between them. He couldn’t help himself. One little prank always yielded such hilarious results. Besides he was fairly certain that squabbling between the squads was simply how they showed their affection for each other.

“Primus. It’s so good to see you,” Thundercracker smiled and wrapped them both into a warm hug. It was a much softer experience than Skywarp’s diving tackle.

“Hell yeah! We knew you couldn’t be dead!” Skywarp exclaimed.

“Wait… why would I be dead?” Hot Rod asked. Although everyone probably thought Deadlock was killed in the explosion, there was no reason to assume Hot Rod was dead. He asked for help to rescue Deadlock over the main comm channel. Everyone should have heard him.

“Turmoil reported you both as killed in action,” Thundercracker said. “We figured Deadlock was toast after we heard your request for help, but…”

“Turmoil?! He reported us both as dead?” Hot Rod growled through clenched teeth. His temper flared and he fought to keep a tight handle on his flames. Turmoil tried to kill Deadlock and threatened Hot Rod not to return. He wanted Hot Rod gone, so of course he reported them both as dead.

They were in Nyon. If Turmoil thought he could run Hot Rod out of his own city when even Zeta’s vamparc army failed, he had another thing coming.

“Yeah, but we didn’t believe him for a second. As soon as night fell, we snuck out to search for you. No one’s supposed to be out after dark because of some kind of treaty or whatever, but we had to try. Starscream is doing his part by keeping High Command occupied. He promised to drag out the usual post-battle meeting as long as we’re out so no one will notice we’re missing.” Skywarp said.

“We’ve got plenty of time. If there’s one thing Screamer knows, it's how to create drama. He could probably keep the meeting rolling indefinitely,” Thundercracker laughed.

“Even if Deadlock was stupid enough to die, I knew you’d survive, Roddy. We’re practically trinemates. We’d have felt something if you were killed.” Skywarp grinned.

“Roddy.” Deadlock nudged him. “What are they talking about?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Hot Rod whispered to Deadlock. “I always meant to ask someone about what exactly the seekers meant by ‘trine’. It must be a sort of a family group or something-”

“Not the trine thing. I mean everything else. What exactly happened after the tower fell?”

“Oh. Well…” Hot Rod winced. With everything that happened, he realized he never told Deadlock the whole story. Or that Turmoil was responsible for it, but they didn’t really have time right now to get into everything so he ran through an extremely condensed version. “I asked for help to search for you after the initial explosion. Megatron expressed his condolences. He said you were likely already dead and we would mourn your loss together after the battle. Then he ordered me to join the main offensive and move on.”

“You disobeyed orders to rescue me?” Deadlock gasped.

“Duh. Like I could ever abandon you. Or need someone else’s permission to help my friends.” Hot Rod shrugged. He honestly didn’t see what the big deal was. The Decepticon army was too hung up on the chain of command. “And when I couldn’t get help from the Decepticons, I called some Autobots. I’m Nyonian. I do what I want. No one tells me what to do.”

Deadlock elbowed him sharply.

“Ow! What was that for?” Hot Rod snapped.

He wondered what the hell had gotten into Deadlock until he looked up into Thundercracker and Skywarp’s wide optics. They stared at him in silence.

Uh-oh.

“I mean- what I meant to say was-” Hot Rod fumbled for words.

The minimal fuel in Hot Rod’s lines turned to ice. Thunderclash and Ratchet were probably still out there, making their way through the pitch-black battlefield towards the Autobot base. Did he just put them in danger? After all they did for him today, Hot Rod just revealed he received help from Autobots to two of the Decepticons most dangerous fliers. He wanted to scream.

Why does everything he touches burn to ash?

“You? Called Autobots for help?” Thundercracker asked. His wings twitched.

“Um…” Hot Rod answered, not sure what to say.

He didn’t want to lie to Skywarp and Thundercracker, but he needed to protect Thunderclash and Ratchet. He was beginning to understand Deadlock’s anguish over faction lines keeping him and Ratchet apart. With people he cares about on both sides of the war, how is he supposed to protect everybody?

Hot Rod couldn’t even protect his Nyonian family and they were all on the same side.

His spark twisted in his chest.

“Relax, Roddy!” Skywarp laughed. He playfully cuffed his shoulder. “We’re just yanking your chain. Your secret’s safe with us. Loads of Decepticons have friends among the Autobots.”

“Wait- what??” Hot Rod wasn’t sure if he wanted to be angry or relieved.

“It’s a civil war. Faction lines aren’t defined by borders. Things get messy. Once Optimus and Megatron started recruiting, a lot of people found themselves on different sides with relationships split right down the middle.” Thundercracker shrugged. He began to count out names on his fingers. “Needlenose’s spark twin is an Autobot. Knockout and Breakdown are good friends with the Camian delegates to the Autobots. I’m pretty sure Soundwave and Blaster used to be roommates. While we personally don’t have any Autobots friends-”

“Starscream does!” Skywarp cut in with a mischievous grin.

“Starscream?! Air commander of the Decepticon army?? That Starscream???” Hot Rod gasped.

“Oh yeah. There’s this huge shuttle, Jetfire or something. They were lab partners before the war. Starscream pretends like it’s over between them, but he’s totally lying!” Skywarp snickered. “Starscream thinks he’s being all discreet, scanning the skies during battle, constantly checking the casualty reports for his name, but it’s obvious. He’s still super sweet on that big ol’ flying marshmallow.”

“Come on, Warp. I’m pretty sure his name is Skyfire.” Thundercracker rolled his optics and shoved Skywarp.

While Skywarp and Thundercracker bickered over the proper name of Starscream’s Autobot beau, Hot Rod’s mind raced. The question about the true reason for the conflict returned to his mind. Sure there were differences between the Autobots and the Decepticons, but was a full scale armed conflict really the best way to solve them?

Hot Rod resolved to seek out Megatron as soon as he got Deadlock settled in the medbay with Knockout and Breakdown. He began mentally composing what he was going to say.

“I don’t care who Starscream loves or what the frag his name is,” Deadlock growled. “It’s been a long day and I’d really like to get back to base before the morning offensive kicks off.”

“Oh scrap! You’re right!” Skywarp exclaimed. “What was I thinking? I was just so excited to find you alive, but you’re both hurt! And we’re just standing around wasting time. Next stop medbay!”

“Warp! Wait!!” Hot Rod yelled. He wasn’t sure how many people Skywarp could teleport at once or if Deadlock should even warp in his condition.

Totally ignoring Hot Rod’s concern, Skywarp pounced on them and pulled both Hot Rod and Deadlock close to his frame.

The air around them shimmered with purple mist. Skywarp activated his teleportation ability with a crack of violet lightning.

VORP!!

“Glad we found you!” Thundercracker waved with a smile as they disappeared.

Deadlock tightened his grip on Hot Rod as shifting shades of purple filled his vision. They were adrift in time and space, traversing great distances instantly in the way only Skywarp can. Hot Rod’s internal components floated untethered inside his frame. He buried his face against Skywarp’s chest, willing himself to not get sick again when they rematerialized.

After a split second of an eternity in the most indescribable discomfort, they all appeared in the medbay. Swirling bands of purple dissipated to reveal sterile white light.

Hot Rod offlined his optics and counted the revolutions of his engine. He recited his friends’ names like a mantra. His fuel tanks churned. Hot Rod fought the urge to be sick. He thought he might actually be fine this time…

Until he heard Deadlock cough and he lost all his carefully maintained composure.

Both he and Deadlock slumped to the floor. Their frames trembled. Despite their violent coughing fits, neither one spit up any energon. Hot Rod wanted to believe it was because they were actually getting used to teleporting but it was far more likely due to the fact neither one of them had enough fuel in their tanks to purge.

“Kudos! You didn’t puke this time!” Skywarp gently patted their backs. “I told you you’d get used to the warpy place!”

“Fraggin’ fantastic,” Deadlock grumbled.

“Yeah. Great,” Hot Rod agreed, wiping his chin.

Skywarp’s wings swept low. His plating rustled softly as nervous tension filled his frame as the reality of being in the medbay sunk in and his courage wavered.

“Hey, Warp? Maybe you should go get TC?” Hot Rod asked, recalling Skywarp’s traumatic memories of medbay settings. The seeker had braved his own fears by bringing them here. The fact that Skywarp didn’t hesitate for a second warmed Hot Rod’s spark. Hot Rod wanted to protect him from any further discomfort. Giving him a reason to leave was the best he could do.

“Oh my gosh! Great idea, Roddy!” Skywarp exclaimed with relief. “We wouldn’t want TC to get lost or anything. I better go find him!”

“For sure. One more thing… If everyone thinks we’re dead, maybe keep it that way for a bit? At least until we get patched up. Please.” Hot Rod didn’t like causing people undue worry, but being officially dead was a good way to protect Deadlock from any further harm by Turmoil.

Once Deadlock was fully healed and Hot Rod told him the whole story, the assassin would likely kill Turmoil himself for putting Hot Rod through such trauma. Although Deadlock wouldn’t make a move against his commanding officer on his own behalf, he took his position as Hot Rod’s bodyguard extremely seriously.

“I get it. You’ve been through a lot today and want a chance to recover in peace for a bit. Good idea! I’ll tell TC as soon as I see him. We won’t tell anyone until you tell us it’s okay.” Skywarp nodded.

“Thanks, Warp.”

With a cheeky wave, Skywarp enthusiastically teleported away in another puff of purple smoke.

Hot Rod cycled his optics a few times, adjusting them to the intense clinical brightness of the Decepticon medbay after stumbling around in the dark Nyonian night.

His optics slowly focused as Skywarp’s teleportation mist cleared. The purple blur in front of him gradually separated into two forms, one red and one blue. Hot Rod blinked and rubbed at his optics. His vision cleared to reveal Breakdown gently holding Knockout. Tears glistened on their cheeks.

“Baby Blue?” Breakdown whispered in shock as both he and Knockout stared at their unexpected visitors.

“Hey.” Hot Rod smiled weakly at Breakdown’s nickname for him. His spark twisted when he saw Knockout and Breakdown in such obvious distress.

What could have gotten them so upset?

Knockout gasped. He pushed away from Breakdown and stumbled towards Hot Rod and Deadlock, dropping to his knees in front of them. Taking Hot Rod’s face in his slender fingers, tears streamed from Knockout’s deep crimson optics. He gently held Hot Rod’s face in his hands and stared into his optics as if verifying that he was indeed real and not some type of dream.

Hot Rod’s spoiler twitched.

“You knuckle-headed little punk,” Knockout sobbed before hugging Hot Rod so tight his plating creaked. “Megatron told us you were killed. Look at me! I am inconsolable. Tears can cause rust lines and I wouldn’t risk that for just anyone, you know.”

Tears burned Hot Rod’s optics. He honestly didn’t think anyone would have noticed him missing. Hot Rod was so used to being the one grieving he hadn’t considered that other people might miss him if he were gone.

It shook him to his core.

He briefly wondered if Tia, Indy, or any of his other friends realized how much he would miss them. He hoped they knew how much he loved them. Hot Rod mourned his friends because he loved them and now they were gone. Their loss hurt so bad. Hot Rod gasped as he realized the pain came from the depth of the love they shared.

If people were upset because he was missing, did it mean that they loved him?

Hot Rod was used to caring about other people but somehow, the idea of people caring about him never occurred to him.

It was too much.

“I’m so sorry,” Hot Rod sobbed. He pulled Deadlock tight with one arm and hugged Knockout with the other.

“Hey now…” Breakdown said softly as he swept all of them into a massive group hug. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But- I-”

“We’re just happy to have you back.” Breakdown gave him a gentle squeeze. “And you must be Deadlock, Roddy’s bodyguard. Thank you for bringing him back to us safely.”

“Actually…” Deadlock began quietly. The tension that stiffened Deadlock’s plating when Knockout first embraced them finally bled out of his frame. “Roddy is the one who saved me today.”

“Hmm… I wonder…” Knockout mused.

Knockout delicately swept the tears from his own cheeks with one deft claw and leaned back. After a moment to briefly inspect Deadlock’s repairs, he shook his head.

“Roddy. I love you and you are a skilled field medic, but-” Knockout gestured towards the immaculate weld seams criss-crossing Deadlock’s frame. “This is not your work.”

“Oh- I- um- you see-” Hot Rod fumbled for excuses. Deadlock’s finials canted back.

“The way the seams fit together? Using discarded armor panels as stabilizing patches? Presumably done in abysmal conditions? It’s quite brilliant, as always. Give Ratchet my compliments the next time you see him,” Knockout nodded appreciatively.

“Wait? You know Ratchet?!” Deadlock gasped.

“Medics are all in the same business, regardless of faction,” Knockout nonchalantly waved away their shock. “We make it a point to discreetly keep in touch, share techniques, give each other updates on common ailments affecting our troops. Being on the opposite sides of a war does nothing to stifle our professional pride.”

“Wow. That’s so cool,” Hot Rod said.

“Yes. And it’s also a secret,” Knockout added with a sly grin. He tapped one slender finger across his lips. “I trust you with it because you’re practically a medic. Don’t tell anyone.”

“No way! I swear!” Hot Rod exclaimed. Knowing Knockout trusted him so much surprised him.

“Excellent. Now, as much as I’d like to sit around and sip engex while you regale us with tales of your journey back from the dead, we have business to attend to first.” Knockout clapped his hands together. “Nurse!”

“Help Deadlock into the operating room and set up for emergency armor replacement surgery? Then get Roddy cleaned up and refueled while you finish Deadlock’s repairs?” Breakdown asked with a knowing smile.

“It’s so nice to have a professional and personal partner who can so accurately anticipate my needs,” Knockout teased. “BD, you are truly the best.”

“It takes one to know one.” Breakdown grinned as he gently lifted Deadlock. “Wait here, Roddy. I’ll be right back.”

Without Deadlock’s comforting weight at his side, Hot Rod felt suddenly lost. He moved to follow them only to have Knockout block his path.

“Sorry. The operating room is off limits. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. Your bodyguard is in good hands, I assure you.”

“I better be,” Deadlock grumbled.

“Humph! You trusted yourself to whoever fitted you with that blocky, tasteless tungsten armor, so I don’t exactly trust your judgment on skill or quality.” Knockout huffed.

“What was wrong with my armor?” Deadlock growled. His engine rumbled. “It was strong! It saved my life today!”

“Yes. yes.” Knockout dismissively waved away Deadlock’s concern. “But it was also too heavy for your frame and lacked any kind of style.”

“So what? I’m a soldier not a fashion model.”

“Who says you can’t be both?” Knockout shrugged.

“What?!” Deadlock gasped. He canted his finials back. Hot Rod snickered.

“You know, back on Velocitron my medical expertise was frame refitting. I happen to have a small stash of Velocitronian alloy for my own purposes. It’s at least as strong as your boorish unimaginative tungsten and a fraction of the weight. If you trust me to design it, I can craft you one hell of an upgrade. You’ll be turning heads and stopping bullets. I wouldn’t offer it to just anyone, but you’ve really got the frame to flaunt it.”

Deadlock’s jaw dropped. His finials twitched.

Hot Rod took Deadlock’s hand. He felt compelled to offer some show of support but frame choices are deeply personal. He didn’t dare make a suggestion one way or another.

Deadlock squeezed his hand and raised his head.

“You know what, Knockout?” Deadlock said quietly but with striking conviction. “I think I’m ready for a change.”

“Excellent! Let’s get started, shall we?” Knockout purred.

As Knockout ushered Breakdown and Deadlock into the operating room, he turned and tapped a single claw on Hot Rod’s chest.

“Don’t think I forgot about you either.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve got dozens of minor abrasions and your paintwork is in atrocious condition. As soon as I finish with Deadlock, you’re next in line under the welding torch. Don’t even think about running off.”

“I’ll be around,” Hot Rod nodded, keeping his answer deliberately vague. He fully intended to be here when Deadlock woke up, but he had a few things to attend to first.

“You better be,” Knockout narrowed his optics as if he guessed at Hot Rod’s secret plans.

“You know me!” Hot Rod smiled nervously.

“Hmm… that’s what worries me,” Knockout muttered as he shut the door to the operating room.

Hot Rod bounced on his heels for a few seconds before bolting. Knockout anticipating his moves shook him a little, but didn’t dissuade him. Even if the seekers spilled the secret of their survival, Deadlock would be safe with Knockout and Breakdown. No one dared to cross the medics.

He snatched a cube of energon from the supply cabinet and chugged it on his way out the door.

If Skywarp was right, Starscream should still be prolonging the command meeting in Megatron’s makeshift war room. Hot Rod had a lot to discuss with Megatron and thanks to the seekers, he knew exactly where to find him.

Chapter Text

After wandering through the base in a daze, Hot Rod found himself standing at the door of Megatron’s war room not entirely sure how he got there. Exhaustion tugged at every circuit. He briefly considered going back to the medbay, but he put off this conversation too many times already and now he had the added topic of Turmoil attempting to murder Deadlock.

He could hear Starscream’s high-pitched haranguing inside. Knowing that he was deliberately keeping it up to give Warp and TC time to search for him brought a smile to his face.

As he reached for the touchpad to open the door, Hot Rod caught a glimpse of his reflection and froze.

Hot Rod barely recognized himself. Black ash coated his fiery paintwork. Deadlock’s energon splattered his frame. Thunderclash’s energon stained his hands up to his elbows. Freshly concealed streaks of his own energon glistened starkly in numerous cuts and abrasions on his frame. Patches of bare metal shone where his paint was scuffed away from the explosion and hours of digging. He looked like something straight out of a horror story.

No wonder Knockout insisted that he wait for repairs.

He couldn’t help but recall his stunning image on the wanted poster Thunderclash had given him. Hot Rod looked so bold and heroic, red-gold flames wreathing his frame with a reckless wild grin on his face. His brilliant blue optics shone brighter than his dazzling fire. Even Thunderclash said he looked good. For some reason that made his spark spin a little faster just thinking about it.

The battered scruffy refugee staring back at him from the polished metal door was a far cry from the fiery rebel leader.

But… his brilliant blue optics shone with the same inner fire.

Hot Rod smiled with grim satisfaction. He had been through a hell of a lot. Beginning from simply struggling to survive with his Nyonian family to being embroiled in a war he didn’t quite understand. Things have changed, but his spark was still his own. No matter what he looked like on the outside, he was still himself.

Hot Rod set his will and opened the door.

Inside, he found a group of high-ranking Decepticon officers slumped around a large round table looking bored out of their minds. Starscream paced back and forth, passionately arguing some inane topic. Megatron sat with his arms folded and expression unreadable. Ravage yawned and stretched on Soundwave’s shoulder. Bludgeon softly thumped his forehelm against the tabletop. Shockwave tapped away on his datapad with his one good hand, likely preparing for a new science experiment and ignoring the meeting entirely. Hot Rod could relate. Honestly he usually doodled his way through these meetings himself if he couldn’t skip them entirely.

As soon as the door swished open, silence descended upon the room. Everyone eagerly turned towards him, grateful for any interruption to Starscream’s tirade.

Starscream whirled around, wings held high, fully prepared to be massively offended. Upon seeing Hot Rod a sly grin curled across his face. He nodded with smug satisfaction like Hot Rod was an overdue guest he’d been expecting.

“Hot Rod? Is that really you?” Megatron whispered in disbelief. He rose to his feet. “You were reported as killed in action.”

Megatron staggered towards him.

“Hey, Megs. Listen, I-” Hot Rod began. He had plenty of time to think about what he wanted to say and was fully prepared to voice all of his concerns. Hot Rod had planned for every possibility, except one. Megatron’s movement revealed the person seated at the table beside him… a large imposing figure with an impassive face plate and gleaming visor.

Turmoil.

“Well, well, well, look what the cybercat dragged in,” Turmoil muttered. “You look like hell.”

Hot Rod’s temper flared. All his carefully thought out speeches burned away in a rush of rage. Fire burst from his frame and whirled around him in a fiery inferno. Everything else blurred away. He heard voices calling to him as if across a great distance. Some part of his brain registered that he probably shocked everyone by bursting into flames, but, as always, his emotions overruled his logic.

Although Hot Rod couldn’t recall taking the first step, he found himself striding across the room directly towards Turmoil. His temperature rose with each step, leaving scorch marks on the metal floor. He couldn’t think straight. Anger burned hotter than his red gold flames.

With each step Hot Rod felt the heavy weight of Deadlock’s battered frame in his arms. He heard the pain and fear in his voice as his life bled through Hot Rod’s fingers. He felt Thunderclash’s energon slick on his hands as he worked to stabilize the damage caused by one of Deadlock’s bullets. Although he still blamed himself for all the suffering his friends endured today… It was all started by the one person seated in front of him.

Rapidly closing the distance between them, Hot Rod clenched his fist and locked it in line with his forearm to prevent damage to his delicate wrist joints just like Amicitia taught him. With his last step he rotated his frame and threw all of his momentum into a single blow, using his speed to make up for his small stature.

“This one is for DEADLOCK.” Hot Rod growled as he punched Turmoil square on the jaw.

Turmoil’s armored faceplate cracked beneath his knuckles. The force of his blow knocked him clean off his seat.

“HOW DARE YOU-” Turmoil bellowed, scrambling to recover his footing. He swung wildly.

Hot Rod crouched, ducking Turmoil’s sloppy punch. Moving on instinct, he whirled around and struck Turmoil with a devastating spinning kick. Turmoil’s armor scorched and buckled. The larger bot screamed and crumpled to the floor.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Megatron roared. The force of will in his voice broke through Hot Rod’s blind rage. When Megatron asked, it was less of a question and more of a demand for answers.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Hot Rod growled. He planted one burning foot on Turmoil’s chest to pin the larger bot down. He pressed down with all his weight. His fire more than made up for his disadvantage in size. Turmoil’s armor began to melt. "Go ahead, Turmoil. Tell him what you did."

“Goddammit, Megatron!” Turmoil pleaded. “Your pet Nyonian has lost his mind!”

“PET NYONIAN?!” Hot Rod screamed. He leaned over harder, applying more pressure to Turmoil’s chest. Turmoil has already hurt his friends and now he had the audacity to insult Nyon to Hot Rod’s face? His flames blazed from gold to white hot. "NYON BOWS TO NO ONE-"

“ENOUGH!!” Megatron bellowed.

The sheer charismatic power in Megatron’s command compelled Hot Rod to raise his foot. Turmoil quickly rolled away, eager to put some distance between them.

Megatron turned to face Hot Rod, towering over him. Hot Rod stood his ground, spoiler held high. His fire raged around him, a frightening display of raw elemental power. An unstoppable force crashing against an immovable object.

Everyone stared at them in silence. No one dared to make a move, not even Turmoil.

“The rest of you, leave us,” Megatron commanded with quiet but undeniable authority while keeping his optics fixed on Hot Rod.

“But sir-” Turmoil protested as everyone else rose from their seats.

“Starscream, get him out of here.” Megatron growled.

“With pleasure, my lord.” Starscream purred. He swept low in a mockery of a bow and turned towards Turmoil, flexing his claws.

Turmoil took one look at Starscream and quietly slunk towards the exit. The rest of the Decepticon officers hurried out as well. Hot Rod noticed that Ravage vanished. When Soundwave silently stalked out of the room, his shoulders were conspicuously bare. Last out the door, Starscream spun and flashed Hot Rod a strange smile.

“Nice to have you back, Roddy. Things are so much more interesting with you around,” Starscream whirled out and slammed the door behind him, leaving Hot Rod alone with Megatron.

“Hot Rod…” Megatron began with surprising gentleness after clearing the entire room with the force of one command. He vented deeply. “I know you must have been through a lot today-”

“OH?! DO YOU?!” Hot Rod roared. The reflection of his fire cast Megatron’s silver plating in an orange glow. His raging fire outshone the dim artificial lighting like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Do you have ANY IDEA what I’ve been through today?”

“I have fought this war for longer than you have. I know-”

“Oh you know?! YOU KNOW?! What the hell do you know??” Hot Rod shouted. He whirled around and pointed towards the door Turmoil exited. “Turmoil tried to kill Deadlock because he’s got some weird jealousy issue with me! Did you know that??”

“Tried? Does that mean Deadlock-” Megatron’s optics lit up.

“Is still alive? Yes. No thanks to you.” Hot Rod’s engine rumbled and his fire’s brightness filled the room. “But I think you’re missing the point. Turmoil-”

“Turmoil has his… indiscretions. Why do you think I assigned Deadlock as your bodyguard? As the last survivor of Nyon, you are an extremely valuable member of the Decepticons. There are very few people I trust more than Deadlock. I knew he could keep you safe, whatever the cost.”

“Wait, wait, wait-” Hot Rod shook his head in disbelief. “You KNEW Turmoil had it out for me AND had violent tendencies? Why the hell is that sadistic gearstick still on your command council?!”

“Because he is a ferocious fighter and a brilliant tactician. True, he possesses numerous deficiencies of character, but we are at war. If we hope to achieve victory, we must sacrifice-”

“Sacrifice? SACRIFICE?! You gotta be fraggin’ kidding me!” Hot Rod laughed bitterly. He clenched his right hand into a fist to control its trembling. “Don’t you DARE speak to me about sacrifice!”

“I do not purport to expound the meaning of sacrifice to you. I am well aware that you are intimately acquainted with the subject.” Megatron said quietly in the soothing tone one would use to calm a wild turbofox. It made Hot Rod even angrier.

“Damn right I am!” Hot Rod shouted. Although he still had plenty to say about Turmoil, the mention of sacrifice brought another topic to his mind. Despite his personal inferno, the memory of the cold steel detonator in his hand chilled him to the core. He narrowed his optics and asked a question heavy with accusation, “Speaking of sacrifice: where the hell were you?”

“I was where I always am during battle: leading our troops from the front lines-”

“Not today.” Hot Rod’s fire glowed. His spark twisted in his chest. He wasn’t sure he was going to like the answer he was seeking, but he needed the truth. He held his spoiler high and asked with as much authority as he could muster, “Where were you… when Nyon burned?”

Megatron’s head jerked back as if Hot Rod’s words physically struck him.

“Well?”

“What does that matter now?” Megatron asked incredulously, bitterness seeping into his voice.

“It matters. It matters because Nyon deserves to know. I deserve to know.”

Megatron’s engine rumbled. He clenched his fists but said nothing.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft squealing of Megatron’s joints as he tightened his fists and the ethereal sibilance of Hot Rod’s fire.

“Ha.” Hot Rod barked a bitter laugh. “So that’s your answer. Your silence speaks volumes.”

Megatron glared at Hot Rod without raising a protest.

Hot Rod’s flames flickered. Thunderclash was right. Part of him didn’t want to believe it. His spark broke at the thought, but someone had to say it outloud. He continued in a whisper filled with raw heartache, “So… you were there. You sat on the outskirts of Nyon and watched my city burn without lifting so much as a finger to help.”

“Hot Rod. You don’t understand-”

“I don’t understand?!” Hot Rod cried, cycling through the five stages of grief all at once. He spiraled through an emotional whirlwind. His fire erupted with renewed vigor as he yelled, thumping his hand on his chest every time he mentioned himself. “Nyon was MY city! I was there! I pulled the trigger. I stood alone and burned the whole thing to hell because Nyon refused to be conquered! I stood alone against Zeta’s tyranny while you and Optimus had your heads so far up your own tailpipes-”

“YOU NEEDED THE PUSH!” Megatron bellowed.

The force of his shout stunned Hot Rod to silence, suddenly aware of the vast difference between the size of their frames. If he weren’t so angry, Hot Rod might have noticed the fear creeping into his spark.

“Cybertron needed the push.” Megatron turned away like he was shocked at his own outburst. He clasped his hands behind his back and vented deeply.

“Excuse me?!” Hot Rod growled. “Nyon was- is my home, not some pawn to be played at your pleasure.”

“Hhmm… Optimus said something along the same lines,” Megatron mused.

“Then why-” Hot Rod pleaded.

“It’s true. I met Optimus outside of Nyon before Zeta’s vamparc army. We had plenty of time to plan, but we couldn’t agree on the proper strategy. Optimus wanted to evacuate the city and retreat. But Cybertron needed to see Zeta’s willingness to commit atrocities against innocent citizens. Too many people were content to live under his tyranny, deceiving themselves that there were certain lines he wouldn’t cross.”

“You wanted him to kill us? To further your own cause?” Hot Rod whispered. Tears stung his optics.

“Of course not!” Megatron huffed. “I wanted to lure the vamparc machines into the city and then engage them. People were aware of Nyon’s fight. You might not realize it, but many among the oppressed population viewed your freedom fighters as folk heroes. They needed to see Zeta make a decisive move against Nyon to inspire them to stand up for themselves.”

“You and Optimus- You sat on the outskirts of MY city and argued about how best to help us? While my friends and I finalized our last resort contingency plan of wiring our home with plasma charges?” Hot Rod said slowly. He knew might not like the truth, but he was unprepared for how bad it would hurt.

Help was there. Just beyond his reach.

And it never came…

“All of us, Zeta, Optimus, and myself… we all underestimated the ferocity of Nyonian defiance. We underestimated you. How could we have known you would burn yourselves on the pyre of freedom before submitting to conquest?” Megatron asked, finally turning to face him.

“You could have just asked. I would have told you everything.” Hot Rod met Megatron’s optics and held his gaze. Flames licked the tears off his cheeks and they hissed away into steam.

Megatron’s optics widened.

“But none of you thought of that, did you?” Hot Rod spat.

The Autobots and Decepticons were so wrapped up in their own issues, they sat there and argued amongst themselves even after he sent message after message pleading for help. All of his pleas fell on deaf audials. In the end, they abandoned Nyon.

They abandoned him…

Hot Rod joined the Decepticons because he blamed the Autobots for providing no aid in Nyon’s hour of need. The Decepticons found him in the ruins after the city burned, endlessly searching for survivors he would never find. After Hot Rod lost everything, Megatron gave him a place among their ranks.

Desperate for somewhere to belong and burning with grief, Hot Rod joined the Deceptions in their fight. War had come to Nyon and Hot Rod stubbornly vowed to defend his home, even if all that remained was dust and ashes. He threw himself into the familiar routine of guerilla warfare. He fought ferociously alongside the Decepticons against the Autobots on the battlefield full of righteous anger.

Good guys versus bad guys, right?

But it wasn’t that simple anymore. Hot Rod supposed it never really was.

Hot Rod stared blankly at the battered purple badge on his own chest.

“You could have talked to me,” Hot Rod repeated, louder and with more confidence.

“I didn’t-” Megatron began.

“NO! You didn’t, did you?” Hot Rod yelled. He met Megatron’s optics with renewed fervor. “You wanted to show Cybertron something? Instead of showing them the brutality of tyranny, you could have shown them the strength of unity! If you and Optimus joined forces with me, NO ONE could have stood against us.”

Megatron’s jaw dropped. He didn’t need to say anything for Hot Rod to know he never considered it.

“The Autobots, the Decepticons AND the Nyonians? United in their fight against tyranny? Now that would have been something for Cybertron to see.” Hot Rod muttered filled with the tragedy of his loss. “Instead of watching Nyon burn alone as our last act of defiance, Cybertron could have seen the awesome power of standing up together.”

He glanced at the Deception badge on his chest again. The emblem that once signified his belonging now seemed a betrayal of everything he held dear. In one impulsive motion, he tore it off, crumpled it in his hand, and burned it to ash.

“What are you doing?” Megatron raised a hand as if to stop him.

“I’m done. With the Decepticons. With the Autobots. With all of it.” Hot Rod stated flatly. He watched the ashes of his badge drift away, born aloft by the heat of his flames. “Nyon has always stood alone and so will I.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Megatron muttered. “I took you in-”

“OH? REALLY?! You took ME in?!” Hot Rod snapped. “Last time I checked, we were still in Nyon and Nyon is MY city. MINE! If anything, I took YOU in. I took all the Decepticons and the Autobots in, and you know what? You all make terrible guests.”

“But the war-”

“Frag the war! Frag Optimus! And frag YOU! You are trying so hard to achieve victory in a fight you can’t win. There is no victory at this point, only survival. My people gave everything to defeat Zeta because we believed in a better future for Cybertron. Nyon met tyranny at our door, refused to back down, and defeated it at great cost. But this?” Hot Rod gestured towards all of the military paraphernalia scattered about the room: maps, weapons inventories, strategy logs, casualty reports. “This isn’t the future we fought to give Cybertron. This isn’t what we died for.”

Hot Rod burned through to his core. Fire covered his frame and his spark broke in his chest. Anger and grief roiled within him, spilling out in a tumble of words.

“The war is pointless. Nyon defeated our real enemy. The Senate is gone, Zeta is gone. Functionism still exists, but we can’t destroy an idea with a bomb. Whatever is going on now, is solely between you and Optimus. If you two found the courage to stand with Nyon when we called for aid, none of us would be in this situation right now. We’d have shown Cybertron the power of unity against overwhelming odds and ushered in the era of peace we always dreamed about.”

Hot Rod swayed on his feet. He never burned so hot for so long. He was exhausted in every way possible.

It was easy to hate Optimus. He was far away. All Hot Rod had were the bitter memories of Optimus apologizing for not aiding Nyon. But at least he had the bearings to apologize. His initial hatred began to morph into a begrudging respect.

Megatron on the other hand… Megatron supported him. He trusted him. He treated Hot Rod with respect. He offered comforting words that Hot Rod usually didn’t understand. But… he never told him the truth. Somehow that cut even deeper than an empty apology.

“What are you saying?” Megatron growled. It was less of a question and more of a challenge.

Hot Rod narrowed his optics. His engine growled and his flames roared. If Megatron was going to dare him for an answer, he’d give it to him.

Silence fell heavy between them.

“I’m saying…” Hot Rod squared his shoulders and met Megatron’s challenge head on with a threat and a promise. “I once destroyed everything I loved to give Cybertron the opportunity for a brighter future. Nyon didn’t die to doom Cybertron to endless cycles of warfare. You and Optimus started this war, find a way to end it.”

Having poured himself out entirely, Hot Rod spun on his heels and stalked away. He paused by the open door and spoke one last time without turning to face Megatron.

“You find a way to end this war… or I will.”

The light of his fire followed him out as the door slammed behind him, leaving Megatron standing alone in the darkness.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod stumbled through the long hallways. Flames smoldered on his plating. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake them out.

His vents came fast and shallow.

Hot Rod tripped and fell hard to the floor. It was like slamming into all the harsh consequences of his actions today.

He struggled to get up but collapsed again. Despite straining so hard his plating trembled, he simply didn’t have the strength. If he didn’t snatch that energon cube from the medbay before confronting Megatron, he’d have probably already passed out due to his low fuel levels. Unable to recover his footing, Hot Rod slid across the floor and tucked himself into a dark corner of the hallway. He hugged his knees to his chest.

He might not have physically burned the Decepticons into ashes, but he metaphorically destroyed all his connections when he burned his badge. After today, he couldn’t imagine Megatron would ever want to see him again.

Although he didn’t particularly regret any of his words, Hot Rod wished he had said them in a better way. He never intended to go full raging inferno. But much like when he activated the detonator to destroy Nyon, what’s done was done. There was no going back.

He longed to take out his datapad and scroll through his collection of wanted posters but he didn’t dare touch it. His plating was still hot enough to burn it to ash. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his friends all over again.

Nyon always stood alone, but at least they had each other. Now those people are all gone. He curled up a little tighter.

He tried so hard to keep Nyonian culture alive. His Nyonian identity was such an important part of himself. He kept his traditions even though none else understood them.

Hot Rod wished he could cry properly but his tears instantly hissed away into steam. His flames were still too hot. He was extremely low on fuel but his fire kept burning. Sometimes when he burned hot, it took a while to cool down but he never had trouble putting his flames out before. Now that his anger had run its course, fear sunk its claws into his spark.

What if he finally pushed himself too far? What if he couldn’t stop? What if-

His comm system chimed an incoming frequency… from the lone Autobot contact in his list.

>>Thunders?<< He instantly answered, ashamed at the desperation in his voice.

>>Roddy!! Thank Primus! First of all, allow me to apologize for calling you when you haven’t officially given me your frequency, but you were the last person to contact me so I still had your number in my system. I’m sorry, but I had to call. I need to tell you something: You are not alone!<< Thunderclash blurted out.

>>What?<< Hot Rod whispered. His utter shock snapped him completely into the present, like being yanked out of deep water. With Thunderclash’s voice to ground him, he wrestled his flames out. His spoiler sagged with relief and his super-heated armor pinged softly as it mercifully began to cool.

>>Nyon might have stood alone, but you are not alone. I know for a fact that Deadlock stands with you. I saw the way you two would literally move mountains for each other. You and Deadlock share a special bond. And I stand with you too. With all the light in my spark and strength in my frame. We share a life-bond and you’ll always be my hero. No matter what happens, if you’ll have me, I will always stand by your side.<<

At a loss for words, Hot Rod simply listened as Thunderclash continued.

>>You’ve suffered an incomprehensible loss. I wish I could tell you that time will take away the pain of your grief, but it might always hurt. You loved Nyon so much but you can’t burn love. After Nyon was destroyed your love remains, burning brightly amidst the ashes. It endures, bereft of the object of its affection, leaving a painful hole in your spark. The fact that you continue to move forward everyday is a testament to your great strength. You are in pain, but you are not alone.<<

With his fire finally under control, Hot Rod’s tears streamed freely down his cheeks. How does this adorable idiot know exactly what he needs to hear right now? He sat in stunned silence for a few moments while Thunderclash’s words soothed his pain.

>>Heh.<< Hot Rod huffed a quiet laugh when he finally found the will to respond. He scrubbed his face with the heel of his palm. His cheeks glowed under the adoring light of Thunderclash’s genuine understanding. >>Thanks. For saying all that. I was kind of in a bad way right now and it’s exactly what I needed to hear.<<

>>I figured. I wasn’t even sure if I could reach you through the Decepticon’s legendary comm scrambling system, but I had to risk it.<<

After getting his whirling emotions reigned in along with his fire, Hot Rod’s brain came around to noticing something strange.

>>Wait a second… << Hot Rod began in utter confusion. >>I really appreciate everything you just said. It means the world to me. Honestly. I’m not sure if I can properly convey how important it is. But I gotta ask: How? How did you know I needed some support right now?<<

>>I watched your conversation with Megatron.<< Thunderclash answered like it was a completely normal thing to say and not totally off the walls crazy.

>>YOU WHAT?!<< Hot Rod yelled. If he was properly fueled, he would have burst into flames again. As it were, all he could muster were a few outraged sparks. He thought he had already weathered today’s emotional hurricane. Apparently he had only made it to the eye of the storm. The tumult wasn’t over yet.

>>I’m pretty sure the entire planet saw it.<<

>>THE ENTIRE PLANET?! That was a private conversation! How is that possible??<< Hot Rod couldn’t believe his audials.

>>I have no idea. I’m not even in the communications center, I’m in the medbay, hooked up to the coolant transfer pump-<<

>>Holy slag! What?! Why?! Are you okay??<<

>>More or less. Ratch found a stress fracture in my radiator. Probably from when I held up the debris after getting shot. No big deal. He patched it up and then prescribed a complete coolant system flush to clear out any contaminants from my lines. It’s not a super comfortable procedure, but I’ve dealt with worse. As I was saying, I’m sitting in the medbay hooked up the machine, reading a book about hyenabots-<<

Hot Rod snickered.

>>And suddenly, every screen lit up with… you. You were even on the spark monitor screen and I didn’t even know those things could display images.<<

>>Every screen?<<

>>Every single screen.<< Thunderclash repeated. >>You were literally on fire while bringing Megatron to task about Nyon and… it was very intense.<<

>>Oh my god. How is that possible?<< Hot Rod groaned. Maybe this was all a bad dream. He’d wake up in the morning, nestled against Deadlock on their cobbled together shared recharge slab and things would be relatively normal with today’s events being little more than a hazy nightmare.

>>I have no idea. The strange thing is the same thing happened when Nyon burned. Footage of Nyon self-immolation destroying Zeta’s army was broadcast live all over the planet.<<

>>Really?!<< When Hot Rod first joined the Decepticons, everyone already knew exactly what happened in Nyon. He never really considered how.

>>Your speech has caused quite a stir. Everyone is talking about it. Ratch ran off to find Optimus. You spoke from the spark and said a lot of things that people needed to hear.<<

>>The only person that was supposed to hear them was Megatron.<< Hot Rod groaned. He dragged one palm down his face. His emotional outburst made an even bigger mess than he thought. At least he could never be accused of doing things half-way.

“Nearing the target of foreign signal,” a distinctive voice droned from the hall.

“Oh? Really?! We’re just now nearing the signal? We’ve been walking for ages. I thought you were good at this stuff.” A high-pitched voice groused, dripping with condescension.

Soundwave and Starscream. Hot Rod would recognize their distinct voices anywhere. Great. He groaned. It sounded like they were looking for him. Or more likely, they were looking for the recipient of an Autobot transmission.

“Soundwave is the only person who can do this stuff.” Soundwave huffed, actual annoyance coloring his usual monotone.

Hot Rod’s optics went wide. Holy Primus!! Soundwave was right about himself. Soundwave is the only bot capable of hacking every screen on the planet. He suddenly recalled Ravage disappearing when everyone else left the command center. Ravage must have stayed behind to keep an eye on him and Megatron and, for some reason, worked with Soundwave to live stream their heated conversation to anything with a screen.

In fact, it was odd that Thunderclash was able to call him with the Decepticons’ legendary security signal encryption. Unless Soundwave intentionally allowed the call to go through.

>>Ugh. I think I know exactly how my conversation was broadcast: Soundwave. What I want to know is why.<< Hot Rod sighed. >>I think I’m about to get the opportunity to find out. Soundwave probably let your call come through on purpose to find me. He and Starscream are physically tracking down our comm signal right now. I’m about to have company.<<

>>Is everything alright? Do you need help?<<

>>Nah. I’m fine.<< Hot Rod had to laugh. If he said he needed help, what would Thunderclash do? Race across the battlefield into the Decepticon base in the middle of the night? Actually… knowing Thunderclash, that’s probably exactly what he would do. >>Soundwave is alright. Although he is easier to talk to if Ravage is with him. And I think I might be a member of Starscream’s family? No matter what my status is with Megatron right now, I trust them. They totally owe me some answers though.<<

>>Okay. I better let you go then.<< Thunderclash said.

>>Wait. Thunders? Before you go… all the cool stuff you said about me earlier? Did you really mean all that scrap?<< Hot Rod knew the answer, but he just wanted to hear the confirmation. After the day he’s had, it was nice to listen to someone tell him how awesome he is. Especially because he was about to confront two of the Decepticons top warriors.

>>Absolutely. I’m not in the practice of saying things that I don’t mean. You are everything I said before and so much more. You have such a beautiful spark, filled with truth and kindness. You have the unique gift to connect with people. Anyone who has the great fortune to meet you could never forget you. Roddy, to know you is to love you.<<

>>Aww, Thunders! Are you saying you love me?<< Hot Rod teased. He expected to get a rise out of the Autobot, but…

>>Oh?OH! Well-<< Thunderclash stammered. Hot Rod could picture his frame lighting up bright pink. >>Um- I do know you so- um- yeah- I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.<<

>>Whoa. Really?<< Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. Definitely not the answer he was expecting.

>>Yes. Really.<<

“Signal target acquired,” Soundwave droned as he approached.

>>AH! Scrap! They’re here. Sorry! I gotta go, Thunders- Thank you so much for calling- See you around- Okay- bye!<< Hot Rod blurted out and disconnected the comm. His cheeks burned hotter than his flames.

Thunderclash loved him?

Why did that make him so happy??

His face was probably glowing bright pink. He heard Soundwave’s steady footsteps approaching and Starscream’s grousing grew louder and he didn’t even care.

Soundwave and Starscream rounded the bend to where Hot Rod was huddled in the corner. He’d get up to greet them, but he didn’t have enough energy to move.

“Finally!!” Starscream rolled his optics and dramatically flared his wings. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you. I tried to get Warp and TC to help look, but they kept theatrically weeping and regaling me with tales of your tragic death despite the fact that I told them repeatedly that I spoke to you in person. And people say I’m the dramatic one.”

“Oops. That one’s on me,” Hot Rod laughed. “I told them to keep up the narrative that we were killed to protect Lock until Knockout finished his repairs. I appreciate their commitment to the bit.”

“Idiots,” Starscream shook his head.

“Hot Rod received an enemy transmission.” Soundwave intoned, cutting off their conversation. Hot Rod couldn’t tell if he was just stating the facts or if there was a bit of accusation in that statement.

“No. It wasn’t an enemy transmission,” Hot Rod grumbled. “This Autobot-”

Hot Rod froze. How exactly should he describe Thunderclash? His friend? His crush? Some other third thing?? His cheeks warmed as he thought about Thunderclash saying he loved him. Hot Rod decided to keep things truthful but vague, mainly because he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

“Um- this Autobot- that I know just commed to tell me that he watched my whole heated conversation with Megatron on his medbay equipment monitor. There’s only one person I know with that kind of communications prowess. So Soundwave, you wanna tell me why you broadcast my private business to THE ENTIRE PLANET?!”

“It was the least we could do,” another voice answered. A midnight black feline form materialized out of the shadows around Soundwave’s feet.

“AHH! Ravage! When did you get here?” Hot Rod yelped. “You know what? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. What matters is, I didn’t see you leave the war room with everyone else after I knocked Turmoil on his aft. You helped Soundwave broadcast my conversation with Megatron, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I’m impressed that you noticed. Well done,” Ravage purred and swished his tail. “I originally stayed behind to keep an optic on you in case things came to blows. I know you can take care of yourself, Hot Rod, but Megatron is unlike anyone else you’ve ever fought. After all these years, he’s still the reigning champion of Kaon’s gladiatorial circuit. No one has ever defeated him. The situation was tense, but I only planned on getting involved if things got physical between you.”

Hot Rod bristled. It’s not like he wanted to throw hands with Megatron, but would it kill someone to have a little faith in him? He could probably take Megatron. He’d been fighting bots above his weight class since the day he was forged. Sure he often had the disadvantage in the size department, but his fire, skill, and willingness to use scrappy tactics more than made up for it. Maybe he never fought anyone like Megatron, but Megatron never fought anyone like him either.

“But when you spoke I felt my own spark burn.” Ravage locked optics with Hot Rod. “I could feel your fire. Cybertron has heard enough polished speeches and hollow propaganda. It was time for people to hear truth spoken from the spark, raw and unrefined.”

“Soundwave broadcast the destruction on Nyon,” Soundwave intoned. He placed his hand over his chest and bowed slightly as if in remorse. He then straightened up and nodded to Hot Rod. “It is only fitting that I broadcast its rise as well.”

“Nyon’s rise?” Hot Rod asked. What were they talking about?

“Cybertron watched Nyon burn. Whether Megatron was right and Nyon’s destruction was the push that Cybertronians needed to finally stand up and take a side or not, it was a horrific tragedy. In the time since then, our fight for freedom has devolved into an endless civil war. As the last survivor of Nyon, people need to hear your words as a reminder that we are not honoring the future Nyon died to give us.” Ravage said. “We have lost sight of the future we all once dreamed about.”

“Wow.” Hot Rod whispered, shocked that everyone found his words so important. He wasn’t eloquent or refined like Megatron or effortlessly authoritative like Optimus. For better or worse, he was only ever himself: Hot Rod of Nyon.

While it often felt like that wasn’t good enough… maybe it was?

“Yes. Yes. Everyone needed to hear it,” Starscream flicked his wings in disinterest. But then his face curled into a predatory grin. “But more importantly, Ol’ Megsy Wegsy can’t ignore it now.”

“What do you mean?”

“He might be known for his warrior prowess, but our Lord Megatron is a thinker before all else. Believe it or not, he does care about you, in his own tragically fragged up way. Whether he sees something of himself in you or admires your fierce defense of freedom, he respects your opinion and listens to you, Roddy. Everything you said will bounce around inside that bucket head of his. He’ll ponder and brood and then ponder some more. If no one else heard your fiery indictment of the factions, it might not have gone any further than his deep thoughts. But, by broadcasting your speech, we’ve forced his hand.”

“What do you think Megs will do?” Hot Rod asked. His gaze shifted from Starscream to Ravage to Soundwave and back again. Neither one of them moved.

“That is the question, isn’t it, Roddy? His pride won’t let him back down. Especially with your final challenge: ‘Find a way to end this war, or I will.’ How ferociously bold! It gives me chills just thinking about it.” Starscream shivered.

“It was quite a statement.” Ravage nodded. “Especially since everyone knows you are the one who burned Nyon. Megatron knows you have the courage and the tenacity to find a solution he can’t see.”

“And our fearless leader simply won’t stand for it. Megs is so focused on victory, he’s too proud to let someone else find a way to end the war. He’ll come up with something for sure.” Starscream grinned. “Ah, Roddy. I’m so glad you came back. I know I’ve said it before, but you make things so interesting.”

“I don’t do it on purpose.” Hot Rod grumbled.

“That makes it even better. You can’t fake genuine chaos.” Starscream said with a casual flick of his wings.

Hot Rod’s engine sputtered as it struggled to maintain normal operation with minimal fuel. Darkness played at the edges of his vision. He was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore his extreme exhaustion.

“Hot Rod needs to visit the medbay. Now.” Soundwave cut in, direct and to the point, as if he somehow sensed Hot Rod’s thoughts.

“Quite right, Sounders,” Starscream agreed. “As much as I hate to agree with anything that slagger Turmoil had to say, he was right. Roddy, you look like hell.”

“Ha. Yeah. It’s been a day alright.” Hot Rod wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he and Deadlock set out on their routine mission before everything went sideways. It felt like forever.

“Well. Come on!” Starscream huffed impatiently. “Get off your aft.”

“I kinda sorta burned through too much fuel arguing with Megs,” Hot Rod sheepishly rubbed the back of his helm. “I don’t have the energy to get up. Can I get a little help? Please?”

“Oh for frag’s sake. Are you serious?!” Starscream rolled his optics.

“Yeah.” Hot Rod winced. He was used to taking care of himself, but it would be easier to limp to the medbay if someone at least helped keep him upright. Once he got moving again, he should be alright.

“Ugh. FINE!” Starscream dramatically groaned. He dismissively waved Ravage and Soundwave away. “You two, go do whatever it is you do. I’ll see little Roddy gets to the medbay.”

Ravage nodded and majestically melted into the shadows. Soundwave offered a silent nod and followed him.

Hot Rod waved as they left and then reached up to take Starscream’s hand for help getting back on his feet. Starscream grasped Hot Rod’s hand and yanked him up. The seeker didn’t just set him on his feet. Starscream lifted Hot Rod all the way up into his arms and carefully held him against his chest.

“Whoa! You don’t have to carry me!” Hot Rod yelped.

“I know. And if you ever speak a word of this to anyone, I’ll deny it vehemently and say you are lying. No one will ever believe you. I’ve worked hard to maintain a very particular reputation,” Starscream added with a proud smirk.

Hot Rod was going to protest more but honestly, being carried by Starscream was the least shocking thing that happened all day. Starscream’s steady gait nearly lulled him into recharge.

“Thank you,” Hot Rod muttered sleepily.

“No need for thanks. I’m doing this for purely selfish reasons, of course. Warp and TC would never give me any peace if I didn’t help you out.” Starscream said matter of factly.

Hot Rod smiled. A short time ago he felt so lost and alone. Now Thunderclash said he loved him and Starscream, winglord of the Decepticon army was gently carrying him to the medbay. He vented deeply and relaxed. Intense exhaustion closed in around him.

Whatever the consequences of today would be, he’d face them after he recovered. And he wouldn’t be alone.

Chapter Text

After Starscream dropped Hot Rod off at the medbay, a lot of things happened in extremely short order.

Teetering on the brink of involuntary shut down, Hot Rod could only recall only brief snippets of the whirlwind activity. Knockout politely berating him for disappearing again and making him worry. Breakdown hugging him tightly. Hot Rod might have cried a little. He remembered repeatedly asking after Deadlock and they both assured him that his friend was recovering just fine.

Before he knew it, he was cleaned, patched, polished and fitted with a supplementary energon drip because he was too exhausted to consume enough fuel to stabilize his systems. Knockout and Breakdown tucked him into a recharge slab next to Deadlock’s and made him promise he wouldn’t leave without telling anyone again. Knockout specifically ordered him to get some rest.

As soon as Knockout and Breakdown left, Hot Rod rolled out of his recharge slab. He mustered the last of his strength to push it across the floor, closing the gap between his and Deadlock’s to create a larger shared berth just like they had in their own quarters. Careful not to pull the supplemental fuel line out of the port on his forearm, he crawled back into the berth and dragged himself next to Deadlock.

Hot Rod was extremely curious to see Deadlock’s frame upgrades, but he was wrapped in a thermal blanket to help regulate his temperature during the healing process. If Hot Rod were in better shape, he could help keep Deadlock warm himself. As it were, he was simply grateful his friend was alive.

Hot Rod snuggled close. The steady revolutions of Deadlock’s engine felt like home. He was safe, Deadlock was safe, and Thunderclash loved him. Hot Rod thoroughly relaxed, feeling better about a lot of things than he had in a long time despite making a fiery speech to the entire planet. He was just about to drift off into recharge when a soft rap on his helm woke him up.

“Hey there, Hot Stuff. I can’t believe you were just gonna go to sleep without even saying goodnight,” Deadlock teased quietly.

Hot Rod snapped awake and looked up at Deadlock, warmth radiating in his spark. Deadlock grinned. His finials canted back at asymmetrical angles. From what Hot Rod could see so far, his armor was similar to his old heavy plating, but definitely more refined. His bulky cheek guards were replaced with streamlined vents. His dark gray and purple colors were replaced with white and bold slashes of red. Hot Rod snickered. He had a pretty good idea where Deadlock got the inspiration for those colors. More than anything, Hot Rod noticed Deadlock’s optics. They shone bright gold.

“Lock!” Hot Rod gasped, overjoyed to hear his friend’s voice. “You look really good!

“Thanks.” Deadlock smiled, but Hot Rod noticed him flinch when he used his nickname. “I feel good too. Which is kinda new for me.”

“Primus. I was so worried.” Hot Rod hugged Deadlock tight. To his surprise, Deadlock actually returned the embrace.

“You were worried?! What about me?!” Deadlock huffed. He pushed Hot Rod away to hold him at arm’s length and narrowed his shining golden optics. “I leave you alone for two seconds and you run off and read Megatron the riot act about Nyon.”

“You saw that?!” Hot Rod winced.

“Roddy, everyone saw that.”

“Are you mad?” Hot Rod asked, sheepishly hunching his shoulders. He knew Deadlock respected Megatron enough to put up with Turmoil’s scrap. It wasn’t that Hot Rod treated Megatron with disrespect, but he spoke the truth. Oftentimes nothing is more painful than the truth, especially when the entire planet is watching.

“What? No, you knucklehead!” Deadlock wrapped him into another hug. “I just wish I was there to support you. You shouldn’t have had to do that without your official bodyguard.”

“I’m not a Decepticon anymore.” Hot Rod pulled back a little, absentmindedly rubbed at the smooth part of his chest once occupied by his purple badge. “Your bodyguard duties are officially over.”

“Maybe.” Deadlock shrugged. “But I didn’t promise to be your bodyguard, I promised to be your friend.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.” Deadlock shifted slightly and tugged at the thermal blanket to expose his new polished chest plate. Trying not to be distracted by sleek angles of Deadlock’s new white plating with red trim, Hot Rod noticed something peculiar. Deadlock’s purple badge was missing.

“Your badge?” Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. “Where-”

“No badge. Not any more.” Deadlock shook his head with a mischievous smirk. He poked Hot Rod’s badgeless chest. “I stand with Nyon.”

Hot Rod stared at him for a full minute while Deadlock’s words sunk into his exhausted brain. Tears welled up in his optics. He always knew he’d have Deadlock’s support, but he never expected this level of dedication. Deadlock was one of the first Decepticons. He believed in Megatron’s cause so much it kept him apart from Ratchet.

“Whoa. That’s like… next level friendship.”

“Well, I swore with a Nyonian pinky promise AND a Rodian handshake. That’s a friendship worth protecting no matter what.”

“Thanks, Lock.”

Deadlock flinched again at the sound of his nickname.

“Hey? Are you alright?” Hot Rod asked, narrowing his optics. “I mean aside from the whole ‘life-threatening-injuries’ thing? You seem a bit twitchy. Is something bothering you?”

“Yeah- um- it’s just…” Deadlock canted his finials back. The new ones were a bit longer and stylishly trimmed with some of Knockout’s ruby paint. “When I told Knockout I was ready for a change, I meant it in more ways than one.”

Hot Rod snuggled next to Deadlock and waited.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while but watching you stand up for Nyon has really inspired me to finally commit to my decision. It’s kind of a long story.”

“We’ve got nothing but time. Tell me all about it.” Hot Rod encouraged him. He stifled a yawn. Deadlock didn’t often talk about himself. Hot Rod was beyond exhausted but determined to stay awake for as long as necessary. They promised to always be there for each other. Listening to Deadlock’s story was very important to him.

“Although you’ve been very open about sharing stories of Nyon, I know I haven’t really returned the favor. The truth is, it’s hard to find words to describe the brutality of life in the Dead End of Rodion. It’s not something I like to talk about. There was never enough energon, you always had to look over your shoulder for someone looking to beat the scrap out of you for one reason or another, and people generally didn’t care about each other beyond the possibility that you might be able to use someone for your own ends.”

“Oof.” Hot Rod muttered. As bad as things were in Nyon, everyone stuck together. They all had each other’s backs through thick and thin. He couldn’t imagine surviving such hardships completely alone. He huddled a little closer to Deadlock.

“Yeah.” Deadlock vented deeply and stared blankly across the middle distance. “There was one bright spot though. His name was Gasket. Despite the appalling conditions of life in the Dead End, he was recklessly kind and filled with relentless optimism. He gave all of us hope for a better future. I think you’d have liked him and, Primus, he’d have loved you.”

“He sounds pretty cool,” Hot Rod said with a sad smile. He was afraid to ask what happened. The use of past tense words made it pretty clear this wasn’t a story with a happy ending.

“I don’t think I would have survived without him. He was the best part of my life back then,” Deadlock smiled. Tears welled up in his golden optics. “Gasket sort of collected lost sparks. Although I was one of many, Gasket made each of us feel loved and important. We all watched out for each other and did the best we could to survive together. But… one by one, everyone died. We lost Clutch to a rust infection, Caliper overdosed one night, Brakeshoe just disappeared without a trace, and so on until it was only Gasket and me.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s how things went in the Dead End.” Deadlock shrugged. “I started to think the problem was me. Like maybe I was cursed or some kind of bad omen or something. Gasket wouldn’t hear it though. He insisted that it wasn’t my fault the world sucked and his life was better for me being in it. I was able to agree with him right up until he died, murdered by Senate guards for no reason at all while I was powerless to help.”

Hot Rod winced. He knew it was coming, but it still hurt. He knew how hard it was to acknowledge the loss of all his friends. His spark broke for Deadlock.

“Once he was gone, I knew I had to be the problem. The only common factor in all my friends’ deaths was that they knew me. I couldn’t let anyone get close to me, because everyone I cared about wound up dead. After wandering around lost and alone, I couldn’t see any way to move forward so I uploaded circuit speeders directly to my brain.”

Hot Rod bit his lip and swallowed a cry. He reached out and grasped Deadlock’s hand. Deadlock’s fingers curled around his own.

“I’d have died that day if it wasn’t for Ratchet.”

“That’s how you met?!” Hot Rod blurted out. He clasped his free hand over his mouth. He didn’t mean to interrupt.

“Heh. Yeah.” Deadlock sighed. “He cared about me when no one else on the planet gave a damn whether I lived or died. Not even myself. He worked so hard to save my life before he even knew my name. He’s got such a big spark. When I finally got back on my feet, he told me I was special. That I could make something of myself. And I actually believed him. He offered me a job providing security for his clinic. I stayed for a while, but those dark thoughts returned. If everyone I knew ended up dead, I couldn’t put Ratchet at risk. So I left.”

“Where did you go?” Hot Rod asked, almost afraid of the answer. Deadlock’s life was so much sadder than he ever could have guessed. He felt a little guilty about giving Deadlock such a hard time when they first met. Every time Hot Rod deactivated his comm and ditched him, Deadlock probably had flashbacks to losing all his friends.

“Places I’d rather not talk about. Eventually I ran into a certain gladiator from Kaon. He was new to the Dead End and needed someone to watch his back.”

“Megs!”

“Yeah. The Decepticon movement was just getting off the ground. Megatron’s message was gaining traction. A world where everyone is important, where form didn’t dictate function, was a lofty ideal. One where people like Gasket and our little group wouldn’t have been cast aside by society. I was one of the first Decepticons. I helped Megatron navigate the underworld, gathering recruits and spreading the word against the Senate. I read everything he wrote. Although his political treatises get the most attention, his poetry affected me the deepest.”

“Megs writes poetry?!” Hot Rod gasped.

“I dunno if he still does, but he used to. He wrote one about grief that changed my life. I’m not gonna recite it for you but basically he said that when someone you love dies, the person you were with them dies as well because no one else can bring out the same unique aspects of your personality. I really took that to spark. I figured the person I was with Gasket died with him. So I changed my name, my armor, buried all the kindness Gasket taught me and walked down an increasingly dark path.”

Deadlock vented deeply. Hot Rod waited.

“The thing is…” Deadlock turned to Hot Rod. “Being with you made me realize maybe that’s the wrong way to think about things.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You lost everything and yet you persevere. You’ve endured so much pain yet you’ve kept your kindness. Instead of burying yourself with Nyon, you keep Nyon alive. Every little custom, familiar phrase, even the way you burned with righteous anger at Megatron. Nyon lives with you.”

Tears welled up in Hot Rod’s optics.

“It made me think. Maybe a part of me did die with Gasket, but what if part of Gasket lives on with me? I don’t want to be someone he wouldn’t recognize any more. I want to be someone he’d be proud of, someone I can be proud of. All of this is a very long way to say… I don’t want you to call me Deadlock anymore. I want to go back to using the name Gasket called me. The name Ratchet knows me as. Roddy, from now on, please call me Drift.”

“Of course, Drift!” Hot Rod exclaimed. He remembered Ratchet using that name on the battlefield earlier. At the time Hot Rod thought it was just another nickname. He had no idea that Drift was Deadlock’s original name.

Giddy with joy he couldn’t quite describe, Hot Rod hugged Drift tightly. He couldn’t believe he inspired someone else so much. Being himself didn’t feel like a big deal, but apparently it made a big difference to Drift. His spark spun wildly in his chest.

“Thanks, Roddy.” Drift quietly wiped the tears from his golden optics. “Thanks for listening.”

“Always.” Hot Rod smiled. “Thank you for trusting me with your story. I’m sorry, Drift. I had no idea how bad things were for you.”

“How could you? I never told anyone else.” Drift shrugged. He swept Hot Rod into a headlock and playfully rubbed his knuckles on Hot Rod’s helm. “You’ve helped me realize a lot just by being my friend. You’re one in a million, Hot Stuff.”

“Thanks, Drift.” Hot Rod knew he didn’t need to keep using Drift’s name, but he liked the way it made Drift’s gold optics light up. It was so beautiful.

“You’re welcome, Roddy.” Drift released Hot Rod and settled back into their shared berth. He sighed like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “If you’re half as tired as I am, you've got to be exhausted. We should try to get some sleep.”

“Totally.” Hot Rod agreed as he curled up next to Deadlock. “But… there’s something else you should know… You saw the footage of me yelling at Megs about Nyon, right?”

Deadlock nodded.

“Well one pretty important thing happened before Ravage started recording and another after he stopped.”

“Alright.” Deadlock stretched. “I can already tell that you’re not going to rest until you tell me, so let’s hear it.”

Hot Rod quickly ran through the details about Turmoil being the one responsible for the tower collapsing on Deadlock, including the part about him punching Turmoil in the face on Deadlock’s behalf.

Drift propped himself up on one elbow. His jaw dropped.

“TURMOIL?!”

Hot Rod nodded.

“He did this to me? To hurt you?!”

Hot Rod nodded again.

Drift flopped back down and stared at the ceiling in silence for a few seconds before calmly stating, “I’m going to kill him.”

“You don’t have to-” Hot Rod began. He didn’t want Drift putting himself in danger on his account.

“On sight. The next time I lay optics on him, he’s dead. End of story. I can deal with Turmoil roughing me up, but no one causes you pain on my watch. That’s not a professional bodyguard oath, that’s a best friend promise.”

“Whoa. Intense.”

“Yeah. Don’t even give Turmoil another thought. I’ll handle it. Is there anything else I should know about??” Drift asked.

“Weeeell…” Hot Rod hunched his shoulders.

Hot Rod briefly ran through his conversation with Thunderclash and the followup meeting with Soundwave, Ravage, and Starscream. He left out the part about Starscream carrying him to the medbay. Aside from the fact Starscream told him not to tell anyone, Drift would never believe it.

“Primus, Roddy!!” Drift huffed. He dragged a palm down his face. “I can’t believe you!”

“Heh. Yeah. It’s been a day.”

Drift’s face curled into a mischievous grin. “I mean… I can’t believe you didn’t open with Thunderclash’s confession of undying love!”

“What?!” Hot Rod’s face lit up bright pink. Sparks danced along his spoiler, a good sign that the supplemental energon drip was working to restore his empty fuel reserves.

“Oh, Roddy! I LOOooOOoVee you!” Drift cooed, in a poor imitation of Thunderclash’s voice.

“Oh my god! Shut up!” Hot Rod laughed. He shoved him.

“Relax,” Drift laughed. “I’m just playing around.”

“Oh? Are we playing around? Then let’s play! Because I was wondering about your new color scheme.” Hot Rod grinned like a cybercat cornering its prey.

“What about it?”

“Red and white? Hmmm… I feel like I’ve seen those colors somewhere else recently,” Hot Rod tapped his chin as if in deep thought.

Drift’s face glowed bright pink.

“It’s almost like a certain medic-”

“Be shoosh!” Drift pounced on him, clamping a hand over Hot Rod’s mouth. He quickly changed the subject. “You know what? We both need our rest. We should totally get some sleep. Right now! You promised Knockout you’d rest!”

“Fine.” Hot Rod giggled. “But I’m sure Ratchet will totally swoon when he sees your new look.”

“Roddy!!” Drift gasped.

“Seriously,” Hot Rod yawned. He curled up next to Drift. “All kidding aside, I am super tired.”

“Honestly, me too.” Drift mirrored his yawn. “Scoot over.” When Hot Rod shifted his position, Drift yanked his thermal blanket out from under Hot Rod and draped it over the both of them.

Hot Rod snuggled under the blanket, carefully positioning his arm to keep pressure off the energon drip line.

“G’night,” Hot Rod mumbled. The steady revolutions of Drift’s engine chased away any nightmares lurking in the shadows.

“Night, Roddy.” Drift playfully pulled the blanket over Hot Rod’s helm.

Hot Rod sleepily tugged it back off. He vented deeply and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Hot Rod dreamed he was fishing in the Rust Sea. The sun glinted brightly off the dark waves. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Although he felt like Noctgar and Promnis were with him, he couldn’t see them. He whooped with glee when his rod suddenly bent nearly in half. Hot Rod wondered what type of fish was on the end of his line. As he reeled, he caught a glimpse of something impossibly large beneath the waves. Hot Rod’s spark spun with unfathomable happiness as the sun beams flashed on a dazzling array of rainbow scales.

Chapter Text

“Is that the best you got?”

“You couldn’t handle my best.”

“Try me.”

Hot Rod’s optics snapped open. The rhythmic cadence of heavy blows connecting with metal armor rang in his audials. It sounded like a fight!

He sat bolt upright. He was alone in their cobbled-together berth, tangled up in a thermal blanket. Drift was gone.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Drift snarled with predatory glee.

Oh no! Hot Rod’s spark stopped in his chest. Drift was fighting someone in the next room! What if Turmoil found out they were in the medbay? What if the Decepticons want them out of here after he burned his badge? What if-

Hot Rod shook his head to focus. He needed to help Drift!

“Hold on! I’m coming!” Hot Rod yelled. He leapt up and instantly tripped over the thermal blanket. He crashed hard to the floor, painfully jarring the energon port in his arm. Hot Rod scrambled to his feet and burst into the scene dragging his energon drip, tangled in the thermal blanket with flames licking his fists.

Drift was locked up with Breakdown, apparently in the midst of a sparring match. Knockout sat on a desk, watching intently. His face glowed soft pink.

“Roddy?” Drift asked as he fluidly dodged one of Breakdown’s punches.

“Baby Blue Eyes?! You’re up?” Breakdown whirled around.

Drift flashed a fanged grin and took advantage of Breakdown’s distraction to sweep his legs out from under him with a low spinning kick. The larger bot crashed heavily to the floor, landing flat on his back.

“Hey! No fair!” Breakdown whined. He tapped one palm against his fingertips miming a T-shape. “Time out!”

“Aww…” Knockout whined. He fanned himself. “And it was just getting good.”

Hot Rod’s optics darted between Drift, Breakdown, and Knockout. “What the hell is going on??”

“Breakdown is helping me adjust to the lighter armor!” Drift grinned. Drift bounced lightly on his feet and shadowboxed a few punches, then reached down and helped Breakdown up. As soon as Breakdown was back on his feet, Drift left him and ran towards Hot Rod at full speed, sweeping him up into a tight hug.

“Ow.” Hot Rod flinched. His arm was sore where he damaged the supplemental fuel line.

“Oops. Sorry.” Drift canted his finials back. “I’m just really happy to see you up. You’ve been in recharge for three days.”

“Three days?!” Hot Rod’s blue optics went wide. “For real?!”

“Yes. For real.” Knockout answered. He hopped off the desk and gave Hot Rod a quick check up, gingerly removing the damaged energon port and sealing Hot Rod’s arm. “Honestly, I’m not sure how you survived. You were extremely low on fuel and your systems were all out of sorts, likely from being on fire for so long. I did my best but I’m not very familiar with over-taxed outlier abilities. It seemed like you needed energon and rest, but after the second day, I started to worry.”

“I’m glad you’re alright, Baby Blue,” Breakdown chuckled. He stretched and rotated his shoulders. He leaned close and whispered loudly, “If Drift ever asks you to spar, I recommend polite refusal. I was getting my aft handed to me.”

“Nonsense. You looked stunning.” Knockout leaned over and sweetly kissed Breakdown’s cheek.

“Aw. Thanks, babe.” Breakdown smiled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his helm..

“Hmm…” Knockout returned his attention to Hot Rod and narrowed his optics at his diagnostic datapad.

“What? Am I okay?” Hot Rod asked, craning his neck to see the datapad even though he had no idea how to read the medical charts.

“How do you feel?” Knockout asked. He turned his datapad sideways and squinted at it.

“Normal, I guess. Why?”

“Your read-outs are… unique.”

“Unique...” Hot Rod grimaced, “...is not a word I like to hear from my medic.”

“The most important thing is how you feel. You know your own body better than anyone else ever could.”

“I dunno. I feel kinda tired but otherwise okay. Sometimes my plating doesn’t feel like it fits quite right, but that’s pretty normal for me although I have no idea why. We never had any special medical equipment in Nyon so I don’t have a baseline for my outlier abilities,” Hot Rod mused when an idea hit him. “Wait a second! I know! Lemme call Warp and TC. They are both outliers. Neither one is too fond of medbays, but maybe you can just check their readings in the hall or something and we can compare them.”

“Yeah. That’s not going to work,” Knockout said slowly.

“Why not?”

“They’re… unavailable.”

Knockout cast a nervous glance at Breakdown. Drift canted his finials back and uncomfortably shifted his weight.

“What?! Why?! Are they okay? Did something happen while I was out?” Hot Rod’s vent fans whirled. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else.

“Pump the brakes, Hot Stuff,” Drift laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Although he is a monstrous pain in the aft, Skywarp is fine.”

“TC?”

“Thundercracker too.”

“Then why-”

“Everyone is out today. Only the barest minimum of people stayed behind to maintain base security.”

“Stayed behind from what?” Hot Rod narrowed his optics. Even during a full scale assault, it was unusual to leave the base completely empty. What was going on?

“Well… You see…” Drift winced and pulled his plating close.

“Oh, for the love of Primus,” Knockout rolled his optics and dismissively waved away Drift’s concerns. “There’s no need to dance around the truth. Aside from a select few, the entire armies of both Autobots and Decepticons were to assemble at the ruined Acropolex for the match today.”

“Match? What match?” Hot Rod asked despite already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer. Anxiety rose within his spark.

“Alright. Look.” Drift firmly planted his hands on Hot Rod’s shoulders as if he could sense Hot Rod needed someone to ground him. “Remember how you challenged Megatron to find a way to end the war? Well… he did.”

“What is he going to do?” Hot Rod asked cautiously, trepidation growing.

“He challenged Optimus to a one on one gladiator fight to the death. Whoever wins takes victory for their entire faction.”

“HE DID WHAT?!?!” Hot Rod roared. He broke free of Drift’s grip and paced wildly about the room. “He’s gonna fight Optimus to the death?! And he chose the Acropolex?! That place is an old temple and served as Nyon’s last refuge! Legend says it was once a shrine to the Matrix! It's the height of stupidity and disrespect all rolled into one! CAN’T BELIEVE HIM!!”

“It’s okay, Roddy,” Drift followed him. “Megatron can’t lose.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!” Hot Rod yelled. Flames flickered along his plating. “I wanted them to talk to each other, not kill each other. Did he even listen to a word that I said?! I poured my spark out about the importance of standing together. Nyon would still be alive if they got off their tailpipes and TALKED to me. And what do they decide to do?! Make the same stupid mistake all over again!”

“You’ve never seen Megatron fight, Roddy. It’ll be okay. He’ll win.”

“That’s fraggin’ fantastic!” Hot Rod muttered. He continued bitterly, “And you know what prize he wins? He gets to live with the knowledge that he murdered someone that was once his friend with the added bonus of creating an even deeper divide between Autobots and Decepticons. No matter who wins, we all lose.”

“But… how?”

“Everyone has lost so much in this war. Everyone is hurting in some way or another. If the war ends with winners and losers, it will create another fragged up power dynamic. We need to decide to move forward together. Not to mention both factions are so devoted to their leaders, whoever loses will become a martyr. It’ll only be a matter of time before another war begins to avenge their death.”

Memories played through Hot Rod’s brain. When he rescued Thunderclash from the acid storm, a group of Autobots came looking for him. Although they were mainly there to help Thunders, they were eager to engage any Decepticons they could find as retribution for injuries their friends sustained in the day’s battle. Although Thunderclash shielded Hot Rod from them, that sentiment remains strong on both sides. Hell, even Hot Rod hated Thunderclash for being an Autobot when they first met.

“Megatron made a public challenge to Optimus, and he accepted.” Drift shrugged. “The match is scheduled for today with the entire armies of both factions serving as witnesses. It’s happening. We don’t have any choice in the matter.”

“There’s always a choice.” Hot Rod growled. He clenched his fists. The gravity of his choice to burn Nyon weighed heavily on his shoulders. Flames flickered along his spoiler as he turned and stalked away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Knockout asked as he sidled into Hot Rod’s path.

“I’m going to stop them before they do something we’re all going to regret. Megatron made this match because of what I said.” Hot Rod thumped a hand on his badgeless chest. “I refuse to let my words be twisted into the reason for more suffering.”

“Fine. But you’re not going alone.” Drift appeared at his side.

“Thanks,” Hot Rod’s spoiler sagged with relief. He didn’t want to ask but he secretly hoped Drift would offer to join him.

“I’m trying to stop Hot Rod, and you are not helping,” Knockout huffed as he threw his arms up in exasperation.

“Baby Blue. Please. It’s dangerous,” Breakdown pleaded.

“Facing down impossible odds and certain death is nothing new for me.” Hot Rod smiled grimly. “I can handle it. No big deal. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Then why does it feel like this is the last time I’m going to see you?” Knockout hugged his arms around himself and turned away. Breakdown quickly rushed to his side.

Hot Rod stopped in his tracks.

Before Nyon burned, everyone was in danger all the time. They risked their lives for survival together. Sure, Cor often scolded them about being too reckless, but this was something different. Although he was so used to being in constant peril it didn’t even register as an issue for him, Knockout and Breakdown weren’t from Nyon. Hot Rod supposed that despite the speed-based alt mode discrimination, life on Velocitron didn’t include constant threat of death around every corner. His spark twisted at Knockout’s obvious distress.

“KO? Is everything alright?” Hot Rod asked, not quite sure what to do.

“It’s just… against my better judgment, I guess I’ve gotten attached to you,” Knockout shrugged.

“We both did,” Breakdown said softly as he hugged Knockout.

“I didn’t expect the news of your supposed death to hit me so hard,” Knockout delicately wiped away the tears welling up in his optics. “Then you wandered in from the battlefield out of nowhere. Even after patching all your wounds, I still wasn’t sure you’d survive. I felt so helpless. Now, as soon as I get you back, you’re rushing out into danger again.”

“I’m sorry,” Hot Rod chewed his lip. He didn’t mean to cause anyone pain, especially people that he cared about. “I- I don’t mean to make you worry.”

“Don’t apologize. I worry because I care. I suppose I’m simply too good of a person.” Knockout teased with a sad smile. He turned around and hugged Hot Rod. “Just… be careful. Please.”

“You know me!” Hot Rod grinned, easily slipping into his armor of familiar bravado.

“That’s what worries us.” Breakdown shook his head and wrapped them into a larger hug. He reached out, pulled in a reluctant Drift, and squeezed them all tightly. “You too, Drift. Any friend of Hot Rod’s is a friend of ours; we don’t want to lose you either. You two watch out for each other. You hear?”

“Always.” Drift nodded with such solemnity Hot Rod had to laugh.

Hot Rod’s engine purred, reveling in the close comfort of people he loved. It reminded him of the quiet moments with his friends before a raid. Although he didn’t know what was going to happen when he tried to stop Megatron and Optimus’ fight, he hoped for the best. Not just for his sake, but for Knockout and Breakdown as well.

“We’ll be back before you know it. You’ll see.” Hot Rod reluctantly pulled away and headed for the door. They had to hurry if they were going to get to the Acropolex in time to stop Optimus and Megatron from killing each other.

“Roddy, wait!” Drift suddenly stopped short. He frantically patted his own frame as if he was searching for something lost. “I don’t have any weapons! I lost my guns when I was injured.”

“You shouldn’t need them.” Hot Rod shrugged. “I’ve got my flames, but if push comes to shove, we’ll be facing down the entire armies of both factions. A couple of guns aren't going to save us.”

“I think you’re underestimating what I can do with a few weapons.” Drift narrowed his optics and crossed his arms.

“You can take my war hammer,” Breakdown offered.

“Sorry, but hammers really aren’t my style.” Drift winced.

“Hmm… I don’t like the idea of you two running head first into danger, but at least I can give you the tools to protect yourselves.” Knockout pulled out a matched pair of fighting knives from hidden sheathes and twirled them in his hands with mesmerizing flair. He abruptly stopped and offered the hilts to Drift. “These are extremely well balanced blades rumored to be forged by Solus Prime herself. They are unique and very expensive. You may borrow them. BUT! I want them back!”

Drift whistled in awe. He accepted the knives and flipped them around with practiced ease. “These are incredible. Thank you.”

“KO! You want them back? Really?!” Hot Rod’s optics teared up. He hugged the medic fiercely.

“Um- you’re welcome?” Knockout tentatively laid a hand gently on Hot Rod’s helm. He cast a quick glance at Breakdown. The big bot shrugged in confusion. “But… why is that such a big deal?”

“In Nyon, one of the ways to show how much you care about someone is to lend them something you want back.” Hot Rod squeezed him tightly. He nuzzled Knockout’s polished chest plate. “It’s a sign to show you want that person to come back to you safely, like giving them a talisman of protection.”

“That is a beautiful custom.” Knockout smiled sadly as Hot Rod let go. “I fully expect you to honor it. In fine Nyonian tradition, I will simply be inconsolable if the two of you don’t personally return my knives.”

“We’ll do our best! We have to make it back because I have a lot of stuff to tell you.” Hot Rod said.

“Oh?” Knockout lit up. “You have new gossip to share?”

“Yeah he does!” Drift teased. “Didn’t Roddy ever tell you about the gigantic glittery Autobot who fell in love with him??”

“WHAT?!” Knockout and Breakdown gasped. They both start excitedly talking at once.

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back! See ya later! Thanks! Bye!” Hot Rod blurted out. His cheeks burned bright pink. He grabbed Drift and shoved him out the door. “Come on, Drift. Let’s go!”

Hot Rod didn’t look back as he and Drift bolted out of the medbay.

“What the hell?!” Hot Rod huffed as they ran down the hallway. “Did you have to bring up Thunderclash right before we left?”

“Did you see the look on their faces?” Drift laughed. “Besides, it’ll give them something fun to think about until we get back.”

“I guess…” Hot Rod rolled his optics. His face curled into a mischievous grin. “You know what else would be fun? Knockout implied he sort of knew Ratchet. I bet he’d love to hear about how you know the good doctor and the reason why you added red and white to your frame rebuild!”

“W- what?!” Drift sputtered. His face went pink too.

Hot Rod laughed. He raced through the Decepticon base. Free from the heavy tungsten armor mods, Drift easily kept pace with him. Although he had no idea what lie before then, his spark sang to know that Drift would be by his side through it all.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod ducked down a narrow hallway in the toppled building serving as the Decepticon base. If they wanted to get to the Acropolex as quickly as possible, they’d need a direct route. Good thing he knew all the shortcuts. He skidded to a stop in a dark corner and yanked open a rusted hatch.

“Come on!” Hot Rod called to Drift as he hopped inside. “This passage leads straight to the outskirts of the old temple complex. We’ll be there in no time!”

“Wait a second.” Drift hesitated. He leaned into the darkness and cautiously scanned the shadows. “Isn’t this where a swarm of scraplets almost ate you and Thunderclash for breakfast?”

“Pfft. No.” Hot Rod scoffed.

Drift hopped into the tunnel behind him. Dust billowed around his feet.

“Well technically yes, but-”

“What?!” Drift froze. He crouched low and drew Knockout’s knives with a flourish. His optics darted all around.

“It was late in the day, so if anything, they would have eaten us for dinner.”

“RODDY!!”

“Relax.” Hot Rod snickered. “The scraplets are in these tunnels, but the network is HUGE. We ran into them on the far end of the city near the Acid Wastes in the natural caverns. That was miles away. They shouldn’t be anywhere near this location. Even if they are, this passage was built wide, smooth, and straight. We can easily outrun them.”

“You better be right,” Drift grumbled as he sheathed his borrowed weapons. He shivered. “Scraplets give me the chills.”

Hot Rod shrugged. Although he didn’t like them either, scraplets were just another daily danger of life in Nyon.

The tunnel yawned long and deep before them. Hot Rod took one step forward. The sound of his footstep echoed through the empty darkness.

How many times had he raced through this passage with his friends? Noctgar and Indy always wagered with each other on which one of them would finally break Hot Rod’s winning streak. No matter how hard they tried, they could never beat him. Hot Rod flicked on his headlights. Faded black skidmarks criss-crossed the smooth cavern floor, a lasting testament to good times long past. He knelt down and ran his fingers along the Noctgar’s custom patterned tiretracks.

Tears welled up in Hot Rod’s optics.

Nostalgia tugged at his spark.

“Hey, Drift? Wanna race?” Hot Rod wiped away his tears. They might be running headlong to their own deaths, they might as well have a bit of fun along the way. For old time’s sake. As Nyon’s lone survivor, he almost felt like he owed it to his friends to live every minute of his life to the fullest.

“Race? Are you serious?” Drift’s finials perked up.

“Yeah.” Hot Rod forced a smile. “Me and me friends- we used to race down here all the time. But- it’s okay if you don’t want to…”

“I haven’t raced in a long time… Gasket and I loved to speed around the outskirts of the Dead End. We rarely had enough fuel but when we did… It was the freest I’ve ever felt.” Drift smiled, staring into the middle distance of his own memories. He sidled up next to Hot Rod. “I think what you need to ask yourself is: Do you want to lose?”

“Me? Lose??” Hot Rod laughed. Familiar pre-race bravado swelled in his spark. “Yeah right! I’ve never lost a race on this track. I’m about to teach you the meaning of speed.”

“We’ll see about that, Hot Stuff,” Drift teased. “By the time we’re done, you’ll be begging me for lessons.”

“We will see about it! You are so going down!” Hot Rod laughed.

Hot Rod planted one foot on an old starting line engraved into the cavern’s stone floor. Drift crouched next to him.

“On three: One! Two!” Hot Rod turned to smirk at Drift and his spark froze. For a split second he could have sworn he saw two other figures lined up with them in the shadows, a glimpse of deep midnight blue and a flash of purple flecked with silver. Noct? Indy? Hot Rod blinked and only darkness remained.

“Three!” Drift shouted. He leapt off the starting line. Drift took two bounding leaps and transformed into a sleek speedster alt, stunning white with bold slashes of red.

“Hey! No fair!” Hot Rod yelped. He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or if the sparks of his friends were up for a little posthumous racing. Either way, if Noct and Indy thought they could make him lose to Drift they had another thing coming. He stuck his tongue out at the empty darkness behind him.

Hot Rod whirled around and chased after Drift, launching into a front handspring. He spun his t-cog as he flipped, transforming in mid air. He revved his engine and hit the ground in his fiery speedster alt, tires spinning.

“Whoa! Nice move!” Drift whistled his appreciation.

“I’d take credit for it, but I learned that move from Thunderclash,” Hot Rod laughed. He gunned his engine and quickly closed the gap between them. “He pulled that maneuver when we were escaping from the scraplets.”

“Thunderclash?! Seriously?!” Drift gasped. “Who knew the big bot had it in him?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past him. Although, speaking of moves-” Hot Rod hugged the next turn tight to the inside corner and pushed his throttle to the redline. The acceleration burst threw him around the turn and he sped into the next straightaway, pulling ahead of Drift. “Get ready to take notes!”

“Not bad,” Drift called from behind him. “But you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

The cavern walls sped by in a blur. Their headlights only illuminated the path directly in front of them. Roaring engines echoed through the chamber. Hot Rod’s spark sang with glee as he left his worries behind in an exhilarating rush of speed. His fears and doubts could never hope to catch him now.

Although he knew every twist and turn in this tunnel like the seams of his own frame, Drift kept pace with him without sharing that knowledge. Drift’s fearless driving filled Hot Rod with awe and admiration. Hot Rod increased his lead with raw speed in each straightaway, but Drift caught up to him in every corner. Somehow, Drift never lost any speed in the turns, he powered through each bend in a magical controlled skid. Hot Rod has never seen anything like it.

As they rounded another bend, Drift slid easily back into the lead. Something glinted in the distance. Hot Rod revved his engine with glee. The final leg of the race was arrow-straight.

“See that shiny thing up ahead?” Hot Rod shouted. “It’s a ladder up to the outskirts of the Acropolex and our finish line.”

“Alright then! Catch me if you can!” Drift whooped.

“With pleasure!” Hot Rod laughed.

If there were any more turns, he might be in trouble, but it was a straight shot to the ladder. Hot Rod’s engine roared. He pushed his throttle all the way open. Sparks shimmered along his spoiler as he raced past Drift. Hot Rod practically flew along the final stretch reaching the finish line a full two seconds ahead of Drift.

Hot Rod transformed and casually leaned against the wall like he’d been waiting for hours. He nonchalantly flicked some imaginary dust from his shoulder.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Hot Rod teased as Drift skidded to a stop and transformed.

“I almost had you!” Drift laughed. His engine pinged softly as it cooled down. “You’re lucky there were so many straight-aways. I’d have caught you if the course had more curves.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, you might have,” Hot Rod nodded appreciatively. “I’ve got to say, I’ve never seen anyone drive like you. How do you do that thing where you slide around the corners at top speed? You have to teach me!”

“What? And lose the one advantage I have over you? No way!”

“Aww! But it’s so cool!” Hot Rod whined. He willed his optics to be extra bright and sparkly. "You said I'd be begging for lessons, and I totally am! Teach me! Pleeeaase!"

“Well…” Drift’s resolve crumbled. “Maybe... If we survive today, I’ll give you a few pointers.”

“Yes!” Hot Rod pumped his fist. “I’ll hold you to it!”

“Well. It’s a pretty big IF.” Drift grabbed the ladder and put his foot on the first rung. “I don’t know what we’re going to find out there, but I do know Megatron won’t be happy about us interrupting his match. We better get moving.”

“Right…” Hot Rod hesitated.

Alone with Drift in the tunnels under Nyon, he couldn’t help but think about his lost friends. Everyday he struggled with his grief. Ghosts haunted his nightmares and guilt weighed on his spark. Sometimes everything hurt and other times he simply felt lost. He wondered if his Nyonian family knew how much he cared about them. The thought that they died without knowing how deeply Hot Rod loved them ate at his spark like a swarm of ravenous scraplets, bite by excruciating bite. He never actually said the words because when everyone was together, it was easy to take those feelings for granted.

“Drift. Wait.”

“Everything alright, Hot Stuff?” Drift stopped and turned towards Hot Rod. His finials canted back at asymmetrical angles.

“I need to tell you something…” Hot Rod vented deeply. Silence stretched out between them as he struggled to find the right words. Desperate to say something, he blurted out, “I love you!!”

Drift’s golden optics flared.

“You are my best friend in the whole world right now and I want you to know how much I care about you. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering if my Nyonian friends knew how much I loved them. Sometimes, it’s easy to assume everyone knows how you feel, like there’s an unspoken bond or something, but maybe saying the words are important.”

“Roddy…” Drift whispered. Somehow he put everything Hot Rod was feeling into a single word.

“Sorry if this seems kind of sudden or whatever, but I had to tell you. I’ve been thinking a lot about loss and life and I dunno…” Hot Rod gently placed his palm on Drift’s chest. Drift’s spark pulsed under his fingertips, steady and strong. Tears welled up in his optics. “What we’re about to do is dangerous. We could both be killed. Or worse, one of us could be killed. We’ve come so far together, but… If I die today, and you survive… Please don’t bury yourself with me. Keep me alive with you.”

Drift slowly brought one of his hands up to clasp Hot Rod’s hand to his chest. He reached out and placed the other on Hot Rod’s chest, directly over his spark. The gentle pressure grounded Hot Rod in the moment. They stood in silence as the gravity of the situation settled around them.

Hot Rod slowly raised his optics to meet Drift’s. A smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t planned to get so emotional, but after everything they’ve been through, it was important. Hearing Thunderclash tell him that he loved him meant more to Hot Rod than he ever would have guessed. Saying the words is the only way to be sure that someone else knows what you are thinking.

As soon as their optics met, Drift blurted out, “Be amicas with me!”

“Amicas? Really?” Hot Rod whispered. His smile grew until it could scarcely contain his happiness. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Drift pressed his palm against Hot Rod’s chest for emphasis. “I’m not sure if that was the proper way to ask, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.”

“Me too!” Hot Rod exclaimed. His spark spun wildly. “Honestly, I wanted to ask you the night we decided we were a pack of hyenabots under the Aurora Sparklights. I was afraid it might have been too forward. I know I can be a bit much sometimes.”

“Oh, Roddy. I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it.”

“Thanks, Drift. That really means a lot to me.”

Drift smiled.

“You know,” Hot Rod continued, “despite having a lot of close friends, I’ve never actually had an amica before.”

“Me neither.”

Hot Rod smiled.

“Do you have any special Nyonian traditions for becoming amicas?” Drift asked. “I know a bit of the Rodian oath, but I’d be honored to share yours.”

"We'll both do what we know so we can share each other’s traditions."

“A little unconventional but…” Drift nodded. “It’s perfect for us.”

“Us.” Hot Rod repeated in a whisper. He hadn’t been part of a proper “us” since Nyon burned.

Taking both of Drift’s hands in his, Hot Rod vented deeply. Part of him couldn’t believe he was actually taking an amica oath, the other part was so stupidly happy it took all of his willpower not to burst into flames. Sparks shimmered along his spoiler.

Hot Rod opened his chest panels and brilliant blue spark light filled the tunnel. Drift squeezed Hot Rod’s hands and did likewise. Hot Rod tried not to stare, but he’d never really seen anyone else’s spark before. Drift’s spark was so beautiful. It shone like the first rays of sunlight at dawn, clear and bright.

“I bid you to stand in the light of my spark and feel the heat of my words,” Hot Rod began the oath in the Nyonian tradition

“I invite you to receive my light and know that my words are true,” Drift answered with a portion of the Rodian oath.

“As you are to me, may I be to you. Amica endurae. Today, Tomorrow, and always,” they finished together.

The combined glow of their sparks chased away all the surrounding shadows. Happiness overwhelmed Hot Rod. He had a true friend. An amica endurae. Someone he loved and who loved him in return. The intimacy of the moment swept Hot Rod away in a rush of emotions. He looked up at Drift with a smile on his face and stars in his optics.

Drift radiated the same euphoria. He canted his finials back and grinned like an idiot. They stood in giddy silence, basking in the glow of each other’s sparks.

With a final squeeze of Drift’s hands, Hot Rod slid his chest panels closed. Drift sealed his spark away as well, plunging them both back into the darkness of reality.

The shadows crept back in but Hot Rod felt they could no longer touch him. He reveled in the memory of their shared sparklight.

To Hot Rod’s surprise, Drift suddenly yanked him into a tight hug. Hot Rod wrapped Drift in his arms and hugged him fiercely. He dug his fingertips into the seams of Drift’s new armor. Hot Rod had lost so much, but… Drift was here, he was real, and he was Hot Rod’s amica.

Despite Hot Rod’s earlier insistence that words are important, all words now seemed utterly inadequate. The situation, the bond they shared was beyond articulation. Hot Rod wondered if having a better vocabulary would help or if some things simply defied description.

Hot Rod pulled back. Determination shone in his optics and love in his spark. Drift nodded and turned towards the ladder. Hot Rod slipped past him, grabbed the ladder first and began climbing. Drift followed in silence.

He didn’t know what awaited them in the Acropolex or if they’d be able to stop Megatron and Optimus’ grudge match.

They might not be able to save the world, but they’ve made a world of difference to each other. And that’s a good start.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod wrenched the hatch open and climbed up out of the tunnels. The passage brought them to the rocky ridges surrounding the Acropolex. The cloudless cerulean sky contrasted stunningly with the deep orange rock formations. He did his best to ignore the dark black ruins and artillery craters marring the landscape.

After racing through the dark passages under the city, the midday brightness burned his optics. He reset his optical sensors and turned to help Drift up.

Drift just looked at him and vaulted himself up the last few rungs of the ladder, twisting his body into a corkscrew flip and landed on his feet with a smirk. Hot Rod rolled his optics.

“Show off.” Hot Rod playfully shoved him.

Drift laughed. The sound sang in Hot Rod’s spark.

Although Hot Rod hadn’t seen anyone else yet, another sound shivered across his plating like rolling thunder. An electric charge hung in the air. His spark sank as the realization dawned on him. The noise was from a roaring crowd, cheering and jeering in equal measure.

Hot Rod clenched his fists. This whole situation was so incredibly stupid. He challenged Megatron to find a way to end the war, and the idiot decided that more fighting was the answer?! He couldn’t believe Megatron and Optimus were really beating the scrap out of each other in front of their entire armies. In the Acropolex of all places! Didn’t they know it was practically sacred ground to Nyonians?!

Flames flashed along his plating. His fire rose with his temper.

“Ready?” Drift asked. He stood at Hot Rod’s side, a comfortable distance away from his fire.

“Hell yeah.” Hot Rod growled.

Hot Rod took off running. Easily finding the well worn path over the ridge into the temple complex, he transformed into his speedster alt mode. Drift instantly followed his lead. He revved his engine and raced up the winding road, sending a broad plume of copper dust into the clear sky. The combined roar of his and Drift’s engines mingled with the cacophonous discord of the crowd ahead.

Hot Rod pushed his throttle wide open and jumped over the crest of the ridge. The natural red rock gave way to blacked ashes as they entered the outskirts of the Acropolex. Although his acceleration never faltered and anger burned like fire under his plating, his spark froze at the scene before him.

The burned out hollow of the old temple complex was filled with bots of all shapes and sizes. Smaller bots clamored up the broken rafters to use them as impromptu bleachers. Larger bots spread out across the tumbled debris. Hot Rod knew the Autobots and Decepticon armies were massive, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing the full might of both forces assembled in one place.

In the center of the riotous gathering was a broad circular clearing. In what was once heart of the Acropolex, amidst the rubble of the ornate chamber that Tia said was once a shrine to the Matrix, Megatron and Optimus Prime were locked in mortal combat.

Jagged shards of rent armor littered the field of their gladiatorial contest. Glistening puddles of bright pink energon stained the ground. Deep gouges marred the earth where weapons strikes had gone astray.

Despite the carnage, the fight continued unabated.

Megatron struck a staggering blow to Optimus Prime with a glowing violet energon mace. The blue and red semi quickly got his arm up to block. The weapon tore through his plating with a sickening screech.

The crowd roared. Optimus screamed. Megatron shuddered as if the sound cut right through him, but he showed no mercy. He pushed forward, forcing Optimus to his knees.

Although Megatron towered over his opponent, he was in rough shape himself. Energon bled freely from dozens of gash wounds, courtesy of Optimus’ gleaming energon ax. He leaned heavily to his left side as his right leg dangled useless, held on by only a handful of frayed wires and his indomitable will.

Stubbornly finding new strength, Optimus leapt up, breaking free of Megatron’s grasp. Fresh energon streamed from his maimed arm. He brought his energon ax around and threw all his weight behind the weapon. Megatron stood his ground. Strangely, the seasoned gladiator didn’t even attempt to dodge. The crackling golden blade buried deep into Megatron’s shoulder with a grisly crunch.

Optimus’ blue optics went wide as if he never expected the blow to connect. Megatron staggered for a brief second… then a vicious smile curled across his face.

“You’ve left yourself no room to move, old friend,” Megatron growled.

Megatron clenched his fist and threw a devastating punch at Optimus’ chest. With his ax buried in Megatron’s shoulder, Optimus was trapped. He desperately tugged at his weapon, but was unable to free himself or block Megatron’s attack. Megatron’s fist slammed into Optimus’ windshield. It shattered beneath his knuckles sending shards of glass flying in all directions.

A collective gasp rose from the gathered crowd. One voice rose above all the others, screaming with rage and anguish. Near the outer edge of the marked ring, a familiar red and white medic struggled to rush to Optimus’ aid. Ratchet fought against a much larger bot with bright crimson optics trying desperately to hold him back. Light flashed on a glittery rainbow topcoat that could only belong to one person: Thunderclash!

Despite Ratchet struggling fiercely, Thunderclash was doing his best to keep his friend out of the fray, likely at Optimus’ personal request. Ratchet elbowed Thunderclash hard in the midsection. The big bot doubled over and the medic nearly escaped until Thunderclash grabbed him by the fender at the last second. During their scuffle, Hot Rod caught a glimpse of Thunderclash’s chest and his spark stopped.

One of the very first things that Hot Rod noticed about Thunderclash when they met in the Nyon’s burning ruins, right after his deep crimson optics and dazzling glitter, was the glaring red Autobot badge plastered in the center of his winged chest decal. The mere sight of the badge whipped Hot Rod’s gratitude for being rescued into indignant anger. But now… it was gone. Although he stood on the Autobot’s sidelines, Thunderclash no longer wore any badge.

Did he remove his Autobot badge when Hot Rod declared his independence for either faction?! The thought stirred something wild in Hot Rod’s spark. Thunderclash said that he loved him. Could he possibly love him that much? To follow his lead when Hot Rod didn’t even ask?

Before Hot Rod could contemplate Thunderclash’s broad badgeless chest any further, a shriek of rending metal split the air. Hot Rod nearly stalled in horror as Megatron thrust his hand deep into Optimus’ chest wound.

Optimus’ entire frame shuddered. Energon sprayed as Megatron ripped the Matrix of Leadership from Optimus’ chest. Megatron cast the mystical artifact aside. Soft wisps of ash rose from where the Matrix thunked hard into the ground. Despite its small size, the Matrix struck the ground like an explosive charge. The sound reverberated through the ruined temple.

“Optimus Prime, you no longer hold the Matrix,” Megatron snarled. “Perhaps now you can go back to being Orion Pax?”

“I- I-” Optimus’ brilliant blue optics flickered. He vented deeply and roared. “I NEVER STOPPED!”

Optimus gathered all his strength and shoved Megatron away. He dislodged his ax from Megatron’s shoulder and desperately swung the glistening blade, slicing through Megatron’s previously undamaged left knee. They both staggered back a few steps and collapsed in dual sprays of energon and sparking wires.

“Orion. Optimus. I didn’t change,” Optimus huffed quietly. He clutched the gaping wound in his chest and hardened his gaze on Megatron. “But when the Matrix changed my appearance, everyone treated me differently. Even you.”

Megatron’s red optics flared wide.

“With everyone treating me differently, I tried to fulfill their ideas of what I should be… I suppose I failed.” Optimus struggled to stand. He couldn’t even get his feet under him. Even pressure from his large hand did little to stem the flow of energon from his mangled chest.

Megatron cast a quick glance at the Matrix glistening with Optimus’ energon, lying in the ashes at his feet. He briefly closed his optics and turned his face away.

“I wish things hadn’t come to this,” Megatron muttered. He hefted himself upright through sheer willpower alone. Flouting all medical laws, Megatron stood tall on two extremely mangled legs. He refused to allow his frame to fail him.

“Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing,” Optimus sadly muttered. He sprawled on the ground. Despite keeping pressure on the gaping wound, energon bled freely from his ruined chest and beams of bright sparklight shone through his fingers. Unable to rise, his frame shivered with pain. “We said we’d end this war today. Let’s end it, old friend. Do what you must.”

Megatron solemnly nodded, his optics haunted and distant.

Carefully bracing himself upright, Megatron slowly raised his right arm. He primed his fusion cannon. A chilling hum filled the air as energy charged the weapon. Megatron aimed the cannon directly at Optimus, casting the fallen Autobot leader in violet light.

The crowd waited in horrified silence.

Ratchet wailed.

Anger burned through Hot Rod erupting as fire on his plating.

They were so close. Megatron and Optimus almost opened up to each other but still chose to follow the familiar path of combat. Neither one could consider any resolution that didn't involve violence and suffering. Optimus seemed as determined to die as Megatron was to kill him. Their shared stubbornness was going to doom the planet to endless war. It was all so profoundly stupid. Hot Rod gunned his engine harder, dodging spectators and debris as he raced through the crowd. Drift followed close behind him.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Hot Rod yelled as he launched himself into the air, using a broken beam as a ramp. He flew towards the death match fully engulfed in flames, falling from the sky like an avenging angel from one of Cor’s old folktales.

Murmurs rose through the crowd as everyone turned their attention to him.

Hot Rod slammed hard into the ground. His fire ignited the fresh energon splattered around the field. He sped around the entire ring, until a wall of blazing fire separated them from the crowd. Hot Rod transformed and leapt into the center of the ring, directly between Optimus and Megatron.

Megatron moved on instincts honed through years of gladiatorial combat, faster than it should be possible with all his injuries. Faced with an unexpected intruder, he spun around and aimed his cannon directly at Hot Rod’s chest. Megatron’s optics flared as if the motion surprised himself.

Before Hot Rod could even be shocked, a blur of red and white followed him like a vengeful hurricane. The bright ring of unsheathing steel sang across the battlefield. Drift protectively whirled around Hot Rod with Knockout’s swords drawn. Moving with blazing speed, Drift slashed through Megatron’s fusion cannon. Megatron gasped as the weapon fell harmlessly from his arm. Drift spun again and disabled Megatron’s energon mace. The force of Drift’s blow knocked Megatron off balance. He staggered back and collapsed as his damaged legs faltered. Then Drift vaulted over Hot Rod in a twisting flip. Dashing across the field with ferocious elegance, he swept past Optimus and slashed the energon ax from his arm.

Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. Since Drift was first assigned as Hot Rod’s bodyguard they worked closely together. Usually Drift chose to stay back and fight his battles with the lethal efficiency of his sniper rifle. Devoid of his trusted firearms, Drift enthusiastically embraced Knockout’s loaned weapons. Watching him fly across the battlefield and disarm both Optimus and Megatron with deadly elegance was mesmerizing and terrifying.

Hot Rod realized that he had in fact underestimated what Drift could do with a few weapons. If he did have his guns, they might actually have been able to defeat the entire assembled forces of both Autobots and Decepticons.

Satisfied the immediate danger to Hot Rod had been mitigated for the moment, Drift gracefully flipped up onto a broken tower of debris. He crouched low, narrowed his golden optics and brandished Knockout’s blades, practically daring anyone else to make a move. Light gleamed on the fresh energon splattering his brilliant white plating.

“Drift?” Megatron whispered in awe. His red optics flashed with recognition.

“Megatron.” Drift offered a curt nod without letting his guard waver. “It’s been a while.”

Shocked silence fell as everyone turned their wide optics to Hot Rod. Even Ratchet stopped struggling against Thunderclash. The medic’s jaw dropped as he stared at Drift. Hot Rod snickered. A big stupid lopsided grin drew across Thunderclash’s face. Hot Rod couldn’t help but smile. He hoped he looked a little like the heroic figure from his old wanted posters.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Megatron roared.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Hot Rod snapped. His flames flared and his anger burned as he rounded on Megatron. He gestured wildly. “MEGS!? WHAT?! THE?! HELL?!?!”

“You challenged me to find a way to end this war. I found it.” Megatron growled.

“By what? Fighting another battle? Wow. What a novel idea.” Hot Rod rolled his optics. “You’ve fought loads of them over years and years. And how’d they all work out for you? I’m not sure how this one is supposed to be any different.”

“Hot Rod. Please.” Optimus wheezed, still clutching his shredded chest.

“Please?! PLEASE?!” Hot Rod yelled at the Autobot leader. “PLEASE WHAT?! Let this stupidity continue? I don’t think so. This fight is over. We are in Nyon. This is MY city. Nyon has seen enough of war.”

“You’re right. I saw your speech. The entire world heard your words. Everything you said was true,” Optimus admitted. Sadness, pain, and regret shone in his impossibly blue optics. “We have arrived at this particular moment in time through a myriad of good intentions and bad decisions. We have all seen enough of war. We need to end it. We must do this. We have no choice.”

“NO CHOICE?!” Hot Rod laughed in derision. The color of his flames brightened from deep gold to yellow as his anger increased and his temperature rose. “There is ALWAYS a choice. Even if you don’t like the options, don’t you dare pretend that they don’t exist. Saying you fight because you have no choice is a cheap way to avoid taking responsibility for your decisions.”

Hot Rod flung one arm wide to point at a cliff on the horizon to his left without even turning his head. He didn’t need to see it, that location was burned into his brain forever.

“When I stook on that cliff with the detonator in my hand, I had a choice,” Hot Rod roared. He thumped his badgeless chest for emphasis and to keep his spark from breaking. Tears stung his optics. “I chose to burn Nyon. It was my CHOICE. I didn’t have to do it. No one forced me. My people trusted me to make the decision if the time ever came because Nyon refused to be conquered. We chose death and freedom over enslavement. I didn’t like any of my options, but I made a choice. Everyday I bear the guilt and pain and spark-breaking loss, but I will not dishonor Nyon’s sacrifice by ever saying that I had no choice.”

Hot Rod paused to lock optics with Optimus and then with Megatron. He drew himself up to his full height and hitched his spoiler high.

“Right now YOU have a choice. You can continue to fight the same pointless battles over and over again. Even if one of you dies today, will it really change anything? Why should this battle be any different from the thousands that came before? So yeah, you can go ahead and kill each other, if that’s what you want, but you’ll do it somewhere else, because Nyon is done with your war. As the last leader of Nyon, I officially declare that no more hostilities will be tolerated within MY borders.”

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

Hot Rod realized he had no way to properly enforce his ultimatum. Anyone could simply shoot him and there would be no one left to fight for Nyon. The war would continue without a second thought. Hot Rod clenched his fists to keep them from shaking. He made another choice. Even if this got him killed, he would say the words they needed to hear.

Although he felt so alone the day he burned Nyon, Drift was right there, hovering over him like a protective gargoyle. His presence alone was enough to give anyone pause. Maybe they did have a chance to succeed after all.

“So if you want to continue this fight, you better find a new venue. Or maybe you’re ready for a change? Maybe all your good intentions and bad decisions have brought you to this moment for another purpose. You have another chance to try something you should have done before Nyon burned: You can talk to each other. I wonder if either of you have the courage to make such a radical choice?”

No one in the crowd dared to move. Even Ratchet stood still as a statue. Thunderclash gazed at Hot Rod with unadulterated adoration.

Optimus and Megatron stared at Hot Rod, then slowly turned their gaze to each other. Hot Rod could have sworn he glimpsed the ghost of a smile beneath Optimus’ cracked faceplate.

“I don’t know about you, old friend,” Optimus wheezed. “But I think we should do something we should have done a long time ago and listen to Hot Rod. I think I’m ready to try something new.”

Chapter Text

Having heard Optimus’ willingness to attempt to resolve their civil war through a different method than more armed conflict, all assembled Autobots and Decepticons turned their optics to Megatron.

While everyone waited for his response, Megatron ignored them all and simply glared at Optimus. It was difficult to read Optimus’ expression through the cracked face plate, but he seemed to take smug pleasure in putting Megatron on the spot.

Megatron’s engine growled.

Drift’s entire frame was tense and ready to spring to Hot Rod’s defense like a cybercat preparing to pounce on their prey. His golden optics roved through the crowd, constantly scanning for potential threats.

Hot Rod shifted his weight, unsure of what to do if Megatron insisted on continuing their fight. He made an official declaration as the leader of Nyon, but could he properly enforce it? At this point, Megatron and Optimus had beaten each other so badly that Hot Rod and Drift could easily defeat them on their own.

Hell. Drift might be able to take out both armies all by himself.

But… where would that leave the state of their civil war? Would they simply leave Nyon and start their fight again somewhere else?

Megatron opened his mouth to respond, but his reply was cut off by a trinity of screaming jet engines.

Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker leapt into the air from their place in the crowd. They transformed and rocketed straight up into the sky in a flamboyant display of aerial prowess, ensuring all optics were now on them. Once they were directly above the makeshift gladiator ring, they transformed back into bot mode and, using their thrusters to slow their descent, alighted gracefully within the confines of Hot Rod’s ring of fire, right next to Megatron.

Starscream stepped out in front flanked by Skywarp and Thundercracker. Skywarp snickered and cheekily waved to Hot Rod. Thundercracker elbowed the purple jet and did his best to look dignified despite the nervous twitching of his wings.

Hot Rod bit back a smile. What were they up to?

“The Decepticons hear the wisdom of your words, Hot Rod of Nyon,” Starscream proclaimed proudly, his head held high.

“Starscream?!” Megatron exclaimed. He struggled to rise to his feet but his nearly severed legs refused to cooperate. He collapsed back down to the ground and growled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“My job,” Starscream said coolly with a dismissive flick of his wings. “Did you or did you not appoint me as your Second in Command? To lead the Decepticon army in your stead should you ever meet with some great misfortune?”

Megatron’s jaw dropped.

“Lord Megatron,” Starscream purred, sensing victory. He placed one hand over his chest and bowed slightly at the waist while his lips curled into a predatory grin, showing a hint of fang. “You are gravely wounded. We, your humble followers, could not possibly ask that you continue to lead in such a grievous state. You have suffered countless injuries on our behalf and most regrettably all of your weapons systems have been disabled. You require emergency medical attention. Please allow me to continue this negotiation as your trusted representative until you have made a full recovery.”

“I’m fine,” Megatron grumbled. A shower of sparks erupted from his mangled shoulder. “You’re being absurd.”

“Am I? Or are you?” Starscream asked lightly. His tone danced along the nebulous border between acquiescence and condescension. “Perhaps your severe injuries are affecting your memory processors? YOU are the one who appointed me to this position, after all. Are you saying that YOU made a poor choice?”

“Of course not!”

“Well then, the matter is settled. Please allow me to continue to perform my duties as appointed.” Starscream flicked his wings with a condescending little bow. “I thank you for your confidence in my most humble abilities.”

Megatron glared at Starscream without saying another word but his engine rumbled dangerously. Which Starscream gleefully ignored.

“As I was saying,” Starscream returned his attention to Hot Rod. “We Decepticons hear the wisdom of your words, Hot Rod of Nyon. We wonder… if the Autobots do the same?”

“Of course we do-” Optimus began.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Megatron cut him off.

“Answering Starscream?” Optimus tilted his head in confusion.

“Like hell you are!” Megatron huffed. He folded his arms across his chest. “If I can’t do this right now, neither can you. You’re in even worse shape than I am. Look at yourself! You’re a mangled mess.”

Optimus’ bright blue optics flared wide.

“Yes. Yes.” Starscream waved his fingers dismissively. “Lord Megatron has a valid point. Who’s your Second? They shall join this parley in your stead.”

“My what?” Optimus asked.

“Your Second! You know, Second in Command?! The person who would take over the Autobots if something happened to you.”

Optimus stared blankly at him.

“Are you fragging kidding me?!” Starscream screeched. He threw his hands up in the air. “You don’t have a Second?”

“Uh…” Optimus answered intelligently.

“I don’t believe it! You don’t have any command structure at all, do you?” Megatron burst into laughter.

“I am trying my best!” Optimus snapped. “I wanted to be an archivist, not a general. I have no idea how any of this is supposed to work.”

“Clearly.” Megatron laughed. “How have I not defeated you yet?”

“I think that says more about you than it does about me,” Optimus grumbled.

“What?! Don’t blame your disorganization on me,” Megatron teased. “If you wanted to be an archivist so bad, you should’ve at least read a book about being a general. You know, done a bit of research or something. Maybe you would’ve learned a thing or two.”

“But I didn’t want to learn about being a general! I never meant to be a leader. It’s not my fault people follow me!” Optimus’ cheeks glowed pink in embarrassment, visible through the cracks in his faceplates.

“ENOUGH! You are ruining the gravity of the situation,” Starscream huffed in exasperation. He rounded on the Autobots assembled close to the ring. “You there! Red one!”

“Me?” A large red transport pointed to his own chest. “The name’s Ironhide.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Fine.Ironhide,” Starscream drolled. “What did you idiots do whenever Optimus got hurt before?”

“I dunno,” Ironhide shrugged. “Wait til he got better?”

Starscream dragged his palm down his face. “What if he died?!”

“Bumblebee here!” A small yellow bot enthusiastically raised his hand. He shyly shrank back when everyone turned their attention to him. “Um- he kinda did die once before. But he got better from that too. He’s surprisingly durable.”

“What did you do in the meantime? When he was recovering or resurrecting or whatever?” Starscream asked in exasperation. Megatron laughed so hard he nearly knocked himself offline while Optimus buried his face in his hands.

“We all worked together and made decisions as a team!” Bumblebee replied proudly.

“Ugh. How tedious! I’m not talking to ALL of you at once.” Starscream rolled his optics. He waved dismissively towards the Autobot crowd. “Just pick someone.”

“Hey, Ratchet!” Ironhide shouted to the medic. “Everybody respects you! You wanna be our substitute leader?”

“Frag no! I’m a doctor not a politician, dammit! Besides, I’m going to have my hands full putting those two idiots back together,” Ratchet grumbled, gesturing at Optimus and Megatron. “Why don’t YOU do it?”

“Me? No, sir.” Ironhide chuckled. “I’m a soldier. I’m used to followin’ orders not givin’em.”

All of the assembled Autobots began nominating each other for the interim leadership position with raucous glee. As soon as someone was nominated, they quickly deferred responsibility to someone else and the cycle continued.

Starscream pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in a vain effort to ward off the inevitable headache. Megatron howled with laughter while Optimus was incandescent with embarrassment.

Hot Rod began to worry. The situation spiraled out of control. Now some of the Decepticons were shouting suggestions as well. He cast a quick glance at Drift. His amica shrugged.

“I know who can do it!” A voice rose above the clamor.

Everyone turned their focus on the source of the proclamation. Bumblebee quailed at the sudden scrutiny of thousands of optics. He quietly looked around as if contemplating his decision to speak up. He stared at Optimus laying grievously wounded on the ashes of Nyon before turning his gaze to Hot Rod.

Hot Rod smiled in relief. Finally! Although he was simply relieved that someone had volunteered to serve as Optimus’ Second, his gesture filled Bumblebee with confidence.

“It’s about time someone stepped up,” Starscream huffed. “Alright, yellow one, are you ready to continue?”

“Oh. Not me!” Bumblebee stepped back and frantically waved his hands. “I’d like to nominate my best friend, Windblade.”

“Me?” The tall red flier next to him twitched her wings in shock. “But I’m from Caminus. I’m not even a native Cybertronian.”

“It doesn’t matter where you’re from. We all know you’d be perfect for the position,” Bumblebee reassured her. “You’ve shown time and time again how much you care about everyone.”

Murmurs of assent hummed through the crowd.

“You’re mighty brave, Windblade!” Ironhide said with a broad grin. “You’ve pulled my tailpipe out of the fire multiple times. You’ve got my vote”

“Mine too!” Wheeljack added. “When you help with my experiments, you always find solutions that I would have never thought of myself. You’ll do great.”

Ratchet simply nodded.

“Well- I-” Windblade looked around at the assembled Autobots, surprise brightening her blue optics.

Various other Autobots shouted their approval. A general cheer rose from the crowd.

“I don’t take this position lightly, but if you all agree, then I will accept.” She nodded and stepped forward to a round of applause. “Not because I wish to be your leader but because I want to help you as my friends.”

“Nyonian tradition says there’s no truer love than one who helps a friend in a difficult time,” Hot Rod said, happy the situation was progressing in a good direction. His flames glowed brilliant orange as his temper cooled. Hot Rod wavered slightly on his feet. He had already burned through a lot of fuel, but his fire felt like a sort of armor. It gave him courage. He wasn’t ready to let go of it yet. Not until everything was settled.

“You’ll do great!” Bumblebee hugged Windblade tightly. “And I’ll help you any way that I can!”

“Yes. Yes. Love and friendship for all. How very touching,” Starscream droned. “Hopefully the history records will skip over all of this nonsense and focus on the truly important events. Shall we proceed?”

“Yes.” Windblade proclaimed. “I am ready.”

“Finally!” Starscream huffed. “Let’s start again from the beginning. And do try to display the appropriate amount of decorum, would you?”

Windblade nodded gravely.

“As I was saying…” Like an actor preparing to resume filming a scene, Starscream shook off all the shenanigans and reset himself. He swept his wings back, placed one hand over his spark, and flashed a quick grin at Hot Rod. “We Decepticons hear the wisdom of your words, Hot Rod of Nyon. We wonder if the Autobots do the same?”

“We Autobots also hear your wisdom and would like to take things one step further.” Windblade’s face quirked into a grin. “We propose a temporary armistice while we discuss terms of a proper peace treaty.”

“Oh ho ho! Temporary armistice?” Starscream’s optics lit up. “This is going to be so much more interesting than I thought. Agreed! We propose a complete ceasefire during which there shall be no open hostilities between our factions as we negotiate. If we can not reach an agreeable resolution-”

“It is in everyone’s best interest to reach an agreeable solution so we’ll do our best to succeed. What do you say we give ourselves a deadline?” Windblade smiled as she parried Starscream’s slightly threatening proposal. “The temporary armistice shall last for two weeks while we conduct initial negotiations.”

Watching Starscream and Windblade trade political blows was like watching a refined fencing match. They elegantly countered each suggestion and added new ones to keep the discussion moving forward while defending their own positions. Hot Rod already had a pretty good idea of why Megatron chose Starscream as his Second in Command, now he knew why the Autobot’s threw their unanimous support behind Windblade.

“Well said, Autobot,” Starscream grinned, obviously enjoying the intellectual ballet. “I look forward to our negotiations. Come, we have much to discuss while the medics care for our most esteemed leaders.”

Megatron rolled his optics as Starscream and Windblade, trailed by Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Bumblebee, began to dismiss the assembled crowd. Drift hopped down from his perch and helped Thunderclash stamp out Hot Rod’s ring of fire to allow Ratchet to begin triage for Optimus and Megatron.

Hot Rod stood alone in the center of the ring. His flames flickered.

Was that it?

After so many years, was the war between Autobots and Decepticons actually over?

With the conflict between Optimus and Megatron laid bare beneath the stark Nyonian sun, it seemed so simple. Hot Rod supposed everything that happened before had all been leading them to this very moment when people were finally ready to talk to each other. And more important, to listen to each other.

His spoiler sagged in relief. Hot Rod closed his optics in an effort to block his tears. He placed one hand over his own spark. Nyon sacrificed everything to give Cybertron a bright future. And Cybertron was finally ready to accept the great gift that all of his friends had given it.

He vented deeply and opened his optics. A single red dot shone on his badgeless chest. A laser sight point. Reminded of the prank his amica had pulled in the past, Hot Rod rolled his optics and muttered, “Ha ha. Very funny, Drift.”

“What’s funny?” Drift turned around from where he was assisting Ratchet across the smoldering embers. His golden optics flared wide when he looked at Hot Rod. “RODDY!! Get down! That’s not me! I lost my guns! Remember?!”

Hot Rod’s optics widened. He wasn’t sure if time sped up for him alone or slowed down for everyone else. His focus narrowed. The world around him fell away.

As if across a great distance, Hot Rod heard Drift screaming for weapons. Ratchet unholstered his own sidearms in slow motion and threw them to Drift. The guns flew heavily as if they moved through cold oil instead of thin air. To their credit, Optimus and Megatron reached out to pull Hot Rod to safety but they were both too damaged to move fast enough.

Hot Rod’s will hardened. He led countless raids against Zeta’s forces in defense of Nyon. He wouldn’t back down now.

He scuffed the ground with one foot and watched the wisps of ash float lazily into the air. The delicate black curls illuminated more of the laser beam, allowing Hot Rod to track its origin. His optics scanned the direction of the beam until they alighted on a dishearteningly familiar figure perched on a low rise at the edge of the crowd: heavy armor, integral weaponry, a cracked visor and a prominent foot-shaped scorch mark plain on his chest.

Turmoil.

Hot Rod’s fire raged, roaring through the color spectrum to blaze white hot. Across the distance, he locked optics with Turmoil. He caught a glimpse of smug satisfaction through Turmoil’s cracked face plate.

Someone screamed Hot Rod’s nickname. He ignored them.

Amidst his own personal inferno, Hot Rod found himself strangely at peace with the idea of death. Although it was destroyed before the official declaration of war, Nyon was the first casualty in the conflict between Autobots and Decepticons when the factions couldn’t agree on the proper way to answer their call for aid. With both factions agreeing to a tentative truce, it felt somehow poetic that he be the last casualty of their war.

Cybertronian peace bookended on either side by spilled Nyonian energon.

The target sight on his chest never wavered, and neither did Hot Rod’s defiance. He planted himself firmly in the ashes of his city. Autobots and Decepticons had finally agreed to make an attempt at peace. The bright future Nyon fought for, that Nyon died for, was finally dawning. Although he didn’t want to die, he at least drew comfort in the fact that as long as Turmoil had his sights set on him, all of his friends were safe.

Hot Rod’s engine growled. He’d be damned if Turmoil ever tried to hurt Drift again.

As an eternity passed in a split second, memories flashed through Hot Rod’s mind like a fast-forward slideshow. Fishing with Noctgar, training with Amicitia, Cor’s lessons, Promnis’ laughter, Igneous’ unflappable glare. Old memories of Nyon blended with new ones of racing with the Stunticons, Skywarp’s pranks, Knockout’s support, Thunderclash’s stupid smile, and Drift’s luminous sparklight during their amica ceremony.

Although he cherished all those beautiful times, Hot Rod wanted more. He wanted to strengthen his bond with Drift, and show Thundercracker more Nyonian wildlife, and maybe figure out his feelings for Thunderclash. He didn’t want to die. Although Hot Rod couldn’t save Nyon, if keeping Turmoil’s attention focused on him would protect his new friends, he wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t protect his old friends, but he could sure as hell protect his new ones.

Hot Rod clenched his fists, drawing courage from his memories. He briefly wondered if his friends had this same experience in the split second between hearing the plasma charges detonate and being engulfed in the destruction of the city. Did they have time to recall the best moments of their lives before the end? Were they able to grasp something beautiful to help them face the inescapable terror? Hot Rod desperately hoped they did.

Suddenly time returned to its wonted flow and everything happened all at once.

BANG!

A single shot rang out above the crowds. A heavy weight slammed into Hot Rod. He crashed hard to the ground with enough force to rattle all his systems and knock his optics offline. The jolt snuffed out his flames. Hot energon splashed over his frame. Soft tendrils of ash billowed around him in a welcoming embrace.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three closer shots fired in rapid fire succession. Drift’s trademark triple-shot kill technique. Hot Rod didn’t even need his optics to know Turmoil fell dead to the ground that very moment, with a bullet from Ratchet’s borrowed guns lodged firmly in his brain, spark, and t-cog. Drift vowed to kill him the next time he saw him and he never misses. Hot Rod drew grim satisfaction in the knowledge that Turmoil would never hurt anyone ever again.

Hot Rod braced himself for the pain. He’d been shot numerous times before. There’s often a slight lag between the bullet’s impact and the excruciating repercussions. Turmoil was aiming directly as his spark. Any second now, his body would explode in white hot pain.

Except… no pain came. Hot Rod wondered if he was already dead.

His systems rebooted. No damage detected. Strange.

Was something wrong?

His scrambled audials began to clear. Panicked shouts around him quieted to horrified silence.

Hot Rod’s optics reset. Finding himself in darkness, he blinked. A large figure towered over him, blocking the sun’s brightness. The figure dripped fresh energon.

The energon splattered all over Hot Rod’s plating wasn’t his at all.

Someone had protected him. Someone pushed Hot Rod out of the way and taken his place in Turmoil’s line of fire. Someone impossibly tall with bright crimson optics and paintwork sparkling with prismatic glitter.

“Oh no,” Hot Rod whispered. Despite the warmth lingering on his plating, the fuel turned to ice in his lines. His vents came fast and shallow. “No no no no no.”

Hot Rod scrambled to his feet just in time to catch Thunderclash as he dropped heavily to his knees, a gaping hole blasted in the center of his chest.

Chapter Text

“THUNDERS!” Hot Rod screamed.

Hot Rod grabbed Thunderclash as he fell. Unable to support his own weight, Thunderclash slumped heavily into Hot Rod’s arms. Hot Rod struggled to hold up the big bot on his own. The best he could do was gently ease him to the ground. Thunderclash’s energon coated Hot Rod’s hands.

Hot Rod stared blankly at Thunderclash’s grievous wound. The hole went straight through his chest and blasted out his back. Flickering electric blue light danced in the wound. Hot Rod desperately hoped the light came from broken wires and snapped circuitry. He moved to put pressure on the injury in a vain attempt to help control the bleeding and froze.

Mesmerized by the brilliance emanating from Thunderclash’s damaged chest, Hot Rod’s worst fears were confirmed. The light didn’t come from broken wires, it came from Thunderclash’s exposed spark. It felt inappropriate to look, but Hot Rod couldn’t tear his gaze away. A dark burn marred the side of Thunderclash’s big beautiful spark. Fine spidery cracks radiated out from the burn. Light streamed out of the tiny fractures.

Turmoil’s shot had grazed Thunderclash’s spark.

Hot Rod felt like he was watching Nyon burn all over again. His right hand shook.

“Hey?” Thunderclash wheezed. He reached out to cup Hot Rod’s cheek with a trembling hand. “Are you alright?”

“WHAT?!” Am I alright?!” Hot Rod shouted. He grabbed Thunderclash’s large cobalt hand in both of his own small gold ones. He squeezed it tight, as much to comfort Thunderclash as calm his own shivering. “You’re the one with the fragging hole in your chest! What do you mean, am I okay??”

“I knocked you down pretty hard,” Thunderclash spoke deliberately, pain weighing down his words. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I don’t want your apologies-” Hot Rod said quietly. Tears stung his optics. “I want answers. Why? Why did you do this?”

“Because.” Thunderclash stated. A hollow rattle accompanied his words. “I wanted to protect you.”

“But why??” Hot Rod pleaded. He hated seeing people he loved suffer. Much like the time Drift was nearly killed in the exploding tower, Hot Rod couldn’t help but feel responsible. Sure Turmoil pulled the trigger both times, but it was because of him. If they weren’t his friends, they never would have been hurt. Time and time again Hot Rod was responsible for causing his friends pain. All the other Nyonians hadn’t even survived their relationship with him.

It was his fault. It was always his fault. Hot Rod’s vents came fast and shallow.

“We share a life-bond, remember? I want to honor the Nyonian tradition. It was MY choice.”

Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. He had almost forgotten about that. Ever since Thunderclash first saved his life from the falling debris, he had been looking for an opportunity to save Thunderclash and balance their accidental bond. Drift even offered to kill Thunderclash afterward so he’d never have to deal with the Autobot ever again. Hot Rod never meant to forge a lifebond with Thunderclash, but as they spent more time together he was increasingly glad that he did.

Now the thought of losing Thunderclash hurt worse than he ever would have imagined.

Hot Rod wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to ignite his fire and burn the entire planet to dust. He wanted to berate Thunderclash for being stupid, for throwing himself into danger on Hot Rod’s behalf…

But how could he?

Much like when Hot Rod burned Nyon, Thunderclash made a choice. He owned his decision. Hot Rod wouldn’t take it away from him, but he didn’t know how to accept it. Before he could articulate a response, someone grabbed him and roughly shoved him aside.

“Give me some space, goddammit!” Ratchet swore. “Dammit to hell, Clash! Of all the thrice damned, stupid, idiotic, heroic gestures! Like I don’t have my hands full with our fearless leaders playing gladiator over there you have to go and pull a stunt like this!”

“Come on, Ratch,” Thunderclash slurred. He vented deeply and a teasing smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not like I shot myself.”

“That much is fraggin’ obvious. You couldn’t hit the broad side of Unicron’s aft with a plasma cannon. Still! I’ve had my hands in your internals far too many times! I swear! No one around here has any goddamn sense. If I have to put together one more fraggin’ self-sacrificing heroic pain in my aft-”

Hot Rod shifted his position to Thunderclash’s side so he could still hold his hand while the medic worked. Ratchet continued to curse a blue streak while he frantically cleared away a few damaged armor panels and rummaged around in Thunderclash’s chest. Suddenly the medic fell dead silent.

“Uh-oh,” Thunderclash muttered.

“Uh-oh? What do you mean uh-oh?” Hot Rod asked. Fear of the answer dug icy claws into his spark.

“Ratchet stopped swearing. That can’t be good.”

Hot Rod squeezed Thunderclash’s hand. He turned to Ratchet, optics wide in desperation. The medic’s shoulders drooped. He pulled his hands out of Thunderclash’s chest and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles squealed.

“Ratchet?” Hot Rod asked.

“The shot grazed his spark.” Ratchet answered mechanically with cold detachment. He stared at Thunderclash’s wound in disbelief.

“Yeah. So? You’re the best medic there is. You can fix it. You can fix anything. Right?”

Ratchet turned away. Tears threatened at his optics.

“Right?” Hot Rod asked desperately.

“Dammit,” Ratchet swore quietly. He choked back a sob.

“Ratchet?”

“NO! Goddammit! NO! I can’t fix it! I can’t do anything!” Ratchet roared.

“But-”

“But nothing! I can fix a lot, but there’s still so much we don’t know about spark health.”

“But- but it’s just a small crack. Can’t you weld it or something?” Hot Rod pleaded.

“No, I can’t “weld” it!” Ratchet snapped, full of bitterness directed more at his own powerlessness than at Hot Rod. “The study of spark health lags far behind other medical fields. We know sparks are surrounded by a resilient crystalline structure. It’s more similar to glass work than metal repair. I can’t use an electric arc and filler rod and no torch I have burns hot enough. I would need pure flame of an unimaginable temperature to repair the small area of fractured crystal without collapsing his entire spark. There’s no way to fix it without killing him.”

Ratchet might as well have ripped Hot Rod’s spark out as well.

“But- but there must be something-”

“There’s not, dammit. His spark is already fading. He’s got minutes at best.” Ratchet rounded on Hot Rod in his anguish. “He’s my friend too. Don’t you think I’d do something if there was?!”

“Hey. Take it easy. It’s okay.” Thunderclash said softly.

A sob caught in Ratchet’s throat. When the medic opened his mouth to continue shouting, Drift appeared at his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. The gentle gesture took Ratchet by surprise. He covered his face with one hand to hide his tears.

“No,” Hot Rod said flatly.

“No?” Thunderclash asked.

“NO! It’s NOT okay, Thunders. It’s the opposite of okay. Don’t tell me this is okay!” Hot Rod shouted. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’ve lost too many people that I love-”

“Aww, Roddy.” Thunderclash cut him off with a soft laugh that shivered his frame. “Are- are you saying- that you love me?”

“HELL YES!” Hot Rod snapped. He didn’t have time to dance around. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! I LOVE YOU, Thunderclash! I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I know what I feel! I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Whoa,” Thunderclash whispered in awe. He coughed. His whole frame shuddered. The blue light leaking from his chest flickered. “I must be the luckiest person in the universe.”

“LUCKY?!” Hot Rod laughed bitterly, on the edge of delirium. He’s heard of looking on the bright side of things, but Thunderclash was just being ridiculous. “You are literally dying in my arms!!”

“Maybe the ‘dying’ part isn’t so lucky,” Thunderclash vented deeply and smiled his stupid lopsided smile, “but the ‘in your arms’ part sure is.”

Hot Rod’s cheeks lit up bright pink. Did Thunderclash really say something like that out loud? In front of everyone??

Despite the grave situation, Drift snickered. Hot Rod would have kicked him if he was within range.

“Holy Primus, Thunders! I can’t believe you’re saying something like that right now,” Hot Rod gasped.

“Now might be the only chance I get, and it’s something I need to say,” Thunderclash smiled through the pain. “Roddy, to be loved by you, is the greatest gift anyone could possibly ever receive. I cherish every moment we ever spent together.”

“You gigantic sap!” Hot Rod had to laugh through his tears. Genuine joy mingled with sorrow. How could someone love him so much? He didn’t care how impossible it was, he would find a way to save him. Thunderclash had helped him so much with his grief. He couldn’t bear the thought of going through it all again. Or worst of all, the possibility of forgetting Thunderclash’s name as well. After all, he wasn’t featured in Hot Rod’s collection of Nyonian wanted posters.

Hot Rod stared at his hands. Ratchet said he’d need blazing hot pure fire to repair the crack in Thunderclash’s spark. Hot Rod used to make little glass sculptures for his friends out of the sand from the Rust Sea by melting it in his hands and forming the molten glass into shapes. If he pushed himself past his limits, could he generate that type of flame needed to repair crystal? Did he dare attempt a medical procedure even someone as skilled as Ratchet didn’t think could be done?

Hot Rod seriously thought about trying, but familiar doubts assailed him. What if he messes it up? What if he gets it wrong and kills Thunderclash? What if he’s not good enough?

Instead of having confidence in his own abilities, he turned to someone he trusted, despite their recent differences of opinion. Someone with the relentless drive to overcome any odds. Someone who always had a plan: Megatron.

“Megs? Do you know anything we can do?”

Megatron’s optics flared, obviously flustered that Hot Rod chose to ask him.

“Hot Rod, I am sorry,” Megatron rumbled remorsefully. “Although I often wished to study medical science, I never had the opportunity. I must defer to Ratchet’s judgment. If there is nothing to be done, cherish your last moments together-”

“Nope! Unacceptable!” Hot Rod cut him off. He wasn’t ready to give up. He rounded on Optimus. “What about you OP?”

“You have my deepest apologies and condolences,” Optimus began. “Thunderclash was-”

“Thunderclash IS still alive! Which means we still have a chance to do something! Where there’s life, there’s hope!” Hot Rod interrupted angrily. “Ugh! We are getting nowhere!”

Thunderclash brilliant rainbow colors dulled. The light streaming from his wound flickered. Hot Rod’s vents increased rapidly. His spoiler twitched. He was running out of time.

Hot Rod had to do something. He couldn’t watch another friend die.

Desperate for any solution, Hot Rod scanned the area for anything that might help. There must be something. Anything. His optics alighted on the Matrix lying in the Nyonian dust.

Hope swelled his spark.

“Hold on, Thunders!” Hot Rod yelled. “I have an idea.”

He leapt across the field, scooped up the artifact and returned to Thunderclash’s side. Hot Rod reverently placed the Matrix over Thunderclash’s wound.

Nothing happened.

Hot Rod’s spark sank.

He picked up the Matrix and tapped it lightly on Thunderclash’s chest again. Still nothing.

Tears welled up in his optics. He felt as if the world was crashing down on him. This idea was the only thing he had left. The Matrix was supposed to be an artifact of Primus with mystical powers. Cor told him the Matrix could work miracles. It had to work.

“Come on!’ Hot Rod cried. He bashed the Matrix against Thunderclash again and again. “Fix it. Fix it. Fix it. Why don’t you just fix it?”

Hot Rod sobbed. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working. Panic rose. His fire flashed across his plating. Thunderclash was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Already low on fuel, his fire began to burn uncontrollably. He didn’t care. Neither did the Matrix as it was completely unaffected by his flames.

Despite being filled with thousands of people, the only sound in the entire Acropolex was the hollow thud of the Matrix uselessly impacting Thunderclash’s damaged armor.

Hot Rod jumped as a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. He looked up in shock to see Megatron, tottering on his mangled legs. Through pure willpower, he managed to get himself up to stand at Hot Rod’s side. Megatron gripped Hot Rod’s shoulder. Hot Rod’s raging fire scorched his hand, but he didn’t let go.

“It’s alright, Hot Rod. You can stop.” Megatron said gently, more invitation than command.

Hot Rod shook his head. His spark broke. Tears hissed away into steam as his fire raged. He pleaded, “Megs, there has to be a way.”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes, there is no way.”

“Stop it! Don’t apologize to me! Like I said before. I don’t want apologies. I want answers.” Hot Rod sobbed. He vented deeply to steady himself and turned to Optimus. The Matrix rattled in his trembling hands. He spoke carefully to prevent his voice from breaking, “Optimus, you carried the Matrix. What do I do? How do I make it work?”

“Oh, Hot Rod. I am so-” Optimus began. Despite being grievously wounded himself, the pain in The Autobot leader’s bright blue optics went beyond physical suffering. In his legendary compassion, Optimus’ spark broke right along with Hot Rod’s.

“If the next words out of your mouth are an apology, I will let go of my fire and burn this entire planet to ash,” Hot Rod growled.

“Oh- Um-” Optimus reconsidered his response. “What I mean to say is… While the Matrix altered my frame and I carried it for many years, even I couldn’t open it on a whim.”

“OPEN?! It has to open?!” Hot Rod gasped. He’d been using it all wrong. There was still hope. “Hold on, Thunders! I’m not giving up yet!”

Ratchet muttered something disparaging the reliance on spiritual nonsense. Hot Rod ignored him. If there was even the slightest chance the Matrix might channel some of Primus’ magic or whatever to heal Thunderclash, he would take it.

Determined to open the stubborn artifact, Hot Rod flipped the Matrix back to rest on his forearms. He gripped one end tightly with both hands and grasped the other end with his teeth.

Drift gasped.

Hot Rod braced himself for a struggle and pulled with all his might, throwing his whole body into the effort. The halves slid apart so easily he knocked himself over, landing flat on his back. The matrix burst open with a blinding flash of light so white it was almost blue.

The entirety of all existence blazed away in rays of immaculate brightness.

Chapter Text

When the hallowed light diminished enough to not burn his optics, Hot Rod realized he was all alone. No crowd. No Matrix. No Thunderclash.

Nobody.

Hot Rod rolled to his feet. A strange calm settled around him like when he used to recharge with his Nyonian friends. Close and warm. Notions of peace and safety enveloped him.

Although Hot Rod had no idea where he was, he had the strangest feeling that he was always meant to be here.

He looked around in awe. Blazing brightness surrounded him on all sides. It playfully danced about like tongues of living fire. Beyond the light lay darkness deeper than limitless space before any of the stars came into being.

A strange murmuring filled his audials. The same word whispered over and over again, with the sound of a song where he remembered the tune but could never recall the words. So familiar yet constantly out of reach. It felt like something he was searching for his entire life.

The numerous voices chanting the word slowly coalesced into one. Hot Rod could finally understand it. His spark spun wildly in his chest.

“Rodimus.” He uttered the word like a prayer.

Silence fell but his spark swelled.

“My name is Rodimus!” He shouted into the sudden silence with ineffable glee. All of his life, the name Hot Rod never quite fit. But Rodimus? Primus. The name rolled through his vocalizer like honeyed oil. Just thinking of his name reverberated through his plating like a hammer striking the anvil, forging a new creation. He had to say it again, shouting with defiant glee, “I am Rodimus Prime of Nyon.”

Claiming his name shifted something inside him. Although he hadn’t activated his t-cog, Rodimus’ plating began to shift and transform. His plating moved like liquid mercury, stretching and changing.

He felt like freedom and fire.

His entire frame shivered with pleasure. It was even better than a one in a million perfect transformation sequence when every part effortlessly shifted into its proper location free of any drag or misalignment. It felt so impossibly good. Rodimus wasn’t sure if words to articulate such ecstasy were ever invented. If they were, even they would fall short.

Everything fit. His frame, his name, every last piece of plating. Rodimus reveled in pure joy.

Did other people feel this good all the time??

Newly reforged, Rodimus stood. His transformed spoiler, almost as broad as a seeker’s wings, twitched delicately. His entire frame had changed. His usual pink paintwork deepened to near red. New curves softened his once angular armor. Ornate finials decorated his helm. He might even be taller, Rodimus realized with a wild grin.

He was the same and yet completely different. As if his entire life was leading up to this moment, he was more himself than he ever had been.

Nothing made sense.

Rodimus cycled his optics. It was as if time stood still for him alone. He wasn’t sure if seconds or eons had passed since he grasped the matrix and pulled it open with the slightest effort.

A single figure, slender and unassuming, approached out of the blinding brightness that surrounded Rodimus, gently passing through the dancing flames. Light shone around them like a cloak. The figure’s plating glowed orange and bronze, streaked with blazing white like a freshly forged star.

“Primus?!” Rodimus gasped on instinct as if he already knew the truth in his spark.

“I have many names,” the figure smiled, “but that is the first.”

“Oh my god,” Rodimus muttered. He stared in shock at Primus before turning his gaze to his own hands, flexing his nimble golden fingers. He was utterly transformed. Joy and peace surrounded him. He was talking to Primus. Maybe opening the Matrix actually killed him? If this was the Allspark, then where were all the Nyonians who preceded him in death?

Rodimus has a million questions, but blurted out the first thing on his mind, “What the hell is going on???”

“You are in the midst of a truly heroic endeavor. You are changing the world.”

“But- but that’s impossible!” Rodimus gasped. Despite how often he dreamed of being important and heroic, he was simply a scruffy refugee. The last survivor of a ruined city that he destroyed himself. “I’m no hero and I’m not trying to change the world. I just want to help one person.”

“We think of heroism as magnificent and grand gestures. But what if it was much simpler? If an act of kindness makes a world of difference to one person, then you’ve already succeeded.”

“I haven’t though. I tried so hard to save Thunderclash and I couldn’t do it,” Rodimus muttered sadly. “I wish I was a hero, but… I’m just… not. I’m not bold like Megatron or selfless like Optimus. And I’m nowhere near as cool or skilled as Drift.”

“You are not those people.” Primus answered. “You are you.”

“But I’m not good enough.” Rodimus vented deeply. His broad spoiler drooped. “I want to be a hero, but I don’t know what to do. I thought about using my fire to fix Thunderclash’s spark, but I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. Everyone else is so good at so many things, and I’m just me.”

The figure turned his impossibly blue optics on Rodimus. They were beyond mesmerizing. Bluer than the light shining within the matrix, brighter than the Aurora Sparklights, and deeper than the space between the stars.

“Sometimes, the bravest, most heroic thing you can do…” The figure smiled with immense gentleness that washed over Rodimus like the warmest rays of the sun. “...is truly be yourself.”

The ring of dancing lights flared brighter and brighter until Rodimus could no longer see anything. He shielded his optics.

When he opened his optics again, Rodimus was back in the Acropolex. Everyone was staring at him in shocked silence. He wondered how long he had been gone or if he had gone anywhere at all.

“Rodimus?” Thunderclash whispered, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.” Rodimus smiled. Hearing Thunderclash speak his name overwhelmed his spark with joy. “How did you know?”

“I heard- a voice- What happened?”

Rodimus wasn’t sure if Thunderclash had heard his name because he was worthy of opening the Matrix as well or was simply close to death. Either way, he was ecstatic that Thunderclash was the first to say his proper name. The name that was always his, even if he only discovered it today.

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.” Rodimus said. He had an idea, but he wouldn’t do anything without Thunderclash’s consent. “Hey, Thunders? Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“How about with your spark?”

“Oh, Roddy,” Thunderclash wheezed. An adoring smile spread across his face despite the dimming light in his optics. “You’ve held my spark in the palm of your hands since the moment we first met.”

“That’s all I needed to hear! Hang on, Thunders! We’ve got a life-bond to balance!”

Rodimus wasn’t even sure what exactly had happened to him. He looked at his hands. His frame was still in its new form. Whether the changes were permanent or not, he had work to do. He leapt up and accidentally knocked Megatron over. Apparently the Decepticon leader was still precariously standing at his side. Megatron fell hard to the ground.

“Oof! Hot Rod-” Megatron began.

“Oops! Sorry, Megs.” Rodimus apologized, overflowing with wild glee. Apparently the larger frame is going to take some getting used to. “And it’s Rodimus. Rodimus Prime of Nyon. But you can still call me Roddy.”

“Rodimus?! PRIME?!?!” Megatron bellowed.

“Roddy?! What the hell?!” Drift exclaimed, snapping out of his shock. He gestured wildly at Rodimus’ new look.

“I’m not entirely sure myself, but I swear I’ll tell you everything I know,” Rodimus promised, thrilled to hear Drift continue to use his nickname. “Right now I need everyone to back up and give me some space.”

“But Thunderclash doesn’t have much time left,” Ratchet protested. “Don’t you think your should-”

“Save his life? Hell yeah. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. In fact, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to balance our life-bond.” Rodimus grinned, wild and reckless

“But how?” Ratchet asked.

“You said we’d need some super rad extreme fire to repair the crack in Thunder’s spark, right?” Rodimus cracked his knuckles. He called his outlier ability and fire erupted from his plating. “Well... I’m about to turn up the heat!”

Rodimus recalled Primus’ words. He’d only ever been himself, even when it made things difficult or complicated. Although he always followed his spark, he often doubted his own abilities. But his abilities were his. No one else could do the things he could do. If being yourself was a heroic act, Rodimus was prepared to go all in.

His fire roared. Rodimus pushed all his fuel reserves into stoking his flames hotter. His fire burned through the color spectrum until he incandesced white hot. His plating glowed like iron in a forge, like a star bursting into light in the darkness of the universe. The ashes at his feet melted into liquid glass and pooled around him in a glowing lagoon of fire.

“Oh my stars…” Optimus muttered, optics wide.

Now that he had the temperature, Rodimus pulled his fire close. He struggled to keep it tight to his frame. After all, he needed a concentrated flame. He didn’t want to entirely incinerate Thunderclash or anyone else for that matter.

“Ready, Thunders?” Rodimus called.

“You bet.” Thunderclash smiled and offered a shaky thumbs up.

Blazing like a star descending from the heavens, Rodimus approached Thunderclash. The air around him shimmered as heat radiated from his frame. Each step left a footprint of molten glass in the ashes.

“Wait-” Ratchet moved to intervene but Drift stopped him.

“It’s alright, Ratch,” Drift said. “I believe in Roddy. He’s got this.”

Ratchet stared at Drift in trepidation. His engine rumbled. Keeping his doubts to himself, the medic sat next to Thunderclash and protectively took his hand. Ratchet watched Rodimus with discerning optics.

Rodimus vented deeply. He slowly reached out his hand, deftly maneuvering inside of the gaping wound in Thunderclash’s chest, careful not to brush against anything he didn’t want melted.

As his hand hovered over Thunderclash’s spark, Rodimus braced himself for the familiar doubts to assail him… but they never came. Thunderclash trusted him. Drift, his amica, believed in him. Even Primus confirmed the heroism of being himself. Rodimus had burned his city, murdering friend and foe alike. Guilt and grief tore at him but he still moved forward. He fought countless battles, spared enemies, and disobeyed orders. Through it all, he never gave up and he never compromised his own integrity.

He was Rodimus of Nyon and he was sure as hell good enough.

Filled with hope and growing confidence, Rodimus steeled his will. He could do this. Despite being responsible for so much death, he could at least save one person that he loved. After all this time, he was the hero he had been waiting for.

He gently tapped Thunderclash’s spark with one conflagrant finger. The damaged outer crystal instantly blazed scorching orange. Thunderclash’s spark crystal melted under Rodimus’ touch. The liquid crystal wicked into the spidery cracks, filling them in and forming a new seal.

Thunderclash hissed in pain. He shuddered once and his frame went limp.

Satisfied the cracks in Thunderclash’s spark were sealed, Rodimus quickly pulled away. The edges of Thunderclash’s armor had already begun to blister and burn from their close contact with Rodimus’ fire. He didn’t dare prolong his exposure. Rodimus stumbled a few steps back. After being focused so tight, his fire yearned to burn free. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Everybody! DUCK!” Rodimus yelled as he relaxed his control.

WOOOOSHHH!

A wave of fire erupted from Rodimus’ plating and rolled across the Acropolex. Since he concentrated all of his energy to repair Thunderclash’s spark, the fire that flashed around him was more light than heat, but it was still an impressive display. People shouted and dove for cover. Drift threw himself in front of Ratchet. Somehow Megatron managed to get himself up again to shield Optimus.

Everyone stared at him in silent shock.

“Sorry about that,” Rodimus offered a sheepish grin. He found himself utterly spent along with his fire. His legs buckled and he dropped to the ground.

“RODDY!” Drift launched into action. He ran to Rodimus while Ratchet checked out Thunderclash. When Drift went to grab Rodimus, he yanked his hand back like he tried to remove a live coal from the furnace. He shook his singed fingers. “YOW! You are burning up!”

“Yeah. It’ll take my armor a minute to cool.” Rodimus’ vents slowed.

Drift hovered over him. Rodimus longed to collapse into his amica’s arms, but his armor was still too hot. He knew Drift would be there to catch him the moment his plating cooled. Exhaustion tugged at every circuit, but he couldn’t rest yet.

“Ratchet?” Rodimus asked. His words weighed heavily in his vocalizer. Primus. He was exhausted. Maybe his little jaunt to visit Primus took more out of him than he realized.

Ratchet didn’t look up. The medic was solely focused on his unconscious patient. Silence fell over the Acropolex.

“Is Thunderclash- is he- ?” Rodimus couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He has either successfully repaired Thunderclash’s spark… or killed him.

The medic knelt over Thunderclash, furiously running through diagnostic protocols. Blue sparklight glowed from within his mangled chest. Thunderclash was completely unresponsive but his paintwork still looked good. Rodimus drew strength from those bold rainbow colors. If he hadn’t faded to gray, then maybe he was still alive.

Rodimus knew basic first aid and had put his skills to use many times during the Nyonian resistance, but he never dared anything as fiddly as hands-on spark repair. Apparently, even Ratchet never tried anything so bold. To look at another person’s spark was normally a deeply personal experience. He couldn’t imagine what Thunderclash had felt when Rodimus physically touched his spark. No wonder the big bot passed out.

Ratchet ran the same tests over and over.

“Well?” Rodimus asked again, strangely calm. He didn’t have the energy to get anxious.

“I’ll be damned,” Ratchet muttered.

“What? What does that mean?” Rodimus pleaded. Shadows crept into the edges of his vision. His limbs felt heavy. This wasn’t the first time Rodimus had nearly burned himself out; he knew the signs. Rodimus desperately needed fuel and rest but more than anything, he wanted answers. His systems slipped dangerously closer to involuntary shut down but he stubbornly refused to pass out until he knew if Thunderclash survived.

Was he finally able to fulfill their life-bond?

“It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.” Ratchet mumbled in disbelief as he recalibrated his medical devices.

“Ratch. Please.” Drift asked, sensing Rodimus’ desperation.

Ratchet looked up at the sound of Drift’s voice. The medic’s blue optics were wide with a mix of confusion and joy, like he had just discovered something too good to be true, didn’t believe it, but couldn’t find anything to prove it wrong.

“It shouldn't be possible but… despite the immense damage, all of Thunderclash’s systems are stabilizing. His spark has shrunk slightly and he is currently in shock-induced stasis, but he’s stable.” Ratchet smiled in spite of himself. He shook his head and huffed a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t- I don’t understand how, but Thunderclash should make a full recovery. He’s going to be okay.”

The crowd erupted in raucous applause. People cheered and hollered. Wild joy rippled through the entire gathering. Some people began chanting Rodimus’ name, others sang snatches of jubilant folk songs.

Rodimus’ spoiler sagged with relief. Thunderclash was okay. Everything would be okay.

The sounds of exuberant rejoicing filled his audials. Rodimus smiled. All these people came here today to watch someone die. Megatron had challenged Optimus to a fight to the death to end the war. They proclaimed “One shall stand, one shall fall,” and had very nearly made good on their promise. Despite the possibility of witnessing more death and destruction, the thing that got the combined audience of Autobots and Decepticons to cheer as one was the hope of life.

At the end of the day, they all cheered not because someone died, but because someone survived. They celebrated life.

The gleeful revelry filled Rodimus spark with light. Finding hope when all seems lost was always a cause for great joy. If Autobot and Decepticons could continue to find more common ground, then there was hope for all of them.

This was the hope that Nyon gave their lives to protect. Cybertron was finally ready to accept it.

Peace and contentment washed over Rodimus. His systems blinked off into emergency recharge one by one. Rodimus hoped his armor had cooled enough to touch. He swayed.

“RODDY!” Drift shouted. He gently caught Rodimus as he slumped over.

“S’okay, Drift. Just need a rest,” Rodimus slurred. “And maybe some energon.”

“I’ve got you,” Drift smiled. His golden optics shone like stars. He pulled Rodimus close and hugged him tightly.

“Thanks,” Rodimus mumbled. He was already partially into involuntary recharge when Drift caught him. Rodimus completely relaxed in his embrace. The crowd’s joy sang to his spark like a lullaby.

Rodimus shut his optics and snuggled into Drift’s arms. He snickered when he realized Drift struggled to wrap his arms around his new frame modifications. He sincerely hoped he was taller than Drift now specifically to tease him about it.

Right now, Rodimus just needed some rest. Maybe five minutes… and then maybe five more…

Chapter Text

Rodimus wandered aimlessly through Nyon. Despite the familiar streets stretching out beneath his feet, he felt a little lost. Like there was something important he needed to remember…

But what was it?

He turned a corner and ran into Cor. The mysterious veteran’s faded teal paintwork gleamed unusually vibrant. After strolling along in companionable silence for a few moments, Cor launched into a myriad of old folktales. Although Rodimus was happy simply to listen as they walked, something nagged at the back of his processor. As soon as Rodimus tried to figure out what was bothering him, the scene changed around him.

Colors blurred and swirled like dust in the wind. When they cleared, Rodimus was on the shore of the Rust Sea, casting his line with Noctgar and Promnis. Promnis laughed while Noctgar regaled them with encyclopedic knowledge of all the aquatic life in the area. Rodimus whooped with glee when his rod bent in half hoping to have caught something like Noctgar was describing, disappointed to discover he had only snagged his line.

When he looked up to complain about it, he found himself suddenly with Indy. They were on a cliff above the city, waiting for the Aurora Sparklights to begin. He sat on the edge of the precipice, kicking his feet over the sheer cliff. He smiled and glanced over at Indy. The silver stars on her deep purple paintwork glistened as she explained the science behind the luminous display in excruciating detail.

Rodimus’ mind wandered.

As much as he enjoyed spending time with his friends, he felt strangely out of place. Like he was a spectator in his own memories.

Despite not being able to put a finger on what was going on, Rodimus always felt completely safe, and protected, and loved. An odd sense of contentment shadowed his every step. When the time came, he’d figure out what was going on. All he had to do was persevere. After all, moving forward was kind of his deal.

As he wandered the familiar paths of Nyon, a distant melody reached his audials. Although he never heard this song before, it felt like home. Rodimus focused on the unfamiliar lyrics and followed the melancholy beauty. Gradually the voice became clearer, a little rough with a slight Rodian accent.

Rodimus roused slowly. Someone curled protectively around him. Rodimus snuggled into the embrace. He drowsily came online and was met with bright golden optics.

“Good morning, Hot Stuff,” Drift teased, a broad grin that showed his fangs spread across his face.

“Mmm… Five more minutes,” Rodimus sleepily mumbled, too comfortable to move. He vented deeply and nuzzled Drift’s immaculate white plating.

Drift…? DRIFT!!

Rodimus’ optics snapped open. All of his memories sorted out at once: the war, his amica, the Matrix, Thunderclash, his new super comfortable frame modifications, everything. He sat bolt upright and nearly knocked Drift off their shared berth. Always prepared for surprise attacks, Drift quickly shifted his position and laughed.

Rodimus optics darted around the room. It looked like a medbay, but not the usual one. He’d been in and out of the Decepticon medbay, both for repairs and simply to hang out with Knockout and Breakdown, enough times to know every inch of it. Everything here was similar but not the same: the walls, the equipment, even the berth was softer than he remembered. Close but not exact.

Where were they? What’s goin on???

There was no one else around except him and Drift. Rows of empty recharge slabs lined the room. As his anxiety began to rise, he turned his gaze back to his amica.

“Drift?” Rodimus started cautiously, almost afraid to ask. “How long have I been out?”

“Roddy,” Drift vented deeply and mournfully shook his head. He laid a heavy hand on Rodimus’ shoulder. “It’s been over a hundred years.”

“A HUNDRED YEARS!!” Rodimus shouted. His bright blue optics went wide.

He had nearly burned himself out dozens of times before and he was usually back up in a few days. Rodimus stared at his hands, still in their new form. Relief that his frame changes were permanent was quickly replaced with confusion. Perhaps his experience with the Matrix did something else to him besides changing his frame? Was he really lying here, wandering through lost memories while the world spun centuries without him???

Drift snorted.

Rodimus snapped his attention to Drift, who was now biting his bottom lip, struggling mightily not to laugh. His amica’s whole frame shook.

“How long has it been, really?” Rodimus asked, narrowing his optics and folding his arms.

“Only a few days,” Drift burst into laughter. “Oh Primus, Roddy! You should have seen the look on your face!”

Relief swept over Rodimus, followed quickly by annoyance.

“You colossal crankshaft!” Rodimus huffed, a smile growing across his own face. “You scared the scrap out of me!”

He playfully pounced on Drift, attempting to grab his amica in a retaliatory headlock. They tumbled off the berth and crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and thermal blankets. Rodimus caught Drift’s infectious laughter and soon they were both giggling with reckless abandon, ecstatic to be alive.

They had come so far. And somehow they managed to make it through together. Rodimus never knew such wild joy.

Just when Rodimus thought he finally had Drift, the assassin reversed his momentum and flipped him over. Rodimus yelped and Drift swept him around and caught him in a headlock of his own.

“Gotcha!” Drift proclaimed triumphantly. He rubbed his knuckles on Rodimus’ helm.

“Ahhh!! Okay! Okay!” Rodimus tapped Drift’s forearm in surrender. “Lemme go.”

“Don’t think a few fancy frame modifications is all it takes to beat me!” Drift beamed, as he brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rodimus shoved Drift. He settled next to him, seated on the floor between a couple of recharge slabs. Rodimus looked at Drift and grinned. His direct line of sight met with the top of Drift’s helm. “You can’t blame me for trying though. Especially because I might be taller than you now!”

“What?! No way!”

“Deny it all you want, but I think it’s true!” Rodimus laughed. He held a hand at the top of his own helm and slowly moved it towards Drift to compare their heights.

“Cut it out, Short Stack!” Drift batted his hand away.

“Ah HA! I AM taller now!” Rodimus snickered.

“We’re sitting down. That totally throws off the measurements.”

“I’m pretty sure standing up isn’t going to make you any taller.”

“Shut up.” Drift rolled his optics.

“Obviously I’m not as tall as Thunderclash but-” Rodimus froze mid sentence.

He was so thrilled to be awake and alive with Drift he has forgotten about everything else. They appeared to be in a medbay of some kind and although Rodimus repaired his spark, Thunderclash still had a gaping hole in his chest. Shouldn’t Thunderclash be here as well?

“Drift…” Rodimus asked slowly, in a failing effort to keep hold of his growing terror. “Where is Thunderclash??”

“Thunders?” Drift casually shrugged his shoulders. “Oh. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Rodimus whispered.

Rodimus deflated.

Gone.

The finality of the word struck Rodimus like a shot to his own chest. It let all the air out of all his tires and ripped the glowing spark from his newly reformatted frame. Tears burned Rodimus optics. His broad gold spoiler drooped. All his effervescent joy evaporated into sorrow.

Hardly able to see through his tears, Rodimus stared blankly at his hands. Nyon’s long discarded detonator weighed heavily in his right hand. Rodimus slowly clenched his trembling golden fingers into a fist to stop their shaking. He opened the Matrix, spoke with Primus, and yet he still couldn’t save someone he loved.

“I tried- I tried so hard,” Rodimus sobbed. “I- I thought for sure- but- but I couldn’t save him-”

“Holy frag! Oh my god, Roddy, NO!” Drift gasped, his golden optics flaring wide. He grabbed Rodimus' shoulders and shook him. “I’m so sorry! I meant ‘gone to physical therapy’! Not GONE gone!”

“Wh-what?” Rodimus stammered, unable to comprehend Drift’s words as he floundered in an tumultuous wave of grief.

“Thunderclash is FINE. Sorry for the poor word choice. I wasn’t thinking. He’s alive and well,” Drift yanked Rodimus close and hugged him tight for emphasis.

“He’s? Fine?” Rodimus asked numbly, waiting for words to have meaning again.

“YES! You beautiful knucklehead! Thunderclash is okay! Although his spark is totally stable, it did shrink a little. Knockout specializes in frame modifications so he and Breakdown have been helping Thunderclash adjust. The big rainbow softy would be in here right now, reading you anything he could find about Nyon if it wasn’t time for his daily physical therapy session.”

“Thunderclash was here? He read to me?”

“All the time. At first it was adorable but it annoyed the hell out of Ratchet, which made it hilarious. Despite all of Ratchet’s insistence as a medical professional that you couldn’t hear anything while in deep recharge, Thunderclash insisted that he didn’t want you to feel alone so he sat in that chair,” Drift nodded towards a toppled chair next to Rodimus’ berth, “and read a kinds of articles about Nyon out loud. Constantly.”

“Really?” Rodimus wiped the tears off his cheeks. Warmth blossomed in his spark. Thunderclash sat with him while he recovered?

“It was extremely sweet,” Drift grinned and elbowed him. He continued in a deliberately poor impression of Thunderclash, “Oh Roddy! I’ll sit here by your side and read you stories until you wake up!”

“Shut up,” Rodimus playfully shoved him back. His joy quickly escalated to entirely new heights. Thunderclash was alive! AND had stayed by his side for days!! “It worked, you know. I had a bunch of weird dreams where my old friends told me all kinds of Nyonian facts. Despite the strangeness of it all, I always felt totally safe and protected.”

“Interesting. I guess you could hear him on some level.”

“Yeah. Wanna know something else? The thing that helped me wake up was a song.”

Drift’s finials canted back and his cheeks lit up pink. His optics widened as if he was busted for doing something wrong.

“It was beautiful. Although I didn’t know the words, I’d recognize the voice of my amica anywhere,” Rodimus continued with a smile. He nudged Drift with his elbow. “I didn’t know you sang.”

“I don’t.” Drift coughed. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his helm. His cheeks glowed brighter. Unable to meet Rodimus’ optics, Drift suddenly seemed very interested in something on the floor. “But- I- um- I thought, if Thunderclash was so convinced you could hear him, maybe you would hear me too. I sang something that Gasket used to sing to me when I was hurt. Rodian folk music was the only medicine we could afford.”

“Well, it’s super effective. I’d love to hear it again someday. Without the blacking-out-for-days part, of course.”

“No promises.”

“Aww! Pleeeease!” Rodimus pouted, willing his optics to be extra sparkly and bright. “It was so cool.”

“Fine.” Drift shoved him with a laugh. “But I get to choose the time.”

“Deal!” Rodimus grinned. Satisfied, he quickly shifted gears and pelted Drift with barrage of questions. “You mentioned Knockout and Breakdown too. Are they here? Where are Optimus and Megatron? Are they here too? As a matter of fact, where is here? What happened after I passed out?”

“You want answers? I got answers for days! Buckle up, here we go!” Drift vented deeply and then launched into a set of rapidfire answers, counting them out on his fingers. “First of all, Knockout and Breakdown are here. They rushed over as soon as they saw you pass out on the livestream-”

“Livestream?!”

“You didn’t think Soundwave and Ravage would stand by and NOT broadcast the end of the war to the entire planet, did you?” Drift shrugged. “Shall I continue answering your questions?”

Rodimus nodded.

“Officially, Optimus and Megatron have disappeared after the battle-”

“What about unofficially?” Rodimus interrupted again.

“We’re never gonna get anywhere if you keep interrupting my answers with more questions.” Drift sighed, but continued with a smile. “Unofficially, they both decided to stay here in Nyon and leave the peace talks in the surprisingly capable hands of Starscream and Windblade, who relocated the negotiations to Iacon, before your ask. After watching you change the world by sticking to your own integrity, both Optimus and Megatron realized that they gave up too much of themselves in the war. Optimus has been working to preserve the ancient Nyonian glyphs around the Acropolex while Megatron started training to become a medic. You inspired them to rediscover who they truly are. You’ve inspired a lot of people, Roddy.”

“I don’t know about all that…” Rodimus’ cheeks warmed. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his helm. He always looked up to Megatron and actively hated Optimus for a long time. The idea of them being inspired by him was too much to bear.

“Well, I do. Because I’m one of those people too.” Drift smiled. “To answer your last question, we are in the Autobot medbay which is closer to Acropolex than ours. With several patients in desperate need of emergency medical attention, Ratchet insisted we use the closest medical facility. With all that stuff out of the way, now it’s your turn. I want to know what happened to you.”

“Me?” Rodimus' spoiler twitched. His head reeled from Drift’s relentless barrage of information. Despite the immense volume of events, at least they all make sense in reality. How was he supposed to tell anyone that he had some sort of mystical experience and conversed with Primus? “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Roddy. I’ve seen some wild stuff. Try me.”

“Okay... But I warned you.”

Rodimus described everything that happened when he opened the Matrix from claiming his name to his entire conversation with Primus to his decision to trust in his own abilities and save Thunderclash with his flames, using as many lush details as he could remember.

When he was finished they sat in silence for a few moments, as if they both needed time to comprehend the truth.

“Wow.” Drift gasped. “Primus? Like PRIMUS Primus?”

“Primus.” Rodimus nodded and pulled his plating close. Talking about his experience out loud made it sound even less believable, almost like one of Cor’s old folktales. And yet as Rodimus caught a glimpse of his new frame in the polished metal walls, the proof was literally staring him in the face.

“It’s pretty amazing,” Drift smiled.

“Yeah. I guess it is.” Rodimus agreed. He should have known he could always count on Drift’s support.

“You’re pretty amazing.”

“So are you.”

“Thanks, Roddy.”

“Thank you too, Drift.”

“There’s still one thing though… I wonder what happened to the Matrix?” Drift pondered.

“I dunno. It disappeared after I opened it- OH SCRAP!” Rodimus grabbed at his chest. “It’s not-”

“Don’t worry,” Drift laughed. “It’s not bonded with you. Ratchet checked. There are no mystical artifacts within your frame.”

“Oh, thank Primus,” Rodimus’ spoiler sagged with relief. “I don’t entirely understand what happened, but I’m not ready for everyone to treat me like they treated Optimus. I finally feel properly like myself.”

Before Drift could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of several voices echoing down the hall. Although Rodimus was happy to wake up with Drift all to himself, they were about to have company. With each resounding footstep, Rodimus’ joy increased. He couldn’t wait to see who was coming and he sincerely hoped it was Thunderclash.

Chapter Text

Rodimus strained his audials, giddiness tingling every circuit. As much as he hoped it was Knockout, Breakdown, and Thunderclash, none of the voices sounded familiar. None except one.

Drift’s finials perked up. A sly smile spread across Rodimus’ face.

“It sounds like a certain Autobot medic is heading this way. Oooo~~ Ratchet!!” Rodimus teased.

“Shut up!” Drift shoved him. His cheeks glowed bright pink.

“Ooo~~ Doc! Take me in your big strong arms and carry me away!” Rodimus cooed. He clasped his hands dramatically over his spark. “The war is over. Now nothing can stand in the way of our love!”

“Oh my god. You are being ridiculous.” Drift laughed.

“It takes one to know one,” Rodimus snickered. “I’ve been in recharge for a few days, so I’m a bit behind the times. Give me all the news! Have you asked him out yet?”

“What?! No!” Drift huffed before flashing a sly smile of his own, showing a hint of fang. “He asked me out!”

“For real?!” Rodimus’ jaw dropped. He cuffed Drift’s shoulder. “Way to go!”

“Thanks,” Drift smiled. He canted his finials back as a soft blush lit up his cheeks. “I still can’t really believe it myself.”

“Why not?” Rodimus asked. “You are amazing! And the doc knows it. Trust me, Drift. Even I could see how much you two care about each other, and I’m notoriously dense.”

“But the kind of stuff I’ve done-”

“Hey.” Rodimus nudged him. “We’ve all done stuff. Desperate measures for desperate times, or however that saying goes. That doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to spend time with the super awesome handsome crush of our dreams.”

“Oh? Speaking from experience, are we??” Drift smirked. “Because I seem to recall a super dramatic confession of love that involved opening the Matrix, miraculous life saving, and someone wearing far too much glitter.”

Rodimus’ optics flared. His cheeks glowed, sparks danced along his spoiler, and fire warmed his plating. Primus. He had it bad. Somewhere along the line he fell head over wheels for Thunderclash without even realizing it.

Drift took one look at him and burst into laughter.

“Don’t- don’t make this about me!” Rodimus sputtered. “We’re talking about you right now! What are you going to do on your hot date?”

“Nothing much. We’re going to get fuel together when he finishes giving a tour of the base to some new arrivals.”

“New arrivals?” Rodimus asked, desperate to change the subject before he burst into flames.

“Like I said, Roddy. You inspired a lot of people. New arrivals have been trickling into Nyon since the ceasefire. Without anywhere to go when the war ended, some people are coming here, simply to be close to you.”

Rodimus stared at Drift. He hoped to direct their conversation away from Thunderclash, but he couldn’t believe his audials. People were coming to Nyon to be close to him? Because he inspired them??

While Rodimus was still pondering those words, Drift pounced on him. He grabbed Rodimus and yanked him down, hugging him tight to his frame, and hid on the floor between the berths. They crouched low, covered their mouths to stifle their snickering and peered beneath the long row of empty berths to watch the open door. Ratchet’s trademark red and white feet entered first, followed by a colorful assortment of other people. Rodimus narrowed his optics. One slender pair of bronze and white feet seemed oddly familiar.

“Be shoosh!” Drift whispered. He held a single finger across his lips and flashed a mischievous grin.

“And this is our main medbay.” Ratchet said as the group entered the room. Several people murmured as if they were taking notes. “We only have a few patients right now-”

The Autobot medic stopped mid sentence, likely noticing the empty berth where Rodimus had lain for the past several days.

Drift snorted. Rodimus was trying so hard not to laugh his entire frame shook.

“Oh for frag’s sake,” Ratchet grumbled. “If you all will excuse me for a moment, one of them seems to have gone missing.”

He stomped towards them. Drift’s vent fans shuddered. Rodimus’ plating rattled. He didn’t dare look at Drift for fear that they’d both lose it and burst into laughter. Rodimus couldn’t help but remember hiding from Thunderclash after the acid rain storm. The glittery autobot heard their stifled laughter and thought they were a pack of wayward hyenabots. Although that night seemed so long ago and so much had happened, one thing remained constant. Rodimus and Drift were two lost sparks that found solace in each other.

Ratchet’s footsteps fell silent. Rodimus peered beneath the berth. Although the group of new arrivals were still crowded around the entry door, he didn’t see the medic’s feet anywhere. He elbowed Drift. His amica shrugged, as confused by Ratchet’s sudden disappearance as he was. They leaned partially under the berth searching for Ratchet.

“Gotcha!”

Someone poked Rodimus and Drift right in the middle of their backs as they focused all their attention on looking for Ratchet’s approach under the berth. They both yelped and jumped up to find Ratchet standing on the berth with a smug grin on his face.

Rodimus looked across the room and noticed the rumpled thermal blankets on the row of berths. Ratchet must have hopped across the tops of the berths specifically to surprise them.

“Primus! You scared the scrap out of us!” Drift huffed. A soft pink blush colored his cheeks.

“You are not the first patients that have tried to give me the slip,” Ratchet chuckled as he hopped down. The medic turned to Rodimus. “I’m glad to see you’re up and about, looking no worse for wear.”

“Thanks,” Rodimus said. He hunched his shoulders and grinned sheepishly.

“Let me just check a few readings to make sure your systems all came online properly.”

Rodimus nodded and opened the diagnostic port on his forearm. While Ratchet checked his systems, Rodimus’ optics wandered to the group hovering awkwardly around the doorway. He smiled and waved to them. When a large green Camian enthusiastically returned his wave, Rodimus caught a glimpse of a slender figure at the back of the crowd.

The familiar bot’s paintwork was orange and bronze, streaked with white. Like the sun shrouded by clouds, his colors were less luminous than the last time Rodimus saw him. Although his optics were concealed behind a pair of corrective lenses, Rodimus knew they blazed with the brightness of the universe.

That person looked exactly like Primus. Without the celestial glow, of course.

“No way!” Rodimus gasped. His optics widened and a grin slowly spread across his face.He stared directly at the newcomer while Ratchet finished his impromptu check-up. “It’s YOU!”

“Who?” Primus looked around and pointed uncertainly to his own chest. “Me?”

“Yeah you! We literally just met not too long ago.” Rodimus leaned forward to get a better view, earning him a light thump on the helm from Ratchet.

“Hold still. I’m almost finished analyzing your systems’ data.” Ratchet grumbled.

“You- you remember me?” Primus’ jaw dropped.

“Hell yeah I do! I’ll never forget you!” Rodimus whooped. “Drift! Guess what! That guy is-”

“RUNG!” The bronze bot cut him off. “Call me Rung. Please.”

“Save your reunions until after I’m done,” Ratchet said. “I don’t know when you two met, but Ring just arrived today, as our first resident therapist.”

“Rung.” Rung corrected Ratchet’s mispronunciation and self-consciously adjusted his glasses. “With the war ending, I thought people might need someone to talk to, face to face. Although I’ve been in the business of helping people for years, so to speak, I felt it was time for a more hands-on approach. Nyon feels like the perfect place to begin.”

“Awesome! I’m honored that you’ve decided to stay!” Rodimus beamed. “Welcome to Nyon!”

“Thank you.” Rung smiled, kind and gentle, surprised by Rodimus’ gratitude. “I really do appreciate your hospitality.”

“Alright. Alright.” Ratchet huffed. “Now that the pleasantries are over, I’m pleased to inform you that you are in perfect health. All your read-outs are stable.”

“Woo!” Rodimus pumped his fist.

“Take it easy and don’t go anywhere until you see Thunderclash. If I never hear another fact about Nyonian wildlife it will be too soon.”

“Noted!” Rodimus grinned.

“And you,” Ratchet pointed at Drift. “I’m almost finished with the orientation tour. Are we still on for later? Given the circumstances, I’ll understand if you need to cancel.”

“Absolutely not! I waited far too long-” Drift exclaimed. His cheeks lit up as vibrant as his crimson accents. “I mean- Yes. We are still on for later.”

Rodimus snickered. Drift kicked him.

“Glad to hear it,” Ratchet’s own cheeks blushed softly. He turned to rejoin the group patiently waiting by the doorway. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

As soon as Ratchet led the new arrivals out the door, Rodimus rounded on Drift, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently, shouting, “DRIFTOHMYGOSHTHATWASTOTALLYPRIMUS!!” He was dying to tease Drift about his date, but the arrival of Primus kind of took precedence.

“What?!” Drift exclaimed.

“That guy, Rung? He was the same person I met in the Matrix. Rung is Primus. Or Primus is Rung. Whatever.” Rodimus’ optics flared bright. “HOLY FRAG! New theory: What if the Matrix is Primus’ alt mode???”

“Primus’ alt mode? You think Rung turns into the Matrix?? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yeah it does! Think about it! You can only open the Matrix if you’re worthy or something and who would know that better than Primus? After the scrap at the Acropolex, the Matrix went missing and Rung is walking around among us. It makes perfect sense! They’ve never been seen in the same place at the same time.”

“But that means Optimus was walking around with some mystical guy in his chest all this time.” Drift scrunched his face in disgust.

“So what?” Rodimus shrugged. “Soundwave literally walks around with several guys in his chest all the time.”

“Huh. Valid point.”

“Extremely valid.” Rodimus nodded sagely.

While Drift silently pondered the possibility of Primus becoming their new therapist, Rodimus’ mind wandered in multiple directions. His spoiler twitched. He started bouncing his leg. Then he hopped up and paced back and forth. Primus. The Matrix. Nyon. There was too much to think about.

“Are you alright?” Drift asked, looking up from his thinking.

“Nope. I’m tired of thinking. And of waiting. Let’s go find Thunderclash.”

“Ratchet said-”

“Ratchet said to make sure that I see Thunderclash, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

“Well…” Drift pondered.

“It’s a deep subject,” Rodimus snickered.

“Seriously? That old joke again?” Drift rolled his optics.

“Hey! It’s a classic!” Rodimus protested. “You have no appreciation for a good pun.”

“Puns will get you nowhere. Do you want to find Thunderclash or not?” Drift folded his arms.

Rodimus nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright then. I know where Knockout and Breakdown take Thunders for his physical therapy sessions. Both Breakdown and Thunderclash’s alt modes are huge, so they use a small courtyard between buildings.”

“YES! Let’s gooooo!” Rodimus whooped. He shoved Drift across the medbay and out the door.

Each step increased Rodimus’ joy until he felt like he might burst into flames. Wild excitement electrified every circuit. Thunderclash was alive and they were going to see him. He couldn’t help but laugh when he thought back about the first time they met and how incandescently angry he was about being rescued by the rainbow Autobot.

He glanced over at Drift. His amica’s new frame gleamed white and vibrant red. His golden optics shone with love. Drift was a far cry from the gruff assassin that begrudgingly looked out for him because Megatron had ordered him to be his bodyguard. Their friendship grew as they slowly opened up to each other. Promises of trust bloomed into undying devotion. Now, for the first time in his life, Rodimus had an amica.

Rodimus caught a glimpse of their reflections in the polished walls as they walked, his fiery red against Drift’s celestial white. They had both grown so much. And yet, despite the changes, Rodimus still recognized himself in his bright blue optics. Somehow he made it through everything, battered but unbroken.

Rodimus smiled.

Drift must have noticed his dreamy expression and took the opportunity to take him by surprise.

“Whaddya say we put those new wheels of yours to the test? Race you to the courtyard! 3-2-1-GO!” Drift bounded ahead of him, transformed, and hit the ground wheels spinning.

“AHHH! No fair!” Rodimus complained as he transformed and raced after Drift. “I don’t even know where we’re going!”

“Don’t gimme that scrap!” Drift laughed. “You’re from Nyon, right? You probably know every inch of this place.”

Drift revved his engine and slid around a tight corner. Rodimus tried to copy his move but nearly spun out. He quickly recovered and sped after Drift. Gunning his own accelerator to keep up, Rodimus made a mental note to cash in on Drift’s promise to teach him a few radical driving skills.

As they roared through the halls, Rodimus realized that Drift was right. He did recognize the place. They were in the old Nyonian Hospital. By the time the city fell under Zeta’s siege, all the Nyonians had evacuated to better defensible structures. Since they had abandoned this section of the city early on, the building escaped the worst of the conflagration.

Rodimus grinned. It only took him a moment to access the layout data from his memory files. He gunned his engine and prepared for the next turn. If Drift wanted a race, he’d give him a run for his money.

Chapter Text

“You’ve made a lot of progress,” Knockout nodded appreciatively. “Before we finish our session today, what do you say we try a transformation sequence?”

“Heck yes! I feel great!” Thunderclash shouted. He rolled his shoulders. The once intense pain in his chest had dulled to a manageable ache.

Working with someone who understood the recovery process from serious injuries was truly amazing. After only a few physical therapy sessions with Knockout and Breakdown, Thunderclash felt as good as new. It had taken far longer to recover from the injuries he sustained during the acid storm without such expert guidance.

Knockout and Breakdown arrived at the Autobot base shortly after the declaration of the peace treaty. They had watched all of the events at the Acropolex, from Megatron and Optimus’ fight to Roddy’s speech on Soundwave’s live stream. Fortunately Knockout had experience treating Roddy when he burned himself out and helped Ratchet monitor his condition. Although he had his own recovery to deal with, Thunderclash was ecstatic to have the opportunity to meet some of Roddy’s friends.

Every day Knockout and Breakdown brought him out to this open courtyard between the disheveled complex that the Autobots had claimed for their makeshift base of operations. Together they slowly worked through progressively more strenuous exercises. At first, even with Breakdown’s cheerful assistance and Knockout’s thoughtful instructions, Thunderclash could barely take a few steps without collapsing in pain.

But Thunderclash refused to give up. Rodimus never gave up on him. Even when everyone told him that saving Thunderclash’s life was impossible, Roddy persisted. He blazed with the brightness of stars colliding, tore open the Matrix and redefined the legacy of the Primes all to save the life of one person that he loved. It was like watching a heroic legend come to life. All for him. Thunderclash’s cheeks warmed just thinking about it.

Thunderclash didn’t know what he ever did to be worthy of a love like Roddy’s. He must just be lucky. The luckiest person in the entire universe.

Buoyed by thoughts of Rodimus and his progress in today’s sessions, Thunderclash decided to try something with some flair. If Knockout wanted to see a transformation sequence, Thunderclash would give him one he wouldn’t soon forget.

“Watch this!” Thunderclash took two bounding leaps across the wide courtyard.

“Wait!” Knockout yelled. He chased after Thunderclash. “You’re supposed to take it easy the first time you transform after major frame modifications!”

Thunderclash leapt up and spun his transformation cog. His dazzling glitter top coat sparkled like wildfire under the midday sun sending prismatic rainbows dancing across the barren courtyard that Knockout and Breakdown had commandeered for a physical therapy space. The brilliant lights shone around Thunderclash as if his own frame couldn’t contain the joy blazing in his repaired spark. He twisted his frame as he transformed in midair, just like the time Rodimus rescued him from the scraplet swarm.

Normally he could complete a midair transformation fast enough to land on his wheels, but his spark was still healing. Unfortunately about halfway through his twisting flip, he realized his armor moved a bit slower than usual.

Thunderclash hurried through the last few steps of his transformation but it was too late. His timing was completely off. The final piece of his armor snapped into place and he hit the ground upside down in truck mode, landing hard on his roof.

“Oops,” Thunderclash muttered sheepishly.

“What was that?” Breakdown laughed. He casually leaned against the side of Thunderclash’s upside down alt mode and poked one of his tires. “You know your wheels are supposed to be on the ground, right?”

“Yeah,” Thunderclash chuckled. His wheels spun futilely in the air. “I wanted to transform with a little style, but it didn’t work out.”

“I commend you on the attempt at style.” Knockout sauntered over. He gestured with his hands. “Far too many people don’t have the proper appreciation for the importance of doing something with a little panache! But, you are still recovering. Although I specialized in frame modifications back on Velocitron, I’ve never had a patient whose frame stayed the same while his spark changed. We’re all figuring things out as we go here.”

“I’m sorry,” Thunderclash apologized. Knockout and Breakdown have been so kind to him. He hated making extra work for them.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Knockout waved off his concerns. He gently pat Thunderclash’s fender. “We’re here to help you. We’ll even flip you back over. Free of charge. Nurse, if you would please?”

“You got it, doc!” Breakdown grinned. He dug his fingers under Thunderclash’s roof and lifted.

Breakdown’s struts groaned under the weight of Thunderclash’s heavy frame. Although Thunderclash clearly held the advantage in size and weight, Breakdown still managed to lift him. Thunderclash’s alt mode slowly turned on his side. Breakdown shifted his grip and continued pushing until Thunderclash rolled all the way over and thumped heavily back on to his wheels.

“There you are! Good as new.” Breakdown proclaimed as he proudly placed his hands on his hips.

“Well done!” Knockout fanned himself as his cheeks blushed.

“Thanks, Breakdown. I really thought I had it.” Thunderclash rocked back and forth on his wheels. “I know my frame is massive. Sorry to be such a problem.”

“You aren’t a problem,” Breakdown shrugged. “Even us big guys need a little help once in a while and that’s okay.”

“You’re totally right. That actually reminds me of something Roddy once told me.” Thunderclash’s powerful engine purred. Warmth filled his frame at the memory. “I was worried about being too big and he told me that my frame was mine. No one else has the right to say what I should be. I am me, and that’s something no one else can be.”

“Baby Blue said that?” Breakdown mused, suddenly lost in his own private thoughts. He stared off at the horizon in a futile attempt to hide the tears shining on his optics. “You gotta admit, he has a way with words.”

“I know right? Rodimus is so amazing-”

“Yes. Yes. We all love that little punk.” Knockout sighed. “But before we start another session of the Rodimus Appreciation Society, let’s try that transformation sequence one more time. Shift back into bot mode, and take it easy this time.”

“You got it, doc!” Thunderclash gunned his engine and started spinning donuts in his massive transport mode. “I’ve got it this time for sure. Once more, with even more style!”

“Woo!! You can do it, Clash!” Breakdown whooped. “Faster!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Knockout groaned. He folded his arms. “At this rate, he’s going to knock himself offline and we’ll have to carry him back to the medbay.”

“He’ll be fine.” Breakdown shrugged. “Thunderclash is shockingly durable.”

“It must be all the glitter.” Knockout shook his head with a fond smile.

Thunderclash whipped himself into a tight spin and activated his t-cog. He whirled into his transformation sequence, rolling to his feet as his armor reconfigured. Thunderclash couldn’t help but laugh as the wild thrill of pure freedom charged his circuits. This time he slowed his rotations as his armor perfectly shifted into place. Excited by his success, he pirouetted up a little too fast and nearly lost his balance.

“Whoa!” Thunderclash’s arms swung wildly as he fought to remain upright. After almost toppling over, he managed to salvage the finish and landed firmly on his feet. He froze for a second with his arms outstretched to make sure he was okay.

“Way to go!” Breakdown cheered.

“I did it? I DID IT!” A broad grin spread across Thunderclash’s face and he flashed two thumbs up to Knockout and Breakdown.

“You certainly did!” Knockout offered polite applause. “I must say, I really do appreciate your commitment to style.”

“Thanks.” Thunderclash beamed. “If something is worth doing, you should be able to have fun doing it. Life’s so precious, we should enjoy every moment.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” Breakdown laughed. He wrapped an arm around Knockout’s waist.

“Hmm,” Knockout purred as he leaned into Breakdown’s embrace.

Thunderclash smiled.

Seeing other people happy never failed to light Thunderclash’s spark. There was just so much good in the universe. Even during the darkest hours of war, the good always outweighed the bad. Acts of kindness and love abounded, done quietly without fanfare or accolades. For every act of aggression, there were a thousand acts of kindness. For every hateful word, there were a million declarations of love. Although they were often drowned out by the endless cacophony of violence, it didn’t make them any less valid. In fact it only made them more important, as tiny spots of brightness defying the darkness, like millions of stars illuminating the night sky.

Thunderclash loved to see all those small gestures of love. He loved seeing Knockout and Breakdown openly express their feelings for each other. He loved to watch Drift hold Roddy’s hand and sing him soft songs when he thought no one else was listening. He loved it when Ratchet brought him energon with extra additives simply because he knew he enjoyed them. He loved reading to Rodimus as he recharged, hopeful for the day when he would wake up.

Rodimus…

Although both Knockout and Ratchet reassured him that Roddy’s systems were all completely stable, Thunderclash couldn’t help but worry. He and Drift took turns sitting with Roddy as he recharged. Despite all Ratchet’s insistence that Roddy couldn’t hear anything while in deep recharge, if there was even the slightest chance, Thunderclash would take it. He’d keep reading to Roddy in hopes that at the very least, it would help him know that he was safe and loved.

Thunderclash sighed dreamily. Thinking about Rodimus filled his mind with the distant roar of speedsters’ engines. He tapped the side of his helm. The roar grew louder. Great. Now he was hearing things. Maybe he pushed himself too hard today.

“Sounds like someone is breaking the base’s posted speed limits,” Breakdown chuckled. “I hope Ultra Magnus doesn’t catch them. I only met that guy once, but I’m 100% certain he’d throw anyone in the brig for breaking the slightest rule.”

“Wait!” Thunderclash’s crimson optics flared. “You can hear that too??”

“With the way the motors are echoing, I’m pretty sure everyone in a hundred mile radius can hear it.” Knockout shouted as the volume of the speeding engines increased. “Who would be crazy enough to race through those narrow hallways?”

“Rodimus!” Thunderclash gasped. His spark spun loops in his chest.

Suddenly a dazzling white speedster drifted around the corner and burst out the door at the edge of the courtyard. Drift quickly shifted into bot mode and pumped his fist in celebration.

Not a half second later, a fiery red speedster streaked around the bend and nearly slammed right into Drift. The speedster shifted into bot mode and rounded on Drift, poking at his chest, obviously arguing about who won.

“I’ll be damned. The little punk is up and running. Literally,” Knockout muttered softly. He snuggled closer to Breakdown. The big blue bot hugged him tighter.

Thunderclash’s spark stopped in his chest.

Rodimus.

Against all odds, Rodimus was right here, right now. Awake, alive and full of fire. The sun flashed on his plating like dancing flames. Sparks shimmered on his broad golden spoiler. Rodimus passionately pleaded his case while Drift just laughed at him.

Tears welled up in Thunderclash’s optics. He was so happy, he wondered if he ever truly experienced happiness before this moment.

Drift elbowed Rodimus and nodded towards the courtyard. Rodimus spun around. As their optics met, Rodimus lit up like a sky full of fireworks. His impossibly blue optics sparkled like the light that shone from the Matrix. His smile alone filled Thunderclash’s spark with light.

“Hey! Thunders!!” Rodimus enthusiastically waved.

“Roddy!” Thunderclash exclaimed.

Thunderclash couldn’t contain his joy any longer. He leapt forward to run to Rodimus. He took one bounding leap and then another and another. His pace increased as he ran. Although he wasn’t forged with a flight capable alt mode, Thunderclash felt like he was flying.

Until his pistons misfired and his stabilizers glitched. He probably should have listened to Knockout and not pushed himself so hard today, but it was too late now. Thunderclash tripped and fell, landing flat on his face.

So much for making an entrance.

Chapter Text

A Few Moments Earlier:

Rodimus raced after Drift. The nondescript hallways sped by in a blur. Everytime he almost caught up to the sleek white speedster, a sharp corner threw off his game.

Drift easily slid around each tight bend with a laugh while Rodimus struggled not to wipe out. His tires squealed as he scrabbled for purchase on the polished floor. Rodimus’ engine growled. His competitive streak flared. It might be all in fun, but he still wanted to win. It killed him to brake during a race but if he didn’t reign it in on the turns he’d crash.

If he wiped out, he’d lose for sure. And Rodimus hated to lose.

Sunlight shone through the hall up ahead. They must almost be to the courtyard Drift mentioned as the finish line. Rodimus pushed his throttle wide open in one final attempt to overtake his amica. He pulled alongside him. The roar of their engines echoed through the building. Their two race car alts jockeyed for position, neck and neck.

Rodimus groaned when his navigational data pinged an alert of an upcoming turn.

Drift once more whipped around the corner with ease. A slight tap on his brakes and Rodimus fell behind once more. Drift edged ahead, burst out the door first and transformed, leaping to his feet in triumph.

“Wooo! I win!” Drift exclaimed, pumping his fist.

“No fair!” Rodimus huffed as he sped through the doorway not a half second later and nearly slammed into Drift’s little victory dance. Frustrated at coming in second, he transformed and poked at Drift’s chest. “You had a head start.”

“Still won though.” Drift laughed.

“By like this much,” Rodimus said, illustrating his point by holding his fingers so close together they were practically touching.

“Whatever,” Drift flashed a smug grin. “Whether you win by an inch or a mile, winning is winning.”

“Ugh! I hate it that you’re right,” Rodimus grumbled. He kicked at the ground in defeat.

“I knew you’d come around. Besides, I think we’re all winners today.” Drift snickered. He elbowed Rodimus and nodded out towards the open courtyard.

Rodimus turned around to see what Drift was gesturing towards and froze. Standing in the center of the courtyard, as big as life, was the one and only Thunderclash. The sun gleamed on his glittery topcoat, sending prismatic rainbows dancing across the ground. The teal winged decal on his chest, free from any faction badge, stood out proudly against his white base coat. Gold trim accented the crimson on his legs contrasting with swatches of teal and cobalt. Rodimus never truly realized how fantastically absurd Thunderclash’s colors were until this moment. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Most important than the rainbow array of colors glinting in the sun, the gaping wound in Thunderclash’s chest was completely healed. Thunderclash was whole, healthy, and right there, staring at Rodimus like he just wandered out of a dream. In some ways, Rodimus supposed that he had.

A smile slowly spread across Rodimus’ face and indescribable joy welled up in his spark.

So many people close to him have been hurt. He couldn’t help but feel responsible. Tia, Indy, Promnis, Noctgar, and all of his other Nyonian family members died when Rodimus burned their home. Turmoil tried to kill Drift because he knew Rodimus cared about him. Hell, even Thunderclash got hurt pretty much every time they were together, and yet there he was.

Rodimus tried so hard to save him. He ripped open the Matrix, spoke with Primus, and most importantly, trusted in himself. By using his own fire to repair Thunders’ spark Rodimus had done something no one else thought possible.

And it actually worked.

The memory of when he rescued Thunderclash from the ditch before the acid storm flashed into his mind. Thunderclash called Rodimus his hero that day. Before he opened the Matrix. Before he confronted Megatron. Before Thunderclash even knew Rodimus’ name, he believed in him.

Seeing Thunderclash smile today, Rodimus finally agreed with him. Maybe, despite all the terrible things he’d done, he really was a hero after all.

“Hey! Thunders!!” Rodimus enthusiastically waved.

“Roddy!” Thunderclash exclaimed.

The big bot leapt forward and started running across the courtyard to meet him. Rodimus was so happy to see him, everything else fell away. He forgot about losing the race to Drift, he barely noticed Knockout and Breakdown leaning on each other at the far edge of the courtyard, he even forgot how to move his own legs.

Until Thunderclash tripped and fell flat on his face.

“Holy frag! Thunders!” Rodimus yelled. Energy surged through his limbs.

Rodimus bolted across the courtyard, clearing the distance between him and Thunderclash in record time. What if something went wrong? What if the repairs on Thunders’ spark didn’t work? What if the internal damage hadn’t healed completely? What if he got hurt when he fell? Rodimus slid to a stop and dropped to his knees in front of the prone Thunderclash.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Rodimus asked as he gently helped Thunderclash sit up.

The soft streaks of dust on Thunderclash’s cheeks did little to obscure his bright pink blush. His crimson optics sparkled with tears of joy. He smiled that stupid lop-sided grin. Rodimus was glad he was already kneeing because it made his legs feel all wobbly.

“Yeah. I guess you could say…” Thunderclash’s smile grew. He continued in complete sincerity, “I’ve fallen for you.”

Rodimus’ jaw dropped. As Thunderclash’s words bounced around in his brain, his own face drew into a broad smile and all his worries fled away. Rodimus burst into laughter.

“Fraggin’ hell, Thunders! That is the stupidest thing ever! AND I LOVE IT!” Rodimus exclaimed as he launched himself at Thunderclash. He threw his arms around Thunderclash’s neck and hugged him fiercely.

“Oof!” Thunderclash nearly toppled over backwards when Rodimus crashed into him. He quickly recovered and wrapped Rodimus in the warmest, tenderest embrace. He nuzzled Rodimus’ helm in utter contentment.

After surviving so much trauma, Rodimus reveled in the intoxicating rush of affection. Even with his new frame modifications, Thunderclash cuddled him close with ease, mindful to not dent his broad spoiler. Rodimus snuggled in Thunderclash’s strong arms, safe, protected, loved.

“I love you,” Rodimus mumbled against Thunderclash’s chest plate. Thunderclash’s repaired spark hummed pleasantly against Rodimus’ frame.

“Wow.” Thunderclash whispered softly in awe. “I am so lucky.”

“Hello, lucky. I’m Rodimus,” Rodimus snickered.

“Oh gosh! Oh wow! That was amazing!” Thunderclash giggled. He hugged Rodimus tighter. “I love you so much!!”

“Oh my god,” Drift grumbled as he walked over. He shook his head. “Now there’s two of them.”

“Drift! Drift! Would you say we’re… pun-believable?” Rodimus laughed, partly from his own stupid pun and partly because Thunderclash’s laughter tickled his frame.

“Or how about pun-stoppable?” Thunderclash added, giggling like an idiot.

“How about just plain STOP! Damn!” Drift muttered.

As soon as Drift was in range, Rodimus grabbed him and yanked him down. It was a testament to the depth of trust between them that Rodimus didn’t immediately lose an arm.

“Roddy! What the hell?!” Drift yelped as Rodimus looped him into an impromptu group hug with Thunderclash.

“I’m just so happy,” Rodimus said, voice breaking. He buried his face against Thunderclash’s chest. Drift fondly rolled his optics and begrudgingly settled close to his side. Rodimus held them both like they might disappear at any moment.

Emotions he didn’t even know how to process welled up inside him, manifesting as tears streaming freely down his cheeks. After all they had been through. After all the pain and uncertainty. After all the spark-breaking loss. Somehow Rodimus found people who loved him.

And he loved them too. With all the light in his spark.

He had a family once. Big and bright and imperfect in all the right ways. Although they had decided as a group that they’d rather die free than be conquered, Rodimus was the one that ultimately made the choice. They trusted him with the trigger and when the time came, he pulled it and shouldered a burden that nearly crushed him.

Lost and alone in the ruins of the city he destroyed, Rodimus nearly broke. Until Megatron pulled him up from the ashes. Slowly accepting the harsh reality that he’d never find any other Nyonian survivors, Rodimus vowed to do anything he could to keep Nyon alive, even if he couldn’t sort out his memories at first. Throwing himself enthusiastically behind the Decepticons as a way to continue his fight for Nyon, Rodimus would discover the world was far more complicated than he ever dreamed.

But he never gave up.

Step by step, Rodimus kept moving forward. He upheld Nyonian customs and principles. If he disagreed with his orders, he simply decided to do something else. He never compromised who he was. Eventually his commitment would put him at odds with Megatron and lead him to becoming the catalyst for the tentative peace treaty currently in place.

Who would have thought a scruffy Nyonian refugee would one day become a Prime?

He hoped his friends watched everything from the Allspark. He hoped they knew how much he loved them. He hoped they were as proud of all he did as he was of their unshakeable courage.

“Oh my. Aren’t you three precious!” Knockout cooed. He sauntered over to them with Breakdown in tow.

“Goldy! KO!” Rodimus exclaimed.

“Yes. How nice of you to finally notice us.” Knockout teased.

“Hey, KO?” Breakdown leaned his chin on Knockout’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. “That group hug looks awfully cozy. What do you say??”

“Don’t you dare!” Knockout narrowed his optics.

Breakdown laughed. Moving extremely quickly for a bot his immense size, Breakdown swept Knockout off his feet and gathered him into his arms. He plopped down next to Thunderclash.

“Watch the finish! I just buffed my topcoat!” Knockout gasped, more teasing that annoyed.

“I’ve got you, babe,” Breakdown said.

“Hmm… I suppose you always do,” Knockout settled into Breakdown’s embrace and caressed his conjunx’s cheek.

“Now that we’re all cozy together, YOU owe us a bit of an explanation,” Knockout poked Rodimus’ helm with a sly grin.

“Explanation? Me? For what? If it’s about the Matrix stuff, I don’t even understand that myself.”

“Please. Nevermind about the Matrix.” Knockout swat Rodimus’ concerns away like an errant scraplet. He trailed a single claw down Thunderclash’s pauldron. “I’m talking about this lush specimen right here.”

“Thunders? What about him?” Rodimus shifted slightly in Thunderclash’s embrace to face Knockout.

“What about him??” Knockout dramatically clutched his chest. “Since we’ve arrived here looking for you, Thunderclash has told us all kinds of stories about your adventures. Despite having known you since you first wandered into the Decepticon base, this was the first we heard about it.”

“Well- I- um-” Rodimus shrank into Thunderclash’s arms. It’s not that he meant to keep secrets, but he wasn’t really sure about his feelings himself. It was complicated. Plus there was the whole dynamic of warring factions to consider.

“Oh, relax,” Knockout chuckled. “There’s plenty of time to share all the juicy details. I can’t wait to hear more of your side of things. After all, the secrecy only adds to the romance of it all.”

“Romance?” Rodimus squeaked. His cheeks lit up bright pink. Sparks danced along his spoiler.

“Speaking of romance…” Thunderclash interrupted, his entire frame glowing brilliantly. He nodded towards the appearance of a certain red and white medic at the far end of the courtyard.

Drift’s finials perked up.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Ratchet called. He hooked his thumbs into his utility belt and casually moseyed towards them.

Rodimus caught Thunderclash’s optics. The big bots’ mischievous grin matched his own. When Ratchet drew near, Rodimus stuck out his leg. The medic tripped and lost his balance. Thunderclash grabbed him and yanked him into their group hug. Ratchet fell forward, practically landing in Drift’s lap.

“Hey Ratch! Would you say, you’ve fallen for Drift?” Thunderclash giggled. The fact that Thunderclash used the exact same pun within the span of several minutes somehow made it even funnier. Rodimus burst out laughing.

“Shut UP!” Drift and Ratchet shouted at once as they untangled their limbs. Their simultaneous response made them both blush bright. Rodimus and Thunderclash laugh harder.

“Bunch of goddamn hyenabots,” Ratchet muttered, his cheeks glowing softly pink.

At the mention of hyenabots, Drift snorted. Once Rodimus caught his optics, he started laughing too. Whether Drift’s laughter tickled his plating, or the infectious joy of their group hug bubbled over, Ratchet smiled. Knockout and Breakdown began to chuckle. Suddenly they were all laughing.

Rodimus wasn’t the only one feeling too many emotions. Everyone was simply happy to be alive and be in each other’s arms. For the first time it truly felt like the war was over. There was still so much to sort out and decide, but those were problems for tomorrow.

Right now, they all reveled in the intoxicating joy of each other’s love.

Chapter Text

Rodimus sat on the edge of the precipice and stared out across the horizon. The ruins of Nyon stretched out before him: broken buildings, tumbled stone pillars, and countless memories. The deep black ashen remains of Nyon’s self-immolation had begun to fade to soft grays. Faint whirrs and hums of unseen mechanicals filled the air. Sunbeams shimmered on the waves crashing in the Rust Sea. A warm breeze caressed his plating.

Rodimus hadn’t been up to this cliff since the night he and Thunderclash watched the Aurora Sparklights together. Although not too much time had passed, it felt like a lifetime ago. He supposed, in some ways, it was.

The war was over. Nyon was healing, but some things will never be the same. Rodimus clutched the datapad filled with Nyonian wanted posters Thunderclash had given him to his chest. He never stopped moving forward but he still grieved for all he lost.

With the recent news, Rodimus thought he’d be happy, but the more he thought about it the more unsettled he became.

After settling into a comfortable routine helping Thunderclash with his physical therapy, mapping the ruins with Drift, and showing new arrivals around, Rodimus sent a quick comm to Skywarp to let him know that he was alright. Drift told him the seekers had been worried and often teleported in to check on him while he recharged. Apparently aware that a simple comm would result in an instantaneous visit, Drift made himself scarce as soon as he mentioned it. Although Rodimus and the seekers were practically family, Drift still hadn’t entirely forgiven them for the time they warped him all over creation as a prank.

Rodimus had barely finished saying hello over the comm when the room filled with violet mist, which quickly cleared to reveal the three seekers. Skywarp laughed. Thundercracker cried. Starscream screeched about being abducted out of an important council meeting without his knowledge or consent.

It was chaos of the best kind.

They carried on until Ratchet physically threw them out of the building in a flurry of profanity, which delighted Skywarp to no end. Outside, they ran into Thunderclash practicing his transformation sequence with Knockout and Breakdown. One glance at the seekers and the medics knew their session was over. Knockout and Breakdown took the opportunity to escape the madness. Thunderclash on the other hand, embraced it with glee.

When Rodimus introduced them to Thunderclash, the jubilance hit a whole new high. Skywarp and Thundercracker fawned over Thunders, giving Rodimus a few quiet moments with Starscream. After swearing Rodimus to secrecy, Starscream actually hugged him! But then Starscream said something that made Rodimus’ fuel run cold.

With promises to return for a proper visit later, the seekers teleported away to return to their council session as quickly as they arrived. They rushed through the base like an unexpected summer storm and Rodimus felt like he’d just been drenched in a downpour. Although he was beyond happy to see them, Starsream’s words rattled around his brain like grit caught in his gears.

His plating twitched.

Rodimus did what he always did when he needed to burn off some energy. He quietly slipped away without saying a word and went for a topspeed drive. He hadn’t planned on coming up here, but it’s where his wheels led him.

Rodimus hugged his knees to his chest. What was he going to do?

“HEY! RODDY!!” A deep voice boomed from down the trail. “ARE YOU UP THERE??”

“Thunders?” Rodimus asked with a growing smile. Tension he didn’t realize was stiffening his frame slowly bled out of his joints.

“Oh thank goodness!” Thunderclash vented in relief as he rounded the last switchback on the trail to the summit. He sat down heavily next to Rodimus and stared out across the horizon. “I was hoping I’d find you.”

“Fancy meeting you up here. Did you feel like taking a hike this morning?” Rodimus teased.

“Not particularly.” Thunderclash shook his head. “This is the only place that I have a map to. It seems like so long ago when you first gave it to me. So much has happened since that day. If you weren’t up here, I’m not sure where I’d look next. I’d probably just be out there somewhere, wandering around lost.”

“While that’s all well and good, it still doesn’t explain what you’re doing out and about. I thought you’d need a rest after the seekers’ visit. They’re kind of intense.”

“Maybe, but they really like you and I 100% agree with them: you are pretty awesome. Their visit was lots of fun, but you seemed upset after they left. I just wanted to check on you.”

“You could have commed.”

“I guess. But sometimes it’s better to talk in person. If you want to be alone, that’s totally fine too. I understand.” Thunderclash moved to get up. “I can leave.”

“No!” Rodimus flopped sideways to lean on Thunderclash. The steady revolutions of his large engine reverberated pleasantly against his frame. “Please don’t go.”

Rodimus nestled against Thunderclash’s side. Tears stung his optics. What was wrong with him?

“Roddy?” Thunderclash asked softly. “What’s going on?”

Rodimus vented deeply. His vent fans stilled as he contemplated what to do in utter silence.

Thunderclash’s kind and earnest nature made it so easy to be honest with him. It went beyond being a good listener to genuinely caring. Thunderclash never demanded answers, he simply offered an invitation to talk. He was the first person Rodimus ever told about not being able to remember his friends’ names. Then he went out of his way to gather a collection of Nyonian wanted posters without knowing if he’d ever even see Rodimus again. Thunderclash helped him out before, maybe he would have some insight about Rodimus’ current issue.

“Starscream said something that really bothered me…” Rodimus mumbled as his vent fans reactivated with a soft whirr. His shoulders slumped. “He said that the new Cybertronian Council is progressing from the original peace treaty and beginning to plan the reconstruction of areas damaged by the war. They’re making a list of priorities to decide where to allocate the limited resources. Which is great, right? Except… Starscream said a lot of people favor sending aid to rebuild Nyon first...”

Rodimus paused. It was supposed to be good news, but it made the fuel churn in his tanks. He didn’t even have the opportunity to properly mourn Nyon’s destruction in the first place and it was already time to move on. Rebuilding a city where his friends’ ashes were mingled with the landscape itself felt wrong. But not rebuilding felt like a betrayal of everything they fought for. And he struggled to suppress the rising bitterness that no one cared about helping Nyon until after it was gone. The tears welling up in his optics finally spilled down his cheeks.

“I should be happy-” Rodimus sobbed. Tears streamed down his face. His plating shuddered. The datapad full of wanted posters weighed heavily in his hands.

“I dunno if anyone can ever properly say how you should feel,” Thunderclash smiled sadly. He gently wrapped one arm around Rodimus’ trembling shoulders and held him. “You feel how you feel.”

“Maybe…” Rodimus shrugged. “I mean a free Nyon was always our dream- but the heart of Nyon was its people, not the buildings- and they’re gone. How am I supposed to rebuild Nyon without them?”

“Maybe… maybe you can’t? Sometimes what’s lost can’t be replaced,” Thunderclash said softly.

Rodimus looked up at him, slightly in shock. He expected Thunderclash to say something inspirational about rebuilding, but he genuinely understood Rodimus’ dilemma. Thunderclash’s crimson optics sparkled with tears.

“Nyon has given so much, but its resilience still burns bright. After all the strife this place has endured, it’s still so beautiful. Miraculously, a diverse population of the local wildlife survived both Nyon’s initial destruction and the later battles. I’ve been through other active warzones; they’re completely barren. Death? Destruction? War? Nothing could break Nyon’s spirit.”

Rodimus’ optics followed Thunderclash’s arm as he waved across the horizon. Red and orange rock formations rose like solid flames, waves crashed against the shore at the Rust Sea, the Acid Wastes stretched out for miles in variegated shades of green. Bits of violet crystal formations thrust up from the caverns below shimmered in the sun. A pair of cyberhawks circled high above in the air currents on the hunt for errant petrorabbits.

Rodimus turned his optics from the impressive landscape to the person sitting next to him. Thunderclash’s ridiculously glittery topcoat dazzled in the sunlight. He smiled through his tears. There definitely was a lot of beauty on display here.

“What if instead of rebuilding the city,” Thunderclash continued, “you let Nyon recover in its own way? As a reminder of the immense sacrifice made here.”

“I don’t follow…”

“You could establish Cybertron’s first post-war national park. We had some beautiful ones before the war, but they’ve all been destroyed. I was in Hyperion when one of Shockwave’s weapons tests leveled the Manganese Mountains. The horrific explosion utterly destroyed an awe-inspiring landscape. Nyon suffered incredible damage as well, but its unconquerable spirit endures.”

Rodimus’ optics flared. He sat up straight and his mind raced. A national park?! The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Nyonians prided themselves on their fierce independence. Their indomitable spirit chose death over conquest. Nyon refused to be tamed. What better way to honor an unconquerable city than by letting it become wilder?

“Thunders! That’s an amazing idea!” Rodimus exclaimed. His smile grew. The warm breeze dried the tears on his cheeks. “All the mechanimals that survived are Nyonians too. We can protect them and honor the legacy that Nyon gave to Cybertron. We can make a shrine to everyone who died that day, or maybe a museum or- Oh scrap! What do we do about all the people that have already relocated here?”

“Every national park needs a border town.” Thunderclash shrugged. “Somewhere for people to stay, get supplies, and serve as a base of operations in case of emergencies. Since the old Autobot base was on the outskirts of the city, it might be the perfect spot to set up a small town.”

“It IS the perfect spot! We had already abandoned that section of the city, so we didn’t plant any plasma charges there. Everyone has been congregating there already anyways. I even have the perfect name for the new town: Lost Light.”

“That’s a beautiful name. What does it mean?”

“In Nyonian legends, we refer to the sparks of those who have died before us as ‘lost light’.” Rodimus hugged the datapad filled with his friends’ images tightly to his chest. “Since they’ve already joined the Allspark, we don’t get to see them anymore on a daily basis. If we’re lucky, we might only catch a glimpse of them during the Aurora Sparklights. They are literally the light we’ve lost… until all are one.”

“Oh, Roddy,” Thunderclash whispered, choking back a sob. “It’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

“Thanks. Not only for the compliment, but also for the idea. How did you come up with something so perfect?” Rodimus asked. Thunderclash had a knack for finding the perfect things to say. It might be annoying if he wasn’t so damn earnest about it.

“Well…” Thunderclash sheepishly rubbed the back of his helm. “If I’m being honest, national parks are always on my mind. I don’t remember if I ever told you, but I used to dream about being a park ranger. I like helping people, protecting wildlife, and exploring. Unfortunately the Functionist employment office insisted that I didn’t have the frame for it. They assigned me work as a transport instead. Then the war destroyed all the existing parks.”

“Well, your dream is about to come true!” Rodimus beamed. His smile faltered when he suddenly realized that he didn’t know what Thunderclash’s plans were. Drift already told him that he and Ratchet literally had nowhere else to go so they both planned on staying, but Rodimus couldn’t assume the same of everyone. What if Thunderclash wanted to leave Nyon and return to wherever home was before the war? “If- If you want it, of course. I didn’t mean to assume you’d be staying in Nyon, but- I mean, I guess I’m asking if you want to stay? With me?”

“I would be honored!” Thunderclash instantly accepted Rodimus’ invitation with gusto. His frame glowed soft pink. “I’ll stay by your side as long as you’ll have me. I’ve been all around the world, Roddy, but nowhere else has ever felt like home except when I’m with you.”

“Oh wow…” Rodimus said slowly. As Thunderclash’s words sunk in, sparks danced along his golden spoiler. “Really?”

“Yes. Really. Nothing in the entire universe would make me happier.” Thunderclash smiled. He took Rodimus’ hand in his. “When you repaired my spark, you balanced the life bond between us, which I inadvertently formed when I stopped a slab of rubble from falling on you. We saved each other from certain death. You will always be my hero, but I want you to know that right now, I am making the free choice to stay by your side. No accidental bonds. No binding obligations. It’s simultaneously simpler and deeper than any one tradition. I love you and I want to be with you. I am making my own choice. And my choice is you.”

Rodimus felt like he might burst into flames. His cheeks burned. How could someone love him so much? Nyonians valued free choice above all else and Thunderclash was choosing him. Perhaps even wilder, was that as he stared at Thunderclash, Rodimus absolutely knew he felt the same way. He chose Thunderclash. They might have met by accident, but now they actively chose each other. Rodimus wanted to say something equally as beautiful to articulate the love overflowing his spark. Instead he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.

“I guess you could say, you’ve decided to stay with me and park yourself in Nyon??”

“Oh my gosh! That was amazing!” Thunderclash burst into laughter.

He swept Rodimus up into a tight hug. Rodimus nestled himself cozily against Thunderclash’s frame. Intense happiness and contentment washed over him. Finding someone who appreciated stupid puns as much as he did was something truly special.

“I love you, Thunders.” Rodimus murmured.

“Me too,” Thunderclash squeezed him. A mischievous smile drew across his lips. “Seriously though, we have to put that on a bumper sticker.”

“What?!” Rodimus laughed. “Park yourself in Nyon?!”

“Heck yes! It is nothing short of perfection. I would totally wear one.” Thunderclash said without the slightest trace of irony.

BEEP! BEEP! Thunderclash’s comm system pinged an incoming message interrupting Rodimus’ sudden and extremely distracting daydream involving Thunderclash and bumper stickers.

“Oops! One second, Roddy. Drift is calling me.”

“Drift? Why is he calling you-” Rodimus stopped short. He realized with growing horror that he automatically deactivated his comm system when he went for a drive after the Seekers’ visit. It was a force of habit from his old days in Nyon. To avoid detection from Zeta’s goons, he often turned off his comm when he went out alone. Thinking about rebuilding dredged up all sorts of old memories. He buried his face in his hands. He and Drift promised they wouldn’t shut each other out anymore. Drift is gonna be so super hacked off.

>>Hey, Thunders. Is my idiot amica with you?<< Drift said coolly.

>>If you mean Rodimus; yes, he is right here.<< Thunderclash responded.

>>Could you please smack him offside the helm and tell him to turn is comm system back on?<<

“Drift wants you to turn your comm on, Roddy.” Thunderclash said.

>>That’s not all I said! Tell him exactly what I-<<

>>Heeeeeey! Drift!<< Rodimus winced as he activated his comm and joined the call.

>>Well well well. The prodigal prime returns.<< Drift grumbled.

>>Sooooo… How’s it going??<< Rodimus asked. >>Are you good? I’m good! Everything is good!<<

>>Don’t give me that scrap, Roddy.<< Drift snapped. >>The seekers show up for a visit and you turn your comm off and disappear, just like last time you hung out with them. I should have stuck around. Skywarp is a terrible influence.<<

>>I know. I’m sorry.<< Rodimus vented deeply. >>I didn’t mean to break our promise. I wasn’t trying to shut you out on purpose. This time it was an accident, I swear. Starsream said some stuff that dredged up a lot of memories and I guess some bad habits returned with them.<<

>>It’s okay.<< Drift softened. >>I know a thing or two about old memories and bad habits myself. I’m your amica. I love you, Roddy. You’ve been there for me through loads of scrap, I want to be there for you too.<<

>>Thanks, Drift. Really. That means a lot.<< Rodimus said quietly. >>I’ll try to be better next time.<<

>>I suppose I can’t ask for more than that.<< Drift sighed.

>>What’s the occasion for the call? Is everything alright, Drift?<< Thunderclash asked.

>>More or less. I was looking for Roddy because Megatron asked me to find him.<< Drift answered.

>>Megs? Is looking for me??<< Rodimus gasped. He hadn’t seen or spoken with either Megatron or Optimus since the gladiator fight at the Acropolex.

>>Yep. Remember how I told you Optimus was researching Nyonian glyphs? Well, he found something and wants you to be the first to hear about his discovery.<<

>>Why didn’t he just comm me himself?<<

>>You mean aside from your comm being off?<< Drift chided.

>>Oops.<< Rodimus hunched his shoulders.

>>Relax. He didn’t even try. Given your history, Optimus didn’t feel comfortable comming you directly, so he asked Megatron to do it. Since Megatron hasn’t spoken to you since the Acropolex battle, he didn’t feel right comming you either, so he asked me to do it. And when I couldn’t get you, I commed Thunders. So basically, now everyone is looking for you.<<

>>It’s nice to be so needed.<< Rodimus giggled.

>>Knucklehead.<< Drift huffed.

Rodimus laughed harder.

>>Whenever you’re done with your hyenabot impression, Optimus wants you to meet him in the caves under the Acropolex. He says it’s important.<<

>>The caves?<< Rodimus’ laughter trailed off. >>What’s he doing down there?<<

>>Dunno. But he needs to show you in person.<<

>>Alright. I’ll go find out. Oh! And Drift, are you and Ratchet doing anything later?<<

>>Nothing much. One of the newcomers, a minibot metallurgist named Swerve, turned part of the mess hall into an impromptu bar. We’re going to stop by and see if his engex is any good before Ultra Magnus finds out about it. You should meet us there.<<

>>Totally! Save us a spot at the table. Thunders and I have been talking and we have some great ideas about what to do with Nyon moving forward. You’re still planning on staying here, right?<<

>>Absolutely. Nyon has felt more like home than anywhere has in a long time.<<

The smile in Drift’s voice warmed Rodimus’ spark.

>>Thanks, Drift. We’ll see you later... Actually? You know what? Are you busy now??<<

>>Not particularly.<<

>>Good. Grab Ratchet and meet us at the Acropolex. I’m gonna tell you all about whatever Optimus found anyway. You might as well meet us there and we can all learn about it together. If he’s got something to tell me, he can tell my family as well.<<

>>Family? Me? And Ratchet? << Drift asked.

>>Duh. We’re amica and Ratchet is probably about to become my in-law or something.<<

>>AHHH! RODDY!<< Drift gasped. >>We just started dating!<<

>>Yeah but you’ve both been secretly pining for years so even if you want to take your sweet time about it, I think we all know where it’s going.<<

>>Speaking of pining... If you bring Thunders, I’ll find Ratch and we can make it a double date.<< Drift teased.

Rodimus looked up at Thunderclash. The big bot’s glittery topcoat shone in the sun. Love glowed his deep crimson optics like fire within a mountain. An adorable lopsided smile curled across his face. Sparks danced along Rodimus’ spoiler and joy electrified his frame. Despite Drift’s teasing, there was no denying his feelings.

>>Deal! Double date it is! See you soon!<< Rodimus signed off.

“Date?” Thunderclash squeaked, optics wide. Somehow he’d gone even pinker.

“Sure. Although, allow me to ask properly: Thunders? Would you like to accompany me to an impromptu archeological site? As a date?”

“I would love to! Thank you so much for asking!” Thunderclash accepted with exuberant politeness. He stood up, brushed the dust from his legs and offered his hand to Rodimus. A soft blush lit his cheeks. “Shall we go see what Optimus discovered? Together?”

“We shall!” Rodimus grinned. For a brief second he could almost see his friends cheering for him as he carefully stowed his datapad. Rodimus was so happy; he knew they’d be happy for him. After all, Nyonians shared everything, especially love. He grabbed Thunderclash’s hand, and the big bot yanked him to his feet.

“Bet I can get there before you!” Rodimus teased, his smile turning mischievous.

“Is that a challenge?” Thunderclash grinned. “We’re currently on top of a mountain, you know. I’ve got gravity on my side. Not to brag, but I’m pretty fast on the down hills.”

“Let’s find out. 3. 2. 1. GO!” Rodimus took off running with a laugh.

“Not so fast! I totally gonna win this one!” Thunderclash laughed as he chased after him.

Rodimus engine purred. Sparks danced along his spoiler. Buoyed by reckless joy, they raced down the mountain and into the bright Nyonian future.

Chapter Text

“Woo! I win!!” Rodimus proclaimed as he skid to a stop at the cavern entrance near the Acropolex and transformed back into bot mode.

“I almost had you!” Thunderclash laughed as he rumbled to a stop in his massive transport mode. He transformed with a flourish and joined Rodimus.

“I have to admit, you gave me a run for my money,” Rodimus conceded. Although Rodimus won, the margin of victory was smaller than he expected.

“I told you downhills are my specialty,” Thunderclash teased. He proudly thumped his own chest. The winged decal, free from any faction badge, glittered in the sun. “Gravity loves a heavyweight!”

The cavern opening yawned wide in front of them. Shadows deeper than a starless night lurked within the entrance. The temperature noticeably dropped as they approached the cave. Rodimus froze. It wasn’t the chill subterranean air or pervasive darkness that gave him pause.

When Thunderclash took a step forward, Rodimus placed a single hand on his chest. The big bot halted immediately. Thunderclash’s repaired spark hummed with a unique rhythm. Rodimus smiled as it tickled his fingertips like an unbalanced top that defiantly refused to stop spinning.

“Um… Thunders…” Rodimus began. “I haven’t actually spoken to Megatron since I read him the riot act… several times… on global broadcasts. I think I need a minute to talk to him by myself.”

“I understand.” Thunderclash gently clasped his large cobalt hands over Rodimus’ hand on his chest. “I’ll be right here.”

“You’re not upset I’m asking you to wait here?”

“Gosh! No! I respect your privacy.” Thunderclash gasped. “Your relationship with Megatron is very different from mine. You were a member of Decepticon high command while I’m pretty sure he personally tried to kill me several times, but that’s beside the point. If you want some time to talk to him, that’s okay. When Ratchet and Drift show up, I’ll have them wait with me until we hear from you. But if you decide you need a little company, just ping my comm, you don’t even have to say a word, and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Rodimus smiled. He turned towards the cave. “I’ll ping you when I’m finished with Megs. Then we’ll all see Optimus together. And I’ll even include some navigational data so you won’t get lost.”

“Thanks for remembering. You’re the best.” Thunderclash grinned and sheepishly rubbed the back of his helm.

“It takes one to know one!” Rodimus snickered when his comment made Thunderclash light up bright pink. He waved and slipped into the shadows. “See you soon.”

In lieu of activating his headlights, Rodimus stoked his fire ever so slightly and strolled through the darkness like a glowing golden beacon. More than simply a source of light, he always drew strength from using his unique ability. He trailed his fingertips along the cave walls. His flames illuminated the familiar grooves and patterns that decorated much of the cavern system. No one knew what the designs meant, not even Cor and he was positively ancient. Rodimus hoped Optimus had finally discerned their meaning.

A soft amber glow lit the next turn in the cavern. It was the classic hue preferred for the lighting systems of heavy industrial frames.

Rodimus vented deeply and strode around the corner, spoiler back and head held high.

Megatron paced back and forth, muttering to himself. When Rodimus appeared out of the shadows, Megatron instantly halted and his crimson optics flared.

“Hot Ro-” Megatron reset his vocalizer and corrected himself. “Rodimus. I’m glad you came.”

“Listen, Megs-” Rodimus began. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say, but that’s never stopped him in the past. Rodimus had slowly begun to accept that he couldn’t properly compose treatises in advance like Megatron, but speaking from his spark always worked out, and that was good enough.

“Please.” Megatron held up a single large hand. “I have given much consideration to the words that I need to say. I only ask that you allow me the opportunity to present them. Nothing more.”

Rodimus nodded.

“Rodimus. I do not regret taking up arms against the Functionist regime. The very core of Cybertron itself was screaming for change. Thousands… millions of sparks cried for freedom. Someone had to take up their cry. To give words to the silent screams. And when those words failed to enact change, to have the courage to wield weapons as dangerous as ideas.”

Rodimus folded his arms. He didn’t disagree with Megatron up to this point. After all, if Nyon hadn’t organized their armed resistance, Zeta would have conquered the city and drained every last citizen of their energon to fuel his war machines. Sometimes words alone aren’t enough.

“It is in the wielding of those weapons that I made my gravest error.” Megatron turned away from Rodimus and faced the deep darkness of the cavern. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Seeing the effectiveness of pure power, I came to rely on it exclusively. I underestimated that which I did not know and sought all solutions within myself. When Nyon… when you, called for aid, I couldn’t see a way for the Decepticons to achieve victory so I thought it best to allow Cybertron to witness Zeta’s cruelty. I set aside my words for weapons.”

Rodimus’ engine growled. Fire flashed beneath his plating, raging to burn free.

“Despite arguing with Optimus for days, neither of us even considered reaching out to you. In a civil war filled with tragedy, that was our gravest error. When Zeta destroyed-”

“It was ME.” Rodimus cut him off. Nyon chose death before conquest. Tears stung his optics, but he wouldn’t ever let anyone forget. “I burned the city. Enacting the final stage of a plan that every Nyonian agreed upon and helped implicate. Zeta may have marched himself into Nyon, but we made sure he’d never march out.”

“Hmm… indeed.” Megatron nodded. “Nyon defeated Zeta through incredible sacrifice, but it wasn’t finished. Through you, Nyon continued to fight for Cybertron, first at my side and then one your own, free of any faction. Rodimus, you showed Cybertron true courage. Through your example, the entire planet now knows freedom, even Optimus and myself.”

Megatron fell silent. Rodimus waited.

“Know that you have my eternal gratitude.” Megatron said with intense solemnity. He placed one hand over his spark. “I accept your anger and I dare not ask for your forgiveness-”

“Tough. You might not have asked for it, but you have it anyways,” Rodimus said.

“Have what?” Megatron whirled around to face him.

“My forgiveness.” Rodimus vented deeply. The golden glow of his fire mingled with the deep amber of Megatron’s task lights. “When I first came down here, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Finding out the truth about what happened in Nyon’s last days hurt. Knowing help was just out of reach… it angers me on a level that I can’t describe. And the fact that you knew and never told me… it’s going to take a while for that wound to heal.”

Rodimus paused. Megatron stared at him like he was trying to decipher a tome of ancient Cybertronian.

“The truth is, despite all that, you also saved my life. After Nyon burned, I was lost in every sense of the word. I had nothing. I felt like nothing. When the Decepticons first came to Nyon, you welcomed me into your ranks. Whatever your motivations, you gave me a purpose. You encouraged me to uphold my Nyonian traditions. You introduced me to Drift and getting to know him changed my life. I looked up to you...”

Megatron’s huge engine rumbled, low and cautious.

“It’s complicated, Megs.” Rodimus looked up into Megatron’s optics, bright matrix blue meeting deep crimson. “I’m hurt. I’m angry. But Nyonians live free and I don’t want to be bound by hatred. Although it may take a while for the pain to heal, I’d still like to extend the same kindness that you once showed me. As leader of Nyon, I want you to know that you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

Rodimus offered Megatron his hand. The huge ex-gladiator stared at Rodimus like he was offering him a roaring hot billet plucked directly from the forge of Solus Prime herself.

After careful consideration, Megatron grasped his hand, firm and solid. The ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Welcome to Nyon, Megs.” Rodimus shook his hand.

“Is there no end to the ways you can surprise me?” Megatron shook his head. He huffed a soft laugh.

“Guess we’ll find out together.” Rodimus shrugged and released his hand. He turned towards the dark tunnel and sent a quick ping to Thunderclash. “What do you say we go see what OP has discovered?”

Megatron nodded. They walked through the darkness without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. The only sound was the soft sibilance of Rodimus’ fire and the rhythmic thump of Megatron’s heavy shock absorbers. Lulled by the cozy ambience, when Megatron finally spoke, Rodimus jumped.

“When Optimus first requested your presence, I thought for sure you’d bring your Autobot,” Megatron said, breaking the tenuous silence. Although he continued facing forward, he angled his gaze down towards Rodimus.

“Actually, he’s on his way,” Rodimus answered. “And he’s not an Autobot anymore. He’s a Nyonian.”

“But he is yours then?” Megatron asked, his lips quirked in a sly smile.

Rodimus’ face lit up bright pink. Sparks danced along his spoiler. His stabilizers faltered and he nearly fell flat on his face. He sputtered trying to articulate an answer. He didn’t want to deny it, he did proclaim his love in front of the entire planet after all, but he never thought about Thunderclash in precisely those terms before.

“Hmm… You have a way of drawing people to yourself. Even I am not immune to the gravitational pull of your orbit,” Megatron mused, almost to himself. He vented deeply and locked his gaze on the shadows before them. He continued softly, “Before the war. Before the gladiator pits. Even before the poetry, I lived and worked in a mine, not unlike this tunnel…”

“Megs?” Rodimus asked, grateful for the change in subject but a little confused where Megatron’s thoughts were taking him. Megatron notoriously kept all details of his personal life as a closely guarded secret known to no one, except possibly Soundwave.

“It was a long time ago,” Megatron whispered. “I had very few close friends, but there was one closer than the others. More mentor than friend really. One day he was severely injured. The overseers decided he wasn’t worth repairing and cut off his rations. He was cast aside like a broken tool.”

Rodimus winced. His spark broke. Although his plating itched to offer a comforting word, Rodimus waited for Megatron to continue out of respect for the immense trust the retired warlord was showing him by revealing a part of his life that he likely never shared before.

“His injuries were the reason I always wanted to study medicine. Even with the introductory training I’ve received from Ratchet and Knockout, I could have saved his life. As it were, without that knowledge, I was powerless to relieve his suffering. All I could do was share my rations until the day I lost him when our cavern collapsed.”

“Primus. Megs, I am so sorry.” Rodimus laid a hand on Megatron’s broad shoulder. He knew all too well that some wounds remained painful long after scars had built up over the raw hurt. Grief wasn’t a hurdle to leap over, but a long meandering path that often doubled back upon itself.

“He repeatedly admonished me: ‘Don’t get attached; trust in your own strength alone.’ I realize those words were his own misguided way of preparing me for his inevitable demise, but I really took them to spark. For a long time, I thought it was good advice. I made his last words my doctrine, not forming close personal bonds, relying solely on my own power. Only recently have I begun to realize how tragically wrong I was…”

“What made you change your mind-”

“RODDY!”

Thunderclash barrelled around the corner with Drift hot on his heels. Slow and steady, Ratchet trailed behind them at the leisurely pace of someone on a relaxing stroll. Drift swiftly dodged past the massive glittery transport, reaching Rodimus first and practically tackled him.

In an unspoken answer to Rodimus’ question, Megatron merely smiled as the cavern erupted into jubilant chaos.

“I asked Thunders to do this earlier. Since he ignored me…” Drift lightly swatted the side of Rodimus’ helm. “That’s for turning off your comms!”

“Fair enough.” Rodimus nodded. Listening to Megatron’s story made his spark ache. Love for his family burned like fire inside him. A mischievous smile lit up his face and he wrapped his arms tightly around Drift’s waist. He hugged him, leaning back and lifting Drift off his feet. “And this is because I love you.”

“AHHH! Roddy! Put me down!!” Drift protested. He wriggled in his grasp.

“Ha! I could never pick you up before the frame upgrades! I bet I could lift Thunders too!”

“What?! Roddy! No!” Thunderclash gasped.

Rodimus held Drift with one arm and grabbed Thunderclash with the other. Already slightly off balance, as soon as he tugged on Thunderclash, the big bot tripped and the three of them toppled over, landing in a tangled heap on the floor. Thunderclash apologized, Drift swore, and Rodimus laughed so hard his vent fans hiccupped.

“If they hurt themselves, they’re your problem,” Ratchet muttered as he moseyed up to them, thumbs casually hooked in his utility belt. “I’m officially off duty right now.”

“Me?” Megatron’s optics widened.

“I don’t see any other medics around.” Ratchet shrugged.

It might have been a trick of the flickering lights in the darkness, but Rodimus could have sworn Megatron blushed.

“What’s going on-” Optimus Prime poked his head around the nearest turn in the caverns. His bright blue optics lit up. “Oh! Rodimus! You’re here!”

“Sure am!” Rodimus giggled as he disentangled himself from Drift and Thunderclash. “And I can’t wait to hear what you’ve discovered, OP.”

“Please, call me Orion Pax. After listening to your words at the Acropolex, I’ve decided to make a choice to try true to myself. Although I have yet to truly discern what that means, returning to the name I used before I lost my way feels like a step in the right direction.”

“Fair enough.” Rodimus nodded. He brushed the fine dust from his frame. “But, you know, OP totally works for that name too. Optimus Prime. Orion Pax. OP!”

Orion’s optics flared. “I suppose it does! In that case, I’d be honored to have such a nickname. I’ve read that nicknames are a sign of equality and affection in Nyon.”

“That they are!” Rodimus nodded. “Now. About your discovery…”

“Yes! Of course! Everyone follow me!” Orion darted back around the corner.

Megatron rolled his optics, vented a long suffering sigh, and followed Orion.

Rodimus cast a quick glance up at Thunderclash. They shrugged in tandem and then giggled about their synchronized reactions. He offered Thunderclash his hand. As their fingers entwined, he caught a glimpse of Drift leaned on Ratchet’s shoulder out of the corner of his optic. Rodimus smirked. Drift stuck out his tongue and aggressively cuddled Ratchet even harder. The medic’s faceplate glowed soft pink.

When they strolled around the bend, Rodimus’ jaw dropped. Although they were in a cavern deep underground, it looked as if they stumbled into an archival workshop. Temporary stings of industrial amber lights hung from the ceiling in an festive array. Makeshift tables lined the walls, strewn with stacks of datapads, samples of design patterns, and various literary resources. Rubbings of the carved designs littered the floor. Open toolboxes revealed an assortment of instruments, most of which Rodimus had never seen before.

“Ta da!” Orion proudly proclaimed as he gestured to an intricate design carved into the wall.

“So what?” Rodimus narrowed his optics, studying the angular patterns to discern some hidden meaning. “These designs are all over the caves under the city, although I’ve never found them in the rough crystal caverns-”

“Where the scraplets live?” Thunderclash asked, huddling close to Rodimus as if he expected scraplets to swarm out of the shadows.

“Yeah. Where the scraplets live.” Rodimus chuckled. “But those are technically outside Nyonian city limits.”

“Excellent!” Orion exclaimed. “That fits perfectly with my hypothesis!”

“Hypothesis?! Do you know what it says?” Rodimus asked eagerly. He’s always wondered about the meaning of those messages.

“YES! They don’t say anything! They’re not words at all!” Orion proclaimed triumphantly. He paced along the tables picking up different datapads to emphasize each point. “I’ve cross referenced every known dialect of Cybertronian, from the Primal Vernacular to Neocybex and everything in between. I even referenced Camien samples I obtained from Windblade and an extensive resource of Velocitronian dialects provided by Knockout, which were mostly fashion magazines, but that’s besides the point. These patterns lack any sort of syntax or grammar. Nothing even comes close to matching.”

“Then what are they?” Rodimus drew near to the wall and traced the intricate grooves with his fingers. Despite never giving two bolts about grammar a day in his life, Orion’s pure passion ignited Rodimus’ excitement as well. He had always assumed they were some kind of ancient graffiti.

“That is the question, isn’t it? To ascertain their meaning, we must consider other facts that we know about Nyon.” Optimus continued pacing. He counted out factors on his fingers. “We know they decorate the entire cavern system underneath Nyon. We know that Zeta craved the conquest of Nyon above all else to use its substantial energy to power his war machines. We know that the scorched ashes on the surface are beginning to fade on their own without any restoration work. We know that native mechanimals have survived both the initial inferno and subsequent warfare as if something sheltered and sustained them.”

“That last point is of particular interest,” Thunderclash piped up. “All of the other battlefields I’ve served on were completely barren and utterly devoid of all life.”

Rodimus smiled, his spark glowing with love for the big glittery idiot next to him. Of course someone who dreamed of being a park ranger paid attention to how warfare affected the local wildlife.

“Yes!” Orion whirled around and pointed at him like a professor teaching a group of introductory students. “Such a strange list of facts must be connected in some way. Logic dictates that there must be some commonality between all these factors found only here and nowhere else. So, what is it?”

“This isn’t some university class. Would you please just tell us what you’ve found without trying to make us figure it out for ourselves?” Megatron huffed.

“But you’ve already figured it out! You’re the one who made the discovery.” Orion’s bright optics crinkled, indicating the smile hidden by his faceplate.

“Me? I’m not a researcher. I’m here to provide subterranean expertise and first aid when you inevitably injure yourself, like when you burned your hand on the light bulbs this morning.”

“For which I am eternally grateful but… You’ve always had a different way of looking at things. I only wished that I understood how to properly collaborate earlier…” Orion said softly. He then shook himself out of his brief melancholic introspection and returned to the academic pursuit at hand. “Tell us what you said about the designs.”

“I only said they looked like circuitry traces, the microscopic patterns on the internal components of all Cybertronians.”

“EXACTLY!” Orion clapped his hands in triumph.

Megatron’s engine rumbled, “But what does that-”

“OH MY GOD!” Rodimus burst out. His optics flared wide. Everything fell into place.

“Rodimus figured it out.” Orion bowed to Rodimus like a teacher taking pride in his student’s success. “Nyon is your city, Rodimus. Tell us its secret.”

“Oh my god...” Rodimus repeated more quietly.

Rodimus squeezed Thunderclash’s hand. The big bot quizzically tilted his head, but nodded for him to continue.

“Nyon is alive.” Rodimus whispered. He pressed his palm flat against the wall. Tears welled up in his optics. He always thought he was the only one to survive the fire, but now he knew there was another.

“Alive?” Drift asked.

“It all makes perfect sense. Zeta tried his damnedest to conquer Nyon to use our energy. I always wondered how much energy a few scruffy refugees could have, but we weren’t alone. Whether he realized it or not, Zeta was after someone with far greater power than any of us.”

“Holy Primus.” Drift gasped as the realization struck him as well. His finials perked up. He tugged Ratchet along and stood beside Rodimus. Drift placed his own hand reverently on the wall.

“During the catastrophes, the mechanimals must have sheltered deep within the city. Nyon protected them, sustained them. In a way it protected all of us.”

Orion practically gleamed with pride as Rodimus put all the pieces together. Megatron’s gaze shifted between Orion and Rodimus. Suddenly his optics widened and his engine skipped a beat.

“Surely, you don’t mean?” Megatron gasped.

Orion smiled and nodded.

“Oh gosh. Oh wow! But that means- Nyon doesn’t simply appear to be healing, it IS healing. Nyon suffered damage during the fire and subsequent battles, but they were all surface wounds.” Thunderclash said. He squeezed Rodimus’ hand. His crimson optics lit up with joy. “It looks like we thought up the national park idea just in time.”

“National park?” Drift asked.

“Yeah.” Rodimus smiled, still reeling from the revelation. “Thunders and I were going to share our ideas over some engex with you later but, I want to preserve Nyon as it is. Nyon deserves to heal at its own pace.”

“Heal at its own pace? I still don’t get what everyone is on about.” Ratchet huffed.

Rodimus pressed his palm flat against the carvings. The faintest hum of energy tingled his fingers. He shook his head and laughed. How did he never notice it before?

He hooked one arm around Thunderclash and the other around Drift, who looped in Ratchet. Rodimus pulled them tight and they hugged him in return. His joy overflowed and his laughter quickly spread to everyone.

He was Rodimus of Nyon. He had endured fire and ashes and warfare. Through all of his anger and grief, he never gave up and he never compromised who he was. He sacrificed everything to defeat Zeta and give Cybertron a chance at a better future. When he thought he’d lost everything, he found something new: friends, family, love, and one exceptionally large Nyonian to protect.

“Don’t you see, Ratch?” Rodimus asked. Basking in the warmth of the love surrounding him, Rodimus grinned. “Nyon is a titan!”