Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chap 1

Hatching

Your memories of the incident are vague at best. Panic jolts through your body like an electrical current; charged as if through a body of water. Fingertips are numb, joints are locked in an agonising grip, and the cold/hot/searing/sharp agony seems to grow by the second.

In an effort to remain conscious, you brave to move a part of your body, any part. Your fingers are a lost cause, so you try for your toes with little success. They seem so far away. Your face then. A twitch of the cheek or even better, opening your eyes. Cheek first, you decide.

Your face is scrunched as if in a spasm. Not surprising considering how much pain you’re currently in. It’s the kind of mind-numbing pain that makes it hard to tell how long you’ve been there. It could have been seconds, it could have been days. All you want is for it to stop .  

This feeling is something you wanted desperately to end. You’d do anything to get off the ground, pick yourself back up and forget this ever happened. In this moment of trauma, your body screaming in misery, you wonder belatedly if your brain is meant to think this clearly or if you’ve just truly been here for so long that the adrenaline has worn off. Is your mind supposed to be this clear? You’re freaking out, yes. The pain isn’t subsiding, yes. But you’re here; having a clear conversation with yourself in your mind.

Despite the torment that you’re feeling, you revisit your goal. Twitch a cheek, or open an eye.

You force your cheek muscles to relax for a millisecond. A minute amount of light makes itself known through your left eyelid. You can do this. Just open your eyes.

Relaxing a tiny bit more, searing light stabs through the opening of your eyelid. You immediately close it. Focusing on this task makes the pain seem less concentrated; farther away. Try again.

Cracking it open again, you force yourself to keep your eye open, if only for a bit longer this time. Baby steps. As your eye blearily adjusts to your surroundings, the first thing that you notice is the light from earlier is brighter than you thought. It seems to grow and swell in a slow strobe-like fashion. The light has a  pale green, teal-blue tinge to it, and it’s everywhere . Reflected off of nearby surfaces (rock, you think) and ebbing slowly around you. As your eye continues to adjust, the pain seems farther and farther away now. 

The surface of the ground you’re on is wet, you notice. But it doesn’t feel wet. The same way that tepid or perfectly warm water seems to have little notice on the human nervous system. You also realise that you must’ve fallen down at some point. Prone as you are, the water barely registers on your closed eyelid. 

The water around you seems to be the source of the light. Its ebbing and flowing light patterns are the ripples that your convulsions are creating on the surface. The water isn’t deep, as you’ve noticed (focusing on the details of the room rather than the agony your body is trying to forget) barely enough to cover half of your face lying on your side. It tickles your mouth a bit, but you don’t dare open your lips to allow water inside. The water is opaque in its luminescence. Whatever this liquid is, it isn’t normal .

Straining your eye a little further, you focus on the rest of the details in the room. Rather, calling it a room is a bit of a stretch. There are rough rock walls on every side, naturally made and somewhat unstable looking. You try not to dwell on it; one panic attack is enough for you today, thanks. (is this a panic attack?)

From where you can see, the space seems more cave-like. The thin layer of mysterious water on the ground illuminates the room well, giving it a sea cave feeling, but for the life of you, you can’t remember how you got here. You chalk that up to the agony you’re feeling. 

The pain, coming in waves now rather than the steady thrum, gives you a moment to identify a particularly sharp rock that’s digging into your side from beneath the water. Using the ebb in pain to your advantage, you shift your shoulder to fall onto your back, allowing the sharp rock to dislodge from under you. The relief you feel is instantaneous. It’s like the electricity dial was lowered from a ten to a two.

The cave ceiling now has your attention. The movement allowed your pained breaths to ease somewhat; giving your body an opportunity to take in the oxygen it needs to start calming down. 

Three steady breaths escape you. One, breathe in, breathe out. Two, breathe in, breathe out. Three, breathe in, breathe out.

Limbs still stiff, but with marked improvement in the past few breaths, you feel around in the water for the sharp rock. Just to give yourself a task to focus on, and to see if the vindictive item was really as sharp as it felt.

Both eyes now out of the water, you use your hand to wipe some of the liquid out of your closed eye. It’s a struggle, but you manage weakly. The movement is sloppy and shaky, but it’s the most you’ve achieved in a little while.

Your ears, while seemingly both submerged, hear a low frequency noise similar to plugged ears underwater which is unsurprising. Except, it’s different from that. Almost like the sound of white noise, or like the hum of a fridge at night, or a lightbulb flickering into wakefulness.

The startling thing is that the sound immediately grows louder as soon as the sharp rock from earlier is lifted out of the water.

The frequency noise turns into a speaker feedback screech, and you drop the rock immediately in favour of covering your ears. The sound dims, but more from the rock disappearing back in the water than your hands muffling the noise. 

Having moved so quickly and instinctively to escape the noise, you half expected to feel that shooting pain again. The noise was so alarming and unpleasant that your arms moved on their own.

You pause upon moving your arms so quickly. For one beat, two beats, you wait for the painful consequences of your spontaneous action. Waiting a bit longer, the pain you expect never arrives. 

Instead that feeling of clarity returns. Taking another deep breath (which sounded a bit rattled and tinny, but otherwise fine) you get to work taking stock of your body. The shadow of your body reflects onto the ceiling of the cave rather unclearly, but still discernible. Two legs, two arms, a body and a head. All accounted for. You don’t know if you're bleeding based on the wet-not wet sensation, but your head doesn’t throb in the way you think it would with a head injury.

Closing your eyes, you focus on the fading sensation of pain in your body. It was more of a soreness now; a stiffness and heaviness of limb. The sense of finality in your pain earlier feels so far away and less tangible. Consciousness comes back with perfect clarity. Another deep breath.

Putting your hand over your heart, you will it to stop beating erratically. You pause. Your heart wasn’t beating erratically. Your hand shifts to reorient itself on your chest. A weird metallic noise rings in the cave, you pay it no mind. In fact, you're puzzled, you can’t seem to find your pulse. Normally, in your past panic attacks, your throbbing pulse is the last thing to subside. Now you can’t seem to find it.

Reaching up to touch your neck, your fingers brush your jawline looking for a pulse. The metallic sound didn’t ring this time, but your neck feels weird. Not like it feels weird there might be something caught in your throat. No, it feels weird like it doesn't feel like a human neck should . 

It has the feeling of lines like strings or cables; warm and active. And weirder still you feel them. Like your nerves are attached to the string. Maybe you really did have a head injury.

Reaching up to check your forehead for damage, you catch a glimpse of the light reflected off of a shiny object in the room. Only this time, it was something moving. 

Panic in your throat, neck, cables (don’t think about it), the object follows the motion of your hand and situates itself exactly in the centre of your vision.

A metal arm.

Trailing down and attached to-

The panic returns in full force. Your body feels caught as if in an electric current.

Harsh, sharp breathing that isn't enough, isn't normal, isn't calm-CALM DOWN can’t calm down what’s going on-why is that-what happened , what’s wrong with my-something’s wrong wrong WRONG

The clarity from earlier is a faraway memory, other hand (metal too, oh my g-) reaches up to grasp it’s twin (all WRONG, why is it WRONG)

The bright reflection of the water on the ceiling blurring the thrashing, panicked haze of your mind overtakes your vision, a choking noise leaves your throat. (don’t think about it, don’t think about it, stop thinking) The noise is back again, tinny and metallic sounding, and that only drives to spike your panic to a higher level. The unsteady rock walls shake slightly in the noise your body releases. Screaming, choking, crying. Loud, unfiltered horror escapes every part of you, unbidden and unrestrained. There is no stopping this panic attack now.

The walls continue to shake, more violently now. If there’s a cave in, no one will know you’re down here. The screaming might alert them though, a smaller rational part of your brain thinks. But that thought is immediately drowned out with more panicked wailing, with no forethought. Your alien, wrong arms scratch at the rocks beneath you. Enough gashes and maybe you’ll wake up from this frenzied reality and everything will be normal again.

Feet kick, and scrape against the rocky bottom of the pool. The waters foam slightly with your thrashing as you try to get those alien metal arms away from you. 

Shutting your eyes again, so hard it almost hurts, you will yourself to sleep or wake up or anything other than this. The panic seeps the energy from your body, two back-to-back panic attacks in a brief period of time, sucking the life from you and stealing away your will to stay awake.

As the blackness from your closed eyelids sinks you deeper into an uneasy unconsciousness, you think you may have heard a questioning voice, but even that seems too far away.

________________

The war had taken much from Primus’ children. No small part was due to his involvement, of course, but that did not lessen his feelings of guilt. Optimus had always done what he thought was best for his friends and allies, but the many battles in the war for Cybertron had caused him to make many sacrifices and many horrible decisions.

The Matrix of Leadership granted many benefits to the Autobot cause, but it had taken its fair share as well. As soon as the matrix had melded itself within his spark, he had become a changed mech. Emotions gave way to cold reasoning, making hard decisions easier to bear. The longer the matrix was within his possession, the harder it was for Optimus to remember what he had been like before. After over a millennia of battle, very little of the bot known as Orion Pax remained.

War had been a part of his existence every moment in the past million years. Yet here in the early moments of the post-war mornings, he found himself at a loss.

The war had been over for just over a decivorn. Still so early and tenuous, the years of wartime had always woken Optimus in an astrosecond; alert and ready to act. This weak and infantile peace was so delicate and he worried that at any moment that peace could end just as abruptly as it started.

Peace, Optimus realised, he had no idea what to do with.

Sure there were a few stray Decepticons that had refused to listen to the peace treaty, and a few unaffiliated whose whereabouts were unknown, but after a millennia of fighting, Optimus found himself dwelling on the darker aspects of what the war had wrought. No longer able to keep his processor busy with thoughts of battle strategy, his mind sunk into dark recesses of the irreparable damage that his actions had taken part in.

Optimus sighed in his berth and offlined his optics. There were so few of them left. With Cybertron dark and the last of his people either scattered or scavenging for energon, the future of the Cybertronian race seemed dim. With every passing clik, the last living Cybertronians aged with no hope of reversing the damage that had already been done.

Earth as a whole had been kind to the Autobots. With their alliance strong and their benefits numerous, Optimus knew the best way to survive as a species was to integrate themselves with the top species on a different planet. Not subservient or ruling over them, but as a partnership that benefitted both sides. Cybertronians as a race could no longer exist as an independent species; they now needed those partnerships to survive. A sick part of him felt like a parasite, and he clenched his denta grimly at the thought. A whole race unable to live without leaning on another species. How far they had fallen since the golden age of Cybertron.

He paused, unclenching his denta. That wasn’t entirely true.

The Malto family here on earth had achieved a miracle. In their mind it might be the same level of wonder as discovering that giant robot aliens lived amongst you, but to the Autobots and the children of Cybertron, it was nothing short of a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

The Malto family had somehow created new Cybertronian life here on earth. Terrans, as they were then called. They did not require energon to function, and they were intrinsically linked to their human families. Unable and unwilling to sever the link between the Terrans and the Earthlings, the newly created sparks chose to stay with their family and live a peaceful life, as was their due. Miraculous as their creation was, these beings did not have the spark to leave Earth and bring life back to the darkened Cybertron. It was not their world, and it was not their fight. Their connection to humans made their ties to Earth too strong to leave, and Optimus knew there was nothing he could do. He would never force his ideals upon such new, miraculous creations, but that didn’t stop the dark feelings of disappointment that settled deep within his spark. These were not the saviours of his people. And they would not be held responsible for the actions of his kind. 

That darker, rational part of his mind wanted to take the Terrans far away and instil within them the urgency of their miraculous existence. That they would be the sole wellspring of hope amongst all Cybertronians, Autobot and Decepticon alike.

He groaned. Part of him had even indirectly tested the bond between the Terrans and their human siblings. The direct connection they had with each other couldn’t sustain prolonged distance without negative effect. It wasn’t one of his prouder moments, but he had carefully analysed and prodded the bond between the Terrans, finding no substitute for the symbiotic attachment they had to their human siblings.

To make matters worse, the Emberstone, the catalyst of the Terrans creation, was lost in a cave-in. The waters of the Emberstone could sustain the Terrans, but without the object itself, no new life could be created.

Optimus and G.H.O.S.T. had been slowly and steadily working together to excavate the cave-in and retrieve the relic, but the work had been slow going and gruelling. Something about the land being on private property and needing a permit from the local government. He rubbed his optical ridge in frustration thinking about it. How could they not see the urgency of this matter? This single object could save his entire dying race and the reason they couldn’t act immediately was paperwork and red tape. 

While he was no stranger to the ins and outs of political bureaucracy, war had made signing documents on datapads a low priority. It was always act first, ask for forgiveness later. How many lives could be saved in the time it would take for documents to get approved?

So with a heavy spark and slower servos, Optimus rose from his berth and prepared to start another cycle in an uneasy peacetime.

And when Optimus rose from his berth that earthly morning, he had not expected this cycle to take such a turn.

Reaching a servo to his helm, he commed Ratchet.

:Is there any update on the excavation permit?:

:Optimus, what have I told you about getting a full, proper recharge?:

The Prime in question was already walking towards the main communication room G.H.O.S.T. had provided, recharge abandoned.

:Bad habits are hard to shake, old friend:

Ratchet was silent on the other line, no doubt shaking his helm and muttering under his breath. So Optimus continued.

:I take it there has been no update from the local human government?:

:Actually, a representative has been dispatched to oversee our excavation who will arrive sometime this afternoon. We will provide a summarised description as to the area of land used for the dig, the surrounding area needed for evacuation to retain both privacy and safety, and an itemised list of what we hope to find and how it may be used:

This gave Optimus some pause. :Why must they know how it may be used? We have already established that the item is of great cultural importance and is not a weapon.:

:I predict that like any sentient race, they are always seeking ways in which to improve. That or they may have darker plans with unknown reasonings.:

Passing through the halls of G.H.O.S.T. it may seem to the outside observer that the relationship between the humans and Transformers was completely honest. Posters the size of billboards lined the walls of the main halls with cooperative images of humans and Cybertronians working together. Both sides made an effort to ensure a positive public image to civilians, but there was always a level of skepticism on both sides. Neither could be fully trusted with the machinations of their goals, lest they be used against them.

So Optimus and his remaining Autobots primarily spoke over comm while in G.H.O.S.T. headquarters. A handful of humans were more trusted than most, Lieutenant Malto among them, but for the most part he was satisfied that he gave off an air of quiet contemplation, not speaking unless absolutely necessary.

Comm speak had become more common in the halls of G.H.O.S.T. among the few Cybertronian agents. Not everyone was fully trustworthy. Optimus himself didn’t fully trust every human in the facility, despite being the figurehead.

:I understand your caution. We will agree to the terms given, but only a surface value. Any critical pieces of information that may be used against us will be discussed over comms first.:

:Understood, Optimus.:

With the main entryway to the communication room in sight, Optimus stepped through and greeted his allies.

“Good morning Ratchet, good morning agents.”

A few human agents lingered around the smaller consoles and gave a few smiles or sharp nods in recognition.

“What’s on our schedule for the day?”

________________

The sound of murmuring is heard above you. Slight metallic noises, tinks and clanks, are muddled in with the noise. The voices are low, deep, and they’re far enough away that they’re hard to make out. 

The feeling of wakefulness comes back to you slowly, as if rebooting an old computer. (You don’t realise how right you are until later). Cognition comes after as you realise you're not in the water anymore. In fact, the ground feels more solid, and significantly less sharp. And metal? Your fingers twitch and touch the surface, the cool metal seeps through the tips of your fingers.

You cautiously peek open one eye. Blinding brightness greets it. You emit a low groan, and a deep vibration spills out of your chest. Immediately the murmuring stops and the clanging metal noises grow closer. You freeze, suddenly frightened. The vibration seems to grow within your chest, and you’re unable to control it. You feel you've gained the attention of something. 

From high above you, an answering frequency meets your ears. It’s low, like the voices, but careful and hesitant. You don’t know what’s happening, and at this point you’re too scared to open your eyes. The rhythm that seems to originate from you doesn’t stop, if anything it continues its ramp up in tone, sounding more like the high pitched ring of a crying baby.

“Optimus stop, you’re scaring them.” A gruff voice speaks from high above you. 

The deep frequency immediately stops. Your fingers clench at your sides.

A low hum is heard from above you. It sounds different from the first voice.

“Little one,” the second voice, deep and slow, seemingly addressing the room. Masculine sounding. Is he talking to you?

“Optimus, maybe this one doesn’t speak English.” The first voice, also masculine, but more gravelly than the second. “Do you understand us, little one?”

You freeze, but don’t respond. Maybe if they think you’re asleep they’ll leave you alone, like playing dead. Your fingers are starting to hurt your palm from how tight you’re clenching them. The vibration emitting from you amps up at the question.

Something large and metallic touches your arm. (Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.) It picks up your arm and lifts it gently, like a large set of pliers. Your body reacts, immediately snatching it out of the hold, and rolling what you can only assume to be further away. Your hand grabs the part of your arm that was touched, and you try to gain an upright position. Knees still on the metal surface, but still very much ready to run, your eyes snap open in the blinding light and you finally get a look at your surroundings.

The room you’re in is dim, and fairly militaristic. There are many levels of stairs and structures built into the building, with a large swath of seemingly empty space in the middle creating long pathways big enough for a plane to pass through. The lights, bright and cold, are the only source of illumination, giving you the sensation of being underground. You can’t see any windows looking out, but with how open concept it is, this is either a huge building or you're correct in your assessment of being underground. There are even a few vehicles on a floor far beneath you, definitely military in style. 

Your now harsh breathing echoes a little off the concrete and metal walls. The surface that you’re currently standing on is shiny metal, unpainted and unpolished; it almost looks thrown together in a rush. Some sections have exposed wood overtop the concrete. High above are screens and posters sparsely lining the upper walls. One screen says ‘We wouldn’t be G.H.O.S.T without your spirit!’ It depicts a military man shaking hands with something obscured by another poster in the foreground.

But more alarmingly are the two giant metal figures towering above you. One clad in shades of blue and red, slightly taller than the other in white and red. The white and red’s hand is outstretched in a reaching position. The giant pliers you felt from earlier were his fingers. Both look nervous, or maybe alarmed. 

The red and white one tries again to reach for you. The moment his fingers move, you back up a little further, shaking slightly. His hands immediately open, palms up in a placating manner.

“Whoa there, I won’t come near you. Just wanted to make sure you were functioning optimally.” His voice is clear and calm. He puts one hand to his chest. “I’m a doctor.”

His tone helps calm the vibrations of your chest. They slow, but do not stop. Plucking up your courage, you finally speak.

“W-where am I? What’s going on?”

“Oh, you do speak. Wonderful!” His metal face opens up a touch with a hint of a smile. “I’m sure this is all very new to you. My name is Ratchet, and this is Optimus Prime.” He gestures to the red and blue robot who hasn’t moved since you opened your eyes.

You don’t respond, looking nervously between the two of them.

“Do you have a designation? You look very new. Where’s your human?”

My human? Your face furrows. Confusion must be evident on your face because the red and white robot (Ratchet) mimics your expression. He turns to Optimus Prime.

“Do you think the human ran off once coming into contact with the Emberstone?”

The deep voice of the one called Optimus rumbles from above you. “It would be understandable given the situation. I’m only glad the stone’s energy signature allowed us to find you before an inevitable cave-in.” His blue eyes pierce you. You almost wish you hadn’t opened your eyes in the first place. The intensity you see in them frightens you.

“And reacquiring the Emberstone is a great asset for our kind, we have you to thank for that.” Ratchet adds, offhandedly. His large fingers type away at some giant screen mounted on the wall beside you. His tone seems almost as mechanical as his body. There’s a lot of complexity in his words, and you don’t understand what they’re talking about.

The taller robot’s blue gaze continues to bore down on you.

“You were created using the Emberstone, a relic of our kind. There are others like you, but they are far away and cannot be reached at the moment.” He pauses as if contemplating. “We’ve taken to calling your kind Terrans, since they are entirely new beings born here on Earth. Robotic Autonomous Beings, like us-only different.”

You look down at your hands, clenched tightly, silver and foreign. You shut your eyes and try to stop the panic that’s building inside you. The vibration builds with your panic.

This is all so weird. You don’t know what’s going on, and the not-knowing, the absolute alien-ness of everything makes you feel so alone. But, their voices and tones are so gentle with you. These beings aren’t really adults so maybe-

“How did I become like this?” Your mind skips over the panic and the words spill out of you. Your voice rings out shakily through the empty room.

The sound of quiet typing stops, plunging the room into a queer silence. Ratchet speaks up after a long moment, his metal eyebrows furrowed in a quizzical fashion.

“Like what?”

Your clenched (metal) fists open and close fluidly, and you can’t take your eyes off of them. The shine of new metal stares back at you. Ribbons of that blue green light from the cave emit from the cracks around your arm. A round gem sits at the back of your right palm. If you looked closely enough, you could even catch a glimpse of your reflection. You’re too terrified to look closer so you muster your courage and look up at Ratchet. 

“Metal.”

Ratchet’s eyes swiftly dart to Optimus and he returns the gaze quizzically. They share a moment of silence, almost too long, before returning their eyes back at you. It seemed like they share an unspoken moment of communication.

“May I see your hand?” His giant hand reaches out towards you, palm up, ever so slowly as if not to spook you. (You appreciate this, you’re ready to jump out of your skin. If you don't have- don’t think about it, don’t think about it.) His hand is grey coloured, and blunt at the fingertips. There’s no light emitting from the joints, unlike yours. His blue eyes, a different hue than Optimus’, meet yours. 

His hand stops moving a few feet away from you, giving you the decision to make the final move. Reminding yourself that he’s a doctor, even though you have yet to see any of his credentials, you place your palm on the tip of his index finger.

A small red laser spills out of Ratchet’s opposite hand and scans your foreign limb. You try not to flinch but fail miserably. A few beeps are heard from the computer screen high above to your left, and Ratchet gently removes his hand to continue typing, this time his eyes glued to the screen. 

A few beats pass, the typing never ceasing, and the self proclaimed doctor makes a few scoffing noises, shakes his head once, and even scowls at the screen. 

The vibration from your chest is quieter now, but not unnoticeable. Your fingers, no longer touching Ratchet, grip themselves tightly, fingers intertwined, the anxiety within you evident. 

The typing continues, faster than ever, and you even try to peer to see what he’s writing. The symbols are alien to you, and you quickly give up in favour of looking at Optimus’ expression. You don’t know these creatures, and you don’t know their motives or why they’ve brought you here. But their faces give away a little of what they’re thinking. Quizzical confusion, a quick flash of sadness, a sudden flash of hope, and something deep and dark makes itself known for a moment. For two beings who aren’t speaking, they sure do seem like they’re having a heated conversation.

Ratchet’s eyes flash to you for the briefest of moments, and then back at the screen. His typing slows, and then stops. He turns and looks at Optimus, brow furrowed, and then back to you.

“Do you have a designation?”

You blink. “A what?”

“A name. Do you have a name?”

Oh. That’s an easy question. “Yes?”

His eyes furrow a bit more, if possible. “And who gave you your name?”

It was your brows’ turn to furrow. Confused, you answer, “My parents, obviously.”

Silence rings out like a shot in the room.

Optimus leans forward a bit too quickly to your liking.

“Are you human? Were you human?” His voice is rushed and not at all calm like before. His hands rest unsteadily on the platform where you kneel. Ratchet shoots him a warning look but ultimately doesn’t say anything.

You look at Optimus with big questioning eyes, a little more scared than you were a second before. You answer quickly, startled. “What? Of course. Weren’t the others?”

Optimus’ blue eyes never leave yours. He stares down at you, as if scanning every part of you. It makes you uncomfortable, being so scrutinised. You glance over at Ratchet, who’s staring just as intently. 

The doctor’s voice is quieter when he speaks next. There’s a hesitancy in his voice. 

“How old are you?”

Another blink, another furrowed brow. “I’m sixteen.” You lie. Robots can’t tell if you’re lying right? All this tension makes you instinctively defensive. Sixteen was always a safer age to say than thirteen. You swallow nervously.

The age you gave didn’t seem to make them feel any better. If anything, it seems worse . Optimus’ eyebrows raise and his eyes widen. His gaze finally leaves your body and looks towards Ratchet. That dark look, combined with a glint of hope, shines in his eyes.

“And was there anyone in the cave with you? What do you remember?” Optimus’ hands tense as if holding himself back.

These beings seem desperate for something, that’s for certain. There’s something you don’t know yet, and you’re hesitant to give them the information they’re asking for. Trusting so easily after meeting them isn’t a wise move in your past experience, but you feel you have to give them something if you expect them to help you. But information goes two ways.

Ignoring his questions, and feeling a little braver, you ask, “Where am I?”

The bigger blue robot’s anxious hands freeze as if forgetting something. He straightens and mimics clearing his throat. The motion seems stiff and unpracticed.

“This is G.H.O.S.T. a small government organisation that helps Cybertronian and human relations.  We do our best to help the community, and keep humans safe from any extraterrestrial opposition.” He goes on to explain some particulars of the organisation, but a lot of the words are new to you and you have trouble following along. The speech seems very dry, boring and practised, as if spoken like a guest speaker at a school or on the news. You try to follow along, but when he starts to go into detail about some war 30 years ago, you kinda tune out. It seems important, but your brain just can’t follow. All this back to back stress makes it easy to zone out a bit, and luckily Optimus doesn’t seem to notice.

Ratchet’s typing in the background slows and he glances at you a few times during Optimus’ speech. Once or twice you see him raise his hand with the lazer and point it at you, only to shake his head and change his mind before putting it away unused. 

You get the gist of Optimus’ speech that he’s trying to make himself look positive in your eyes. That this place is meant to help you. It’s working, kinda, but only because you don’t have any other options at the moment. Ratchet seems a little more detached, you can work with that. 

Looking up at Ratchet instead, you address him. 

“How did this,” you gesture to your metal arms, “happen. Can you fix it?” 

You hate your voice for sounding so small. The metal under your knees feels cold. You try not to look down to see what the rest of you looks like.

Ratchet meets your eyes after a beat, slowly tearing his eyes away from the screen. He opens his mouth and closes it, as if trying to decide what to say. Logic wins, and he replies.

“The Emberstone is a relic of Quintus Prime, one of the many important artifacts of our people. It has the ability to ‘seed’ life on other planets, allowing those of Cybertronian nature to live there. It takes organic material and with the addition of cybermatter, it can create new life.”

He continues, “the Terrans, that we mentioned before, were created with the very same Emberstone. There is only one known in existence. Those Terrans were created by bonding with human hosts and sharing experiences with them. They exist in separate bodies than their human counterparts, but are no less connected. We learned they share emotions and even pain. Over time they became members of their human families and decided to stay with them in seclusion where they would be able to live more peaceful lives. We still see them sometimes, but-”

Optimus' deep voice interrupts him.

“The Terrans are unlike you. They were born on this planet and have an unbreakable connection to their human partners. I made the error before assuming you were of the same ilk. Something seems to have happened to make the Cybertronian form exist overtop of the human host. I will put Ratchet in charge of researching hypotheses on how this could have happened.”

“It is unknown yet whether this is a reversible change. Your condition is unprecedented.” 

Ratchet’s tone had an edge of finality.

You shut your eyes for what seems like the hundredth time. Seeing is too much, and you struggle to not let it overwhelm you.

After a moment, Optimus continues. “But if it means anything, I’m glad you’re here.” His voice has that tone that you would hear from a parent addressing a child, a little dismissive or maybe just busy. It has a layer of desperation underneath it you don’t quite understand.

He stands to his full height, you didn’t even realise he was bent slightly while talking to you, and looks around the room with a smile. 

“You’re welcome to stay here while we try to figure out a solution.” He nods at Ratchet, who frowns back at him. “I will arrange for a private room for you where you can have your privacy.” 

“In the meantime, with your help, we have acquired the Emberstone, which is a great asset to our species.” (You’re not sure if he means you, with you both being metal and all.) “With it, I’m sure we can figure something out. And our best doctor is on the case!”

Ratchet seems to only frown deeper, but he doesn’t disagree. Maybe he just doesn’t like being told what to do? Optimus continues. “Until then, we at G.H.O.S.T. will ensure your safety and do everything in our power to assist you.”

You get the feeling that he’s trying to end the conversation politely, a stark contrast to how eager he was when you first woke up and spoke to him. His large grey hands usher you to your uneasy feet and scoop you up unceremoniously. The motion is so alarming that you let out a small ‘eep’ and your head rushes as the ground shoots further away.

“I’ll take you to your new quarters so you can rest.”

And without another word to Ratchet, he holds you in one palm and covers you with the other. The obstruction of your vision means you don’t get a good look around, but you get the sense that he’s moving urgently. His heavy stomps are set to a neutral but hurried pace as you wonder where the hell you’re going. 

A few moments pass without conversation and from between the cracks of Optimus’ fingers you can see small figures deep below you walking around. Not many, just a few human folks in dark military uniform, and you decide against getting their attention. (What would they do against a robot a hundred times their size?)

Shuffling a little closer to the thumb, you continue to watch the floor go by beneath you. Curling up a little smaller, your fingers seem so small in comparison to the ones you’re surrounded by, literally caging you. The metal palm you’re in is not uncomfortable, but you don’t like the way every step seems to bounce you up and down slightly. 

Moments after you get used to the slight bouncing and obscured light, Optimus’ upper palm lifts away and you can feel yourself being lowered down into a room below you.

Stepping gingerly off of the grey hand on unsteady feet, you get a good look at your surroundings as Optimus speaks.

“I’m afraid these quarters will have to do for now while we get your accommodations prepared. I theorised that you would be more comfortable sitting and lying on something softer and more familiar.”

He gestures around to the surrounding military vehicles and office chairs. You seem to be in some sort of large storage hangar. There are vehicles of different sizes and purposes littered around the concrete floored space. The hanger is so big that Optimus can stand at his full height and not have to worry about his head grazing the ceiling. Each of the walls are cold steel, unpainted and unadorned, with the exception of a black logo that you guess has something to do with the organisation he was talking about earlier. A few spare office chairs are littered around the hanger, seemingly random and not at all comfortable looking. Everything is steely grey and uncoloured, professional and cold. The air in this room must be freezing, but you don’t feel it.

The room goes so far back that you can’t even see the far wall. Big tarps obscure large vehicles from dust and a large hangar door, big enough that even the largest vehicle can pass through, sits at the midpoint on the left wall. The doors are massive, and look incredibly heavy. A huge beam keeps the doors tightly shut with a mechanism that probably only Optimus or Ratchet could use. If you wanted to escape from there, you don’t see how.

“The doors are unlocked in all the vehicles if you need somewhere to lie down. Feel free to use this space to relax while we prepare a proper room for you.”

You notice that he never expressly  asked if you wanted to stay here. He’s not giving you a choice, or maybe he’s just forgotten to ask. You hope it’s the latter, but you don’t speak up.

Without your noticing, he has turned and is facing the door you probably came in, your sight was obscured on the way in.

“Either Ratchet or I will be with you shortly once the preparations are complete.” His hand hovers on the massive door frame. He pauses as if to say something else, his mouth opening, but then he shuts it and turns away, having changed his mind apparently. His booming steps get quieter as he walks away, the door shutting behind him automatically with a deep mechanical thump.

You’re alone now, as the silence creeps around you. The walls, ever expansive, seem to press in closer suffocatingly. You shuffle over to the closest vehicle and lie down on the back seat, closing your eyes. The leather is cold but it doesn’t bother you. It’s kinda stiff but anything is better than solid concrete and steel floors.

Clutching your fingers together tightly, you curl into a ball, and try not to think of anything.

Chapter Text

Chap 2

Nestling

After a while of listening to the electrical thrum of the lights in the hangar, you decide to get up and snoop a bit, starting with the vehicle that you’re currently in.

The backseat where you’ve been lying is slightly depressed from your body weight, and the backs of the chairs have no pockets. You poke your head briefly in the trunk, but you don't see anything back there either. Crawling into the front passenger seat without exiting the vehicle, you open the divider between the driver’s side and you. Two coins of a currency that are not from your country greet you, and you quickly lose your interest in them.

The glove compartment, however, is a goldmine. Fighting a small smile on your face, inside you find a brochure, the vehicle’s license and registration, and a government issued ID . Trying not to act your age, you take a look at the government issued ID and frown upon reading that it’s expired. Damn, this could have been useful.

The license and registration is useless to you, as you’re nowhere near old enough to drive. Not to mention most of the words are technical jargon and you don’t even really know what a license and registration is for , anyway.

The brochure is probably the most useful piece of information you’ve found. The title reads : Our Robot Allies and what They can do for YOU. Inside is a comprehensive summary of Cybertronians and how they ended up on Earth. You skim the first few pages before realising this could be important information, so you go back and read more thoroughly.

There was a war, just like Optimus said, but instead of fighting invaders they were fighting their own kind. Autobots and Decepticons, they were called. Optimus was more important than you expected, because his face was on every single page. As the leader of the Autobots, he even persuaded the Decepticon leader to join his cause. The war had apparently gone on for millenia, but you’d bet that’s either a typo or an exaggeration.

The last few pages of the brochure dictate the Human and Autobot alliance that culminated with the creation of G.H.O.S.T. Along with the different opportunities and causes that the robots are tasked with, the giant robots are apparently ‘guest envoys from a far away planet’. Sure, if that’s how they want to spin it. The year on the brochure dated the organisation as pretty new, maybe less than two years old. That explained the cobbled together feel of the rooms you’ve been in. Everything you've seen (which granted, isn't much) has that impersonal feeling to it, combined with that new car smell that seeps into all the leather furniture, including the office chairs.

Satisfied with your immediate finds, you exit the vehicle, feet shuffling to the floor. You get a closer look at your own bodily appendages through the dark reflection of the car window. 

Your feet are bigger, with no discernable ankles except for a round hinge-like joint. That same greenish light comes from the divots in the metal, but they are more subdued farther away from your eyes. Every part you can see is covered in shiny new metal, and the reflection off the window of the dark vehicle confirms your worst suspicions.

Your face, which was previously adorned with skin, now is the same silvery pallor, with a helmet shape sitting over your brow. Moving your brows moves the helm, so you guess the metal is kind of malleable? You try not to freak out when instead of looking into your familiar eyes, two blue-green lights blink back at you. Cold unease sits like a rock in your stomach. The shape, the colour, everything about you is unfamiliar, and even your pulse has abandoned you. The panic you feel building is quenched by the stubborn frustration of not doing this again. In recent days you’ve spent too long panicking, and if you’re gonna improve the horrible situation you're in, you gotta chill out . 

Your metal feet make soft metallic tink sounds as they touch the concrete floor, and you walk around the room pointedly ignoring your reflection in the other car windows. Instead, you try to focus on exploring the massive room.

The silence, which before was oppressive, now is a bit more comforting. You’ll be able to hear the doors open if anyone decides to come in, and besides the low frequency that your body won’t stop emitting, there are no other noises except your tinny footsteps. 

The vehicles here are varied in size. Some clearly with the sole purpose of transportation, like the large cargo-looking van you can see off to the right; others are unrecognisable with their purpose. There are a few black civilian cars, each with the license plate removed, and you think based on the shape of the tarp way in the back, there might even be a tank . 

Walking further to the larger vehicle area, the room darkens as the tarps cast huge shadows over the smaller transports. Here near the back, these tarps have a very different shape to them. Rather than pointed and narrow, these ones are tall and wide. Wheels peek out from the bottom, but they seem so small in comparison to the size of the shape hidden under the grey tarp.

Shifting closer, you take your hand and lift the sheet up enough to give yourself a better look. Underneath you find more grey panelling, but smoother and more aerodynamic. A closer inspection looking at either side confirms your suspicions, these are planes! Your childish curiosity demands you try and get a look inside one of the cockpits.

Relatively excited, you begin looking under all the wider tarps, finding planes of varying sizes. Some have propellers, some have turbines, some are clearly weaponized, but you try not to look at those too closely. All of them are big, and there’s no way for you to explore the cockpit as much as you want to.

Kind of disappointed, you walk around a bit further until you find a smaller shape partially obscured by its tarp. This one is a plane too, but it's much smaller. The tarp has fallen off of the back end, showing off its colourful rudders. It’s the only colour you’ve seen so far in this grayscale hangar, and its bright red panels beckon you forward. 

Wanting to get a closer look, you take both of your hands and grab the fabric and pull . A small cloud of dust kicks into the air as the tarp hits the concrete floor and exposes the small plane to your eyes.

It’s definitely only meant for one, maybe two passengers, and its sharp design shows that it’s meant to go fast . The nose is pointed like a needle, and small unknown weapons can barely be seen underneath the grey wings. The size of it makes it seem almost childlike in comparison to its larger neighbours, with a subtle nod to the fact that it’s meant for speed and accuracy. 

The longer you stare at it, the more you feel drawn to it. Weirdly, you feel alike in some weird way; a small metal creature surrounded by bigger, scarier machines. Just two little guys in this big grey hangar. Your eyes squint as if looking closer, as if you could understand more about this small plane despite not having any prior knowledge. 

Oddly, you feel inside your head that something you said was incorrect. Not a plane per se, but a jet . More information filters through your head, unbidden. Scorpion : an all- composite material fuselage jet designed for light attack and intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance missions; expected service life of 20,000 hours notwithstanding landing gear. 

A searing green light pours out of your eyes and passes over the small jet. Like a scanner, reminding you vaguely of Ratchet’s red beam, the light begins at the rudder and ends at the nose, pouring lines and lines of information directly into your brain, overwhelming with its speed. You shut your eyes in an attempt to stop the flow, but it’s too late. A harsh metallic screech is heard from within your chest, and the feeling of shifting and changing comes over you. The sound of metal whirring and clanging surrounds your ears, and it overwhelms you. It’s weird and you don't like it. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like passing through a covered slide and coming out upside down without that weird sense of feeling upside down.

Your eyes, finally shut, blessedly shut, try to block out the information that is slowly trickling to a stop within you. You try to support your head in your hands, but your hands aren’t moving the way you wanted them to. You try flexing your fingers, but the most you can feel moving are these little flaps, which you assume are your fingertips. Everything feels wrong and weird .

Breathing heavily (or at least trying to) you try to focus on these small movements to bring you back to yourself. Wiggling your toes, you find that those aren’t moving the way you want to either. You can feel them shifting side to side, but you don’t feel confident enough to open your eyes. You don’t want to fall back into another panic attack and visual stimulation will definitely bring you there closer. You know this from past experience.

Steadying yourself as much as you can, you try to focus on the information that forced its way into your brain. It's like a lot of schematics that you don’t understand, but there’s a bunch of stuff mentioning the word T-cog. The more you focus on that word, an image of a circular mechanical device appears in your brain, but you don’t know what you’re looking at so you try to ignore it.

The thoughts inside of your head seem weird and computer like. Information appears like pop-up screens; intrusive and startling. Information that you don’t remember learning appears like a browser window and focusing on any particular aspect causes you to fall down the rabbit hole of information. It’s kind of interesting, but overall it’s confusing. Mostly it helps you stop focusing on how weird your body feels. Which, at this point, is becoming less and less of a new occurrence. 

Being part mechanical must mean your brain is part machine too, right? Or are you all machine? You hope Ratchet gets back to you sooner so you can stop having to fight yourself with these questions.

The jet’s schematics are kinda pretty to look at, once you figure out a way to look them up visually. Again, you don’t really know what these words mean, but the visuals are labelled and they help you understand a bit more about the plane. Focusing on the cockpit area, you discover the jet even has a radio! Which makes sense considering the planes must have some way to communicate with each other. Having your own built in radio would be a useful skill to have, or at least a good way to combat your boredom. You don’t know how long it’ll take for G.H.O.S.T. to get your room ready, but once you’re done snooping around the hangar you can’t think of anything else you can do until they come back for you.

Focusing intently on the radio blueprint in your internal visual schematic, you hear a small crackly noise. Still too nervous to open your eyes after that weird feeling you got staring too closely at the plane, the crackling changes to a muffled, distorted voice. Concentrating harder, the voice becomes more clear:

: -weather was real nice this evening with clear skies and a-:

The radio! And it works inside your head? How does that even work? As cool as it is, you shudder to think about all the ways your body has changed as of late. Try to focus on the positives for now. You won’t be bored!

Changing stations is a little harder, considering you don’t really know the stations in this area by heart. Flipping through manually (or, in your case, mentally) you practise for a while until you find a station that plays some music that you like and you take a few moments to listen to it. 

The music is soft and slow, with no discernible lyrics, which is good because it helps you get your mind off of your current predicament. Lying on the concrete floor, taking a moment for yourself, you feel the previous panic within you slow and cease.

The mechanical whirring returns without panicking you this time. You feel that shift overcome you again, and by the time the noises stop, you can feel your fingertips and toes again. Wiggling them, they feel just like they used to, metal and all. 

Weirdly, that frequency that was constantly pouring out of your chest has ceased. Or, you note, it’s shifted to your internal radio frequency. That’s good, right? It’s no longer emitting audibly, instead existing only as an internal hum which (you hope) only you can hear. It fades into the background and soon you don’t even notice it anymore.

Feeling pleased at your multiple successes and talking yourself down from a panic attack, you wander around the hangar a bit more until you decide there’s nothing else you can really do. The radio plays a constant stream of music inside your head, but other than that nothing really changes while you wait.

There are no windows to the outside that show the passing of the sun, and the radio mentioned that it’s three something. You’re unsure if it means daytime or nighttime, but you don’t feel tired and oddly you don’t feel hungry either. There’s no way to tell how long it’s been since you got here, or even how long you’ve been snooping around, and given everything that’s happened recently, it’s no wonder why your internal clock is all out of whack. 

You pick the closest car to the entrance where Optimus brought you and climb inside. You leave the door open in case he comes back while you’re taking a nap. Hopefully he’ll notice the open door, but you know the noise of the massive door opening will wake you up before he even gets close. You’re not sleepy, but this may be your only way to pass the time. It’s a little harder to get comfortable than earlier, but you find some weird position that works for you. Plus, the music helps in lulling you to sleep. 

Your metal hands tucked underneath your metal head, and your metal knees pressed up against your metal chest, you close your blue-green eyes and focus on the music to help you fall into an uneasy sleep.

________________

: -out a call to all Cybertronians, we are extending an invitation to any of our kind that wish to join us on an inaugural voyage back home to Cybertron. This invitation is open to any and all who abide by the peace treaty and wish to rebuild our home and return it to its former glory. We-: 

Groggily, you furrow your brow ridge. One of your hands reaches up and tries to cover your ears. You feel around for your ears, but can’t feel them? The voice continues without stopping.

: All of us have suffered during the war, and we here at Autobot command are sending this transmission with a message of hope: we have the Emberstone. This relic of Quintus Prime may be a way to reinstill life on Cybertron and may be the key facet in the salvation of our race.:

The voice is deep and sounds relatively familiar. 

: -will be leaving Earth and venturing through a space bridge back to Cybertron with the Emberstone on board. Those who wish to join us must respond to this transmission by the end of this solar cycle. If you have not responded in due time, the voyage will depart without you. This voyage is meant for those who wish to aid in the regeneration and potentially witness history in the making. : 

Your eyes shoot open.  The voice sounds familiar because it sounds like Optimus. What’s he saying? You focus on his words more closely. You caught the word Emberstone, something you remember Ratchet saying was important to their race. Voyage was also mentioned a few times. Are they leaving? Without helping you like they said they would?

Cold panic returns within you, beside a growing wave of anger that you try desperately to quell. They’re gonna leave . Would they have enough time before they leave to help you figure out if your condition can be reversed? Space travel surely takes time, right? And who knows how long a cycle is anyway. The word is foreign to you. Could be a whole year for as long as you know.

You shudder instinctively. You hope it doesn’t take a year to fix you.

More information filters through your head as the transmission continues, but you can’t focus on the specifics. The humming noise (that you figured out symbolises your panic) overrides the bulk of the transmission and makes it hard for you to concentrate. You shut your eyes again, tight this time, and wiggle your fingers and toes anxiously.

The transmission loops a few times before you hear a noise outside the vehicle. Stumbling stiffly upright in the backseat of the nondescript black vehicle, you peek your head out of the open door to see who’s come into the hangar.

Outside you can see giant red and white metal feet. The doctor of the Autobots notices you peering out of the car and looks down at you through the vehicle's darkened back window, and he's frowning.

“Little one, it’s only me.”

You stare at him.

He stares back and furrows his brow.

“We’ve prepared a room for you. Would you like to accompany me to see it?”

You nod, and step out of the darkly coloured vehicle. 

The moment your feet hit the concrete, Ratchet’s eyes go wide. He stares at you, mouth agape, and freezes. Not again. What’s the matter this time?

His eyes never leave you, and he puts a hand up to the side of his head and speaks, but he’s not talking to you.

“Optimus, you’re going to want to see this.”

Ratchet takes a knee, lowering himself closer to your level. The doors shut automatically behind him, but they're not shut for long.

Not even ten seconds pass and Optimus walks through the door as well, clearly hurried by Ratchet’s call, the sound of the metallic clunk of the door closing timing perfectly with the sudden expression that appears on his face. 

At first it’s similar to Ratchet’s expression; shock, plain and simple. Then a slow but genuine smile appears on his face. He looks at Ratchet who doesn’t return his smile. This doesn’t deter him and he looks back at you.

“Little one, what were you doing in here while you were waiting?” His tone sounds like a parent who’s caught their child in a humorous situation. You find it confusing and slightly maddening, and it makes you feel guilty like you did something wrong. He takes a knee, and you fight with yourself not to take a step back in fear from his hulking figure.

Your eyes flit between Ratchet and Optimus. Were you not allowed to look around? They didn’t mention it when they left you here. Did they expect you to just wait quietly doing nothing until they came back? On one hand there were definitely some no-no touching things back here (like the tank , for example) but you hope you’re not in too much trouble. How many areas of a government organisation are kid-proof anyway? They were the ones who told you to wait here.

You look at him stubbornly and muster up some courage that would have been impossible before your nap. 

“Well what was I supposed to do? Just sit here doing nothing?”

Optimus chuckles quietly and his small smile doesn’t falter. Ratchet’s laser scans you again but you ignore him in favour of scowling at the Prime.

“Looked at some of the vehicles, did you?”

You bite your lip in frustration. You felt like he was toying with you. Get to the point, already!

“Have you gotten a good look at yourself? Anything new or strange happen while we were gone?”

The answer to the first question was easy. Sure, you looked at yourself in the reflection of the car window earlier. And weirdly yes, you noticed that you can connect to the radio now, but you don’t tell him any of these things. You just continue frowning, and nod at him.

His big hand comes down in a scooping position, but he doesn’t pick you up. Instead his grey finger curls and touches something on your back that makes you jump because you swear that wasn’t there before.

On your back, angling downwards, are two flat panels that taper off into a triangular shape. They have smaller panels with a hinge you can barely see from your angle, and the weirdest part is you can feel them. They look similar to the Scorpion jet’s wings you saw earlier. In fact, looking at the schematic closely in your head, you find that it’s exactly the same.

Your eyes trail from the wings (your wings?) on your back to Optimus’ expression, which looks nothing short of delighted. He shoots a glance over to Ratchet as if to say ‘can you believe this’, but Ratchet rises to his feet and continues typing furiously on the panel on his arm without looking away. You gulp and follow Optimus’ arm with your eyes until you meet his face.

“Is this…normal?”

Blue eyes stare into you, the cold hue seems more intense now.

Another chuckle response. “Better than normal. It’s a miracle.” His voice is so soft. His fingers don’t stop caressing your wingtips, the motion makes you feel awkward. “You picked a flight mode. You’re the first new Seeker since the fall of Cybertron.” His eyes have a heavy quality to them, as if he’s reminiscing about something painful. 

You don’t like the pressure his eyes seem to press down on you. But there’s no way you have the strength to push his huge fingers away. Instead you look pleadingly at Ratchet, hoping to catch his eyes.

“What’s a Seeker?”

Successful, Ratchet’s eyes look up from the screen to meet yours, but only briefly before they turn back to the panel on his forearm. His typing doesn’t stop.

“A Seeker is a Cybertronian with natural flight capabilities.” He hums in response. “Currently there are only three known living Seekers in existence.” His eyes, too, have that sad quality to them. “As bad luck would have it, Nova Storm, one of the last Seekers, was lost in a botched mission less than a stellar cycle ago.” He glances up at you again. “The war wasn’t kind to Seekers at the start, and even less as the war continued.”

That cold rage within you is back, and this time you can’t suppress it. You use your small hands to push away Optimus’ fingers and take a step away from him. The dreamy, delighted haze hasn’t left his face, but his fingers don’t move from where you pushed them.

“What about changing me back? You’ll still help me, right?” Ratchet pointedly doesn’t look at you, seemingly far too engrossed with his forearm panel screen. 

Optimus regards you warmly, ignoring your harsh tone. “Of course we’ll help you in any way we can.” His words have a dismissive quality to it that you dislike. “Forgive me, I was merely excited to observe the first Seeker in many millenia.” 

You open your mouth to say something, but Optimus interrupts you.

“I’m sure you’re very excited to learn to fly, but unfortunately that will have to wait until we can undergo a full checkup on you, and ensure you have a safe space to practise.” He joins Ratchet and stands from his kneeling position to continue speaking. 

“Come, let us show you to your new quarters.” And without another word, you’re once again scooped up (without your permission) into Optimus’ grey hands and carried out of the hangar. His right hand covers your head like a metal cage and you catch him beaming at Ratchet before his fingers obstruct your vision completely. The fingers are tight this time, so you don’t get a chance to peek through the cracks.

A while passes until you’re brought to what looks like a series of shipping containers in an even larger room. The room is so huge that the Prime’s footsteps echo for a good few seconds after each step. The bright lights are sparser here, giving the room a more dim quality than the hangar, but you can see just fine. Optimus gently lowers you to the ground, the small smile still present on his face.

He sets you in front of a large blue shipping container. You look around quizzically. Using his large finger, Optimus pushes a panel on the large blue box and a small human-sized door opens. He ushers you inside.

“Go on.”

Taking a tentative step, you look towards the doorway and peek inside. Little lights blink on as you enter, and a sparsely furnished room greets you.

Inside is a military cot, complete with camouflage sheets, a sparsely equipped desk with a radio and a computer screen, and a few notebooks with some stationary. All stuff that could easily be found in a military government office space. The lights on the ceiling are clearly motion activated, and give off a warmer light than the cold LED’s in the outside room. On the desk as well are a few brochures, including the one you found earlier in the glove compartment of the car. One of them on the top reads : So you’re a Terran? What does that mean? Underneath you even spot a few old comic books. You look back at Optimus who’s leaning down to peek through the door, and he looks pleased.

“There’s a hatch on this container that allows the ceiling to be removed in case of emergency. We won’t disrupt your privacy unless it’s a matter of safety, but I wanted you to know regardless.” His face disappears from the doorway and a deafening clunk is heard as a lever is pulled somewhere on the outside. Just like he said, the ceiling is removed and the cooler toned light of the outside room floods the shipping container. He places the roof on the ground next to him with a metallic resonant thunk.

“I hope you’ll let us know if there’s anything that you require. We’d be happy to provide for you.” He turns to Ratchet. “Perhaps now is the best time to conduct that checkup?”

Ratchet, who had entered the shipping container room alongside you and Optimus, peers into the makeshift room that was prepared for you. You expect his scanner to come out right away, but instead he gingerly lowers his hand into the room (your room) and waits for you to step onto his hand. 

You appreciate this over being picked up unceremoniously by Optimus, and you try to hide your scowl thinking about it as you step onto Ratchet’s palm willingly.

Rather than lowering you back to the ground, Ratchet’s opposite hand comes up and gently gestures for you to lift your arms and lower them. Oh, it really is like a medical checkup. He gestures for you to do the same with your legs, doing a few lowered squats and turning your head from side to side. He asks a few questions here and there, mostly about if you feel discomfort anywhere, and surprisingly you don’t feel any pain. Especially considering the pain you felt when you first changed into this form, you feel…optimal. He also refers to your body parts as something else; if he hadn’t been gesturing at them you wouldn’t know what he was talking about. You clock that the head is called a helm, hands are servos, feet are pedes, among other things. These details file away in your brain (processor) for later use.

Everything goes smoothly until he asks you to flex your wings. You strain, but nothing happens. Your wings remain unmoved, and stubbornly pointed at the ground.

Ratchet hums and asks your permission before examining them closer. His grey digit lifts the new appendage and flexes the tiny smaller panels on the back.

 “Can you feel that?” He asks. You nod.

“Try to focus on the area you can feel me touching, then try to flex that area.” He demonstrates by touching the base of the wing and giving it two taps. Concentrating, you try to move it. You quickly become frustrated when it clearly doesn’t move an inch.

Your expression must’ve given away your frustration when you hear Optimus chuckle in the background. You glance at him in your periphery, and he’s looking at you with soft eyes.

When he sees you looking at him, he speaks to you. “Don’t be too discouraged little one, those wings are still brand new.” 

A small huff leaves you as Ratchet lowers you to the ground outside the shipping container. He types a few things into his panel without looking at you. 

“Do you feel hungry at all?” You shake your head. You're unsure how long it’s been since you ate, but you it's weird you don’t feel hungry at all. Ratchet continues. “I’m not surprised. The other Terrans went months without needing any fuel, and with the Emberstone in our possession there should be no issue getting you what you need. I hypothesise your source of fuel should be the same as theirs, but we have alternatives just in case.” His typing ends with a satisfying click as the panel closes. He turns to Optimus.

“I’ve completed with my medical examination.” He turns back to you. “There are a few documents in your quarters I recommend you read before asking any questions. They might be able to answer your queries more thoroughly than we can. There’s also a computer in there if there’s anything else you need to look up, but unfortunately we have a pretty strict firewall with G.H.O.S.T. so certain things are quite limited.”

Both bots' eyes are trained on you, as if daring you to ask any questions. The pressure in the room is enormous. You nod slowly, keeping your mouth shut. You’ll do just that.

Ratchet nods back at you and walks out of the room. You and Optimus are left alone, his eyes still soft and not leaving your small form.

“Ratchet and I will be quite busy for the next little while, but we will do our best to answer all your questions and ensure your stay here is a comfortable one.” His small smile is back on his face.

“If you ever need to get our attention, please use the comm unit.” He puts a hand up to where his ear would be. (if he had any)

Shockingly, his voice appears inside your head, a small browser window labelled comm with a subtitle Optimus Prime.

: This is your comm unit. : 

You blink, shocked. Robots have telepathy ? 

: I’ll add Ratchet’s comm unit to your contact library. Other members will want to meet you once they arrive, but for now we should limit your safety to those we know we can trust. : 

He winks at you awkwardly. You don’t feel reassured at all, but you smile weakly back at him. He seems to like that.

He turns and moves to leave, giving you a smile in return.

: I’ll let you get settled. : And the doors shut behind him.

________________

Optimus can hardly contain himself as his pace quickens to catch up with Ratchet. He steels his face to any human G.H.O.S.T. personnel, and sees the doctor not too far ahead.

: The first Aerialbot since the war. Can you believe it, Ratchet? This must be a sign that our mission will be a success, I know it! :

Ratchet’s pace doesn’t slow, and he doesn’t look at Optimus who matches his stride.

: Optimus, I still think it might be too early- : He’s cut off by the Prime’s desperate tone.

: If not now, when? We lost the Emberstone at the same cusp of losing the opportunity to restore our race. The Terrans won’t leave Earth without their human counterparts, and Cybertron can’t support human life. Now a new miracle has been found alongside the Emberstone and I can’t help but feel this is a sign from Primus that now is the time for us to try again. : 

He looks briefly at his chief MO, a sorrowful expression flitting across his face plate.

Ratchet huffs, and Optimus continues. 

: On top of that, they chose a Seeker build. What are the odds of that? The Seekers are at even greater risk of losing their entire culture. If it’s worked on one human, why not more? : His optics are crazed, wild.

: What of their family? : Ratchet posits. : Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t asked . : 

Optimus’ optics stare pointedly forward, his optic ridge lowering. Ratchet continues after a beat. : It’s unlike you, Optimus. : 

A brittle sigh shudders out of the leader of the Autobots. War had made him so heavy, and every cycle he thought about returning to Cybertron and restoring it to its former glory. And now, after millenia of trying and failing, he feels he’s been given the chance to try again.

Optimus is quiet, and he resumes his difficult thinking. The hope of the entire Cybertronian race rests on the chance that this human-turned-Cybertronian; a Seeker no less, perhaps unwanting or unwilling to return to their old life. But should that heavy decision be left up to chance? And by a child nonetheless?

The sparkling was young, younger than they said. This had garnered some confusion from the medic who wasn’t used to falsehoods coming from one so young. Sparklings were as pure and malleable as fresh cybermatter straight from the Well of Allsparks. Optimus had noticed that although he did not ask if the child wanted to return, the child did not ask to be returned either. This meant the interactions stayed generally positive in his benefit so long as the subject wasn’t brought up.

There hadn’t been a sparkling since before the war. This made Optimus feel heavy from the years behind him. He looks back at Ratchet, slowing his stride slightly.

: A sparkling, Ratchet. There could be sparklings again. : 

Ratchet’s face visibly fell, deep emotion painting his faceplate in grief. Optimus knew of Ratchet’s previous medical profession before the war, and he knew how much the older medic wanted to return to that post again. Very few Cybertronians could be trusted more than a sparkling doctor, and Ratchet had turned over his tools from the very beginning to help the Autobot cause, fully believing he could return to his old post when the war was over.

 Many millenia later, and there wasn’t a single sparkling left.

Until now.

A single Seeker sparkling, with the weight of an entire world on their small shoulders.

Ratchet’s shoulders sagged, and Optimus knew he wouldn’t press the idea further. What was the sacrifice (it’s not a sacrifice, he convinced himself) of a single human child over the continuation of their entire race?

The sparkling would be cared for with the best support the Autobots could manage. There were so few Cybertronians left, but this child would receive the best of the best that could be offered.

The only element that could possibly hinder their plans to get the sparkling offworld lay with its discovery as a previously human underage citizen by their human allies. Optimus didn’t feel good about it, but he was reaching new levels of desperation. War made him willing to make tough decisions and this was one of them. Once the sparkling was offworld, They could spend a millenia teaching them the Cybertronian ways until they were more Cybertronian than human. 

Keeping the sparkling secret and safe until their departure was paramount. The information was on a need-to-know basis and the transmission he sent earlier was already receiving replies.

Bumblebee and Elita-1 were out of country managing the Malto’s relocation. After hearing the transmission, they were already on their way back to base. Arcee and Wheeljack were tasked with mining as much energon as possible for their voyage so they weren’t far. Megatron was dealing with a solo mission undercover at the behest of this country’s government, and could not respond though he did acknowledge the transmission. Other Autobots and neutrals had responded positively at the concept of the voyage.

Ratchet and Optimus arrived at the main G.H.O.S.T. control centre just as a few human agents were changing shifts. They had placed the sparkling in a storage sector of the base, far away from any of the populated human areas. In fact, the shipping container room was a clear 5km away from the closest human-used G.H.O.S.T office space, and thus if the humans needed anything from storage they usually asked a Cybertronian anyway since it would take them less time with their faster gait.

There would be little chance of any human finding the Seekerling, but just in case Optimus changed the door permissions to Autobot only, and had a good excuse in case he was ever asked about it.

The humans petered out, waving to their colleagues, a few waving to the giant Cybertronians politely, and were replaced by the dayshift. Earth’s clock read 07:00, and the screens blinked to life around him.

Ratchet wandered over to his designated area, no doubt going through the details of the Seekerling’s checkup, and Optimus had some meetings with the human leaders concerning his sudden interstellar voyage. A busy day ahead of him, and a lot of Emberstone related explaining to do (sparkling notwithstanding) he put on his best professional expression, and addressed the world leaders before him on the screen.

“Greetings. I believe I have some exciting news to share.”

Chapter Text

Chap 3

Chick

Over the next few days, G.H.O.S.T. is a hive of activity. 

Various world governments had agreed to help finance the voyage to Cybertron, including offering materials and supplies for the journey. The key component, the Space Bridge, was still incomplete, but the schematics were sound and they had two Cybertronian engineers to help build it. Both Ratchet and Wheeljack had their work cut out for them, but they were eager to make their long awaited journey home. The plans to build a new space bridge had already been in development long before the discovery of the Emberstone, but they had been reluctant to utilise materials that could be better used elsewhere rather than returning to their dead planet. Furthermore, they had been worried about the potential human involvement as giving earthlings the technology of interstellar travel came with its own slew of worries. Now that the Emberstone gave fresh hope to their cause, they were reenergised and doubled their efforts in its creation.

Optimus instead made good use of his human allies, cashing in on favours owed to him by various human governments to garner more support and supplies. Building material such as metal was easy to come by; builders were much more in demand.

The construction of the Ark II consisted of mostly human workforce. With the additional assistance provided by allied nations, the spacecraft was already nearing its final stages of completion. Many Autobots had travelled far in order to help in the construction and participate in the upcoming voyage, with Optimus’ previous team at the forefront of the excitement.

Arcee and Elita-1 had taken command of the ship’s construction, and managed their team with efficiency and vigour. They inspired them to put their all into the project, as this was a historic voyage; not just for Cybertronian kind, but for humans as well. How many on Earth could boast that they built a ship that would travel farther than any man-made spacecraft?

Bumblebee’s participation was more subtle. He mostly kept to the shadows, taking inventory of the more crucial tools and equipment, ensuring that vital points of the voyage’s purpose were kept private. Those included methodically accounting for every cube of Energon, every historic (and potentially dangerous) artefact, and any keeping crucial datapads containing information that wasn’t safe for human eyes out of the way of prying eyes. This worked in his favour as he did not want the truth of his survival to be made public yet; he felt there was still much more he could accomplish while underground.

Megatron, although positive about the team's voyage, had opted not to join them. Ratchet recalled Optimus mentioning the deep guilt Megatron felt for his part in Cybertron's destruction and couldn’t bear to step on the planet's surface until he knew life could be supported again. Optimus understood what it was like to be such an integral part of the war, and agreed to leave Megatron in charge on Earth in his stead.

Optimus couldn’t believe that plans were progressing so smoothly. He was used to having to resort to plan B or C before things could proceed with this level of efficiency. Every member of his team hoped against hope that this voyage would be the last they’d ever need to make, that Cybertron’s resurrection was finally in the cards. The hope of his species rested on the success of Ratchet’s hypothesis: that placing the Emberstone inside the dormant Well of the Allsparks would restore the cycle and allow new life to be born on Cybertron. Their backup plan, although no one liked it less than Optimus (only he and Ratchet knew, anyway) was to use humans to help repopulate their species. They may not all be amenable, but over time he hoped that by giving humans a chance and showing the positive aspects of the transformation, they would agree voluntarily to the proposal. 

In any case, before any decisions could be made or hypotheses could be confirmed, they needed to finish the Space Bridge and get off this planet. And with things advancing at the speed they were progressing, they would be ready to leave before long.

By throwing himself into the project, Optimus had expertly made himself too busy to think about the heavier implications of his decision. Back to back meetings, conferences and news stories erupted with the first mention of the voyage, and all this made checking up on the little Seeker harder and harder. In Optimus’ mind, it was better for the mission to keep the sparkling at an arm’s length until departure. This allowed for more discreet methods of transportation for the little one, as well as keeping their existence a secret except for those few that could be trusted.

This didn’t stop Optimus from making small excuses to venture closer to the shipping hangar and feeling the EM field of the sparkling through the doors. It was uncanny, the resemblance between the human-turned-Cybertronian and what he remembered of sparklings before the war.

By venturing close to the entrance, but not close enough to enter, Optimus stood there and let the EM field wash over him and he fought the instinct to send his own field out to comfort the little one. The Seekerling’s field was emitting a slow, unbothered hum; they weren’t hungry or excited, and they were undamaged but probably tired. His instincts urged him to open the hangar doors and hold the little one, keeping them close and protected using his heavier frame. He flexed his servos wiping away the memory of the ghostly feeling of the tiny body.

Ratchet had told him once, in confidence before the war, that sparklings were absolutely fine on their own. It was usually the parent’s instinct to protect and coddle, not the need of the sparkling. Sure they had a more delicate plating, but it was ingrained in every Cybertronian's core processor not to harm a sparkling. Thus the mere concept of it was alien, and Sires and Carriers alike preferred to indulge their urges by giving the sparklings as much attention as they allowed.

So, Optimus took this advice to spark, and knew that the sparkling would be fine alone for a while. They might grow bored, yes, but until they were offworld the secrecy of their plan was more important than anything. 

Even now, with the small being on the other side of the door, Optimus couldn’t help himself. His scanners showed the basic shape of the Seekerling curled up on the cot he had prepared for them. Optimus knew he could supply better once they wouldn't have to worry about the humans discovering their little passenger, so they would have to make do with the current meagre materials for the moment. (It wasn’t exactly discreet to prepare full berth furniture and be incognito.) Arcee had jumped at the opportunity to help supply for the sparkling, but even her stealth skills were considered too risky before their impending departure. The sparkling would be fine until they departed, and then all of Team Prime would excitedly provide for the little one.

Watching the Seekerling rise from the cot and wander around the room, no doubt exploring, Optimus couldn’t help but feel giddy at the prospect of this promising new Aerialbot that was dropped into his lap. He soured only for a moment, thinking of all the Aerialbots that had been lost in the long war, but he brightened when he considered how happy they’d be knowing the first of their reborn kind would be one of them. He hoped their sparks, as well as all the sparks snuffed out during the fighting, had returned safely to the Well of Allsparks and could be reformed once the Emberstone was returned to Cybertron.

Air support was something that was crucial during war-time, and Optimus found that he couldn’t turn off that part of his processor that prioritised battle plans. Even though there were rarely any fights to be fought during this time, he found it difficult to stop his code from getting caught up in these new battle details.

The Seekerling huffed disgruntledly from behind the door, Optimus’ audials picking up the small noise. He smiled a bit, his post-war persona becoming more easy to adopt in the presence of the sparkling. Optimus had tried to make himself more ‘friendly’ to humans in the recent cycles, finding it troublesome but necessary. The humans were great allies with their numbers and supplies, but as a whole it was difficult to make himself more approachable when all he’d done in the past four millenia was fight.

Humans didn’t have an EM field, but that didn’t stop Optimus from using his to try and support his discussions with his sincerity thrumming though. The other bots could clearly feel his desperation in some meetings, and for a mech as old as him, it was incredibly hard to turn off this natural part of their language. Most Cybertronians had grown used to disabling it when talking to humans, but Optimus and Ratchet were too set in their ways to manually disable the function every time.

Upon meeting the sparkling for the first time, Optimus had used his EM field to try and calm the little one. This, of course knowing now what he didn’t know then, only served in making the Seekerling more anxious because of their past human form. EM fields, as well as all other Cybertronian facets, were entirely new to them. These features and quirks of their species would have to be introduced later when there was more time. Optimus looked forward to that time eagerly, when he could hold the sparkling and teach them about their legacy and culture.

With one last glance at the door, before returning to his influx of duties before departure, Optimus left the radius of the sparkling’s field and made his way through the hallways of G.H.O.S.T. back to the central command area.

________________

In this boom of excitement that was hidden from you behind the hangar doors, you were left by yourself. The shipping container that doubled as your room was on the small side, and you had long since read through the brochures and comics left to you by Optimus and Ratchet. They answered your questions over comms eagerly enough, but you always got the sense they were busier with something more important and that you might be bothering them, so you tried to keep mostly to yourself. Old habits were hard to break.

The computer on your desk was an absolute bust. There was a G.H.O.S.T. server that was inaccessible except by password, and the browser could only open the most rudimentary of sites. (Thesaurus dot com? Pretty much the only one that worked consistently.) None of the usual social media sites were available, and even if you had someone to contact, email and any messaging services were disabled.

With some luck you found a few sites with some games you could actually play using a paper and pen (looking at you, sudoku), but the anxious boredom seemed to grow with each passing, lonely hour.

So, the radio it was. A few days rolled by in absolute boredom, with the only change being the lofi tunes they played in the morning, to the hits of the midday, and a few good rock stations that played some of your favourites come the evening.

The first morning you woke up in the storage hangar, you hoped you’d feel a lot better than you did. But to be honest, the cot they supplied you with was hard as a rock and the sheet was so lightweight that it didn’t feel like anything. Sure it was better than your brief nap in the back of the military car, but it was hard to get used to all of your new parts that were getting in your way. Sleeping with wings? Easier said than done.

Exploring this new hangar, it was much easier to get lost. This place was huge. Your room was probably the first storage container in a line of ten, and they went back such a distance that the motion sensors on the lights didn’t even register that far. The containers are tall, easily three times your meagre height, and are wide enough that if there were two of you inside, you could spread your arms to their full span and have just enough room to not touch. Not huge, but it was enough for you. 

The containers are spaced in even rows of ten, so you figure it would be easy to keep track of your surroundings if you stayed walking in a straight line. Keeping the hangar door in your sight as your guide, you take a deep breath you weren’t sure you needed, and step out of your room.

The lights in the main room click on, and your optics adjust for a moment before you can take a good look at your surroundings. When Optimus and Ratchet had brought you to your new space, you half expected them to come back the same day to give you an update, but you had gone to rest before they came back. As it stood, you hadn’t seen them since they left. Since there wasn’t a lot else for you to do in this room, you noticed that there were a few glowing things you could see in the distance. Your curiosity piqued, you go forward to check it out.

From a distance the glowy things seem to be spaced out like organised stars. They glowed in a light blue colour, and they are spaced evenly apart. The closer you get to them, the more you realise they are square shaped rather than circular as you previously suspected. Once they are in full view, you find they are filled with a strange glowing liquid. The colour was different from the glowing water you remembered waking up in (a traumatising memory you don’t want to revisit any time soon) and the cubes are sealed tight. There are quite a few of them organised here but also littered about the room, clustered near some open empty storage containers. This must be some sort of important cargo? You aren't sure.

Picking up one of the cubes, you try to see if you can get it open. There isn’t a seal or a hinge you can find, and without smelling it you have little hope of guessing what it might be. (Maybe it’s some sort of special alien gasoline?) The cube is heavier than you thought it would be. Resting on your palms, you use both of your servos to lift it and you raise it to your optics to get a closer look. The liquid isn’t entirely opaque, it has more of a translucent quality. The container itself seems to be made of glass, and its material definitely adds to the overall weight. Arms shaking, you lower it to the floor and sit down with it. 

It was kind of mesmerising to look at this weird glowing liquid. You liked how it sloshed around, refracting light off of the container walls, and its cube-like structure made for easy stackability. With a sudden childish idea, you decid it might be fun to build a fort out of this alien glowing material.

Task at hand, you begin hefting the cubes and making an exterior foundation. Doing this in the middle of the container corridor in view of the door makes this a bit exciting considering you might get into some trouble, but at this point you'd take any attention over no attention at all. The fort wouldn’t be very big, considering you didn’t want to haul any cubes too far away, so you are limited to the ones you could find in this area. Which granted, is a lot, so you focus on your structure and make adjustments as you go.

You have no idea how to make an igloo shape, so you settle for walls as high as you can reach. You don’t break any of the cubes, but you do drop a few. Luckily they don't crack and you carry on with your task. Making a small entrance big enough for you and your newly acquired wings, you shift some cubes to be closer for better structure. An even better idea forming, you run back to your cot and return to your fort with your thin blanket from your cot. Stretching your blanket over the top and securing it with the weight of the cubes, you make a roof! Stepping inside, you marvel at your finished creation.

The inside has a cool blue glow surrounding all sides. Its cosy dimensions mean you have to crawl to get inside, but when in there you can't stop staring. Small bubbles had appeared in the liquid as you sloshed them around, making sure everything was stable, and the glow reflected off of them giving an ethereal look to your fort. You do your best not to feel too proud, maybe this was the best fort ever made. Laying on your back, careful not to lie on your wings, you take a moment and revel at this sanctuary you created for yourself.

A sudden chill runs through your body. Forts are normally sweltering due to their lack of airflow, but you weirdly feel cold. It makes sense though, as you are in an unheated storage unit surrounded by glass cubes filled with an unknown liquid; not exactly the most insulated surroundings.

Getting to your knees and scooching out of the fort, you give it one last look (for now) and go back to your room. All the heavy lifting was making you feel achy, and you want to lie down. Even if the cot wasn’t the greatest, it was still better than the concrete floor. You resign yourself to try and get more sleep.

Sleep came weirdly easier to you; the more you lay on your cot and stare at the lights on the container ceiling, the more a dull ache pounds in your head and makes you more inclined to close your eyes. This, of course, tied with the need to eat much less often (ever? Do you even need to eat at all?) makes sleeping the best way to pass the time. Optimus and Ratchet had mentioned that you’d need fuel eventually, but the need hadn’t arisen yet.

On the second morning during this tedious period, you hear the door open to your storage hangar and a new robot you’ve never seen before walks in. He's yellow with two little horn looking things coming out of his head, and instead of aiming right for you like you expected, he opens each container and writes something down on a bright looking tablet. He even looks at your fort you made the day before, his expression hidden from you because of his posture. When he does turn around, his face plate is a carefully schooled mask of professionalism, and he doesn't say a word during his whole cataloguing process. He doesn't even register that he knows you're there at all.

After a while he meanders closer and closer to your container, and you're standing by the entrance trying to decide if you should introduce yourself when he flips the lever and lifts your ceiling off rather unceremoniously.

This results in a very startled giant yellow robot and a completely still small robot (you). He jumps back a pace and a small noise of surprise leaves his mouth.  A few moments of intense staring later, realisation seems to bloom on his face. Before acknowledging you verbally, he puts his hand (servo, remember it’s called a servo) next to his helm and you presume that he speaks to Optimus or Ratchet. He then lowers his servo, gives you an awkward little wave and introduces himself.

“Oh, sorry about that. My designation is Bumblebee. Optimus mentioned that you were back here.”

He smiles a little, but doesn’t seem like he's going to stick around and chat for long. He carefully lowers the roof to your room back on, latching it in place, and you take this as a sign to step out into the outside hangar.

You crane your neck to look up at him, as you did with the other giant robots. He shuffles a little to give you more space, and fiddles with his data pad. 

“I’m just back here itemising all the supplies we have.” His typing is slower than Ratchet’s, you note. “I won’t bother you too much, but I’ll be in and out of here as quietly as I can.”

You open your mouth to say something, but can’t think of anything better to say other than ‘I’m bored, keep me company’, so you decide against it. You don’t even know him, anyway. He has no obligation to stay and spend time with you, and he's obviously busy.

His optics shift from the data pad to you awkwardly as you continue to stare up at him without speaking. An uneasy silence fills the space between you, and he makes a very fake sounding cough noise as if to lighten the mood.

He gives a shy smile and points at you. “Nice wings, by the way.” You move your helm to the side to glance at your wings attached to your back and fight a scowl. You try not to think of Ratchet and his promise to help you, and how you haven’t seen nor heard anything from him in days . The big bot is definitely preoccupied, but your predicament definitely makes you feel more ignored than anything.

As Bumblebee focuses on his task, and you note how although he isn’t moving, the temperature in the hangar seems to go up a bit at his proximity. He doesn’t feel warm per se, but having another person in the room after days of empty silence feels nice. It’s not like you’re a huge fan of crowds or anything, but anyone your age being left alone for this long doesn’t feel good. Maybe Cybertronians were built different? You don’t exactly know a lot about their culture as a whole.

Plucking up some courage, if only to quell your boredom, you speak to the big yellow bot. “H-hey, where did you guys get these comics from?” You point to the entrance of your room, hoping he’ll get the gist. “There were some comics left on the desk. But they seemed way too small to be for you guys. Where’d you get them?”

He looks up from his data pad and stops typing abruptly, instead looking at you quizzically. He mouths the word comics and then his eyes light up. “Oh! Robby and Mo must’ve left their comics here by accident during the move. I bet they wondered what happened to them.” 

You look up at him, confused. “Who’re Robby and Mo?”

Bumblebee smiles slightly and responds. “Robby and Mo Malto. They’re the ones that onlined the original Terrans; Twitch and Thrash. We moved them off-grid for their privacy and safety a while ago. They were a bit taller than you, though.” He looks at you thoughtfully.

You perk up. “You met the other Terrans?”

“Yeah, I even helped train them!. It took some getting used to, but we finally found a way that worked for all of us.” You got the sense he was proud of this.

“What are they like? Are they like me?” This may be your only chance to get some much-needed information!

He ponders for a bit before replying. “Hmm, they’re definitely bigger than you. But they’re connected to their human siblings, Robby and Mo. The kids have the same sleeve that you do, it’s kinda weird that it’s on you instead.” He squints his optics at you, then shakes his head.

“Not that there’s anything weird about you. Everybody’s different, right?” He laughs, sounding fake. You grimace at the display.

“Where are they now?” You ask. If you can get in contact with them, you definitely have a few questions you’d like to ask them.

Bumblebee closes his optics and his expression turns melancholy. “That information is strictly confidential, I’m afraid. Very few bots know where the Maltos are for their safety. They wanted to live a more private life, and we do our best to ensure that that privacy is upheld. I doubt even Optimus would give you their information.” You try not to let the disappointment show on your face.

Bumblebee shuffles his feet and makes a move to signal like he has more important things to do. His right pede takes a step back and he turns his head towards the hangar door.

You hold your servo up to get his attention.

“W-wait! Uh, can I come with you? I haven’t been out of this hangar in days and I-“ you stop your sentence when you see Bumblebee look back at you and sadly shake his head. 

“Sorry little Seeker, big bot’s orders. You gotta stay here where you’re safe. I can’t take you out of this room and risk your safety.” His optics linger on the doorframe, but after a moment they brighten and look back to you. “But if you like I can bring some other bots here to introduce you to? I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” His grin is warm and big, but it doesn’t reassure you. 

You stare at the ground, disappointment evident, and mumble, “sure, ok.” When you look back up, he’s halfway through the door.

“Great talk, I’ll stop by later, ok? Bye!” And with the clunk of the door closing, he’s gone.

Alone again.

Trying and failing to reign in your disappointment, you kick your pede against a nearby container. It hurts, and the motion makes a loud clanging sound of metal on metal, but it makes you feel a bit better. After grasping your pede and breathing heavily through the self-imposed pain, you wait until you were sure he was far enough away and release a pent up, aggravated yell. It echoes off the metal and concrete surroundings and reverberates through your metal shell. It was so so annoying being treated like a kid who didn’t know what was going on. Maybe if someone would just sit and talk with you for a bit, you could figure something out instead of just sitting here building forts!

A growl leaves your intake and you clench your firsts in aggravation. You don’t punch anything, but that didn’t mean you don’t want to.

Through your anger you vaguely hear a sound like shifting metal, and then a small noise like a penny falling to the ground catches your attention. Looking down, a small red beeping disk lays by your pede. As you look at it, the beeping quickens and the teeniest of explosions erupts at your feet. It was like a tiny cap gun was fired on the floor.

Did that come from you? You unclench your hands, anger forgotten, and examin your arms. Small panels that you hadn’t noticed before are raised on your forearms. Beneath the raised panel is a small dark cylindrical object where you presume the tiny explosive had come from. You have tiny guns? 

The explosion itself was tiny; it wouldn’t even make a dent on anything. And there was barely even a smudge on the ground where it had detonated. Still, it was something new, and it was pretty cool.

Motivated, you try to get it to happen again. Squeezing your servos tightly, you raise your arms and aime at the exterior wall of your storage container. After a few groans of effort, nothing happens and a new layer of disappointment washes over you.

Trudging back to your cot, disappointed and still sort of angry, you try to shake the feeling of coldness that coats your body. You felt a little better when Bumblebee was here, but you aren't sure if it was based on the fact he was the first new thing that happened in a while, or if he physically made the room warmer by being in it. His personality seems a fair bit younger than the other Cybertronians that you’d met, but he has that same awkwardness that makes him hard to talk to. The way all the bots you met were constantly working didn’t help much either.

Either way, he was gone now, but he did promise to come back later. Maybe even with some new people? You aren't sure how you feel about that. You don’t fully trust the ones you had met, but you aren’t given much of a choice. 

Maybe when he returns you can ask to turn up the heat in this room a bit. The longer you spend alone, the colder you seem to feel. Even that humming frequency that lingered in your processor is harder to ignore when you feel the chill. There hadn’t been a chance to mention it to Ratchet because his comm was always busy. It feels like something you should mention to a doctor, so you don’t bother Optimus by telling him. Now with the third robot having left without staying very long, you get the impression that mentioning it wasn’t that important.

You had only noticed the chill a couple of hours after Optimus and Ratchet had left a few days ago. It started as only mildly annoying at first, you figured it had something to do with having metal instead of skin, and you easily found ways to distract yourself from it by rereading the comics or doing some sudoku puzzles. But after a while the cold feeling had amped up in intensity and would crash down on you in waves.

It wasn’t even a cold feeling, really. More like a shiver without the feel of cold. Similar to how the water in the cave didn’t feel wet. You’re not sure how your nerves are attached to the metal of your new body, but it’s definitely different from the feeling of chilled skin.

Pulling the blanket over your head, it was time for your favourite pastime; sleeping. The shivers come in waves, and as consciousness pulls you under you do your best to quell them. 

________________

Nova Storm’s untimely death had come as no surprise for the Command Trine.

Soaring well above where human pilots normally patrol, three brightly coloured jets soared through the sky like gods looking down upon mortals. They all knew it was coming.

Solitary Seekers couldn’t exist. And while she had tried making do by trying to form a pair bond with Skywarp, ultimately it didn’t work and it made her sloppy.

Starscream couldn’t help but scoff at the clumsiness she had displayed, disgust leaking out of his frequency. She had known that Skywarp was part of a trine, but had convinced herself in her desperation to attempt a bond to save her sanity. Desperate yes, but foolish. The Command Trine’s bond was strong, as it has remained since before the war. He wouldn’t break it for such reckless instability.

Nova Storm’s death had been an accident. She’d been flying clumsily after Skywarp had rejected her pair bond, and with little other options on the planet she had attempted to join the Autobots and try to quell her Seeker sickness using Grounders. A desperate move yes, but Starscream understood how dire her situation seemed from a Seeker’s perspective.

Skywarp would shrug if he had pauldrons in this form. He was doing his duty to help a great cause, but it didn’t work out in the end. Nova Storm was a great gal, but she wasn’t right for their trine.

Starscream shivered in disgust at the concept. But for her to try to resort to a Grounder? The pride of Vos really had fallen.

Sure, the concept as a whole seemed functional, but natural Grounders didn’t possess the behavioural matrix that made Seekers such skilled group fliers. Though they were the same species, their cultures were decidedly different and that came with its own set of peculiarities. The innate ability to manoeuvre around obstacles and other fliers without worry of crashing made that instinct indispensable. Without that matrix, pair bonds and trines couldn’t be formed. Thus the ability to fly confidently went hand in hand with the safety of group habitation.

These bonds weren’t at all romantic. The bonds were necessary components that fit a bigger puzzle. Some bonds were between siblings, others parents, others conjunx’s. All were solely between Seekers, and all were complex and valuable. Some outside of Vos liked to equate the bonds to human concepts like marriage or soulmates, but they were decidedly their own thing. Bonds that happened between Seekers accounted for safety in flight; beings who lived their lives tied to the ground could never understand.

From the moment a Seeker is sparked, they are constantly with their siblings, Sire, and Carrier. These exist as a primary bond; those between family members. It was common for siblings leave to bond with other Seekers from different nests, but the primary family bonds always remained deeply embedded within their code.

The former Second in command of the Decepticons had not forgotten how coveted his bond was in the days before the war. Seekers of all builds had lined up for a chance to fly with him, but in the end none could predict his movements like his brothers. Their prowess in the skies had Grounders weeping at their display. Their bond flight had Vos talking about it an entire vorn afterwards.

Starscream had to laugh. Skywarp had even humoured Nova Storm by changing his frame type to fit hers more, but when their flying didn’t sync up like Nova Storm had hoped, Skywarp had respectfully bowed out. If there was no place for her as Skywarp’s pair, then there was no place for her within the trine. 

Trines could happily accept more members, resulting in more than one bonding ceremony, but not if the pairing was incompatible with the entire group. It wasn’t uncommon for one member to test the waters with a potential trine mate, but very rarely did a member leave their trine for another bond. This occurred because all members had to be synchronised with each other otherwise there was danger in flight manoeuvres. Bonds had to be solid, especially with a Seeker’s lighter frame type and tactical position in battle.

Even before the war, a Seeker flying alone around Vos was nearly unheard of. Pairs and Trines stayed together in the air, it was a fact of life. Sure they could exist separately, but they always preferred to fly together.

Starscream had flown alone for a good portion of the war, but his trinemates were always present within his bond. Without it, he wouldn’t have lived this long.

Nova Storm’s last ditch effort had ended in failure after the loss of her conjunx Slipstream. Starscream had to give her credit where it was due, she lasted longer than he expected flying solo. But it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Pairs were always more delicate since they only consisted of two members, but Seeker pairs and trines came in clutch for many battles during the war, resulting in their drastic decline.

Skywarp had changed his frametype back to his old shell the moment the decision was made to not include Nova Storm in their trine. Fluidity fit his personality, and while he presented primarily as a mech, he didn’t mind how he looked as femme either. His preening through their bond was almost as unbearable as Starscream’s, but the rest of the trine breathed a sigh of relief when he decided to change back. One vain Seeker in the trine was enough, Thundercracker couldn’t handle two . 

Starscream wasn’t sure how many Seekers were left, only that his trine was the only one still remaining on Earth. With the Decepticons disbanded and with Megatron joining the Autobots, Starscream had poured over every idea he could think of to gain the upper hand and ensure security for his trinemates. He may not care about a lot of things other than himself, but the wellbeing of his trine he held in the utmost importance. Maybe there were others out there in the galaxy, but so long as he and his trine were together and whole, he didn’t have time to spare a thought about them.

Currently, his mission was to commandeer the vessel that was set to depart for Cybetron. With Nova Storm out of the picture, that left the Autobot’s forces entirely without air support. With their combined skills and abilities, Starscream was slowly coming up with a plan that would be executed shortly. So long as the disrespectful human pilots didn’t see them coming, the mission would be a success.

The transmission was received by all three of the Command Seekers, and immediately they had started forming their plan of attack.

Flying high over the airspace above Witwicky Arizona, Starscream took in the lay of the land beneath him. G.H.O.S.T. 's headquarters wasn’t visible from aboveground, but the influx of equipment and humans going to and from a supposed abandoned military base was more than a little suspicious. When did the Autobots get so sloppy? If the transmission was to be believed, then the ship would depart from this location via Space Bridge on route back to Cybertron. It would be of the foremost importance to take control of the vessel before its passage into open space.

Confident in his team and with time growing short, Starscream scanned the area beneath him and took note of any notable details that may aid in his strategy. Pleased with the information he acquired and sending updates to his trinemates, he flew to regroup with them. Phase One was already in motion. 

________________

Ratchet could feel the aches in his joints today more than any other day he’d experienced in recent cycles. Having to deal with Wheeljack on a regular basis was exhausting enough, but having him co-lead a project as vital as this one? Ratchet was ready to tear out his own audials.

The Space Bridge was well underway in terms of construction. The schematics had always been available; it was the matter of importance that had brought the project online so suddenly. 

Wheeljack was an innovative inventor, Ratchet could admit that. His creations had turned the tides of many battles during the war, but they had also been the cause of much strife within the ranks as well. His methods were creative, dangerous, and usually explosive. And the worst part, in Ratchet’s opinion, was that he never stopped talking while he was working.

For Ratchet, who was used to being the only doctor in his medical bay, even the chattiest bots usually let him work in peace and quiet. Given his close camaraderie with their leader, not many were willing to risk getting on the doctor’s bad side. With Wheeljack constantly straining his audials with chittering feedback every chance he got, Ratchet was near the end of his patience.

Finding an excuse to leave was easy enough, but Ratchet knew the importance of their swift completion of the Space Bridge (especially if they wanted to give it a few test runs before the actual voyage) so he stayed as long as he could bear working on his various tasks until he could stand it no longer.

So being the only one with medical experience, he took a moment for himself to check up on his other vital task; the sparkling.

Ratchet tried to fight the burgeoning warmth that seeped into his spark chamber. He had tried to treat the sparkling with professional indifference, but it was a losing battle. When the Terrans were formed, he had rushed to the scene as quickly as he was able. Because of his geographical distance at the time, he ended up being one of the later bots to meet the Terrans and their human partners, and the feelings he felt with them were drastically different from how he felt with the new sparkling. The contrasting feelings were startling; everything about this little one reminded him of his days back on Cybertron. How they stood, how they moved, their curiosity, and their open and honest frequency changes, Ratchet had missed those more than anything.

His losing battle with his own code was a far cry from how quickly Optimus had buckled under sparkling’s desperate frequency. Initially, Ratchet was surprised at how fast Optimus’ guardian controls had kicked in, but then he remembered that not every Cybertronian had the experience with sparklings that he did.

Ratchet wanted just as badly to scoop up the little one and make sure they knew that they had nothing to fear; the notes of discomfort and anxiety constantly thrumming out through their EM field making his spark shake. But Ratchet also knew that this sparkling was different from the ones he had taken care of on Cybertron. Not only because they were a Seeker (it was rare for young Seekers to leave Vos, and he had been stationed in the Capitol), but because they were once human. Ratchet could imagine that the anxiety the young one felt had much to do with their sudden transformation, and it made Ratchet feel awkward and stiff. So, detached professionalism it was. And once the little one grew more comfortable with their new form, Ratchet could allow himself to give in to his baser instincts.

Making his way through the halls of G.H.O.S.T., he trudged towards the storage container storage unit at the far end of the facility and waited for the sensor to recognize his authorization code. The hangar doors fell open and he looked around for his small charge.

The first thing he noticed was a curious stack of Energon cubes towards the back end of the room. They were arranged in a semi-circular shape just taller than the sparkling. Smiling inwardly, he supposed that the sparkling must’ve gotten bored while waiting and made some sort of structure.

Stepping into the room quietly, he scanned his surroundings looking for the unique energy signature of the Emberstone; a quick way to find any Earth-born Cybertronian. Finding the reading exactly where he expected it, Ratchet peered into the small opening of the sparkling’s temporary chamber. There the sparkling lay sleeping, their blanket tucked tightly around their form, optics closed and scrunched. A fitful sleep. He noticed small shivers wracking their small body, and guessed they were having a nightmare. The EM field surrounding the little one was anxious even in dreams. Ratchet decided the best way to ease their fears and his own anxieties was to wake the little one up and give them some much needed attention.

“Little one, it’s time to wake up.”

Panicked optics opened, and then relaxed slightly. Looking up from their cot, the small Seeker looked through the doorway and met Ratchet’s gaze. Pulling the blanket off their body, they left the cot and stepped out the storage container.

“Did you sleep well?” Ratchet asked, knowing full well the answer. 

The sparkling shook their helm. “ ‘s cold in here.” 

Ratchet frowned. The sparkling was well above the age and frame size of automatic thermoregulation, but he supposed that there had to be more than one difference between Emberstone-born Cybertronians and Cybertron-born ones. “That can be easily remedied.” He replied, and made an internal note to fetch more blankets for the small being.

The sparkling looked up cheerlessly. “Thanks,” they mumbled, rubbing their arms in a human gesture to try and get warm.

The doctor held out his servos tentatively, before he even knew what he was doing. “If you like,” he started, placing his servos palm up on the ground, “I can warm up my servos to an optimal temperature for you.” They glowed slightly indicating the warmth had already begun heating up. 

The sparkling seemed hesitant to step forward, but reached out a servo to touch anyways. When the small digits touched his plating, Ratchet had to fight the urge to croon. So small, so delicate, it was amazing they were ever that small. His coding blared at him to pick up the sparkling and spoil them, to erase all the anxieties from their EM field. But Ratchet kept himself professional and didn’t move an inch. 

Taking a small seat on Ratchet’s servo, the sparkling relaxed a little in his hold. Cupping the small creature gently, he stood up and fought a chuckle when they lurched at the sudden movement and grasped his thumb to regain balance.

“How have you been feeling?” Ratchet checked his logs, realising it had been a few cycles since the Sparkling had been placed here. Time seemed to fly by while he was working on the Space Bridge, he hadn’t noticed the time passing. No wonder they were so anxious. “Are you hungry?”

The small form on his servo shook their helm, but looked at him quizzically. “What do I eat when I’m like this?” Their grip on his thumb tightened ever so slightly.

“Well,” Ratchet began, “We as Cybertronians consume Energon, which I can see you’ve already familiarised yourself with.” He gestured to the structure the sparkling had created out of Energon cubes. “We don’t need to refuel that often, but if you’re anything like the Terrans before you, you’ll need to refuel even less.” The sparkling continued frowning so Ratchet continued. “ The Terrans refuelled using liquid that had been charged by the Emberstone. Any liquid that touches the Emberstone can become charged, and no matter the amount it will always retain its potency.” This was the biggest turning point in his hypothesis that Cybertron could be restored; if the Emberstone was lowered in the Well of the Allsparks then theoretically it could charge the surrounding water and make it a building point where new life to be created. The Well would spread out and make contact with other bodies of water across Cybertron and hopefully life could be restored. They had no way of testing the distance at which the energy could be transferred, but it seemed that even a small amount of Emberstone charged liquid could activate uncharged liquid without the need of the stone itself.

Optimus Prime himself had ordered a surplus of the liquid to be made for their Terran friends, believing it was the best way to keep the Terrans safe without the acquisition of the Emberstone. Now, with the sparkling, the Emberstone water could be used to sustain a different kind of life.

The sparkling didn’t answer, but Ratchet could see that they were concentrating on the information that was given. The CMO was under strict orders not to give too much information to the Seekerling in case it led to some difficult questions, but this one seemed safe enough, so Ratchet was confident this information wasn’t out of line.

He went on a bit longer about how Energon differed from Emberstone water, the dull expression on the sparkling’s faceplate never dissipating. Ratchet’s preliminary scan hadn’t shown any abnormalities, but being in the room with the sparkling was a different matter.

Underneath the anxious frequency in the Seekerling’s EM field was a frequency imbalance that Ratchet didn’t recognize. It seemed to be tied to the automatic thermoregulation system, but it criss-crossed all over the fuel lines inside them. He knew something was wrong, but it wasn’t causing any major damage beside the chilling feeling. And to be fair, it was colder in this section of the base due to its less populated status. The thing that worried him was that he didn’t recognize it. As a (former) sparkling doctor he had prided himself in knowing every fix to every small problem a sparkling could have. This new creation was clearly more different than he thought, or perhaps he was just out of practise. This would require further study. Making another mental note to research frequency imbalances later, he focused his attention on fixing what he could, like the sparkling's mood.

Interrupting his thorough explanation, the sparkling spoke up, “Did you find out anything about changing me back?”

Ratchet hummed, unsure how to safely answer the question. So he carefully worded his answer. “Not as of yet. But in a few days time I will be less busy.” 

The sparkling was obviously distressed by this response, but there was nothing Ratchet could do in this moment to assuage their worries. In a few days they will have departed Earth and the voyage would be well underway. He did his best to soothe the little one’s mood (and his own guilt) by changing the subject. “But when that time comes, would you like to take some time to learn to fly? I’ve been around long enough to have witnessed the Aerialbots when they were still around, and I’m sure there’s something in my memory storage that could be of use to you.”

They continued to frown, but their frequency changed slightly to signify their interest. “Who’re the Aerialbots? More Seekers?”

“Yes, they served the Autobot cause at the beginning of the war. Silverbolt was their leader, appointed by Optimus.” Ratchet chuckled a bit. “He was appointed leader due to his fear of heights.”

The sparkling perked up. “But he still flew right? How could he fly if he was afraid?”

“Optimus had hoped he’d get over his fear if he had more things to worry about. And he was right, Silverbolt turned out to be an excellent Air Commander.”

Kicking their legs, obviously interested, the sparkling continued talking, which made Ratchet glad. “ ‘m not scared of heights. I like them. Makes me feel big.” Their eyes pointedly looked away, seemingly embarrassed. “Flying could be fun, I guess.”

Ratchet smiled at the honest declaration. This was the first conversation they’d had where the sparkling had shared a bit about themself. He fought the urge to bring his servo up to his spark to cuddle the small being. “Once it’s safe to get you out onto the flight deck, we’ll get started with your practising. There will be plenty of space for gliding and exercise, but for now you’ll have to make do in this space.” Ratchet looked around. “I hear that small creatures on Earth that fly try hopping first. To get a feel for your thrusters and your wing movements.” He felt a small vibration from his servo.

The sparkling giggled slightly, the movement in their chassis tickling Ratchet’s palm. “They’re called birds, Ratchet. And I don’t think they have thrusters.”

Ratchet’s spark soared at the jovial sound. He played along. “Is that so? I’ll have to do more research then.” The giggling continued and Ratchet never wanted it to end.

But he had important tasks to complete, and he had already lingered too long. With a careful motion, he lowered his servo and turned it to gently manoeuvre the sparkling to the floor. The loss of the small body’s heat immediately leaving him colder.

“I must leave now, but I’ll do my best to return more often to help you practise. And you’ll have to teach me more about, birds you say they’re called?” His voice questioned with mirth. The sparkling nodded. “And I’ll mention to G.H.O.S.T. to raise the temperature of this room. You’re right, it is lower than optimal temperature.”

The sparkling looked up at him with a small smile. “Thank you, Ratchet.” The anxiety was still there in their EM field, as well as the strange frequency, but their smile did much to improve Ratchet’s worries. He promised himself to work quickly and come back as soon as he could. He’d talk about the Aerialbots more next time, as it seemed to interest the little one.

“I’ll return as soon as I’m able.” He nodded curtly, praying to Primus that the thudding of his spark didn’t give his hidden affection away. With every protocol blaring within him to turn back around and stay with the sparkling, he walked through the hangar door and left them alone again.

Chapter Text

Chap 4

Fledgling

Starscream could sense the day of departure approaching quickly. Less and less materials were being brought to the headquarters location, and from his vantage point he noted the massive amounts of energon that were being moved as well. While the Energon to him was of lesser importance, he knew that for most independent Decepticon survivors this would be a vital turning point. With this information, he knew that they wouldn’t be the only ones trying to gain control of the vessel. 

The Ark II, Starscream scoffed at the name and its implications, was nothing more than a giant cargo vessel. It had no weapons to defend itself, relying entirely on its passengers to ensure its safe departure. And while he knew that Optimus would be no slouch in defending his newly crafted ship, the remainder of his Autobots as his only line of defence, he also knew that without Nova Storm there would be no aerial support. This boded well for his plan, as his trine would have the upper hand in picking off the Grounders on the flight deck. 

Under the command of Megatron, Starscream and his trine had fought the Autobots many times. Only at the beginning did they have to contend with other Seekers, challengers that had battled their flying prowess in the skies. But now they were the uncontested lords of the skies with no equal. Even with this knowledge of being the last known Seekers on Earth, he knew that the reason they had survived is because they were the best. The Decepticons may have lost their leader, but the trine had kept their pride.

No doubt the departure would happen within a cycle’s time. Their urgency was unknown to him, but he was thankful to have all the information he needed to carry out his plan.

Cloaked in a special Seeker frequency, Starscream communicated his return through his trine bond and waited for the movement of opportunity to present itself.

________________

: -as I was sayin’, I’ll be really happy to get off this wet rock and back to Cybertron. I’m tired of having to camp out in damp caves, I swear I spotted a rust mark not too long ago.:

Thundercracker sighed, knowing he signed up for listening to this drivel millenia ago. Skywarp was ever a talker, even over comms. When he couldn’t shut his intake, he spewed on comms forever. If they hadn’t been brothers, Thundercracker would have strangled him vorns ago.

: Focus, Skywarp. You’re meant to be looking out for supply cargo on route to the Autobot base. When they start to dwindle, we know it’s time to move out. : Thundercracker huffed in irritation. This was far from the first reminder. : Don’t forget that unless we move at exactly the right time, we could miss our only chance. You’ve got to pay attention, or Screamer’s gonna have your spark. : He felt Skywarp’s slight irritation through their bond. Thundercracker could almost imagine the mocking faceplate his brother was so fond of wearing. That threat was empty at best.

: Fine, fine. There’s still a steady flow of cargo on route to their base, but there seems to be less and less humans staying. The pink femme is usually the one that greets them, and I haven’t seen her in a cycle or two.:

Thundercracker paused at this, considering. Elita-1 and Arcee were both formidable in their survival of this long war, and he didn’t look forward to fighting either of them. But calculating the likelihood of who would be more suited for the task, he presumed it was Elita-1 that Skywarp was referring to. A shot from her cannons was far more deadly than a shot from Arcee’s.

Out of his brothers, Thundercracker had the thickest armour plating. Still a great deal thinner than a Wrecker, but he took his job as a flight shield seriously. He was still considered fast as a Seeker, but the added weight definitely made a difference in his manoeuvrability. He relied heavily on the tactics of his trine leader to ensure not only the safety of his team, but also to keep them out of unnecessary danger. A downed shield was a downed trine after all.

Starscream had been the best choice for leader despite his lack of quirk. Thundercracker’s Sonic Boom was an innate ability that allowed him to send out a deafening sound wave from his cannon that did not affect his own audials. Skywarp’s warp ability was indispensable, but tricky to use and therefore a wildcard. Without Starscream as their leader they were aimless, and they relied on each other to keep their flight patterns stable. His ambition led them to many successes, eventually working their way up to Command Trine; the highest title of skill that can be bestowed in Vosian culture.

: Keep a tight watch, and keep me posted on any further developments. I’m approaching the destination now.: Thundercracker had been dispatched to communicate with any potential allies that may give them extra firepower for the impending mission. As the most level headed of the trine, it made sense why he was given this task over Skywarp. Not many of their previous allies had lasted as long as they had, but Starscream had discovered the locations of two of them.

Barricade was the closer of the two in terms of geographical proximity. His last known location was close to Witwicky, and Thundercracker already knew of his usual tactics of hiding in plain sight inside human cities. Judging from the fact that he had almost definitely received the same transmission they all had, he knew that Barricade was going to attempt an attack on the Autobot ship as well. If the meeting went well and they did join forces, the chances of success would rise dramatically. If he rejected the offer well, he was one more distraction to deal with.

Soundwave was still nursing his wounds from his last battle with the Autobots. His location was far from Witwicky, and he still hadn’t moved from his coordinates. Starscream had predicted that he would stay out of this battle and so far he’d been proven right. Soundwave’s Cassetticons were missing, last he knew, and Thundercracker knew he wouldn’t leave without them. Further, Soundwave’s interest no doubt lay with Earth’s Space Bridge rather than the voyage itself. Once the vessel left, it would remain here mostly unguarded, but that wasn’t an important factor in Starscream’s plan.

He knew that he’d find out about any other potential enemies during the battle for the ship. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but at least he knew the skies would be clear. Megatron was confirmed to be far away from G.H.O.S.T. 's headquarters, but that could change between now and the ship's departure.

Approaching Barricade’s coordinates warily, Thundercracker landed a distance away from the human settlement and discreetly transformed from his alt mode within the confines of a nearby forest. Pulsing his EM field into the town, he waited until he felt Barricade’s answering EM response.

With an angry rev of a nearby engine that could only be Barricade, a sleek black police vehicle approached the copse of trees. Driving off-road, he transformed the moment his rear bumper entered the forest and was out of human sight. Barricade and Thundercracker greeted each other coolly.

“I presume you’re here concerning the transmission?” The black ‘Con questioned. 

Thundercracker nodded. “We all know how important that voyage is. Which is why it’s better to work together than alone.” His intonation was practised, unobtrusive.

Barricade scoffed in response. “I haven’t worked with you in millenia. Not since Megatron was still our leader.” Thundercracker could hear the venom in his tone.

 “Which is why it would be unexpected.” Thundercracker took a step forward. “You can’t expect to gain control of the vessel with just your own firepower. Why not lend your guns to our cause and stand a better chance at succeeding?”

The look that Barricade shot at Thundercracker was nothing short of scathing. “With Starscream as the leader? No thank you. I’ve been shot in the aft by him more times than I care to count over the centuries, and it’s not gonna happen again.” He spit on the ground. “You three might think that you have a strategy all prepared, but the battle is gonna be a free for all. Nobody, not even Starscream can plan around so many obstacles. It’s gonna be luck of the draw for everyone there no matter what happens.”

Thundercracker tried to hold his ire and remain rational, but some of his anger seeped out of his tone. “If that is what you believe then I can’t stop you. But just know that the offer still stands even if it’s more likely that you fall.” The whirr of his cannon symbolised the audible threat, and his EM field flashed with repressed rage.

Barricade clenched his servos, but refused to show any weakness. “I’ll see you on the battlefield then, TC. We’ll see who wins this luck of the draw.” And with a rev of his engine, he left the forest and the blue seeker’s sight.

Thundercracker sighed and immediately commed his trinemates. : Barricade has rejected our offer, and he intends to participate in the fight nonetheless. Just one more thing to add to the pile.:

A groan was heard through Skywarp’s end, but it was Starscream's voice that came through. : I’m hardly surprised. He always was a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind of mech. He won’t be a hindrance in our plans, he’ll be going in blind. It’s one of the reasons he never climbed the ranks during the war.:

: He said you shot him a bunch in the aft while you worked under Megatron. Is that true?: Thundercracker questioned idly, as if an afterthought.

Starscream chuckled in response. :Yes, I did shoot him a few times. He made for good target practice on Grounders, and it always helped me vent off some steam.: Thundercracker groaned. That sounded like Starscream alright. He was sure there was more to it, but it didn’t matter now.

: Just one more obstacle to add to the plan.: He grumbled through their bond. : I’m on my way back to base. Any further missions before I head back?: He activated his thrusters and got ready to leave.

: No, we will be proceeding shortly. Get your aft back here as soon as possible.: Starscream’s command came through strong and clear.

: See you both in a bit.: Affirmation was felt through their bond, and with that, Thundercracker was off, a streak in the sky remaining where he once was. 

________________

Optimus looked at his teammates who had all worked incredibly hard to complete their respective tasks in record time. It was finally time to give the order and prepare for departure. Accessing his comm link, he broadcast an Autobot wide transmission;

: Attention all Autobots. Please report to the main flight line for a mandatory briefing. I have some excellent news to share.: 

Closing up his terminal inside the main office hangar, he nodded at a few of the human workers that still lingered at their desks. Venturing upward and outside into the afternoon air, Optimus felt like he hadn’t been outside in cycles. Earth’s yellow sun warmed his outer plating and hope filled his spark chamber; today was a monumentous day for all of Primus’ creations. Today was the day they would depart.

Walking out onto the flight line, he noticed a few of his crew had arrived before him despite having only sent the transmission moments before. Arcee stood next to Elita-1, who leaned on a nearby wall looking bored until she noticed their leader walk out into the sunlight. Optimus stood, giving a small nod, and waited for the rest of his crew to arrive. 

Bit by bit they trickled out onto the flight line. Ratchet and Wheeljack from engineering where the space bridge was located, Bumblebee surprisingly coming out of the shadows for this no doubt momentous announcement.

Only a few had remained and chose to venture on this mission, others choosing to come later when the rebirth of Cybertron was already underway. Many couldn’t bear to witness the mission fail, so they chose to remain behind as to keep their sparks from mourning the loss of their home planet twice. Others chose to stay for different reasons; they had made a home on Earth and preferred to stay where they were more comfortable. Optimus did not blame them, and knew in his spark that the ones present with him today were the ones he had expected all along. The tried and true Autobots who would follow him to the bitter end.

Megatron was notably absent, as his covert mission had yet to be completed. Optimus knew that his closeness with the Terrans and Dorothy Malto in particular made it difficult for him to leave. He also knew that leaving Megatron as the Autobot leader on Earth in his stead was the best decision he could make.

Clearing his intake, he greeted his comrades and began his speech. 

“Fellow Autobots, we stand here on this day with historic news. Our mission has proceeded ahead of schedule thanks to the combined efforts of everyone standing here.” He bowed his head slightly to his comrades to show his deep gratitude. “This could not have been accomplished without the combined effort of each and every one of you here. As you well know, this mission is vital for our kind, and your names will go down in Cybertron’s history as the courageous few that will step onto a newly rebuilt Cybertron. You are Primus’ children that never gave up hope that our kind would return home. We will return to rebuild with the painful knowledge we have learned from this long and treacherous war. This belief of peace after war will be the centre of our teachings, and with you as New Cybertron’s first teachers. With your individual experiences and skills, all who come after us as the new children of Primus will speak your names with reverence and love.”

Optimus held his servo up to his spark chamber, sincerity coursing through his EM field onto his dear comrades. “I thank you deeply, from the bottom of my spark, for believing in this mission. I know many of us still hold doubt in our sparks. That we may yet fail, but we will stand together as we always have through all past and future trials. And we will succeed in the end.” He looked pointedly at Ratchet, lowering his helm slightly. “We venture on this mission with more chances of success than we ever have, and no matter what happens I will not allow our species to fade.” 

“With your hard work and perseverance, I have concluded that our departure date may be sooner than anticipated.” He paused, a small grin appearing on his usually stoic faceplate, startling a few of the onlookers. “If you have prepared yourselves, I propose that we leave this very cycle.”

The effect of his words was immediate. Wheeljack’s optics nearly popped out of his helm, Bumblebee jumped high in the air and cheered. Elita-1 stood stock-still and allowed a genuine smile to cross her faceplate. Arcee just started running around and doing push ups excitedly. Only Ratchet kept his gaze, unsmiling but happy. His frequency fluxed with intense joy as he cleared his throat and spoke plainly.

“What now, old friend?”

Optimus kept his gaze, still smiling. “To your positions. We depart as soon as we’re able. Get your things in order quickly. We leave before sundown.” He commed Ratchet separately. 

: Ensure that the little one is ready for departure as well.: Ratchet nodded in lieu of a response.

The leader of the Autobots addressed the group once more. “The humans still expect us to leave in a week’s time. I see no reason to wait for their approval to go to our home, and besides, this is a private affair.” He fought the urge to wink. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

With the finality of that statement, the Autobots flew into frantic motion. They dispersed, all rushing to complete their assigned tasks, their eagerness pumping through their fuel tanks like red Energon, allowing them to move at super speeds. He had no doubt that they would be ready sooner than even he expected, and for that reason he knew he had to get moving himself.

The next few hours proceeded in a blur. Chambers were assigned, cargo was moved from the hangar to the ship itself, the Space Bridge underwent calibration and coordinates for Cybertron were excitedly put in. Ratchet had moved the sparkling (who was still sleeping heavily inside their shipping container chamber) to the ship’s main deck storage room. If they woke up during departure, they would just warn the sparkling to stay within the container until they left. Bumblebee went and began moving the energon containers alongside Ratchet, securing them all within the same storage room. This room was highly defensible once it was shut, with thick metal supporting every wall and a huge locking mechanism controlling the door that only the Autobots had access to.

The Space Bridge had been built into G.H.O.S.T. headquarters; underneath the flight line was a thin panel that allowed the device to activate on the surface, making it usable for the ship to eventually venture through. 

The ship, on the other hand, was disguised in plain sight. Above the upper portion of G.H.O.S.T.’s underground base was a series of abandoned military buildings that disguised the organisation’s subterranean facilities. Inside the largest of these abandoned buildings was where the ship was rebuilt and currently held. The ship was built out of the remains of the Autobot’s previous ship, the Ark I, as well as some hastily scrounged human technology and materials. Overall, it would more than suffice for their inaugural interstellar journey.

Onboard the ship was another partially built space bridge that would be completed upon arrival on Cybertron. Once the mission succeeded, they would need a means to communicate and travel between Earth and with their Earthbound comrades. This was of lesser importance and was deemed a secondary mission that would be completed later.

As the hours ticked by, Optimus found himself itching to leave. The closer they were to leaving, the closer Cybertron could be reignited. One by one, his teammates commed him to let him know that they were prepared to depart. Taking up their stations, Optimus sent a missive addressed to Megatron concerning their early departure. He was sorrowful that he couldn’t say a proper goodbye, but he knew that with Earth’s new Space Bridge they could communicate easier once they arrived on Cybertron. The ship’s comms system were already in G.H.O.S.T’s system, and while they couldn’t test it properly until they were interstellar, Optimus was hopeful of its utilisation. 

Receiving a final word from Wheeljack, it was finally time to depart. Opening the wide doors that shielded the ship from view, the Ark II was brought into Earth’s sunlight for the first and presumably last time. Its size was impressive, wider than it was tall, and its length boasted enough room for any grounder to race from one end to the other and barely see where they started. The various materials required for the mission were already on board, and his crew manned their stations. Giving the order to raise the Space Bridge, Optimus took one last look around him at Earth’s scenery, admiring its green colour one last time, before turning and stepping onto the ship himself. Where they were going, this kind of green didn’t exist. Hope surging in his spark, he took his position and prepared to leave Earth behind.

________________

The noises going on outside your room were interrupting your sleep. Loud vibrations boomed outside the metal walls of your container, and your face scrunches up in annoyance. They don’t sound like violent noises, just loud. Like the screeching of metal on metal and the sound of something scraping on concrete. You begin to slowly wake up, body cold and heavy with sleep, as you pick up the clamour of multiple huge footsteps. They pace around the room outside shuffling, and you can hear muffled voices speaking to each other. As you blink the sleep from your optics, you recognize the voices of Ratchet and Bumblebee, and you wonder, annoyed at the noise, why they’re being so noisy. Swinging your legs from your cot, you take a few steps to the door and grasp the handle. It doesn’t budge.

Taking a few moments to pull on the door, you puff and steam trying to get it open. Is it locked? Are you locked in here? Anxiety creeps up your spinal strut like icy water droplets. You shout to the bots outside. “H-hey! The door is stuck! Let me out!” You bang on the door with your servos angrily for good measure.

Ratchet’s voice greets you over comm. : Good morning, little one. I hope you slept well. The door is currently locked for your safety.:

Bumblebee’s voice chimes in before you can say anything. : Optimus’ orders! You’re to remain inside until it's safe to come out.: This startles you a bit. Is there a danger outside? You had chalked up all these noises as organising boxes, but they could be in trouble?

:Is everything ok?: You chime back. : Are you hurt?:

You feel Ratchet’s touched concern in his response. : We’re fine, little sparkling. Just a precautionary measure. We’ve already moved your room to a safer position and it will be safe to leave soon. Don’t be too surprised when it looks different when it’s time to come out. I will come personally to retrieve you once the danger has passed.: 

You don’t feel reassured by this, but you aren’t given much of a choice. You want to ask about the danger, but the shuffling footsteps get quieter and quieter, leaving the area where your room had apparently been moved to. Distracting them during this dangerous time could be really bad, so you hold your curiosity.

: We’ll be back soon, I promise.: Bumblebee’s voice has an edge of excitement layered on it, even through comms. This left you feeling confused. If there was danger, why did he sound so excited? His tone both worries and puzzles you. You don’t know him well enough yet, but he was either excited to face the danger or perhaps the danger wasn’t as dire as they made it out to be.

Stepping back to your cot, you have no choice but to wait. This new space you apparently had been moved to was slightly warmer than the storage hangar, but you can still feel the chill deep within you. Something feels wrong inside you, and you're beginning to get concerned. Even Ratchet’s last checkup didn’t show anything wrong with you, or at least there was nothing he could find. You trust his word as a doctor, but you still don’t know him or any of the bots well enough to know if he's keeping something from you. Of the few Autobots you’d met, he was the one that spent the most time with you. Maybe because he was a doctor? But you could tell he was a bit soft on you, and you are kinda grateful. With everything that has happened recently, he’d been the one to give you the most answers and attention. You still had a lot of questions that were left unanswered, but the few bits of information he had given you were more than anyone else in this facility. His company wasn’t so bad either.

Picking up your sudoku puzzle and a pen, you slump back on your cot and watch the hours tick by. A few more shuffling sounds are heard outside your container, followed by a big heavy door closing, and then there is quiet.

A few more hours tick by, and the chill continues to grow, becoming hard to ignore. Tucking yourself in tighter with your blanket, you give up on your puzzle and try to go back to sleep. When you were human (gosh that sounds so weird to think about) you found that whenever you felt sick, the best thing you could do for yourself was sleep. At this point, you’d now spent more time as a robot asleep than you have been awake. Curling into a tight ball, shivering wings peeking out from the blanket, you try to enter that unconscious state again. It’s not difficult, but your wingtips are cold and they keep touching the chilly metal wall and make it hard to doze off. When sleep eventually comes, it comes fitfully, but you soon nod off into a deeper slumber. As you curl up tighter, you barely notice the rumble of an engine that starts beneath the floor. The vibrations help lull you further to dreamland and you don’t think too hard about it.

The next thing you know, a cacophonous boom rattles your audials and shakes the entire container. If you thought the scraping of moving shipping crates were loud, this was deafening . The aftershocks of the noise continue to vibrate through your metal box, and your denta chatter anxiously along with them. What's happening out there?

There are loud noises and yelling happening outside. You’re almost glad you’re locked in here, until you think of all the things that could go wrong with you stuck in here. Sure, you’re safe in here from whatever is going on outside for now, but what if something happens and nobody remembers you’re in here? What if they never let you out? What if you’re stuck here forever ? What if someone fills the container with water and you drown? Can you drown? What is happening? Panic floods your processor and your mind races with all the negative possibilities. Your optics offline in the sheer overload of alarms blaring through your processor.

From what you can hear once the vibration of the initial boom dies down, there seems to be the sounds of gunfire and large metal feet stomping around. A few yells can be heard, but you can’t make out what they’re saying amidst the distant deafening sounds and the muffling of your closed metal container. You make out Optimus’ voice barking orders and a few female sounding voices yelling back. You knew there were other Cybertronians who had arrived at G.H.O.S.T., but you hadn’t met them yet so you didn’t recognize their voices.

Bumblebee could be heard distantly, his youthful sounding voice clearly audible, yelling something angrily interspersed with the sound of rapid gunfire. 

Amidst the sounds you recognize, there were a few you don’t; an alien sounding blaster and the shifting of metallic gears are most common. You also hear what could be a missile shooting by, but you never hear the boom when you expect it. It almost sounds like a plane overhead, but you know that's impossible because Optimus had said there weren’t any Aerialbots left. His optics had been sad when he told you this, so you believed him.

Another sound-splitting boom shakes your room so hard that you get knocked off your cot. Deciding it’s no longer safe there, you grab your blanket for emotional support and huddle under your desk. You had remembered reading somewhere that in the event of an earthquake you should duck under somewhere small and more structurally sound. You don’t have a lot of other options in this room, and you know this isn't an earthquake, but the desk barely fits your body let alone your wings. Facing the wall, you scrunch your optics tightly closed and you listen closely to the chaos surrounding you, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Panic and dread fill your body, nestling deep within where your heart used to be. Ratchet had mentioned once in passing that instead of a heart you now had a spark; essentially your new soul fitted to this new body. The news shocked you at the time, but you came around to the idea of having what was basically a tiny star living in your chest. It sounded pretty.

But now that spark was filled with fear. The sounds outside are amplifying in volume and intensity, and to your audials they seem to be getting closer. Your servos are clenched so hard that it kind of hurts, and you can't stop shaking. Whether you are shivering from the cold or the fear, you don’t know. Whatever was going on outside was scary, and you wish more than anything to be anywhere other than here.

A third boom sounds, but you barely have time to hear it. It collides into the room where your container is and the blast sends you flying painfully out of your room though the now-opened ceiling hatch. The lid must’ve unlatched in the explosion, and you are knocked hard onto a neighbour metal shipping container.

Your body hurt. You bounce off of the container and crumple to the ground. Alarms blare in your HUD, obscuring your vision, and your helm rattles with the aftershocks of the explosion. Your servos clench on the hard ground, and you know you have to get up quickly. You're in the danger zone now, optics wide and fearful, and no longer secure in your room. You have to find somewhere to hide and fast . But your body needs a few moments to recover from the blast. Squinting your optics, you have no choice but to take stock of your injuries. Luckily the damage is minor, save for the scuff marks that line your chassis and forearms. Your wings are sore, but you look around and are relieved to find that they looked unbent, if a little scuffed. The concrete floor had done little to cushion your fall, but you are thankful that, astonishingly, nothing seems to be broken. You're saddened by the thought that even if you were, you wouldn’t even know how to fix yourself in this body.

Another blast shoots a container not far from you and spurrs your throbbing body into action. Getting to your feet quickly, you run towards the first corner you can see of the room and glance around for a better look at what’s going on.

You can’t see clearly through all the smoke, but you can tell that you got lucky in the explosion. The shipping container next to yours has a big smoking hole through it and the edges are singed with heated red metal. Your spark turns cold when you think that could’ve been you.

Outside, sunlight barely peeking through the smoke, you see giant blurry titans running around. The shouting is clearer now, but your audials are still ringing after the blast. Nobody seems to be looking your way, and you edge closer to the entrance of the room where the blast radius was biggest. The smoke is filling the room, and while it is definitely safer in here than out there, the smoke is making your throat hurt. Step by step, you give the melted container a wide berth and peer outside to see if there is somewhere safer to seek shelter.

Outside is a mess; dark scuffs line the ground where blasters were shot and the robots you recognize are hunched behind structures shooting at opponents you can’t see.

Bumblebee, with his bright yellow colouring, is right in the middle, blasting into the sky without a care in the world. He’s yelling, but you can’t hear what he’s saying over his roaring gunfire. The gun seemed to be attached to his arm, and as you look around, you see a lot of the same.

Two pink robots, one large and one small, are jumping all over the place, blasting a black car that is driving toward them. Before your eyes it transforms into a black mech with huge guns and skids around them avoiding their crossfire.

A green and white mech with a strangely shaped faceplate (is that a beard?) is throwing these strangely shaped capsules everywhere and you watch in horror as they explode into many pieces as he laughs. That must’ve been what happened to your room! You shiver with fear and chill. If you got hit with one of those things now without the shielding of your metal room, you’ll be scrap metal. Making a mental note, you make a priority of staying the farthest away from that one. 

The room you were in is now barely standing; its walls are smoking and charred in places. It isn’t a place to safely stay for much longer. A few of the shipping containers you remembered from the storage hangar are here, their cargo still intact but with some of the liquid spilling out onto the floor. You didn’t know what the blue liquid is, but you definitely don't want it to touch you. 

Making a decision to leave, you look at your options going forward. You can’t see Optimus, but you can hear him somewhere in the distance. Still alive, then. Taking stock of where the green one was, you opt to move to a safe place farthest away from that one and the dangerous looking black one. They frighten you the most, and you want to get away from this fight as intact as possible.

In the distance, peering through the smoke, you can see a few options; the first being another storage room much like the one you're in right now, not too far off to your left. This one requires you to pass right in front of where the green one was, so you disregard it as an option. Plus, the room you were in currently didn't do so great, and you doubt it would be much better as the battle progresses.

To the right, much much further away, you spot a small open hatch embedded in the ground. The ground outside is of a different material than the floor of the room you are in, looking to be metal rather than concrete, and there are lines of panelling showcasing how it is soldered together. The hatch must be a ventilation shaft that leads deeper underground! While the idea of going back underground churns your insides a bit, especially after finally being outside for the first time in a while, you decide it would be the best place to seek cover from the chaos around you.

Seeing no other immediate options, you take a deep breath and steady yourself. You’re gonna be running into an unprotected area, but the faster you run the faster you’re safe . Steeling your nerves, you train your eyes to that small hatch in the distance, and start to run. 

The moment you leave the confines of the building, gunfire skitters off to your right, startling you. It isn’t close, but it's still the closest you've ever been to getting shot. Fright seeps through your fuel lines like icy water, and your pedes stumble slightly at the shock. You keep running, trying to go deaf to the sounds around you.

The space between you and the hatch is still so wide; you definitely miscalculated. Running as scared as you are, you barely notice what’s going on around you. A screech is heard from above you, but your mind is focused on that small hatch in the distance. Gunfire rings around you, way too close for comfort, and you fight the urge to cry out loud. Losing the battle within yourself, a wail breaks from your chest, and you trip a little, losing your balance and going helm over pedes landing on your already sore body.

Trying to stifle your panicked tears, you try to get to your feet and keep running, but you never get the chance to. Unfamiliar black servos pick you up and overwhelming fear crashes over you. They pick you up and start running, taking you away from the hatch in the distance. Worried it's the black mech from earlier, you peek a fearful optic around to glance at whoever’s holding you. An unfamiliar grey faceplate with red optics is what greets you, and even more shocking are the blue wings that jut out from their shoulder blades. Unable to stop your crying, a voice from the new Cybertronian shushes you gently.

“Shh, little one, I have you.” His voice is low and soothing. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.” 

________________

Thundercracker had been flying overhead, ready to distract any oncoming fire from his trine mates when a small movement caught his optics. An odd fluttering in his spark, unlike the usual excited thrum of battle, guided him towards the moving figure and what he saw made his fuel lines freeze and burn at the same time.

There, right in the middle of the battlefield, was a tiny Seekerling. They were so small from his high vantage that he had to double check his optics to confirm what he was seeing. Their small silver form was shiny and new in the light of the sun, but scuffed in places from what most assuredly was damage from a nearby blast. A Seekerling? Here? Where was their Carrier? Where was their Sire? How did they get here of all places? A thousand questions overloaded his processor and he had to manually calm his shaking wings to ensure he didn’t do something drastic. Looking down at the young one a bit closer, what he saw made his engine humm in rage and his thrusters freeze midair in horror.

The Seekerling’s tiny finials were downturned in panic, and their EM field fluxed with anxiety. Their wings were quivering and every step of their minuscule pedes ran them blindly into more danger. Thundercracker was moving before his processor ever registered the command.  Before any part of the mission could proceed, he knew he had to get them out of here.

But worse than anything, up there as one of the worst things he’d ever experienced in his many vorns, was the flight sickness that thrummed with every pulse of their tiny sparkbeat. The sickness that made even a grown Seeker despair, and an experience so horrible that only the most evil sparks would ever even think about it. For a Seekerling of this frame size to have it thrum so prominently, Thundercracker wanted to kill something. Every thrum of the sickness frequency pierced his spark at its very core; it was absolutely torturous to listen to. Sparklings, especially Seekers were meant to play and be coddled and spoiled by their family units. Why was this one alone and in the middle of a battlefield, wings downturned and quivering, not looking up to the sky for comfort and protection?

Reactivating his thrusters, Thundercracker watched in horror as a few stray blasts skittered off to the left of the Seekerling, far too close for comfort. To witness a youngling in the middle of a battle brought back memories of tales he’d heard at the beginning of the war; of horrible conditions where sparklings couldn’t survive. Thundercracker swore under his breath. The Autobots wouldn’t be forgiven for this. To keep a Seeker in these conditions was torture, and seeing any sparkling in this violent situation would make any Cybertronian’s fuel lines run cold. He watched as they startled from the close call, falling to the ground hard, and released a spark wrenching cry that spurred his engine into speeds he didn’t think he was capable of. 

His horror of what he was seeing was so strong that it seeped unconsciously through his trine channel. His brothers sent back panicked alarms at his emotional leak, but Thundercracker had no time to respond. The small silver form continued to cry, and he dive bombed recklessly, transforming in midair and landing close to the Seekerling. Without missing a beat, he scooped up the tiny body with his servos and kept them close to his chassis for protection. Their body was so small and Thundercracker could barely remember the last time he had seen a sparkling, let alone the last time he held one. His programming blared loudly, urging him to find suitable cover right this clik, the Seekerling’s tiny servos gripping his fingers like small talons. His spark sank, the flight sickness all the more prevalent with his close proximity to the sparkling, and he did his best to hush their anxious EM field by covering it with his own.

Luckily, the Seekerling seemed receptive to his frequency, and calmed down minutely. If Thundercracker hadn’t been holding them, he would never have noticed their shakes ebb ever so slightly. Their body was so cold with the sickness that he barely had time to register the panels on his servos warming on their own to soothe the young Seekerlet. He was fortunate that even if he didn’t know exactly what to do, his guardian protocols knew exactly what the little one needed.

Taking off running, a dangerous plan for a Seeker but he wasn’t left with any other choice at the moment, he spied a blast ridden rubble pile not too far where he could temporarily regroup with his trine. His heavy plated pedes slamming on the ground, he addressed the sparkling and proceeded forward.

________________

The concept of safety seems so far away at this moment, but the feeling of his fingers surrounding you makes you feel a bit better. You normally didn’t like being carried without your permission, but any buffer between you and the fighting going on around you ismuch appreciated. You clench the base of his middle finger with your servos and try to quiet your sobs. The hatch gets further away, but there’s a small modicum of safety that you feel in this servo that is strong enough that you don’t feel like running blindly again for the open hatch. 

You also find that it doesn’t feel bad to be carried in this way. 

Amazingly, his servo feels warm underneath you. Warm in a way you hadn’t felt since the chills began. Your sobs ebb and you look up into the red optics above you. He’s focused on looking ahead, no doubt searching for a safer place to deposit you. His faceplate shows a fierce expression, like rage beneath the surface. You catch him muttering angrily under his breath, “-here? What are those idiots thinking?” You don’t want to be on his bad side, but he thankfully doesn’t seem to be angry at you.

He puts his other servo next to his helm and yells audibly into his comm loud enough that you can hear him even over the gunfire, “Starscream! Get your aft over here, we’ve got a change of plan!” 

The screeching noise is heard again from above you, and this time you see two jets shooting overhead aiming in your direction. You can’t help perking up in interest. There’s a red and blue one out in front coming in hot, and a purple one tight on its tail. The hot wind buffets around you, and they transform into two similar looking mechs before they hit the ground.

The metal of their pedes meet the metal of the ground and they take off running to catch up with the blue one holding you. Gosh, you hope they’re back up and not more trouble. The red one catches up with you before the purple one, and you meet his ogaze, optics wide.

“Scrap!” His voice is scratchier than the blue one, annoyance prevalent in his tone. “We’ve got to prioritise getting them out of here.”

The purple one comes up behind him, his optics scanning your form briefly. “Want me to…?” He tilts his helm and glances at his teammates. 

The red one looks away as if calculating. They all huddle in the shadow of what looks to be a big metal building that’s barely holding its shape as they rapidly scan their surroundings. “No, no it’s too risky. We’re better off staying together.” The blue mech holding you and the purple mech look at each other knowingly. The black servos holding you unconsciously clutches you closer to the yellow cockpit in the centre of his blue chassis. The motion surprises you, but doesn’t frighten you. 

The red one continues talking. “We’ll continue with the plan, but TC will remain airborne to make him harder to hit. We’ll have to make some adjustments, but know that the priority has changed to keep him out of gunfire.” His red optics turn to you. “Thundercracker here will ensure your safety. No harm will come to you under our watch.” His tone is confident, and you find your scared, fluttering spark is soothed slightly by his statement. You nod at him, and he grins back at you, pointed denta showing. He addresses you one more time before standing to leave. “You’re brave to face battle so young. Your wings will be strong.” The purple one stands with him, and a fierce feeling overtakes you; you suddenly don’t want them to leave. You raise one servo but no sound comes out of your intake. They take off into the sky before you can find your voice.

The blue one, now known to you as Thundercracker, smiles tensely down at you. “Let’s find some real cover, shall we?” And in one smooth motion, his body transforms around you and you suddenly find yourself in a smoothly furnished cockpit. Yellow glass above you spins the sky, and you feel slightly dizzy. There are no seatbelts, but Thundercracker’s smooth voice surrounds you comfortingly. “You alright in there little wing?” He doesn’t wait for your reply before continuing. “I figured you’d be more comfortable here.”

Anywhere was better than the minefield you were running in. In here you felt a lot safer, and you were surprised at how warm it is here. The chill that had hounded your every step was fading slowly, and you had almost forgotten it was there at all.

Looking out the cockpit window, you survey what you can of your surroundings. Mostly yellow tinted sky and plumes of smoke from below you, but every now and again you catch the brief snatches of the tops of buildings or the tips of trees. And you are going fast . Gripping the leather seats with your servos, you feel rather than hear Thundercracker’s chuckle around you. 

“Fast, right? Don’t worry, you’ll blast past an old mech like me in no time.” His jovial tone helps distract you from the panicked sobs that had only stopped moments earlier. The voice soothes your aches that you had only recently acquired, and he speaks to you in a way that makes you feel decidedly more at ease. You almost forgot there was a life threatening battle happening beneath you. 

Taking a tight turn, you lean into the leather while Thundercracker continues speaking. “The two you met earlier are my brothers, Starscream and Skywarp. Starscream can be a bit arrogant, but he’s a good leader. And Skywarp’s chatty, but he can fly like you wouldn’t believe.” Brothers! You think excitedly. Robots can have siblings? You guess it made sense if they’re aliens. “I don’t know how you got here, but only a fool would keep a sparkling so close to a battlefield.” You can hear the anger underneath his tone, clearly aimed at Optimus. There is a tremor around you, as you guess he is fighting his anger.

“But don’t worry. We’ll take great care of you. You’ll be sick of us in no time.” His light timbre returns and you almost close your optics in relief. The lack of tension and his undivided attention, especially after spending so long alone, is like a warm compress on your chilled body. Another sharp turn sways your body in the cockpit, and the battlefield seems so far away. The tension in your body seeps out like melted ice cream, and a sigh leaves your intake.

But all of this precious moment is shattered when the blue jet jolts in the air, a groan of pain heard all around you. Alarms yell all around you and before you know it the sky leaves your vision, and the ground is fast approaching. You see smoke billowing out from either side of the jet, and you shut your optics in fear.

“H-hold on, little wing. This is gonna be rough.” Moments before impact, the cockpit shifts open and you’re shot suddenly into the air. You spin, airborne and afraid, the sky and ground taking turns rotating in your panicked vision. A violent, sickening crash is heard below you, and the screech of jets overhead deafen you. Before your optics can moisten with tears, the metallic sound of transformation is heard, followed by a strange sounding popping sound, and purple servos snatch you out of the air before you meet the ground. 

The purple seeker that caught you, Skywarp, lands heavily on the ground and it’s suddenly the loudest sound you’ve ever heard. All at once the fighting noises cease, gunfire having abruptly stopped and Skywarp runs to his blue brother, the one who had held you so gently.

Starscream, the red and blue brother, lands on the ground much more gracefully, and he too runs to his fallen sibling. They stop close to his helm, the blue jet having transformed moments before impact. He no doubt ejected you at the same time as he transformed. You can’t help but feel responsible for the sombre air surrounding you. Both brothers drop to their knees on the ground next to their fallen sibling, and you are brought down with them. Not a single word is spoken.

On the ground in front of you, in a bent and broken pile, is the blue body of the mech called Thundercracker. The only sound ringing on the battlefield is the heavy breathing of the Seekers holding you, and the smoking remains of their brother. The battle abruptly stops, and all optics are facing the seeker on the ground before you.

Chapter Text

Chap 5

Flight Feathers

Optimus had expected some retaliation from his broadcast. He wanted to give all Cybertronians a chance to put aside their differences and to be a part of the rebirth of Cybertron; yet another hand of peace extended to those who would normally fight against him. And just like every other time, the hope had died and fighting had ensued.

The Ark II was created with one purpose in mind; the transportation of the Emberstone to its final destination on Cybertron. Its rapid construction meant that there was little time or effort spent on extra offensive capabilities, and every one of its crew knew they would be in charge of defending their precious cargo. Its sole purpose was to venture through the space bridge, arrive not far from Cybertron, and land safely with all its passengers intact. In a way, it was more crucial to complete the Space Bridge than it was to complete the actual vessel.

Optimus had received fewer responses than he had hoped for with his transmission, which he knew would result in violence on board the vessel before departure. He had hoped that the early completion of the construction would result in less antagonists, but he still warned his troops that they might receive some.

He was thankful that only a few rogue Decepticons had the gall to interfere with his plans. He had briefly expected to see Soundwave at some point, but Optimus theorised that he was still tending to his injuries after his last fight with Megatron.

Things were quickly progressing as he expected, but it was not all he hoped it would be. The Emberstone was safe beneath the hull of the ship, and the sparkling was kept safely in a reinforced structure on the flight deck of the Ark II . His crew were battle ready and at their stations defending the vessel. The brief timeframe in which the ship was preparing for launch and the departure through the Space Bridge was the most volatile time during this mission. He had expected some kickback that his crew would be well-equipped to handle; what he had not predicted was the arrival of the Command Trine. 

When he heard the sound of jets overhead, his spark sank. There were too many factors concerning the Seekers’ arrival that interfered with his carefully laid plans. He didn’t know if they knew of the creation of the sparkling, but the fact that it was a Seeker build they chose made Optimus worry. To lose his only potential Aerialbot after all these years to these Cons? Optimus would rather shoot them out of the sky.

Focusing his processing power on fighting rather than the potential future dilemma he may have to deal with, he took stock of his crewmates on the battlefield to see if they needed any Prime-backed assistance. Firing a few warning shots into the sky to deter his flying opponents, he ran towards Ratchet’s last known coordinates.

Ratchet was in charge of getting the Space Bridge up and running to ensure their getaway. As soon as the fighting was through the Space Bridge, the potential for any backup would cease and the Autobots would succeed based on sheer force of numbers. Optimus was counting on the vessel moving through the Bridge while the fighting was still ongoing to prioritise getting into space with as many Cybertronians as possible. Even if some were hostile to Autobots, he prayed in his spark that once they saw the common goal they all shared, they would join forces for the betterment of Cybertron.

Comming his CMO, he shot a few more warning shots before retreating underground to the main Space Bridge terminal. Activating it above ground was paramount, and Ratchet couldn’t do it alone. Venturing once more through the tunnels of G.H.O.S.T., though this time in a more unused portion to limit the interference of humans, he ran through the passageways until he spotted Ratchet’s red and white armour plating.

Without even looking up from the terminal, Ratchet reported, “The sparkling is safe in the reinforced chamber, they know not to leave until it is reported safe.” Optimus nodded, even though Ratchet wasn’t looking at him. 

“And the Emberstone?” The doctor queried. 

“Safe in a secure location. Onboard and heavily guarded.”

“By whom?”

“Elita-1 has volunteered to guard the Emberstone for the duration of the voyage. I have absolute trust it will be safe in her servos. Once we have landed on Cybertron and the battle has ceased you will be in charge of its safekeeping until it can be brought to the Well.”

Ratchet typed frantically at the panel, whirring motors coming to life around him, signalling the warm up sequence of the space bridge. Familiar coordinates were entered into the terminal, and a monitor on the upper right wall displayed the fighting above them using old security cameras that were placed around the unused military facility. 

Audials tuned to the only passage leading to this terminal, Optimus waited and watched his surroundings for anything that might interfere with his comrade’s important task. 

Before giving his full attention to the corridor in front of him, Optimus saw something on the monitor that made his fuel lines run cold. From his perspective, he could see the reinforced structure that held the sparkling smoking from damage; a large hole exposing its vital inner cargo. Energon could be seen leaking onto the concrete and Optimus prayed to Primus that none of it belonged to the sparkling. He knew he had to get back up there, but the battle commands within his processor notified him that the safest option would be to continue with the original plan. Activating the Space Bridge above ground and leaving with the vessel as soon as possible was the quickest way to ensure the safety of everyone on board including the sparkling.

Ratchet, still typing furiously at the terminal, didn’t seem to notice the smoking damage on the structure their precious charge was kept in. He barely looked up from the panel, his servos a blur of movement spurred on by battle adrenaline. Optimus knew guiltily that if he told Ratchet of the danger (or damage) the sparkling was currently in, he would abort his mission abruptly and rush to their location. Making a hard decision, Optimus chose not to notify him, and instead proceeded with their task as if nothing had changed. Spark heavy with guilt and worry, the leader of the Autobots counted the cliks until he was free to run up and protect the little one himself.

Comming Bumblebee on a private channel, he could see the proximity of the yellow bot on the monitors. : Bumblebee, what is the status of the sparkling?:

:I’m a little busy here, Optimus. I’m sure they’re fine.: Optimus could see him blasing heavily upon a black Con who Optimus presumed was Barricade.

:The reinforced structure didn’t hold, it’s smoking. Can you confirm the whereabouts of the sparkling?:

On the monitor Optimus could see Bumblebee’s rapid glance at the smoking structure, and he heard a curse over comms.

:Frag, I can’t get to them right now. Barricade’s fire won’t let up. I can’t get to them right now without jeopardising their safety and the mission. There’s nothing I can do Optimus, I’m sorry.:

Optimus let out a shaky sigh, all the while hoping Ratchet wouldn’t notice his tense behaviour.

:I understand, but keep a close optic on the sparkling if you see them, and prioritise their safety if you find an escape from your opponent. Sending you reinforcements when I can.:

He closed the comms channel and tried to tear his optics away from the monitor to no avail. The smoke billowing out of the structure filled his vision, and the quality made the video capture less than optimal. 

A few moments passed in this tense silence, the only sounds were the clicking of Ratchet’s typing and the whirr of his own engine. Watching the monitor with close optics, Optimus always found it difficult to watch his comrades fight on his behalf while he was stationed elsewhere. He much preferred to be in the action himself, to fight alongside his team, but as a leader he knew that wasn’t always possible. Megatron had told him once in confidence that the hardest thing he, as a leader, had to experience was to ignore the deaths of his comrades around him and focus on lifting the morale of those surviving. Optimus couldn’t help but agree; there was no place he’d rather be at this moment than rushing to the sparkling’s side and ensuring their safety, but the mission had to come first and this made his core thrum with anxiety.

But there, a small movement near the base of the smoking structure. The sparkling’s small helm peered out from behind the charred remains of the right wall, finials downturned and frightened. Optimus spared a glance at Ratchet to see if he had noticed, but his old friend’s typing continued undeterred, coordinates calibrating and startup sequences engaging. His spark leapt at the sight, seeing the young Seeker online and undamaged even with his limited view. 

It was a brief positive moment however, for as quickly as he noticed the sparkling, they chose to leave their moderately safe location and run straight into heavy gunfire . Optimus couldn’t stop his smokestacks from steaming at the reckless, dangerous behaviour, and his panic caught the attention of Ratchet. Cursing under his breath, Optimus watched Ratched glance up at the monitor where he was looking.

“The sparkling!”

Ratchet’s sudden terror caused the typing sound to stop abruptly. In an instant he turned away from the console and started running down the corridor. Optimus didn’t blame him, as his pedes were also turned to leave the moment the sparkling put themselves into danger. Tearing his optics away from the monitor, they sped above ground as fast as they could manage, fear for the sparkling’s safety gnashing at their heels.

Cursing his previous choices, Optimus prayed that they wouldn’t be too late.

It had only taken them a few moments to emerge from the winding tunnels coming from the console room, but the first thing they heard was the immediate lack of gunfire. In fact, the lingering echo of his desperate footsteps in the corridor behind him seemed to be the only noise they could hear.

The fighting had stopped. Every Cybertronian was standing still and looking in the same direction.

On the ground, at the feet of the seekers, was a form clad in blue armour plating that was getting paler and paler the longer he stared.

Stopping in his tracks, Optimus could do no more than look on in horror as the payment of the battle had been decided. Thundercracker lay on the ground, his colours paling, signalling an inevitable offlining. From the saturation of his colours, he didn’t have long left.

Taking one heavy step after another, he approached the forms kneeling on the ground next to their fallen kin. Starscream, usually the most proud and malicious of any Cybertronian he knew, was silent at the helm of his dying brother. Skywarp, usually equally as hyperactive and chatty, was as still as Starscream. Neither moved. Neither could tear their optics away.

Although he did not know much of Vosian culture, he knew that for their kind, this loss was a devastating one. With so few Cybertronians left from the Golden Age, and far fewer Seekers. Starcream and his brothers had in this battle paid the ultimate price. His spark was cold in its chamber. He knew grief from war, but the longer he lived, the more the losses piled higher, towering over the victories. Too many had been lost in these countless conflicts, and he swore to Primus that this would be the last loss of their kind they would ever have to experience.

They were prepared for injuries, and even prepared to take prisoners for the duration of the voyage if need be. Optimus knew that many rogue Cybertronians were aimless without a leader, and desperate on top of that. He did not begrudge them their choices, only hoped to rehabilitate them and give them a sense of hope that they had lost during the war. Further death, however, he had hoped desperately to avoid. With his race so close to permanent extinction, any death from either side was considered a huge loss for their species as a whole. Primus wouldn’t want the rebirth of their planet to be cultivated at the cost of the last of its older generation. But here, with death closing in on a member of the last Seeker trine, he felt nothing but guilt in his actions that had brought them all here.

Belatedly, Optimus noticed the Seekerling in the purple servos of Skywarp. Their optics were also looking at Thundercracker, as if the harder they stared the more likely he would rise from the ground unharmed. Their servos were tense and their wings were shaking, but they appeared mostly unharmed save for a few cosmetic scrapes. They made no motion to move from the bigger Seeker’s hold. He focused his optics on the small figure rather than seek the gaze of the grieving Seekers that no doubt placed the blame rightfully on Optimus’ shoulders.

Ratchet’s footsteps sounded behind him, he had taken a few extra moments to process what his optics were showing him. A sharp gasp released from his intake, and Optimus could see his shivering servos from the corner of his vision. He too, realised the direness of the situation, but Optimus could see his friend's code fighting to override the programming to get the sparkling out of the purple Seeker’s clutches. This, and all the guilt this moment had caused, brought the medic to a standstill next to his leader. More footsteps crept closer to the increasingly paling body, not a word spoken by anyone.

Rather than looking at the body closely, terrified to see the damage his crew had inflicted, instead he chose to speak gently. “This was never my intention.” Optimus began softly, addressing the kneeling Seekers. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.” 

Starscream didn’t look up from his kneeling posture on the ground. His body, bright with colours of red and blue much like his own, was frozen in place. A small tilt of his helm indicated he heard what was said. Optimus doesn’t have the courage to look at Skywarp, instead offlining his optics.

A subdued voice, unlike his usual gravitas, scratches its way outside of Starscream’s intake. “I’d like to-” he breaks for a moment, static clouding his words. He pauses, then continues. “I’d like to perform Vosian funeral rites.”

Optimus’ optics online and soften. “Of course. Whatever you need.” Now was not the time for fighting. The air was heavy with grief. 

Starscream’s wings shuddered, as if shivering from the cold. 

“...and his body? As his family you would know best where he would like to be laid to rest.”

Starscream’s helm turned to the side, and Optimus could faintly hear his denta clench together in misery. A few moments passed in silence before Starscream could vocalise his answer.

“...Cybertron. Thundercracker always wanted to go back home.” His voice was so soft, he was barely audible.

Optimus nodded, even though he knew that Starscream couldn’t see it. “You will both be guests aboard this vessel, and we will aid you in delivering him to his final resting place.” He fought an urge to lay his servo on Starscream’s shoulder, knowing the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. He turned to leave, addressing his teammates that were too stunned to look away from the paling corpse. “Give them some privacy and prepare to depart. No harm will come to them during this voyage.” His voice, piercing in its authority, echoed throughout the flight deck. He commed Elita-1 privately to ensure that Barricade was following his orders as well. He too, it seemed, was shell shocked at the loss of Thundercracker. He didn’t fight back when he was escorted below deck.

Unlike the rest of his comrades, Ratchet moved forward rather than backward. Edging behind Skywarp, servos trembling, he gestured silently for the sparkling. 

Skywarp, who hadn’t moved during this entire exchange, twitched his servos slightly. The sparkling startled and looked up at his faceplate. Their tiny talons grazed the larger fingers that held them, almost reassuringly, before hopping into Ratchet’s open servos. There was no fight left in either of them, but Ratchet knew this wouldn’t be the end of their silent discussion. With his servos empty of their tiny prize, Skywarp finally let his arms fall and he stared silently ahead.

Ratchet took this as his cue to leave, and the flight deck was left empty save for the grieving Seekers, their fallen brother, and the weight of mourning in the air.

________________

Starscream’s shoulders trembled, every part of his body shaking from his wingtips to the tips of his servos. Skywarp knelt next to him, helm facing downward, unmoving. Moments passed in silence, the footsteps long since faded below deck, and neither moved save for the quiver that shook their bodies. Servos clenched on the ground, and Starscream could hold it in no longer.

He laughed sharply and tried to stifle his mirth. Containing it was a losing battle and his talons scraped the metal ground where they knelt.

The plan had worked perfectly . 

Skywarp laughed too, smiling widely from audial to audial. Still contained as to not draw suspicion, but gleeful all the same. 

Thundercracker’s voice came through their private comm channel. :I take it they bought my performance?:

:Hook, line and suckers .: Starscream’s delighted response rang through their channel.

The plan had been simple. Why fight when you can be escorted as guests of honour? All they needed to do was appeal to Prime’s bleeding spark and they would be brought to Cybertron as guests rather than prisoners of war. And with Thundercracker’s hue shifting ability, one that he used rarely, usually only for stealth missions that were few and far between, the trine had succeeded with flying colours.

The blue of Thundercracker’s plating was meant to mimic various sky saturations, though he was limited to only his usual hue. Changing the saturation was an easy trick, and shifting to a powdery blue gave the impression he was close to death. Many Seekers had this ability (Starscream had even discovered some earth creatures had similar colour shifting abilities, even ones that had the gift of flight) and with very few Seekers left, the trine knew that it wasn’t common knowledge outside of Vos. There was little chance that the Autobots knew of this ability, thus their chances of success were high.

It didn’t matter how many opponents were present during the battle, they never intended to fight anyway. One well placed smoke bomb (human made, practically garbage but it did the trick) and the shifting of saturation closer to grey made the perfect performance for the Autobots to fall for. What did the humans call it? Oh yes, playing possum . 

“What about the Seekerling?” Skywarp’s voice cut through his gleeful thoughts.

:Over comms, you idiot! We have to play the part of a grieving trine. We can’t have them catching onto our ruse until we’re well on our way to Cybertron.:

The Seekerling had been a huge surprise. To find one here, alive , and without any visible care to their wellbeing, Starscream had felt like he was about to explode with rage when he saw the youngling. He knew that if anything happened to the little one, he would be the first to raze the ship to the ground, no matter the casualties. 

:I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before, besides us when we were that age. What do you think they’re doing here?: Skywarp sounded uncharacteristically quiet when speaking about the youngling.

:I have no idea, but their safety must take precedence over our mission.: Thundercracker’s body may be unmoving, but they could hear the seriousness in his tone. :You both felt it too, right? The flight sickness?:

Starscream bared his pointed denta, snarling. His wings trembled with a different emotion now; anger. Every inch of the sparkling’s EM field had screamed alone at him. While he didn’t get as close of a look as Thundercracker did, the sickening frequency had sent a shiver down his strut the moment he felt it.

This wasn’t just a single cycle of solitary isolation; this was multiple. Who knew how long they’d been locked up, alone, without even a window to look at the sky? He clenched his servo, talons digging into his palm painfully. To torture a Seeker youngling like this was barbaric. Not even Megatron at the height of his tyranny would have executed an order resulting in this. Starscream had to contain himself when Optimus had approached him, using every bit of restraint to keep himself from blowing his performance and punching the leader in the faceplate.

:We have to prioritise gaining guardianship over the youngling. I won’t leave them one cycle longer in the hands of those undeserving Autobots. Their medic should have known better. Wasn't he a sparkling doctor once?:

Skywarp nodded, and looked at his servos. He only held the sparkling for a few moments, but he knew in his spark if anything happened to them he’d kill them all and then himself. He could almost feel the slight weight that had rested on his palms only moments ago. The last of the Seeker line, and the hope of Vos had been just here, cradled in his very own servos. Plucking them out of the air had been a joy, despite their brief terror. He looked forward to many flying lessons going forward in the future.

:The medic seems very invested in the sparkling, it’ll be hard to fight his credentials in guardianship.:

:Scrap credentials, they’re a Seeker ! We are probably the last of the Vosians! They deserve to know their culture! We have the stronger authority in this matter.: Starscream seethed. :I won’t let some two-bit Grounder take command of our charge. They belong with us by all rights, but I agree it's not going to be easy.: 

Starscream cursed under his breath. It would be so easy to just take the Seekerling and fly away. Part of him wanted to do just that. But his tactical brain found multiple other methods of success that would accomplish all of his goals. It might take a bit more work, but it would be worth it.

:We’ll find a way. And if the Autobots do not agree, we have the entire voyage to convince them.: He gave a side glance to his purple plated brother. :If they continue to remain obstinate, well, it’s not like Grounders can fly.: Skywarp’s grin matched his own. The pride of Vos would never die, the Command trine would make sure of that. A Seekerling belonged with their own, and nothing was going to get in their way.

Starscream continued on the channel. :We continue with the plan, and convince the Autobots to relinquish guardianship. They belong with us anyway.: He addressed Thundercracker. :Enjoy your rest below deck, you’ll probably be placed in storage.: The blue seeker groaned. : Keep in contact over comms and we’ll update you on changes in the plan. Remember, trine channel only , we can’t have the Autobots picking up on your ‘online’ status.: He chuckled deeply. :We’ll keep the medic and the rest of the Autobots off your back. Vosian funeral rules and all that.: Fighting one last grin, he ended the comm and stood.

Skywarp stood a moment later, meeting his trine leader’s optics. Giving a minute nod, they prepared to make their case. The Seekerling belonged with them, no matter what it took.

“Let us begin phase two.”

________________

Moving from Skywarp’s servo to Ratchet’s, you immediately notice a drop in temperature.

In Skywarp’s hold you felt warm, safe, content. You didn’t even know him, but you felt an instant connection. Maybe it was because he plucked you out of literal thin air , but you felt safer with him. At least his reflexes were good. 

Not that Ratchet had been unkind to you, you just don’t know him that well either. Plus the Seekers have wings . Maybe one of them could teach you to fly.

Your thoughts scurry through your processor, darting from one thought to the next. You try everything to get your mind off of what you just witnessed; experienced.

At thirteen, you are practically an adult. You feel distinctly repulsed by anyone babying you and making decisions without your input. Sure, there are some things you might not be old enough to do yet (and you might never get a chance to do them now that you’re a robot, you think dimly), but you are old enough to make your own choices. Thirteen is old enough to be on your own, no matter what anyone else says. It was your life, your rules, with everything that came with it good or bad.

Sadness was coursing through your body. The blue Seeker ( Thundercracker . Thundercracker was his name) had…died? And he had done so saving your life. Guilt courses through your fuel lines like acid. This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you.

(You stupid child, acting like a grown up. Getting others in trouble when you can’t even take care of yourself. This is all your fault.)

Your optics blurr with tears (lubricant? Coolant? Windshield wiper fluid?) and you offline your optics. His loss was as a result of your stupid actions, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. His brothers probably hate you. You don’t blame them.

Ratchet, for all of his previous attention, is blind to what is happening in his servos. Running after Optimus through a passage leading further underground, you only listened vaguely to their conversation.

“Optimus, are you sure this is the right choice? Are we really leaving with them on board?” The medic’s voice is strained as he continues down the passageway.

The leader of the Autobots pauses, slowing  in his steps slightly. “...The voyage to Cybertron will be brief. They will remain guests aboard the Ark II , and we will limit their interaction with the little one.”

You stiffen slightly, indignant to his words. Its like they barely register you are here! What about you and your own choices? And what’s this about a voyage? You open your intake to say something, but you’re interrupted.

“But is it safe ? You know better than anyone the kind of things they’ve done in the past. Can we trust them?”

Optimus sighs, defeated. “We have no other choice, Ratchet. We offlined a member of their trine, one of the last of their kind. Our species can’t afford more bloodshed, not while we’re so close to righting our wrongs.”

Ratchet growles, low enough that it rumbles through his chassis. The walls around you seem to echo with it as well. But even after a few moments he doesn’t reply.

The corridor opens up to a terminal full of alien technology. You don’t even know what you are looking at. The room is lit with a few colourful lights hidden amidst the foreign machinery, but it is mostly luminated by a large screen in the upper right corner. On it you can see a blurred image of the flight deck outside, both Seekers still kneeling next to their brother, unmoving. You look away painfully, spark thudding in your chest. Your fault.

Distracted, you barely notice Bumblebee following the other bots into the chamber. So sunken into your thoughts, you don’t even hear his footsteps behind you. His voice cuts through your disassociating reverie. 

“Optimus? Are we still proceeding with the launch?” His blue optics meet Optimus’, hope still shining through. 

Optimus nods, and moves towards Ratchet. Without a word passing between them, you are being shuffled into his larger servos from Ratchet’s smaller ones. Ratchet turns to the terminal and starts typing swiftly, his attention anywhere but you. You feel cold. The chills return.

“Send Wheeljack to see if the Seekers would like his assistance in transporting the body below deck. I don’t know any Vosian customs, so it’s best to follow their lead so we don’t step on anyone’s pedes.” Bumblebee nods and sends the missive, likely over comm. 

“Elita-1 is escorting Barricade to one of our guest chambers. She notified me that she will stand guard until she believes he is not a threat.” Bumblebee reports. “At least until we’ve departed.”

There it is again, that word: depart . Are they going somewhere? What about you? They said they’d help you, and now you are the cause of this huge mess. One of the last of the Seekers is dead because of you. If you still had a stomach, you knew you’d be sick. Instead, that feeling of cold keeps washing over you. Keeping the shivers at bay, you continue to listen until you have more clarification.

“Arcee is readying the Ark II . Engines are running optimally. As soon as the flight line is clear, we’ll be good to go.”

On the monitor you notice that scary green mech from earlier approach the kneeling Seekers. As he gets closer, the red and blue one swats at him and he retreats back a few steps. Then he gets to his feet alongside his purple brother and they carry their fallen sibling through an open door on the flight deck and out of sight.

As soon as the trio disappear, a sickly green light takes over the monitor. It's huge, illuminating the entire flight deck, making it difficult to see anything. It spins wildly with an energy starkly different from electricity, and you can feel the hum even this far underground. 

On top of the vibrations and the strange light, a different sound carries through the corridor. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but the whole room reverberates like a computer booting up. Or an engine .

The light on the monitor grows brighter and brighter, and you notice Bumblebee’s optics trained on the same sight. Except where you feel trepidation and confusion, you see him repress a smile on his faceplate. Someone just died and he is smiling?

Realising the visual on the monitor is getting closer to the light rather than getting bigger, the feeling of unease within you continues to grow. The Autobots, with all their talk of ‘helping’ have kept you mostly in the dark about what is going on around you, and it both frightens and angers you. The dual emotions fight inside your processor resulting in an immovable standstill. There isn’t anything you can do in this situation. You feel so powerless.

The humming becomes louder and louder, and the green light seems to swallow the tip of the flight deck. It disappears through the light, growing larger as it gets closer and closer to the camera. Over the smoking walls of the building that used to have your room (you wonder distantly if you’ll get a new room after all this), over the empty place where Thundercracker had lain not moments ago, until it finally encompasses the visual. 

Bumblebee beams above you, and Optimus also releases a small smile. He’s finally, finally looking down at you, rubbing your helm with the tip of his forefinger. He doesn’t say anything, but from the look of his expression he seems to have a weight lifted off his massive shoulders. You glance at Ratchet who is still typing, a frown marring his faceplate. He meets your glance briefly before turning back to his work.

The view on the monitor has changed; it was dark outside now. Stars could be seen in the distance, dimmed by the automatic lights that line the flight deck. How was it night all of a sudden? What was going on out there? You seem to be asking yourself that question constantly.

Ratchet sighs, pausing his typing. “Let’s go then.” And without another word, the three of them turn and leave the terminal.

Venturing back outside, the green light is still pulsing. It was bigger than you thought it would be in person, and it's loud . It whirrs with an angry electrical pulse, and it generates some wind too. It's so large that the base of it touches the ground of the flight line, and for some reason you were all walking right towards it . 

Squirming frantically, you try to wriggle your way out of Optimus’ hold. Without even looking down, he pets your helm gently and shushes you. Dread courses through your cables as you try desperately to get away away from the green light. 

“Don’t move so much, you’ll fall and hurt yourself.” Optimus’s gentle tone does nothing to quell the hysteria building within you. You don’t care if you hurt yourself jumping down from this height, you do not want to go in that thing!

But your strength is nothing compared to the metal giant holding you, and he cups the servo that had been stroking you, folding it over your head making a cage of fingers around you. There was no getting out of this. Fighting back tears, you can do nothing as the green light surrounds Ratchet in front, making him disappear from your sight. Bumblebee follows soon after, giddy for reasons you don’t understand, and then finally it surrounds you. 

In the shadow of Optimus’ large fingers with only small strips of light peeking through, you’re temporarily blind. It takes you a moment to clear your optics to see what the hell has just happened. 

The first thing you notice are the stars, more than you’ve ever seen before. The second thing you notice is the green light fading from behind you, leaving only the light of the stars and the dim lightstrips lining the flight deck. The third and last thing you notice, is that other than the ship you’re on, there’s nothing else around you.

Like, actually nothing. A void, the absence of anything, inky blackness. Nothing. 

That hysteria from earlier multiplies tenfold as you realise they’ve brought you to space . And they didn’t even ask you. The rush of shock hits you so hard you stop moving completely, limbs becoming dead weight.

Optimus, mistaking this for calm, continues to smile gently down at you. 

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” His voice was cheery despite his blatant kidnapping . “Today was a very exciting cycle, wasn’t it? I’m sure you’re eager to explore now that the danger has passed.”

He moves to set you down, but doesn’t release you quite yet. “You gave us quite the scare, little one, running out into danger.” The quiet timbre sets your teeth on edge. “We would have been devastated if anything happened to you. Your plating is a lot thinner than ours, and it's a lot easier for you to get hurt.” You hold your tongue in rage, the panicked adrenaline tied with the hysteria still flowing strong through your fuel lines.

The other two bots are walking away in separate directions; Bumblebee towards a door on the right, and Ratchet ventures towards the tip of the (what you now realise is a) spaceship. Optimus gets your attention by raising a finger in a parental fashion.

“First up, ship rules. You’re free to explore anywhere you like, but keep away from our new guests.” He pauses, considering. Then he continues to smile that chilling smile. “Any of the Autobots on board will be happy to help you with anything that you need, but please be careful. The holding cells are obviously off limits, and anywhere you choose to explore will require an escort for your safety.” If you still had blood it would be ice by now. 

Staying silent, you wait until he lowers you close enough to the ground and you jump down easily. Looking up at him with blank optics, hoping all your emotions are invisible on your face, you try not to flinch when he pats your helm one last time. 

“I am needed elsewhere for the moment, but I will return as soon as I’m able to escort you around the inner workings of the ship, once you’ve finished exploring the hull.” He winks at you, and you feel sick. Keep a straight face, keep it together.

After giving you one more fond glance that sets your denta on edge, he turns and goes somewhere underground. You don’t pay attention because you start running the moment he stops paying attention to you.

Ratchet must’ve heard your footfalls on the flight deck or something, because he turns around and kneels when he sees you coming his way. His faceplate breaks out into a sad but relieved expression, and he opens his servos as if to scoop you up like a caretaker once you get close.

But you aren’t running to Ratchet. Off to the side, you had noticed the open doors that the Seekers had gone through earlier. If Optimus doesn’t want you near them, then that’s exactly who you need to talk to. Optimus is no longer trustworthy after this stunt, and if you can get to them before anyone catches up with you, you hope they will help you even after everything that happened with Thundercracker. 

Veering off towards the door, you run through the opening and into a dimly lit passageway. Behind you, you distantly hear Ratchet’s voice call for you in a worried tone, followed by his heavy footsteps. They still sound a distance away, giving you a fair head start, but you have to move fast if you want to get to the Seekers before he reaches you.

Down one hallway and through another, you feel yourself going downward. The slight slant of the floors gives away how deep you’re going, and you pray to anybody that’s listening that the Seekers come back up this hallway once they bring their brother’s body to a safe place.

Ratchet’s footfalls are coming up behind you louder and louder, and you don’t have the chance to look back to see how close he’s gaining. His voice, growing more and more panicked the more you run, was also growing louder.

“Little one, where are you going? I’m right here! Come to me!” That same feeling you got from Optimus’ voice creeps up your strut and you cringe with fear. Everyone on this ship is making your choices for you, and you hope the Seekers will be different. Your processor brings up the audio memory without your permission (it wasn’t even that long ago) of Starscream calling your wings strong. And Skywarp’s warm servos. And Thundercracker. 

You choke, stumbling a bit but not falling. Don’t get distracted now. If the Seekers won’t help you because of what you’ve done, maybe you can repay them by being a servant or something. Anything to get away from these Autobots . It was your fault that Thundercracker is dead, and that they lost their family. Tears of an unknown liquid stream down your faceplate as you run, a cry making its way up your throat unbidden. Your helm feels warm from the physical and mental exertion, and your servos clenched tightly as you run. Ratchet’s heavy footsteps are shaking the floor now, he’s getting too close.

But relief hits your optics as the red and blue form of Starscream enters your vision. Not able to stop the cry from escaping your intake, you wail loudly and it seems to get his attention. Skywarp’s similar looking helm peers out from behind him, and they both look in your direction.

The sight of the two of them gives you a boost of speed, you run faster than you ever did as a human and try to reach them before Ratchet captures you. They take a step towards you and you jump - unable to create words through your wailing - into Starscream’s open servos. He catches you easily, and turns his body immediately to shield you from Ratchet. Wings raised, he takes up your entire vision.

You cry and you cry, unable to stop. The grief and guilt you feel from Thundercracker’s loss (your fault, your fault ) is spilling out of you without stopping. You only vaguely notice Skywarp taking a step out in front, further blocking you from Ratchet’s path. The medic skids to a halt in front of the Seekers, his sad face visible even through your blurry optics.

Your own tiny servos scratch and wipe your face, trying to stop crying, but only making the horrible feeling worse. Starscream’s servos are warm beneath you, same as Skywarp’s and Thundercracker’s had been. You try to calm your breathing enough to speak, but only unintelligible wet babble escapes you. 

Ratchet continues to look worried from what you could see behind Starscream’s wings, and you can only vaguely hear him try to reason with the Seekers to give you back to him. Any attempt to grab you physically is met with Skywarp’s swift intervention, and he even hisses at the medic getting him to step back.

“I-I’m-, I-I am” Words are so hard when you’re crying so hard. You hiccup a bit and try to take a deep breath to calm down, but it only ends up shaky. “I-I’m s-s, s-so s-s-sorry” You manage to make out, albeit wetly. Warm servos touch your helm, and you find you don’t mind them. They’re sharper than the others’ and they don’t remind you of Optimus. 

Starscream’s scratchy voice shushes you gently. His voice is still unfamiliar to you, but it’s soothing in its uniqueness. His talon runs along your left finial, which is downturn in grief. You can barely see him through your tears, his body mostly a blob of blue and red and white. His talon feels nice, but you can’t help the strong feelings of sadness coursing through you. Calming down enough to talk is proving to be a challenge.

Ratchet’s voice gets louder with his attempts to reach you. “Release them, they belong with us . Little one can you hear me? Come to me, I’ll keep you safe.” You hear the sound of metal screeching on metal, like he’s being forcibly kept from you. Good.

Starscream takes a step back down the corridor away from Ratchet, his wings still high and proud. Skywarp takes a step back with him, and Ratchet doesn’t move from where he’s standing. Everyone is tense, and you can’t stop your tears. 

________________

Starscream could barely keep his processor straight, so many alarms were blaring at once.

The sparkling, the Seekerling , had run right into his arms, and was now crying fitfully in his servos. Fear was coursing through their EM field, and the feeling of flight sickness was now impossible to ignore. He was beyond enraged, he was furious . But it wouldn’t do to frighten the youngling.

Using his wings to shield their prize from the medic, who had such a fierce look on his faceplate when he was running after the sparkling, was the most he could do at this time. Processor working overtime, he tried to quickly think of reasons why the youngling should stay with them, and never leave. The instant he had finally felt the tiny form in his claws, he knew he’d never let them go.

Guardianship protocols were a hell of a thing. They blared the loudest in his processor, and he couldn’t help but to listen. They hadn’t been activated in millenia, and they were damn near impossible to ignore. He couldn’t even remember if they had ever been used before. The crying and sickness was agony to feel, and Starscream swore on every Spark in the Well that he would never let anything bad happen to this tiny little being ever again.

The medic continued to rant incoherently, sometimes addressing the sparkling in shaky, cooing tones and sometimes addressing the trine desperately. “Give them back! They’re not yours, they belong with us! They came to us !”

At this display, Starscream almost felt the need to laugh sardonically. Meeting the medic’s optics, he spoke with malicious venom. “Is that so? Then why did they run so desperately away from you and to me ?” He let the last syllable drag on, making his pride clear. “It doesn’t seem like they want to stay with you.” He looked away from the doctor, his talons continuing to stroke the helm of the Seekerling, who’s crying had quieted slightly in the time he was holding them.

Seeing a Seekerling so small cry so ardently in his servos pulled on his spark painfully. This was unacceptable. Whoever put them in this situation was going to pay and Starscream knew exactly where to lay his blame.

Seething at the medic, Starscream allowed his rage to show through his red optics. “They don’t want anything to do with you. Leave us, we will take better care of them than you ever have.” Ratchet almost looked close to tears, but he still tried to gain the youngling’s attention.

“Little one, these are bad Cybertronians. I can’t trust them to know they won’t hurt you. Please come back to me.” 

Starscream hissed at his words. “Hurt? Hurt ? Why were they running so fearfully away from you, hmm ? And why are they showing such severe signs of flight sickness?” He could hardly control the rage that bubbled in his fuel tanks. Flight sickness in a Seekerling. Repulsive.

This caused Ratchet to pause quizzically for a moment. “Flight sickness? I’ve never heard of such a thing. You could be lying. What is it? I’m a doctor, I can help!” His voice turned from disbelief to sputtering.

Starscream spat back. “You’ve kept them alone in a windowless chamber, haven’t you? How long had it been since they’d seen the sky beforetoday? Where are the rest of their sparkmates?!” 

Ratchet was slow to respond, his intake open in shock. “B-but that’s no cause for concern. Sparklings are fine by themselves during that frame cycle. I was a sparkling doctor, I would know!”

“A Grounder sparkling doctor.” Starscream’s red optics were steely. “Seekerlings are never alone. We are raised in family groups and failure of that results in flight sickness.” His gravelly voice was strained in fury. “Seekers need the sky the same way Grounders need gravity. What you Autobots have inflicted on this poor youngling is nothing short of torture .”

Ratchet had the decency to look absolutely sick with this information. Starscream had to stop himself from showing his pride at how his words affected the medic. The words were all true, and from the look of the doctor’s face, everything he theorised had been correct. The Seekerling had been kept in a box, alone, for an untold amount of time. The chills still wracking the small form, along with the quieting sobs, only made Starscream’s rage grow stronger.

But he kept his head, and looked down on the small figure in his claws. They were so small, and they had already been through so much. Skywarp stood like a wall between him and the medic, not allowing him to take even one step closer.

The doctor opened his intake and closed it again without a sound. Guilt and realisation shone on his faceplate. Starscream knew he had won this, but he still needed something to drive the feeling home.

Conveniently, luck was on his side. As he peered down at the small Seeker, sobs quieting to a few hiccups and the occasional shudder, they reached up to rub their optics of the fluid and tried to calm their spark. As they did this, Starscream noticed the first streak of colour appear on the youngling’s plating. Across their faceplate and staining their audials, a black stripe resembling a mask appeared.

Fighting the urge to grin and losing, Starscream looked triumphantly at the medic, who met his gaze with the same horror as before.

Holding the Seekerling a little higher so the doctor could see, Starscream let his final words hammer home. “And look,” his gravelly voice let the last syllable drag, enunciating his glee,  “their first colouring! This proves without a doubt that they feel more comfortable with us than they do with you.” He grinned proudly, and clutched at his tiny prize. 

Ratchet looked absolutely defeated; his servos hung limply to his sides and his blue optics were open wide in dismay. The first colouring on a sparkling usually appeared to a youngling's parents, signalling the sense of belonging that they felt with their family units. Sires and Carriers used to mark the cycle of first colouring as a day to be celebrated, usually when the sparkling had begun to cultivate aspects of their personality. Other than the stripe of black across their faceplate, not a speck of colour could be seen on any other part of the silver sparkling.

Skywarp beamed at the colouring, and the sparkling calmed enough to look quizzically back at him. The black around their optics made them stand out starkly, the bright blue green colouring making them look piercing and huge. Starscream watched as Skywarp fought the need to coo. There would be plenty of time for that soon enough.

“So you see, doctor, they will be staying with us for the time being.” He turned on his heel and walked down the corridor, wings bouncing proudly. “Notify the Prime that they will be recharging in our chambers.” Skywarp followed closely after, and the medic stood unmoving in the hallway. He didn’t stop watching until they left his sight, and buried his face in his servos.

Chapter Text

Chap 6

Bird Bath

Once you start crying, it’s usually very difficult to stop. It’s not as if you are used to crying, more that you are used to stifling back your emotions before you get to the crying stage. You know that once you start, it is decidedly hard to stop. Crying for you (when it does happen) is an all-out affair. Ugly heaving sobs, gross wet eyes, trembling, snot, hiccups - all of it. Even now with your new robot body, you expect the same. Colour you surprised when all it takes to calm you down from a pent up stress session is a couple of strokes from a long taloned digit and warm warm servos underneath you.

In the depths of your wailing, you barely notice what is happening above you. Something about Ratchet’s desperate pleas make you want to go to him, but you feel just as inclined to stay as far away from him as possible. There’s a conflicting myriad of emotions both within you and above you, and the ones within you are so overwhelmed it's hard to hear things clearly. The arguing above you is ongoing and consistent, with Ratchet’s pleading tone frequently interrupted by the gravelly rumble of Starscream. Skywarp is decidedly silent, as it seems his task is to be a living wall between the two of them. Every heavy step forward that Ratchet takes is one that Skywarp interferes with by getting in his way. 

The arguing contains a lot of words you’re not familiar with. Even if you picked out the words you did understand from their heated conversation, you definitely don’t have the energy at this point. In the past few hours alone, your room had blown up, you ran across a raging battlefield, got picked up by a friendly blue jet, got said blue jet killed, and got kidnapped into space. While you are still super embarrassed about crying in public like this, you give yourself a minor pass because yeah it’s a lot to go through in one day.

Your face feels hot, and your weird tears make it hard to see. Using your own metal hands to rub your eyes, you notice Starscream staring down at you. Trying to make yourself presentable, you do your best to stifle your cries, breathing heavily while doing so, you look back up at him with a question in your optics. He doesn’t say anything in response, but instead positively beams at you. And to your horror, he lifts you up to a vantage where you get a good look at Ratchet’s face.

For a brief moment you panic – is he giving you back to them? You feel vulnerable in the open like this. You ran so hard to find the Seekers and they are just going to hand you right back over? But that brief moment passes without servos passing you over and instead you catch a look on Ratchet’s faceplate that makes your spark clench. He looks absolutely devastated . 

Confusion rings in your processor. There’s so much you don’t understand about these weird alien dynamics. Factions and war and Seekers and Sparklings, everything is too much. Tears begin to well up again, unbidden, and you tear your optics away from Ratchet’s destroyed visage. A moment later Starscream’s wing blocks it from your view entirely and you feel the distance between you and Ratchet growing. Footsteps echo in the corridor and the light bounce of your body weight in Starscream’s palm clues you into the fact that he’s walking away from the medic. A purple shape follows close behind, ensuring the distance between you and the doctor is kept, and soon Ratchet falls out of view.

A few murmurs are heard above you, most likely Skywarp and Starscream discussing what to do with you. Your cries are calming to a more manageable occasional hiccup, but there’s still liquid pouring out of your optics. The talons stroking you never cease, and a soothing vibration seems to warm the air around you. You catch snippets of their conversation, and try to make sense of the last few minutes. Finding out what they’ll do with you is highest on your list of importance, and you have to explain to them clearly that you need their help. Even if they are less inclined to help you after what happened to their brother. You wouldn’t blame them.

Skywarp’s voice is heard clearly overhead. “-swear to Primus we’re the luckiest trine alive, look at them!” His servos lean forward to give you a little scritch on your helm, it weirdly feels good. You notice his wings bounce a little, either from excitement or his high energy steps, but you’re unsure which.

“Yes,” Starscream drawls back, both pride and caution evident in his tone. “And we must ensure they have a safe place, away from those pesky Autobots.” 

“That will be tricky on a ship of this size.” 

“Yes but we have an advantage, don't we?” Starscream’s red optics shine down on you. “They came to us willingly .” He smiles, showing his sharp denta. His footsteps falter a moment, and Skywarp’s pause beside you as well. It is Skywarp that finally addresses you directly.

“Yeah, why did you come to us?” His red optics bore into you, but you find the question honest and simple. There isn’t any subterfuge in his tone. You take a moment to clear your optics of the remaining fluid, and steel yourself to answer the difficult question.

“Th-th-they k-k-k-kid k-kidnapped m-m-me.” Damn these hiccups, making it so hard to enunciate. 

Skywarp’s cheery wings immediately fall, and the soothing air around you turns to violence. A snarl rips out of Starscream’s chassis and it is followed in quick succession by Skywarp.

“They what ?!”

Starscream immediately turns back down the hallway where you came from, presumably to confront the medic who was no doubt a part of your blatant kidnapping, but you raise your small servos to stop him.

“W-wait! Don’t make me go back there, please !” The tears threaten to leak out of your eyes again. You’re trying your best not to wail, but the tension is building.

“I-I-I’m so sorry.” You manage to get out. “About your br-br-brother.” You cast your optics downward, ashamed to meet their gaze. “It’s all m-my fault.” A few tears drop to Starscream’s palm and they’re so small he probably doesn’t even feel them.

You try to do the same, making yourself seem as small as possible in his servo, but one of his long talons tilts your helm up to meet his optics.

“Oh, little one. It’s not your fault. Thundercracker was acting under my orders to keep you safe. He knew what he was doing.” His red optics seem warm, and you’re surprised to find that he doesn’t look sorrowful at all. Instead, he looks at you as if he understands everything.

Skywarp chimes in. “Yeah! TC knew exactly what he was doing. And besides he’s -” He cuts off like he’s been interrupted, but neither you nor Starscream have said anything aloud. Skywarp’s optics flash to Starscream’s for a moment, and then back to you. “Anyways, don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.” 

You’re lightly chuffed at this, both feeling both annoyed and pleased. Sure being cared for is nice , but you’ve been doing a fine job of it yourself so far (besides being turned into a robot and kidnapped into space). What’s with all these giant alien robots making decisions for you?

Your thoughts are interrupted when Starscream addresses you again. “Where is your Sire?” You blink up at him, expecting further clarification. Instead he asks another question. “Your Carrier?” Nope, you don’t know that word either. You shake your head to show you don’t understand. He ponders for a moment and meets his brother’s gaze. They share a brief moment of contemplation (Maybe they’re talking over comms! Why didn’t you think of that earlier?) and then he looks back at you.

“What’s your designation, little wing?” Designation. Ratchet or Optimus asked you that before. You know this one, designation is weird robot talk for name! But you didn’t give your name to the Autobots when they asked, and you still don’t know these two that well despite what’s happened recently. So you choose to keep it to yourself, and shake your helm once more at them.

Starscream raises a talon from his opposite servo to his faceplate and ponders heavily while looking down at you. He says nothing, but carries on walking. “No matter,” he says after a moment, “I’m sure we’ll find a designation that suits you soon enough.”

Well that isn’t what you expected, but there’s not a whole lot you can do. And besides, getting a cool robot name from some jets sounds better than getting one from your kidnappers. You fight the urge to stick your tongue out in the direction of Ratchet down the hallway. Making you think they would help you, hah , you should’ve known better. Adults don’t do anything without wanting something in return.

Which brings you back to the present situation.

“Uh, uhm,” You start speaking, not knowing where to begin. Better to start small. Getting more information is key. “Do you know where we’re going?” 

Starscream continues his walking and answers you without looking down. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I-I mean, where is the ship going? What’s its destination?” You’re proud of yourself for speaking without stuttering too much.

Skywarp looks at you quizzically from his place next to Starscream. “We’re going to Cybertron, didn’t anyone tell you?” You shake your head, and then the information kicks in. Cybertron is where Cybertronians were from! Dread wells up in your spark. You really are in space, there’s no denying it now.

The moment the horror wells up, it is immediately squashed down by a warm, soothing vibration. It’s soft and heavy, and makes you feel a bit sleepy. You fight back a yawn behind your denta and you hope neither giant jet notices. They make no remark.

Starscream hums above you and turns a corner down the long corridor. The lack of windows makes you feel a bit claustrophobic, and you wonder if it's any better or worse for the other Cybertronians since they’re so big. You suppose it doesn’t matter if there are windows, since in space it’s perpetually dark outside.

Even in the warm servo of Starscream you shiver a little, the chill from before not completely gone. You hope, like the yawn, he wouldn’t notice such a small movement from you, but you’re immediately proven wrong. His optics shoot down at you like a laser and then back up to Skywarp. 

“Little one, do you have a berthroom aboard this ship?” He sounds rushed. 

Berthroom. Sounds like bedroom? Probably isn’t bathroom, you don’t think robots need to use the bathroom. At least, you knew you don’t. You take a gamble and answer. “Y-yeah, but it got blown up.” You fight back a shiver and fail. “I-I wouldn’t want to go back there anyway.” 

He curses under his breath. “Frag, I hadn’t planned for this.” His eyebrows furrow on his faceplate. “We need a safe berthroom for the Seekerlet, one where those blasted Autobots wouldn’t dare enter.” He looks down the corridor and back as if calculating.

After a moment’s contemplation, he turns to Skywarp. “Go and find the nearest Autobot that isn’t the medic or the Prime.” Skywarp nods and takes a step as if preparing to leave. “Tell them we’d like a berthroom close to an emergency exit and big enough for all three of us.” Skywarp nods and is already heading down a nearby corridor. His footsteps echo until they resound distantly in your audials. Starscream’s talons curve above you again, half stroking your helm and half protecting you from any potential enemies.

He lifts you slightly, the motion shaking some of the sleep from your over-stressed body, and turns you over gently as if getting a good look at you. He tuts and thumbs one of your wings where a large dark streak still remains from the explosion. “Going to need a cloth and some solvent too.” He mutters quietly, almost too softly for you to hear if you weren’t so close. His optics scan over your form, and the red light has a gentle sadness to them. You’re not hurt, only scuffed, and their brother got the worst of it. And here he is fussing over a little scrape when his brother just died. 

Unable to help yourself, you take your servo, so small in comparison to his, and you hold the end of his talon. You hope that this motion will be received as an ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’ because you don’t think you can get the words out without crying. You pat the talon gently and give it a small squeeze, and as soon as you do the soothing vibration around you gets so warm that it feels hot . It feels almost heavy in its thrum, and you can’t fight the croon that bursts out of your chassis. Starscream immediately brings you close to his faceplate, crooning in return, and you feel the chill that was so present in your body for so long get chased out by the vibration. His cheek touches your helm, and you can’t help nuzzling into his faceplate now that you have the proximity. He growls low in his intake, but the sound isn’t threatening, more soothing. Like the rumble of an engine that lulls you to sleep in the back seat of a car. But in this case it’s more like the rumble of a giant cat and you feel your insides turn to mush. The vibration is heavy, and the feeling of sleep fights your active senses. 

The warm light of Starscream’s optics cast a red glow on your form, and your servos reach up and caress his cheek. Letting go of his other talon, you give the base of his palm a little squeeze and his optics close as if he’s tired as well. A sigh leaks out of him, and you can see the tension seep from his shoulders.

A few seconds, or maybe minutes pass like this, and Starscream gives out one final deep shuddering breath and places you high up on his shoulder armour. The base of his wing moves confidently behind you, and you grip the plates beside you to keep your balance. It’s a little unnerving, being up this high, but you like it. You allow yourself a little smile, knowing he can’t see your expression from his perspective, but he caresses your knee one last time before letting his servos drop.

Skywarp returns a few moments later, with a pink Cybertronian behind him. You’ve never met this one before, and they look stocky and maybe a bit smaller than the Seekers. When they see you, their faceplate changes quickly through a variety of expressions. Surprise being first, followed by happiness, followed by grief. Their footsteps make you think they’re high energy, but they seem more and more subdued the closer they get to you. 

“O-oh. You were telling the truth.” She speaks, voice decidedly feminine, but you aren’t sure who she is addressing. Her blue optics shift from you to Starscream and then back to you. They don’t leave your form for a good long while, and her gaze makes you uncomfortable. Awkwardly, you give a little wave but you don’t smile.

The pink Autobot doesn’t smile back or wave. She just keeps staring.

“Arcee, if you would please lead us to our assigned chambers. The little one needs some sanctity after the events of today.” Starscream purrs her name, and sounds overly smug.

This shakes Arcee out of her reverie. “Huh? Oh right.” Her optics tear away from you with noticeable effort. “This way.”

She leads the three of you down a few hallways and farther away from where you left Ratchet, which makes you feel a touch relieved. You don’t think you could face him right now.

Arcee walks quietly beside you, stealing glances whenever she dares, as if losing an inner battle with herself. She looks like she wants to scoop you up and start running, or maybe talk to you, but everytime she tries either Skywarp or Starscream steals your attention with a question or some servo caresses. After a while she stops trying.

Soon you approach a wider hallway with sets of doors on either side. It almost looks like a dormitory hall, and you’re proven correct when the green and white mech from the battle earlier peeks his head out and stares at the group of you, his intake open in shock. You shuffle behind Starscream’s helm to hide yourself from the green one’s view, and you can feel the form purr beneath you.

Arcee leads you all past the regular dormitory areas and to a larger door at the end of the hall. She opens the door into a large empty space with a wash rack off to the side and a large, soft looking bed lying on the opposite wall. All around on nearby shelves are pieces of medical equipment and some devices that you don’t recognize. Those ones are colourful with shiny parts, but they don’t hold your interest for very long due to your lack of energy. There are also a few piles of blankets folded neatly near the foot of the bed, and Skywarp immediately rushes forward and grabs a few of them with his huge hands.

The blankets are all human sized, and thus the size of washcloths for the huge robotic beings. But for you, tiny you, they are enormous. 

Arcee says something you don’t catch, because Skywarp snatches you off of Starscream’s shoulder with a laugh and wraps you in the biggest blanket you’ve ever seen. Only your helm peeks out the top, and your wings and pedes peek out the bottom. He folds it over you a few times until you’re a big burrito, and you fight the urge to giggle at the weird but funny situation you find yourself in. He sets you on the floor, and you notice he takes the other blankets and starts making a circle of them around you. Getting the image of a mama bird in your mind, you actually do giggle, and Skywarp laughs right back at you, his faceplate honest, mischievous, and happy. 

Starscream continues talking in his prideful tone to Arcee, his inflections rising and falling with his unique timbre. Arcee doesn’t raise her voice, and speaks so quietly you can barely hear her through the layers of blankets surrounding you. The sound is muffled, and you only catch a brief glimpse of her form leaving the room. Before the doors close, her optics meet yours one final time and then she’s gone from your sight.

“Well, that was easier than expected.” Starscream’s voice rings clearly through the room, even through the layers of blankets. “Apparently this was to be the good doctor’s room, so he volunteered to gift it to us.” You can hear the grin in his voice. “He was meant to share the space with the sparkling, so it only seems right that we take it instead.”

The words hit home for you. You had held onto hope that Ratchet wasn’t a part of Optimus’ plan to kidnap you, but you didn’t have concrete proof of his guilt until just now.

If Ratchet had known about the voyage and prepared for you to stay in this room with him, then he was never going to help you get back to normal. Your spark aches at the betrayal. You liked him, but none of it was real. Your sudden sombre attitude and lack of giggles catches Skywarp’s attention.

“Whoa, whoa there little one, what’s the matter? Are you uncomfortable? Did I wrap you up too tight? Scrap.” His gentle tone does nothing to soothe the discomfort in your spark.

Why were they being so nice ? Sure, they said that it wasn’t your fault, what happened to Thundercracker, but you still feel awful . How are they still smiling and trying to make you laugh? They either have really good coping mechanisms or they’re really good at hiding their grief. The thought sours your mood further and you fight the tears welling up in your optics.

Two purple servos reach down and hold you in your blanket cocoon. The warmth seeps through the blankets covering you, and you can feel it even down to the tips of your wings. His voice is low when he speaks.

“Shh, little wing, it’s gonna be ok. We’ll never let anything happen to you.” His servos give the gentlest of squeezes, careful not to hurt you. He walks over to one of the shelves with the medical equipment and strange devices. Holding you carefully in one servo, he plucks one off the shelf and places it in front of your face where you can see.

It’s an angular machine of some kind, either made of brightly painted metal or plastic, you can’t tell. There’s a light bulb on the tip of it’s triangular shape, and it’s coloured red and white just like the medical equipment. Skywarp moves it in a funny way, swooping it up and down and making windy sound effects.

As you get a closer look, you see some areas are soldered together quite messily, like it was homemade. Definitely metal then. Skywarp continues to make the noises more and more desperately, until he gives up for some reason. He sighs and says. “I guess you don’t like toys, huh?”

You scrunch your optics. This was a toy ? You take a closer look with this new information, you guess it does look vaguely plane-like, but it doesn’t look like any plane you’ve ever seen. The soldered together quality must mean that someone made these with you in mind. Judging from the fact this was supposed to be Ratchet’s room, you deduce it must be him. The thought of playing in this situation sickens you, and you scowl at the toy plane. Skywarp gets the clue and puts the toy back on the shelf.

“Geez, I got it. No toys, understood.” He gives a mock salute and the motion helps you regain some of your previous cheer. It wasn’t Skywarp’s fault that your mood is sour, you shouldn’t make him feel bad. So you smile at him, and he positively melts .

“Ah, could you be any cuter?” His digit pats the top of your head but your arms are contained so you can’t swat him away. Your dignity is in shambles. Your smile easily turns into a scowl at your inability to move. And if possible, Skywarp beams more . 

“Screamer look! They’ve got your scowl down pat! Already showing that you’re a part of the trine, lookit you go.”

Starscream walks over to get a closer look at you, and he smirks in response to your sour expression. “Hah, they’ve got excellent taste. Taking after the leader of the Command trine! Already this smart at this frame size, they take after my looks and smarts already.” He preens, and you can almost visualise a hair flip if he had hair.

“Can’t wait to take you for a fly, little one. You’re gonna love it.” This gets your attention and your eyes go wide. The eagerness is open on your faceplate, and both of the Seekers share an expression that you can only describe as doting. 

“R-really? You’ll teach me?” Your voice is muffled by the blanket, but it looks like they hear you just fine.

“Are you kidding?” Skywarp is practically jumping. “I’d love nothing more.” He’s elbowed by Starscream who shoots him a venomous look. “Er, we’d love nothing more.” 

“Indeed, Seekerling, you’ll be under the tutelage of the finest fliers of Vos.” His wings flicker, drawing your attention to them. “I have no doubt that you’ll be a natural in the air under our supervision. No one else on this ship is more qualified than us, especially not those Autobot Grounders.”

“U-uhm,” you wriggle a little, trying to get an arm free, but it doesn’t work. “What’s a Grounder?”

Skywarp scoffs, “Ugh, a Grounder is a ground based Cybertronian, no flight form.” He carries you around the room, Starscream following behind him. “There isn’t a single Seeker among all the Autobots, so it’s fitting that you stick with us, lil Screamer.”

You catch Starscream’s preen at the nickname, he seems delighted that you’re sharing some of his traits. He chimes in, “Those wretched Autobots didn’t even know they were causing you serious harm by locking you up and leaving you be. Seekers aren’t meant to be alone, they’re alway surrounded by their kin.” He gestures to Skywarp. “This idiot hasn’t left my side since we were sparked.”

Your optics mist a little, thinking of their other brother that couldn’t be with you at all right now. You change the subject. “What do you mean by harm? I’m fine , nothing’s wrong with me.”

Starscream tuts and grabs more blankets off the shelves to add to the pile on the floor. “Flight sickness is caused when a Seeker is left somewhere without access to the skies. Worse yet, if they’re alone. Seekers are a group culture, and it’s embedded in our CNA. Even if you weren’t sparked on Vos, you’re a Seeker through and through, which means you’re just as susceptible as we are.” His faceplate scowls. No doubt similar to your expression from earlier. “By leaving you alone those Autobots have caused you serious harm. No doubt your internal temperature gauges are going haywire thanks to the flight sickness, it’s why you’re shivering.”

Oh . That explains why everything feels so cold all the time. And why the Seekers feel better; they’re literally the antidote. If Seekers are a group culture, then the best way to get better faster is to stick with them until the chills subside. You’re no doctor (and you’re not going to Ratchet), but you’re satisfied with this conclusion. 

Long taloned fingers pluck you out of Skywarp’s grasp and lay you down again in the nest of blankets, bigger this time. The floor is literally four blankets deep below you, and the warmth surrounding you brings back that sleepy feeling.

“Sleep, Seekerlet. No doubt you’re exhausted from the events of the day. We’ll watch over you.”

Trying to fight the drowsiness from overtaking you, you realise quickly that it’s a moot effort. Two giant servos tuck you in tighter, one long and taloned, the other purple and blunt, and sleep quickly overtakes you.

With warmth surrounding you on all sides, and two giant jets looking after you, you sleep so deeply you doubt another explosion would wake you up.

________________

Optimus Prime sat in the control room and buried his helm in his servos. He had gotten a comm from Ratchet moments prior, explaining that the sparkling was now in the possession of the Seekers, and that they had left willingly . He also explained that their methods of protection had caused the Seekerling to become very ill, all of this happened under his very watch.

So many things had gone wrong so quickly. Thundercracker’s death was a great loss to all Cybertronian kind. Without him the Command Trine would fade, perhaps not die, but they would never be the same without him. The last known trine from Vos was broken, and with him, much of its culture lost.

Optimus hadn’t factored in the trine’s involvement in the voyage. He had kept his processor away from thoughts of Seekers the moment the Autobots gained possession of the sparkling, and that had been his downfall. He had avoided thinking of them, convincing himself that they were miles away and wouldn’t interfere with the mission. His reaction had been to avoid thinking of these potential factors and it had resulted in two enormous losses. His spark hurt due to his failure.

Arcee had found him some time later in the same position, seated with his servos still cradling his helm. She entered quietly, which was unlike her. She addressed Optimus.

“Uh, sir? I’ve escorted the Seekers to Ratchet’s room as he instructed.”

Optimus let his weary optics look at Arcee. “And the sparkling?”

“With them, sir. Skywarp was telling the truth.” She bit her lip, as if holding back words. Optimus sighed and nodded, gesturing for her to speak.

“Sir, if I may, we far outnumber the Seekers. Getting the sparkling back would be–”

Optimus silenced her with a weary move of his servo. “The sparkling chose to go with them of their own volition. It was their choice.” His body felt so old. “Freedom is the right of every sentient being, and the freedom to choose is not exempt.” The guilt he carried in his spark burned at the statement, he himself was guilty of not heeding his own words when it came to the sparkling.

“We will continue with our mission, and restore life to Cybertron. The sparkling will remain where they choose, in the Seeker’s care. We can only hope that they are willing to let the little one interact with us.”

Arcee’s voice carried in the quiet control room. “The sparkling seemed open to interacting, at least from my perspective.” She shuffled her pedes a little. “They waved at me. It was the first time I’d ever seen a sparkling.” Her voice was quiet, contemplative, unlike her usual energy. “They’re so different from the Terrans. I had to shut down coding I didn’t even know I had . Was it like that with you too, sir?”

Closing his optics, Optimus nodded. The sparkling had been so small in his servos. He thought he’d never get to see one again after the fall of Cybertron. Now there was a chance, and it had already slipped right through his digits.

But maybe not forever. There were plenty of ways to take care of a sparkling, and here was an entire crew with long-dormant guardianship coding that now knew of the little one on board. With some luck, perhaps one of his Autobots could regain the sparkling’s favour and encourage them to take their side. His dream of having the Aerialbots return was still in play, and he knew deep in his spark that it was possible the sparkling would choose them over the Seekers.

After all, he could hardly picture the Seeker trine as parental .

He looked up at Arcee, hope shone in his optics. “I encourage you to keep with your attempts to bond with the sparkling. Send out a comm to every Autobot on board to do the same.” He paused. “Even Ratchet. I know he is broken by the sparkling’s choice, but he was closest with them besides myself, and deserves a chance to try again.”

Arcee nodded, and raised a servo to her helm to send the missive as she exited the control room. Optimus still had a primary mission aboard this ship, no matter what his coding was screaming at him. Getting the Emberstone to Cybertron was still priority number one; taking care of the sparkling was mission number two. He still had time to complete both.

As leader of the crew, and captain of the vessel, he had other things to occupy his time before he made his own attempt to coerce the sparkling. Sending a private comm to Elita-1, he asked for an update on their other unexpected guest. 

________________

Waking up from your sleep, you can’t remember the last time you felt so rested. The last few times you’d woken up from your many recent bouts of sleep, you’d felt worse than when you’d gone to bed.

Waking up now, you feel warm, rested, and secure. That vibration you keep feeling, the one that makes you all warm and gooey inside, is still there but getting harder to point out. Almost like you’re getting used to it. 

As you angle your helm (your body is still very much trapped inside a blanket burrito prison) you notice a black tinted wing in your periphery with a strange purple symbol on it. You don’t recognize the symbol, but you noticed it on Starscream’s wing too, so it must be important to them. You’ll ask them about it later if you get an opportunity.

The wing connects to Skywarp who is dozing lightly beside you, curled around the blankets on the floor. It can’t be comfortable, but he seems content enough. You look around a bit more to find the other Seeker, only to see the slightest bit of him poking out of the washracks. There’s the sound of water running in the background, and the pitter patter of droplets hitting the floor. Wriggling more intensely now, you try to release yourself from your entanglement.

You are met with success this time, as you deftly get an arm free (the blankets must’ve loosened while you slept) and wonder just how long you were asleep this time. A small speck of fear creeps into you as you think about how much farther you are from Earth since you slept while travelling through space, but shake it away as quickly as you think of it. There was no use fretting while you were so tired, and you got a lot of much-needed information before you went to sleep. 

Getting your other arm free, you cautiously release your legs and wings from their captivity and use the cushion of the blankets surrounding you to dampen the noise of your pedes. 

Sneaking past the sleeping Skywarp is trickier, as his thigh is directly in the path between you and your goal. There’s a small gap between his knees that you squeeze through without touching him; you don’t want to wake him since he too, had a rough time before you slept. 

Walking as silently as possible towards Starscream, mostly curious to see what he’s doing, half curious to see if you can sneak up on him, you arrive at the base of the washracks with his pointed pedes within touching distance.

From here you can see that he is fiddling with the taps, perhaps testing the temperature or something. He’s got one of the blankets in his claws, a green one that looks especially fluffy. On the shelf nearby there’s a few tubs of an unknown substance, but judging by the smell in this room it’s probably oil of some kind.

The drain below you must lead somewhere, and it’s doing a great job of draining the water that’s pouring out of the taps. Idly you wonder if the kind of metal you are now can rust. Your next thought is interrupted by Starscream turning and noticing you.

“Ah, excellent timing. I have everything we need here to ensure your plating returns to its optimum shine.”

Oh boy, bathtime.

“Uh, I can do it myself if I can just…”

“Nonsense, it would be better if I do it. I can reach places that you would have trouble with.” He picks you up and places you on one of the shelves near the barrels of oil. Trying not to make a noise when you’re lifted, (these robots really don’t know how to ask ) and to your surprise the shelf supports your weight just fine. You suppose that if the barrels of oil are supported, your weight would be too. Now that you’re closer, you notice the oils have a kind of sweet smell to them.

(You try not to think about if you can fly at this height)

Starscream picks up the blanket (more like a washrag in his large servos) and one of the oil buckets. Flicking the lid off deftly, he dunks the rag in the oil and rubs it between his digits. The sweet smell is stronger now, and he moves the oil soaked rag closer to you. Taking a pede in his talon, he rubs the oil into your joints, wiping away any grime or dust from the explosion. The metal it leaves behind is shiny and wet looking, but Starscream makes no move to wash it away.

Instead he focuses on covering your entire body in the substance. Gently and methodically, he wipes away the remnants of the blast, tsking lightly when he finds a spot that makes him scrub a bit harder. None of his touches hurt, and the care he gives your wings especially makes your spinal strut tingle. They seem more sensitive than the rest of your body, but maybe that’s because you’re not used to having them.

The glimpses you get of his expression are…a soft scowl is how you’d best describe it. You can’t help but want to know more about these giant jet robots. It’s like it’s coded within you to want to know.

Scrubbing a few more minor nooks and crannies, you realise that you aren’t even trying to stop him from washing you. Your body doesn’t want him to stop. Whatever mechanical processor that is working as your brain now trusts the Seeker enough to wash you. That is more than you could say for the Autobots as of late.

Starscream picks you up once more and his red optics scan your form for any places his scrubbing may have missed. Nodding once (to himself, mostly) he turns and faces one of the faucets that comes out of the wall panelling. Turning a knob, water gushes forth and he waits a moment until steam appears in the air. Testing the water, he puts a single talon into the water as if warming it up. After a few seconds he brings that same talon over to you and speaks.

“Touch my digit and feel if it’s too hot for you. If the metal is too warm to touch I’ll turn it down.”

You do so and find his talon is pleasantly warm underneath your fingers. You instinctively clutch the tip and Starscream smiles lightly. Embarrassed at your action, you mumble “ ‘s fine,” and before you know it you’re dunked under the faucet.

Gasping with surprise, you rub the water out of your optics and glare at Starscream who’s laughing lightly. He shrugs without a word and continues to rumble with light laughter as he rinses the majority of the green oil from your body. 

When you emerge from the water, you’re obviously wet, but much cleaner than you had been. Your metal is shiny and sweet smelling, and you promise to yourself that you’ll prank Starscream sooner or later. Maybe if you’re lucky, Skywarp will help you; he seems like the prankster type.

Starscream’s silent laughter peters off, and he grabs a dry blanket to rub the remaining moisture off of you. Honestly you half expect him to just shake you dry, but he’s just as methodical getting every ounce of moisture out of your metal panels. Before drying your wings however, he gets your attention by meeting your gaze and gesturing at his own wings. He flutters them lightly, like a bird in a birdbath, and gestures for you to do the same.

Your attempt is much less graceful, but you do manage to move your wings a little. A weird sort of pride wells up in you (this was the first time you’ve gotten your wings to move on command ), and you meet his gaze again this time with a small smile on your face. He rubs you down with the drying blanket anyway, but is extra careful on the wings. If there are any wet spots left (which you feel is doubtful) those will be left to air dry.

Turning off the faucet and heading towards the bed, you perk up your finials and ask awkwardly. “Did you sleep?” 

A red glow washes over your form briefly.

“Hmm? No, I will recharge later. One of us must always be awake to ensure your safety.” He glances over at Skywarp, still snoozing surrounding the blanket nest. “That one will always recharge when he gets the chance. His quirk takes a lot out of him, and he overused it during the battle.”

“His quirk?” You question.

“His special ability. Skywarp has the ability to teleport, although it’s not without cost.” 

Whoa . Teleportation is cool . 

“Will I be able to teleport?” You try not to sound too eager. Getting back to Earth would be easy with teleportation. 

“Probably not, as far as I know Skywarp is the only one with that ability. Thundercracker–” He stops when he sees the sorrowful look on your faceplate.

“Thundercracker had an ability he called a Sonic Boom, a blast that affected the audials of nearby Cybertronians, literally weaponizing sound.” Starscream sounds a touch envious.

“And you?” You ask eagerly.

Starscream pauses before responding quietly. “I don’t have one. Unless you count my devilish good looks and impeccable flying prowess.” He flutters his wings in emphasis, clearly deflecting.

Oh, you hope you didn’t bring up a sore subject. But wait, isn't he the leader?

“It must mean you’re the leader because you’re like the best flyer. Didn’t you say you were the best trine in the galaxy or something? You must be the best of the best.”

Starscream’s wings are so high they practically touch the ceiling. Both of his servos are now patting you and petting you, and your body resumes that boneless feeling at his ministrations. You can tell he’s pleased by your comment, even if he doesn’t say anything. You can see it on his faceplate.

His optics are scrunched and his denta are exposed in a sharp smile. His chassis rumbles with a soft laughter again as he preens at your compliment.

“And you,” he starts with his raspy voice, “Couldn’t be more correct. Who taught you to be so smart, hmm?” His ministrations turn ticklish. Laughter peals out of you.

“Nobody, nobody!” You laugh louder, unable to escape his merciless attacks. 

“You take after me, no doubt about it. No one would doubt that a Seekerling as perfect as you would originate from my genetic material.” His tickles don’t cease and you can barely hear him through your own laughter.

“Hey hey! Are you both having fun without me?” Skywarp must have woken due to your loud laughter, but you don’t have enough control to stop yourself and apologise for waking him.

Another finger joins the tickle fight, barely finding room, and you can barely breathe with the attacks coming from all sides. Tears stream down your faceplate, ones caused by unceasing laughter this time, until you can take it no more. You finally get out a few “I yield, I yield!” and the digits slow their attacks.

Heaving heavily, boneless, you look up at the two Seekers. Your body can barely move, laying down completely on Starscream’s palm. You can sort of see the family resemblance between the two, something about the shape of their eyebrows and optics are the same. Their colours may be different, but you’ve been with giant robots for long enough to notice where there are human similarities and where they are decidedly alien. You’re a bit curious as to how, and if, Cybertronians are born , but that’s not a question that you’re gonna ask anytime soon.

“Well then,” Skywarp begins, “That’s enough for a warm up. How about we go for a fly?”

Optics widening, you nod eagerly and the bonelessness from seconds ago is replaced by vibrating excitement. This whole time you were promised a flight, and you were finally gonna get to practice.

Looking at Starscream, you wonder if you need his permission to fly. As the leader, does his command apply to you? Is that what the command part in Command trine means? The leader in question looks back at you and shows off a sharp denta. 

“Let’s go then, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Chap 7

First Flight

Walking through the halls on your own two legs for once, you’re mindful to stay out of the way of the giant pedes that step gently behind you. You don’t know the way to the flight deck per se, but there are only so many hallways to go through and the vague feeling of ‘up’ leads you forward.

Before long, you remember the important question that you still haven’t asked the Seekers, so you make a promise to yourself that you’ll ask once flying practice is over. Yes, of course you still want to go home, but to miss this opportunity? Your wings are literally shaking with anticipation and you can’t stop them. Isn’t this what kids dream about? The opportunity to fly? You sure as hell aren’t gonna miss out on your chance.

You’re a little nervous to leave the room, even with the two titans following closely alongside you. You didn’t exactly leave Ratchet under positive circumstances, and you can’t imagine that breaking the one rule that Optimus gave you has placed you in his good graces. (Why were the Seekers bad news anyway? Optimus had been worried they would mistreat you, but they were treating you better than anyone else on this ship). Before you can even voice your worries to your two flying guardians, they reassure you that they’ll never let the Autobots take you away from them. You’re not sure what authority they have to make such a promise, but it makes you feel better anyhow. And that Arcee bot seemed to listen to their requests, so their command seemed to have some weight on this ship.

The Seeker brothers walk behind you, extra slowly to match your miniscule pace. You have no doubt it would be faster for all of you if you were carried to the exit, but they seem to humour you and let you walk on your own. (The fact that your collective room is nearby an emergency exit means your walk is thankfully brief, but a touch of happiness wells up in you that they don’t pick you up without permission and that you can walk by yourself, thank you very much)

Opening the emergency exit doors makes you expect to feel a breeze or anything that can be considered as ‘outside air’, but in space there is no air movement, and it’s decidedly darker outside than it is inside the ship. The doors close with a soft noise (how is there sound in space?) and the wide flight deck is exposed to your vision.

You’re not sure how long it’s been since the battle, but you glance up to the Seekers to see if they are affected at all by the place where their brother passed not that long ago. (How long it’s been exactly, you’re unsure). You are once again surprised by the lack of emotion on their respective faceplates, and you envy how their coping mechanisms seem to be working very well for them, considering.

Skywarp takes the lead the moment you’re all outside and runs a bit ahead of you. His steps are quick with excitement and he easily sidesteps you to turn and face expanse of space ahead of you all.

He takes a deep breath (that you’re not sure he needs) and puts his servos on his hips. “Ah, space. I sure didn’t miss it, but it’s a good place to fly without anything getting in the way.” He gestures with his arm out and up into the surrounding void. “You see that? Nothing to fly into, or teleport into - nothing but open skies and plenty of practice space.” He turns and looks at you.

“Y’see that light sheen overhelm?” You look up, having not noticed the blue/grey film that seems to be floated a few hundred feet overhead. You nod and he continues. “That’s the gravity shield. It keeps the Grounders on deck without flying off into space.” He chuckles a little. “ We don’t have that issue.” An engine whirring sound is heard and before you can even take note of where it’s coming from, rockets blast out from under his heels, and he begins to hover slightly in the air. Small scorch marks are left on the flightdeck, but you barely notice them.

Your mouth is agape. Is it that easy? Skywarp strikes a few poses (making you giggle though your awe) and Starscream groans, still behind you.

“Sound doesn’t travel in space, but the shield emulates gravity so that the Grounders don’t have to magnetise their feet while they’re out here. It also simulates enough air movement to allow vibrations to pass through, creating a kind of bubble. It’s why we can still hear each other while we’re out here. We usually use comms while flying through deep space, making communicating more efficient.`` 

The purple brother hovers a little higher, and the vague heat you can feel from his thrusters ebbs a little as the distance grows. He stands one one pede and then the other in midair, flexing his arms childishly. He flies up a little higher and touches the sheen and it ripples, his servo passing through it easily. 

“See?” he says, from all the way above you. He sticks his whole arm through. “A flimsy shield like this could never stop me.” He then pokes his helm through, followed by the rest of his body, and passes through the film completely. 

The moment he’s through, he deactivates his thrusters and you have to hold back a gasp. Rather than plummeting to the ground as you expected, (you vaguely remember that you’ve seen them do that on purpose during the battle, dropping from midair and slamming down hard on the ground) instead you open your optics to see him float idly through space as if nothing is holding him down at all. He even has the audacity to fake a yawn , as if nothing could keep him from falling to the ship’s deck.

Starscream takes a step forward until he’s in line with you, his gaze also following Skywarp a few hundred feet above you both. His scowl is present, but it looks good natured. They really do act like brothers, probably because they are brothers. Only siblings get annoyed at each other like that. You don’t know how long they’ve been alive (hell, you don’t know how long Cybertronians live ), but you guess this isn’t new behaviour. Starscream looks down at you without kneeling and gestures a claw at his frittering brother.

“Skywarp has chosen a far more advanced technique that takes vorns to master.” He shoots a particularly annoyed scowl at his flying sibling, who outright ignores him. “The best way to learn to fly is by transforming into your alt-mode, which is more aerodynamic and thus easier to fly. Your alt-mode is specifically made for flying, thus it makes sense to become familiar with those parts first before attempting to use them individually.”

You can feel your eyebrows crease at the information. Alt-mode? What is he talking about?

As if sensing your confusion, he leans down and explains more clearly. “Your alt-mode is the flying vehicle that your T-cog chose; that which makes you a Seeker. Judging from your frame size and colouring you must have recently chosen your alt-mode. And your wings suggest you’ve chosen one of human design.” You don’t miss the way he hisses out the word ‘human’ like it’s a bad taste in his mouth.

“Grant me access to your alt-mode’s schematics, or send them to me, whichever you prefer.”

Oh, that makes sense. You almost forgot you were a robot. You pull up the visual schematics for the Scorpion on your HUD and scan over them briefly yourself. Looking at Starscream closely, a pop up window appears that reads ‘Air Commander Starscream: Grant Access?’. You press approve and the file swoops away, probably sent over. Starscream grunts in approval, having received it. You try not to focus on the fact that you just sent a bluetooth file with your mind . Being an alien robot is weird, but cool . 

Starscream clicks his tongue and mutters to himself, as if reading under his breath. After a while he speaks more clearly, directed at you. “Not a bad choice for a first frame, and with plenty of speed. I can see why you chose this model, even for an Earth vehicle, its overall balance isn’t bad.” He puts a servo on his hip and leans into it. “We’ll focus our lesson today on getting a feel for your alt-mode; familiarising yourself with your thrusters, your engine, your landing gear, and your panels. There isn’t any wind out there so there shouldn’t be much interference.”

You droop a little at his words. It doesn’t sound like you’ll be flying on your own yet. So much for that childish dream. But he looks down at you with a smile anyway.

“You’ll get a better feel for flying if we take you up anyway.”

You do your best not to light up at his words but fail spectacularly, a grin already forming on your faceplate. Starscream takes a few steps forward in front of you and gestures for you to stay a few steps back. He rolls his shoulder plates languidly and then changes before your eyes.

During the battle you had noticed the Cybertronians shifting into other, more recognizable forms. So this is what he meant by alt-form. Reading the comics in the hangar, they had informed you that these aliens could shift forms, but half of you suspected it was just an addition to embellish the story. You didn’t fully believe it was real. 

Before your eyes, the form of Starscream shifts into a sleek looking jet, much larger than the small Scorpion you remember seeing in the hangar. His wings shift into place with a click, his form completely changed but he’s still recognizably him ; his colours are still present and bright, and you can see why he’s chosen this model. The jet itself looks sleek and powerful with an emphasis on speed. Two proud missiles glint menacingly underneath his wings and there’s definitely some guns under there too. Part of you wants to take a closer look, part of you wants to back up further.

Information floods your HUD the longer you stare, with images of a jet labelled F-22 Raptor that bears a striking similarity to the one in front of you. You peruse the information as best you can, most of it being too complex for you to fully understand, when the bright yellow cockpit opens invitingly. Starscream’s voice is heard in a pop-up communications window.

: Hop in, little fighter, it’s time to show you how we Seekers really fly.:

Your pedes are running towards the hatch before you even have time to close your HUD. Servos clambering towards the open hatch, you only belatedly notice that it's still too high off the ground for you to get up by yourself. And in this form Starscream doesn’t exactly have hands to lift you.

But your worries are brief, because Skywarp swoops down near silently and gently places you within the cockpit, a sly wink disappearing on his face as the glass closes around you. The yellow tinted glass pressurises with a small almost inaudible sound, and you barely have enough time to thank Skywarp before the engines hum from all around you.

Thrusters activating and panels shifting into place, Starscream lines himself up on the runway with you inside and announces, “Witness the best of the best, little one.” And then he takes off.

The suddenness of acceleration makes you clench your denta, but a smile is visible there. Barely a moment goes by before you exit the gravity field and suddenly there is nothing but the stars and planets surrounding you. They move slowly, which is odd at first, but then you remember that they are literally light years away and that you’re actually moving incredibly fast.

Starscream banks left hard in a sharp turn, and you get a good look at how far you’ve gotten from the ship. You didn’t even register leaving the gravity shield. It already seems so far in the distance, and you can vaguely spot a purple dot getting bigger from that direction. 

Before you can get a closer look at Skywarp’s alt-mode, Starscream does a few scream-inducing barrel rolls and you can feel your body mould to the seat in the increased g-force. He exhibits a few more tricks, getting faster and faster (each time you think this must be the fastest he can go) and childish glee works up your chassis and out your intake. You giggle loud and freely, the joy in this moment untarnished and pure. You can’t remember the last time you felt such freedom. The heaviness in your spark is gone, replaced by sheer happiness, and the excitement that fuels your giggles propels Starscream’s speed in turn.

The chilled feeling is nearly gone at this moment; the cockpit warm and cosy surrounding you, even in the depths of space. Tension leaks out of you like melting ice cream and for this brief moment you allow yourself to just be . No thoughts or worries about getting home, or being kidnapped, or the strange body you were stuck in. Instead you get to experience this dream-like moment of zipping through space in a fast jet and watch the stars around you twinkle in real time. You feel safe here, and while the thought surprises you, it also comforts you.

Your laughter wanes slightly, the huge smile never leaving your face, as a purple jet approaches your right side window showing off with a few spins and twirls. You wave brightly at it, knowing it to be Skywarp, when it disappears from your vision suddenly and you’re left looking at open space. Wait, where’d he go? The smile drops from your face and you look around desperately, only to find him on the left side of the window this time. You stare intensely at him, trying to make sense of how he’s done this, when he disappears again , this time with an audible vwop reaching your audials.

Right! He can teleport! Your intake wide and smiling, you cheer from the inside of Starscream’s cockpit. They’re so cool , and for whatever reason they seem to like you. Pure joy wells up within you as you know this will be a memory you’ll never forget.

Starscream slows down incrementally with Skywarp at his side, and the leader’s voice echoes warmly from around you.

“Are you ready, little wing?”

Ready for wh-?

You don’t have time to complete the thought before you’re shot violently out of the cockpit without any warning.

A scream dies in your intake as you try to take a breath, tensing your body for some kind of dire consequence. Can robots breathe in space? You’re about to find out. When the moment before falling seems to take too long, you open your optics (that you didn’t realise you shut) and observe your free-floating body as it spins through space.

Starscream’s yellow cockpit hatch closes and he transforms (smugly, you think) into his bipedal form. He lounges languidly in space like he’s on an invisible armchair, gravity affecting neither of you.

You want to scowl at him, or yell at him for scaring you, but you’re too busy processing the fact that you’re floating in space right now . The ejection out of the cockpit has put you into a bit of a spin, but there’s no sick feeling of being upside down even though you feel there should be. You stare at the transforming Skywarp (who is also upside down) who gives you a wave back, presumably a response from when you waved at him from inside Starscream’s cockpit.

Testing your limbs, you try a swimming motion to get yourself more upright to no avail. You continue to spin slowly, not going very far, and you can see Starscream laugh a little judging from the small movements of his chassis and his grinning faceplate. He speaks over comm since sound doesn’t travel well in the void of space.

: So? What’d you think? Best of the best, right?:

You continue to spin instead of responding. You have more than given up on your swimming motions. Waiting until you face him, you shoot him a look that you hope conveys ‘what the hell, man?’ but you’re still smiling so it softens the expression.

Activating his pede thrusters, Skywarp vaults to your side. He drags a little, slowing down as he gets closer. When he’s in close enough range he pokes you gently with one massive digit and spins you in the opposite direction.

: Oops! Did I do that?: His chuckles should be infuriating, but you don’t have the heart (or spark) to be mad. This was by far the coolest thing you’ve ever done and you’re never gonna forget this. 

Activating a single thruster on his pede, Starscream joins you both, his smug look closer now with his proximity. He too, takes a digit as if to poke you, but instead he gently grabs one of your servos and stops your spinning. You grin up at him and squeeze back with a free servo.

Before he releases you however, you use this opportunity to surprise him by grabbing his plating and kick off into space, doing a spin of your own. Your rough, space assisted backflip continues for a few more rotations than you’d expect to achieve on Earth, and you laugh aloud even though no sound is heard.

Both Seekers are looking at you with a fond look on their faceplate, the Ark II a distant bright shape in the distance. You have no desire to go back there anytime soon when space is so much better.

You hadn’t realised how much you needed to be out in the open, that feeling of freedom was turning into a vital aspect of your sanity. There was something about being surrounded by nothing but possibility around you; you could go anywhere, do anything. It was freeing, and it had become more important than you realised. A few days locked in a box and then blown up had made a big difference, it seemed. 

The Seekers seemed to share your sentiment; they too looked more peaceful out here. There were lines that you hadn’t noticed on Starscream’s faceplate that smoothed out a bit, even he seemed more relaxed out here. Skywarp’s expression was much the same, but he was more energetic out here, like nothing could hold him back. 

You try to fight that vague feeling of connection, (happiness? fondness?) that you feel for the Seekers. Maybe it was because you were spending this time with them and you finally felt safe (until recently, a foreign concept), or maybe it was something to do with your weird alien biology, but you liked the Seekers. They were nice to you even when they were dealing with their own, bigger problems. It was a feeling there that was hard to name, but it felt nice and you don’t think you wanted to stop it.

Skywarp’s comm pops up in your HUD.

: Ok little one, now’s the real time for practice.:

You nod, signalling silently that you hear him. You try not to seem too eager, but you absolutely are.

: Try wiggling your rear thrusters. You know, the ones on your pedes.:

Starscream shoots him a glare and you presume he says something over their private channel.

: Don’t listen to him, that’s far too advanced for you right now. Try moving your wing panels instead.:

Both seem impossible to you in theory, like trying to move something telekinetically or astral projecting. But then again, robot telepathy is real so why not at least try? Your servos clench into fists and you try to strain your wings. Nothing moves. You try again with your thrusters and are further disappointed with that result as well. It’s hard to move things that you didn’t previously have . There are new parts on you unlike the arms and legs you were born with; these parts were maybe a week old! You aren’t used to having them yet!

You struggle visibly for a few more moments (your face would be red with effort if you still had blood and skin) before giving up, shaking your head at your interstellar escorts. Starscream has a claw raised to his faceplate, clearly pondering, while Skywarp looks visibly deflated. He perks himself back up quickly (for your sake, it looks like) and shoots you a double thumbs up like he doesn’t want you to give up. Feeling disappointed with yourself (and for disappointing them), you can’t stop yourself floating limply through space. You disassociate slightly, unable to meet their gaze with an expression that’s positive, and you let yourself float aimlessly, all the while trying to stop the frown that is carving its way onto your faceplate with a dull knife.

: Aw, don’t be disappointed, it’s only your first time! You gotta keep trying!: Skywarp’s vote of confidence falls of deaf, frustrated audials. Briefly you try to activate your thrusters one more time, but again you fail which only frustrates you further.

: Maybe try transforming. Your alt-mode is better suited for flight and it’s easier to block out unnecessary distractions.:

You take the advice, only the concept is just as foreign to you now as it was a few moments ago. You don’t know how to transform, you don’t think you’ve ever done it. It was like asking someone to ride a bicycle before they knew how to walk.

Straining a few times, servos clenched so hard they hurt your palms, you try to have something, anything within you move. Your spark flutters within your chest, nestled deep within the spark chamber, but other than that nothing happens. The frustration within you builds to higher levels, disappointment souring your previously joyous mood. What a failure of a robot.

The Seekers share a look, maybe even a comm, and jettison their way over to you slowly. You don’t look at them when they use their huge servos to tuck you into their neck cables, and you don’t look at them when they pat you gently with the ends of their giant fingers. You fight back a sniffle, the emotion making you more angry with yourself than sad, and you stare fiercely into a small pocket between their cables and armour. Maybe if you stare hard enough you’ll stop feeling so bad. Your fingers grip the corner of red armour and you don’t let go, the small pressure fighting the tension that’s building within you.

Tears don’t fall, but you’re putting every ounce of concentration into ensuring that you don’t cry. Crying in this situation would be so embarrassing, but you’re just so frustrated. Why can’t you do this? The one thing that might be cool about getting this metal body, and you can’t even do that right. All the looks of disappointment are starting to get to you. You couldn’t do it days ago when Ratchet asked, and you can’t do it now. You’ll probably never be able to fly. You may not have asked for this body, but you were trying to make the best of it, and it keeps biting you in the ass. 

You’re just so frustrated at how often you’ve been emotional lately. All these new things and questions and difficult answers, and how your body was weird now but it isn’t your fault but it feels like your fault. The tears were welling up in your optics now, lingering in the weightless environment. A few tiny droplets were loosed into space, floating languidly in the small area between you and Starscream’s chest armour. You hold onto that metal plating like your life depends on it, emotions welling up and being suppressed and then welling up again. You’re supposed to be better than this, dammit! They probably just see you as an emotional child and you hate how that makes you feel. So much for thinking you’re mature. Pathetic, more like.

The giant servos don’t stop their motions though, as they help you keep the shudders at bay. You don’t even notice you’re making your way back to the ship until you pass through the energy shield and all of a sudden you can hear again.

There’s a lot of yelling happening beneath you.

Starscream’s pedes hit the flight deck with a heavy thud, followed closely by Skywarp. A few of the Autobots are on the flight deck, and they flock to you with angry looks on their faceplates. Bumblebee in particular won’t stop yelling.

“How could you fly off with the sparkling without telling us? We didn’t know if you were ever coming back!”

There are a few other voices you haven’t heard before that chime in.

“What did you do to them?! They’re clearly distressed!”

“Get them to Ratchet, they could be hurt!”

“You Decepticons are all the same, endangering innocent lives. What have you done to harm them, huh? Prime, you tell them to give the sparkling back!”

Optimus, you notice, is among them. He too, has a worried look on his faceplate, but it is far less angry than his cohorts. He looks sad, and maybe even a touch relieved. With a wave of his massive servo, the exclamations fall silent. His blue optics address the Seekers, who meet his gaze with a sneer.

“We would have appreciated some prior notification of you taking the little one off-ship.” His voice is slow and steady. “My crew and I were worried about the wellbeing of the sparkling.”

Starscream growls but it’s Skywarp who responds. “How dare you accuse us of such filth. They came to us , they’re one of us . We’d never allow them to come to any harm. Which is more than can be said about you .”

With dread you notice the green and white Autobot take a step forward, and you instinctively cower. His voice is deeper than Bumblebee’s, and has a southern twang.

“If you think you slaggers can speak to Prime like that in front of me, you got another thing comin’.” The threat is audible in his tone. You huddle your body closer to the armoured plating of Starscream, as if the tighter you bunch yourself in, the safer you’ll be. A tiny tremble works its way through your wafer thin armour.

Starscream’s growl turns into a snarl. He bares his denta and hisses at the green Autobot but doesn’t take a step forward. “I’ll talk to him however I like, your Prime is no innocent.” His ruby optics flash up to Optimus who stands unmoving. “Kidnapping a sparkling, I think you’re vile .”

“How dare you accuse-”

The green Autobot takes a step forward, servos raised in a fist, but Optimus stops him. “Enough, Wheeljack. Stand down.” The leader of the Autobots’ optics meets Starscream’s unflinching. “I believe there has been some mix-up. My crew was under the impression that you were intending to leave with the sparkling. We were unaware that you were venturing off-ship and you deigned to notify not a single one of us of your intentions. Where is your decorum as a guest aboard our ship?”

Starscream sneers in response. “How Prime of you to change the subject in your favour. Which poor unfortunate pair did you steal them from to uphold your greater good ?” His plating shakes slightly beneath you, as if you can feel the rage simmering under his armour. “How many monstrous things have you done in this war for the greater good? You picture yourself a just leader , but we all know you’re worse than even me.” You will yourself to stop trembling but it doesn’t stop. You can barely tell what is you and what is Starscream’s.

“What in Primus’ name does the almighty Prime need a Seekerlet for? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t had any flight forces in millenia.” Optimus flinches at this ever so slightly, and Starscream doesn’t let it go unnoticed.

There’s a pause, and he continues. “So that’s it. You want your precious Aerialbots back.” The silence is so vast that the sound of your shaking panels is the only sound you can hear. Or maybe it’s Starscream’s.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You want them to choose a side.”

“You’ve been brainwashing the sparkling to choose your side, the side of the Decepticons! Don’t pretend, I see right through you Starscream.” Bumblebee’s voice sounds so angry, but you can’t online your optics to look at him. You don’t want to. “You want them to be a Seeker just like you!” 

“Seekers were always neutral before the war.” Skywarp seethes. “Aerialbots are and were an Autobot term. You would have them choose a side without telling them what the war was really about!”

“As if you’re any different!”

“We would never force a sparkling to choose!” Starscream’s resounding yell is so loud. It surrounds you on all sides and you can’t escape it. “Forcing a sparkling to choose a side in a war they had no part in, you disgust me. There are acts I’ve committed during the war that would make a grown mech cry, but at least I can admit with honesty that I never made a youngling choose a faction !” The shakes are definitely stronger coming from Starscream now, where yours have died down ever so slightly.

Optimus takes a moment to put a servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “Easy now, scout. Calm yourself.” He turns his eyes from the yellow bot to Starscream, glancing down at you briefly. “But this youngling…” He pauses, trailing off. Starscream’s hackles are still raised, his denta bared and showing no signs of calming down.

“This youngling isn’t the same as the ones you remember.”

Starscream doesn’t calm, but you feel a tremor of tension ripple through his armour. The comment spikes your anxiety to new heights, and you just want to get out of there. Preferably before they say more things that hurt your spark. It throbs with discomfort, your processor blaring alarms to get you out of there.

You don’t understand the intricacies of what they’re arguing about anyway; Aerialbots vs Seekers or whatever, but you don’t like the tension that’s sitting heavily in your sparkchamber. In the quietest voice you can muster as to not gain the autobots attention, you squeeze the plating beneath your servos desperately and whisper. “Can we go now, please?”

Despite your attempt to make yourself as quiet as possible, all helms on the flight path whip around to look at you. You hate the sudden pressing attention, hackles raising, but are slightly relieved when Starscream holds up a claw to shield you from the oiercing stares of the onlookers. You grasp at him gently but desperately, whispering again even softer this time. “Please?” you beg, barely a whisper. You wish you could merge with the armour so you don’t feel so vulnerable. You hate feeling so small.

The Autobots are stunned into silence, not a single one of the metal giants moving an inch. You can feel the tension in every joint in your body, and there’s a low low hum coming from your chassis that’s almost impossible to hear. It sounds just as upset as you are, and you don’t think you can stop it. The sound stays at a low frequency like the crackle of a tv on mute. You get the feeling it’s some kind of symptom of your metal body broadcasting your sadness.

Starscream shushes you gently, never ceasing his gentle strokes along your spine. “Shh, of course, of course. Whatever you like.” He turns his wing to the Autobots, a flick signalling his minutely restrained agitation. He takes a step towards the emergency exit you remember from before you left.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” Skywarp hisses in a voice that sounds similar to Starscream’s; low and vicious. “Your morality makes me sick.” His pedes follow behind his brother’s, not looking back. The door shuts behind you with a loud slam, and you descend with the Seekers into the heart of the ship once more.

________________

Skywarp stomped down the corridor, his wings shaking off the excess tension. Those Autobots and their self-righteous delusions. War was war, and nothing could exempt any participants that contributed to its longevity. The Autobots had long had a habit of painting themselves as the heroes and the Decepticons as the villains when both sides committed atrocities in the name of their causes. Skywarp and his brothers were prideful, but they at the very least took ownership of their deeds and misdeeds. Optimus Prime and his lackeys seemed to have selective vision when it came to the good of their beliefs. They saw the war in black and white instead of what it truly was. 

He could see the sparkling trembling under Starscream’s chin, their tiny body shaking with fear and anxiety. Their delicate plating made small metallic chimes as it unconsciously made contact with his brother’s far denser armour.

: How’d it go?: Thundercracker’s comm caught him by surprise. 

: Could’a gone better. Autobots ambushed us when we landed. Were worried we stole the sparkling like they did.:

: Frag, is the little one alright?: Skywarp could feel his brother’s worry seep through the call.

: They’re fine, mostly shaken up by the ordeal. I could kill those Autobots for what they’ve done to this youngling. Ignorance for flight sickness aside, they’ve stolen a Seekerling from their Sire and Carrier! We have to return them.:

Skywarp continued, : We don’t even know where they came from. Optimus said something about them being different from a normal youngling. What do you think he meant by that?:

: He said that?: Thundercracker’s voice had an edge of anger in its tone. : I can’t believe he’d stoop so low, they’re a sparkling for Primus’ sake. Trying to get us to relinquish our claim with these weak deceptions.: Skywarp could tell he was barely containing himself in the cargo hold. But, sticking with the mission still came first. : Code doesn’t lie, and that’s definitely a youngling. They’re resorting to unsavoury means to try and distract us.:

: Distract us from their blatant crime, no doubt. It doesn’t matter where they came from or how they came to be, what matters is that they’re a sparkling and they need proper care.:

: I can’t stand the feeling of flight sickness emitting from them. It’s horrible . How did they withstand it for so long?: Skywarp shivered at Thundercracker’s comment, looking balefully at their small charge. He could tell the shivers hadn’t gone away, no matter how hard the sparkling tried to suppress them.

: They’re strong. But they should never have had to experience this in the first place. When they calm down, or when the time is right, we’ll get the information we require.: Starscream was silent as he continued to stroke the tiny helm that huddled into his neck cables.

They all took a moment to air out their frustrations, steam whistling out of the vents in their plating. They unanimously agreed they would focus their energy on their small ward and their wellbeing. Nothing would harm the little one on their watch. After a few cliks, Thundercracker broke the silence by changing the subject.

: And flying? How were they? I bet they blasted both your expectations.: His voice oozed with pride, but Skywarp felt he had no choice but to shoot down his brother’s positive statement.

: They experienced some disappointment with their flying lesson; couldn’t get their wings to move on command.: Skywarp sent over a brief video he took of their spacefaring outing.

: Sounds like you, TC.: Starscream’s raspy voice joined in, nostalgia warm and teasing in his tone. : I seem to recall you having trouble flying at that frame size as well. It took Skywarp dropping you via teleport to get your wings in position. Something about thinking with your processor and not feeling with your instincts:

Skywarp chuckled, : Didn’t even know I could teleport with others until that clik.:

: Yeah yeah, very funny. I remember at least I landing on something soft.: 

Skywarp rounded the corner that approached their quarters. They made extra sure to give the captive Barricade a wide berth; his cell was located not far down the left corridor that led to the cargo bay. It was easy to navigate the Ark II with its limited space, but it was still important to keep the sparkling as safe as possible, even if it was only by a few metres. They didn’t know what would happen if Barricade sensed the Seekerlet’s unrestricted EM field, and they weren’t about to risk the little one’s safety.

The Seekerlet’s body trembled with the sickness and the latent tension, but otherwise looked undamaged. There was no lubricant leaking from their optics, but their field thrummed with sadness. Skywarp wanted nothing more than to quell those nasty feelings inside the sparkling, but sensed it was a deeper sort of trauma. To experience so much while so young, he found it was amazing that he and his brothers were even trusted in the first place. He thanked Primus for the innate bonds that Seekerlings had with grown Seekers, the ones that sought comfort. This had allowed them to be so close so quickly.

The silver sheen of their plating was just as he’d expect from a sparkling of this frame. It was so thin that when he held the youngling in his servos he could feel the steady thrum of their spark chamber. The sensation made him feel wild, both with protective code blaring and the smothering affection overloading his HUD. How in the Pit Spawned Hells did the Autobots leave such a creature alone? And for so long? Skywarp could barely last a few cliks without fighting the urge to pluck the small frame out of his brother’s servos and into his own. The residual trine bond helped in spreading the contented feeling even when he wasn’t the one in direct contact, and that helped a lot. He also knew it was the only thing keeping Thundercracker calm. 

Skywarp wanted nothing more than to lie in the nest that they had made with the Seekerling and recharge together in peace. 

He’d have a chance to do that soon, as the doors of their berth chamber grew closer with each passing step. 

The sparkling barely looked up as the berth doors opened. Skywarp tried to get their attention by wiggling his servos in their direction.

“Somebody’s had a long cycle, haven’t they?” His cheerful digits approached the small form. “But I’ve got just the thing to cheer you up.”

His fingers reached closer, but the Seekerlet grasped the tip once it came within reaching distance and gently pushed it away. They huddled closer into Starscream’s armour and didn’t meet his optics. 

Skywarp willed his wings not to droop, excitement deflating a bit. 

“Aw, come now. Don’t be so mopey. I promise you’ll like it.” The Seekerling mumbled something in response but Skywarp tried again. “What’s that now? What’d you say?”

“‘m not in the mood.” 

Starscream rubbed the small helm with the tip of his talon. He said nothing, but knew Skywarp well enough to know his next move. The sparkling looked up for a brief glance, green optics wide and watery.

“There you are! Come to me for a clik, I promise you’ll love this.”

The tiny helm met Starscream’s optics for a moment, mutely asking for permission or maybe some answers to Skywarp’s behaviour. But Starscream only gestured minutely with a tilt of his helm and the Seekerling released their iron-clad grip on the Seeker’s armour.

Sharp servos passed the small Seeker over, and their tiny pedes touched Skywarp’s purple digits. They looked up expectantly, if not a little nervous (how cute!), and the purple Seeker fought every urge to coo at their display. Their wings were downturn, signalling their still-persistent anxiety and their finials were pinned back as far as they could go. Their green hued optics were huge, contrasted by their black mask-like colouring, and their tiny tiny servos were fiddling nervously. 

“You may want to sit for this.” The Seekerlet shot one last glance at Starscream, who offered a small smile in return. They sat delicately, and Skywarp got into position. He took a few steps back, with his spinal strut facing the wash rack. The nest of blankets hadn’t moved from their recharge session earlier, and it was straight ahead with its piles of soft blankets. Skywarp bent his knees, tucked the Seekerling closer to his chassis, and tossed the small body into the air. 

The ensuing scream was loud and bracing, but both Skywarp and Starscream looked on in satisfaction when the Seekerling’s wings shot out into proper flying position and minutely slowed their descent into the soft nest. The both chuckled as the scream died off in a muffled whump as the youngling made contact with the soft linens. A few moments later, the small silver and black helm of the sparkling shot up out of the blankets, optics glittering, with only one word on their lips.

“ Again .”

The Seeker brothers and the sparkling spent a few more moments plucking the smaller body out of the nest and tossing them back in from various distances. The scream of shock from earlier dissolved into shrieks of joy and Skywarp couldn’t help the warmth that grew in his spark chamber. They even experimented tossing the sparkling at each other; the combination of the sparkling’s flared wings slowing their descent and the fact that they’d never allow the little one to fall aided in the continued enjoyment of everyone in the room. Unable to contain his enjoyment, he allowed a small flux of joy to leak out of his bond for Thundercracker to feel. He even added a small live feed to both make his brother jealous and to ensure he didn’t feel too left out.

Starscream looked like he was enjoying himself too. Sometimes he’d pretend to stumble and miss the sparkling, limbs flailing in a dramatic fashion. But he always caught them, and the ensuing giggles would bring that small smile back to his faceplate. Skywarp couldn’t remember the last time he had fun with his brother like this. Maybe next time Thundercracker could join them.

The sparkling began to tire, and they knew that it was soon time for a quick recharge. Nothing like a reset to release any lingering tensions. One last throw into the nest, Skywarp noticed the Seekerling positively melt into the blankets, their optics wide and expressive. The last time they laid down in the nest they had been too overstimulated and exhausted to fully appreciate its softness. Now Skywarp could feel clearly through their EM field that the Seekerlet was fully content, maybe even a little bit shocked by it. While in the nest, the flight sickness frequency was nearly gone, and the warmth of the surrounding blankets mustered a yawn from the tiny creature. 

Both Skywarp and Starscream knelt down to snug blankets into the youngling closer, ensuring they were tucked in tightly and securely. The green optics drooped, the lines of energy flowing through their plating dimming in imminent recharge, and they mumbled something before relinquishing their hold on the waking world.

“gotta tell you both… sumfing…” But they were already gone. Whatever it was could wait until they woke up. 

Chapter Text

Chap 8

Chirping

You woke up from your recharge still feeling groggy. It wasn’t anywhere near as deep as the sleep you’d had previously, but any sleep without the chills was great in your books.

Stretching the sleep from your limbs, a small noise flutters out of your chassis surprises you. The noise is high pitched and almost bird-like? It almost sounds like a little chrrp ? Either you slept deeper than you thought and your vocal processor still isn’t online, or this is just a new addition to your growing collection of ‘I guess my robot body does this now’. 

Your head is fuzzy and whatever thoughts you had prior to recharging are gone from your memory banks. You know there was something important that you wanted to bring up, but you can’t for the life of you remember what it was, only that it was urgent. 

Well, it couldn’t be too important if you can’t remember it. You hope it’ll come back to you soon.

Your time playing with the Seekers is still fresh in your mind, however. There isn’t anything in the universe that could wipe that memory from your processor. Being tossed back and forth between two giant robots and a makeshift nest should be terrifying, but instead, it had been exhilarating. It was the most fun you think you’ve ever had. A big part of you hopes that they’ll continue to toss you around some more, as it did wonders in helping your mood.

Looking up for a sign of your flying guardians, you notice them facing each other by the door, presumably talking over comms so that they don't wake you. You open your intake to call out to them, but instead of words, all that comes out is a single piercing beep . Embarrassingly, they hear the noise (and see the mortification on your faceplate), and turn to acknowledge you.

“My my, you don’t look recharged at all. You slept for so long, yet I can tell even without my sensors that your energy levels are still dreadfully low.” Starscream’s rasp is gentle on your audialls, your droopy face doing nothing to combat his comment. You’ve slept so much lately, but even though the chills have all but ceased, a different kind of tiredness is felt in your plating. 

“Are you low on energy, little one?” Skywarp asks. “I haven’t seen you refuel at all since you came to us.” You ponder at his statement, fingers resting on your abdominal plating for that phantom feeling of hunger. You don’t feel hungry, at least not in the same way you did when you were human, so you shake your helm at him. 

It was weird that in the (Week? Month? How can you tell time in space?) however long you’ve been a robot, you didn’t feel the need to eat or drink. As a human you were used to the feeling of hunger, but this long without food would have had you doubling over in pain or worse. In certain ways, being a robot was more optimal, but then again you weren’t sure what robots actually ate . You hope whatever it is tastes good at least.

He puts a finger to his lips, pondering. “Still, you should try and refuel. It’s not good to go so long without Energon. I’ll go fetch some from the cargo hold.” 

You perk up, a little more awake now. Your intake and vocal processor still feel weird so you opt for a non-verbal request. Holding your arms up and making grabby hands, you mutely request to accompany him. If you had the energy to be even more embarrassed, you would be.

Skywarp moves to your side faster than you can blink. “Ooh, of course you can come with me.” He coos and scoops you up to press you into his cheek. “Who could say no to that face?”

Still pretty drowsy, you clutch at his plating instinctively (the same place you held onto Starscream before) and get comfortable. One of the blankets from the nest is brought with you, whether by accident or on purpose you’re unsure, but you’re grateful for the extra comfort. Its residual warmth from your recharge lingers in the fibres, and the feeling of sleep beckons you back invitingly.

Skywarp and Starscream take two giant sized steps forward as the berth doors open, the three of you venturing down the corridor. 

You’re still pretty sleepy, so you’re not paying very much attention, but you feel comfortable enough to doze a little hearing Starscream’s pointed pedes follow behind you and Skywarp. The steps echo in the metal hallway, and you don’t have enough energy to keep track of where you're all going. That warm, heavy frequency leaks out of both Seekers, and is met in turn by a few instinctive chrrps of your own. They flow out of you naturally, and you can’t stop it, but judging from their endearing reactions it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. You still find it slightly annoying though.

The hallways get progressively darker as you venture onwards, only lightly aware of the slight descent into the cargo hold. You’re only aware of this by the few moments you decide to peek an optic open, but you don’t see anything interesting enough to keep them open. If they ask you to try and make your way back to your shared room on your own, you’re definitely screwed, but you’re reassured that you don’t think that they’ll leave you alone down here.

You must’ve nodded off a little, the sound of the heavy steps lulling you back into dreamland, because Skywarp nudges you awake gently with a nuzzle of his massive chin. 

“Wake up, little wing. We’re here.” His voice is cheerful but soft, he’s speaking low so as to not startle you awake. “Let’s get you some Energon.”

As you wipe the sleep from your optics, you see Starscream venture over to one of the familiar looking storage containers. They look identical to the ones in the storage hangar where you built your fort. They’re the same kind of containers that used to house your old room and you by extension (before it got blown up).

Tearing the roof off without any resistance, Starscream reaches in and pulls out one of the familiar looking glowing cubes. Oh. So the fort making stuff was Energon. He takes a talon and flicks the corner of the cube off, the glass piece flying somewhere in the cargo hold, but it’s gone before you can figure out where it went. 

The red Seeker offers you the cube and brings the open corner up to your intake. The glowing liquid sloshes menacingly inside, and you get your first scent of it. It smells like battery acid and overripe fruit. Your body’s instinctive reaction is to gag, but you stop yourself. To be honest, you don’t know if this is good for your body, but the Seekers have no hesitation in giving it to you. They’ve been robots longer than you have, so you trust them, and take a small swig.

Immediately, your body rejects the substance. Coughing and sputtering, your optics fill with liquid, and you clench your blanket in an attempt to stop your violent reaction. It tastes like battery acid too! Whatever this is, you want it nowhere near you, much less inside you. 

The cube of Energon is swiftly pulled away from you, a small amount dribbling down your chassis from its quick removal. The light blue colour stands out starkly on your silver plating, and you can feel it getting lodged in your delicate joints. The coughing peters off slightly and you suddenly feel more tired than ever.

Your bleary optics catch Starscream and Skywarp looking at each other, a worried expression on each of their faces. Starscream even tries to bring the cube back closer to your intake, but you push it away ferociously with every ounce of strength left in your arms, still sputtering. No more of that, thank you very much.

Starscream’s metal eyebrows crease in confusion.

“Little one, you need to refuel. I can tell your energy levels are far too low.” You continue sputtering, unable to stop, the lingering taste of battery acid still burning on your tongue. You shake your head ardently, outright refusing. Whatever substance you need to refuel with, it isn’t that . Using the corner of your blanket as a rag, you wipe your mouth and any residual spill off the surface of your plating. Your movements are sloppy, but it gets most of the job done. For your joints you might need another bath.

Starscream gives up after a few more attempts and then he stops trying outright, his worried look increasing in its intensity. His eyebrows are so furrowed you can barely see his optics.

You can’t see Skywarp’s face from your angle, but you get the impression he’s just as worried. “But if you won’t drink Energon…” He trails off and looks at his brother, who puts a talon next to his audial without a word.

He’s not comming like you anticipate, instead he turns to his purple brother with an even more severe expression oh his faceplate.

“They don’t…” His intake opens and closes, as if he can’t get the words out.

“What is it, what’s the matter?”

“Their Energon levels…Are zero.” Starscream’s voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the room like sharp glass. Skywarp is stunned.

“But that’s…” he reaches a digit and caresses the side of your helm as if the motion helps him calm down. “That’s impossible. They’d be offline!”

Both brothers look at each other worriedly, as if unsure what to do next. Your coughs and sputterings have ceased at this point, but the tension in the room makes it difficult to meet their optics. Optimus’ words from earlier ring in your helm; this youngling isn’t the same as the ones you remember. 

You had meant to tell them all about yourself, you just hadn’t found the right time. Between the bathing, sleeping together, your flying lesson in space, and the games you played together, a growing anxiety has kept you from telling them about yourself. They’ve shown they cared by protecting you and keeping you safe and cared for, but there is a tiny part of you that is worried the moment they find out how you came to be (how you were made by accident, something weird ), they’ll stop caring about you. You also remember how Starscream seemed to have a negative opinion on humans, but maybe you’re misremembering. Or worse, they might think you lied. That thought alone sends chills of a different sort down your spinal strut, layered in fear.

Optimus knows because he found you, Ratchet knows because he studied the Emberstone; you don’t know if Bumblebee and Arcee and the rest of Autobots know, but there are some things you want to tell them yourself when the time is right. It's your body, your life. So shouldn't it be your decision to tell them?

Is that time now? Or have you already missed your chance?

The grogginess of sleep is still strong within you, but you try to fight it, and get the difficult words out. Your vocal processor still stubbornly defies your instructions and only some weak beeps and chrrps escaped your intake instead of the heavy words that are weighing on your tongue. This inability to speak is making you go from mildly annoyed to worried now. Raising an arm weakly to wave off their worries, your flagging motion only seems to make the Seekers more concerned. 

“What do we—”

“The medic. We have to get the medic.”

Both brothers speak over each other, worry heavy in their tone. Skywarp puts a servo up to his helm and comms Ratchet out loud, his voice reverberating off the metal containers in the cargo hold.

“Get your aft over here, you Primus damned medic. There’s something wrong with the sparkling!”

It’s the last thing you remember hearing.

________________

Ratchet hadn’t left his chambers since the sparkling had run from him.

The sight of their small back running from him so frantically tugged at his spark and refused to let go. They ran from him. In fear of him. Is this what war made sparkling doctors? Something that sparklings should fear?

The dark thoughts had swirled in the doctor’s processor since their departure from Earth. Never in his many years had he ever experienced such a loss.

Optimus had tried to reassure him that there were plenty of Autobots on board that would happily attempt to bridge the relationships between the Autobots and the sparkling. But that wasn’t what Ratchet was depressed about. The sparkling was his . He had tried his utmost to keep his affection for the sparkling at bay to quell the quick-growing feelings of attachment he had for the sparkling, but that ended up hurting the sparkling.

Flight sickness. Ratchet had never heard of such a thing. It was highly possible that the Seekers were lying, as Decepticons always did, but there was something about their tone of voice that made Ratchet think differently. And there was also that odd frequency he didn’t recognize. Did that have anything to do with it? Or was it just an extra add-on from the transformation from human to sparkling. Ratchet had prided himself in his knowledge of sparkling care from his many years of experience, but he had never considered that there might be biological differences between Grounder frames and Seeker frames. And Seeker specific ailments? Who knows what else the Vosians had kept secret in their lofty city.

He clenched his servos for the umpteenth time. He had never felt this way with the Terrans. Every string of code in his body screamed at him that this was a sparkling , the same as he’d always remembered. The Terrans hadn’t triggered that long dormant instinct within him, but this little one did. Their creation via the Emberstone did nothing to stop the thrum of joy that had erupted within him when he had first felt their EM field. It was a sensation that he never thought he’d feel again. 

And now he never would. The sparkling had chosen the Seekers over him, and Ratchet was left to pick up the pieces of his broken spark.

Ratchet wanted nothing more than to rush to the berth chamber, the chamber where he was meant to care for and treat the sparkling, to take them into his servos and go somewhere where the Seekers would never find them.

The beginnings of the Guardianship protocol were already fading like melting ice in his processor. It was different from his previous doctor protocol that he had with other sparklings back before Cybertron went dark, this one was warm and personal. It wasn’t between a doctor and their patient; it was between a guardian and their charge. As close as you could get to a Creator/sparkling bond.

Ratchet had always dreamed of having a sparkling of his own, and he thought he had lost his chance when the war wiped out all the sparklings. There was a small part of him that was glad that they didn’t have to experience such trauma, but the bleakness of the situation had haunted him for vorns. But that first spark of Guardianship protocols had been a balm on his broken processor. This little one, after so many years of doubt and sadness, made Ratchet feel like this one was just for him; like Primus had gifted him his fondest wish after all this time, making all his work and loss during the war worth it. 

But just like that, his chance was taken away from him. Ran away from him. The Guardianship protocol snuffed before it even had a chance to grow. And there was nothing he could do about it. He was wrong. The sparkling wasn’t his to hold, his to keep; they had made their decision. And Ratchet had to live in a universe, a new Cybertron, where his last chance feared and despised him.

Wallowing deeply, the medic let out a shuddering breath. If it weren’t for Optimus, he would have fallen into a stasis lock from lack of Energon. He barely refuelled and the only reprieve he could get from his dark feelings was to slip into recharge as frequently as possible.

He wasn’t needed on deck for any engineering calls; Wheeljack was more than capable by himself. And with the battle ending with only one fatality, most of the crew knew how to mend their own scrapes and scuffs. 

Which brought him back to thinking about the sparkling. Were they damaged from the battle? He hadn’t gotten a good look at them afterwards to see if they’d sustained any injuries. Last he had seen of their condition was over the monitor back on Earth was their room smoking from a blaster impact. They could be hurt and he couldn’t do anything but wait impatiently, wondering if they’d even need him.

But the moment he got the comm he was out the door before he even realised he left his berth. 

________________

Starscream watched in horror as the sparkling’s movements slowed to a stop, their small arm waving lazily until it rested comfortably alongside their spark chamber. After a few anxiety-inducing moments, their movements did not pick back up, and the biolights on their small form flickered, dimmed, and suddenly darkened.

He felt his spark sink alongside his brothers’.

The Seekerlet had awoken from their recharge not long ago, visibly undercharged despite how long they were unconscious. This had worried him only slightly, as it was normal for a sparkling of that size to come back to full alertness more gradually rather than all at once. Sparklings tended to rely on their caretakers less as they grew, and at this frame size they were still mostly dependent on their Creators. His worry grew more severe when their vocal processor refused to cooperate, resulting in some adorable, but somewhat concerning chirps and coos rather than the fully functioning words Starscream knew they were capable of.

Skywarp had taken the worry in stride and confidently hid his concern from the sparkling, though his energy field was laced with worry. Starscream had followed his brother’s lead in hiding his growing worry in the same manner, but spoke with Thundercracker over comms in an attempt to workshop some ideas on what should be done. 

The quick scan he executed while they were in the cargo hold had resulted in the worst result that could have ever crossed his processor; the sparkling was dangerously low on Energon. Their levels were almost non-existent; so low that they weren’t even picking up on his scanners. It was a miracle they had even been moving at all.

How could they have been so foolish? In their entire duration of time with the Seekerling, they hadn’t ever offered or even thought of refuelling the small creature. They hadn’t seemed to need it! Their energy levels had seemed optimal, at least externally even with the flight sickness, and they hadn’t shown any signs of low fuel or Energon deficiency.

Until this very moment, when it could already be too late.

The small body he had grown to care for was lifeless in his brother’s purple servos, the thrum of their sparkbeat near impossible to pick up with his audials. 

What should they do? What could they do? All the worrying they had hid from the sparkling seemed so insignificant now.The panic fuelled energy from before had chilled to a cold dread, as they could do nothing but wait for the medic to arrive.

Astroseconds felt like they went by like cycles, the sparkling’s darkened still form adding a depressing, heavy weight to the cargo hold, the tension so thick and afraid that the Seekers found it difficult to tear their optics away from their charge. They refused to take their optics off their small ward, their fuel lines cold and distraught even as they coursed through their circuits. Their previously panicked state had settled into a freezing silence; with even Thundercracker silent over comms. He no longer asked for an update from his brothers, he no doubt felt the dread seep through every part of their bond.

Two red optics whipped to the door at the first sign of nearby sound. Heavy pedes, quick and uneven with hysteria approached their coordinates through the nearby hallways. The medic Ratchet burst through the doors and his frantic blue optics fell upon the unmoving sparkling in Skywarp’s servos.

Without a single word he flicked out his medical scanner from its forearm panel and rushed forward. The Seekers didn’t move to defend the small form, too shocked and afraid of the verdict. The only sound that filled the cargo hold was Ratchet’s furious typing and the fluttering panic of three sparks.

After a few moments of typing, scanning and processing, the medic released a deep breath and offlined his optics. He opened his intake, but before he could say anything the Prime made his presence known by bursting unceremoniously through the cargo doors.

“Ratchet. What –” His voice stopped alongside his obtrusive entrance as he carefully took in the scene in front of him. Two Decepticon Seekers and his Chief Medical Officer were huddled around the small unmoving form of the sparkling who was currently resting in Skywarp’s palms. The sparkling in question’s biolights were so dim that he barely see them and the look of horror on both of the Seeker’s faces gave him a good idea of the severity of the situation.

The Prime cleared his intake softly and spoke. “Are they…?” His question remained open ended, as if too fearful to complete his question aloud. They all knew what he was asking. Ratchet’s answering sigh eased both his and the Seeker’s worries only somewhat.

“They need refuelling.” Was the simple answer. It was so brief that it took everyone by surprise. His optics remained off, clearly needing a moment to calm his own spark.

The Seekers burst into movement like a statue coming to life. “We tried–” “They wouldn’t take Energon–” “Their levels are ZERO, how is this–?” “They were fine –” The two brothers spoke over themselves in a panic, their words and concern jumbling together in confusion and alarm.

Optimus fought his urge to raise a hand to silence them, knowing this was neither the time nor the place. Medical proceedings were Ratchet’s territory, and in these scenarios, he had no choice but to concede authority.

Ratchet clearly wanted to take a closer look at the sparkling, his servos shaking the scanner panel. He was visibly restraining himself from reaching forward and grabbing the unmoving form. But he kept his wits and professionalism as he turned to address the Seekers.

“They need refuelling, but not Energon. You’ve successfully cleared up one of our speculations concerning the sparkling, in that it is not Energon they require to refuel. Instead it is another energy source that we have prepared for and is already on board.”

Skywarp’s helm ridge furrowed in visible frustration, processor working overtime. “B-but they’re Cybertronian. They need Energon. You’re tellin’ me they don’t need Energon to function?” He trailed off, the information still computing.

Starscream needed less time to process, instead getting visibly angry . 

“And you thought it would be a good time to tell us when ?” His anger was directed at the Prime instead of the medic, red optics blazing. “If you truly cared about the sparkling at all you would have given us all the necessary information for their optimal care. It was their choice to come to us, how dare you punish them by giving us insufficient information!”

Ratchet flinched slightly at Starscream’s words, but Optimus’ faceplate remained passively calm. Optimus tried to gesture mutely for Starscream to follow him outside the hangar to continue their conversation more privately, as he wished to discuss the difficult topic outside of the medic’s audial range to save him from the Seeker’s biting words. But the Seeker in question remained rooted to the spot, his glare sharp enough to pierce glass and aimed directly at Optimus.

In this moment, Skywarp took it upon himself to take a tentative step towards Ratchet, his unease showing in his shaky movements. His instinct was to take the sparkling back to their shared nest, where they would be more securely protected. But he didn’t know how to help the little one in this state, so he and his brothers had no choice but to seek aid from a necessary professional. 

In his trembling servos was the sparkling, and he brought the small body closer to the medic incrementally as if he were unsure to hand them over or tuck them closer to his armour. “Where can we find…this new energy source? You said it’s on board?”

Ratchet nodded, his optics flickering from Skywarp’s worried expression to the still form of the sparkling, calculating. The medic swallowed, his intake rough and full of static. “We have prepared for this eventuality. If you’ll follow me we can prepare a refuelling station for the little one.” Skywarp nodded, not trusting his own vocalizer, and took a hesitant step to follow the medic out of the cargo hold. His red optics met Starscream’s briefly as he matched pace with Ratchet leaving the cargo hold.

Before he left his brother’s visual range, Skywarp commed both his brothers assurances over their trine channel that the sparkling would be fine in his care, that he’d never allow the Seekerlet to leave his sight. The assurances were for himself as well as his brothers, his Seeker protocols screaming at him to fly away with the sparkling to somewhere safe and alone. He added more assurances and calming waves through their Trine bond, wordless and full of trust, with ribbons of his own fear and hesitation leaking through. Starscream’s rage was wound up tightly and did not leak through their bond, but was clear and explosive in his EM field. The anger was fiery, and that fury was aimed directly at Optimus. Skywarp left the cargo hold without another audible word, following behind Ratchet with the sparkling clutched gently but securely in his servo.

The cargo doors closed with barely a noise and Optimus Prime and Starscream were left alone.

The Prime spoke first.

“We did not keep this information from you to hurt you or the little one. We simply didn’t realise that the time we had anticipated had already arisen.” His tone was soft and tension free, which only added to Starscream’s clear displeasure. “You may place the blame on me if you wish, but no one aboard this vessel wishes any harm upon the sparkling.”

Starscream seethed but did not speak. Optimus continued.

“From this moment onward, if you have any questions concerning the sparkling, I will do my utmost to answer with all the information I have available. Ratchet may have more in-depth medical knowledge concerning the sparkling’s biology and specialised needs, but he will cede it to you on my order if that is your request.” His passive promise sounded empty to the Trine leader.

Starscream’s talons shook as he continued to stare down the Prime. “How could you do it?” His voice, usually gravelly and low, was barely audible and thick with static.

Optimus blinked. “I’m sorry?”

The Seeker’s eyes blazed. “How could you take a sparkling from their Creators. Have you no spark? You’re despicable.” His angular form shook with barely concealed rage.

Starscream continued, barely taking a moment between words. “Do you know how many Seekers are left? Do you know how many Vosians remain after all this?” His clawed talon waved at the surrounding Energon containers. “Do you know the lengths I would go to to ensure that my culture does not die out?” Optimus had no choice but to be silent, he could do nothing but listen. 

“None of that matters to you, does it? Only the survival of your Autobots, and by extension your long-lost Aerialbots.” His form bent over in a bastardization of laughter, wings high and threatening. “My people have long since passed the point of no return. And you would keep a Seekerling from us . Their people. My culture. You would reestablish a Cybertron without Vosians. No Seekers, only Aerialbots. We would be a forgotten footnote of the war in your historical archives.” His words were spat out like acid.

“To make matters worse you would steal a sparkling from their Creators! A poor Seeker pair achieved this miracle and you stole them from their own culture! With some poisonous need to infect them with your own, no doubt–”

“Starscream-” Optimus was interrupted before he had a chance to continue.

“Everyone is convinced that they know me so well, aren't they Prime? It’s infuriating. They assume the worst of me and the best of you. But that’s not true, is it?” He leaned closer, a venomous smile on his face. “We both know the kinds of things you’ve done that are far worse than anything I’ve done.”

Starscream trembled with his dark false laughter, the dark smile continuing undaunted, fangs exposed. “Don’t think you’re so above me that you haven’t thought of it before. The only surviving members of the Cybertronian race being your Autobots and those who would defect? What a perfectly Prime utopia.” He paced slowly, circling Optimus. “No bothersome Seekers to worry about, only prim and proper Autobots chosen by you and yours.” His pacing stopped and his helm swivelled towards the Prime. 

“But what of those who don’t fit your perfect little mould? Ones that can’t or won’t defect? Oh, I’m sure you’ve thought about it. I know I would have, if I were in your place.” Optimus didn’t move under the scrutiny of his red stare. “Wouldn’t New Cybertron be better without us? No Decepticon unsightliness tainting your vision.”

Optimus did not respond for a lengthy pause, his tension only showing in his servos that were clenched at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “It is not my intention to restrict any of Primus’ creations from returning to Cybertron. I intend for our return to be as a whole, not with any restrictions. The little one is a part of that vision.”

Starscream’s answering hiss was just as quiet. “I demand you tell me where you took them from, we shall return them to their Creators.”

Optimus’s blue optics blazed into the Seeker’s red ones. “Is that what the sparkling said?” His tone was sharp and biting.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You are no doubt aware of the Emberstone’s location aboard this vessel. It is the source of the little one’s creation.”

Starscream’s wings dropped from their high position, the information clearly catching him off-guard. The honesty that rang with Optimus’ EM field solidified his statement. Confusion rang through Starscream’s energy field, filling the cargo space with smouldering intensity.

“They…they have no Creators? No Sire nor Carrier?”

Optimus shook his helm.

Starscream touched a talon to his helm, his expression oddly vulnerable. “Then…How is this possible? This Emberstone can do such a thing?”

“The Emberstone is meant to act as a seed, with its purpose to alter the biological essence of foreign planets into substances that are more beneficial to Cybertronian kind. Quintus Prime had intended it to be a cultivation key; that if Cybertron were ever destroyed, it would be the catalyst in our survival on different planets.”

Starscream was silent, so Optimus continued.

“The Emberstone’s contact with Earth’s biosphere resulted in changes beyond what we had originally expected from its purpose. It has already created other beings similar to Cybertronian kind, but they are decidedly different from the little sparkling aboard this vessel.”

Starscream’s optics squinted suspiciously. “Different how? Were there others? Clutch-mates?”

“Before the creation of this sparkling, other beings we have come to know as Terrans were created. They were forged with a symbiotic link to some of Earth’s inhabitants, making them unable to leave the planet.”

“They are different from the Terrans. As evidenced by their presence here aboard the ship, they are more than capable of leaving Earth. You and I both know that at their core they are a sparkling ; our code does not lie. They are as much Primus’ creation as any of those sparked on Cybertron.”

Optimus lowered his helm without breaking his stare. “I am bequeathing this information to you for the betterment of your care for the little one. They know very little about our species, and it would be beneficial for them to have a well-rounded understanding of our culture; Vosian, Kaonian, Iaconian, every part we can teach them. They are a youngling of our species, and I believe they should have every opportunity to learn as one of us would have.” 

Starscream’s talons came up in a somewhat threatening manner. “You will not take them from us. They are ours .” He hissed. “And if they have no Sire nor Carrier as you say, then it’s clear that they claimed us before you claimed them. They will play no part in your Autobot plan .”

Optimus took a step forward, but his posture wasn’t aggressive. “I haven’t deceived you, Starscream. Ratchet’s medical exam on the sparkling as well as your own coding can attest to the information I have given you. I agree that they belong with Cybertronian kind. I am only suggesting that we work together in the upbringing of the sparkling. For their betterment, not any restrictive claim.”

“Restrictive? You assume much, Prime, to make such a statement. They will want for nothing under our care.”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t try to deceive me, Prime. I know that look. You have plans for the sparkling that require my cooperation.” He growled. “But your plans thus far have already led to their harm! So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t plan on leaving them in your care anytime soon.” 

Optimus could do nothing but stare at the Seeker, neither able to agree nor disagree. So he opted for silence.

“The sparkling is in our care now, and they will remain that way. We will be the ones to decide whether your Autobots are worth imparting any of their so-called wisdom.” He rasped. “The medic may be useful in this instance, but don’t think we’ve forgotten the state in which we found them. You are all hypocrites to me.”

And with that, he left the cargo hold and Optimus to his thoughts. The leader of the Autobots stared at the few drops of Energon that had been spilled on the floor, wondering how they had gotten to this state. He hoped Ratchet was having more luck.

________________

“-sparkling must be immersed in the waters in order for the refuelling to be fully effective. Any liquid can be charged by the Emberstone, and they hold their charge for an indeterminate duration of time. We have only begun experimenting on efficiency and substitutions, but we’re fortunate to have an ample supply on board for the little one. We had prepared for this eventuality in advance, but their cybernetic structure is slightly different from ours.” Ratchet paused his musings, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Skywap wasn’t the most attentive Decepticon, but Ratchet noticed that whenever it came to the sparkling he was more motivated. “Our biology requires us to intake Energon directly into our fuel lines via either an external patch or by drinking it. This sparkling needs to be immersed in the refuelling liquid in order for their recharge to take place.”

Ratchet had lost his own inner battle a few times during the brief period of time the Seekers had possession of the sparkling, and accessed the ship’s security system in monitoring the sparkling’s well-being whenever they were outside of their designated chambers. Ratchet had noticed the attention that the Seekers, even surprisingly Skywarp, had shown to their young charge, and was lightly relieved to see the care that the purple Seeker gave looked genuine. If nothing, the expression on Skywarp’s faceplate after the sparkling entered a low power state had told Ratchet everything he needed to know. It burned him to know that the sparkling had shown more affection to the Seekers than they ever did to him, but Ratchet shook that grim thought away. Once the sparkling refuelled and came back online they would see that it was Ratchet who brought them back, and he would be seen differently. That small part of Ratchet prayed to Primus for some small change in the sparkling’s feelings once they awoke, but he shot those thoughts down just as quickly. 

A few barrels of Emberstone-infused earth water had been stored aboard the Ark II , and were currently being transported to the sparkling’s berth chamber. Being the only place aboard the ship with its own private wash rack, not including the public one that was used and scheduled for the other residents of the ship, it was the best place to fashion a basin where the sparkling could be submerged. The brief walk to what should have been his own berth room was only mildly agonising; with the well-being of the sparkling taking precedence over his dark musings. The closer they got to the room, however, the stronger the thoughts took hold.

Skywarp must have noticed when the doctor suddenly went silent, caught up in his own thoughts. The medical knowledge had droned on like an automatic response; similar to a coping mechanism. While he wasn’t the brains of his trine, Skywarp was far from stupid. So he focused on the most important aspect; the small Seekerlet clutched in his servos. Every move the doctor made towards the sparkling was calculated for its danger and proximity, Skywarp wouldn’t leave them for an instant. 

When the berth room came into view after a short walk through the winding hallways, both mechs had similar emotions coursing through their respective energy fields. Eagerness and hesitation were both at the forefront, fused with wariness and suspicion. Neither trusted one another, but both were needed for the wellbeing of the sparkling.

As they entered the room, Ratchet made a brief curious mental note of the pile of blankets on the floor in a vague circular shape. Upon entering they immediately turned towards the washracks, and both mechs turned to face each other.

“Wheeljack is on his way with the Emberstone charged water. I will prepare a basin in the drainage portion of the wash racks for the little one to be submerged in.” Ratchet listed off his tasks as he completed them.

Skywarp nodded his agreement, and clutched the sparkling closer incrementally while Ratchet completed his preparation. Ratched idly noticed that the sparkling gleamed brighter than last he’d seen them, clearly washed and polished at some point. Ratchet clenched his servo in jealousy, obscured from Skywarp’s vision, but bitterly knew he could do nothing about it. While they were under fuelled, it was easier to get a good look at the sparkling; still so small, yet so much anxiety riddling through their frame. The Guardianship protocols were still screaming within him, but this was as much a waiting game as it was a tense situation. He could do nothing until the sparkling awoke. He hoped he’d get a chance to apologise. 

The tension of the situation made Wheeljack’s arrival quick and appreciated. He brought two metal barrels full of the liquid into the berth room, dropped them close to the washracks and paused to stare at the sparkling for a few moments. Ratchet noticed that Skywarp immediately tensed when he saw who had entered the room; his wings raised in a threatening manner and the tips of his fangs peeking out from behind his lip plates. He didn’t hiss, but Ratchet could tell he was holding himself back.

Wheeljack took a few moments to stare at the sparkling, closer in this moment than he’d ever been previously, and made no move to take a step forward or leave. (For some reason, Ratchet mused, the sparkling had been immediately wary of the inventor. Ratchet was unsure how to feel about this, because it meant less competition for the sparkling’s favour, but currently Ratchet was also one of the bots that the sparkling had been less than fond of recently. He quietly hoped for both their sakes that the sparkling’s displeasure was short-lived.)

The green Autobot looked worriedly at the sparkling, glancing only once at Ratchet for assurance of their well-being. Ratchet had known in advance that the separation between Wheeljack and one of the Terrans, Twitch, had been difficult for him, but there was nothing that could be done. The Terrans had requested a life more secluded and out of Autobot affairs. The Autobots themselves had been unsure what had caused this change, but they had assented nonetheless. Wheeljack had been close with Twitch, but not close enough to be privy to their confidential location. Ratchet could only imagine how much that affected him.

Giving Wheeljack a brief nod in assurance, and a brief flicker of confidence through his EM field, Wheeljack left the berth room without glaring at the Seeker even once. Ratchet thought that after all this time maybe Wheeljack’s explosive personality had finally mellowed slightly, but maybe he was overreaching.

Taking one of the barrels in his servo, he popped the plug from the container and started draining the contents into the container he had prepared. It was a spare storage container that had been used for storing extra toys and medical materials in the room, which had been hastily dispatched onto the floor in urgency of the situation. A mellow glowing liquid poured out of the barrel’s spout, teal coloured and familiar looking. The colour was remarkably similar to the colour of the sparkling’s biolights. (Ratchet’s medical processor piqued at the observation, would all sparklings that were created this way have the same coloured biolights? It may be a thought for study.)

The second barrel followed the first, and the previously empty storage container now had a thin layer of glowing liquid sloshing at the bottom. Ratchet motioned for Skywarp to lower the sparkling into the liquid, and stepped back to create a more comfortable space for them.

Ratchet observed as the Seeker brought the sparkling close to his face plate, rubbing his chin on the sparkling’s helm affectionately, and proceeded to lower the sparkling into the basin. 

“You’ll need to coat their body with the liquid. Splashing them works. And the liquid will not harm your circuits at all.” Ratchet added blithely. He could no longer see the sparkling through the opaque walls of the storage container as they were lowered down. From his perspective he could only see the back of the Seeker’s spinal strut, black wings trembling slightly. He had never seen the purple Seeker look so vulnerable to him. He couldn’t remember a time when any Decepticon had purposefully shown their back to him.

Ratchet prayed to Primus for the sparkling’s revival, every astrosecond making him question his own medical verdict. Both mechs were tense, with Skywarp’s digits curled around the lip of the container, making the metal creak in pressure from his grip.

Then, a sputter was heard, and both mechs let out a sigh of relief.

“Little Screamer! How are you feeling?” Skywarp’s wings were pointed high and alert, his voice straining.

A small groan was heard from the container. Purple servos reached in and the small form was lifted into Ratchet’s vision.

The sparkling was rubbing their optics, biolights slowly activating, signifying their successful recharge. They didn’t see Ratchet at first, Skywarp’s digits stroking their helm affectionately and eagerly, as if trying to memorise the shape.

The sparkling seemed used to these attentions, which caused Ratchet’s spark to ache. The movements seemed practised and well received, and he felt that every caress the Seeker gave rubbed away any memory of the affection he had given the sparkling. They hadn’t had much time together, but the few moments they had shared Ratchet kept close to his spark. He wanted so badly to hold them, but he kept his servos clenched at his sides and waited for the sparkling to notice his presence.

It felt like a bolt of electricity when the sparkling locked optics with him, green meeting blue. Their immediate reaction was opposite to what Ratchet had hoped for; the sparkling turned to tuck themself closer into Skywarp’s palm, hiding from Ratchet. His spark plummeted.

“Glad you’re feeling better. You had us worried! How’s that vocalizer treatin’ you now?” Skywarp brought the sparkling’s attention back to him, making Ratchet both jealous and relieved. The sparkling’s finials turned up at the question, optics tearing away from Ratchet’s like a rotten weld.

“Mmm, fine now I think. Thank you.” How long had it been since he’d heard their bright voice? And to hear their vocalizer had malfunctioned? Ratchet made a note in his sparkling file. In any case, it could be related to their low-fuel state.

“Glad to hear it. Let us know in advance next time if you’re feelin’ low on energy. The doc here filled me in on your specifics for refuelling. It’s a bit different to how we like to refuel.” Ratchet perked up at his mention, the sparkling glancing at him with huge wary optics. 

A wave of unease rolled off the sparkling’s EM field, clearly directed at Ratchet. They were obviously uncomfortable with his presence, and the thought made him feel sick. He didn’t stop his instinctive answering flux of calm and relief in his returning EM field response.

“What did you…” The sparkling’s voice was soft, wary. “What did you talk about?” Their optics were huge and full of fear.

“Just the specifics on how to refuel you going forward. Why, is there something you want to tell me?” Skywarp’s tone was mirthful, still lightly pinged with worry, but his question made the sparkling visibly wince.

“A-actually, I have something I need to ask Ratchet.” Their big green optics looked pleadingly at Skywarp, but their field pulsed with anxiety. Ratchet couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Skywarp clutched them a little tighter. “Alone, please.”

This shocked Ratchet more than anyone. Hope filled his chassis. Maybe he was getting a second chance? Had Primus heard his pleas? All of a sudden he felt like luck was on his side.

Skywarp was equally shocked, and it showed in his body language. His wings, which had ceased their trembling once the sparkling had awoken, had begun to flick in annoyance. His expression showed how displeased he was with the request.

“B-but-”

“ Please . It won’t take long. I promise.” Their small digits squeezed Skywarp’s purple digits, tiny talons barely making a mark in the paint.

“Little wing, I promised Starscream that I wouldn’t leave you.” His voice was as shaky as his wingtips. “Please don’t make me–”

“I’ll comm you if there’s a problem.”

“That’s not-”

“ Please .” The sparkling’s voice sounded desperate, slightly louder this time. The longer they pleaded the more their energy field screamed fear . While Ratchet could understand Skywarp’s hesitancy in leaving the sparkling in such a state with him, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by.

“On my honour as a medical officer I promise that they will not come to any harm while they are with me.” Both sets of optics looked his way, one red, one green. Skywarp’s red optics were unhappy. The sparkling’s looked just as afraid as their energy field felt.

The Seeker and the sparkling looked at each other, and finally Skywarp sighed heavily. Ratchet knew that he’d given in. He tried to stop his spark from leaping with excitement.

“Comm me as soon as you need me. I’ll come back right away.” He stroked the sparkling’s helm fondly, and moved to place them gently on the ground. He turned to face the berth room doors, but before he left he hissed directly in the doctor’s audial. 

“Try anything and I’ll make sure that you’ll be the one needing a medic.” And with one last lingering look at the tiny being on the floor, he closed the doors behind him.

Ratchet and the sparkling were alone now.

Chapter Text

Chap 9

Roosting

Your circuits are buzzing. Whatever liquid they used to revive you makes you feel like you’re experiencing a sugar rush, which is loads better than the grogginess you felt earlier. You can still feel a bit of the liquid seeping into your seams, each drop adds another supercharged kick to your systems.

Your subsystems are all coming back online at full power, which allows your processor to finally compute all the happenings you’ve experienced recently. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d been working on low power for so long and now feeling fully charged allows you to focus on the important things slipping from your processor.  

Like getting a full run-down on your current biomechanical body from Ratchet. Or telling the Seekers to bring you back home to Earth. Or yelling at the Autobots for kidnapping you in the first place. Or any of the hundreds of unanswered questions that are pinging about your now mechanical brain.

The worst part about being in this hyper-powered state is realising how much was actually missing. Being on low power in this mechanical body meant that your fuel lines had prioritised certain functions over others; namely keeping more physical attributes functional for survival rather than computing power. You know this based on a quick schematics summary that had popped up on your HUD as soon as you woke up.

Now that you are fully charged, you notice that there are several gaps in your memory. Not huge ones, and none since you’d transformed, but important things from before are missing. 

You wrack your brain trying to remember specifics. There are bits and pieces of information you still have, mostly pictures and memories, but certain specific, important things are missing. Like the name of the city you grew up in, or what your favourite food was and what it tasted like. Most worryingly, you try to think if you could remember having siblings, or parents or a family . But that only brings more panic to your overcharged systems when you realise you don’t know .

You can’t remember . These are important things that you should know . But somewhere along the line, your computer brain had considered these unimportant pieces of information and erased them. Similar to a laptop erasing cookies or old passwords. 

But these were your memories, your human memories, not files . These were the only things that tied metal you and past you together, and they were being erased . You hadn’t even realised it was happening, and by now you weren’t sure how much was already lost.

There was a part of you that tried to remember these facts, even going so far as to convince yourself that you remembered, but you couldn't be sure . Every piece of information felt made up or false, and you didn’t know what was real. Did you have a sister? A brother? All the information swirling around your processor felt too much and not enough at the same time.

You want to scream at Ratchet, blame him for everything that is happening to you. Doctors are supposed to help people, and the longer you are in this body the less like people you are. Your metallic shell was scrubbing away the memory of who you were , and you don’t even know when it started, let alone how to stop it.

Luckily for your supercharged state, it means that right now your processor has more than enough juice to compute the necessary steps that can hopefully slow your ongoing descent into panic.

Facing Ratchet alone is nerve wracking, but facing this new unknown within you is much more terrifying. You know that he has some of the answers you need, and you are gonna get them from him no matter what you have to do.

You know you need to speak with him alone because, well, you still aren’t brave enough to ask if Ratchet had already told Skywarp all about how you were made. About who you were. About how you are different. So even though it's scary talking to the doctor alone, you can sort of convince yourself that there is a chance that neither Seeker knows of your (former) condition.

You want to tell them yourself. Full honesty. When the time is right. But with that fear still within you as Skywarp left you alone with Ratchet, you hope  it isn’t too late to tell him yourself after .

Ratchet’s blue stare is penetrating. The intensity of the blue light shines with eagerness and repressed feelings. Even from your lower vantage point on the ground, you can see how his servos are clenched at his sides, tight and unmoving. If you weren’t scared out of your mind, he might even look nervous. He doesn’t take a step forward or make a move to speak first, so you take your chance. 

“How am I different?” You’re proud of your voice for not shaking. You feel like a million pieces of jello.

Ratchet flickers his optics, clearly caught off guard. “Different? You’re not–”

“How am I different from other Cybertronians? What makes me different from the Terrans you knew?” You’re not going to let him change the subject. You have to know now . 

He blinks again, clearly this is not how he thought this conversation would go. “Those are two very different questions, little one. Why do you ask?” 

“If I’m different, shouldn’t I know how my own body works?” 

Ratchet ponders, clearly your question makes some sense. “True.” His tone has an edge of dismissiveness that makes you want to grind your denta. You try to keep it together.

“Optmius and I mentioned before that you were created by the Emberstone, yes?” You nod, remembering the conversation that felt like it happened so long ago. “The Emberstone acts as a catalyst to organic material, changing biological matter into mechanical matter so that it can be processed easier. It was made as a failsafe in case Cybtertron was no longer capable of supporting mechanical life.”

You squint, following along. You had been prepared for a complicated explanation, and so far you were still understanding. The overcharged state of your processor is no doubt helping with your comprehension.

Ratchet continues. “When the Emberstone made contact with Earth’s biosphere, it completed its designated coding. It changed the surrounding liquid into an energy-rich material, which in turn resulted in the creation of both you and the Terrans.”

Nodding, most of this information is already known to you. But the biggest question still remains.

“But how did the Terrans and I end up different ?”

Ratchet’s optics shift, suddenly nervous to meet your gaze. When he looks back his blue optics are soft, and almost pitiful.

“The Terrans came into being when the Malto siblings made contact with the Emberstone directly , resulting in their Cybertronian siblings. But you made contact with the Emberstone charged liquid , which holds the same cybernetic material as cybermatter; quite literally the building blocks of all Cybertronian life. You made contact with pure liquid cybermatter; as far as my studies have shown you must have been covered in it at the time of transformation. Thus once you made contact with the Emberstone, you were already fully immersed in the charged cybermatter. From what I can discern, the Emberstone must have perceived you as a perfect starting block for a Cybertronian protoform; arms, legs, head, and all.”

Your circuits are already overheating from this onslaught of information. So, basically what he is saying is that you were created by accident. No higher power made you for any kind of reason, you are literally just some weird happenstance. 

Trying to make sense of his words, and trying not to spiral into a panic attack, you break his explanation down into simpler words.

“So basically what you’re saying is…Emberstone plus human equals Terran. But Emberstone plus Emberstone water plus human…equals me.” You point to yourself limply, the metal tip of your finger making a small metallic clink against your chest armour. It sounds as hollow as you feel.

Ratchet still looks sad. “To put it simply, yes.” You can’t bear to meet his optics now. “If my hypothesis is correct, that might be exactly what happened. Though we are also unsure if your age was a factor in determining the success of the transformation, as your previous state was at an ideal age for your current frame size. It’s my hypothesis that due to the fact that humans around your age undergo a similar state of changeability, the Emberstone merely facilitated the change according to its own code.” He rambles on further a bit, but you aren’t listening.

You look down at your shiny silver hands and a brief gleam of your green optics shine in the metal back at you. There is so much to think about, and Ratchet’s overbearing staring isn’t helping.

Without looking back up at him, spark fluttering in anxiety, you blurt out. “Can I be alone for a while? I need some time to think.”

He takes a step forward, clearly against the idea. You can feel he has things to say to you as well, but anything more will have you spiral further into a panic attack. Right now, you are at the shocked and frozen stage, but it would take so little to tip you over the edge down to a full-blown meltdown.

He has enough foresight to not to force the issue. He mutely assents and takes a step to leave. You doubt he’ll go far, he obviously still has things he wants to say, but he gives you your moment alone. The berth room door shuts behind him as he exits into the hallway, and you’re left alone with your thoughts, blessedly and agonisingly quiet.

Your processor is swimming with information, pop-ups swarming your vision making it difficult to focus on the ship’s floor. You try to ground yourself unsuccessfully, and you actually feel dizzy, which is new for you in this body. No amount of shaking your head gets the many windows in your HUD to disappear.

An accident. You don’t even remember why you entered the cave with the Emberstone. Why were you there in the first place? What could have prompted you to enter a half-sunken hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere Witwicky?

If you went back there now, would anybody recognize you? Is anyone looking for you? You don’t remember what you looked like before all this. Did you have black hair or brown hair? What were you wearing before it melded permanently into this alien body? Were you alone or was someone out there looking for you desperately while you were out here in space? Was there any way you could be changed back? Would your memories come back if you did?

Oh god, your name . You hadn’t told anyone, and now it is so far away locked up in your processor that you have trouble accessing it. Maybe it too, is already gone.

Fighting tears, you feel so heavy. The nest of blankets looks inviting, but you stop your walk towards it with a dark thought; it looks inviting to an alien , not a human kid. Your logic centre screams at you to seek comfort with larger beings with warm servos, but the remaining panicking human part of your brain is louder.

You need to think . You need to vent . And nobody on board this ship is safe to do that with. Not even the Seekers. Nobody on board this ship is safe enough to open your feelings to without severe consequences. Everyone seems to have  separate agendas, and you can’t tell which ones are in your favour.

Stupid alien instincts. Stupid giant robot aliens. Stupid automatic survival memory deletion system.

There isn’t even a place on this stupid ship where you can vent in peace. This was the first time you have been left alone on this ship, and you know deep down that Ratchet won’t be far. Every single alien here has some sort of weird hang up with your presence aboard the ship, and you are tired of being treated like some sideshow attraction.

Maybe it is better to get the conversation over with Ratchet sooner rather than later. Your systems have transferred your panicked energy to anger, and you are ready to let it out on someone. Knowing Ratchet is definitely on the other side of the door, you quickly make up your mind to face him, and approach the entrance. It hasn’t been long since you’d asked him to leave.

The door, now that you’re close enough to observe it, is rather unremarkable. All of the doors aboard the ship are automatic, probably equipped with some sort of internal recognition system. You are briefly worried that it won’t open for you given that it’s used to much bigger titans venturing these hallways, but as you approach the doors open easily and you’re left to face a suspiciously open hallway. Ratchet is nowhere to be seen.

You briefly consider contacting Skywarp over comms the moment you see that you’re by yourself, but pause after a thought. When was the last time you were alone like this? It must have been when you were left alone for days in the shipping container. You hadn’t been truly alone then; any of the Autobots would happily communicate with you over comms (as busy as they were at the time kidnapping you) but this is a different kind of alone.

Walking a little farther, you pass the nearby dorms where the other occupants of the ship are housed for the duration of the voyage. You have no idea how far in space you are, or how close to the destination, but other than seeing the green Autobot peek out at you when you were first brought to your current room, you haven’t seen anyone using this space.

Peering around the corner, it’s just as empty as the hallway. The room has the feeling of a locker room, with each of the closed doors assigned to the Autobots working aboard the ship. It’s silent inside, and you pass the dorms without incident. Nobody seems to be home.

Ratchet was like, actually gone. When you asked for time alone he straight up left left. Some of the rage within you simmers; there isn’t going to be a confrontation like you had expected. He probably wanted to talk about you running away to the Seekers (away from him ), but you had been too wound up at the time to fully explain your situation. Running away from Ratchet was a necessary evil, as you now know that he was involved in your kidnapping. (no matter how nice and eager to please you he acted)

Confident that you can comm Skywarp or Starscream if you have any kind of problem and they’ll come running, you take it upon yourself to do something you haven’t had the chance to do yet; explore an alien spaceship.

Sure you’d seen a few corridors and rooms alongside the Seekers, but you haven’t had the opportunity to explore by yourself. Something within you tingles unpleasantly at the prospect, but you are undeterred. This is a good opportunity to get your mind off of the many changes and revelations you’ve experienced, and who knows? Maybe you’ll find a nice little hideaway if things go downhill.

You travel further down the corridor, trying to remember the way to the cargo bay. You had been pretty sleepy earlier when you were carried down there, and you feel like it’s a good starting point to your exploration. All of the hallways look the same once you pass the dorm area, and there are no signs on the walls dictating what direction you are headed. Vaguely you begin to think maybe this isn’t such a good idea, but taking one step forward at a time you try to focus on your task without focusing on any potential consequences.

The more you walk, the more you realise it takes so much longer to walk on your own legs than it did being carried. These hallways are clearly made with longer strides in mind, and by the time you begin to feel that vague sort of ‘descending’ sensation, you feel as though you’ve been walking for a good, long while.

The first door you come across looks the same as any of the others. You approach it hesitantly hoping it’ll open the same as your berth room doors, but it remains stubbornly shut. You hadn’t considered this possibility. Maybe the doors don’t all open automatically, or maybe this one is locked for a reason.

Either way, you venture further into the bowels of the ship and come across a few more locked doors and a crossroads that looks vaguely familiar. You think that the way to the left is towards the cargo hold, and the way to the right somewhere you’ve never been. Pausing only for a moment to map out your progress on an internal map, you turn to the left and make a note to try the right path afterwards, if you get an opportunity.

After venturing a bit farther down the nondescript corridors, you encounter a door that opens cheerfully at your approach, and you’re delighted to find that it is the cargo hold. It's completely devoid of any Cybertronian life (save for your own), and you bite back a shiver at the memory of being left alone in a place similar to this. Taking a few steadying breaths, you steer clear of the Energon stockpiles that are arranged in organised piles around the hangar. The acrid taste is still lingering on your tongue (a glossa, your internal dictionary chimes) and you have no desire to go back for a second tasting. There are still remnants of the substance coating your inner fuel lines.

This cargo hold is vast, making you question how big this ship actually is by human standards. The shipping crates are all uniform and unassuming with their old chipped paint and slightly rusted corners, but they make the room seem larger than it is; it's difficult to tell what’s wall and what’s container. Everything has a rough welded together quality to it. The ceilings are always high, vaulted in order to accommodate the giant aliens. It makes the rooms seem so much bigger from your low vantage. You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling small.

After wandering around slowly for a while, you come across a sight that makes your spark sink. Laying on top of a few storage containers like a makeshift tomb is the unmoving form of Thundercracker; his blue paint still holding onto its muted bits of colour even after all this time. It’s faded for sure, you remember it being a vibrant, pure blue, but now it looks the same as the last time you saw him; a powdery hue leaning towards slate grey.

He’s so still, but you can almost convince yourself he’s sleeping. You didn’t get to know him the same way you are getting to know his brothers, and they rarely talk about him. He was only ever mentioned once, after you brought him up. You desperately wish things hadn’t happened the way they did.

Starscream and Skywarp don’t blame you for his death. They make sure you know that even as your processor tries to convince you otherwise. You wish you could know him as you know the others, but thanks to your recklessness now you’d never get that chance.

You aren’t revulsed by the lifeless alien body in front of you, weirdly. It should be macabre, being this close to what is considered a gigantic dead body. But perhaps that kind of revulsion was removed with that human part of you alongside those memories, having no place in your new metal body. 

There’s some part of you that wants to be even closer to him, to touch him, and be near him. One of his servos is even low enough to the ground that you can easily reach it, and you take a step forward without thinking. You touch your fingertips to his palm and instead of feeling sad, you almost feel comforted.

He’s cold, as you can expect from lifeless metal that’s been hanging out in a cargo hold for days, but a familiar rush of affection zips along your systems as you make contact with him. It’s a similar feeling to when you touch the other Seekers; some sort of internal connection that draws you together, a feeling of contentness. You’re not sure what it is, but at the very least it feels nice.

Taking a seat next to his massive servo, you press your back up against his thumb and tilt your head back, allowing some of the tension to leak from your body. Your wings fold comfortably between his massive fingers and you try to remember the last time he held you, the only memory you share with him. You’re still beyond stressed, there’s no doubt about that, but something about being here with Thundercracker makes you feel a little more whole, and a little more comfortable.

Your vocal processor starts talking before you even know what you’re saying. Your voice cuts through the silence of the room, and it echoes off of the metal containers surrounding you. 

Emotions spill out of you without restriction, and once you start you find it’s difficult to stop. It feels good to finally get it all out, talking about your worries and your fears, about how scared you are and how you feel like you’re betraying yourself every time you’re having fun. Thundercracker’s body doesn’t respond, of course, but you feel better imagining that he’s listening intently.

You talk about your regrets, how you wish you could get to know him and thanking him for saving you during the fight. Who knows what would have happened to you if he wasn’t there. Your optics fight back a few tears as you stop repressing your feelings by talking about it, the literal consequence of your actions supporting your back as you spill your feelings.

It’s weird and macabre in a way, but you’ve dealt with so much garbage lately that this is one of the less weird things that has happened. Besides, no one is here to judge you. Thundercracker’s corpse is a great listener, and spilling your deepest fears like this makes your spark feel lighter with every word you manage to choke out. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.

You talk about how you’re losing your memories, and how you barely remember your own name anymore. You talk about regrets of things you had never gotten to do, and with a sad thought you’re unsure if maybe the memories of potentially doing those things are gone as well. Your body trembles from your wingtips to your fingertips, and you’re unsure if it’s the cooling temperature of the room or your body trying to shake out some of your inner tension.

The overcharged feeling you felt earlier is dissipating to a more manageable state; you no longer feel like you’re about to jump out of your skin (er, armour), and the emotions dwelling within are coming out easier and easier. It feels cathartic, finally talking about all these things that you had been keeping bottled up. You’re a kid for goodness’ sake! You shouldn’t be worried about these things! But in this moment, sitting on the floor of an alien spaceship with a gigantic body at your back, you can’t even remember the usual things that you should be worrying about. School? Class? Homework? All of those things seem so foreign to the you now.

By now your face is wet, tears coming and going, fingers wet too from rubbing your leaking optics. You feel a lot better though. With a brief, cheerful thought, maybe you’ll be able to come back here if you get a chance to sneak away again. Being here with Thundercracker feels right , in some weird way, and you hope that you don’t get into trouble with his brothers by being here. Alien culture is weird and you’re never sure if you’re committing any social taboos, but nobody’s told you otherwise yet.

You tuck a little closer into Thundercracker’s servo, as if the mere proximity makes you feel warmer in the chill of the cargo hold. You won’t stay here much longer, as you’ve already lingered long enough, but this small moment of peace is nice. You don’t get that same lonely feeling that you did in the cargo room from before; even Thundercracker’s body is better company than just you, yourself, and I.

There’s no sleepy feeling, but you do feel your body relax. Maybe you’ll call Skywarp when you feel up to it. But for now you feel safe where you are.

________________

At first Thundercracker thought he was imagining the gentle feeling of the Seekerling’s EM field entering the cargo hold. They had been down here earlier with his Trine when they had attempted to refuel the little one, and he had listened worriedly when things had gone wrong. He was present for Optimus Prime’s and Starscream’s argument, cataloguing the information as quickly as he was picking up on it, and he was just as shocked to hear about the sparkling’s incidental creation as Starscream was.

The Emberstone was barely a thought in his mind before this, but to learn that it was capable of creating new life in this way? Thundercracker wasn’t a scientific mech by any means, but this was entirely a world-shattering development if the Emberstone was able to create Cybertronian life from basically nothing. All of a sudden the dying hope he had for the Autobot’s mission surged into life. Maybe it was possible to bring Cybertron back to its former glory. Perhaps their race could be saved after all?

After they left, he had slipped back into a light recharge that was interrupted when he heard the doors open, and at first he had presumed it was one of his brothers coming back to give him further information. Imagine his surprise when it was the Seekerlet, alone, and without anyone accompanying them.

He monitored as they wandered around a bit, shivering a little in the chill of the room. Thundercracker wondered if they even noticed. He was happy to note that their energy levels were much better than the last time they’d been down here. It was evident that whatever fuel they needed had been administered successfully and that they were feeling much better.

Hearing their small steps in the room made Thundercracker want to stand up and hold the little one to stop their shivers. His brothers loved tormenting him with video feeds and comments wherever the sparkling was involved, and he had to admit that he was envious of their ability to interact with them while he was stuck down here pretending to be offline.

The jealous feeling was tampered by images of the sparkling’s smiling face, clearly happy to spend time with the Seekers. He was particularly fond of the video of the little one being tossed into the air, clearly having the time of their life; their wings flared and ready for flight. That file had been tucked away into a specific folder in his memory banks for easier access and had received a lot of watch time in this interim period. 

Thundercracker could tell when the sparkling had spotted him, their steps faltering and freezing in place. He had to use every bit of his self control to remain perfectly still, and not to let any of his EM field leak out which could give him away.

The Seekerlet walked a little closer and, blessed Primus, touched his servo. The jolt of connection sent a wave of information to his processor, namely the current physical status of the youngling at his side. They were slightly overcharged, which was to be expected after a long drought of running on low energy, but he could still feel the last vestiges of flight sickness in their personal frequency. It was almost gone now, almost indistinguishable, but Thundercracker knew with time and his brother’s efforts, it would be gone in no time.

He had to manually stop himself from rebooting when they took a seat next to his servo and nestled up inside his lowered palm. The feeling of their back strut leaking minute amounts of warmth into his system made all the waiting and watching through his brother’s feeds seem worth it. They were here, they were fine, and Thundercracker would protect them no matter what happened. 

When they spoke, he could feel the catharsis in their words. So he lay still and listened.

“Hey, Thundercracker. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, I guess.” The sparkling’s tone was quiet, pensive. “Well, if you can count this as in person. I mean, you’re here I guess. But you’re also not ‘here’, you know? And we’ve met before but…Sorry, I guess I’m not making any real sense.”

“I’ve gotten to know your brothers a bit on this trip. Nobody really asked me if I wanted to be here, but I can say that they’ve definitely been the highlight. It feels kinda wrong for you not to be there, which is weird right? I know we didn’t ever get to have a real conversation, but I can definitely feel something missing when we’re all together. Is that a robot thing? There’s still so many things that are weird to me.”

“They’re fun, and I like them. But it feels wrong to be having fun with them when I’m the reason you’re not there with them. And I should be doing other things, more important things than playing catch with two giant aliens.”

They paused, as if waiting for him to respond. All of Thundercracker’s self control was focused on keeping still.

“They told me they don’t blame me for what happened to you, but I still feel bad about it. If it wasn’t for me–” They choked, tiny tremors rippling through their body like an electric charge. Thundercracker fought his own coding not to move, he wanted nothing more than to scoop them up and stop their tears. This was a ruse! He was fine! But the Seekerlet thought it was all their fault. He was a wire’s width away from blowing the whole operation.

“They don’t blame me, and I know it’s stupid to consider it. But I can tell they miss you even if they don’t show it. I can tell they try not to talk about you in front of me because it makes them feel bad. They’re really good at hiding what they’re feeling. I guess that’s a robot thing, or maybe a Seeker thing, I dunno.”

“I guess what I want to say is, thanks for saving me. I don’t think I would have made it out ok during the fight if it wasn’t for you. You took the fall for me while I–” A quiet sniffle escaped their intake. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be crying so easily. I’ve got to get it together if I ever want to make it back home.” Another sniffle.

Thundercracker’s spark went out to the youngling, but he was also confused. Optimus had said that the little one was created by the Emberstone. Did that mean ‘home’ was the Emberstone? Or Earth where they were created? He could do nothing but listen and hope the answers would be revealed.

“It’s stupid right? All I’ve done is stumble from one mess into the next, and I don’t even remember how I got into the first mess in the first place.” They let out a condescending laugh aimed at themself. Thundercracker felt it like a stab in the spark. “I can’t even remember my own name, isn’t that sad? Or my favourite food, or where I went to school, or even if I have parents or a family.” They clenched their servos and brought them up to their helm, beating it softly. The metallic clangs echoed throughout the chamber. “I’m just some lost little freak that everyone keeps making plans for. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be here, and nobody is helping me for just my sake.”

“Everyone has their own idea of what they want me to do. But they’re also not telling me what it is they want me to do. I’m so confused!” Their sobs turned heavier. “I just want to go home! But now I don’t even remember where home is!”

Thundercracker’s processor was a swirl of emotions. He was distraught over the little one’s mental well-being; clearly they were severely distressed. But he was also perplexed. They spoke about losing their memories, but also spoke of things that were odd and foreign to him. Like they somehow lost memories of events that happened before the Emberstone? Did they…were they something else before they were changed?

“I don’t even know if I’m me anymore. There’s so little of me left from before that I’m afraid the next time I wake up I’m going to be a whole new person.” Tears were really falling now. “What am I? Some sort of human kid turned alien freak? What did I do to deserve this? I can’t even remember what kind of person I used to be. The more I look around in my head the more I find missing.”

A human kid. That’s what they called themself. They were a human child before they were changed into a sparkling?

Thundercracker’s thoughts were reeling at this information. The Emberstone hadn’t created a sparkling from nothing, it had used a human child as a template.

Optimus must have known. And that medic too. Thundercracker went over the recording of Optimus and Starscream’s conversation from earlier. Not once had he mentioned the sparkling’s previous form. He had kept this information a secret, even as he was preaching honesty. Inwardly, Thundercracker snarled.

“I don’t even know where I belong anymore. Everything is so strange, but I’m the strangest thing here.” The sparkling’s cries died down slightly to an occasional hiccup. Thundercracker’s spark throbbed with repressed emotion. 

“I’m glad to have your brothers though. Even though they don’t know about me, I think I can tell them. Even if they don’t like me that much afterwards.” Another sniffle. “I want to tell them myself. I’m really scared Optimus already told them, but it should be my story to tell.” They rubbed their optics of some of the remaining tears. “But I’m scared . I’m scared they won’t help me if I tell them about what I was before. I get the feeling Starscream doesn’t like humans much. I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“But I’ve made up my mind. I just hope I’m not too late.” Thundercracker felt a tiny pat on his thumb, the motion making his spark swell with affection for the little one.

“I’ll tell them the truth. And whatever happens after that…” They paused, hesitant. “I just hope it goes over well.” Their voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear. “I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t…”

The sparkling made a move to stand, their residual warmth already cooling on his palm. Taking a knee, they stood to their full but tiny height and gave his servo one last pat before leaving. “Thanks for listening, Thundercracker. I’ll try to come back if I can. Wish me luck.” And then they walked away.

Thundercracker waited two full astroseconds before he commed his brothers.

: How could you both leave them alone?:

: What?: Came Starscream’s snarled reply. : I left them with Skywarp, what do you mean alone ?:

: They were just here in the cargo with me: Thundercracker responded blandly, carefully trying to organise his thoughts. 

Skywarp chimed in. : They asked that I leave them with Ratchet in our berth. They said they’d comm me to come get them if there was trouble.:

: Then how are they in the cargo bay?: Starscream sounded furious. : And you left them alone with the medic? What kind of imbecile–:

: They’re not here anymore, they just left.: Thundercracker cut in. :They’re wandering the corridors by themself, you better go get them right now or I’m getting up.:

: I’ll get them, don’t you dare move.: Starscream replied. : It’ll be a risk to all of us if the mission goes awry before we arrive on Cybertron. Especially since we know the sparkling needs a specific fuel source that so far we can only find aboard this ship.:

: We’ve got bigger issues to deal with at the moment, though finding the sparkling is still top priority. Just wait til I–: 

: Which is all your fault, ‘Warp.: Starscream cut in, annoyed. : See if I ever leave them in your care ever again after this.: 

: I’m on route to your location, TC: Skywarp ignored their Trine leader. : Don’t worry, I’ll find them.:

: Listen, while they were here they told me something–:

: They spoke to you? Did you blow our cover?: Starscream’s piercing attention was on Thundercracker now.

: No! Listen, they were just here just speaking out loud. I didn’t move or say a word. But listen, they mentioned something important that Prime kept from you.:

: I’m not surprised he’s keeping secrets.: Starscream scoffed. : But he did just promise to bequeath all sparkling related inquiries. You’re telling me he already went back on his word?: He mused darkly, his tone scathing. 

: Yes, but you’ve got to listen to me. And you’ve got to promise that what I tell you doesn’t change anything.:

: Thundercracker, get to the point! I can feel how uneasy you are, just spit it out already!:

: What’s going on? Are they ok? Are they hurt?: Skywarp butted in worriedly.

: They weren’t always a sparkling!: Thundercracker blurted. 

For a moment there was silence on either end.

: …what are you saying, TC?:

He paused before responding. : They were an Earthling before. The Emberstone changed them. A human child.:

Starscream didn’t respond. Silence crept for a few astroseconds until Skywarp spoke up softly. : …So they have no Sire nor Carrier. The Emberstone is their Creator.: His tone gradually upticked in cheer. : Don’t you see? This is great news! They have no prior claim, they can be ours! They already chose us!: 

: Shut up you fool.: Came Starscream’s raspy voice. : This changes everything.:

: Starscream you promised–: Thundercracker cut in.

: I promised nothing. But it doesn’t change the fact that they are a sparkling here and now, and a Seekerling no less. We will proceed with this knowledge delicately, but I need time to process.: He paused. : It doesn’t matter. Their safety is still our highest priority, with acquiring control over the Emberstone being our secondary mission. We can still achieve both goals, so don’t lose focus!:

: Starscream. I need to know that the little one will still be safe in your care.: Thundercracker measured his voice carefully, knowing his brother’s temper well.

It didn’t go over well. 

: How dare you, Thundercracker!: Starscream became enraged. : To presume I would sink so low after one small detail. It is within our very code the revulsion in harming any sparkling. I would sooner carve out my own spark than ever stoop so low. They may have been sparked a human but they are one us now! One of the last Seekers in existence and the ward of the Command Trine. How dare you presume I would be the cause of their harm after one minute detail.: He hissed. :Do you really think so low of me, brother?:

: No, Starscream. I just needed to hear you say it.: Came Thundercracker’s response. : I know your distaste for humans none better, and I needed to know that this information doesn’t change how you treat them.:

Skywarp chimed in. : TC, we would never let anything happen to them. It doesn’t matter how they started, but they’re with us now. That’s what matters. Maybe Primus made them a Seeker for a reason? Maybe after all this, they were meant to be with us from the start.:

Skywarp’s words made Thundercracker’s spark feel lighter, and he could tell that the words helped temper Starscream’s mood as well. They were all in agreement that the sparkling would always be safe with the Trine, and that was what truly mattered. Any other thoughts could wait.

: Then…: Thundercracker started. : What was the issue then, Starscream? What is it that you still needed to process?: 

: All of the designations I had carefully prepared are useless now.: He spat. : If they were sparked on Earth then they have more of a tie to the planet than I had previously thought. I’ll have to start a whole new list. The one I had previously prepared is worse than scrap now.:

Thundercracker felt so much better hearing his brother’s words. Skywarp even laughed over the comm. : Really Screamer? All of this anger was because the designations you picked out don’t fit anymore?: The tone of the call was suddenly more jovial. : Aww, I didn’t know you had it in you.:

: Silence you idiot! None of these celestial names will fit anymore. I have to start completely from scratch. What did you think I was doing while you both were recharging?: 

Thundercracker had to laugh. He didn’t know why he was so worried. He was glad to know that the sparkling wouldn’t have any issue once they revealed their ‘secret’ to the Trine. He felt lighter knowing that nothing would change. Thundercracker did feel a little bad for revealing the secret himself, but it had been important. If his brothers didn’t accept the little Seeker with this new knowledge, then he would have had to make a drastic decision. He was thankful that the reveal (on his part) had gone smoothly.

: Now go and find them, Skywarp or I swear to Primus that this Trine will find themselves short one brother. And luckily, we have a replacement in training in case you fall out of line.:

: I’m going, I’m going!: Skywarp’s response was unbothered. : I’ll find them in no time. I’m already on route.:

: Good. And comm us once you retrieve them.: Starscream’s order was curt, and without another word he cut the call.

Thundercracker’s body relaxed a fraction.The little one would be fine. Once they revealed their origins, maybe Starscream would allow him to ‘slip up’ and reveal himself in secret. A secret for a secret seemed like a fair trade in his mind. And all that talk of losing memories could be discussed later. For now, it was important to ensure the little one was safe, and he knew his brothers were the best on board in ensuring that.

Slipping back into a semi-stasis lock, Thundercracker drifted slightly, ready to respond as soon as they retrieved their small charge.

Skywarp might be right. It felt a little too good to be true that the Seekerling might have been created just for them. But maybe Primus really was looking out for them, and their luck was turning around.

________________

It’s official, you have no idea where you are. 

At first when you exited the cargo bay everything had looked familiar. And with a confident step you walked through the halls assured that it would be easy to make your way back by yourself. But after a few turns you realise that all the hallways looked the same.

Feeling cathartic after spilling your guts to Thundercracker’s corpse, you remind yourself that you’re practically an adult, and you can make your way back without having to call any giant sized robot to carry you back to your room. Each confident step leads you further and further into the bowels of the ship, but without any signage, you are more confident after a while that you were well and truly lost.

You walk until you realise the slope of the corridors wasn’t ascending like you expect; which would have been a sure way to tell you were walking in the right direction. As they continue to descend, your confidence slowly fades. Each wall and floor tile looks the same, and there are no distinguishing marks that tell you that you are going in the right direction. Any of the doors you pass are either few and far between or they are locked. Worse yet, you haven’t come across a single person while you have been walking, making you believe you are heading into some lesser used part of the ship. 

With thoughts of turning back and giving up this adventure, you come across a split in the path that looks slightly familiar. But which way was it back to the berth room?

Suddenly, you realise why it looks familiar. Or at least, you hope this is the same one you’re thinking of. It looks like the corridor near the split that led down to the cargo bay! You must’ve walked a full circle trying to get back here, and the relief that you feel in your systems is palpable. 

The route off to the left you’re confident is the way back to the berth room. Straight ahead is the previously unexplored area, which, now that you’re looking, looks to be mostly a dead end except for a single door at the end. 

You’ll just check it out quickly and then make your way back. Better to flesh out your internal map a little more in case you get lost later, right?

Making the decision, you walk down the hallway towards the door, and as you expect it does not open at your approach. You’re just about to turn back when you hear a new voice you don’t recognize coming from the other side.

“Are you real?” Comes a deep voice.

“Huh?” You startle. You didn’t expect someone to be on the other side of the door.

“You sound real. Where did you come from? I half believed you were some Autobot trick when I saw you on the battlefield.” This person had been present at the fight. You don’t know what they look like, but you’ve met, or you’re pretty sure you've at least been introduced to, all the Autobots on this ship. This guy doesn’t sound like they were a friend to the Autobots.

“Who’re you?” You ask. “Are you a friend of the Seekers?”

“Hah!” Replies the voice. “Those brothers don’t have any friends. When you’ve known them as long as I have, you learn that the hard way.”

Your interest is piqued. This person knew the brothers! Maybe you can learn a little something new about them.

But first-“Why are you in there? Are you hurt?” You can’t help but wonder if the Autobots just left this person alone like they did you.

“Me? I’m certainly not functioning optimally, but I’ve had worse than this. I can’t believe I’m talking to you. Where did you come from?” The voice changes the subject, maybe they’re uncomfortable talking about their own injuries.

You ignore the question in favour of your own. “What’s your name? Er, your designation?”

“I’m Barricade. How in Primus’ name did you get aboard this ship?”

“Optimus took me.” You reply, mumbling a little. The subject is still sore to you. 

“Those slaggers. They oughta be punished for this.” The voice, Barricade, growled. You vaguely remember the large black mech you saw at the battle, and you fight back a shiver. This must be him.

“Can you get out?” You ask timidly. You want some reassurance that you’re safe on the other side of this door. 

“Those blasted Autobots locked me in here. I don’t suppose you have access to let me out?”

You shake your head before you realise he probably can’t see you. “Sorry, I don’t.”

“What’re you doin’ all by yourself? Are you in trouble or somethin’?” Barricade’s voice takes a tone of curiosity.

“Mm-mm.” You reply. “Just walking around. I didn’t know you were here. Sorry.” You feel the need to apologise, but you don’t know why. You can’t stop yourself. “So you’re not an Autobot then?”

Barricade guffaws as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Hah! Me? An Autobot? Definitely not. I’m a Decepticon through and through, no matter what Megatron decides to do.”

There’s another new name mixed in with a familiar title. You’re pretty sure you remember from the comics that the Decepticons are the enemies of the Autobots. Are the Seeker brothers Decepticons too? But Barricade and them are not friends. All these alien politics are confusing.

Barricade takes your pondering silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “Still, I can’t believe you’re here. I thought the last sparkling had been erased when the war started.” His tone makes you slightly uncomfortable. Optimus had told you that you were the first new Seeker since the war started, but the word sparkling kept turning up whenever you were involved.

“Barricade, what’s a sparkling?” Your question clearly catches him off guard.

“What’s a sparkling? You’re a sparkling! A youngling, a first frame Cybertronian! Though you might be second frame, I can’t get a good look at you through this door.”

A youngling. Like a child? Did these robots all consider you some sort of kid robot?

All of a sudden a bunch of things clicked into place. The looks you get whenever one of the Autobots or the Seekers look at you, the way they baby you as if you are too young to do things by yourself. All this time you thought they did this because you are smaller than them, not because they considered you a child of their kind.

Will this change how the Seekers see you after you tell them about yourself? Your spark swells with dread at the consideration.

“Hey! Hey are you ok? Your energy field is going crazy.” You can hear Barricade’s huge fist pound the door once, making you jump. 

“W-what? What are you talking about?” 

“Your EM field. You don’t know about that either? Primus, how young are you?” His voice is gruff with worry. “Don’t worry. Once I get out of here–”

His chatter is interrupted by the sound of heavy pedes behind you down the hallway. You turn excitedly expecting one of the Seekers, but are instead met with the sight of Optimus Prime catching a glimpse of you from the other end of the hallway.

He turns his pedes and walks right toward you. And there’s nowhere else to go.

“There you are, little one. You had us all worried.”

Chapter Text

Chap 10

Preening

The voyage to Cybertron had been eventful thus far. They were making good time on their venture through space, using only the fuel that was necessary and they were not in any particular hurry. The engineers had suggested that in the event the plan proved unsuccessful, it would be prudent to conserve their power reserves to allow for a smooth return trip back to Earth, should that be the outcome. Optimus was more than hopeful that his initial plan would succeed, since his secondary plan already had a few kinks in it.

The sparkling had shown small demonstrations of hostility to some of his crew that he, as leader of the Autobots, considered mildly concerning. He found it incredulous that the sparkling was showing more affection to the Seekers than his own crew, but perhaps their similar frame type had something to do with it.

Wheeljack in particular had come to the control room not long ago questioning why the sparkling cowered whenever he drew near. Optimus didn’t have an answer for him, so he calmed his old friend’s worries and assured him that the sparkling had undergone a great deal of stress in recent cycles and it was to be expected that they were a little shy and nervous when meeting new Cybertronians. Wheeljack had left dejected but was slightly heartened by Optimus’ assurances, and renewed his efforts in monitoring the sparkling’s berth room door since his quarters were closest whenever he was off duty.

Last Optimus had seen, Ratchet had been escorting Skywarp and the sparkling (who was in some sort of low-energy stasis-lock) to refuel and he hoped for the best for his CMO. Optimus could feel his friend’s anxiety through his EM field as they left the cargo hold. Ratchet had been distraught for cycles after the moment he had lost his claim over the sparkling, and while Optimus knew there was no better carer for the youngling, he prayed Ratchet would succeed in whatever redemption he was due. Losing the sparkling to the Seekers had not been his fault, but the event had occurred regardless and there was nothing Optimus could do about it at the time.

Bumblebee didn’t seem to care much about the sparkling in general, whether it was due to the fact he was previously one of the youngest of their race, or perhaps due to the fact he had the most experience with the Terrans when they had been initially brought online. The yellow scout had taken to performing any and all duties aboard this ship that were asked of him without complaint, evidently more excited to return to Cybertron after so many vorns than the sparkling. Perhaps being one of the newer sparked before the war meant his Guardianship protocols were weaker? But there was no way for Optimus to know for sure without unnecessary and invasive procedures. He was just glad at least one of his crew members was staying out of trouble when the sparkling was involved. 

Elita-1 was the only member of the Autobots who hadn’t met the sparkling directly. Arcee had had her brief encounter with them, and she was eagerly looking for excuses to make more. But Elita was more focused on her primary mission; the containment and security of the Emberstone. He could think of no better ‘bot to be in charge of the pivotal artefact. Optimus had put his trust in Elita a thousand times before and she had never let him down.

With their extra additions (the Decepticons) on board and walking around like they owned the place (Barricade excluded, he was still confined in a private unused berth room that doubled as his cell), Optimus had no choice but to process theoretical outcomes of what may have to come to pass. If the Seekers refused to give up their claim over the sparkling, refusing to even let any of his Autobots interact with the youngling, he would have to take more drastic measures. 

The guilt in Optimus’ spark had not dissipated over the extinguishing of Thundercracker’s spark. Seeing one of his own kind fall and go grey was a sight he had seen many times during the war, but he supposed the few scant years of peacetime had softened his spark. The loss felt like a blow, both to Seekers and Cybertronians. Optimus was acutely aware that the vessel he commanded was as much a funeral barge as it was a beacon of hope.

This was far from how he hoped his plan would go, and he prayed to Primus that some of his words had gotten through to Starscream when it came to the sparkling’s wellbeing. Their recent conversation had been far from pleasant, but they had not come to blows, for which Optimus was immensely grateful. It seemed that the sparkling had done wonders in tempering the Seeker’s anger. But there was still that element of rash, hot headed rage that encapsulated both Seekers when the sparkling was involved. Both brothers were protective when it came to the sparkling, which was to be expected (even Optimus had to keep himself from rushing forward when the Guardianship protocol surged to the front of his processor), but the excessiveness in their continuous reckless behaviour had Optimus questioning if it was really in their best interest to keep them on board.

The sparkling, of course, would do best to receive a well-rounded education when it came to the history of Cybertron. They were the future of their race, whether the Emberstone’s success in reviving the Allspark succeeded or not. Without the Well of the Allsparks there would be no more Cybertronians; it was pivotal that at least one of his plans  succeeded. If the sparkling was brought up as an exemplary member of their race, then even without the Well being revived, their species could continue. Rather than relying on their previous parasitic cooperation they had with Earth’s people, they could elevate humans beyond their limits to a race far longer lived and advanced technology. 

Optimus wasn’t sparkless; he would never change mankind without their express permission. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, after all. But in order for humankind to be successfully swayed into accepting his potential offer, he needed a positive example to show just how good it would be. 

What better than a single sparkling lovingly raised by his troupe of Autobots?

Optimus could see the advantage in allowing the Seekers to aid in raising the sparkling; after all neither he nor any of his comrades had any flight capabilities nor knowledge of the history of Vos. But to have the Seekers as the sparkling’s primary caretakers was far from his ideal vision. In order for them to grow into a positive, well-rounded Autobot, they needed the more positive teachings that could only be received from his friends and allies. How could the Seekers not see that they were doing the sparkling a disservice by isolating them from potential other mentors? The last sparkling known in existence and they were currently under the care of two of the most dangerous Cybertronians left in existence.

He hadn’t been lying when he said that it wasn’t his intention to prevent any of Primus’ people from returning to Cybertron. That statement rang true deep in his spark. Any Cybertronians were welcome once the planet was revived, no matter their previous affiliation. Before the war they were all Primus’ people, and Optimus was confident that they could return to that state once life was brought back to the planet.

But the sparkling’s upbringing was another matter entirely. They needed to be presentable . They needed to be a perfect role model for all the newsparks that came afterwards.

(Somewhere in the back of his processor something blared at him that he was forgetting something, but with all of the other vital plans and potential outcomes cluttering his HUD, he barely acknowledged it. If it didn’t have anything to do with Cybertron’s revival or the plans to educate the sparkling, it wasn’t vital.)

He was prone to walking the halls of the Ark II when his processor was too cluttered to focus. Patrolling and checking in on each of his crew members individually did wonders in improving his mood, as well as the knowledge that his personal check-ins with each of his allies was meaningful to both sides. Every one of his crew was a friend, and each check in was as much a social call as it was a report on their current progress.

These were lifelong comrades that he had fought in many battles with. Each one he trusted implicitly to defend their cause and they each had a coloured history together. Though his oldest friend was Ratchet, war had a way of making every interaction meaningful, as the outcome of any potential battle was always uncertain. Now during peacetime, he could visit his friends without the worry of death drawing near, and he relished each moment with gladness. It was these positive moments and memories that he wished to share with the sparkling. 

Barricade had made himself an enemy the moment he had engaged his comrades in violence. Optimus knew the black ‘Con must have been desperate to resort to such a drastic battle plan on his own, but it was far more reckless than his usual battle prowess that he was more accustomed to. If Barricade had come to him willingly and lay down his weapons, Optimus would have ensured his safety and welcomed his presence aboard the Ark II . But the pride of Decepticons was never easily broken, and Barricade had made his choice to be transported back to their home planet as a prisoner rather than a guest. He had put Elita-1 in charge of his containment, and Barricade had shown no signs of escape (or even attempted escape) thus far.

He had been on his way to check on their wayward prisoner when he noticed the sparkling’s small form standing at the base of Barricade’s cell door. His spark had sank briefly, worried that the dark Decepticon had said something to the sparkling, but he was also heartened to see that they were active and charged since the last time he had seen them.

This was far from where he expected to find the youngling, but he supposed that every sparkling had an air of mischievousness that meant going to the precise places they shouldn’t. So when Arcee had noted that Skywarp had been seen running around the corridors without the sparkling in tow, he had presumed that the little one was with Ratchet. A quick comm to his medical officer had confirmed that no, Ratchet did not have the sparkling, and thus a discreet group search comm line had been created in the event any of the Autobots had found the little one.

Once he confirmed that the sparkling was safe and sound, he sent a comm out to the group that they had been found and was currently in his custody. He approached the little one from down the corridor, servos open and inviting.

“There you are, little one. You had us all worried.”

The sparkling didn’t respond, instead looking curiously behind his pede to see if anyone else had accompanied him. The way their optics widened as they looked around was adorable, Optimus couldn’t help the flare of affection as the Guardianship protocol pressed pleasingly into his circuits. His servos even warmed incrementally, preparing a heated platform for the sparkling.

“Are you unharmed? You look a lot better since I last saw you.”

Their brow ridge furrowed. Ah, they had been in stasis before. He explained. “You were underfuelled last I saw you, in a temporary state of stasis. I am glad to see that you have recovered well.” He smiled, making himself more approachable. 

“I am glad to hear that our preparations were well-used. We were unsure if you would refuel using Energon or Emberstone charged water, so I am pleased we prepared for both outcomes.”

The sparkling glared at him, catching him slightly off guard, but Optimus continued speaking undeterred. “Come, let me take you out of this dreary hallway to someplace more comfortable.” He moved to scoop up the youngling, but they made a move to dash behind him. They were too slow for his quick reflexes, and fighting a smile, he delicately grabbed the sparkling by their waist.

How wonderful! They were already comfortable enough to engage in play! Optimus’ spark warmed alongside his servos, the Guardianship protocol purring. “Now, now, this is far from the best place to play. I have a place much more suitable in mind.” The sparkling scrambled in his hold slightly, stopping when he rose to his full height. 

“Careful now, try not to move too much or you may become unbalanced. But do not worry, I will always catch you.” His coding rumbled pleasingly, the sparkling was right where they belonged in his servos. The sparkling stopped moving abruptly, happily obeying his suggestion of safety. Their tiny servos gripped his digits sharply, and he fought back a croon.

It had only been a few cycles since the last time the sparkling was nestled in his servos, but Optimus forgot how good it felt. To feel the tiny sparkbeat of a youngling in his protective servos, the knowledge that the future of Cybertron’s people was here, safe, and cared for.

The sparkling’s EM field still pulsed with anxiety, but Optimus chalked it up to their recent interaction with Barricade. The black ‘Con had been speaking to the sparkling before he had entered audial range, and Optimus was thankful that any conversation had ceased once he had made his presence known through a warning pulse of his EM field. Barricade knew not to interfere with Optimus for fear of dire consequences, and the Decepticon had remained peacefully quiet on the other end of the cell door.

Making his way back down the hallway he came from with the sparkling in tow, Optimus made a note to head in the opposite direction to where the Seekers were last located. He wanted his time with the sparkling to last, and he could not remember the last time they had spent some time alone together.

“We have not seen much of each other on this voyage, little one.” His pedes echoed heavily down the empty corridor. “While we still have a ways to go before our destination, I am glad to be spending this time with you.” The sparkling pointedly refused to meet his optics, which made Optimus worry slightly. Had the Seekers said something to make them see his Autobots in an unsavoury light? While he was hopeful that was not the case, he would not put it past them.

Optimus could not stop a wave of worry from emitting from his energy field. He hoped that the sparkling could feel his earnestness. “The Seekers do not allow us to see much of you, save for the recent incident on the flight deck. We were worried for your safety then, too.” He frowned slightly, his earlier smile fading. “We only wish for your well-being.”

This appeared to get the sparkling’s attention, and their field pulsing with a wash of anger. Had something he said upset them? 

“Did you ask me?” Their little voice nearly causing Optimus’ pedes to stumble. 

“Hmm?” he inquired. “What do you mean?”

The sparkling’s bright green optics finally met his own, but there was no affection there.

“You promised to bring me home !” They practically screeched. They sunk their tiny claws into his servo plating. Tears began to leak out of their optics.

“Oh, little one.” His Guardianship protocols engaged several programs that caused his energy levels to spike with use. It was taking up every bit of HUD space now, blaring in his processor. The sparkling was distressed and he needed to fix it right this klik . His opposite servo moved to stroke their strut before he knew what he was doing, but the youngling moved sharply out of the way to avoid his digit. His systems were crashing and rebooting all over the place from the sudden influx of active programs; the only reason he was still standing was thanks to the Matrix of Leadership’s stress inhibitors. 

He barely heard what they said, focusing his remaining energy on comforting the youngling. The protocol made their spoken words enter through his audial but they were erased before they entered his processor.

They hiccuped a few times, tears now streaming down their faceplate, their tiny servos rubbing the moisture out of their optics. They were making an attempt to calm themselves, but by attempting to suppress their cries they were only succeeding in overloading their systems. If he didn’t do something they were going to experience a crash.

He sent out a pulse of a calming frequency that had been long-since buried in his code, the vibrations of a song that mirrored a Sire’s engine purr. The song lifted and spun with comfort and affection, but it only succeeded in making the sparkling cry harder. Optimus was at a loss.

They opened their intake to speak further, but their sobs had grown too strong, making their words unintelligible babbling. Their wings, normally raised and curious, were trembling with sadness.

So he cupped them in both servos and brought them up to his faceplate. The bowl-like shape ensured that they would be secure to prevent them falling, and the proximity would hopefully calm both of their systems. He allowed himself a small croon, resurfacing more dusty old protocols for sparkling care that had been dormant for eons, and used his thumb to stroke whatever part of the sparkling he could reach.

They were too distraught to notice his ministrations, and Optimus could do nothing but shush them quietly, muttering soft comforts like I am here , and, you will be alright which for whatever reason only succeeded in making the sparkling cry harder.

Worried further that the sound may carry to the Seeker’s audials, Optimus ducked inside a nearby room and swiftly changed the authorization key on the locking mechanism to his unique spark signature. Slightly embarrassed that one of his crew may come upon them as well and blame the sparkling’s distressed state on him, he succeeded in buying himself more time to calm their sorrows.

“There, there little one. I will not leave you. Soon we will arrive on Cybertron and all will be well.” Parts of his processor pinged, he only vaguely remembered that they were Earth sparked and had never known Cybertron as he had known it. He experienced a sudden flood of eagerness to share his experiences of their home planet, surges from dormant memory banks resurfaced, all of the surrounding information filling his HUD with more windows than available space.

The sparkling glared at him through angry, gleaming green optics. “I’m not –”, they heaved out a great sob. “I’m not one of you!”

His processor was buzzing. Why wasn’t the sparkling calming? The ancient sparkling carer code dictated his caring sequences should be at least 70% effective, and yet his actions seemed to be making their emotive outburst worse.

Another ping flashed briefly across his HUD at their words, and he struggled to process them. All the windows and alarms overpowering his systems made it difficult to focus on this one thing, but he deactivated as many programs as he dared and listened .

Oh. Optimus had almost forgotten. They had been human before this. The Guardianship protocol must have muted that fact for longer than he realised, there must have been a reason it considered the fact of lesser importance. But it hardly mattered. All of the new protocols had muted previous processor functions, focusing solely on a sparkling’s care. 

The surge of guilt that had begun to swell within him was immediately squashed down within his processor in favour of prioritising the sparkling’s current mental and physical wellbeing. But none of the code was supplying him with an answer that he needed for this situation.

“Little one–”

Optimus opened his intake to say something, anything to make them feel better, but they clearly weren’t finished with their emotional tirade. He watched as the sparkling focused enough of their system power in wailing out their next words clearly.

“Now I can’t even remember ! And there’s no one to help me on this stupid ship !” Their heaving sobs took a turn for the worse, their biolights starting to flicker with an overheated charge. A crash was imminent and he had to do something to stop it.

In his desperation he commed Elita-1, who he knew never strayed far from Barricade’s corridors and thus was likely the closest in proximity to their location. He couldn’t trust his own programming right now to act rationally, and Elita’s presence had always done wonders in calming both the mind and spark of many an Autobot.

The sparkling’s optics were now glazed, unfocused. Their breathing had become shallow with sharp hitches, a clear indicator of their consumed mental state. They were crashing, and he hadn’t stopped it. Optmimus added a pulse of urgency to his message, and was greeted by a rap on the door that almost made him jump.

“Optimus? I’m here. Let me inside.” Elita’s vocalizer made him want to turn into an Energon puddle of relief on the floor. Every circuit in his body was close to following the sparkling in his own imminent crash, and he had just enough ability to authorise Elita’s access to the room.

The moment the doors opened, the pink femme rushed forward to aid her leader. Placing a sturdy servo on his pauldron before the doors even had a chance to close, she spoke in hushed tones.

“Optimus, focus on my voice. Your processor is overheating; I can see steam coming out of your smokestacks.” Her voice was oddly soothing, and Optimus forced himself to take an unneeded breath to steady himself. His HUD was still flooded and he could barely see her, but her pulse of calm buffering the edges of his EM field gave him enough clarity to deactivate some of the blaring alarms that were overloading his processor.

She was right, he was overheating. That fact helped his systems complete a hard reboot, too much heat in an enclosed space would be bad for the sparkling’s delicate circuits. His overpowering need to prioritise the sparkling’s care helped him calm down enough to activate his vocaliser and address Elita-1.

“Thank you, Elita. I had not realised that my carer protocols were so out of use that they overpowered my logic systems. I suppose I had no need to calibrate them alongside my battle protocols, so they took over unexpectedly.” He hummed, mostly to himself. Powerful code, the Guardianship protocol. He had to be careful going forward. 

Still not trusting himself enough to act fully rational, he gingerly motioned for Elita-1 to take the sparkling. He was still in the process of manually deactivating the unstable program windows in his HUD, and it would take a few further astroseconds until he was fully functioning again. Elita dimly accepted the small treasure, her faceplate showing a mix of awe and concern, as while Optimus was on his way from calming from his panic, the sparkling’s distress had not yet alleviated.

Their breathing had turned raspy, clutching at their neck cables in a bastardised attempt to breathe. Their wings twitched arrhythmically, as if being electrocuted. It looked like their tiny body was in the middle of a battle with itself, and neither side was winning. They looked to be in pain and both Autobots were combing their processors for methods of care.

Elita did some of the same motions that Optimus had attempted, (no doubt unearthing the same if not similar carer protocols) which were similarly unsuccessful. The small ministrations of petting and caressing were met with no change in the sparkling’s pained behaviour, and the continuing pulses of calm did nothing to soothe their distress. She grunted, concern growing. None of the normal protocol specified methods were working, what could they do?

Optimus watched as an idea formed on Elita’s face, and she carefully moved the sparkling to a single palm while she used her opposite servo to reach into her subspace. Pulling out the Emberstone, he clued in to what she was doing immediately.

Elita had always been a religious ‘bot, even since before the war. He recalled in dire situations they had experienced together that Elita always took time to make some sort of mention to Primus or the Allspark prior to a dangerous fight. These mentions were her way of praying, to ensure that the memory of their people’s religion remained alive so long as she functioned. 

So while Elita would look deep within herself during times of strife to make that connection between her spark and Primus, she knew that there was no such connection between the sparkling and her god. Therefore, she substituted the next best thing; the relic in charge of the sparkling’s creation. The literal seed of their animation.

Pulling out the Emberstone, the room was awash in its ethereal light. Both Autobots gazed upon the relic with a kind of sympathetic awe. Any artefact of any Prime was an object that should be treated with reverence, and the underlying hope contained within its core lay heavily in the spark of every Cybertronian. In this moment he hoped fervently that its presence would have a positive effect on the sparkling.

Elita-1 brought the artefact closer to the sparkling’s proximity, and there was a brief moment of hesitation in her optics. It was akin to the thought of giving a blaster to a youngling; there were more things that could go wrong than could go right. But both she and Optimus were desperate, and the moment the sparkling gazed upon the Emberstone with their still-wet optics, the shuddering sobs began to ease.

Taking a deep breath themselves, both Optimus and Elita met each other’s optics with a look of relief. The Emberstone was still out of reach of the little one, but it was closer than they’d ever been to it save their creation.

“An inspired idea, Elita.” Optimus praised his officer, still breathy from the tension. “I am glad we can always count on you.”

Elita nodded her affirmative, her attention torn between her leader and the two irreplaceable weights in her servos.

Although he was loath to leave the sparkling, (his processor was blaring at him to pick them back up and hold them close to his chassis, nearest his spark) Optimus couldn’t risk the youngling slipping back into their panicked state. He took a few extra moments to observe the scene in front of him, and knew that the sparkling was in good hands for the time being.

He could not risk the sparkling’s health with his continued presence, so he would retreat temporarily and return once the little one had calmed down enough for him to be in their presence again. Something about his presence had brought about their system crash, so he made the executive decision to remove himself from the current situation. He knew they would be well cared for in Elita’s servos, and he sent a private comm to her that they should remain inside this room until his return. She accepted dimly, her focus clearly elsewhere.

As much as he wanted to stay, he knew it was unfair to occupy all of the sparkling’s attention. His time may have been cut short by the panic, but he would return and they would have their time alone together. And judging from the look in Elita’s optics, she too wanted to finally get her opportunity to spend time with the young creature. 

Taking a step out of the room and keeping the authorization key to just his and Elita’s signature, Optimus walked away still decluttering his processor. 

________________

The glow of the Emberstone engulfs all your senses. It is smaller than you thought, yet it exudes a presence that is far larger than your miniscule understanding. All of a sudden, you understand that this is a legendary object, and its role in your creation, as impossible as it sounded, is suddenly feasible . 

It is an unknowing thing , like believing you could keep a star trapped in a jar. You had no idea the significance or the sheer importance of the object until you lay optics on it for the first time.

For all the times the Emberstone had been mentioned, you never understood why something like a rock is so important to a race of huge metal aliens. But looking upon it now, you feel so small. The size of it does nothing to detract from the sheer immenseness of how it feels .

Idly, you note that you’re in the servos of someone new. You don’t know when, but at some point Optimus must have tossed you to this new ‘bot. His faceplate was the last thing you remember seeing before the Emberstone brought you back to clarity. This new bot had their face illuminated with the light of the Emberstone, and your aching body struggles to lift itself up enough to meet their heavy stare.

Another pink one, is your first thought. But they’re a different shade than the other pink one you’d met previously. Their colouring is more of a bright magenta while Arcee had been more of a dusty pink. Their gaze is serious with a hint of curiosity and they say nothing as they look down upon you.

With a groan, you manage to kneel, and without thinking you lean a little closer to the Emberstone. The pink Autobot moves it incrementally away from your position, as if afraid you’ll break it, and they shake their head minutely as if to shake the thought from their processor. Your internal record of Autobots that don’t stare at you is sitting at an exact zero , but you brush off your irritation at the thought.

“Oh wow.” Comes their voice, feminine but on a lower register than what you remember of Arcee’s. She speaks in a whispered tone, almost reverent, as if she doesn’t even realise she’s speaking aloud.

“You really are here, aren’t you?” You look quizzically at her expression, now registering as awe rather than curiosity. Her digits tremble slightly, but it can’t be because you’re heavy.

Annoyed, but slightly curious as to her question, you make an effort to talk back even though your glossa feels like it's made of lead. Your voice is staticy. “What do you mean? Why are you looking at me like that?”

She blinks as if clearing her processor and then smiles down at you. “My name is Elita-1. I apologise for staring, it’s just been so long since I’ve held a sparkling.”

You finally have a definition for the thing everyone’s been calling you. Barricade said that a sparkling was a Cybertronian youngling, something like a baby. You tamper down your fury.

“Yeah? And why’s that?” Your tone has a hint of challenge.

Elita-1 smiles a little sadly and answers your question. “After Cybertron went dark, there were no more sparklings. Without Energon, they couldn’t survive long to make it to full frame. We thought Bumblebee would be the youngest forever.” She chuckles depressingly. “I am just so happy to meet you.” 

Her gentle, quiet tone does wonders in snuffing out some of your pent up rage. She’s not lying, she does look genuinely happy to see you. It’s a kind of deep longing you see in her optics, and it scares you as much as it soothes you. She won’t hurt you, somewhere deep in your spark you know that, but that doesn’t change what’s already been done.

“So what?” You respond snidely, unable to stop the sliver of resentment that comes out with your words. “Did anyone ask me what I wanted? You and the Autobots took me away when Optimus promised to bring me home!”

Elita blinks as if confused. She looks to the Emberstone in her opposite hand and then back to you. “I do not understand, I was under the impression that the Emberstone was what created you.”

You scoff, breaking your gaze. “Yeah, but not what I was before .” You can’t help that your voice sounds a bit whiny, but this is important!

She looks well and truly confused. “Before? I still do not follow.”

She’s doing a great job at acting dumb, but a small part of you is whispering that maybe she doesn’t know. 

“I was a kid before! A human kid.” You’re not yelling, but it feels loud in the room. 

Her optics widen. It looks like she really didn’t know. Your next words come out at barely a whisper, you really don’t want to work yourself up into another panic attack.

 “Where did you think I came from?”

Her jaw is slack, a million thoughts probably going through her processor. Finally, finally, someone is reacting properly to your situation. A glimmer of hope warms your spark.

“I-I did not…” She trails off momentarily. “I am so sorry. I did not know. We did not know.”

You look back at her angrily. “Optimus knows. Ratchet knows. And as far as anyone else is concerned I will tell them myself! This is my life , and all of you are done making decisions for me.” You can’t help the rush of suppressed emotion from spilling out of you, all of the words that you attempted to yell at Optimus were coming up now. Elita-1 may not have signed up for this, but she is getting the brunt of your repressed frustration. You leave out the part of you losing your memories, that part had slipped out to Optimusin a rush of emotion before you could stop yourself.

Her servos lower you to the floor a fraction, keeping the Emberstone close to her chassis. It shines down on you like a crystal star, illuminating the already lit room with swathes of green and blue. You glance up at it briefly, this thing was the root of all your problems. You wish you could ask it your million questions, but it’s a rock . It may have been made for one hugely important purpose, but communication, unfortunately, isn’t one of them. A rock isn’t sentient . 

She doesn’t lower you to the ground like you initially expect, there was a part of you that thought she might be disgusted at the idea of holding a human turned sparkling. Like your transformation could be considered freaky and that it taints the concept of kid sparklings. But the reason your view is lowered is because she takes a knee, suddenly unsteady. Did your information really affect her this way? A part of you feels bad; she didn’t know. It’s not her fault.

Your rage simmers and cools within you, leaving in its place a heavy ball of guilt. You just yelled at a completely innocent person, and it's clear she feels so bad that even a giant being like her has to steady herself. Idly, you notice that even though she’s clearly got a swarming processor and unstable pedes, she’s still making an effort to keep you stable in her palm. Her care for you is evident, even as she’s currently undergoing a mental crisis.

The remaining anger within you dries up abruptly with this realisation. She’s being nice to you, even though you were mean to her. Your guilt settles like an itchy blanket over your helm. A small chirp makes its way out of your intake without your permission, and you give her servo a small caress in a motion of apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Elita-1. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s not your fault.” You gesture vaguely to your form, the ship, everything. 

Her blue optics are similar to the rest of the Autobots you’ve met. They pulse with something deep and sad, and they meet your green optics bravely. “No, little one. You have nothing to apologise for. If I’d known earlier…” She offlines her optics, her intake a grim line. She shakes her helm again, clearing her processor and meets your optics once more. 

“You said you wish to tell the others yourself? I will abide by your wishes. You are correct, your choices should be your own.” Her faceplate is frowning, and her thoughts are clearly elsewhere and here at the same time. Maybe she’s thinking about Optimus, you don’t know.

You nod at her declaration, finally glad someone is listening to you. She’s the first Autobot that you’ve met that seems genuinely concerned about the fact that you’re a human in space. Or, were previously a human and now in space. Maybe the other Autobots would react the same if you told them. The more allies you had in helping you get home the better; maybe you had been treating the Autobots too harshly for their participation in your kidnapping. If they didn’t know , this could change how you feel about them.

But you have to ask. “Are you going to hand me over to Optimus? I would really appreciate it if you didn’t.” You try to stop your digits from trembling but she definitely notices.

She looks at you pensively, as if trying to come up with the answer herself. Her optics flicker with light as if her HUD is so busy it’s showing on the outside. “I-” she starts, intake opening and closing. “Optimus Prime is my superior officer.” She seems conflicted, and you feel you understand even though a spike of fear shoots up your spinal strut.

“I understand.” You try not to sound mopey. You’ve already put her through enough, and you don’t want her to feel bad. Your dour mood must show on your face because Elita speaks up.

“Little one” she begins, her voice clear of any static, “When I feel conflicted, I think of Primus and my connection to them.” 

You blink, not putting a face to the name she mentions, though you think you may have heard it a few times before. She blinks back as if sensing your confusion and explains. “Primus is our creator, the same way the Emberstone is yours. In a strange way, you are similar to the next stage in our evolution. It was Quintus Prime, one of the original Thirteen Primes, who created the Emberstone, and all of the Primes had a direct connection to Primus themself. Thus by your connection to the Emberstone, you too are of Primus’ creation. Even if you did not start that way.” Her voice is soothing, but her words sound more like a religious sermon than a history lesson. 

“When my spark feels troubled, I look inside myself to find the answer. Even if it takes time, I know that through my connection to Primus and belief in myself, I can overcome any obstacle.” You look up at her, trying to make sense of why she’s saying this to you.

“Are you saying that because I’m Cybertronian now I have to believe in Primus?” Your words hold no malice, and you’re grateful that it doesn’t come across as condescending. She smiles a bit at your words.

“No. Like everything, it is and should be your choice.” She brings the Emberstone a little closer to you. “Your current form may not have been your choice, but I can’t help but think that you should make the most of your experience. You may not see it, but you are a gift to our race. Every Cybertronian, Optimus Prime included, sees you as a shining beacon for the future of our species.” 

The weight of her words feel unbearably heavy on your spark. “And if I want to change back?” 

She hums, her smile never faltering. “That too, is also your choice. Though I do not know if it is possible for you to change back to your previous self. Is there a similar human relic that changes metal life into organic?” 

You shake your head, there’s no way such a thing exists. Elita speaks more.

“And where you came from, your home, there are humans waiting for you?”

Pointedly ignoring her question, you opt instead to ask one of your own. “So you’re saying Optimus has my life planned out for me. But he didn’t even ask if I wanted to go back!”

Elita-1’s frown breaks through her smile. “That…” Her intake scrunches a little. “That is a serious offence. I can see why he may have been hesitant to bring it up, but it is still unlike his usual character. I will speak to him on your behalf concerning this lapse in judgement.”

Fluttering all the way to your spark, you try not to get overwhelmed with the honesty that you hear in her voice. For once , someone is actually seeing things your way, even if she can’t intercede directly on your behalf. In your next words, you speak from deep within you, a familiar croon breaking out of your intake in absolute gratitude.

“ Thank you , Elita-1.” You mean it. She might be the only Autobot that sees any sense. And she’s even willing to speak to Optimus for you? It seems almost too good to be true. You hope that she’s truthful to her word, you’re tired of Autobots breaking their promises. 

But she’s sincere, and in this moment you believe her. She’ll talk to Optimus Prime and maybe you’ll even get to speak your mind about wanting to go home.

Oh geez. You’d better start remembering then. And you’d better tell the Seekers the truth before you go. It feels like there’s a knot in your fuel lines somewhere in your delicate abdominal circuitry. You don’t want to leave on bad terms. But if things go well, you could be going back sooner than you think!

Sadness and hope bloom in simultaneous currents through your fuel lines, and you try not to get caught up in the rush of feelings. Don’t hope, don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t become attached to things that won’t last. (A blip of wrong zips through your processor, you might already be too late in that respect)

Having experienced your first ever system crash only moments ago, the rush of relief sends you to your knees in a hurry. All the strength from before has left you, leaving legs of jello and twitching servos. You can feel your wings move from your back struts, probably twitching alongside your frayed nerves.

Elita immediately notices. “Status report, sweetspark.”

A claw tipped wobbly servo waves her off. “‘m fine. Just tired all of a sudden.” 

She lets out a breath. You’ve begun to notice as soon as anything’s less than optimal with you, these giants seem to lose their minds. Once you notice, it’s kinda hard to ignore. It's even starting to become somewhat endearing, some small part of you cherishes the attention. Probably the same baby robot protocols that turn the alien robots into cooing bubbly messes. The more you think about it, the more it's kind of like a superpower. You like the sound of that.

The pink Autobot doesn’t make a move to do anything bafflingly, like she’s waiting for your signal. Her optics are trained on you like a hawk, every motion catalogued and memorised for later study. Of the Autobots you’ve met so far, Elita is quickly becoming your favourite despite the fact you had only properly introduced a few moments ago. If she stands by her promise, you have no doubt she’ll shoot up to the top of your list.

Her expression looks like she wants to ask you something, and in your brief time together you know that she won’t hold back. The expression only flits across her faceplate for a moment before she asks you:

“I can understand why Optimus and Ratchet make you nervous, but why the Seekers?” She seems genuinely confused as to why you would pick them, which you find odd. The answer is obvious to you.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” You try to express the statement sagely, but it only comes off as immature to your audios. She frowns at the statement. 

“You would consider us your enemies?” Her expression looks genuinely hurt, which tugs on your conscience.

“No, no! Uh, It’s just…” You find it hard to explain this weird connection you have with the Seeker brothers. You haven’t known them long, maybe even the same amount of time you’ve been with the Autobots before, but it feels decidedly different.

You may have chosen them because of that reason at first, but over time a certain fondness had grown between the Seekers and you. You couldn’t explain it, but there were times they just knew what you needed. There was a trust there that meant you felt safe, and even happy sometimes. It wasn’t like that with Optimus and Ratchet. Though it might have been if they hadn’t pulled this garbage.

Maybe there was something in your coding that connected you all? Being part machine meant there were specific ways in which your body worked that you straight up didn’t understand. And being a robot was one thing, but being an alien robot? The questions you didn’t have answers to seemed endless.

Being away from the Seekers felt like a rope pulled taut; your insides were tight and uncomfortable. Even when you asked Skywarp to leave you alone with Ratchet, there was a part of you that vehemently hated the idea of being away from him. There was safety in his proximity, and there were moments like now in servos that aren’t theirs, you feel slightly uncomfortable.

Your silence must speak volumes, because Elita nods as if she understands. What’s with all these robots guessing how you’re feeling? And weirdly accurately too? Inside you, your processor is grateful it doesn’t have to explain these wordless emotions to her, because you can scarcely understand them yourself. The Seekers just felt different from the other Autobots you knew, and their actions had proven that your harm was the furthest thing from their minds. 

Ratchet and Prime had a lot to answer for, but you can’t begrudge them if Elita’s willing to vouch for their behaviour. She seems to think something’s wrong with them. And if this really is outside of Optimus’ usual self, then something might be really wrong. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Ratchet, but maybe it is something you could catch, like a cold? You’re about to ask her about it when a ruckus is heard on the other side of the door.

At the noise, Elita takes the Emberstone and swiftly tucks it back into some sort of magic pocket in her chassis. The light in the room changes immediately from an ethereal green to the usual bland fluorescents. She lowers her opposite servo next to you, creating an impression of a giant shield, as if protecting you from whatever is on the other side of the door.

There’s muffled yelling and the sounds of heavy pedes. Whatever’s going on out there, it’s amping up in volume. Like a kettle close to boiling, you hope that it doesn’t turn to violence. 

Elita’s optics are trained on the door, as if expecting someone to try and break it down. No one does, but the yelling is more constant now. It sets your denta on edge.

For a moment, she glances down at you, as if trying to make a difficult decision. Both her servos are cupped around you protectively, like a living barrier against the tension on the other side of the door. You test your shaky legs briefly, finding them still jelly. Her optics glitter at your antics, it shows on her faceplate that she finds you absolutely charming. There’s still an underlying worry of course, but it’s hard not to feel embarrassed by her clear adoration. 

A lot has happened in the last little while, and you know based on your recent experience that it most definitely won’t chill out anytime soon. Whatever’s going on outside is no doubt something that you’re involved in, and you’re better off dealing with it sooner rather than later, especially at the risk of impending violence.

You give Elita’s palm a double pat, assuring her that you’ll be fine no matter what’s happening outside. She seems tentative, but she huffs and rolls her optics good naturedly. She stands to her full height with you still nestled protectively in her servo, takes a step outside.

The door opens with a sound like a rush of air and a dangerous scene unfolds before your optics. On one end of the hallway, Optimus Prime and Ratchet are standing menacingly, their posture tense and ready for action. Optimus has a blaster aimed beyond where Elita is standing, trained on the figures on the other side of the hallway.

The figures are your favourite Seekers, each as hunched and threatening as Optimus. Starscream has a missile you don’t remember seeing on him attached to his forearm panel, and it’s trained right at the leader of the Autobots. Both his and Skywarp’s optics are narrowed and venomous, their wings making them look larger than their usual sleek forms. 

Where you and Elita are placed is directly in the centre of the hallway, right in the middle of the tense battle. Both sides look like they're a hair's breadth away from pulling the trigger and opening fire, but whatever they were yelling at each other dies in their respective vocalizers the moment you are spotted in Elita’s servos.

“Sparkling! Get away from there, it’s not safe!” Ratchet yells, beckoning you with his large servo. The blue of his optics are wide with concern, even from this distance, but you don’t make an effort to move.

Feeling oddly calm considering the situation, you look up to Elita to get a clue on how she’s feeling. Her optics dart from her Autobot allies to the Seekers, and her pedes show no indication which way she intends to turn. Instead, she looks down with a wry smile on her faceplate as if to say boys, am I right? 

The Seekers haven’t lowered their weapons, but they definitely take notice of you. Skywarp even looks visibly relieved while Starscream glares at Elita first and then Optimus. 

“You vile Autobots, I knew you took them!” He snarls, missile poised and ready. He wouldn’t fire with you so close, right? The look on his faceplate is scarier than you’ve ever seen so far, and that includes the battle on the flight deck of the ship. The scary expression isn’t aimed at you, and a small warm feeling curls up in your chassis at the fact that he’s this angry on your behalf.

Ratchet’s arm, which you hadn’t realised was still raised, continues to beckon fervently. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to cool off from your conversation with him before you devolved into a full blown panic attack with Prime, but there are still a few choice words you want to share with him. However, now isn’t the right time, even though you can tell how much he wants to continue his previous conversation with you. You’ve been away from your flying guardians too long, and that tight feeling within your spark eases when you look upon the Seekers.

Optimus doesn’t respond to Starscream’s barbed comment, even if it was true to a degree. You don’t feel that the animosity in this scene is justified just because you had only been gone a maximum of a few hours, but that clearly didn’t stop them. Most of the Cybertronians on this ship went crazy whenever you were involved, and while it was endearing from some, it was getting annoying from others. 

Optimus’ weapon also hadn't lowered, and due to Ratchet’s exclamation you know there’s no way he doesn’t know you’re there. His gaze flickers briefly to you but is mainly focused on the Seekers. You have no doubt that he’s comming Elita to deliver you to his open servos. A confused twitch goes unnoticed to everyone but you on his faceplate when Elita-1 pointedly refuses to take a step.

She instead takes a knee and lowers you to the floor slowly, giving you more than enough time to shake out your wobbly knees and swing your legs over the side of her palm. You stand with a briefly unsteady gait, and you rest your hands on the side of her servo for balance. Speaking quietly, you look up into her blue optics. 

“Please keep your promise.” Your words are clear, but the worry is still present. Her optics crinkle with a smile as she looks down at you. 

“In Primus’ name.” She responds. You were expecting a sure or affirmative , but that works too. She stands up but doesn’t move from her place.

“Elita–!” Optimus exclaims out loud, as if he forgot to use his comm unit. There’s a look of shock on his faceplate that echoes with a scant-perceived betrayal. 

You take a few tentative steps on shaky legs towards the Seekers, giving Elita-1 a quick nod to show your gratitude and that you’ll be fine. One pede after the other, your steps get more confident and steady, and you take your time in walking through the corridor back to your sharp looking guardians. Running in this situation seems too risky, the air too thick with tension for you to even consider trying it as much as you want to be back with them. So the sound of your steps heralds your arrival to the Decepticon brothers, and the moment you enter their range Skywarp scoops you up and presses you into his throat cables as if he’s trying to fuse you both into one being. A low purr can be heard from his engine, calming and soothing like nothing you’ve ever known as a human, and you can’t help turning into warm goo at the sound. 

Starscream thus far hasn’t moved, but his optics never leave Optimus’ even as you’re cuddled to death into his brother’s armour. 

Optimus and Ratchet both look at the scene with devastation, with Elita smiling gently from her spot in the middle of the would-be battle. You can see her a little from the gaps of Skywarp’s snuggles, his chin caressing the top of your helm like a big cuddly bird of prey. She gives you a small wave that makes you smile back, then she turns and faces her comrades.

Taking a step towards them, her pedes are heavy with distinct emotion. She’s stomping angrily to get their attention as much as she’s clearly trying to intimidate them. Both Ratchet and Optimus look justifiably nervous, and you hear her words clearly even though she’s facing the opposite direction halfway down the hall.

“We’re all going to have a little chat .”

You definitely don’t want to be in their place. But it looks like she’s already making good on her promise. Maybe the other Autobots deserved a chance too?

Starscream finally lowers his weapon and turns his back to the Prime and his allies, now giving you his full attention. Skywarp gets the hint and tosses you high in the air, your wingtips barely grazing the ceiling, and Starscream catches you. 

He cuddles you just as ferociously, his talons finding all the right places where you didn’t realise you ache, and you’re back in that warm honey state. Unable to stop yourself, you chirp happily at both of them, your affection for them on display for all to see. Elita might be your favourite Autobot, but these two were on a different list entirely. Both their engines release a sound akin to a great purring cat, and you’re basking in the attention you’re receiving. Despite only being away from them for a few hours, you feel like it’s been ages since your last cuddle session. 

The brothers take a few steps down the hall, cuddling you incessantly all the while, and you don’t miss the look of absolute triumph on Starscream’s faceplate.  

Chapter Text

Chap 11

Brood

The tender touches and snuggles don’t stop for a second, even as the Seekers make their way through the halls of the Ark II . Starscream in particular refuses to give up his hold of you, even as his purple brother’s begging becomes more and more desperate. Skywarp’s voice is overly dramatic, which you take as a sign he’s hamming it up for your sake. Walking away from a literal aggressive standoff was anxiety inducing, and you get the impression he’s trying to lighten the mood by acting silly. Starscream only smirks at his brother’s antics, preening at the fact that he is the one holding you , and oh look it doesn’t look like they want to move, sorry among other comments that make you giggle.

Starscream isn’t heading back to the berth room, you notice. Instead he seems to be going back up to the flight deck, the corridors gently sloping upwards. You don’t have a chance to add any of these passageways to your internal map, as you’re too busy being cuddled into putty by giant clawed servos.

“-And you’re never going to run off again, are you?” Oops, they’re talking to you. You look up into the faceplate of your red and blue guardian, but oddly don’t feel the need to look sheepish. Instead you stare back and give him your best good-natured scowl. He returns the expression with a similar looking scowl. 

“And not even remotely remorseful, I see.” You hide your smile with your servos, eyes peeking out. His optics glint with mirth. “At any moment you could have commed us and we would have come running. But instead you seem awfully chummy with that Grounder femme, hmm?” 

You can sense an underlying tone of envy in his voice, and you’re quick to explain yourself.

“Mm-hmm! Elita-1 is gonna chew out Optimus for me.” Squeezing his sharp digit, you wait pensively for him to inquire further so you can explain. Meanwhile Skywarp mouths the words chew out like he has no idea what it means, but you don’t linger on his confusion too long. 

“And what-” His scowl is less good natured now, “Did you think we were doing back there? Apparently it was a task you needed an Autobot for.” He seems genuinely miffed, maybe even hurt by the comment. His optics have a faraway look to them that you’re unsure is real or dramatised. Better not take any chances.

You yank on his talon, successfully getting his attention. He stops mid-step. 

“It has to do with something I’ve been wanting to tell you, I just never found the right moment. Elita is going to make sure that they don’t interfere.” You plead with your optics. This is serious, and you try to fight the shiver of nervousness that creeps up your strut. You look at Skywarp, glossa feeling heavy. “Something I’ve been meaning to tell both of you.”

The Seekers look at each other (is it just your imagination or do they look at each other knowingly?) and they both stop walking. The shiver of nervousness grows to a full body tremble, and they take note of it without petting you like they usually do.

Skywarp chimes in, a modicum of nervousness (or excitement?) in his voice. “Would you prefer to tell us here or…?” He trails off, but you get what he means. Do you need privacy for this or are you ok with an uninvited audience? The shiver makes its way to your wings and you’re unable to stop them shivering. If it were around anyone else, you’d be nervous that your emotions show so visibly with your wings but the Seekers do it too, so you’re less upset by it. 

You look around the corridor as much as you’re able and decide yeah, maybe someplace more private would be better. “Maybe not our room but-” You don’t even get a chance to finish your sentence before they’re already walking again. It seems they have a place in mind and you’re along for the ride. 

The walk trails on for longer than you anticipate, partially due to your nervousness, but your internal map shows that you’re still heading up to the flight deck. Maybe not the most private place, but you can think of a few spots that are a bit more secluded. And sound doesn’t echo the same way it does in these vast corridors. Were they intending to take you to the flight deck in the first place?

Their steps also seem more hurried, you notice, but maybe you’re imagining it. They either feel just as nervous as you do, or maybe a bit impatient. 

A door at the end of the walk heralds the entrance to the flight deck and a familiar sight of unending stars greets your vision, grasping your spark the same way it did the first time you saw them. These stars have overlooked a few important milestones in your new metal life, and you can only hope that this next one goes over more smoothly.

The Seekers take you to a crumbling alcove, similar to the smoking wreckage where your old temporary room was blown up. (In fact, the longer you look at it, the more you think it might be the same one.) The walls are scarred with long cooled scorch marks from the firefight, and there are a few blackened storage containers that make for an impromptu wall surrounding the three of you.

The brothers lower you to the deck and each take a knee so that you don’t have to crane your head so much to look at them. They’re still unbelievably tall, and you do get a bit of a kink in your delicate neck cables as you stare up at them, but it’s not especially uncomfortable. You appreciate their thoughtfulness, but it doesn’t distract enough to ease your nervousness about your current situation.

You have been meaning to tell them for a while, but a familiar sour thought enters your processor. What if they react badly? Maybe Elita would take care of you if they reject you, but a sad lump forms in your intake at the thought. You’d be sad to leave them. Your brief life with the Seekers so far has been fulfilling and thrilling, and as much as you want to blame your alien instincts for the connection, you know they’re not entirely to blame. 

You genuinely like the Seekers. They’re fun, and fiercely protective. It makes your spark flutter to know that they would protect you from literally anything, and the fierce gazes they shoot at the Autobots are entirely for your sake. They’ve never asked you to do anything you don’t want, and they take care of you in a way that seems genuine, at least from your perspective.

Starscream’s wing twitches almost imperceptibly, the only clue to his burgeoning impatience. Skywarp looks to be fighting a smile on his faceplate. Whatever they think you’re gonna tell them, he seems to think it's a good thing. You’ll be devastated to see his smile fall if he reacts badly to your secret.

“Uhm.” It’s suddenly so hard to speak. Your glossa feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and is magnetised to the bottom of your intake. You can feel your wings trembling, and you fight not to cry again . Your optics water with the familiar lubricant without your permission. Buck up! You can do this!

“I-I’m…” You take a big swallow, even though your intake has never felt drier. Your optics are drawn to any tiny movement the Seekers are making, from the smallest twitch of a talon to the flick of a wing. Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this. No backing out now.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me from the others, but there’s something I want you to know about me. It may change how you see me, but it’s an important part of me.” Ok, so far so good. Your lip plate trembles a bit at the last word, but your words are still coming across clear. Here goes.

“You may have heard from Optimus or Ratchet that I was made by the Emberstone, but that isn’t entirely true.” A rumble of displeasure is heard from Starscream’s engine at the mention of the Autobots, but he doesn’t interrupt. You gulp, trying to add any semblance of moisture to your intake. “It’s not untrue either, but it isn’t the whole truth.”

Your servos are clenched together, and if you were still human you imagine they’d be sweaty. The plates on your shoulders are clattering so hard they rattle. Skywarp looks like he wants to scoop you up to stop your trembling, but his servos are clenched together too. He keeps them to himself, as much as you can tell he’s holding back.

“T-the Emberstone made me but-” you can’t stop the full body shudder that passes through your body. “B-but I was something else before. I was human .” The word sounds sharp and wrong coming from your vocalizer, as if it’s fighting against you. “I hope this doesn’t change anything, I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.”

There. You did it. You said it, now they know. You don’t remember offlining your optics, but you can’t look at them right now. Tears continue to prickle at the edges, but they don’t fall. The air surrounding the three of you is charged and heavy, but neither Starscream nor Skywarp say a word.

One klik, two kliks, neither of them make a sound. They’re not saying anything, and the silence feels oppressive all of a sudden. The only sound you can hear is the thundering of your own spark and the clatter of your metal plates.

They aren’t saying anything. Why haven’t they said anything? Are they still there? Have they walked away? Was this the final straw? Is this the end of your time together? Your processor buzzes with a hundred negative outcomes, one after the other. There’s no time to dismiss one before you’re throttled by ten more negative thoughts. You’re stuck in a state of unknowing, but if you never online your optics, you’ll never see the smile fall from Skywarp’s faceplate and you can just exist in this unknowing limbo forever. The thought is almost comforting, as anything is better than the alternative.

The worst part is you can imagine the look on Starscream’s faceplate, a look of disgust at your corrupted ill-formed body. You can imagine Skywarp washing his servos at the thought of having ever touched you. An abomination masquerading as a child of their species. You wouldn’t blame them, you’d be disgusted too.

Whether it's your new alien instincts or some long buried part of you, suddenly you wish for something, anything to touch you. Something to ground you in this swirl of turbulent emotions. Your processor only shows you the worst possible outcomes, and the dark space traps you in a perpetual motion of negativity. The flight deck beneath your pedes is indistinguishable from a deep void, and your servos have unclenched from their nervous fidgeting. A single touch from either Seeker would break you from this downward spiral, but you don’t have the courage to online your optics. 

Your servos raise slightly upward, palms open. They’re shaking, you know they are, and the rest of you follows suit. No tears have fallen, for which you’re glad. You don’t think your body can take this much crying in such a short period of time. With your memories from before missing, you can’t remember if you were such a crybaby as a human. You want to believe that you weren’t, you want to believe this body is the reason you’re such an emotional mess. Something about being reborn as a baby robot being the root of all your problems.

Your bottom lip plate trembles, and a surprise hiccup escapes your chassis. Just one, and you’re not crying, but it’s enough to startle you and your optics shoot open in surprise. Feeling embarrassment at your own body’s betrayals, you online your optics and are greeted to the sight of your own outstretched servos first and secondly the Seekers.

They look mostly the same as before you told them, a small smile now present on Skywarp’s face. Starscream looks mostly the same too, but with an air of indifference surrounding him.

A few astroseconds tick by before he speaks, cutting the tense air like a knife with his words. 

“Is that all?”

Your jaw clenches to stop from falling open at his statement.

“Little wing, if that was all you were afraid to tell us, then rest assured nothing has changed.” He reaches a clawed servo to grab you off the ground, faster than he has ever dared before. He clutches you in a semblance of a fist, and another hiccup of surprise escapes you. The ground spins away leaving you with a slightly dizzying feeling, either from the shock or the speed you’re unsure, but it settles in your tanks like fizzy soda. “You are ours, and nothing will change that.”

You search his red optics for falsities in his declaration, but find none. Turning your helm to look at Skywarp, his optics show no sign of disagreeing with his brother. “You’ll have to learn to fly fast if you think you lose us that easily.” His sharp smirk sets your spark on fire.

You can hardly believe it. It's…fine? Everything is fine? Looking back and forth between the Seeker brothers, you stammer for confirmation. “W-what? Really? Y-you don’t mind?”

A long talon reaches and rubs your cheek. “If that was your weak attempt to try and leave us for the femme, you’ll have to find an alternative.” His grin is good natured, but you can hardly believe it.

“I wouldn’t–!” You shout back, quick to refute his statement. His optics glitter with a joking light, and you realise belatedly that you fell for his trap. Embarrassment creeps up your faceplate, making the metal there feel hot. Vents you didn’t know existed expel anxiety riddled plumes of steam from your body only to have it be replaced by the feeling of sheer mortification.

“Aww,” Skywarp coos, “We know you wouldn’t leave us. Still, it’s nice to hear.” His grin is toothy and pointed. It only succeeds in setting your faceplate further aflame.

Starscream tosses you high in the air without ceremony, and your wings automatically flare for descent. Skywarp catches you easily (there was never a moment you thought he’d let you fall) and pokes your nose with impeccable precision. “As if we’d ever let you go.”

Something in there in heavier connotations of the statement. They mean something more when they call you theirs , but you’re too relieved at the moment to consider the concept further.

You melt into Skywarp’s ministrations, his pets and caresses starting slow and evolving into more energetic snuggles. A few spots are ticklish too, and you giggle for the first time in what seems like forever; he laughs right back. His optics are happy, with a seriousness that you don’t usually catch hidden behind his antics. 

The brothers take turns tossing you back and forth, each launch making you soar high in the air. Your wings extend every time as if by instinct, and they each take a step back after every successful catch of your body. You feel light, and not just because you’re literally airborne. They’ve accepted you, and a full laugh escapes you uninhibited by your previous tension. It’s like a weight has been untethered from your processor, and in this moment you feel like you really could fly.

Each lazy catch means more to you than any well-meaning word. You never even think for a moment that they’ll let you fall, and even as the throws become longer and higher, they only succeed in making you feel safe. Smile as big as a sun and wings lighter than air, these Seekers who you’ve only known for a week seem to know you the best in this whole universe. And now that they know about your secret, you want to know them just as well. The thought sets your spark ablaze; you want to know all about them too. 

You get your wish, but not in the way you want. Your game with the Seekers is rudely interrupted by an angry shout from a thickly accented voice The green and white Autobot stomps towards your adopted playground on the flight deck, his pedes rattling the charred storage containers.

“What are you–! You slaggers, put that sparkling down right now!” 

There’s still a lot you don’t know about Cybertronian culture, but you get the feeling slagger is a bad word. The usual creep of fear that you normally feel when you see the green mech doesn’t appear like you expect. Instead you find yourself annoyed that he interrupted your game. And angry that he insulted your Seekers.

As Starscream catches you in mid-air, both your helms turn in tandem to scowl at the intruder.

“Leave us be, Wheeljack.” Skywarp takes a step closer to the Autobot. “This has nothing to do with you.” 

“As if I’d listen to you, Slagwarp.” Wheeljack’s voice is cutting with a western edge to it. “Especially as I’m witnessin’ you both personally harming a sparkling. I knew your code was corrupted.” 

You stiffen in indignation. You’re not hurt, you were clearly having fun. What was this guy’s problem?

“Oh, go complain to your Prime.” Starscream bites back, his rasp sharp and biting. “They are unharmed, it is your optics that must be faulty. And as if you know anything about Seekerlet care.” You get the impression that Starscream would normally be preening in this scenario.

Wheeljack visibly bristles, and you can see him tense up as if raring to fight. What was with all these Autobots constantly itching for a fight?

“That sparkling ain’t safe with you, an’ I have the right to remove them from dangerous situations. An’ your presence definitely counts.” You don’t know him but he’s quickly shooting to the bottom of your favoured Autobot list. Hell, maybe you’ll take him off the list entirely. “They don’t know how much Energon you’ve spilled, you don’t have the right to claim them.” 

Starscream tenses slightly, barely noticeable but you catch it. You know that he’s prepared to fight to defend you, but this guy has done nothing but insult them since he got here. You’re kind of impressed Starscream hasn’t decked him already. Even the weird gun he has hidden in his arm stays decidedly out of sight. When you saw it earlier in the shootout, it was definitely alien in design, and scary to boot. You’re glad Starscream is on your side. 

“If they knew the slag that you’ve done…” Wheeljack’s optics flicker down to you for a klik, almost like a warning, then they meet Starscream’s again. “They’d run faster than a Wrecker from a swarm of scraplets.”

Skywarp growls low, Starscream’s joining in with a resonant frequency. But both are muted by your shrill voice.

“Hey, shut up!”

Wheeljack has the decency to look gobsmacked at your shout. Skywarp and Starscream look shocked as well, but blanketed with a hint of fondness. Your optics don’t shrink away from Wheeljack’s blue gaze, and you know you look mad .

Your servos are clenched so tight a pressure builds in your forearm panels. There aren’t vents there but you can imagine bursts of steam coming out your seams. “You’re just a bully! Leave us alone!” 

“Sparkling, listen to me–” He starts, servos up and placating. This is the first time he’s addressed you directly. He reminds you a bit of Optimus with how quickly he tries to shut down your justified anger. But you aren’t having it. You offline your optics and cover your audials with your servos. 

“I’m not listening to you, la la la!” It’s petulant and childish, but it is the first thing you could think of to piss him off. If he is going to be a bully, you are going to be mean right back.

He grunts, obviously frustrated, but that’s exactly what you want. It’s time for at least one of the Autobots to get a bit of their own medicine. 

“They’re bad news! You’re not safe with them!” His western voice is laced with concern which you decidedly ignore. “They won’t hesitate to hurt you for their own goals! I’ve seen them turn on Autobot and Decepticon alike, you can’t trust them!”

You can barely hear him, but somehow his words ring throughout your processor. Did he really think you would believe his obvious lies? You online a single optic to smirk up at Starscream expecting a returning smirk, but he doesn’t look down at you, instead keeping his gaze focused on Wheeljack. Glancing over at Skywarp, his expression can only be described as sick . His cheerful smirk from earlier has disappeared and it's been replaced by cold unease. 

Your smirk falters, a sour feeling turning your fuel lines to ice. Whatever Wheeljack is saying is bothering them. They aren’t retorting like they usually do.

For whatever reason, it just makes you angrier on their behalf. This guy waltzes up and starts insulting the Seekers and for whatever reason they’re just standing there taking it. It’s unlike them, and it makes you upset. The emotions swirl within your chassis like a tornado and soon you’re yelling over the sound of your furious spark.

“I said leave !” You throw out a servo, pointing to the nearest exit of the flight deck. The motion is harsh and aggressive, and it’s followed by the sound of panels shifting along your forearm. Your arm feels weird, but you don’t have enough time to react before something launches out of the panel and hits the floor a few metres from where you’re held. Whatever it is bounces twice and then rolls in a vague semicircle before it stops moving. There’s a small red blinking light on it, whatever it is, and after a few kliks the light starts to blink faster. 

Everyone is staring at the small thing now, Wheeljack included. The flight deck is unnaturally quiet. The Autobot even takes a step closer to the thing bravely when suddenly it explodes, making a miniscule blast radius and shattering the silence. It’s nowhere near big enough to do any damage to the floor or Wheeljack, but it leaves a small charred spot on the ground where it detonated. A small plume of smoke starts and fades as you make sense of what just happened.

Was that….a mine? A tiny bomb came out of your forearm. Slowly looking at the opened panel on your forearm, you can see a small device that could be a launcher of some kind. You have weapons? Is that allowed?

A few astroseconds later Skywarp whoops and activates the thrusters on his pedes to fly over to Starscream and you in record time. He grabs you from his brother’s shocked-still servos and tosses you in the air a few times for good measure.

“You’re as scary as a null ray, aren’t ya! You’re gonna be a terror in the skies.” He sounds elated while you’re still reeling. Dully you pick up a tension in his servos, like he’s compensating for something.

Neither Wheeljack nor Starscream speak, both seemingly too stunned to move. But while Wheeljack looks genuinely shocked, Starscream looks more sombre. He’s thinking about something, but Skywarp’s next words interrupt your swirling thoughts.

“You heard ‘em, get out of here.” He bares his sharp denta at Wheeljack, and you fight the urge to stick out your glossa. Wheeljack puts a servo up to his comm unit, and you presume he’s talking to another Autobot. His expression falls slightly, clearly unhappy with what he’s hearing. With a few more furtive glances cast your way, he’s clearly hesitant to leave but turns his pede anyway. 

His steps grow quieter as he moves away from your group, and he doesn’t say anything more before he’s out of sight. You turn to Starscream from your position in Skywarp’s palm to try and give him a small smile. Whatever Wheeljack said must’ve hurt his feelings pretty badly, and you attempt to make him feel better.

A chirrup escapes your intake, and it succeeds in getting Starscream’s attention. Skywarp coos from above you, but you pay him no mind. Red optics settle over your body, flickering briefly to the mini missile launcher as it folds back into your arm. 

Your optics look up at him expectantly, he probably wants to talk about what just happened. He’s probably proud you’re as deadly as him, right? You’ve even got similar arm launcher things! But he remains silent and stares down at you with an intensity that makes you weak in the knees. You’re still worried about him, and try to convey that feeling with your optics.

“Cheer up, Screamer. Did you see that? They fought for us! We should be celebrating!” Skywarp always seems to be the first one to cheer up the group, be it you or Starscream. You don’t know what’s bugging Starscream specifically, but he seems to snap out of it with Skywarp’s words.

“Very fearsome.” He nods in agreement but his mood still seems off. He’s meeting your optics, but not lingering. He’s not smiling either. Emboldened by your recent spectacle, you ask him outright without hesitating.

“Starscream, you okay?” 

Skywarp’s servos jerk imperceptibly from beneath you, as if he didn’t expect you to pick up on his brother’s mood. Starscream too, looks mildly surprised. He chuffs, as if trying to release his own tension, but your persistent stare has the desired effect. His shoulder pauldrons lower and before your optics his expression becomes sad . 

You suddenly feel horrible for asking. Who are you to try and play therapist for a giant ageless robot. There’s no way you’re even close to qualified in making him feel better, and if anything you’ll probably only succeed in making the situation worse .

But it’s too late to do anything now, except clutch at your own claws and listen.

“It is just…” He begins tentatively. Worry pools in your gut. “The only sparklings that have access to their weaponry at your frame size are ones that have needed to defend themselves.” His optics have a heavy weight to them, and you’re sure if you look up at Skywarp you’ll see the same expression. But you’re confused, why would it be a bad thing to defend yourself? A quizzical expression must show on your face, because he continues.

“Do you understand, little wing? A child would need to defend themself. A youngling felt that they were in enough danger and alone” he hisses that last word, “that their processor determined the only way for them to survive was to spend vital energy meant for growing on a single means of defending themself.”

You think you get it. Basically what he’s saying is that it’s wrong for kids to fight when they should focus on growing up. You online your vocalizer to reassure him but he’s not done talking.

“At the core of our base code as Cybertronians is the abhorrence of any sparkling coming to harm. This much is ingrained in every processor, be they Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral.”

“The fact that a sparkling should even need weapons connotes a situation where the youngling would need to defend themselves. Alone. That there was no full frame Cybertronian around to defend them.” He’s shaking now, just a little. “Do you understand , little one, why I cannot be fully pleased by your display of weaponry?” The red hue is blazing in his optics as he waits for your response.

Skywarp, too, is shaking beneath you. But you understand.

They’re not upset at the fact that you have weapons. They’re upset that you ever needed them in the first place. The fact you have them means that your body felt so vulnerable that your inner survival code made a drastic decision in order to defend yourself. And that they weren’t there to help you. Kinda like allocating space by deleting your previous memories.

The shaking isn’t because they are sad you needed weapons, they feel bad for not being there for you.

Craning your helm to look up at Skywarp, you see on his faceplate a look of deep emotion, which is a drastic change from his previous cheer. But alongside their sad mood, a swell of affection for the two Seekers erupts from your spark chamber like an overflowing volcano.

They didn’t even know you existed before, and they feel bad that they hadn’t been there. It seems so silly; they didn’t know about you at all and they feel bad that they couldn't have been the ones to help you earlier. They’re giant alien robots and they feel bad about something that’s completely out of their control. The absurdity of it makes you want to laugh and brighten their mood.

A different sound escapes from your chassis though, not a chirp or a chirrup like you’ve come to expect. Instead, the noise that leaves you sounds more like a song, with ebbs and flows of frequency that bring out the feeling of lightness you feel in your spark. It sounds like a high pitched hum intermixed with birdsong. You don’t try to suppress it, instead you channel it towards your Seeker protectors.

Starscream is briefly stunned by the sound but comes back to his senses quicker than his trinemate. “Seekerlet, this is not something to be gladenned by-” But he stops speaking when he sees the look on your face. 

You smile at him and reach out a servo to coerce his talon closer to you. It works like a magnet, his servo raises a digit to your cheek with pinpoint precision. You look up at Skywarp as you hold his brother’s servo to your faceplate, rubbing the talon into the malleable metal of your cheek.

“Thank you for caring about me.” Your voice doesn’t need to be loud, they can hear you just fine. “It means a lot.” There are more feelings you want to express, but they’re all complicated and hard to explain using words. Words like thank you for getting sad for me and you mean a lot to me too flutter about your spark. You hope your feelings get across with this meagre attempt, but some words are difficult to say properly.

The sadness is still present in Starscream’s optics, but it's muted through the curtain of affection you see swimming in the red glow. A little wet laugh escapes your vocalizer alongside the song, and you can’t remember if you’ve ever felt affection like this before. Starscream’s digit rubs your cheek in tiny precise circles and Skywarp rumbles his engine underneath you. Whatever has transpired between the three of you in this moment is going to be a memory that you’ll keep forever. Any thought of don’t get too attached is immediately thrown out, you know you’re in way too deep now.

You linger there a moment, the music emitting from your chassis binding the three of you in a trance. It flutters light within you, and the Seekers are bound to the sound as much as you are. Maybe even more; Skywarp even sways a bit with the sound. Starscream is as still as a statue, his optics glazed and unfocused, but he looks a little bit happy.

The song in your chassis slowly tapers off until it’s barely audible, and the emotional moment breaks. Skywarp shifts a bit as if antsy, elicits a fake sounding cough and breaks the warm companionable silence.

“Hey look, you can see Cybertron from here. We’re closer than I thought!”

Starscream’s helm whips around to where Skywarp is facing, so fast you’re sure you’d break a fuel line if you tried it. His lowered wings shoot up at the name of the planet and his optics search the darkened sky for the glint of Cybertron.

You can see the instant he spots it. His body freezes as if he’s been shot, and even the usual tell-tale twitch of his wings is still. Cybertronians don’t need to blink, but you’re positive he wouldn’t even if he needed to. 

Skywarp’s previous small watery smile grows into a cheek splitting grin as he too, refuses to gaze away from their twinkling destination. 

Looking up at them so entranced, you feel almost jealous at the fact their attention was so easily torn away from you. Feeling a bit childish at the sentiment, you allow your voice to be heard.

“How long’s it been? Since you’ve been there?”

Neither Seeker moves, neither helm turns to look down at you. Instead Skywarp responds without tearing his gaze away. 

“Give or take four million years.”

Four million years? Your processor reels at the concept of being alive and sentient that long. And you definitely underestimated how old these aliens are. Will you be alive that long? Will you ever change back to the way you were?

The look on their faceplates tell you that there’s a lot of deep emotion that these beings have for their home planet. You know so little about the place, despite it being the home of your favourite Seekers. And you wanted to know more about them, it’s hard to argue that this might be the perfect time.

“Will you tell me? About Cybertron? And about you both?” Your voice tapers off quieter at the end as you consider your next words. “And about Thundercracker?” You almost didn’t dare bring him up after this shared emotional episode. But your bravery from earlier hasn’t worn off quite yet, and judging from the lack of tension in Starscream’s pauldrons reassure you that you’re in the clear. 

His helm slowly tears away from the glittering speck in the distance to look at you fondly. A rush of joy hits your processor at the attention being diverted back to you, but it’s quickly staunched in favour of listening.

“Yes, of course. I would be glad to.” His usual rasp is soft like a wool blanket. He looks back to the distant flickering light but reaches his servos to you, making a bridge for you to climb over. Tucking you into his neck cables, warm and comfortable, the thrum of his engine soothes your battered tension. Skywarp allows the transfer, and both Seekers lean against a nearby building as they speak.

The purple Seekers snickers a little bit and you look at him curiously. 

“You don’t know this Seekerling, but you’ve accidentally stumbled upon Starscream’s favourite pastime.” He looks smarmy at his brother and juts out a thumb digit in his direction. “Starscream loves talking about himself.”

Starscream doesn’t even try to deny the statement, instead puffing out his chassis. “Of course, who wouldn’t want to hear tales of my conquests and successes?” His usual prideful stance is back, making you relieved. “Where to begin? My academic successes as a leading scientist during the Golden Age? Or my rise in the ranks to the post of Air Commander during the war? Or better yet, our Trine flight that was so spectacular we were awarded the title of Command Trine?” His ruby optics glance at you slyly. 

You’re so overwhelmed with the overflow of information, where to begin? Being alive for over four million years must mean they have a lot to share right? Silently you wonder if you’ll even have time to go through it all. 

Sharing a knowing glance with Skywarp, you address him instead. “Were you there too? During all that?” The Seeker in question chuckles and Starscream looks lightly miffed that you haven’t addressed him first. Skywarp leans more languidly against the structure and replies. “Oh yeah, Screamer wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without me. TC and I have been around since we were sparked together.” He waves an arm to belittle Starscream’s achievements.

Right, they must’ve grown up together. A memory of Starscream mentioning that Seekerlings are always born in family groups flashes in your processor. “Were there others? Other siblings I mean.” The concept fascinates you, and a brief image of five other baby Starscreams makes you want to laugh. 

“Nah,” Skywarp responds, tilting his helm to the side. “Just us three. And trust me, everyone who knew us around that time was thankful that we were only three.”

“ I was the natural leader, even from our first solar cycle.” Starscream cuts in, his rasp prideful as usual. “Someone had to keep these fools in line.” 

“In line?” Skywarp actually laughs. “If I remember, you were the one getting us in trouble in the first place. TC was always the one getting us out of trouble.”

You’re happy they’re able to bring up Thundercracker without getting sad. It can’t be easy to be talking about him when his passing wasn’t that long ago. As sad as you feel about his passing, you’re glad you can share a piece of him with his brothers.

“Without risk, we would not have gotten as far as we did.” Starscream retorts. “Command Trine, Air Commander, Second-in-Command, these were all achievements due to my ambition.”

“Half the trouble we got into was your fault though.” Skywarp points a lazy digit at his brother, who steams slightly. It’s all in good fun, you get the impression they’ve been bickering like this for centuries. Brothers are the same no matter what planet you’re from.

“I was not the one who almost invited Nova Storm to the Trine. Really? Her of all Seekers?” Starscream rolled his optics dramatically.

That name sounds familiar, so you look at Skywarp for clarification. He shrugs a little and shakes his helm. “What can I say? I look good in a femme frame, saw my opportunity and took it.”

Wait. Back up. Robots can change their gender? The concept of sex versus gender might be too complicated for this exchange, especially for robots, but you want clarification. 

“You had a femme frame?” You try to picture what femme Skywarp would look like. The purple colouring would definitely look amazing. 

Skywarp nods smugly. “You wanna see? I’ll send you a visual.” Just as he says so, an incoming file notification shows up on your HUD. Waving the possible virus warning away, the image pops up in a new window.

Femme Skywarp is just as fearsome as mech Skywarp. She’s sleeker and more angular in places, and has some killer features that make her look absolutely deadly. She’s way cooler than you imagine. Certain parts are daintier, like the tips of her digits and her abdominal plating, but you can imagine that she’s just as fast as the Skywarp you’ve come to know.

“If we’d known about you a few solar cycles earlier, you would have met her.” Skywarp seems wistful while Starscream scoffs. 

“Is it easy?” You can’t help inquiring. “Changing from mech to femme?” 

“It’s not a quick procedure, but it’s not a painful one.” Skywarp responds, a digit tapping his lip plate. “I did it for two reasons; one to see how good I’d look,” you can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his posturing, “and the other to see if Nova Storm would be a better fit if I was a femme frame like her. Making the group flights more balanced, y’know?”

You guess it made sense. With Thundercracker and Starscream being two mechs, and Nova Storm and Skywarp being the two femmes. More symmetrical that way.

“Which one am I?” You realise with a start that you don’t know. Your gender from before escapes you, as if it wasn’t even important in the first place. Did you have a designated gender that you didn’t know about? “Is my frame mech or femme?”

“Neither.” Starscream’s raspy voice replies. “Sparklings are always gender neutral until they choose when they grow to a larger frame size. All sparklings are referred to as ‘they’ until they make the distinction themselves.”

You’re kind of shocked. It’s extremely progressive in your mind, but you guess robots don’t consider things like gender and sex important. Just another way that human and Cybertronian culture differ. It makes sense now that you think about it. Not a single Autobot or your Seekers had ever referred to you as anything but they . It’s cool to think you’ll get to choose later. (If you’re still like this later)

“Can you change other things too? Like colour and shape?”

“If you are asking if we have the ability to choose a Grounder alt then your question is moot because we never would.” You shake your head at Starscream, that’s not what you mean.

“I mean, do you have to look the same forever, other than if you want to change your gender?” 

“We can change the amount of each colour we have on our paint, but the colours themselves can’t change.” Skywarp looks sharply at his brother. “Except for optics. Optics are changed according to allegiance.”

Hmm, that made sense why all the Autobots had blue optics and the Seekers had red optics. Did Barricade have red optics too? Was he potentially an ally? You’re minutely glad you have an easy way to tell now, but then again Elita-1 has blue optics and she’s a good Autobot. The situation is too complicated to simplify to just optic colour. You shake your helm slightly to unclutter your busy processor. Alien politics are complicated. Wasn’t the war supposed to be over already?

Starscream waves him off. “Yes yes, I had blue optics once, it is hardly a big deal. Not important, moving on.” You don’t get the opening to pry further before he continues. “What is important is filling in the important gaps in your knowledge.” You lean around his chin to get a better look at his expression. “Such as the illustrious history of Vos.”

Skywarp palms his faceplate good-naturedly, a smile hidden behind his servo. “Here we go.”

Vos isn’t a word you recognize. Is Vos a person? A place? You ask these questions to Starscream.

“Vos is the home of all Seekers on Cybertron; an impressive crystalline city built especially for flight frames.” He waves a servo at the speck you’ve come to recognize as Cybertron. “A place where the best of art and culture of Cybertron derive, and the very city where we were sparked.” You catch the tail end of a wink from your position. 

He delves further into detail. “Glittering skyscrapers that touch the clouds and the crescendo of thrusters creating a symphony of light and sound.” Nostalgia has him in a vice grip, Skywarp rolls his optics. Starscream continues his history lesson with great panache.

He goes on about Vos for a while, his voice shifting with inflections and boisterous comments. Skywarp even chimes in on a couple of details, usually to disagree with Starscream, but the smiles on their faces make it enjoyable. Some things are a bit out of your depth, but you’re having a good time regardless.

They even bring up Thundercracker a few times, mostly talking about their first Trine flight. Starscream paints a vivid picture of death-defying acrobatics entwined with perilous acts of aerial skill. You can almost see it, and you wish more than anything that there was a video recording you could watch, but you’re disappointed to find out that no such thing exists anymore. They would have needed a living witness to the spectacle, and as far as the three of you are aware, there are no other Seekers.

Skywarp chimes up that they could still show you, but Starscream elbows him in the abdominal plate causing him to wheeze. He doesn’t bring it up again. You understand that the reason is because of Thundercracker, so you easily let it slide. Skywarp probably spoke without thinking, so you try and get his mind off of it quickly.

“What will you do when you go back?” You hope the question gets their mind off of their brother, but instead it does the opposite. Starscream and Skywarp share a look and they’re both silent for a while. Almost like they don’t want to tell you, or maybe they’re just talking over a private comm.

That’s something you haven’t gotten used to yet; others talking over comms in front of you. At the beginning you found it a bit insulting, it felt like being personally excluded from a conversation. The more you spent time with these huge beings the more it seemed normal. This might be something to ask about later.

“Well,” Starscream starts, “First we have to see if the Autobots' plan works in the first place.” He sounds sceptical, but you catch a twinge of hope in his voice. A part of him must want them to succeed. There’s more to his tone, but you don’t pry further. Him and Skywarp undoubtedly have a history of fighting with the Autobots, and judging from the interactions you’ve seen, they aren’t exactly on friendly terms. The fact that you prefer their company over the Autobots is just a cherry on top. 

You’ve lingered enough on the flight deck at this point. And while you’re not tired per se, you’re finding it hard to come up with questions to ask them.

You’ve learned a lot; about Cybertron, about Vos, about how robots view gender? This is only the tip of the iceberg, and you’re excited to know more. But the Seekers notice you nodding off a bit, and their voices slowly take on a low quality. Before you know it, the gentle rumble of their vocalizers fade to low murmurs and whispers until no one speaks at all. The three of you gaze at the blinking light of Cybertron with three ideas of what may happen when you land on the surface. 

Stargazing isn’t something you remember doing before, but it’s nice to get lost in the vastness around you. You feel both grounded by the brother’s presence and incredibly free at the same time, what 13 year old kid has ever seen space this close?

Feeling safe and happy, you slip into a light nap. The last thing you remember as you offline your optics is the calming rumble of Starscream’s engine, warm underneath your plating, and Skywarp’s chuckle saying goodnight.

Chapter Text

Chap 12

Migration

From what you can tell of time, a few days must have passed. Cybertron grows closer every time you wake up, and your days (if you can call them that with the lack of sunlight) are spent with your Seekers.

They’ve rarely left your side since the latest incident. And to be fair, you haven’t asked for time alone yet either. You don’t want to be apart from them, and they don’t want to be apart from you, so it’s in your collective best interest to stay together. You’re happy, they’re happy, everyone’s happy.

Actually, the Autobots have been oddly scarce since Wheeljack’s departure on the flight deck. You get the impression that Elita-1 is giving each of them a stern talking to, and it’s taking longer than either of you previously expected. Optimus and Ratchet specifically you haven’t seen since the incident in the hallway, and it’s hard not to feel glad about that. They still give you a feeling that sets your denta on edge. You can’t help but hope things will be different after Elita talks to them. It simmers in your chassis, but you have other things to worry about.

The past few cycles have provided a wealth of information. With the truth of your origin behind you, an emboldened feeling allows you to ask anything and everything without fear of consequence. And amazingly, the Seekers answer your every question.

You learn so much about them, it’s hard not to feel giddy when faced with millions of years of alien civilization and knowledge. Starscream, in particular, seems extremely excited to return to Cybertron, and as you’ve learned, he prides himself on how much he loves his planet. He even brags that no one cares for Cybertron as much as he does, which is why he was always meant to rule it. (You’re not sure if this is some ongoing joke between him and Skywarp that you’re now privy to, he says it seriously, but you’re happy to be included regardless).

Skywarp takes you out onto the deck a few more times, your wing control becoming slightly better with each attempt. Transforming into your alt mode is still outside of your capabilities, but he says it's just a matter of time. You’ve even activated your pede thrusters a few times, scorching the metal panels of the flight deck, but the scuffs just make you and Skywarp grin happily at your modicum of success.

Your favourite moment within the past few cycles would have to be playing hide and seek with the Seekers. Once you introduced them to the game they were instantly on board, what with Seeking being the primary component of their culture , Starscream boasted. 

The initial hesitation that you felt when explaining the rules fell away immediately upon seeing the eagerness within their red optics. But they were huge giant robots on a ship literally made for their size, and you were the smallest being alive on board. Surely this would be an easy game. You start the game as the seeker while the Seekers are hiding, and you’re relatively confident the first round will conclude quickly.

Oh, but how wrong you are.

What you don’t take into consideration is the fact that they’re called transformers for a reason. Thinking like a human, you waved off a few hiding spots considering the shape and size of your winged guardians. While they were beings of hinges and pistons, you never stop to consider they can shift and move their body parts to fit the most outrageous corners of the ship. 

And while every being on this ship is made of metal, it makes for trickier than usual seeking when everything else is also made of metal. Skywarp even shows you this cool trick when you find him, changing the value of the purple on his wings to a deeper shade so that they blend in more with the shadows. (Where you find him is actually ridiculous. He was wedged in one of the blast crevasses on the flight deck, coiled and obviously uncomfortable. He was wearing a big smile when you found him, and you couldn’t help smiling back.)

After successfully finding Skywarp, you and he wander around the upper deck so many times that your legs begin to feel sore. Skywarp even offers to give you a hint to make the round go by faster but you adamantly refuse. 

Starscream is proving to be an absolute nightmare to find. For someone who is normally so eager to make his presence known in any given situation, he sure hides well. (Before beginning the game, the Seekers had set down some ground rules once they grasped the root of the game, and they didn’t want you to wander too far in case of an emergency. So you’re limited to seeking within the parameters of the flight deck, the hallway on the way to the berth room, and the berth room itself) That means obviously the largest area to search would be the flight deck, so you spend most of your time searching there. 

After fully giving up on the flight deck, you make your way to the hallway to search that area. On the way, you receive a comm notification from Starscream. 

: Leaving the deck without saying goodbye? I am almost proud of your ruthlessness.: His comment gives you pause. So, he must still be on the flight deck then.

: Bravo to you for dismissing my brother’s offer, there would be no way to know if he was telling the truth.: There is no way to know if Starscream is saying all this to get you off his trail either. You remain silent over the comm, but he persists anyway, chattering away in your audial.

: You spent so long searching out here, but to no avail. I, Starscream, am now the ruler of this game, and will accept your surrender at any time.: You almost want to laugh at his dramatics, but hold yourself back. He’s hamming it up for your sake, but there is a touch of frustration at the fact that you can’t find a giant robot on a mostly open concept flight deck.

When you reach the door of the hallway you turn to notice Skywarp snickering slightly. He clasps his servos behind his back in a guilty manner when he catches you staring at him and smiles cheerily at your stare. He’s definitely guilty of something, probably having something to do with Starscream’s location, but you don’t trust anything coming out of his intake when it comes to this game. It feels a little bit like they’re working together against you, but that only raises the stakes.

“Are you sure you don’t want my hint?” His voice is almost too high pitched to be considered normal, his grin a bit too tight. It would be so easy to give in. Just a tiny hint wouldn’t hurt.

But your pride won’t allow it. These aliens hadn’t even heard of hide and seek a few hours ago, and you won’t be deposed from one of the only human things you remember doing. You scowl back at his cheery smile and shake your helm aggressively. 

“I’ll find him. Just watch.” Stomping back to the middle of the flight deck, you try and come up with a different game plan.

You’ve already searched the nooks and crannies of the surrounding structures on the flight deck. You’re fairly certain that those areas are free of your remaining Seeker guardian. Unless Starscream was trying to get you off his trail by mentioning the fact he knew you were leaving the flight deck (that may involve some betrayal by Skywarp if that’s the case) you want to believe he’s somewhere out here.

He’s not past the gravity shield, and even if he was you’d be able to see him easily. You’re fairly certain that he’s not in the berth room as that’s where you started counting. The corridor was your last idea, but it was last because it was so narrow he’d basically have nowhere to hide there. Where could he be? 

Skywarp chuckling under his breath behind you isn’t helping your concentration, but now things are getting serious. With limited places left to search, you are close to giving up. But your pride spurs you forward as you recheck other areas more thoroughly. The purple brother offers to pick you up to get a higher vantage point, but you consider that cheating so you decline. He only shrugs in response and continues his aggravating chuckles. 

Your searching has reached a point where your pedes have passed the point of soreness to actually hurting from walking around so much. They feel warm, like lingering residual heat from your pede thrusters, but in an uncomfortable way. You have half a mind to practise activating them just so you could have a break from walking around.

Circling around the charred remains of your old room and finding nothing, you backtrack to the crater where you found Skywarp. There was barely enough room for one transformer last you checked, so you hadn’t felt the need to double check to see if there was more than one Seeker in the hole. But circling around again, you dubiously approach the crevice only to find familiar, glittering red optics staring up at you.

“Took you long enough.” Starscream rasps, the mechanical clicks and whirrs creating an audible background of his transformation out of the hole. He looked ridiculous, almost horrific in his positioning. His legs were backward and angled in an odd direction, but he gave no indication that he felt uncomfortable in any way. “I was beginning to merge with the flight deck. If you had taken much longer, I would have slipped into recharge.” He even has the audacity to fake a yawn once he raises himself from the hole.

Pouting, but proud of yourself, you cast a smirk his way. “I never would have guessed you’d use Skywarp as a cover.” You try not to sound impressed. “Your own brother. That’s cold.”

“On the contrary.” Starscream dusts some of the residual ash from the crevice off his armour as he rises to full height. “It is ingenious. I am tempted to tell you the exact time in which it took you to find us both, but I do not want you to get discouraged.” A fang peeks out of his intake. “It is almost shameful, however.”

Crossing your arms, you stick out your glossa at him.

“It is your turn to hide.” And without giving you even a second to catch your breath or revel in your victory, he begins counting.

You barely have time to react before running in the opposite direction looking for a hiding spot. You had come up with a few ideas while you were looking for the Seekers, but you hadn’t expected to have to implement them so quickly.

Judging from the fact that Skywarp hasn’t moved from beside his brother, it is going to be both of them against you. 

But you’re tiny , and the ship is massive, so you expect things to go smoothly. 

The spot that you had in mind is brilliant (if you do say so yourself). Heading towards the corridor, the door opens automatically at your proximity. Higher up on the wall is a vent that you had spied briefly on one of your many trips from the berth room to the flight deck. If you can activate that mine launcher thing that’s in your arm, you can technically remain in the corridor within the parameters with no way for them to see you.

You’ve been more creative with the mine launcher recently. There was no point in having it and ignoring it, even if it was a symbol that made the others uncomfortable, but you had tried to rebrand it into something less of a weapon and more of a toy. It was more or less unsuccessful, but it did have its uses outside of tiny angry explosions.

The plan goes well, with a few awkward gestures coaxing the mine out of your arm panel, but you eventually get it to work and you’re greeted with an angry blinking light in your palm. Throwing it into the vent, you back up and clasp your servos over your audials and wait for the tiny explosion.

It works like charm except for the lingering smoke that exudes out of the tiny vent. You crawl in, pulling the vent casing behind you, and back up a little bit into the shaft. Pinning your wings back allows you to fit into the vent with ease, even allowing for some space to fan some of the smoke out. It’s not too tight. How smushed you feel is overwritten by how pleased you are by this excellent hiding spot. But the din of Starscream’s counting voice has stopped, and you sense that you’re nearly out of time before the Seekers start to look for you.

Half a moment later, the flight deck door opens with a metallic noise, followed by Starscream’s voice.

“There. They’re in the ventilation shaft.” And before you can make a sound of incredulity, Skywarp’s servo reaches in and surrounds you.

Being pulled out of what should have been an excellent hiding spot with a frown on your faceplate, you address the brothers.

“No fair! How’d you find me so fast?”

Starscream rolls his optics. “You think after the last time I did not commit your energy signature completely to memory? Either of us could find you anywhere on this ship.”

“That’s cheating !” You stick out your glossa at him, sore that you were found so quickly. He sticks his glossa out right back. Skywarp laughs at both of you. Amidst the frustration, you still feel incredibly happy. 

Completely exhausted, you lay limply in Skywarp’s servo, even leaning back folding your wings outward. This was so fun, and while you’re glad it’s over, you now have more information on how to search for them next time you play. And maybe they’ll always be the ones hiding if it’s so easy for them to find you.

A smile makes its way onto your faceplate, and you sigh contently. Your usual worries have felt so far away in the past few cycles, and to be honest you haven’t even thought of returning back to your old body in that time. Which, realising it now, is as much a balm on your usually frayed nerves as it is harmful. The more you put off thinking about it, the more complicated it will be later. But not stressing about it is something that feels more healthy. So you take the middle road and ignore both for the time being, instead basking at the attention and the fun day you’ve had.

The Seekers carry you back to the berth room, lay you down in the nest of blankets, and you’re out like a light before you know it.

________________

The next time you awake, there is a hushed conversation in the room with you. Starscream and Skywarp are whispering amongst themselves, not over comm, very close to the nest. As you blearily gain consciousness, you catch bits of their dialogue.

“-arriving now, shouldn’t we all be present for landing?”

“What about the Autobots? I still do not trust them in the little one’s proximity.”

“Better us both there than only one of us guarding them here.”

“Hmm, I hate it when you make sense.”

Yawning audibly, you stretch your arms and feel your wings flutter simultaneously behind you. Skywarp is immediately at your side with a whispered tone. “We’re arriving soon, little Screamer. We’ve all been summoned to the flight deck for landing.”

Sleep is gone from your processor at the fact that the ship has finally arrived on the alien planet. Your first alien planet. Where your Seekers are from! You jump to your pedes at the same time as Skywarp comes in for a scoop.

The brothers nod at each other once Skywarp resumes his full height, and without another word between the three of you, you all make your way to the flight deck.

The sight that greets you through the familiar doors is not one that you’re used to. Instead of the usual outcrop of space, stars glittering in every direction, there is light . An expansive brightness makes you squint your optics for the first time in weeks (since you left Earth, surely), and once they adjust you get a closer look at your surroundings.

Firstly, the reason for the brightness is because everything is made of highly reflective metal. Everything shines in this unfamiliar world, and the closer the ship gets, the more you can pick out details that may be buildings or skyscrapers fallen into states of disrepair.

The ship heads for a large expanse of open space, either an empty field or perhaps a huge old landing pad. The ship begins its descent with an aggressive pulse of rear thrusters, drowning out the silence of the crew on deck.

Secondly, all of the Autobots are here, save for Wheeljack. He must be the one piloting, you guess. You can see Elita-1, though she doesn’t turn to look back at you. Instead, her gaze is fixed alongside the rest of the crew, on what was once a growing sphere of a planet that is now a spectacle wider than your whole periphery. 

The Seeker brothers take a step onto the flight deck, momentarily stunned at the vision of their home planet. They don’t speak either, and you can see Skywarp’s intake slightly open showcasing his reverence. Starscream is so still, even his usual wing flicker is absent.

This is the first time you’ve seen Bumblebee the whole trip. Normally he hid or was busy on the opposite end of the Ark II . He, too, stares at the glittering structures as they approach with a longing that makes you uncomfortable to look at. Arcee stands behind him, so you can’t see her that well from where you’re held, but you can imagine her expression is similar to his.

Optimus Prime is the only one who tears his optics away from the planet’s surface to look at you. He stares only for a moment, much shorter than his usual intensive stare, and the expression of guilt that flashes across his face tells you whatever chat Elita had with him definitely got through. A modicum of tension leaks out of your body at the realisation, and you feel slightly more comfortable in his presence than you were previously. If he’s feeling guilty, then that’s step one.

The only other figure aboard the flight deck is Barricade, who at first you hadn’t noticed due to his dark colouring against the equally dark shadows growing from the shining reflections on the flight deck. He’s standing next to Elita-1, his upper arm clasped in her servo, and a pair of glowing cuffs along his wrists. 

He’s huge, now that you get a good look at him. Almost as big as Optimus. And most unexpectedly, he has four sets of red optics rather than the usual two. (Starscream had mentioned that he previously knew of a Decepticon with a single optic, which sounded interesting to you, but he ensured you’d never have to meet him, whatever he meant by that.) It seems silly to think that it only takes a single servo and some tiny cuffs to subdue him, but they seem to be working just fine.

You can’t tell if he’s damaged, as his paint doesn’t show scuffs in dark spots the way that it does on yours. But you can see a few areas where the paint is more matte, less shiny, and you can guess that those spots probably still hurt. He’s massive, so you can guess that it barely touched any of his vital components, probably just paint scuffs.

His optics flicker to yours for the first time, and widen in recognition. You’ve never met face to face, only through the door of his cell, but he seemed nice enough the time you met him. You give him a small wave, even fluttering your wings a little to showcase your friendliness, but he looks away without waving back. Not that he’s able to, but he doesn’t smile back either. 

Kind of disappointed, you turn your helm to watch the same view as everyone else. The shapes are becoming more recognizable as buildings now, and the flashes have grown in length, nearly blinding you with their glares. Maybe it’s because you’ve been in space for so long, your optics seem more sensitive to light. They even well up with tears a little, making the shapes blurr and mesh together in your vision.

The duration of the descent lasts longer than expected, giving you a sense of the scale of the buildings. They seem to last forever the further down you go, and at this point you suspect that you’ll hit the planet’s core before long. The buildings, though in ruins, are easily taller than any buildings on Earth. With the scale of the ship as your guide, this is truly a world meant for giants. If you thought you felt small on the ship, you know it’s going to be nothing compared to the feeling of taking your first step onto this alien world. The starry sky, which was a constant, is completely obscured by the surrounding buildings, and the shadow of the ship glints its reflection off of the nearby shining metal panels.

Finally, finally you can see the surface. The terrain is more rugged than you expect, with millennia of fighting and decay littering the ground, and you can tell you’re in for a rough landing. But none of the Cybertronians move an inch, or even brace for impact. They remain stock still, and it looks like only you feeling nervous about the imminent rough landing.

You grip your servos further into the crevices of Skywarp’s palm and offline your optics, preparing for impact. And because of this exact choice you miss what happens next.

A blast is heard, then felt from beneath you, followed by Skywarp’s painful shout. The blast feels warm, and the heat is coming from beneath you. It’s followed in quick succession by a second blast, which causes the purple Seeker to launch you in the same way as he'd done a hundred times before. The taste of smoke fills your intake like a bitter pill, and you sputter. In the brief astrosecond of being airborne, you fully expect to feel Starscream’s servos underneath you at any moment. Your wings even flare instinctively like they’ve done a hundred times before. But before you can online your optics, unfamiliar servos scoop and cage you before the impact hits and the whole ship rattles. 

Without clear sight and fully shaken by the quick confusing events, you hear and feel the familiar sounds of transformation around you. Shifting plates and gears move in a blur, the dusty air whooshing by you before the sensation is gone completely. The metal servos are replaced by plush leather seats, and the loud screech of an unfamiliar engine roars in your audials.

The windows of the vehicle you’re in are tinted black and you can’t see out of them. What’s worse is the impact is still rattling your frame. The world is still rocking like an earthquake and you feel like you’re still in the middle of crashing. The car is also shaking with the rocky terrain. You’re going somewhere and fast . Whatever’s just happened still hasn’t fully hit you, but you can tell something’s really wrong . 

Skywarp sounded hurt . What happened? Was there someone on the planet that fired upon arrival? Who were you with now? It wasn’t one of the Seekers, since it was some kind of ground vehicle you are in, but it’s hard to tell from the inside. Your denta chatter from the rush of fear and adrenaline, and it’s hard to make out words. Plus, you don’t want to distract someone during a fight again resulting in another death on your record. So you keep your chatter to a minimum until you find it’s safe to speak.

You begin to count, same as you did the cycle before during hide and seek. You make it to thirty before a deep, slightly familiar voice gets your attention through the surrounding speakers.

“Phew, I think we’re in the clear.”

“Barricade?”

“We’re finally out of range. Status report?”

You pat yourself as much as you’re able in the shaking transformer. The terrain must be really rough here. There are no sore spots, but your processor is swirling.

“W-what happened? Did we crash?” Your words tremble, but they’re clear, thank goodness.

“Had to get you away, didn’t I? It wasn’t safe. Still ain’t safe, but we’re out of comm range so that’s a positive.” His voice is just as you remember it from the other side of the door, gruff with an accent you can’t place.

Nervousness creeps into you like bugs under your shirt. Were there enemies when you landed? When were you going back? Red optics meant he worked together with the Seekers at some point right? Even though he said they weren’t friends, you presumed they’re probably still allies.

“Did the Autobots do something? I-Is that why it isn’t safe?”

“They’ll never be safe, those Seekers neither. I saw my chance to save you, and while it was risky I admit, it worked! You’re safe with me now.” His tone is prideful in a way that makes you feel sick. The familiar realisation of being kidnapped hits you in full force.

You scramble to the door handle in a second, finding it unfortunately locked tight. Barricade brushes off your panic in a way reminiscent of Optimus. “Hey there, I know it’s a little bumpy, but I’ll get you somewhere safe soon.”

The cables in your neck tense with anxiety and anger as you yell at him. “Let me out! I have to go back to them!” You bang on the windows for good measure, the force making your servos sore.

Barricade hits a tight turn that makes you fall to the floor of the backseat in a tumble, but he apologises while chastising you all the same. “Careful there! I ain’t no medic, so I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.” He growls low. “‘Sides, those Seekers are nothin’ but bad news. It ain’t right that they’ve been keepin’ you. They ain’t the nurturin’ type.”

More slander against your favourite Seekers. “I don’t care ! Bring me back!” You use your pedes to kick the glass, but it’s hard to get the angle right. You pedes keep slipping without giving maximum impact. You have to get out of here.

The heated air from a nearby vent blasts in your faceplate, hot and uncomfortable. You get the impression that Barricade’s fighting some inner part of himself. You kick the windows a few more times to showcase your aggravation.

“You don’t get to choose for me! Turn around!” Your assault doesn’t stop, but it also doesn’t do any damage. What were these windows made of? Were they bulletproof? 

“Listen kid, you gotta fight your programming. You don’t belong with them, hear me? They’re no good for you.” His voice is calm despite the annoyance you can hear beneath his tone. “I know this ain’t easy to hear, but it’s all in your code. You imprinted on the worst slaggers Primus ever made, and you gotta fight it, so it’ll be easier in the long run.”

“ No !” It’s hard not to feel like a child throwing a tantrum when all you’re doing is yelling back at him, but you can’t think of anything else to do. The fact you’re doing so from the back seat of a car isn’t helping. A part of you knows like you sound like a petulant child that’s been told they can’t stop for ice cream. But you’ve got to get back to the brothers. Skywarp was probably hurt! And you know Starscream wouldn’t leave his brother alone, injured amongst the Autobots. 

Think. Think . How do you get out of this? Is there a child safety lock that you can disengage from the driver’s seat? Stumbling amidst the moving vehicle, you make it upright and fall forwards over the seat divider. No such luck, and you feel briefly winded by the impact. It’s far from cushioned leather in this section.

“Stop squirming and get down so you don’t hurt yourself.” Barricade’s voice has an edge to it, like he’s both worried for you and steadily getting annoyed. You ignore him in favour of trying to climb over the divider.

Which doesn’t go according to plan. Whether on purpose or by accident, at the exact moment you feel unsteadiest, Barricade makes an extremely sharp turn and you’re violently thrown backwards by the momentum. You don’t have enough time to react before a solid surface meets the back of your helm hard and it’s the last thing you remember for a while.

________________

Barricade tried to soothe his alarms blaring in his processor. Somewhere along the way, the sparkling had been knocked unconscious in the back seat, and his code demanded that he pull over and find the closest doctor for medical attention. He knew that was the Autobot medic, and there was no way he was going back. However they weren’t out of the danger zone yet, and while they were far out of comm range, the farther away they got from the ship the safer they’d be.

He couldn’t imagine this happening back on Earth when he had refused Thundercracker’s offer. He understood intrinsically that TC had been offlined by some Autobot protecting the sparkling in the middle of the fight, and had he realised they existed earlier he suspected he’d have done the same. Decepticon or no, a sparkling was in danger, and Thundercracker tried to do everything he could to get them to safety, which was admirable. If that was the way to go, TC definitely went out like a hero. 

Which is what he was doing now. The first and only time he had been released from his cell was to witness the arrival on Cybertron. The moment he spied the small youngling (were they always that small?) in Skywarp’s servos, he knew he had to come up with a plan to get them out of harm's way. The whole voyage he’d played nice in his stasis cuffs, never once trying to remove them or fight against them. 

But they were weaker than rusted chains. He knew the moment they were slapped on that he could get out of them with ease. Cuffs just weren’t made to detain mechs like him. 

Laying optics on a sparkling after four million years was like a bucket of the iciest water dumped directly on his processor. It was impossible, but they were right there. While alone in his cell he fought his own belief at what he saw. Had his optics been malfunctioning? Or had there really been a sparkling, a fragging sparkling , right there in the middle of a battlefield?

The small steps echoed in his memory files when the sparkling had approached his cell. He couldn’t stop himself from questioning the validity of their presence, and was both delighted and concerned to find how much they didn’t know . Were they raised on Earth away from their parental units? Where had they come from?

Barricade knew as soon as he saw those wings, flared and afraid on the battlefield that those Seekers were going to be a problem. With TC out of the picture, that poor sparkling was going to be with the worst caretakers this side of the Horsehead Nebula. He knew (and was right) that Starscream would immediately claim the sparkling as Trine property (those tiny wings be damned, they were still a Cybertronian under there) and pull some Pit-spawned scheme where they'd be forced to imprint on the slaggers. 

Barricade had no choice at the start, locked in his cell as he was. He could hardly fight for his claim, nor could he provide Energon for the sparkling when they needed fuelling. So he bided his time and came up with a threadbare plan for when he would be allowed on deck. Unfortunately for him, it took until the end of the voyage, but nobody will say that Barricade ever missed his chance. His patience paid off and as soon as he saw an opening, he took it.

Was it risky? Yes, but it was necessary. The longer the sparkling remained in the Seekers’ presence the worse the separation would be. 

So he shot Skywarp in the leg joint after snapping his own cuffs, elbowed Elita-1 in the faceplate, and shot the Seeker again for good measure. Once Skywarp was on his knees, Barricade channelled all his remaining energy reserves into revving his engine as fast as he could go, and snatching the youngling in his servos before taking off.

The harsh landing made for good cover, although he could tell the sparkling was rattled by the experience. All the dust and debris that was kicked up obscured the exact direction of his retreat, and he counted on the fact it would be a few astroseconds before anyone realised the sparkling was missing.

At the beginning, the sparkling didn’t even fight him, making him grateful that the imprinting protocols either hadn’t been activated or hadn’t ever been authorised to begin with. Then the rescue dawned on the sparkling, and they reacted harsher than he had expected. They thrashed and kicked, and while it barely hurt, it was seriously impacting his ability to drive safely on Cybertron’s rough terrain. Driving on the ruined highways of his homeworld and looking for somewhere safe to hide at the same time wasn’t easy, but the wriggling sparkling distracting him in his cab made it significantly more difficult.

At one point, he thought he spotted a shadow overhead, perhaps one of the Seekers looking from an aerial view. So he made a decidedly reckless turn into a nearby tunnel and felt the sparkling make contact with his rear window. They were silent after that, and that’s when the alarms started blaring.

Barricade had no choice but to keep driving, and he followed the tunnel as far as it would go. He had to backtrack a few times because of cave-ins and wide open spaces, but once he began to see familiar Cybertronian vegetation, he knew it was safe to exit. 

The Wastes, outside what remained of the Crystal City, were vast with cybertronic vegetation, overgrown, and perfect for hiding. The plants soared high above, uninhibited by the previous inhabitants of the planet, growing unchecked and unrestricted around the debris of the once great city. The usual shine of the crystalline building material was obscured by the darkened foliage of semi-organic cyber matter, lending an air of mystery and danger.

The crumbling skyscrapers of the fallen city created makeshift canyons surrounded by overgrown vegetation, lending the image of nature reclaiming what once was a glittering utopia. While it lent many advantages to his current state, Barricade couldn’t help but think of the ruins of his home city of Iacon, some distance away but closer than he’d been in millenia.

The canyons surrounding the ruins of the Crystal City were a perfect place for two Cybertronian refugees. There was enough raw Energon to sustain the plant life, thus there would be more than enough to refine to a consumable state. Barricade had to thank his lucky stars that there wasn’t anyone else around, otherwise the fight for resources would be ugly.

Still, this area was still too close and too open to the landing of the Ark II , so it was imperative to keep moving. Hiding out somewhere in the Wastes was top priority, and getting the sparkling checked over for damage was secondary, as much as it blared angrily in his processor.

Cybertron had other indigenous life besides Cybertronians, but more basic and feral. Cybercats and aviannoids made this reclaimed space a home, and Barricade theorised that if he followed the tracks he may stumble upon a cave or something to repossess as shelter for himself and the youngling. He was once again in luck, and found an area not too dissimilar from his hideaway on Earth. An expansive cave overgrown with cyber vegetation obscuring the entrance. It only took a few blasts from his cannon to expel the previous inhabitants, and they scattered in fear leaving the area vacant for his purposes.

He transformed within the confines of the cave, depositing the sparkling onto his servo. They weren’t leaking Energon, luckily, but they weren’t waking up. After a quick scan and finding them for the most part undamaged, he cradled the youngling closer to his chassis and prayed that they’d wake up without issue. With nothing else to do in the meantime, he constructed a basic berth using materials left behind by the previous owners of the cave and some fresh vegetation not far from the entrance.

Placing the sparkling in a crudely fashioned nest, he could do nothing for them but be patient until they woke up. The fresh vegetation leaked droplets of raw Energon onto their delicate plating, which made the small form look more feral and vulnerable than they ever had in his memory. 

So Barricade spent his time going through old memory files of maps of Cybertron and determining his exact location and where he intended to go next. This place was only temporary, and they’d need more refined Energon before long. Barricade could work off his reserves for a good while yet, his soldier training allowing for long periods of time rationing his energy, but the sparkling would need some before long. He had to prepare for the eventuality and provide for them to the best of his ability.

He admitted to himself that this was far from the optimal rearing situation that he would have wanted for a sparkling, but if the Autobots were successful with their mission, then hopefully Energon would be free flowing and available before long. Until then, he could refine the raw Energon in his own body to provide for the sparkling. It wasn’t his favourite idea, but it was better than nothing, and more importantly it meant survival. And the survival of this little creature was more important than anything in his processor, even overwriting his own. When they woke up, he hoped they would come to see that.

He also had to consider the outcome if the sparkling never woke up, or took a turn for the worse. Right now they were unconscious, a false recharge that probably knocked them into sleep mode by accident. They looked peaceful, and would probably wake up with a ringing processor, but they were still online. If they took more than a cycle to awaken, then Barricade would have to consider other medical options.

Every soldier in the war had some medical knowledge, especially after field medics became scarcer once the battles waged on. But it was the trickier stuff, like the inner processor problems, that required a medic’s steady hand to fix. Barricade hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but he was prepared to bring the sparkling to Ratchet if it meant they would survive. Their survival came before anything.

He looked down at his tiny charge, delicate and fragile, and felt a well of fear churn in his tanks. He was responsible for more than just himself now. Even as a Decepticon under Megatron’s rule, he was known for looking out for himself first, and had rarely been in the situation where he was in charge of others. He didn’t work well with Vehicons, and preferred to showcase his merit alone. There hadn’t been a time where he truly cared about another being besides himself, and he was finding the situation odd in his processor.

But with this small creature, this first new sparkling, he was now in charge of something more. And the thought terrified him.

Chapter Text

Chap 13

Vagrant

Thundercracker bolted upright. The movement was alarmingly fast for a mech who’d been in a temporary guise of death for over a week, and alarms blared in his processor at the shock the motion gave his systems. Pistons that had been unused in what felt like aeons pulsed with fuel and stuttered at the abrupt pulse of movement. He didn’t even care that the plan hadn’t progressed to the point where he could drop his act yet.

His brother had been shot.

Their Seekerling had been stolen.

His blaster hummed with the rage that he felt all the way down to his spark. Someone was going to be offlined today.

________________

A live video feed had been provided for Thundercracker by Skywarp, allowing him to participate in a detached way of the inaugural landing on Cybertron. The sparkling ruins of the Crystal City still glimmered with Cybertron’s distant sun, reflecting light into the optics of some of the few remaining of Primus’ children. Seeing his race’s architecture in this state brought both a thrill and deep melancholy to Thundercracker. While he was overjoyed to finally return home to where his race had originated, seeing it in this state was like a stab in the spark.

The Cybertron he remembered wasn’t like this. It was resplendent, refined, and cultured. This was the ruins of what once was; destroyed before the war began in earnest. The glittering panels of the crystalline city were cracked and warped in places, with some of the towering skyscrapers collapsed far below into piles of rubble on the planet’s surface.

Some still stood tall and stoic as soldiers in reverent salute as the Ark II welcomed back the chosen few. The structures cast long shadows on the deck from all angles, creating a cinematographic display of light and dark passing over each other in a visual dance. It was as mesmerising to watch as it was deeply depressing. The reflection of the Ark II grew more clear the closer they came to landing, and Thundercracker forced his optics to watch. His spark hurt at seeing his home like this, and he knew deep down that Vos wouldn’t be in much better condition. 

But then Skywarp looked down, just for a moment, allowing the feed to highlight the look on the Seekerling’s faceplate. Thundercracker’s worries washed away with the serene expression.

Their faceplate exhibited a small childlike awe that brought a new hope to his spark that Cybertron would be rebuilt for them , for this new generation of Cybertronians. Without his training, his optics would have watered at the fierce emotion that flared in his core. This was the Cybertron of the past, that the Seekerlet had been so eager to hear about. He was seeing his home through new optics, still fresh and pure, unmarred by the cruelties of war. Just maybe, things would be all right.

They had a small smile on their faceplate, intake open in reverent awe without reservation. Their green optics shone with the light of his home world, and they, too, were as breathless as everyone else on the flight deck. Wings raised and finials high, their shiny gossamer armour glinted in the light of his homeworld. And while Thundercracker could barely remember to save this recording to his memory folder, he found he couldn’t look away. And while not a single spark watching the arrival on Cybertron could tear their optics away, Thundercracker was as captivated by the youngling in his brother’s servo.

But it was only a brief glance and Skywarp looked back up, switching the feed back to the descent, unable to divert his attention away from the imminent landing. It wouldn’t be long now, but neither Thundercracker nor either of his brothers said a word on their shared comm. This was a moment of quiet reverence, and the mood was heavy with introspection.

From down in the cargo hold, Thundercracker knew the halls would be empty save for whoever was in charge of landing, but he couldn’t risk his roaming form being seen walking the halls when he was still under the guise of death. His ruse had been perfect. Not an inch had moved in so much as a week, and the Autobots were none the wiser. The closest he’d gotten to ruining the plan was the Seekerling’s unexpected visit, but he had stayed true to Starscream’s plan and stayed absolutely still. The only thoughts swimming through his processor was the remaining time before he was able to throw his guise to the Pit and scoop the sparkling up as much as his spark desired. They’d never touch the ground for a vorn (if they were amenable to that) and these were the only thoughts that kept Thundercracker sane in the impenetrable silence of the cargo hold.

But his reverie was shattered when the live feed was cut, and all he felt was pain through his Trine bond. Skywarp had been shot and he could no longer see the status of the sparkling. 

A second wave of pain burst through the bond, and he could hear the hull begin to rattle with the impact of landing. Sending an emergency comm to Starscream, he shouted through the voice link.

: Status report! All I’m getting is waves of pain from ‘Warp! What is going on up there? Are we under attack?:

Starscream didn’t respond, but Thundercracker could feel a tsunami of emotions crashing through him. Anger, confusion, shock, and hesitation pulsed in fiery intervals, and that was enough to get Thundercracker’s fuel lines racing. 

Whatever happened was not going according to the plan.

The landing rocked the cargo hold stronger than he had expected; a few storage containers had broken open and were spilling their cargo of Energon cubes onto the floor. Some cubes cracked, spilling vital Energon onto the surface and splattering up their neighbours, but Thundercracker lay steadfast, unmoving despite it all.

He needed information , Primus dammit all. With the turbulence happening both upstairs and ringing throughout the ship, he had no choice but to lay and be patient.

After what felt like the longest astrosecond of his life, he finally got a comm, but it was worse than he imagined. Skywarp’s voice sounded pained, but his words drove a chill into Thundercracker’s spark.

: T-took…:  the comm was laced with static and full of hurt. : He took…the little one…:

Thundercracker’s fuel lines ran red-hot with rage, both for his kin and their charge. Without another word, he deactivated his temporary stasis lock and sat upright on his makeshift funeral slab. 

Someone was going to pay for this.

________________

Starscream couldn’t go after Barricade. He silenced the need to berate himself. But if he had just stopped and thought about it for a moment, none of this would have happened. He prided himself on his edge, that no matter how many years of so-called peace passed, he’d thought he was still as sharply honed as the day the war began, never losing his fierceness and edge.

He should have known, more than anyone aboard, that Barricade was not easily subdued by standard stasis cuffs. He even had the brief thought that perhaps the Autobots had developed something stronger during their alliance with the humans over the years, being the faction with the most resources and personnel in recent cycles. But that thought had left as quickly as it entered his processor, and he, as well as the entire Autobot crew, were stunned into shocked, distracted reverence at the arrival of their home world.

He had assumed that Barricade was just as stunned.

He had assumed that Barricade was the least of his worries when it came to the Seekerling, having never interacted with them even once.

He had assumed the landing would go smoothly, and his carefully laid plans were set to enter their next phase.

Starscream wanted to blast the flight deck to smithereens. This was all his doing. Some Air Commander he was, forgetting to factor in all the variables before implementing the next step. He was no rookie, this should have been a simple operation. 

He knelt next to his still smoking brother, who’s knee joints were badly damaged. The blasts had been well aimed and precisely executed, hitting their mark with a precision no doubt learned from vorns on the battlefield. Barricade was a Decepticon, and knew exactly where to aim to incapacitate his opponents.

Starscream supposed he should be grateful that his brother wasn’t dead, only injured, but his pride was still bruised by their decided loss. The goal had never been to kill Skywarp, it had always been the sparkling.

Barricade stole their blasted Seekerling . 

Using the rough landing as cover was inspired, Starscream wouldn’t have surmised that Barricade had it in him to come up with that plan on his own. But Starscream wouldn’t have put the Seekerlet in danger like that, or any plan that would risk the little one in any way.

It hardly mattered. They had to move now and Starscream was frozen with choice.

He couldn’t leave Skywarp, injured in the presence of the enemy. A lone Seeker was a dead Seeker, and a thousand alternatives swarmed his processor as to their possible next step. Well acquainted with plans going awry, no one could accuse Starscream of not having back up plans. He considered a few more options but before he could come up with a viable solution, an alert stopped his processing in its tracks.

Thundercracker made the decision for him, leaving him scrambling to pick up the pieces of the remains of his crumbling plan. Without any regard for their original plan, Starscream could hardly blame him for acting without orders. His spark signature flared to life amidst the settling air of the now-still ship, and Starscream had to come up with a new plan and fast .

Their connected bond was a flurry of emotion where there was normally stillness. Worry for the sparkling, anguish for their injured brother, rage at their former ally, pain and regret seeping through the seams of their armour. Proud Vosians, the Command Trine, outwitted by Barricade the Grounder of all mechs. 

They’d get their Seekerling back. And Barricade was going to hurt for this.

The Autobots were stumbling on deck, looking as rattled on the outside as he felt on the inside. Good, their panic would only add to his deception. He just had to distract the Autobots for long enough to give Thundercracker some cover to leave without being noticed. Elita-1 was sprawled onto the charred rubble where his sparkling was once kept imprisoned. She nursed her bruised faceplate as he warred within himself at the many injustices that had been done to the poor creature in the short time before being in their charge. 

He hadn’t seen the hit directly, the one where Barricade attacked Elita-1, he’d only heard it. Everything had happened so fast his audials didn’t even register that the stasis cuffs had been broken until the first blast had already rung out. His brother’s flash of pain was the first indication that something had gone wrong, showing how much his attention was diverted until after the shot had already made its mark. The second shot distracted him long enough to miss Barricade’s swift movement and swipe of the Seekerling. Starscream only had a brief glimpse of their wings spread in a way reminiscent of their usual tossing game, before being obscured by Barricade’s large black servos and getaway into the ruins of the Crystal City.  

Ratchet rushed to Elita-1’s side, where she shoved him away in lieu of aiming his attention towards the still-smoking Skywarp. It was when her optics searched for the Seekerling in Skywarp’s care, then in Starscream’s, and seeing no sign of them did he see the true outcome of the incident dawn on her faceplate. Shock and anger painted her expression in fiery colours, she was doing well keeping her growls low and guttural.

Starscream could see the realisation creep over the medic’s faceplate a scant moment after Elita-1’s, his expression turning from surprise to horror to rage. Starscream could see his servos clenching on empty air, as if he were holding himself back from throwing a punch. Instead he yelled across the din of the flight deck, Ratchet’s voice cutting into the audials of all present.

“Where’s the sparkling!?”

Skywarp wheezed and Starscream placed a servo on his brother’s pauldron for support. Before he could say anything, Skywarp beat him to the punch.

“T-taken.” He hacked a static laced cough. “Barricade has ‘em.”

The Autobots all stilled as a unit, with Ratchet’s voice overcome with the shock of the news. 

“Well what are you waiting for? Fly after them!” The doctor’s voice was laced with anger and fear, and his blue optics raged at Starscream who only squeezed his brother’s armour tighter.

The nerve of the medic, thinking he could order him, Air Commander Starscream, like some common footsoldier. Ratchet knew that the Seekers would be the fastest at retrieving their stolen charge, but Starscream couldn’t leave his Trinemate alone in such a vulnerable position. His servos were tied, and Thundercracker would be upon them soon. He was running out of time.

Upon seeing Starscream’s lack of movement, Ratchet’s helm turned to Optimus, expression distraught. “Taken! What if they’re hurt? I need to be there!” His servos were raised to his leader in a pleading fashion, but they did not make contact. Starscream could see the medic’s servos were trembling.

Optimus Prime’s faceplate was impassive, a thousand and one thoughts probably swarming his Matrix-ridden processor. He let out a pulse of calm in his frequency, alleviating the shaking of his medic, but there was a layer of trepidation laced in the undercurrent. His Autobots all looked at their leader with rapt attention, awaiting orders as to what to do.

Elita-1 moved to stand from her prone position, and Optimus shot her a fierce look. They clearly communicated over a private comm for a brief astrosecond, before Optimus’ voice rang out on the flight deck for all to hear.

“No, Elita. You will remain here with your designated duty. We cannot risk both the sparkling and the safety of the Emberstone with your rash actions. There are others here that are more qualified to retrieve them.” Optimus Prime turned his fierce blue optics to Starscream, and for a moment the Air Commander forgot how similar the Prime was to Megatron. Both were war leaders, wide in stature and forged for battle, no matter what the years of peace had done to soften their image. 

For a brief moment Starscream was afraid, but then Optimus’ heavy stare turned to the flight deck’s entrance door and Thundercracker walked out.

The Autobots didn’t move. How could they? It had been a Primus sworn fact that Thundercracker had been offlined a mere week prior, and that much was certain for the duration of the voyage. They had all seen his colours fade, the proof of his demise. Yet here, with internal code blaring that this image they were seeing was wrong , the Autobots could not tear their optics away from the spectre.

Optimus only nodded at the revived Seeker, and Thundercracker took to the air a mere klik later, transforming without ever speaking a word. Then Optimus Prime’s optics lay once again on Starscream.

“I am presuming you have a very good explanation for this.” His voice was cold and cutting; this was not a request. They were no longer honoured guests, grief-ridden Trinemates aboard the ship, and now he had his brother laying seriously injured at his side. Starscream was going to have to talk a lot to get out of this.

________________

When you awoke, your helm throbs with a dull pain and a high pitched ringing in your audials. Images and memories come back to you slowly; the landing, Skywarp’s shout of pain, Barricade’s blatant kidnapping, the rough drive–

Cybertron.

You’re here.

You open your optics with a snap, and quickly regret the decision. Though it isn’t as bright as it was during the landing, it is still brighter than the artificial lighting of the ship. Wherever you are is dimly lit, with beams of light pouring in from one agonising direction. The first thing you notice is the material you’re laying on; some kind of scratchy dried vegetation that you’ve never seen before, and a few plush shiny leaves with stems that leak a familiar looking bluish liquid. Squinting, you look down at your own plating to see it dotted with the small drips of Energon, though it smells significantly less like battery acid from what you remember. It smells like warm pennies and moisture here, a smell you’ve never experienced before. So this is what an alien planet smells like.

Getting to your elbows and rubbing the back of your helm, you’re relieved to find no mark from where you hit yourself. Your finials are also undamaged, you’re lucky that they didn’t bend or break with the There’s no damage, it’s just a bit sore, and there’s nothing leaking from the nearby seams. You don’t have a squishy brain anymore, just a processor, but you don’t want whatever life-giving liquid your body runs on to spill out of your body, you’re much happier with it  staying on the inside .

From your slightly improved position, you get a good look of your surroundings. It’s definitely a cave of sorts, with some alien vegetation blocking both the entrance and some of the incoming sunlight, but the plants have a metallic quality to them and they’re a colour you’ve never seen on a leaf before. The veins sparkle with Energon like the bioluminescent tentacles of a deep-sea squid, and they have a sheen to them that boasts a hardiness far above what you’re used to from Earth plants.

The ground too, has a metallic quality to it. There’s still dirt, but it’s more mineral rich, like there’s a high quantity of iron in it. You dig your digits into the soil and find that it’s not as dense as you expect; like this dirt was sifted on purpose. Your processor confirms that there are more metals present in the soil than Earth’s dirt, but it doesn’t give you more information than that. Wiping your servos on your chassis to get rid of the residual grit, you look around for your newest captor.

Barricade is nowhere to be seen, though you can presume he’s somewhere nearby outside the cave. There are small signs of life in here, but other than unfamiliar animal prints, you can’t see any wildlife. There wasn’t a lot of time to discuss topics of cybernetic wilderness before you arrived, and you grip your arm panel in frustration.

Don’t get discouraged. You can get out of this. He doesn’t know you’re awake, but you don’t know where you are (other than on an alien world). You have the element of surprise if you need it, but you gotta be smart about this.

Getting to your knees as quietly as you can, you raise a servo to your audial to activate your comm system. Maybe if someone was close by, they could hear your signal!

But you ring for both Starscream and Skywarp, and your comm unit cheerfully explains that they’re both out of range.

Damn. What did Barricade say on the way here? That you were out of comm range? So unless they enter your comm range, you’re out of luck.

You want to swear, but the only one that seems appropriate is the alien one you’ve been hearing a lot lately. It doesn’t feel good to think it, worse yet to say, so you keep your frustration to yourself. Opting instead for biting your lip plate and trying to come up with a plan, you’re slightly pleased that you’re not feeling the usual need to cry as you would have a week ago.

Okay, time to evaluate your situation. What do you know? And what does Barricade know? You chronicle your current information.

One: You’re on Cybertron, and out of range of the Seekers.

Two: Judging from the vegetation, you’re not in any of the cities you’ve heard of.

Three: Barricade doesn’t know you’re awake, and he probably doesn’t know you’re armed. That’s good.

Four: You can hover just a little bit, but you can’t fly.

You really want to swear. The only good things are the fact that you have two surprises that Barricade doesn’t know about. He probably doesn’t want to hurt you, but he won’t be convinced to bring you back to the Seekers. Whatever he was saying about fighting your programming was absolute scrap! You’re not with the Seekers because of some internal imprinting system!

Right?

Doubt creeps up on you, and you shut your optics trying to focus on separate topics. Time to do a full system check of your current status. This was well overdue, but it hadn’t seemed important before. But if this world is made of and created for cybertronic life, then maybe something in your own processor could help you.

There is still so much about your own body and abilities that you are unaware of. You got the gist of it from the brothers, but nowhere near the introspection that you feel you fully need to understand yourself.

Activating your HUD, a cheerful little  icon states that your last system check had been completed nearly 20 cycles prior. Hmm, probably when you were still in the storage container. Lots has changed since then, but there is no time to reminisce.

You are very familiar with your comms unit at this point, only accepting comms from recognized Cybertronians. A sparkling’s firewalls are fierce when it comes to unauthorised access, needing some admin access to disable, but you can never figure out how to access the administration files. Most of what you’re able to do at this point doesn’t require admin, but it's something that may become a snag later.

Your weapons system pops up in a new window, showcasing a diagram of your miniature mine launcher that you know instinctively will barely scratch the paint on Barricade’s thick armour. It’ll be good to keep this information from him, the fact that you have weapons at all as a sparkling your size is rare, as you had been previously told.

The ‘settings’ section of your processor gives you a basic overview of your abilities and functions. It is separated into a few categories, but you decide to tackle them one at a time in an organised manner.

Your name slate is still listed as blank, as well as your gender selection. These are unimportant and they won’t help you get back to your Seekers. The age selection proudly boasts your age as you remember it, 13 years old, and there’s a small wheel showcasing your completed process towards your next frame size. There’s barely a smidge of colour on the wheel, symbolising that you’re a ways off from upgrading. So no imminent magic evolution will save you here.

Your list of contacts is small, and besides Barricade, they’re all out of range. All of the Autobots are listed, and all of them as well as the Seekers and Thundercracker are shown as far away. You had only briefly met him before he passed, but you’ll hold onto that contact forever in memory of him. Your Seekers are probably still with the rest of the Autobots, all the way away on the ship’s flight deck. You hope Skywarp is ok. The last thing you’d heard from him was a cry of pain, and then you were whisked away. You’re getting tired of this.

A status button brings you to a series of windows that showcases the reports of damage across your body. It’s minimal, and exactly what you expect, but there’s two extra details that draw your attention.

The first is a bar that shows your current energy levels. You’re sitting right at the 50% mark, meaning you’re at half power. And without any Emberstone charged liquid nearby (you don’t think there’s any around, at least) it’s a good idea to reserve power. You pay close attention to the bar, knowing that the lower it gets the more it uses up memory space to compromise. You’ve lost enough already, and you can’t disable it without the goddamn, fragging admin system. 

The second thing you notice in this section is a line that reads No Current Status Ailments . Previously this must have been where the Flight Sickness was showcased, but it seems without your attention it must have been cured somewhere in the meantime. This was great news! You’re all better now! But a sour feeling crawls into your processor; you can’t share this good news with the Seekers.

Slapping yourself in the cheeks, you try to snap out of your funk, promising yourself that you’ll tell them once you see them next. No compromises, you’ll make sure you see them again.

The last overview category is your alt-mode schematic. The amount of time you’ve spent pouring over the image trying to find some sort of key that allows you to transform is far longer than you would have liked, and you have nothing to show for it. The Scorpion looks back at you impassively, and you would give just about anything to be able to transform right about now.

The concept of flying out of here is a pipe dream, but if you can figure out your alt mode it’ll be a walk in the park. Barricade’s a Grounder; if you can fly, he’d never be able to catch you. He’d never risk shooting you out of the sky, and from there all you’d have to do is find your way back to the ship!

But you have no idea where you are, or how to navigate this alien planet. Who knows what kind of dangers lay outside this cave? The concept alone is terrifying, but never seeing the Seekers again is worse. A makeshift plan is already forming in your processor, but it’ll take time.

If you play nice with Barricade and work on your transforming in secret, then you might be able to scrounge up useful information and find an opening to escape. The only risk would be running out of energy prematurely, but that was a risk you’re ready to undertake. 

Emboldened and nervous, you stand from your crouched position and face the entrance of the cave, preparing to face your first steps on Cybertron, the alien world.

Pulling the wide-leafed vegetation away, a vision of an alien jungle greets your vision. Plants overtake odd shiny structures that look foreign even to your alien optics, and even your scanner can’t determine what they are.

Seeing Barricade nowhere in sight, you call out for him.

“Barricade?” Your shrill sounding voice doesn’t carry far in the sprawling jungle. The leaves and alien plant matter muffle your voice a bit and it doesn’t echo like it did in the hallways of the ship.

Your pedes crunch a few loose leaves on the ground, each leaf bigger than your helm and still flush with life. A few alien animal footprints are present in the dirt, as well as an alien print that could only be Barricade due to its size. He was here, but he isn’t here now.

The sky is an odd colour, from what you can see through the canopy. It’s a burnt orange colour, and you hope it doesn’t signal an oncoming sunset. You have no idea how time, night versus day works here, and the idea of being here alone at night without even Barricade scares you. 

You begin to yell louder, only to remember that you have a comm unit and nearly smack yourself with your foolishness. Raising a servo to your audial, you comm your kidnapper.

: Barricade? Where are you?:

His reply is instantaneous. : Sparkling, status report.:

You sigh, but keep it to yourself. : My helm is sore, but I’m ok. Are you far?:

: I’m makin’ my way back now, don’cha worry. Stay close to the cave entrance and I’ll be there in a klik.:

: Aye, sir.: You respond sarcastically, and end the comm. Barely a few seconds later the sound of leaves crunching under tires and a loud engine signals your kidnapper’s arrival, and your performance of a lifetime is about to begin.

The one thing you’ve learned about these giant aliens is that they seem to turn into goo whenever you do something they think is cute, so you’ll turn up the ham dial for Barricade until he’s giving you the information you need to navigate this terrain. It may take a while, but you’re prepared to do whatever it takes to get away. A small part of you is embarrassed at the show you’re about to put on, but you brush the thought aside. Whatever it takes. 

Maybe the Seekers will even be proud of you for escaping on your own, but you think back to the conversation you had with Starscream concerning your weapons. Sparklings weren’t supposed to be fending for themselves. But with this situation happening more often than you’d like, you don’t really have a choice. 

The sound of transformation heralds Barricade’s entrance, and his tires are dirty from his romp in the forest. He shoots you a sharp toothed smile and kneels as much as he can so that you’re closer to the same height. It’s nowhere near enough for you to stop craning your neck, as huge as he is, but you lightly appreciate the gesture.

“Where were you?” Your voice sounds meek, even to you, but it works for your act.

“Scoutin’ the area. This place is fine for a temporary shelter, but we can’t have you livin’ in a cave, can we?” His smile is equal parts natural and fierce, like a sword trying to be a kitchen knife. Both dangerous and sharp, but meant for entirely different tasks.

You nod in an attempt to placate him. Your wings flutter behind you nervously, and you pray to whoever’s listening that they don’t give you away.

“How’s your fuel level? You low on energy? I can process some–” 

You shake your head more aggressively, interrupting him. “No! No, ‘m fine. Thanks for asking.” You shuffle your pede a little to emphasise your meekness. It has the desired effect, and he reaches a servo down, giving you an option to climb aboard.

Being in the servo of a giant robot in the middle of an alien forest is way better than being on the ground, even if he is your kidnapper, so you accept and climb aboard. His servo feels rougher than the Seekers, and the plating is definitely more dense than theirs. Your armour in comparison is thinner than tissue paper, and these digits could easily squeeze the life out of you if they wanted. But Barricade won’t hurt you, physically that is, and you know instinctively that he’ll protect you from anything that might want to hurt you in this jungle.

“Where’re we going next?” Trying not to leak your nervousness out of your voice, you try to get your first piece of information from him.

“Well, I’m thinkin’ of heading to Polyhex to see if there are any resources there that can still be used. But Kalis also ain’t that far from here, and it used to be an Energon storage hub during the war, and wherever there’s Energon there’s bound to be some good stuff. The only issue is Kalis; it used to be run by Autobots, and we don’t want to risk runnin’ into them there. An’ I know Polyhex from my Decepticon days, so it’s more familiar to me.”

He’s giving you more information than you thought he would right off the bat, but none of it sounds familiar to you. Polyhex? Kalis? You don’t know those cities, or at least you don’t know where they are in conjunction with the cities you have heard of. 

“How far away are they?” Maybe you can get an indication at how long you might be travelling for.

He obliges easily once again. “A few cycles in each direction, but each direction brings us closer to the Rust Sea, and I’m not lookin’ forward to drivin’ through there with you in my cab.”

You bring your optics down, sorrowfully. “‘m sorry. I don’t mean to be a burden.” You mean it, too, which helps your ruse. This whole time you’ve been a robot you’ve been so angry at yourself for being so useless, but Starscream helped you come to terms with that with his babies shouldn’t have weapons talk. You miss him. And Skywarp.

Barricade immediately crumbles at your downturned mood. “No, no! Scrap, that’s not what I meant. I was only sayin’ that it ain’t safe there, and I don’t wanna put you through it. It’s full of corrosive gases and your armour’s real thin.”

You nod, but keep your sad expression. “You’re right, Barricade. My armour isn’t anywhere near as tough as yours. Thanks for keeping me safe.” And just like that Barricade’s demeanour changes from awkward to preening. If he was anything like Starscream, he might like being praised by someone much smaller than him. It seems to be working so far, so you keep that in your back pocket of things that are working thus far. It makes you feel a little slimy for doing so, but you’re not lying. His armour is thicker than yours, and he is keeping you safe, even if he’s the one that put you in this situation in the first place.

“So what’s our next step?” You ask innocently, meeting his four red optics with your two green ones. He pauses his preening to hum thoughtfully. 

“I’m thinkin’ Kalis first, an’ if we don’t find anything good then we head to Polyhex. How’s that sound? I’ll make a wide drive so you can see the Rust Sea from afar, but we don’t have to drive through it.” You nod, better to agree and leave this forest. Cities have maps, and with some luck you’ll get a better clue as to your location. Unnamed jungle isn’t exactly on any map.

“Sounds good to me. Are we leaving now?” Glancing up at the sky, it’s darker than it was before. Maybe the sun is setting. The coming night sends a chill of apprehension up your spinal strut.

“In a bit, jus’ gotta cover our tracks.” He seems pleased, something else besides you must have him in a good mood. He’s awkward, but you’re getting a grasp on his personality pretty quickly. Nothing has gone wrong so far and the first step of your plan is already in motion. Once you know where you are, you can start finding your way back.

“You can sleep in my cab while we travel, sorry about the rough terrain earlier. I’ll make sure it’s smoother for you this time ‘round.” You force a smile and shake your head.

“Mm-mm. It’s ok. You told me not to move around a lot and I didn’t listen. I’ll listen this time.”

He nods back at you sagely, which is an odd motion coming from him. Like he’s trying to act like a knowing big brother or something rather than the kidnapper he is. Just play along, you tell yourself, and things will be fine.

He grabs a nearby small tree that is dwarfed by his massive size, and begins brushing the tracks you previously noted away, a few hundred metres in all directions. You remain in his servo the whole time, never touching the ground, as the light fades through the trees signalling the beginning of night. After huffing appreciatively at his work, he throws the tree far over the canopy and it lands somewhere distant where you hear it crash. 

Then without any warning he transforms, the servo you’re sitting on shifting and moving you around until you feel the familiar plush leather seats beneath you. The heating is hot as you remember it, but not uncomfortable. It settles over you like a warm blanket. Despite your best efforts, you actually feel a bit sleepy, and you listen idly as Barricade revs his engine. 

“I’ll wake you when we get to the Rust Sea, kay?” His voice comes out of the radio and the surrounding speakers, but not too loud. You murmur your thanks, and make yourself comfortable in the cab. 

The interior is reminiscent of the military vehicle you slept in weeks ago when you were first brought to G.H.O.S.T. headquarters. It feels like so long ago, and it reminds you of what it was like in Starscream’s cockpit when he was transformed.

You miss your Seekers with a fierceness, and your optics burn with unshed tears. But you don’t cry, and you fake a yawn that hopefully disguises your watery optics.

The invisible tether tying together you and the Seekers feels tight and uncomfortable, like you’ll only be comfortable again when you’re with them again. You hold onto that tightness, that discomfort, using it as another motivator for your plan. 

You curl up on the expensive leather, wings tucked behind you and out of the way in case the drive gets rough, and you clench your servos together tightly like a prayer.

You’ll make it back to them. It was just a matter of time.

________________

Thundercracker soared overhead, barely taking in the sights of his home world. He was on a mission, and nothing was going to distract him.

He knew deep down that he should have waited for Starscream’s order before breaking his guise, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His instincts screamed at him to go after the Seekerling, overriding his leader’s orders.

His fuel lines felt like they were on fire, his thrusters dispersing any clouds to less than vapour with the speed he was travelling. Barricade was going to be on the wrong end of his Sonic Boom before Cybertron’s sun set, he promised himself.

Thundercracker followed the plume of dust that Barricade left behind until the buildings made him have to slow down to navigate. Thundercracker knew that Barricade was adept at escaping enemy fire, one of his skilled traits that kept him alive during the war, and it only fueled Thundercracker’s ire further. Tighter and tighter turns were needed, and the trail was beginning to cool. They were getting farther away, and he could feel the range between them widening.

It made his tanks churn. Every klik where the Seekerling wasn’t in his servos was agony on his senses. They were probably so afraid, once again torn from the hard-won place where they felt safe, trapped again where they couldn’t see the sky. Thundercracker had promised that this would never happen again, but here he was.

The worst part was that he knew that Barricade had the advantage with this terrain. The fallen skyscrapers created makeshift high cliffs and canyons, dangerous manoeuvring for even the most skilled flyer. So he soared high, hoping to get a more wide vantage of his prey. 

In the distance, a barely distinguishable plume of dust faded, giving Thundercracker a clue of the location of his quarry. He accelerated his thrusters to maximum output, ignoring his screaming energy reserves; if he kept it at this pace, he wouldn’t have enough Energon without having to return to refuel. 

He shot towards his target, even catching a flash of black paint flickering off the reflections of the surrounding crystalline towers. But just as Barricade turned the corner, he disappeared, the dust cloud dissipating until nothing was left.

Thundercracker soared higher again and circled twice like one of Earth’s birds of prey. But Barricade was nowhere in sight, and the trail was growing colder by the klik. He swore. He wouldn’t give up.

Easing up on his thrusters in preparation for landing, he found the ruins of what was once a highway where he could descend without losing too much speed. He transformed, hitting his pedes on Cybertron’s soil without a thought and took off running. Wherever Barricade had vanished to, it must be visible from the ground. He wasn’t a trained scout like Bumblebee, but even he could do some basic tracking.

The direction of Barricade’s tire tracks aimed out of the Crystal City, rather than deeper within it. Thundercracker knew Barricade from their shared faction during the war, and knew the black ‘Con wasn’t stupid. There’s no way he’d go back into the city closer to where the ship landed. His first act would be to get as far away from the ship as possible, then find a place to hide and regroup.

But there would be no back-up for Barricade. Unlike the Seekers, Barricade was truly alone out here on the ruins of their home world. He had made the thoughtless decision to take the Seekerlet out from under his very own watch, and there would be no one to save him from the Trine’s wrath. Worse yet, he stole the Seekerling before Thundercracker could spend his allotted time with them. All those pensive moments dreaming about the look on the young one’s faceplate when he would be announced alive, the joy on their expression, all of this was torn from Thundercracker by Barricade’s idiotic decision. Barricade was going to pay for this, and the rage fueled his tanks with righteous fire.

There, some fresh looking tracks made a semi-circle in the debris. A sharp turn was made here by a heavy vehicle mode recently, which could only be Barricade. Thundercracker followed the direction of the tracks until he was met with the mouth of what was once a service tunnel of the Crystal City. He no doubt went this way.

Unfortunately, this service tunnel could have any number of endings, requiring Thundercracker to search them on foot. Without a Grounder alt, he had no choice but to navigate the tunnel on his own two pedes, as his wings only barely allowed him to fit in the narrow space. He cursed under his breath. Comming his brothers to let them know his circumstance, and ventured forward into the tunnel.

As expected, he received no response from either brother, only receiving a wave of urgency in lieu of reply. They were no doubt busy back on the ship, but Thundercracker couldn’t spare their predicament a thought. He had more pressing matters to focus on, and every astrosecond that ticked by was one where their Seekerlet was getting farther away.

At this rate, he may not reach them by sundown. The tunnels were winding with many exits, and Barricade even had the nerve to backtrack down a few to throw ground pursuers off his trail which Thundercracker didn’t appreciate. It meant more time in this Primus forsaken tunnel, hidden away from the sky and away from his charge. 

Even as a full frame Seeker, Thundercracker didn’t like spending long periods of time in tight spaces without any view of the sky. He wasn’t some first framer that was easily susceptible to Flight Sickness, but every moment down here made him think back to when the Seekerling first entered their protection; how small and sick they felt in his servo. He may not be susceptible, but he hated thinking about all the scrap their poor Seekerlet had been through prior to their claim, and this place only seemed to amplify those negative thoughts. 

There were a few sections of the tunnel that were cracked, allowing a scant few rays of sunlight to pour through, and Thundercracker was grateful for every one of them. Each one merited a klik of rest, the trickling breeze giving him a renewed burst of energy to carry on his mission.

He wasn’t going back until he had the sparkling in his servos. It was just a matter of time.

Chapter Text

Chap 14

Territory

“Hey sweetspark, take a look out the front window, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Barricade’s voice brings you out of sleep slowly, the lack of urgency in his voice allowing you to wake without panic. Briefly, you’re confused as to where you are, on these unfamiliar leather seats. Where was your warm nest of blankets and the comforting presence of a nearby Seeker?

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you rub your optics and feel your wing joints pop from their cramped position. Light peeks through your sleepy optics and the sickly orange colour seeping in through the window surprises you. With your curiosity peaked and brow ridge furrowed, you get to your knees unsteadily and peer out the front window.

True to his word, Barricade had woken you when the Rust Sea was in sight. Off to the left, just peeking out through some of the assorted foliage, is an aptly named wasteland of shooting geysers and acidic looking clouds. It’s not a sea in the way you thought; there’s no liquid anywhere that you can see. Instead, the Rust Sea is more like a desolate expanse of scary looking desert, with juts of rusted structures making the visual look the furthest thing from habitable. Plumes of smoke burst out of fissures in the surface, and the distinct lack of any vegetation makes it look even more alien than what you were expecting of a sea on an alien planet.

The contrast between the organic looking jungle and the Sea of Rust is huge. You’re on the edge of the Wastes and the severe divide between here is life and over there is death is stark. Seems that Cybertron, like Earth, has many different ecosystems; some more friendly towards life and some decidedly against it. The visual of the Rust Sea, even from this distance, makes you feel uneasy. Like your body knows it’s made of metal and it instinctively fears what can harm it. It reminds you of the common fears humans have, like spiders and snakes.

“Scary, ain’t it?” Barricade’s timbre brings you out of your thoughts. “No one’s sure exactly how it started like that. Some say rust worms, some say poisonous oxide sharks, but no one knows for sure.” Having his voice reverberate from around you started off as weird, but you’re getting used to it. It’s like surround sound or listening to someone speak with your ear on their torso. It starts low and rumbles through your whole body, but you remember your promise to yourself that you’ll escape before you get too used to it.

“Any creature that lives out there is bad news. Not only does that acid eat through armour, but there’re also monsters out there that would make it hard to recharge peacefully. I have old Decepticon coordinates on how to get through safely, but no way of knowing if they’re still accurate.” You shiver, and you notice that his voice takes a placating tone when he notices. “Don’t worry little spark, this is as close as we’re gettin’. We don’t need to go through there to get to Kalis.”

Watching the alien landscape go by, you’re reminded of your history lesson with Starscream the cycle prior. (Had it really been only yesterday?) At the time you had been excited to arrive on Cybertron; the fear of being so far away from Earth and everything you’d ever known having been wiped clean by both brothers’ nostalgic remarks of their past. It didn’t seem so scary when they spoke of it with such reverence, like a living being. They made the voyage feel more like a field trip, or like accompanying a friend to their hometown you’d heard so much about. And it was true, in a way. Except the hometown, in this case, was a home planet and there was an entire race full of cultures and quirks and languages that you knew next to nothing about. 

You’d heard passing mention of the Rust Sea, but didn’t think you’d get to see it. The brothers had been pretty secretive about what they wanted to do once they arrived. Thundercracker’s funeral (or whatever constituted a Cybertronian funeral) was a notably absent topic of their already vague plans, which you had chalked up to them not wanting to think about it. Even if they had shared a few stories about him recently, you didn’t want to push it and make them sad by constantly bringing him up.

Now that you’re here, looking at the scenery without them, the ache in your spark feels like a physical weight. You’d imagined setting foot on this new planet with your Seekers at your side, not in the middle of nowhere Cybertron trying to find your way back to them. There’s a part of you that hopes they’ll be proud of your efforts, of your planning on how you’ll get back to them.

Deep down you know what they’d say. Starscream would probably say something along the lines of keep alert, you are a fearsome Seeker and don’t forget it, and Skywarp would say something comforting like keep trying, and we’ll be together again in no time . These thoughts give you a small sense of comfort, knowing that as long as you’re motivated, you can get back to them.

The jungle is still pressing from around you, leaves whipping by as Barricade makes his way at terrifying speeds. It doesn’t feel fast from the inside, but you can barely focus on anything you see outside before it whips past beyond your vision.

You wish you knew more about Cybertron before arriving. It would have helped your planning tremendously, or at least made you feel more confident before trekking out on your own. It’s inevitable that you’ll never be able to get back in one trip, especially since you haven’t even had a chance to practise transforming discreetly yet. There’s a nervousness that comes with thinking about camping out in an alien wilderness by yourself, but you’ll do anything to get back to them. Whatever it takes.

“Barricade?”

“Yes, little spark?”

“How much longer ‘til we get there?” The fact that you’ve literally stated the veritable slogan of annoying kid phrases is not lost on you, but it adds to your act. So far Barricade’s been open to answering all your questions without getting suspicious, so you’re eager to get as much information as possible before he catches on.

“Recharge a bit longer and we’ll be there by the time you wake up.” Looking out the front window, the sky is a dark purple colour despite the bright orange plumes. Does Cybertron have nighttime?

You nod sleepily, the previous exhaustion still present in your systems. Chirping softly, it would be easy to slip back into recharge. You hadn’t felt it before, but without any space to flare your wings, they’re starting to get sore. If the next time you wake up you can stretch, you’ll be happy.

The rest of the drive is spent slipping in and out of recharge. Gone is the previous full body exhaustion that you’d felt after fighting Barricade tooth and nail when you realised he first took you. Whatever helm injury you had didn’t seem like it was going to be a problem yet, but you were slightly worried that it would become something severe if left unchecked. It still felt a bit bruised, but Barricade wasn’t making a big deal out of it, so you presumed it’s not that serious. But you had no way of knowing if you were bleeding internally. Or maybe you’re fine? The uncertainty made you wish briefly for Ratchet of all mechs; at least he would give you a detailed explanation of your presumed injuries. Even though he was bad, he was still a doctor. You could do nothing but hope it wasn’t serious, or that it wouldn’t be a problem later.

Idly checking your energy levels, you note that they’d gone down faster than you thought while you were recharging. Maybe your body focused extra energy on healing your injury? Did robots even have self-healing or did they need to go to a doctor for everything? And if they are robots, is a doctor different from a mechanic?

Your sleep-addled mind is a flurry of busy thoughts and pop up windows, making it difficult to concentrate on recharging. After trying and failing a few times, you use the tip of your talon to idly scratch at the smooth surface of the leather. You start with just lines, then a tic tac toe board, then you scratch it out. You’re just about to start writing something when Barricade speaks up, his voice startling you.

“Would you quit scratchin’ at my leather?” He sounds annoyed, and you immediately clench your servos into a fist, suddenly afraid. A small tremor makes its way up your spinal strut and you feel your finials pin back. You can’t help your body’s immediate reaction when any negative reaction is aimed your way. If Barricade gets mad at you, there’s definitely no way you can fight back against a mech his size.

“S-sorry.” You stutter softly, the fear making itself known in your voice.

Barricade groans, less annoyed and more concerned now. “‘S not your fault. It jus’ itches.” You get the impression he'd be rubbing his helm sheepishly if he were transformed. The image doesn’t make you any more comfortable. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Try as you might, you can’t change your body’s instinctive reaction to shake whenever you feel vulnerable. Barricade might not be annoyed with you as you previously thought, but you’re still reminded of the fact he could crush you easily if he wanted. You’re still a little robot in a big robot world, and no matter how cool and new and interesting the outside world is, it’s still dangerous. Barricade has made no move to hurt you so far, at least on purpose, but he’s still kinda scary. Kidnapping aside, you don’t want to be on his bad side.

What happened to your previous bravado? Without your Seekers at your back, giving you the courage to stand up to these big bullies, you’re back to being the small weakling locked in a storage container. You didn’t realise how much you relied on them until you were on your own, and the thought scares you as much as it depresses you. 

Barricade seems to feel your sudden demeanour shift and sputters a bit with his vocaliser, but you don’t catch what he’s saying. Too wrapped up in your melancholy, you curl up tighter in the seat and shut your optics one more time. Maybe you can fall back into recharge and things will be better when you wake up.

________________

You don’t know how long you’ve been in the back seat, but when the outskirts of Kalis are finally in view, you’ve never felt more eager to escape the back of Barricade’s cab and stretch your legs. You’re unsure how long it’s been exactly, your internal Earth clock having long since disappeared once you left Earth’s atmosphere, and you’re not sure how to tell time on this new planet. 

Your wings are cramped after being unable to spread fully in the back seat, and you watch the structures outside the window grow in size at your approach. Trying to stop yourself from physically vibrating as Barricade slows down, you clench the seats briefly with your sharp digits before remembering his previous irritation. You don’t want to make him any more annoyed than he already is most of the time, and while you pride yourself in your maturity, being yelled at feels terrible. Better to stay on his good side and keep up with the facade.

As you look out the window, you notice that the buildings are surprisingly intact from what you’ve come to expect from Cybertron. With only the ruins of the Crystal City and the Wastes as your comparisons, it looks almost inhabitable. As you pass the first few buildings on the outskirts, still overgrown with vegetation from the Wastes, you try to glimpse through the windows to see if anyone still lives inside. Both heartened and disappointed each time, you wonder if the Seekers would feel as bad looking at their home world so lifeless as you do.

Barricade is barrelling through without hesitation, with a confidence that there is no nearby enemy to combat. His tires crunch over broken glass and rubble alike, the sound fading to a din as you go deaf its consistent noise. His bold approach to Kalis is evident in his personality; he’s a big tough Decepticon and there’s not a whole lot of beings out there that can hurt him let alone kill him. You understand that he’s being a bit more cautious with you aboard, but you’ve noticed that he sometimes makes reckless driving choices that would send Ratchet into a coma. A few extremely tight turns and a jump that made you queasy were necessary in your journey to Kalis, but he seemed to revel in his speed, even showing off in some cases. At each instance he has the forethought to warn you before he does something reckless, but your abdomen and helm still feel sore so you take it cautious. Better not make your injuries worse before you’ve had a chance to practise flying.

The worst part is that you can see some of the similarities between him and the Seekers, if you look closely. Mainly with how they all hold themselves with a certain confidence and with a sharp personality to match. There is still a lot about the war you don’t understand, but you can see connections that wouldn’t have been obvious previously. You chalk it up to a Decepticon thing. Maybe this Megatron guy was similar?

The purple symbol seen on Skywarp’s wing was the Decepticon logo, you learn. The same symbol appears on Barricade’s chassis when he is transformed, and while you didn’t bring it up, it's hard not to recognize that all of the Autobots had a red symbol in a similar position. For beings that swear up and down that the war is over, why did they still feel the need to keep their symbols? Factions run deep, you guess.

Barricade had attempted a few times over the journey to endear himself to you, with mild success. A few times he had opened up conversation rather awkwardly, usually mentioning something about the landscape or the weather. When you don’t respond the way he’d hoped, he grumbled a bit and fell silent for a while. But every now and again he’d mention something that caught your attention; like things called Sharkticons or Insecticons that sound so cool and alien that you forget you are on an alien planet yourself. During those instances, you could almost believe that you were just on a road trip with your weird, awkward uncle, only smack yourself internally and remember your mission.

His temper was the hardest thing to get used to. When he encountered something aggravating on the road, he usually yelled without warning, causing you to curl up instinctively. He had to stop himself a few times when that happened, usually quick to apologise or swear at himself, but you could tell he was doing it less and less once he realised the effect it had on you. Either way, it was something you were both getting used to, and there had been an equal amount of successes and failures along the way. His first instinct in any situation was definitely violence, and that only inspired your drive further to get back.

The travel time between the Crystal City and Kalis could have been hours or days, you’re honestly unsure. But with how much you fell in and out of recharge, you suspect that this might be the second solar cycle of your kidnapping. Far longer than you’d like to be away.

Your black-clad kidnapper didn’t speak as you entered Kalis. The buildings grew tighter on each side until the vegetation grew sparse, then disappeared entirely. The light of Cybertron’s sun casts a warm glow on the buildings, but casts equally dark shadows, creating corners of foreign, scary looking places. You fight back a shiver.

The crumbling road winds until Barricade slows down more, eventually coming to a stop outside what looks to be a giant abandoned arena. He transforms as silently as he’s able, the louder than expected sound continuing to echo in the silence of the dead city. Transferring you from his cab to his servo with a stiff grace, he surveys his surroundings and finally speaks.

“Well, Kalis ain’t much to look at. But let’s see if they’ve got any goodies locked away, hmm?”

You nod without looking at him. You aren’t exactly sure what he means by goodies here, but you suspect that anything can be considered useful when you have nothing. You’d kill for a blanket from the nest, but you doubt that’s the quarry that Barricade is after.

He transfers you to the ground, your small, shiny pedes a stark contrast against the cracked and gravel strewn surface. Barricade returns to his full height and approaches the arena-looking building. Waving a servo to draw your attention to him, he voices his actions with a gruff voice.

“I’m goin’ to search around this Energon Storage Outpost. I won’t be long, and you’re welcome to come with, but it’ll be quicker if I look alone. You stick around here and don’t wander off, yeah? Unless you wanna join me?” His open servo is an equally open invitation.

Looking around at your barren surroundings, you shake your helm and try to give a trusting smile. “Mm-mm. No thanks, I’ll stay out here.”

His servo retracts and turns to face the main building. “Suit yourself. Don’t go far, an’ comm me if you need anythin’.”

Giving a small wave you reply, suddenly tense. “Will do. See you later.”

His broad back quickly disappears into the Storage Outpost, leaving you alone.

It’s hard not to make comparisons, but you’re grateful that he left you alone. You couldn’t imagine either of the Seekers leaving out by yourself in the middle of a barren city, but then again, Barricade had given you the choice to join him. Maybe not the best kidnapping qualities, but if it helps with your task, you aren’t going to complain.

Your first task: learn how to fly for real.

Looking around the ruined buildings, you spy a toppled structure that would work perfectly as a makeshift ramp. It’s more than a few feet in the air, maybe two storeys up? And at the bottom is pure rocky concrete. Moving some of the sharp looking debris out of the way, you line up with the makeshift ramp and prepare for your first test run. If you can get some speed, maybe you can take off! Your theory is the longer you’re airborne, the more likely your survival code will kick in and transform you into your alt-mode. In your worst case scenario, you can still activate your pede thrusters to slow your descent a little. It’s definitely risky and incredibly terrifying, but in your mind nothing is more scary than never seeing the brothers again. 

Shaking out your servos to rid yourself of any residual nerves, you take a running stance and take a deep unnecessary breath. Wings pinned to your back in an aerodynamic position, your pedes dig into the gravel and you lunge forward with a burst of speed.

You’re faster as a Cybertronian, all gears and cogs specially designed for quick movement. Your human body, or what you remember of it, would never have been able to move this fast. The moment your pedes dig into the rocks, you’re intrinsically aware of your body’s natural design for speed. The realisation gives you an extra boost of bravery, spurring your energy forward, and angling your body to a more sleek position as you jettison up the ramp to prepare for your jump. The edge approaches quickly and before you lose your nerve you push off of your pedes with all your strength, lifting up into the air.

You focus on flaring your wings, squeezing your optics shut as you pray for your transformation to finally hit. But instead, the familiar feeling of gravity captures you, and you plummet towards the ground with equal, unflinching speed.

Activating your pede thrusters, you hit the ground somewhat painfully, though the reverse thrust takes the edge off. You skid, kicking up small plumes of dust, and the rough pavement scrapes your shiny finish. You land on your knees hard, scuffed but not bleeding. There’s no leakage, but you don’t feel good. It hurts, but not as bad as you feel on the inside. Another failure. 

But you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and assume the position again. Shaking out your servos in an attempt to get rid of your burgeoning nerves, you steel yourself. Another try.

Getting into position a second time, you ponder what went wrong in the first place. Maybe keeping your optics open this time will help? Something about seeing and visualising where you want to go sounds useful in theory, and you don’t exactly have any other ideas. Shaking off your nerves (even more nervous the second time now that you know how painful the landing is) but you resign yourself to another try. Your plan is pivotal on the facet of you flying out of here, and you try to convince yourself that this pain is necessary for you to succeed.

Angling your pedes, you set off once again in a run, this time making sure to keep your optics wide and open. Approaching the ramp with less speed than the first run, you cast off in the previous way; wings spread, big jump, optics open this time. The surrounding buildings cast a shadow on your attempt, as if challenging your confidence.

This attempt leads to failure as well, gravity pushes on your body and your form refuses to shift. You land heavier than the first try. Your arm on the concrete first, hard, and your thrusters activate a touch too late to negate the impact as it did before. You roll once, residual momentum continuing to throw you farther out, and you land on a wing painfully. You don’t even have a moment to suck in a breath before you cry out in pain.

Winded and upset, you lay on the ground for a moment and breathe heavily. You make no effort to move, too hurt both outside and inside to even want to continue.

Why can’t you do this? Was your T-cog broken? You know you have one, the schematic made that perfectly clear. Is it something to do with the fact you weren’t born a transformer? Why the frag can’t you transform?

A few tears leak out of your optics and roll over your faceplate before landing on the dusty ground. Your cheek is steadily creating an imprint with the rocks of Kalis. It’s so frustrating not being able to transform, especially now when you need to. Before, with the Seekers, it was more a matter of wanting to transform. Now it’s a veritable need . You had imagined a hundred times the look on their faceplates seeing you transform for the first time, the ability to fly together being a fond dream. But with every failed attempt the dream drifts farther away into unattainable waters, leaving you drowning on dry land. You clench your servo tightly, tiny talons digging into your palm, adding to your growing list of pains. You must be the only Cybertronian, Terran or otherwise, that can’t transform.

And if you never learn how, you’ll never get back to the Seekers.

Closing your optics, you take stock of your injuries and go through your alt-mode files for what seems like the millionth time. The files are exactly how you last left them; with no information on how to access the program to begin with. To make things worse, there’s even a timestamp with a date and time that cheerfully announces when you apparently already transformed for the first time? Which you legitimately have no recollection of. It’s maddening to think that you may have already transformed once and you don’t remember it at all. Stupid body, stupid survival code.

A small keen makes its way out of your intake in pain, the dull ache from your wing blooming into a steady pulse of discomfort, but you’re thankful nothing seems broken. Giving your wing a small flex, the pain feels more like a bruise than break. You’ll need a moment to rest before trying again, and your body wheezes its agreement with you. Propping yourself up on your elbows, the many areas of scuffed metal alert you to their presence, and you drop back to the ground on shaky limbs. Maybe just a few more minutes then.

The next thing you know is Barricade’s voice, loud and obtrusive. Couldn’t he see that you were trying to sleep? His stomps grow louder and shake the gravel that’s embedded itself into your faceplate.

“Sparkling report! What happened out here?”

Groaning, you realise you feel terrible. And not flight sickness terrible, your outer shell feels like it took a beating. When did you fall asleep? Why were you on the ground?

Your memories take a second to flash in your HUD, and you groan a second time out of embarrassment. You only meant to rest for a moment before trying again, but it looks like your practice time is over. To make things worse, now you gotta come up with an excuse as to why you’re in this position.

Slowly getting upright, a few rocks that had gotten lodged in your joints pop free and return to the ground. You begin to stretch, but the aches make it hard for you to lift your arms.

As you online your optics, you notice the shadows are longer around you, and the air feels cooler. How long were you out? A brief flash of your energy levels shows on your HUD, and you fight your instincts to keep your anxiety secret. Your energy levels read 30%, a steadily decreasing number that’s ticking down faster by the cycle. It feels like a ticking bomb inside your chassis, steadily counting down until you offline.

“Uh…” You begin speaking, trying to get a good grasp on Barricade’s current mood. He looks annoyed, which you’ve come to understand is his faceplate’s default expression. His red optics shine over your body in a way that feels intrusive, like a scanner looking for imperfections. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that he sees nothing but imperfections when he looks at you, especially right now. In his servo is a familiar cube of Energon, unopened and clenched in a vice grip. You idly note that if he squeezes any harder it will definitely shatter. The blue glow glints off his shiny black armour.

“I was…” You look around desperately. “I was playing.” You pray to whatever gods might be listening that he doesn’t press the issue.

Barricade grunts, obviously unimpressed and not buying it. But to your unimaginable relief he lets it slide and instead focuses on your injuries. “Playin’ pretty rough, looks like.” And you nod, relieved he’s playing along.

“Well it’s a good thing I found this then.” He gestures to the cube in his servo, his grip significantly lighter on the glass. “Nothin’ like a good swig to re-energize.” He flicks the corner off in the same way that Starscream had done back in the cargo bay, and you realise with dread that the same events are about to play out.

You raise your servos as much as you’re able to without wincing and try to explain. “Uh, actually…” Barricade takes a step forward regardless, the rocks on the ground jumping at his weight distribution. “I actually…don’t drink Energon. Or at least, I can’t drink it.”

Barricade looks briefly perplexed, but doesn’t stop his approach. “What’re you sayin’? That makes no sense. C’mere, this’ll fix you right up.” He reaches his opposite servo forward with speed, picking you up before you can scurry away. His digits press against some of your painful spots, and your wings are compressed against your back in his fist. You struggle, terrified at the fact he’s definitely gonna try and make you digest basically battery acid, and your shouts become more desperate.

“W-wait! Please, listen to me! I’m like a Terran, I don’t drink Energon. It’s bad for me, you have to listen!” Struggling harder, Barricade pauses contemplatively as if considering. 

“Never heard of a Terran. Nice try, sweetspark, but you need this. I promise you’ll feel better afterwards.” He continues to bring the cube closer, causing you to shriek in alarm. You can feel a vibration build up underneath your plating, like a low but alarming hum. It’s similar to an engine warming up, but in this case it’s far more concerning than threatening. Panic surges in your helm and you can’t stop yourself from the anxiety attack that’s quickly making its way to you. 

Upon hearing the frequency shift, Barricade almost drops you. 

“Whoa, whoa! Don’t crash, little one! Frag, I won’t give you any, for Primus’ sake.” His grip even softens a touch, giving you the ability to heave out a few breaths. The Energon cube is removed from your periphery, to your relief. Your vision fogs around the corners of your optics, and your talons dig into your sides.

Suddenly breathless, you go limp in his grip, but still online. You’ve successfully managed to deter him, now taking a moment to bring yourself down from your panic.

Barricade takes a knee and waits awkwardly for you to speak. He almost seems nervous, which is weird for a mech of his size. A being so big concerned for a thing your size is almost comical, but he waits impatiently nonetheless.

You catch your breath, the fog in your mind slowly fading, and you turn your optics up to meet his. 

“I don’t-” You wheeze lightly, and his grip slackens even more. “I told you, I don’t refuel using Energon. My body is different from yours.”

His eyebrow ridge furrows, and his four optics look confused. A brief pause passes through the both of you, then the questions come. 

“What d’ya mean different?”

You sigh, both from pain and resignation. “I wasn’t created the same way other sparklings were. I was made by the Emberstone.”

That causes his eyebrow ridge to rise. He’s definitely heard of that .

“Y’mean that relic the Autobots were gonna use to fix Cybertron? You were made by that ?”

His tone makes you tense, you’ve never liked how these Cybertronians put such an importance on how you were made. Sure, it’s important for your refuelling, such as in this case, but now he’s gawking at you more like a science experiment than a child. You’re not sure which is worse.

Another sigh escapes you, but you nod. It’s true, you were made by the Emberstone. You’re not sure why that’s so important, the Terrans clearly were made the same way and nobody’s treating them like some coveted alien display trophy. Sure you’re a bit different from them, with the information that you’ve been given, but it can’t be too dissimilar since you all came from the same source. It’s kind of unfair, those Terrans get all the luck.

You’re able to get your arms out from where Barricade’s grip had trapped them, and you throw your elbows over the sides of his digits. He’s holding you like he’d hold a giant soda can, or a Cybertronian sized toy doll. You try not to let that unsettle you as you attempt to give off an aloof air. “You’ve never heard of the Terrans before?”

Barricade grunts, still a bit unsettled by the new information. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard mention of them. They some kind of new Autobot?” His optics widen a fraction. “Are there others like you?”

You wince, old mental wounds making them known. You don’t like being compared to others, but now it seems you’re being put into the ‘other’ category. You already feel like a freak, now you’re even more alien. An alien by alien standards.

“As far as I’m aware, I’m the only one like me. The Terrans refuel the same way I do, or so I’ve heard.” And you haven’t heard a lot about them, to be honest. Maybe one day if you ever make it back to Earth you’d be able to meet them. “The Autobots had a bunch of Emberstone charged liquid on the ship. That’s what I refuel with.”

You’re taking a bit of a gamble, mentioning the Autobots and the ship to Barricade. Maybe if you can convince him to go back there, you won’t need to fly out of here after all!

Your mood immediately sours at the look of frustration on Barricade’s faceplate. He looks at the cube of Energon in his opposite servo and scowls at it. 

“Y’mean this,” he gestures to the cube, “is useless to you.” You can feel the anger radiate off his frame. You hope it’s not aimed at you.

Still a bit shaken, and now nervous at his drastic mood change, you give him a short nod. His scowl deepens, his sharp denta now peeking out past his lip plate. He clenches the cube hard enough that it cracks, but none of the contents spill.

Without another word, he tips the substance back into his intake and guzzles it down in a few short gulps. The blue liquid trickles down his chin and into his strong neck cables before he throws the cube at the ground angrily. It immediately shatters into flecks of shattered glass, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his empty servo.

You can see he’s visibly upset; angry and doing his utmost to keep himself in control. He’s not swearing or shouting like you expect him to, but that could change at any moment. After a few beats he looks down, his many red optics meeting your green ones.

“Then I-” He stops, gritting his denta. You have no idea what he’s about to say and the tension in the air makes you nervous. Your servos clench together in an attempt to stave off your anxiety. In your nervousness you’re unconsciously drawn to every tiny movement Barricade makes, in case he decides to turn violent. A twitch of his servo draws your vision, it clenches with such a strength that you can hear the metal creaking. Whatever he’s trying to say, he’s angry .

“Then we have to return. I cannot provide for you.”

Your spark leaps. You scarcely believe his words. He’ll take you back, willingly? 

The anger he showcases suddenly makes perfect sense; he’s upset with himself . The anxiety of his rage still doesn't leave you, but it lessens a bit. All this time he was convincing himself that this life was better for you, from his own perspective. He had assumed (without ever asking you directly, you note) that leaving the ship, the Seekers and the Autobots behind was better for you, until this refuelling realisation.

“Energon is one thing, there’re bound to be caches left over from the war if you know where to look.” He looks frustrated and you have to stave off your excitement from his next words. “But the Autobots have the Emberstone, and without this Embertstone liquid you’re telling me about you’ll slip into stasis.” He looks into the distance in the direction you drive in.

“Listen sweetspark, if you were starving and you needed refuelling, I’d cut open one of my own fuel lines to provide for you. But you don’t need that, and I don’t have what you need. So for your best interest, we gotta go back.” His servos creak under the pressure of his words. Every word he states is spat out like a bitter liquid. “But don’t you think for a second I’ll let those slaggers mistreat you, hear me? You’re important, and you deserve to be brought up right .”

You’re a bit taken aback by his words. Barricade has never been one for open honesty, and his tense, awkward wording proves that he’s speaking the truth. He cares about you, your survival. Which is weird, considering he took you from the Seekers in the first place; the place where you felt the most safe. You almost want to cry at his declaration. He’s brash and clearly not used to children, but you can tell he’s trying his utmost regardless. Even after everything you’ve been through in the past cycles, he’s never done anything to harm you physically. He may not be very communicative, but these words come from his spark; you can tell.

There’s still a hesitancy there, when he admits he’ll have to bring you back to the Autobots. No mention of the Seekers, you notice, and you’re too hesitant to bring them up in case it makes him change his mind. You’ll stick with the positive outcome you’ve been given, and you won’t push the issue further.

Your wings raise as much as they’re able in cheer, and you try not to let the relief show on your face. Maybe at the end of this, you’ll have one more weird uncle to watch your back until you’re normal again.

“But don’t think for a breem that I’m leavin’ you alone with those slaggers. We’re probably headin’ back into a firefight what with how we left, but we ain’t got no choice. You need that stuff, and we can’t afford to wait.” His optics meet yours once more. “An’ your energy levels ain’t doin’ so hot, am I right?”

You shake your helm, unable to stop your intake from opening slightly at his quick decision making. Was it that easy? You just had to tell him about your odd refuelling tendency? If you’d realised this sooner, you’d have told him in the cab ride leaving the ship and saved you a couple cycles of distance.

“We’ve got a problem though.” His words fall over you like a bucket of ice water. “There’s no way you have enough charge for us to make it back to the ship in time before you run out.” He taps a digit from his empty servo against his helm, the sound it makes is a depressing clink. “I can tell.”

Part of you wants to shrug, you’ve been brought to the point of zero energy before, and you woke up just fine. So long as he makes it back to the ship with you in tow, you don’t see there being an issue.

Except for the fact that the last time you passed out from lack of refuelling you woke up with a bunch of important memories missing. It’s still unsure whether the memories were being erased before you slipped into stasis or during, but either way it’s not a risk you want to take again.

Barricade seems to sense your unease, and he lowers his servo to give you a pat on the top of your helm. It’s incredibly delicate, taking an enormous amount of concentration, and it miraculously doesn't hit any of your sore spots. Maybe Barricade was a good guy after all?

“With your…rough playing, your energy levels are gonna keep goin’ down until you slip into stasis. Our fastest bet would be to cut through the Sea of Rust, but I told you before that I ain’t riskin’ that with you on board. ‘Til then you gotta focus on conserving your energy as much as possible, you hear?”

Nodding, he gives you another small scritch. It doesn’t feel bad, but it’s rougher than the Seekers’ pats. Barricade’s servos are duller and full of scratches. His paint is still scuffed and matted in sections, but his digits are similar to callouses on a construction worker. Despite how big he is, he’s still being incredibly gentle with you.

“Unless you got a better idea.” This last part he mumbles, but you consider letting him in on your plan. It’s a bit of a gamble, but if you tell him your troubles about your alt-mode, he might be able to help you. Sure he’s no Seeker, but maybe a Grounder’s perspective is just what you need. He transforms like it’s nothing, and maybe he can give some advice? The concept of telling him is still stuck behind your glossa, and you can see that he senses your hesitation.

“Do you have an idea? Spit it out, then.” A full nervous shiver makes its way up your spinal strut, and Barricade loosens his grip further as if feeling it himself. He’s been open and honest with you so far, maybe you can trust him with your information. Taking a gamble, you activate your vocalizer and speak.

“D-do you think flying would get us back faster?” Your servos are clenched together so tight that your metal creaks and your tiny talons dig into your palms. The pause in between your words and Barricade’s response feels like an eternity.

“I hate to break it to ya, but I shot ‘Warp pretty good. An’ I don’t think Starscream would leave him alone with the Autobots in that state; ‘s why I shot him in the first place.”

A sudden burst of fury flares in your spark at his confession. You hadn’t clued into the fact that it was Barricade who caused Skywarp’s painful shout, but this solidified it. You curb your rage as much as you can, focusing instead on clarifying your statement.

“I mean me.” You say through gritted denta. “Me flying.”

Barricade either doesn’t address your flare of anger or he doesn’t notice, focusing instead on your words. “You can fly already? I figured you were too small for that.”

You shake your helm, frustrated and still shaking off your anger. “I can’t transform. I’ve never gotten it to work. Well, I have once but I don’t remember. But you didn’t answer my question; if I fly back will I make it in time?”

Barricades ponders this. “I’m no Seeker, but you’d probably get farther faster than I would. Not because I ain’t fast, but because you’d have nothing to avoid, yeah? There ain’t no obstructions in the sky except other Seekers, or so I hear.” But he shakes his helm vehemently, disagreeing with you. “It don’t matter, you barely have enough charge to remain online for the next two cycles, let alone transform. The worst thing that could happen is you enter stasis while in mid-air and crash. There’s no way I’d be able to catch you if that happens, so we ain’t risking it.” 

You huff, agitated. It sounds like a risk you’re willing to take, but not one that he’s willing to let you try. You’d have better luck convincing him to bring you back to the Seekers after he personally shot them. 

“But what’s the issue? You can’t figure out how to transform? That should be the easy part.” You shoot him your sourest frown. His servo stops petting you and opens in a placating manner.

“Whoa, stepped on a mine there, did I?” Your scowl deepens at his response. It wasn’t funny, this was your biggest obstacle to date!  So many things could be solved if you just knew how to fragging fly . 

“Listen, I can try an’ get us back to the ship as fast as I can, but even I’m gonna need a rest at some point. Now I just refuelled,” he gestures to the shattered remains of the cube on the ground, “So I’m still fine for a while, but when it’s time to rest, I can help you out with your problem if you’ll let me. I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll only help you if you promise to recharge and take it easy for a while.” Through his frustration, he leaks out a small smirk. “If you thought we were goin’ fast before, just you wait.”

You have no other choice but to agree. In the end, you get everything you wanted. And there’s still time to come up with a plan to get you back to the ship before your time runs out. So you nod, and Barricade nods back.

“Let’s get goin’ then.”

Chapter Text

Chap 15

Rookery

You don’t know why you’d assumed the way back would be more exciting than the way to Kalis, but it was incredibly boring in your usual spot in the back of Barricade’s cab. He’d insisted on leaving straight away, adamant he could make up time with speed. And time was running out in his opinion; you hate to admit it, but checking your energy levels; they were sitting at 27% and depleting rapidly. He’d been right. The small scrapes and bruises you’d acquired while trying to fly were sucking your energy faster than you’d expected. Barricade had explained that for surface level injuries, Cybertronian bodies ate up a little more energy to stave off the pain and promote some self-healing. That explains why you don’t feel as bad as you had expected to, the energy is dampening your pain receptors a little.

It also explains why Barricade is so worried. How would it look if Barricade arrived back at the ship after stealing you away, only to have you returned unconscious after being in his care for a few cycles. He is expecting a firefight, but in that situation it would be a massacre.

Barricade is far from your favourite Cybertronian/kidnapper/guardian, but he is approaching Elita levels of favouritism after his recent confession. You know that it couldn’t have been easy to admit that you did wrong (even if he doesn’t admit it, exactly), but he is well on his way to rectifying his wrongs and that gave him a gold star in your mind.

The way he was zooming through the city boasted a skill that had taken centuries to develop. The way he weaved in and out of buildings was remarkable, and it was incredibly captivating, if only for a little while. But as the rubble and structures of Kalis became less frequent and the familiar vegetation of the Wastes came into view, it became stale rather quickly.

Worse yet, Barricade spoke even less than usual, as he focuses on keeping up speed, leaving you with a lack of company despite being in the backseat of a living car. When he does speak, it’s to unload even more bad news.

“We don’t even know if the ship’s moved since they landed. They could be anywhere on Cybertron so long as that ship has fuel to move.” His tone is sour. “Granted, I don’t see any reason why they would move, but unless we get into someone’s comm range accidentally, I have no idea if they’re still there.” He seems more focused on the cargo of the ship than the crew.

Looking for a few inhabitants on an entire planet is worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. You can only hope that they haven’t moved, or at least haven’t moved far. Deep down you wish the Seekers would come after you, but you stamp that feeling down harshly. You can’t blame them for staying together, especially with Skywarp’s injury.

(You still haven’t forgiven Barricade for shooting him, even if he is steadily moving up your list of favourites. One prank once things chill out, and you’ll consider it even. Maybe you’ll shove a mine up his exhaust pipe, Skywarp would definitely approve)

But other than looking out the window at the scenery, there isn’t anything for you to do to pass the time. Barricade had suggested slipping into a temporary stasis in an attempt to save power, but you have no idea how to activate that. Knowing you, it’s probably locked behind that admin code again. Incredibly irritating.

The Sea of Rust comes into view again, as dangerous and unfriendly as the first time. You got here faster this time, a testament to Barricade’s consistent speed, but other than watching the steady plumes of orange smoke spread to the sky, it’s all stuff you’ve seen before. There aren’t any other ways you can think of to conserve power, and you don’t have any information that could be useful to Barricade.

You have no choice but to pass the time idle, at least until Barricade needs to rest. You’ve seen him drive through the night before, but he had needed Energon pretty urgently after that. Without a break somewhere along the route, there’s no way he can make it back in one shot, let alone with you in tow.

Your wings begin to ache from disuse again, combined with your newly acquired injuries. Even your helm still hurts from where you were knocked unconscious, but that’s one of the duller aches you can feel throughout your body. The pain in your wings is the worst, combining the stiffness with what feels like a bruise encapsulating your entire left wing. You can still move it, for which you’re grateful, but not a lot in this cramped backseat.

The pain along your forearms is dulling too, feeling more like a harsh sunburn than a scrape. A secondary checkover of yourself lets you know that none of your fuel lines have been punctured, but you’ll need a replenishment of Emberstone water in order to come back at full health.

It’s been a few cycles since you’ve seen your Seekers at this point. You focus on your memories with them, worried that you might lose them when you inevitably pass out. You may not remember a whole lot of your time as a human, but you cherish these memories with your Seekers all the more. You don’t have any memories of kindness from before, and you don’t want to lose the only ones you have. In your brief time together, the brothers have grown to mean a lot to you, and you’ll be devastated if you lose any of those memories.

So you focus on them, as if replaying the memories in your processor will keep them from fading. There’s nothing you can do about the memories that have already been lost, so you focus on the ones that mean the most to you.

Like how they helped keep you safe from Ratchet the moment they met you, even though their brother had died not even minutes earlier.

Or your failed flying lessons, trying to cheer you up after every one of your failed attempts.

The games you played, being tossed into the air made you feel like you were really flying. Your spark had felt so light, you could have floated up into space.

Your nest of blankets, knowing that there was always a slumbering giant curled around you while the other stood guard. 

Bathtime.

Reminiscing about Cybertron.

You choke back the tight feeling in your throat cables. Now’s not the time to cry. Clenching your servos for what feels like the hundredth time, you force yourself to snap out of it, and focus on staring out the window impassionately. Distracting Barricade with your useless emotions won’t get you anywhere, and you want to stop crying all the time , dammit. You’re almost a grown-up, when were you going to start acting like it?

Unshed tears burn at the edges of your optics and blur your vision. The world outside Barricade’s window warps and smudges, but you don’t allow the tears to fall.

You’ll get back to them. You’re already on your way.

________________

Thundercracker stayed above the Wastes, hovering at a high altitude to get a wider survey of the land beneath. 

It had been three full cycles since the Seekerling was taken; far too long in his opinion. His anger had reduced to a simmer, which he knew would resurface at full strength the moment he catches any sign of the errant Decepticon.

But it had been three full cycles since he’d even seen a clue as to his whereabouts. Three full cycles since he’d had a clear direction to go. Thundercracker was beginning to feel the frustration of a hunter’s failed prey. Every breem, the little one was being carried further and further away from him, and he could do nothing but comb the landscape beneath him for the tiniest visual clue as to their location.

On the first cycle he had found evidence of a hastily made camp, and some blast marks at the back of a cave. His quarry had definitely stopped there, if only briefly, as evidenced by the scant amounts of prints he’d found surrounding the area.

The Seekerlet’s small pede prints were so tiny in comparison to Barricade’s and his own. They were no doubt frightened out of their mind, with little hope that either of his brothers would rescue them. They were oddly mature in that sense, a clue that their past upbringing may have been less than healthy.

They showed signs that pointed Thundercracker in the direction of neglect, or even abuse. The way they cowered whenever voices were raised, or how they had an immediate distrust of everyone upon first meeting. Their tendency to wander off alone, as if the concept of others willing to help was foreign.

It made Thundercracker’s spark prickle with discomfort. The fact that they were only just beginning to open up to them (he included himself, as even though the Seekerlet was unaware of his feigned death, they still confided in him). They were only just beginning to show real, genuine trust to the Command Trine, with little pockets of personality shining through.

They were a little terror, a perfect ward for the Command Trine. Thundercracker considered himself a little biassed, but he would do anything for their little Seeker. 

Other than their first interaction, Thundercracker hadn’t even had a chance to hold the little one yet. All of the live feeds and shared bond feelings had been teasing, bearable with the knowledge that soon he’d be able to experience these things for himself.

Things he’d had yet to experience because of Barricade .

Thundercracker forced himself to steer clear of the Sea of Rust, as much as he knew he’d be able to gain ground quicker by traversing it. But the clouds above were just as acidic and noxious as the gases on the ground, and obscured his vision of the ground below. Reminding himself that it was more prudent to search carefully than race blindly ahead, he focused his processing power on scouring the landscape for any sign of his errant prey.

He hoped that Barricade wouldn’t be stupid enough to traverse the Sea of Rust with the sparkling, as the acidic air would do heavy damage on his thicker frame, nevermind the havoc it would wreak on the Seekerling’s gossamer thin plating. The air alone would be deadly to their delicate circuits, and Thundercracker prayed that Barricade was smarter than that. Not smart enough to keep his dirty servos off of their charge, but smart enough to avoid such an obvious danger when stares you right in the faceplate.

The Sea of Rust was truly deadly from every angle, and it seemed to be spreading. From Thundercracker’s high vantage, he could see the remains of the Wastes that had been devoured by the encroaching rust, creating an irregular looking landscape on the edges. From a lower vantage, it would look as though the Sea was irregular all the way through, but from his vast height Thundercracker could see the difference.

The Rust Sea that Thundercracker knew was as flat as the Plains on Earth; one could see for miles without ever spying so much as a hill. The inner sections of the Rust Sea exhibited that clearly. But the outer edge was rough, with decimated structures being barely recognizable under the destructive coating of rust. Without the Allspark to give the vegetation an extra push of Energon, the metal devouring rust easily overtakes its semi-organic neighbour and adds to the destruction.

It was unending in its vastness, and Thundercracker shivered at the thought that it could one day overtake the planet if left unchecked. If it ever came to that, Cybertron would truly be a dead world without hope of revival.

Stray plumes blasted through the edges of the Wastes erratically, ever so often exploding with gases well within the confines of the vegetation. Thundercracker made the assumption that the fissures were created using weak areas of Cybertron’s outer crust, bursting through with vengeance whenever the opportunity arose. The plumes were random and infrequent, but wherever they rose up devastation was met in its wake.

Part of him wished that Barricade and the Seekerling were far from the Wastes, from such nearby danger. But another part of him wished for their proximity, to feel the Seekerlet’s EM field against his, safe and unharmed.

So he carried on, high above the Wastes, motivation renewed. He’d look for a whole century if that’s what it took. Belatedly, he hoped his brothers were faring better than he was.

________________

Night had fallen again, painting the skies in an eerie purple. While the limited light did little to slow down Barricade, he remarked that he’d have to drive more cautiously until the new solar cycle dawned once again.

Slipping in and out of recharge have become second nature to you at this point, with every sharp turn and bigger than average bump rousing you from your tumultuous slumber. Barricade continues with his uncomfortable silence, focusing instead on the drive rather than his passenger. You don’t blame him, but after almost four straight cycles (both driving to and from Kalis), your boredom and exhaustion reached new heights. 

You don’t scrape at his leather as you did before, knowing that would annoy him. And frankly, Barricade is going through enough right now and doesn’t deserve your pestering. While you are excited to go back, he is no doubt anxious about returning after his well-intentioned crime. He had thought he was looking out for you, and in his own way he was. Too bad that means reversing the one thing he had successfully managed to do; which was kidnapping you.

Whatever is going through his processor was probably a slew of hypotheticals. Would they shoot first upon seeing him approach? Or would they confirm the inclusion of his passenger first before firing? And what would happen after? You doubt that the Autobots or the Seekers would let him off easy.

Despite everything that’s happened in the recent cycles, you made a promise to yourself that you’d try to ensure that he isn’t hurt when you both return. He is doing the right thing in bringing you back, shouldn’t that be what counts? He clearly had to make a tough decision, but it was the right one in your opinion. When people make mistakes and choose to fix them, they shouldn’t be punished right? You’ll make sure that Barricade doesn’t get hurt once you are returned.

Will they be angry? Your Seekers? There is a thought you’ve had that you’ve spent very little time considering, one that made your tanks churn coldly. Do they think you ran off on purpose? Will they accept you back?

You shake your helm, silencing the thoughts. The Seekers know all about you, your origin, your personality. You’re confident that they’ll accept you back with open arms and even warmer servos. 

The time in the cab stretches on, feeling like an eternity with the ever unchanging landscape. The Rust Sea looks the same as yesterday; still orange with pointed decaying structures dotting the landscape. 

At the beginning you’d made a little game for yourself, kind of like visualising shapes in clouds except the only ones outside were an acidic orange colour and noxious looking. But the plumes moved too quickly, and you opted instead for the structures littering the ground in the distance. Your game consisted of guessing what they might be, what the structures could have been used for before they were swallowed up by rust. But one such structure looked a little too humanoid; with a head and shoulder ridge that was too hard to ignore. Turning away from the window sharply, you stopped playing after that.

Feeling groggy and propping your faceplate in your servo, you stare outside impassively, not really looking. Your optics shutter closed, instead listening to the consistent sound of Barricade’s engine and the distant explosions of toxic gases in the distance.

One particular explosion sounds out louder than usual, but you don’t open your optics. Idly you relate it to thunderclaps back on Earth. Sometimes they’re just louder because they’re stronger, but sometimes they’re louder because they’re closer than the others.

You don’t have time to make comparisons further before you’re suddenly airborne inside Barricade’s cab, lifted off the seat by a booming noise. You hit the roof with your helm, and a deafening noise rattles you down to your core. Barricade’s shout of pain echoes from all around you amidst the explosive noise and you both slam back to the surface with a denta rattling boom. You immediately get to your feet and peer out the front window.

“Barricade! What happened? Are you okay?” You’re shaking all over and scared out of your mind. Barricade only wheezes in response. That can’t be good.

Trying the back door, you find it unlocked and exit the cab to take a step outside. The air sizzles like a hot frying pan, making the outside smell more metallic than usual. The door shuts behind you softly, and you get a look at the state of your captor.

At first glance he looks fine, just a bit steamed from his unending drive. He’s still in vehicle mode. But the closer you look, the more you realise the sizzling sound is coming from him . And the metallic smell emits in fumes coming from his underside. Small flecks of rust are left over from whatever has happened and you quickly piece them together.

“Stand–” Barricade’s voice comes out in a grunt of pain, ending his sentence prematurely. You want to check the damage, but you’re rooted on the spot in fear. Your wings shiver despite the air being warm. “Stand back. Don’t let it get on you.”

One of the fissures must’ve hit him in the undercarriage, a horribly unlucky shot. On the way back to the ship you noted that Barricade had been driving a little closer than usual to the edge of the Rust Sea, presumably to save on time. One stray fissure had hit him right in the delicate vitals, and he wasn’t getting back up. You stay where you are, but your fear must show on your faceplate. 

“Barricade…” Your bottom lip plate trembles. You want to help him, but you have no idea what to do. You’re not a medic, for Primus’ sake! You’re barely a Cybertronian. What can you do?

“Listen sweetspark, I’m not going to be able to move for a while, at least until my nanites repair me enough that I can get goin’. But that’s not gonna be for a while.” His words sound like they’re being spoken through clenched teeth. The air still sizzles with the rust damage, and you’re only slightly glad you can’t see it directly.

“You gotta listen to me.” He grunts once again in pain. “You gotta stick with me, ok? Looks like I’ll be goin’ into a mandatory healing stasis shortly, but don’ worry. As soon as I wake up we’ll keep goin’.” Another agonising wheeze. There’s no way he can drive like this. He’s using unnecessary energy trying to not make you worry. It’s not working.

“Promise you’ll stick by me until I wake up, aight? I can’t have you runnin’ around the Wastes by yourself with no escort. You’re important, remember?”

You sniffle, unable to keep your emotions at bay. You’re not sure if he can see you in vehicle form, but you try to stifle your building stress. Crying isn’t going to help you or Barricade, but it’s building fast and you can’t stop it.

“B-but Barricade…” You don’t know what to say. You’re so worried about him, and this is the second time that someone has gotten wounded for your sake. Third, if you count Skywarp. You don’t want Barricade to die, and you know that if he’s acting this way, it’s much worse than he’s letting on.

The form of the black car ripples as if stifling a shudder of pain. Small drops of Energon are dripping onto the ground from underneath him, and you can tell that whatever it looks like down there it’s definitely serious. You want to help, but you can’t do anything . 

“P-promise…Me…” You’ve never heard Barricade’s voice this soft before, and you never want to hear it like this again. His headlights dim a fraction, flicker, then go out. You can’t even tell if he’s still alive.

After barely a moment, the emotions spill out of you without hesitation. A wail breaks out and shakes the vegetation around you with its volume. You cry loudly, for someone, anyone to help you. Unable to do anything, but clench your own servos and look to the sky for any sign of wings. You cry out for Starscream and Skywarp, eventually even crying out for Elita-1, Optimus Prime, and Ratchet. At this stage, you’ll accept anyone’s help, so long as they can help Barricade. You’re going to be the cause of another person’s death, and you can’t do a single thing to help him.

The sobs wrack your frame, causing your systems to overheat and spill tears out of your optics. If there were any cybertronic animals nearby, you have no doubt that they’d be scared off by your loud, horrific cries.

Your neck cables begin to hurt from your intense crying, your intake open and you’re unable to close it. Feeling your finials pinned all the way back, your wings even drag across the ground with how low they’re drooping.

You can’t even leave to get help. Barricade made you promise to stay near him, and you wander in and out of his proximity stressing about what to do.

There’s nobody living on this dying planet, and anyone who can or would help you is far away. You only have a vague direction of where they are, not even a definitive location. Your current coordinates beep in your processor, dulled by your sobbing, letting you know exactly where in the middle of nowhere you are.

There are no markers on your internal map, you’ve found. Only strings of numbers depicting coordinates. If you had been smart when you’d arrived, you’d have noted the coordinates of where the ship landed. But there had been too much going on at the time, and you’ve berated yourself ever since you discovered the empty map in your processor.

Your crying continues for what seems like hours. Nobody is coming. No one can hear you. No one can help you. You’re alone on a dead alien planet and you can’t even help one person let alone yourself.

The crying weakens in stages, usually coming back in self-deprecating full force moments later. Hours ago you were bored out of your mind, and now you’re going to stand watch until Barricade wakes up. You don’t even know if a healing stasis is a real thing, how long it takes, or if he was even telling the truth. Cybertronians have a different sense of time than you’re used to. You could be here waiting for a century; dried up and offline before anyone finds you.

This brings forth a new wave of tears, hopeless feelings consuming your processor like a tidal wave. This had been a freak accident, no one could have predicted this. And because of this unlucky cheap shot by Cybertron’s rogue fissure, you were both going to die out here. You’ll never see your Seekers again, and once again you’re useless in the face of adversity.

Rather than slipping into a restful recharge, exhaustion takes you like a sledgehammer. One moment you’re crying heavily in a foetal position on the dusty ground, steps away from Barricade, the next you’re unconscious. Blackness greets your vision swiftly, and you don’t even realise you’re out until you wake up.

________________

You have no idea how long you’ve been asleep. The grit under your faceplate gives no indication either. The sky is still a dark purple-grey and Barricade is still unmoving in vehicle form next to you.

Waking up gives you clarity in ways you don’t appreciate.

The first thing you note is your current energy levels. 15%. Far less than you’d expect. The meltdown must’ve really taken a chunk out of you.

The second thing you realise is that you won’t be able to keep your promise to Barricade. If anyone’s going to help him in time, you have to get help. And that means leaving.

You’re not super excited by the idea of venturing into the wilds of Cybertron alone, but you don’t have a choice. With Barricade’s current coordinates as your guide, and following the edge of the Rust Sea just as Barricade had done, you’ll hopefully find some evidence of civilization. And with some luck, help.

The idea terrifies you, but not as much as staying here and waiting. You understand where Barricade is coming from, wanting you to stay close where you’re out of danger, but unless you face the danger you’re both doomed.

All this time you’ve tried to convince yourself you are mature enough to handle grown-up situations, well now’s your chance. There is literally no better time than right now.

You pull yourself upright, not even bothering to dust yourself off. None of the rust particles have gotten on you while you were out, which is good, but the iron-rich smell is still in the air. Glancing over at Barricade, you note that the trickle of leaking Energon has stopped, which is a relief. Unless he’s completely out of Energon and offline, but you try not to focus on that.

Your optics feel raw and your throat cables are sore. A few hours of crying will do that to you. And your body still retains that ‘hit by a truck’ feeling from your failed flying practice session. Despite using up over 10% of your energy reserves in the past two cycles alone, you don’t feel any better. In fact, despite everything, you feel somehow worse. 

But complaining won’t do anyone any good, and the longer you stand here contemplating the worse off Barricade will be. 

Locking in your current coordinates, you face the direction Barricade was heading, and set off alone into the Wastes.

The first few steps aren’t that bad, spurred on by your desperate decision making. But one step at a time, one after the other, Barricade’s coordinates get farther and farther behind you.

You’re weirdly grateful to be a robot, probably for the first time since you’d been changed. As a robot you don’t have to worry about being unable to see in the low light, and since you’re not travelling at Barricade-esque breakneck speeds, light is never an issue.

The sky is still dark above you, from the small glimpses that you can see through the vegetation. The jungle grows denser the farther away from Barricade you get, but you always make sure to keep the Sea of Rust in your sights. Keeping the orange wasteland on your right at all times ensures that you’re always walking in the right direction. Keeping it there ensures that you’ll never get turned around.

The noises of the Wastes are more audible now that you’re outside of the cab. Rustles of giant leaves and small unknown sounds begin to make you nervous, spurring you from a steady walk into a light jog. You don’t get tired the same way you would have as a human, and that’s another reason you’re grateful to be a robot here.

Despite the vegetation, there’s not a single bird sound that you can make out. Are there even birds on Cybertron? Ages ago, back in the hangar on Earth, Ratchet had been confused at the concept of birds, but you only now realise he could have been curious due to his lack of knowledge. Besides Seekers, was there anything else on Cybertron that flew?

You wish for the umpteenth time that you had had more time to talk about the wilds of Cybertron with them, before having to brave it by yourself. Sure, you knew from Barricade that things like Sharkticons existed in the Sea of Rust, but they wouldn’t come into the Wastes, right?

A trepid fear starts to build within you, pushing your light jog to a slightly faster pace. You try to focus on other, less anxiety inducing topics to stop your fluttering spark.

Think positive. What will you say when you see everyone again? Maybe you’ll use your pede thrusters to throw yourself into their servos, gaining that extra bit of speed to encourage them to start cuddling you faster.

Barricade wasn’t the cuddly type. He was more of a standoffish, awkward uncle. He tried a few times to pat your helm, but each time it felt stiff and it hadn’t induced that warm gooey sensation that happened when the Seekers cuddled you.

You admit to yourself that you’d been spoiled for cuddles before you’d been kidnapped a second time, and you can’t wait to receive more. The lonely recharges in the back ofBarricade’s cab would be swapped out for your blanket nest, with one Seeker curling around each of your sides. You’d hold onto both of their servos and finally recharge with both at the same time.

Starscream always insisted on recharging separately from you and his brother, saying that someone should always be alert to keep watch. But how wonderful would it be to see both brother’s sleeping faces at the same time?

A bud of warmth nestles itself inside your spark next to your thudding fear. The positive thinking is doing wonders in quelling your anxiety, though it hasn’t completely dissipated yet. You try to think of more nice things.

How great would it be to see their first Trine flight? You’re  hard pressed to think of anything you’d want to see more. From the moment you’d heard of it, you knew it must’ve been spectacular. Daring dives, aerial displays, feats of courage tied together in coordinated harmony; it must’ve been amazing.

If you ever get the chance to fly, you know there’s little to no doubt that you’ll never have a trine of your own to fly with, at least not in the same way. At this rate, getting yourself back to normal and back to Earth is a secondary goal, with survival being the first. You’ve barely thought about changing back since you’ve been here, and it’s starting to feel less like a pressing issue.

Would it really be so bad to stay this way?

Being a robot on this alien planet makes it easier to survive, and for that, you’re grateful. It makes it easier to jog long distances without getting tired, and it means that you need less time in between refuelings; time that if you were still a human, you’d be long dead. You have people that care about you, which you can’t say the same for when you were human, since you don’t really remember. Was there really anything that kept you tied to that life anymore?

More than anything, the thought that spurs you on the most is the idea of being able to fly with the Seekers. You may never have a Trine of your own, but you know they’d never abandon you. You’d get back to them, and maybe one day you’ll be able to fly with them with the same precision and coordination as their Trine flight. The thought quenches any remaining fear in your spark, and you break into a run.

To fly with them.

To fly together.

To fly .

And all around you the world shifts , your pedes feeling lighter than air. You note that your thrusters have come online, and a whirring mechanical sound is heard from around you before suddenly being silenced as quickly as it came. Suddenly the leaves and vegetation around you are coming at you with terrifying speed, knocking against your plating and appearing faster than you can swat them away.

You jump, or something that feels like jumping, and the jungle is suddenly far beneath you, getting smaller and smaller in your vision. Confusion rings with your realisation that you can’t feel your arms or your legs or your head. But it doesn’t feel painful, just different.

Barricade’s coordinates are ticking farther and farther away on your internal map at impossible speeds, and you realise with belated glee that you’re flying . 

A whoop leaves your intake, wherever it's located now in your alt-mode, and you surge forward with speeds you didn’t even know you were capable of. You’re flying, and for once things have gone right . 

The joyous mood fills you to the brim, all the previous fear squashed under its powerful heel. You experiment a little with changing speeds and turning, revelling in the sensation of being free in the air. There’s nothing up here that can get in your way, but you’re still super new at this.

Banking left, twisting right, you don’t quite have the courage to do a barrel-roll just yet, but this new ability fills you with newfound hope. You can get help in time to help Barricade! Maybe you’ll get back before he even realises you’re gone! Giddy with excitement, you accelerate skyward, gaining altitude and then proceed to nosedive in exhilaration. You scream with joy at the rush of gravity and the unimportant g-force. You feel unstoppable. 

Flying is quickly becoming your favourite thing ever . If you had any hobbies before the change, they mean less than dust to you now. Flying is literally the best and you’ll be happy if your pedes never touch the ground again.

Suddenly; the concept of how awful it is not being able to be in the sky makes perfect sense. The Seeker’s prior comments rattle around in your processor. Why would anyone choose a Grounder frame when they can have this ? The pure freedom makes you giggle with bliss, as if all the pieces suddenly slot perfectly into place.

Flaring your wing panels, you direct your gravity into more of an angled swoop, and channel that excess energy in further accelerating your speed. The Seekers had been right all along, you felt each motion instinctively and knew exactly where to press and turn in order for your new form to obey your commands. Flying felt innate, like it was something you were born to do.

The Wastes and the Sea of Rust beneath you no longer seem like foreboding, danger filled areas, instead from up here they remind you more of an abstract painting. Colours meshing and combining in an impressionist fashion, the bright orange of the Sea creeping up on the grey-blue of the jungle. Up here there’s no worry of any animals getting you, or running out of time. Facing the direction you were previously headed, you’re easily travelling at more than ten times the speed, and the burst of energy gives you a better chance of making it back before you slip into stasis.

Which reminds you to check on your energy levels. 9% and dropping. It appears that changing into your alt-mode does sap your energy faster than your bipedal form. Probably something to do with using your energy as fuel, but it barely puts a damper on your excitement. You’re moving at faster speeds, yes. But you’re also using up energy faster than you would have been otherwise.

The other thing you realise as you’re up here, is you have no idea how to land. And that’s not ‘you have no idea how to land safely’ it’s ‘you have no idea how to land at all .’ Starscream had mentioned something ages ago about familiarising yourself with your landing gear, but you’ve passed the point of no return now. Maybe your boastful assessments of being a natural at flying were a bit premature. If you can’t land, then you have no choice but to fall once your energy runs out. You make a mental note to find somewhere safe to crash when your levels are near 1%.

But so far, flying is awesome . All those games of catch were mere crumbs in comparison to the real deal of being able to soar through the sky without restriction. You could go anywhere, be anything, the feeling of freedom is so palpable you could assign it a specific taste.

But you were on a mission. Fly, get help for Barricade. Bring help back to the coordinates that you have listed. Look for familiar structures that you saw during the landing. Fly like you’ve never flown before.

Beneath you the vegetation becomes more sparse, or at least it looks that way with your high vantage point. A few building structures peek out from beneath the vegetation, partially obscured by the overgrowth. Cybertron, you decide, can be pretty when not viewed with the optics of someone terrified. The miniscule leaves sway in a light wind, creating a picturesque scene that reminds you of ocean waves far out at sea. Up here, everything beneath you looks small, which is a sensation that you haven’t experienced much lately. 

All other Cybertronians are huge in comparison, and finally up here you can look down on things. The feeling of freedom isn’t a new one, but you try not to let the feeling of power go to your helm. Up here, with nothing to hinder you, is an amazing feeling, but you’re going to have to descend at some point. Back to the ground, where you’re smaller than the average Cybertronian.

Will you get bigger, if you stay this way? Will you grow as big and tall as the Seekers? You’ll miss curling up into their palms, but there’s something to be said about meeting them optic-to-optic. You can imagine their proud looks on their faceplates, and the thought fills you with joy.

You’re not sure if you want to give up your power of flight, now that you know what it’s like. If you were able to return to being a human, you’d do so knowing that you’d never feel this way  ever again.

You fly for a while, flickering between thoughts of the future and the memories you have of the past. Checking your energy levels constantly, you watch the number tick down with a growing anxiety. Structures have only just begun to appear beneath you, but they’re still sparse. Like you’re stuck in the vast outskirts of some city. The buildings look similar in material to those that you saw when you first landed, but then again the buildings in Kalis might have also been made of the same crystalline material. Hopeful but anxious, you have no choice but to carry on.

Your energy levels now sit at a concerning 5%, but now there’s no sign that you’re still heading in the right direction. The Sea of Rust sits behind you now, with the Wastes taking up the majority of your vision. The vegetation is sparser, but still visible. In the far distance a gleaming cityscape glitters under the barely rising sun, and you make a decision then and there to make it your destination before running out of energy.

Goal in mind, you carry on.

Staring focused at your destination, you let the rest of the world fall away from you. You fly with a single-minded purpose–to make it to the cityline before you crash. You toe the line between speed and energy efficiency, using the light wind to buffer your wings and let you coast on them whenever you can. 

The city sparkles in the distance, as if cheering you on. The light flickers between yellow and blue, catching the light of the shining towers.

But–wait. The glitters are flickering more blue now. The light shines in your vision, confusing you. Is…something there? It’s steady, whatever it is, and it’s approaching fast.

You have half a mind to veer off and try and lose it (whatever it is) in the sparse vegetation, but you stay your course. You could be imagining it, but this could be a survivor still living on Cybertron after all these years. Or something else you don’t recognize. You don’t recognize the colours from the Seekers you do know, except for…But that’s impossible. If you had a helm in this form you’d be shaking it.

The figure begins to take shape, and appears exactly like you expect it. A jet is heading directly towards you, and it’s not veering off course. Whoever they are, maybe they can help! You hope they’re nice, but you try to be realistic. They don’t know you and they have no obligation to help you. At best, this stranger can point you in the direction you need to go, or better yet escort you themself. You try to stop the well of emotion building within you at the familiarity. It's not him, stop thinking like that. It’s just your processor playing tricks on you.

But hey! Figment of your imagination or no, they’re clearly another Seeker. That’s great news! Skywarp and Starscream will be so happy to know that they’re not the last. You hope your lack of knowledge of Vosian customs doesn’t put a proverbial pede in your intake.

An astrosecond later, more colours take shape, and you have to stop your spark from surging. They’re his colours. You’d know them anywhere. The yellow glass cockpit. The deep blue paint. The purple Decepticon symbol on his wing.

The shock hits you so hard that at first you don’t even register the fact that you’ve transformed in midair, suddenly freefalling using leftover momentum from your flight. The mechanical clicks and whirrs fade in your audials alongside the sudden rush of wind, and you barely notice the freefall. In that same instant he transforms too, exactly as you remember him, and you’re mutely grateful that the wind from your descent makes your optics water and dry at speed.

His faceplate is grey, surrounded by a black helm, and the expression he holds is one of fierce affection. Activating his pede thrusters in a downward position, he follows after you in a gravity-assisted plummeting descent, and outstretches his familiar black servo to you. You let out one choked sob, and reach back.

Your digits make contact with his larger one, and he pulls you to his chassis without pausing. The roar of his thrusters make a deafening cacophony beneath you, as a cloud of warm air presses into you on all sides. You’re thankful for the noise, because you’re definitely crying again. Your mutual descent is slowed until it finally stops, and Thundercracker touches ground without ever letting you go.

Your digits touching everywhere they can reach, you never want to wake up from this dream. This can’t be real, he can’t be real. You can’t see through your tears, but you can feel him petting you back. He’s saying something, but you can’t hear through the roar of your audials and the volume of your cries. His voice brings back the only memory you have of him, all those weeks ago. He called you strong, called you little wing, and promised to protect you.

And he died protecting you. But he feels real and warm underneath your knees and under your servos. You can’t find words to speak, too overwhelmed with everything. If this is some hallucination from your low energy imminent stasis, then it’s a good one. He brings you up and tucks you closer, under his chin like Starscream always does. You clutch at a few cables there, careful not to puncture anything with your tiny talons, and try to stifle your sobs.

You can hear him clearer now, he’s shushing you and saying it’s going to be ok. You don’t care if this is a hallucination, you’re going to stay in this mirage for as long as you’re allowed, and you’d give anything for it to be real. Clutching at him desperately, the sensation of him here is better than anything you could have dreamed.

Your sobs die down to hiccups as tears continue to stream down your faceplace. They drip down your chin and onto your chassis, eventually dribbling down onto Thundercracker’s armour. You choke back a few particularly heavy sobs, and gather the courage to meet his optics.

As you pull away to get a better vantage, his red optics bore down onto you. A frown mars his faceplate, but his optics are full of affection. Raising one of your servos to his cheek, you let out in a quiet voice.

“Are you real?” Your words are barely a whisper, as if the volume of your speech could scare away this illusion. His eyebrow ridge furrows at your words, and he tsks lightly, a vibration you can feel underneath your palm.

“Oh, little wing.” His throat cables rumble under your other servo in tandem with his voice. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears spring up from your optics, but the shudders and sobs have ceased. Do you let yourself believe it? That he’s really here?

“It was never my intention to deceive you, especially not this long.” He speaks in a rushed voice. “But no longer. I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you try to send me away.”

Looking deep into his optics, you begin to believe the illusion might just be real. Your servos caress his cheek of their own volition, and each movement solidifies that he might really be here.

“B-but, you were dead.” The last word leaves your mouth like a ghost, barely audible. His expression scrunches, but he doesn’t look away.

“A necessary deception, I’m afraid. But it doesn’t matter anymore. That plan can’t exist anymore, and I couldn’t care less-” His faceplate flashes with a familiar annoyed grimace that reminds you of Starscream. “Are you injured? How did you get back here?” A moment later his expression breaks out into a soft grin. “You flew .”

You can’t stop your smile underneath your tears. Your grin back at him. “I did.” You laugh wetly. “I’m a natural.”

There’s so many things you want to ask him, but they all seem far away, unimportant. He’s here, he’s here . A missing piece slots itself alongside your spark. You finally feel whole.