Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Notes: Welcome on in! Some of my characters are miss-matched, but oh well! More characters will be added later.

 Blurr: IDW version (as much as a person who hasn’t read the comics can make it)

 Red Alert: Lost Light version

 Jazz: IDW version

 Drift: IDW version

 Ratchet: Prime version

~~~~~

 Loud crashes in a bar were common, as much as Blurr hated to admit it. With a blinding smile, he handed the mech his drink before sighing inwardly and turned to see what was broken this time, a reprimand on the tip of his glossea. 

Littered table tops were strewn around the room, chaotically organized just how Blurr liked it, with roving bodies that staggered, pranced, swayed to the music, sat, talked animatedly, and, well, did anything normal bots did in a bar. But as his ultra fast optics skittered around, his brow plates creased. 

Nothing was broken? With that loud of a crash? 

Glancing at the front door, Blurr had to do a double take at the scene. The bots around stared too, while some hollered, raising their glass like it was a show. 

Venting, Blurr strode forward, slipping between a few bots to reach the femme that shook, clutching the door handle with small, pale servos. Her washed green optics fritzed, and sparks flew out from around her crumpled body, threatening to crash her onto the floor if a gust of wind blew by at the wrong time.

Her forlorn expression dissipated as Blurr walked up to her and she stood straighter despite the screech in her metal. “Y-scrrr-ou,” she blurted out, her voice box crackling with static. Her optics remained unerringly on him. 

Blurr slowed down before placing a careful servo on her shoulder, very much aware of the stillness behind his back, and the feeling of heavy optics on him. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m Blurr, and you’re at New Maccadam’s, okay? Can you tell me your name?” 

When he said his name, a low gurgle bubbled out of her, but she abandoned the door in favor of nearly falling onto him with pained, whining vents as she gripped onto him with a surprising strength. As he took her onto himself, trying not to hold her in a way that would hurt her, he couldn’t understand how this happened. It had to be an accident of some sort, because the war was long over, and yet she looked ravaged with deep cuts slashed into her. Coolant and energon leaked out of her and dripped down his own body, and she was so grey he couldn’t tell what color she used to be. 

One thing was very clear, though; she was dying. 

Gritting his denta, he tried to gently carry her but she hissed in pain, shaking her head and he froze. If this femme died in his bar, that would equal bad news about his business and he couldn’t have that. He had to move her somehow. Away from prying optics. 

“You—screeee—message,” she panted, moving her servos to grip his wing helm plates so he would look at her. The desperation in her optics made him tense up, armor plates ruffling out. 

“Not here,” he tried, glancing down only to wince at her battered body. 

More loud screeches from her voice box before she let go of one side of his helm. Before he could scoop her up and carry her out, the servo pressed against his crest, hard and urgent. He felt tingles tumble around his body, freezing him up against his will and his antenna became extra sensitive, ready to pick up even the smallest of signals. 

With a final zap and a prod at his processor, she finally fell limp, venting heavily. Blurr barely managed to catch her before she hit the floor, absentmindedly gripping her as new files of information tumbled around inside, large bold titles screaming URGENT, and FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

What the frag? 

When her engine pitched sharply, Blurr snapped out of his daze and shoved the files away at the moment. Tuning the sensitivity down, he held her tighter. 

“Jazz, quit your yapping and man the bar with Drift!” he shouted over the small noise of rowdy and drunken bots, barely looking back to see if the singer had gotten the message before hoisting the broken femme into his grasp and shooting out the open door. 

Oh. Some of the door’s wood was split, and some glass shattered. That was what broke this time. Sigh. 

Still, he filed that for later too and zipped through the streets. Ignoring every speed limit, he heard startled gasps and voices like a trail behind him as he dodged around bodies and vehicles on the streets. No matter how close they got, Blurr was always faster and was out of their range before they had a chance to slam their brakes. Even when he heard sirens somewhere in the near distance, he didn’t let that stop him as he sped around flashy car bodies, barely able to think before he had to make his next move. 

When the hospital finally appeared in view, he vented and held the strange femme that much tighter. The glass nearly broke as he sped through the door, startling the receptionist into a nervous frame twitch. 

“She’s-dying,” he threw out, holding the femme’s limp body for the other to see. 

Blurr doubted the receptionist even heard what he said, but once glance told the mech what was happening and he got to work, calling out orders and within seconds doctors and nurses swarmed Blurr, pressing him to lay her on the stretcher they grabbed out of nowhere. 

“She got hurt at your bar?” Ratchet asked dryly, looking over her with a disappointed frown. 

This time, Blurr shook his helm. “No. She came in like that. I know I didn’t serve her anything, and she didn’t seem intoxicated in the least.” 

With a curious eye ridge, the emergency doctor pushed the stretcher into the hallway. “Tell Drift I won’t be home early tonight like I promised.” 

He nodded, venting slightly as the main problem was finally out of his servos. He was still left with so many questions, and didn’t know where to begin. 

“Hey,” a calm voice said, breaking his accidental trance of staring at a wall. First Aid stepped into his line of vision, holding a datapad. “You’re Blurr, right? I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.” 

Holding himself higher, Blurr lifted his chin slightly to look into the other’s soft blue optics. “Yeah, yeah, I don’t mind.” 

“Good. Let’s sit down,” he offered, holding a servo out to an empty office. “I won’t detain you for long, but you must understand it’s for the medical report we’re going to have to file.” 

He nodded. Blurr knew this, and had spoken to Red Alert on multiple occasions about the injuries his rowdy bar visitors sometimes got into, but their interactions were both recorded and written down for whatever law Prowl had commenced. 

Inside the room, Blurr reclined on a soft chair, both his pedes casually over an arm rest, already used to sitting here for times. While he looked relaxed and at ease, he wanted to jump up and run his energon dry to get the buzz of questions he had out. Red Alert, meanwhile, sat across from a desk, shuffling papers Blurr enviously watched, before turning to face him. “Do you know her name?”

Shaking his helm, Blurr said, “I asked, but she didn’t say.”

“What did she say instead?”

Opening his intake, he paused, letting a servo drop off his stomach and hang. “Well . . . she wanted me for some reason. About information.” 

This made the other mech straighten and tilt his helm. “Odd. For your information?” 

“No. To give me information.” 

Perplexed, Red Alert paused, the lights catching the tips of his helm spikes for a moment. “Well. Was there anything else she said?” Obviously, prying for what type of information she wanted to give did not fit into a medical report, but Blurr was sure he would ask as soon as the camera was off. 

“Nope.” He began to swing his pedes to do something. 

“And she came into the bar with those injuries? Did you see anyone following her, or any other symbol that could lead to the bot that did this?” 

Blurr paused. “Oh . . . I didn’t even check. I was more worried about getting her out of my place before she died there.” 

Red alert nodded and typed in some answers into the datapad. “All right. Anything else you’d like to tell me?” 

“That’s all that happened. I might have broken every traffic law, so if Prowl or somebody could get them off my aft that'd be great,” he said, grimacing slightly. 

Unprofessionally, he smiled before wiping it off with a chough. “All right. End recording.” With the camera in his optics finally off, the medic leaned back, eying him, looking far more relaxed. “Did she give you the information?”

He absent-mindedly touched his crest, where her servo had pressed, and fingered it. His sensitivity was completely off, so his usual electricity didn’t send shivers down his spine. “She did. What I don’t understand is, why did she give it to me?”

Looking down at his datapad, Red Alert hummed. “She has a crest too, did you notice? Maybe, because you are moderately famous still, you were the one name she could remember while half dead? She would know how antennas work, after all, and you were probably her safest bet.” He leaned in, optics hungry. “What information did she give you?” When Blurr grinned at him, he leaned back and ruffled his armor plates out. “Sorry. It’s just not every day something like this happens. The medical staff will be talking about this for a while, especially since she’s going to pass away without any further explanations.”

“She won’t make it?” Blurr sank lower in his seat, arching his shoulders into himself. Worry tugged at his spark. 

The emergency response mech sucked air in through his vents, a habit. “Whatever happened to her won’t happen to you,” he reassured, placing a servo on the desk, like he was trying to come closer. “You’re too fast for that, remember?” 

The answer made Blurr bite his lower lip in thought, before he turned his attention to the files she had given him. Opening one marked as File 01: URGENT ATTENTION NEEDED, he skimmed through the words. 

'Greetings,' it read, 'this is a classified document containing important information for MUST SEE PERSONNEL ONLY. Failure to abide by rules will cause harmful effects. First off, the courier must head to these coordinates: -84.976322 degrees Northwest and -47.046501 degrees West, where the information will be given to Optimus Prime who awaits there.' 

“Hold up!” Blurr sat up, a frown etched on his face. Glancing at the date on the document, he confirmed the message had only been written an orbital cycle ago, way too recently to be confused by any means with what the frag happened during the war. 

Red Alert leaned further over the desk, half laying on it. “What, what happened?”

Blurr read the first paragraph over again. “It mentions Optimus Prime.” 

Stunned, the medic sat back. “But he’s dead.” 

“According to the first file I opened—”

“There’s more?”

He shot him a glance and the medic shut up, before continuing. “The first file I opened says he ‘awaits there’ at the coordinates I’ve been given. Which, if I run it through my map . . . is underground at a tiny island somewhere really, really far away.” 

“So it’s like a treasure hunt! With Optimus!” Red Alert was way too excited for this thing. “Even if the prime isn’t there, isn’t that cool?”

The femme’s injuries flashed back into the forefront of his processor, and he echoed in a small voice, “Yeah, cool.” 

They both sat there for a minute, taking it all in. “Soo, what are you going to do about it all?” 

Blurr eyed him and stood to his pedes, revving his engine slightly to get some last charge out of it. Speeding through the city had loosened him up a bit, and he felt good like after a race, but sometimes after-charges happened, especially if he hadn’t raced in a while. “Nothing.” 

The mech sputtered and followed him to the door. “A dying femme gave you information and you’re going to do nothing about it? What about her honor? You can’t just not finish her task!” 

“Honor,” he stated pointedly, stopping at the door, “has been burnt out. Optimus is dead, and the leaders in his charge are Prowl and Starscream. We might be out of a civil war for now, but one’s ready to spiral back into place at any moment. Why is it my fault a femme accidentally gave me files of information? I’m just a bartender.” 

“You said she was looking for you,” the mech said, stepping close. Blurr had to crane his neck back slightly to look at him, as with most bots. “That wasn’t an accident. Plus, with this public spectacle, any bot that did that to her might have wanted to wipe that information out. You have that information now. It’s only a matter of time before they come knocking at your door, too.” 

With a sharp vent, Blurr yanked the door back and stormed out. “See you later, Alert,” he threw over his shoulder. 

“Call me if you need anything.”

In the striking light of the outdoors, left alone with his thoughts, Blurr tried to process everything. Was Red Alert right? Was Blurr next in line to be attacked, armed with information he never should have had in the first place? That didn’t seem fair. 

And, by the time he made it back to his bar, the door had been barred up, looking cheap and slapping him with the all-too real reality of what had just happened. 

Jazz found him first. “Hey, boss! Is she okay?” the singer asked, dancing out of his way as Blurr sped to the bar counter. Finding an order on the table, he wiped his servos off before he began preparing the ingredients, eager for something to take his mind off the events. 

“Won’t make it,” he muttered under his breath, frowning like in concentration of making the glass. 

The shorter mech’s stride faltered. “Oh, it’s that bad? Did you know her?”

He shook his helm. Blurr really didn’t want to talk about it. Jazz was a nice mech, one of his best friends, actually, but sharing secrets with a special-op was dangerous. Red Alert wanted him to go, for whatever reason. Maybe for his safety, but the medic seemed excited about the adventure, too. He couldn’t tell how Jazz would react, and didn’t want to push it. 

“Ratchet doesn’t think he’ll be home early tonight,” he told Drift, placing the finished drink in front of him. 

The ex-Decepticon/Autobot pouted slightly. “I understand. Are you feeling okay?” 

Wiping his servos on a slightly damp towel, Blurr shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll get there. I just have a lot to process at the moment. But thank you for your concern. I’ll be in the back, organizing the supplies after a quick wash.” Flashing them both a smile they all knew was fake, Blurr slipped into the storage room and shut the door, before stumbling to a supply box and sitting atop it. With a soft groan, he held his servo in his hands, still feeling sticky from when he held the bleeding femme.  

Okay, so he momentarily ditched his friends. But he had to give himself some space, had to figure out what he wanted to do with the information. 

Slipping off the crate, he opened a box and pulled out a few bottles, grabbing a towel to wipe them down before placing them into a smaller crate on an elevator. 

Before Blurr had converted it into a bar, it had been a factory of sorts. Since he got it, he had taken out most of the conveyer belts, but not all of them, because it helped with the backbreaking loads he couldn't exactly carry safely. 

Drift was the one mostly responsible for the heavy loads, with the help of Jazz sometimes. Since Blurr was a racer, his metal was thin and light, easily compatible in case of a crash, and heavy loads weren't easy for him. It didn't mean he was weak, and he hated being treated like he was delicate after he had been a wrecker for part-time, but that was the one thing he couldn't convince either of letting him help with. 

Picking up another jar, he held it up, eying the tint of the glass. The liquid inside sloshed around--

Wait, no. 

With a loud engine growl, he whirled, barely diving out of the way when a fist flew at him. Scrambling from the floor, the jar shattered, and his pede slipped against a few glass pieces, loosing his traction against the fizzy drink. 

He let out a hard grunt when something heavy landed on his back, pushing him to the floor. 

“Well, you’ve always been a much sought-after mech,” chuckled the stranger. “Why am I not surprised that nothing's changed?” 

Blurr didn't recognize the voice. Twisting his helm up, he was met with a basic metallic paint and strong defence plates, obviously a Decepticon during the war, even if the insignia was painted off. “Who are you?” he snapped, struggling to get up. 

There was a reason he was a wrecker for only a short amount of time. 

The mech stepped down on him harder, and Blurr gasped as he felt his thin plates begin to mend inward, pinching his wires. “Not telling you, speedy. Names are important. Almost as important as that information you now have.” 

Frag it all to Earth and back! Red Alert had been correct, as usual. But Blurr hadn't expected it to come this quickly! 

“You're not getting it,” he snarled, opening his thigh compartment discreetly. Slowly, he slunk a servo down and gripped the cool metal of security. 

The mech just chuckled. “Who said I needed it?” 

In a flash, Blurr whipped his gun out and fired twice. Was it illegal? Sure. But he's already done that today, and this time he's protecting his own life. 

A hissed grunt let him know his shots, or at least one of them, were true, and he spun out of the other's hold, popping back on his pedes as the ex-Decepticon backed off, clutching his wound. “You sly little thing,” he snarled, taking a step forward. “Last I checked, weapons were banned.” 

Despite his spark thrumming with an energy that threatened to make his systems overload if he didn't run or do something, Blurr smirked. “Looks like not all Autobots are goody-two-shoes, then.” 

“Unfortunately for you, neither are ‘cons.” Blurr ran out of the way as a blade pierced the air where he had been, landing on a crate. 

“Crummy old technology,” he stated, loading his double fire weapon and aiming it at the mech. “And I thought you guys were something to fear.” 

The deception smirked. “Allow me to help revigotate said fear.” 

A nanoklik later the knife exploded. The bottles in the crate cracked and blew open, dumping salaries worth of money onto the floor that would take forever to clean. Fire lapped at what was left of the crate, and Blurr stared at it in horror, letting out a pained squeak. 

At the last second he noticed the Decepticon closing in, but was unable to stop the arm from encircling his throat, or the sharp jab at his hip as his gun got wrenched away. 

“You,” the mech breathed into his audial, “are coming with me.”

In a flurry of movement, Drift ran into the room. “Blurr, I told you not to move those crates--oh! Jazz!” 

The other mech appeared as soon as his name was called, and when he assessed the situation, his visor darkened and his servos clenched. 

Blurr couldn't think of a better time to have an ex-Decepticon and a special-ops as friends. 

Pulling out his sword, Drift took a step forward. “I would let go of him if I were you,” he snarled. 

Blurr's vents stuttered when the pressure around his neck tightened. 

“You don't understand what game you're playing,” the mech snarled, taking a step back and forcing him to do the same. “The info he has? Bots would kill to get it. Luckily for him, he's only useful if he's alive.” 

Before any more wasted time could be lost, Blurr threw his servos out and flipped his fingers under the other's spaced-out plating before pinching a wire so hard it snapped. 

The ex-Decepticon flinched, but it was done. The arm around Blurr's neck hung limp and he sprinted away, right as his two friends pushed forward. 

Bending over a crate, Blurr tried to get his shuddered vents under control as he watched the battle, in case he needed to jump in again. When his gun skittered out, he jumped to retrieve it, ignoring the howls of pain as the stranger’s plating crumpled in from all the hard hits he received. 

Finally, Drive hauled the mech up in cuffs, who shook with rage. “Tell your buddies,” he started, patting the other's shoulder with hard thwacks. “This courier has mean friends.” 

Jazz gave a chuckle before glancing around. “You know what, I'm hiring a cleaner.” 

Blurr’s optics snapped to him. “But we don't have enough funds for that!” 

He shrugged, and both watched as Drift dragged the deception out, shouting that the bar was closing for the evening. “So we’ll give them some on-the-house drinks, big deal. What is a big deal, though, is that attempted kidnap.” He leaned in, his visor burning with intent. “So, once we’ve all had a shower, you're going to tell us just what that information is so Drift and I can better protect you.” 

In any other situation, Blurr would have complained. 

Now, as his pedes stuck to the floor with every step he took, adorned with scars and the pink energon of the femme who died to give him this awesome package of life? Now, he wasn't going to fight back.

Chapter Text

Notes: Welcome back to Chapter Two! Here are some new characters: 

Sideswipe: RiD version

Bluestreak: G1 version

Whirl: IDW version

~~~~~

The door opened before Blurr had a chance to knock. 

“You fragger, get in here,” Red Alert hissed, grabbing his raised servo and yanking him into the house. Blurr didn't complain, yet. Behind him, his two friends followed suit, although Jazz mangled his grin. 

Blurr was going to talk about sending unauthorized messages to Alert with him. 

“Look, I'm fine—” 

“Get on that couch, now.” 

Venting, Blurr obeyed and laid on his stomach, attempting to relax, letting the medic assess his back injuries. Drift and Jazz took their own seats at the table, and he sent them a glare they only grinned at. 

Looks like they both conspired against him. The fraggers. 

“It's a simple dent,” the medic mumbled. Blurr could have told him that. “You're lucky it wasn't deeper. Hold still while I straighten them out.” 

While Alert rummaged through a nearby cabinet, the medic glanced warily around at the trio. All were washed and fresh-looking, and if it weren't for their odd dents that pulled at Blurr's back wiring and Jazz's soft limp, they looked just fine. But Blurr knew the medic looked past all that. “What exactly happened?” 

“I got jumped,” Blurr said simply, grabbing a pillow and wrapping his arms around it before laying his helm down. “One outta ten, would not recommend. If I hadn't been wiping a glass bottle, I wouldn't have noticed him.” 

Coming back with a few small devices, Alert began magnetizing some of the plating back, and Blurr winced at the stretching sensation. “You got lucky this time,” he warned. “But this won't hold out, and it's barely been half a cycle.” 

“That's why we're here, too,” Drift said, holding his helm up with his servo. “Saved his aft already. So we want to know the contents of his information.” 

Alert’s optics glowed, the hunger visible in them again. Medics loved to devour new knowledge, and at the hospital, most deal with the same issues they were already good at doing. Which left Red Alert to be stuck with fixing dents or molding new frame parts. “Should he go?” 

“Go where?” Jazz piped up, snacking on some bolts he found. 

“You didn't tell them?” Alert asked, popping a particularly deep dent out. 

Blurr hissed. “Somehow, between a death, an ocean of questions, and a near kidnapping, it slipped my processor.” 

“He has coordinates to Optimus Prime.” 

Jazz was on his pedes faster than lightning. “What the frag do you mean?” His voice box was tense, ready to spring at any moment. 

“That was why I didn't want to tell you,” Blurr muttered, shoving his face into the pillow. Jazz used to be Optimus' right hand man, slightly more than Bumblebee. And when the singer put his processor into something, good luck getting him to change it. 

“How recent is this information?” 

He paused. “An . . . Orbital cycle ago.” There was no use lying to a special-ops. They always knew. 

“We have to go.” 

“I have a bar to run!” he hissed, looking up. He gave a soft yelp when another deep dent clicked into place, pinching a wire for a nanoklik. “I can't just leave that.” 

The smallest white mech in the room frowned and crossed his arms. “After today, a few hundred in currency is spilled onto the floor. How much more do you want to lose, Blurr, when you've put so much time and effort into making something when nobody had anything right after the war? Your life, too?” 

His engine rumbled lowly. “You just want to find Optimus.” 

Jazz's visor darkened. “Of course I do. But I'm also worried about you. Drift and I left you alone for barely five minutes and somebot tried to kidnap you. After they get the information, they might just kill you.” 

“I get it,” he said angrily. 

Alert popped out the last one and put the device aside before grabbing a smoother and running it over his back. “I don't think staying here is a good choice.” 

Blurr turned to Drift, hoping to get at least one mech on his side, but he shrugged and played lazy circles with his sword. “Post war does get boring. No offense to your bar, it's the second thing I look forward to nowadays.” 

“And Ratchet?” he demanded, feeling the ground crumbling beneath him. 

Drift shrugged. “He's been busy. Ghosting him might show how much I appreciate being second to work.” A glint flashed in his optics, reminding Blurr that Drift had been a Decepticon. 

When Alert patted his back and moved aside, stowing the machinery away, Blurr sat up and held the pillow to his chest. “I'm not going.” 

Jazz looked ready to throw something and Alert nearly dropped the tools. Before either could say anything, Drift cut in smoothly, “Why not?” 

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? 

Blurr looked around Alert’s room. It was open, with plants growing on tables and books thriving on shelves. It was a home, a place he hang out at often, and still remembered the laughs he shared with his three friends. Sometimes they went to Jazz's apartment, or Drift’s shared place with Ratchet, or even his own apartment, but they had what they needed. They had a home, a lifestyle, Blurr had work, and he didn't want to dive into another chaotic fray. 

He wasn't scared of the travel. He was actually more concerned that if he stayed, he would be picked on more by other desperate bots. But he couldn't just leave for a someplace that claimed Optimus was still alive. 

The couch shifted slightly as Alert sat next to him. “If you did go, I just want you to know I will too.” 

“And me!” Eager determination colored Jazz's words. 

“You already know I will,” Drift said lazily, swinging his weapon back and forth. 

Blurr stared at all of them. “I can't ask you to do that. And . . . What about my bar? Who's gonna run it till we come back?” 

“I have a few mech's in mind,” Jazz promised, taking a few steps forward. 

He narrowed his optics. “Like who?” 

“Sideswipe, Bluestreak, Whirl—”

“What exactly does my bar mean to you, Jazz,” he interrupted, feeling his armor plates stretch over him closer and closer till his seams practically touched. “With every name you say it gets worse and worse. And, I already know Sideswipe would rather join us than—and this is all hypothetical—” he emphasized, seeing the hopeful flare in the special-ops visor, “but if we did hypothetically go, I know he wouldn’t do any work. Bluestreak is okay, I guess, but if he can put a trap on his intake, he’s gold. And, Whirl? Really?” 

Jazz huffed, venting out. “Whirl’s been looking for something to do. I figure this could be a good chance to test him, see what he can and can’t do.” 

Drift’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I don’t know if that’s a good one either . . .” 

“If we don’t try, then we’ll never know!” the mech protested. 

“Are we here to talk about my trip I’m not going on, or didn’t you guys want to hear the files?” Blurr asked dryly, before the conversation spiraled out of his control. 

Opening his intake, Jazz swallowed it back and sat down with a huff. “Fine. Read the one where Optimus is mentioned.” 

Alert seized the opportunity and grabbed the mech’s pede, picking the injured one up carefully and looking over it from different angles. “Don’t move,” the medic growled when Jazz tried to protest, and that was the end of that. 

Contrary to what Jazz wanted, Blurr did not open that file. Instead, Blurr sorted through them. They were organized very neatly, actually, with an IMPORTANT: READ FIRST he had missed just before all the numbered files. So he opened that. 

“‘To whoever this finds,’” he started reading, the world around him fading to the pale pink tone of the message, “‘greetings. The information stored in these files must be guarded and not shared with anyone else.’ Oops,” he smirked, glancing at them all. “Looks like I can’t share anything.” 

Jazz scowled. “Very funny. Spit it out or I’ll rip it from your processor.” 

“Funny, that last mech wanted to do the same,” he hummed, skimming through the contents. 

“That was not funny!” 

‘The information in the other files contains the following: Locations to Optimus Prime; Locations to Megatron/Galvatron; Locations to the Allspark; Locations to the 13 Primes; Locations to the Center of Cybertron; Locations to Energon Deposits; Location of the Matrix of Leadership; Locations of Friendly Planets; Locations of Lost Technology; and the Location of Unicron.’

What. The. Frag. 

“Iacon to Blurr, helloooo!” Turning his optics on, Blurr’s engine gave a distressed whine which made Alert peer at him. Drift stood in front of him, barely a foot away, his servo gripping Blurr’s shoulder tightly. “Are you good?”

“T-the information,” he sputtered, a rarity. He was always mentally fast enough to figure out what he wanted to say. “It can’t be all true . . .”

Drift tilted his helm. “What does it say?”

Blurr couldn’t say it out loud. It would sound even faker than it already looked. So, he took a screenshot and sent that portion over to his friends, hugging the pillow tighter to himself. There was no way. No way at all he had simply stumbled over this information, the information bots were trying to kidnap him for. 

Frag, he couldn’t stay here at his bar. He couldn’t even stay locked in his house. If bots knew he had the info they wanted, even if none of it was real, he either had to go MIA completely or pawn it off to another bot. 

But the second option wouldn’t help him out for long, not when he had already seen some of the contents. Nobody would believe him even if he didn’t read every file. 

“Woah,” Jazz finally said, his voice hushed. “What Prowl wouldn’t do to get this information in his servos.” 

While the special-ops did work at his bar, he also worked closely with Prowl to solve hard cases that sprung up around Iacon. Blurr supposed he was something to be watched for, now. Another reason why telling special-ops anything was dangerous. 

Alert’s engine whistled softly, while Drift remained impassive. 

He shrank into himself. “I-I can’t stay here. I’m a walking mech named ‘Wanted’ in big bold letters. There’s no way I can stay around and ruin my bar, everything that I worked for!” 

“As stated earlier, I’m coming with,” Jazz reminded him, his face set. “Prowl can throw his fit, I don’t care. If we find Optimus, I won’t have to worry about Prowl ever again, and we’ll have a true leader rather than whatever is going on right now.” 

Blurr hesitated. “But—”

“Look, I’ll call them all right now, okay? I’ll make the plans, handle the events, keep them on their toes, okay? All you’ll have to do is keep that pretty processor of yours safe so you can guide us to Optimus, and we can go from there.” 

Biting his lower lip, Blurr’s shoulders drooped when he realized he didn’t actually have any other choice. Jazz only wanted the best for him, for his business, and for everybody else politically. How could he refuse? Besides, it wasn’t like he could trust anyone else himself. Lots of mechs came into his bar, offering to help when needed, but he had learned the hard way that drunk bots talk a loud and proud game that wasn’t necessarily true. “Fine. Call them. But please specify the rules so they clearly understand everything?” 

Jazz grinned and nodded. “Right away, boss!” 

~~~~~

“Huh?” Sideswipe slowed down, letting the street racer pass him, flashing their lights. He watched them for a moment before turning that exit, accepting the call. “Jazz! Long time no talk. Why the sudden call?”

“Hey, you’re on Cybertron, right?” the mech’s voice asked, same as he remembered it. But now he sounded slightly excited. Sideswipe wondered what was up. 

“Yeah,” he said, slowing at a stoplight. A car drove normally, and he decided to play and sped forward, barely driving off before the other vehicle could hit their bumper. When they honked at him, he smirked. 

He heard a lulled conversation, before a “I know, Blurr, you don’t have to worry.” Then, Jazz’s voice came louder. “Sorry about that. I was wondering, think you could stop by and mann New Maccadam’s? We’re looking for a few mechs who could take it over at short notice, and I thought of you.” 

“Why? Does it have anything to do with the video of Blurr that’s popping up everywhere?” 

He had watched it recently, eager for any edible news of Blurr. What he saw was confusing, though. An injured femme, rare in peacetime, already half dead as she collapsed onto Blurr. Then she touched his crest, which Sideswipe knew was sensitive, and the racer froze before picking himself up and running out with her. 

“Frag,” Jazz muttered, and Sideswipe’s engine thrummed in surprise. The special-ops not knowing something before him? What a rare opportunity. “Just how popular is this video?”

He thought about it. “So far, it’s in the racer’s home page, from what I saw. Nobody knows who the femme is, but the video catches everything.” 

The mech’s voice softened again. “Blurr, Sideswipe—yes, I’m talking to him first, shut up—Sideswipe said there’s a video going around about you and the femme. We need to leave now. Before anybody else gets any ideas.” 

“What’s going on?” he asked, gunning his gas as a street light ahead flickered red. The older roads were full of streetlights, but less monitored than the roads above. Those in the sky transformed to give them passage, but were always full of cops, and a racer’s heart like Sideswipe couldn’t handle them. 

“Nothing. We need you at the bar. For Blurr.” 

Just the name was enough for him to warm up. The blue racer was hot, to put it lightly, and with their shared love of driving, Sideswipe pushed past limits he never knew he could survive with the help of Blurr. Of course, Blurr was faster. He always was. But sometimes, he toyed with Sideswipe and messed up, and no matter how many times he pulled ahead, a free elation slammed into him each and every time, leaving him shaking and half ready to fly at the end of the race track. 

Maybe Jazz knew, maybe he didn’t, but Sideswipe loved Blurr. From his perfect curves to his speed, to his witty sarcasm and fresh, flirtatious joy at making drinks at his bar, he was perfect. He was perfect, and Sideswipe was not, and that only made him more attractive. 

“Is he in danger in any way?” he asked instead, catching onto Jazz’s unspoken words. Much as he loved to stare at Blurr when he made drinks, he wasn’t a fan of making them himself. But danger? AND protecting Blurr? Sign him up!

“Ummmmmmmm,” Jazz hummed in perfect pitch. “Well, no. Not right now. Blurr! Shut up, I know what you said, Primus!” 

Taking a drifting U turn, Sideswipe’s engine growled angrily. How dare Jazz keep telling Blurr to shut up! It was maddening that something was happening on the other side of the call and he wasn’t there. 

“So anyway, yes or no?”

Sideswipe pulled up his GPS. “That depends on what is going on.” 

“Blurr said you can’t come. OW! You fragger, don’t throw things at me! Sometimes it's good to be blunt!” 

Jazz’s words made his spark sink, until the startled exclamation, and then he was grinning like a fool. He knew exactly who had attacked Jazz. Still . . . “Did he really?”

“Yes! No . . . Alert, Primus, I’m not hurt, leave me alone! It was just a pillow, I’m fine!” 

Alert. Red Alert. Bingoooooo. 

Erasing Jazz’s address and inputting Red Alert’s, Sideswipe picked up his pace and sped over to the medic’s house. It was a long shot, but it would make sense they were at his house. Red Alert had recently gotten off his shift from the hospital, and lived far enough away from the city to where Blurr would be safer, if he really was in trouble. If none were at the house, Sideswipe could call them and try to pinpoint where they actually were. “Uh huh. So, which answer is it?”

“Yes, Sideswipe, he did. Not because he hates you, but because he’s worried about his bar.” Tension now crackled in his voice box, not the same snappy mech who had first joined the call, but Sideswipe relaxed. Of course the blue speedster was worried about his bar. “Look, can you, or can you not? I need a yes or no, not vague answers.” 

“You’ll see,” he snickered before ending the call. Jazz didn’t even try to reach him again, and he simply let it be, cruising at reprimandable speeds to Red Alert’s house. 

Blurr, his crush, was in danger. He couldn’t let that slide. And the only reason Jazz would call for quick backup managers at New Maccadam’s was if he, Blurr, and Drift were all leaving for the moment. 

When he finally reached the medic’s house, he transformed into bot mode and strolled up to the house, knocking softly. Within a nanoklik, Blurr yanked the door open, his mouth in a snarl as he snipped something behind him, before it morphed into wide optics and a slightly slack jaw. “Oh!” he squeaked, and Sideswipe nearly melted from how cute it was. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” 

A servo reached back and yanked the stunned blue racer away, and Jazz was glaring up at him. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I make myself clear on the call?” Shoving Blurr away, which he growled about, Jazz blocked the entryway. “You are not coming.” 

Sideswipe crossed his arms. “I love New Maccadam’s and all, but Blurr already knows how much I don’t like to serve drinks. But whatever is going on, I can help. Blurr is a racer. If any other racers try to catch him, he’ll be on his own.” 

“How much do you—”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Blurr mumbled, and his smooth, shiny face looked apprehensive. 

So he wasn’t wrong. “She gave you information?” Sideswipe asked, finally asking the question he wanted to know since first watching the video. 

Blurr’s optics studied him, raking through his body and spark, and Sideswipe stood still, tensing up slightly. After what felt like an hour, his shoulders sagged. “Fine. You can join this entire crazy facade, too.”

Jazz sputtered and Sideswipe grinned devilishly as he stepped past the door, shutting it with a soft click. “Y-you can’t be serious,” he muttered, his visor bright with emotion. “First you said no, and now you’re letting him join?”

“This is my mission,” Blurr snapped, walking back into the living room. Sideswipe followed him with his optics, looking into every dip and curve of his frame. “You decided to come. But feel free to leave at any point in time.” 

Giving a last mutter, the special-ops stormed off into another room, slamming the door shut. 

“What's up with him?” Sideswipe asked, leaning against the doorframe to the living room. He nodded to Drift and Alert, both who were preoccupied with buffing out Drift’s dents. 

“He’s just charged up,” Blurr answered, sinking onto a couch. He made a move to join him, but stopped himself. “Earlier today he and Drift had to fight off a mech who tried to kidnap me, and he hasn’t successfully used up the leftover adrenaline from the short fight.” 

His loud engine growl was embarrassing, to say the least. But a mech trying to kidnap Blurr? The video had been posted barely three hours ago! “You’re serious.” 

Blurr met his optics, and there was no hint of the flirtatious, cheeky mech he knew at the bar. Instead, he was portaled back in time to a war-ravaged Cybertron when he and a group of bots returned from fighting Decepticons. The same level of seriousness and dread stared at him now. “I am.” 

Sideswipe ruffled his armor plating. “Well, I’m in it to help you. Those creeps won’t get the chance to touch you again. Just . . . what exactly did that Femme give you to be in this much danger?” 

His wry grin set him on edge. “How does the location of Optimus or Unicron sound? And there’s much, much more.” 

“Wh-how?” 

His crush shrugged and crossed a knee over the other, reclining back. “Dunno. What I do know, though, is that I need to find Optimus first. Maybe then I can give him the rest of the info and stay safe.” He bit his lower lip, a habit Sideswipe loved, but for now he didn’t focus on that. Not when Blurr was in trouble

and obviously scared for his life. 

Later, though, after this was all figured out, he would tell him. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Chapter Text

Notes: Hi again! Little bit of worldbuilding, sometimes literally: 

Cybertron land: Transformers One (I dunno other worlds XP) 

Starscream: Animated

Skywarp: Animated

Thundercracker: Animated

-----

“And you won’t break anything, right?” Blurr threw over his shoulder. 

Whirl’s engine sighed, and the copter bot nodded, for the hundredth time. “Yes, yes, I won’t.” Truly, he understood Blurr’s concern. If anyone knew how hard it was not to break things with his own servos, it was him. With claws like his, Whirl couldn’t pick much things up without bending them. So he had been set to passing drinks on trays around to others, and clean-up. Other than that, Bluestreak handled the rest. 

The slim racer set the last small crate on the counter and pulled out the drinks, stocking them into their spots on the cabinets. “Good. Jazz will call once in a while, and I might too. So be aware, and don’t take this position lightly.” 

Even with the bar owner’s snarl, Whirl still felt his blades twitch, eager to spin around with the surprised joy he felt. Never had anybody offered a job to him, and here he was in famed New Maccadam’s, helping out. To be fair, he did think Blurr was stupid for letting him have this position, because there was no way in pits he wasn’t going to not break something. Maybe, in another universe, Whirl still had his original helm and servos, who was still hopeful about the future, who would have rocked in a position like this. 

Still, he didn’t care. What happened was Blurr’s fault, as much as his own, and he was going to fight for it before he let somebody take this position from him. 

“Blurr,” Sideswipe called, stepping into the bar. His blue optics brightened when he saw the racer, and though he half-raised a servo, he seemed to re-think and stayed where he was. “We’re all ready. Do you have to tell Whirl just how to wipe a table again?” 

“Counter clockwise until there is no streak,” the bar owner muttered before he put the last bottle in with a loud vent-sigh. “Fine. I’m done too.”

The red racer smiled softly. “Good. Jazz is about to explode if we don't get on the road soon.”

“Him and his prime,” Blurr snarled before spinning around. He gave both Whirl and Blurstreak a piercing stare. “Keep this place well. If I get a single bad review, you can be sure you’ll lose your job. Got it?”

Bluestreak barged ahead. “Of course, we won’t let you down, I’ll do everything exactly like you told me how to and we’ll keep this place clean and immaculate—”

“The less said, the more sold, remember?” Blurr interrupted, crossing his arms with a look. 

“Eep!” The gray mech nodded quickly, slamming a servo over his intake. “Right, the silver rule, got it!” 

It was amusing, really. Whirl knew Blurr was popular among everybody, but to see him smooth-talk a silly lie like the ‘silver rule’ to a mech older than himself was a show in itself. It spoke volumes of Blurr’s spy arch during the past war, how he had been able to understand the physiological aspects of bots. And it really impressed Whirl because he wanted to know how to do that, to get into the helms of those he hated most. 

When the racer’s pale blue optics turned on him, Whirl straightened. “Of course I understand,” he said. Then, just to appease him, reminded, “Counter clockwise.” 

That seemed to unspool his tight armor plates. “Perfect. Blue, you can open the door now.” 

As the gray mech went to finally unlock the store, Whirl stood there for a moment, watching the bar owner. In fluid, smooth movements he walked up to Sideswipe and leaned in. He didn’t realize he tensed up until disappointment crashed through his processor when Blurr’s helm barely passed Sideswipe’s, tilted to whisper something into the other’s audial. 

Sideswipe confirmed whatever it was with a nod, and when Blurr moved off he almost seemed to deflate before following him out, shutting the second exit behind himself. 

Interesting. 

“Welcome to New Maccadam’s!” 

Bluestreak’s cheery voice tore his gaze away from the closed door as his optic settled on the customers settling in. They eyed him warily, offering dry smiles as they shifted slightly away. 

Expecting to feel the pang of hurt and betrayal, when neither happened, Whirl was left standing there like a dolt. Out of habit his clawed servos were clenched, but he loosened them and stared at the counter where recipes and ingredients were taped onto, half surprised. 

He hated their jeers. Hated their looks of fear, of sympathy, of amusement. Blind anger had landed him in jail with another tally to his kill count, but it wasn’t all his fault. That was what he told himself, anyway. 

Now, though? He felt good, somehow, like he was about to start levitating. Since he already could fly. 

“We need two Rebels, one Sunday Rain, and a Byteshock!” Bluestreak announced, bustling behind the counter. His armor gleamed, somehow, more than it did earlier in the morning.  

Whirl nodded and reached out for a cup when a servo smacked his away and he stared down, surprised. 

“Can’t do that! Here, I’ll make the drinks and you can send them out.” 

Staring at Bluestreak, he carefully backed out of the mech’s space, adjusting on his thin legs. Nobody touched him unless they wanted to fight. That simple rule Whirl had long ago found out threatened to break his processor now as his body twitched, eager to fight the other mech, but Bluestreak had already moved on. The grey mech muttered to himself, peering down at the recipes on the counter before he poured a drink, then paused to look again. It went like that. Action, read, action, read, until the first drink was done. 

“Done!” he announced, before placing it onto a tray and pushing it over to Whirl. “There. Serve it to that purple mech, okay?”

With a slow nod, Whirl took a vent and carefully picked the tray up with two servos, something Blurr taught him to do, and walked carefully. He knew Blurr would be furious if he broke into a fight now, and the idea of losing this position cut him more than it should have. The cup’s contents sloshed very slightly, but stayed upright long enough to make it to the purple mech’s table. 

“Here you are,” he said, and if he still had an intake, would have been grinning. Instead, he had to make do with an emphasis in his words. 

The bot took it, grimacing slightly at the sticky exterior, but took a sip anyway, nodding when it tasted like how he thought it should. “Thanks?” he practically asked when he still hadn’t moved 

“Whirl!” 

Cycling his optic, the copter bot backed up. “Yeah?” 

Bluestreak thrust another platter his way, this time with two drinks. “For that green femme. And next time? Don’t stare at them like that, okay? It makes them uncomfortable, and we don’t want Blurr to lose his regulars, okay?”

Carefully grasping it, Whirl nodded. Less customers meant he might have to be kicked out, and he did not want that. So, when he gave the next drink to the femme, he left as soon as the platter landed on the table. 

The door swooshed open with the effect Blurr had installed. “Yeah! And he—what the?” 

The group of mechs that sauntered in froze when he glanced at them, but only for a nanoklik before one seeker of the three stepped forward, flourishing his red and grey wings out. 

“Excuse us, but where is Blurr?” 

“Gone,” he said simply, placing his empty platter on the counter for Bluestreak to refill. 

They grew tense. “Where?” 

He shrugged. “It’s not my job to ask where he's going. Are you here to order something, or no?”

The same seeker who had spoken up scowled. “Listen to me you ugly creature” —the glass Bluestreak had just put on flew across the room, shattering in a pathetic display— “but this is more important that you realize!” 

Whirling around, the other two gasped and backed a step back, but Starscream held strong, lifting his chin. “Since you won’t order anything, I’ll have you mechs step out,” he hissed, his claws twitching to run themselves through his armor plating, shredding the oh-so-famed leader. 

“Where did he go?” he pressed, crossing his arms in a half pout. 

“He’s playing hide and seek,” he sneered, creeping up. “Why don’t you go find him? I’ll give you guys a push, if you need it.” 

One of the other seekers, the purple one, vented, playing with his minorly clawed servos. “Starscream, the longer we wait, the further he’ll run. You know he’s fast. We need to be out there now.” 

Giving another harsh glare, Starscream vented hard before spinning on a heel strut. Throwing a servo out, he knocked a table over before his minions followed him out the door. 

Whirl had to hand it to himself. The first thirty minutes in: successful. 

He couldn’t wait to tell Blurr when the bar owner came back. Even if he did have to sweep up the glass and promise the bot another drink, he would have been smiling, had he a face. Around here, they listened to him. 

And wasn’t that just neat? 

-----

“At the rate we’re going, we should make it there in thirteen days!” 

“I’m glad you're optimistic,” Blurr grumbled, trudging his pedes already. “Guess how much faster it would be if only I went?” 

The shortest mech in the group gave him a squinted glance. “Well, you’re stuck in this already. So why not enjoy it?” 

“You enjoy holding information that others would die for?” Blurr demanded, fixing the strap on his pack as if it were already digging into his shoulders. To be fair, the first bag he had did slip between his transformation seams way too often, until Sideswipe had offered to change them. 

Now, carrying Blurr’s pack, he watched the two half banter with each other. 

“Of course! It’s the thrill of running away, it’s the hunt! Plus, don’t give me that pit slag when you were a spy during the war.” 

“I was not a spy, I was simply a unit in the information agency. And I was forced to be there, because I got kicked out of being a wrecker.” 

Poor, poor Blurr, Sideswipe snickered inside his head. When Blurr pouted, he wanted to kiss it off and show just how special he was, if to himself at least. 

But, though Blurr was delicate, he was far from weak. He could push himself, could ignore his crumpled plating to save another bot from getting killed, would willingly put himself between a gun to save another, and even though he’d bled far too much during the war, he was still here. Alive. 

That was a testament in itself, wasn’t it? 

At any rate, it was cruel to look this hot, with carefully lined hip plates that moved fluidly with every step he took. Sideswipe couldn't understand how Blurr wasn't wanted so much earlier. 

He felt a nudge. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet.” Red Alert’s worried expression seemed a little too worried, considering they were only an hour into the trip. Now, they were surrounded by green, exotic foliage so different yet similar to Earth’s, trekking low before a looming mountain in case others were searching for him, already. So far, nothing had jumped out, and it had been a simple hijack into a reprogrammable sky road, courtesy of Jazz, landing them on the outskirts of the outside planet. 

“I'm fine,” he assured, before catching the teasing glint in the other's optics and he glared. “Don't haggle me—” 

They let Drift walk ahead of them before Alert muttered, “You know we all see it.” 

Panic shot through his frame and he glanced towards Blurr. 

“Except for him.” The medical mech’s voice fell flat. 

Now, Sideswipe didn't know whether to feel insulted or not. But he didn't spool his EM field in quick enough. 

“Don't take it the wrong way,” Alert said softly, placing a servo on his shoulder. “Blurr's been busy with work. He wants you here, remember? But, even with his ultra fast processor, he can only focus on so much.” 

His shoulders sagged. That meant Blurr wasn't interested enough for a relationship. He had better things to work on, and none of it included him. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Cheer up!” Alert said, pushing his shoulder softly before he let go. “You never know. Drop hints. I've noticed you get scared of him sometimes. You don't say hi on the streets. You make up lame excuses to get out of a racing evening. It's not just his fault he's focusing on other things.” 

There the medic was, always way too eager to help in anything. Still, venting softly, Sideswipe nodded. “I know, I know. But he's just so beautiful, and I'm worried he'll say no, so I stick uselessly around.” 

“So you’ll settle for less than beautiful?”

He clenched his servos, gritting his denta. Alert gave him a last look and caught up with the other's, leaving him in turmoil. 

Sideswipe didn't want to do that. As his optics watched over his crush, he was drawn into the other's bright laugh, how smooth his movements were, and craved to feel his engine rumble his body. He admired how even in the face of danger, even a wanted mech, he was so free. So brave. If he was panicking, it was hidden so well. 

“Sidey!” 

Snapping to attention, he kicked some rocks aside as he hurried after them, like a puppy to his master’s call. “Sorry, lost in thought.” 

“What’cha thinking about?” Blurr asked, slipping to hike next to him. 

“How we’ll reach Optimus,” he lied smoothly, always amazed at how easily he could speak. A sharp pinch made his engine growl and he picked the backpack’s strap out from his seams. “Dang it, Blurr. Can I burn this bag for you after we don't need it anymore?” 

“That was a throwaway pack, I didn't want to bring anything valuable with me,” he answered, running a finger over the same seam the pack strap slipped into. Sideswipe had to force himself to keep walking, to not shiver, and definitely not lean into the touch. 

It was over far too soon. 

“So, yes, you can burn it.”

He grinned, already imagining the way the fabric curled away into black bits. “Perfect.” 

“Did you come up with anything?” 

He stared stupidly at him for a moment. “Huh?” 

Blurr gave him a shy smile. “With Optimus.” 

“O-oh, right.” 

The path to Optimus was anything but easy. Miles and miles of mountains, which everybody thought would be safer, then the throat of an ocean, and last a dense jungle which would lead to the closest reaching area of the island that their greatest prime was supposedly at. 

And, to top it all off, Blurr had the access codes to the vault there. Whatever that meant. 

“I haven't given it much thought,” he admitted. “But it wouldn't make sense if he's still . . . You know.” He cast a glance at Jazz, who was jamming to some sort of music he played in his processor. 

Another thing he admired; Blurr was quick to catch on. “I get it,” he said quickly, lowering his voice. “I don't see how he could be alive either. It's been years since the war. I'm mostly worried that we won't find anything and Jazz will have another breakdown.” 

Sideswipe didn't know much about what happened with Jazz. Somethething about how he knew Optimus was dead. All he really knew was he was in New Maccadam's for a week, and it strained Blurr, Alert, and Drift. But Jazz was much better now. 

“I think he still knows,” he murmured, looking into Blurr's face. The other held his gaze. “But whatever happens, we’re all here for him.” 

And I'm here for you, he wanted to add, but didn't. 

His crush relaxed and nodded. “Thanks, Sidey. You're sweet.” 

Sideswipe couldn't tell if his spark was swelling and going to burst out of him with how badly it hurt. “No problem. That's why I'm here.” 

“For Jazz?” he teased, his optics glowing. 

He spoke before he thought about it. “No, for you.” Optics widening, he scrambled to fix it. Primus, he might as well just die now. “F-for everyone, of-of course. You, and Jazz, and Drift, and Alert.” 

A brow ridge raised, even as his smirk grew. “Not for information, not for Optimus, not to ghost a hardworking partner? How noble.” 

At this point, he wasn't sure if he was being made fun of or not. “Well, as soon as Jazz called, I knew something was up. And with that video flying around the web, I wanted to help out.” 

“So it is just for me~” 

Sideswipe stiffened, audial on high alert. When he didn't reply, Blurr frowned. “Hey, are you okay? I didn't mean—”

“Everyone, hide!” He hissed, hearing the low thrum of an engine. There was no doubt about it, and every second it got louder. Yanking Blurr after him, he scrambled to look for a hiding spot. Frag it all, that was what he was supposed to do! 

Zeroing in on a small crevasse in the mountain, he raced for it, feeling pleased when the other's jumped into action. From a special-ops, to an ex-Decepticon, to a medic, none in the group were slow or scared of emergencies. 

He squished himself into the crevasses first. “I'm bright red, he'll see me first,” he explained, tugging Blurr right after him. Under the guise of protecting him, he selfishly wrapped his arms around the lithe mech, tugging him close and pressing their bodies together. 

“I hear it now,” Blurr's tense voice said, and he stopped struggling against him to instead push himself into the cave more. 

The low thrum grew louder, and Sideswipe had to look around his shoulders to see if the other's were hidden or not. He couldn’t really see anything, though, the rocky walls doing their job well and hiding the outside world from him. He prayed they were, but even so, his fingers itched to hold his sword again. 

As they waited there, tense, the minutes grabbed by but the noise didn't seem to leave or get louder. It hovered there, agonizing, toying with their nerves cruelly. Then, it swooshed loudly and Blurr gasped softly, trying to shove himself more into the cavern, pushing himself against Sideswipe. 

“There’s nothing here,” a snarky voice huffed. “I’ve been flying for hours, Starscream! Yes, I went in the direction they walked in, I’m not a dolt. Sometimes I see a footprint, but I haven’t seen anything once they hit the mountains.” 

“Starscream?” Blurr whispered, shuddering. 

Sideswipe held him tighter. “It would only make sense,” he murmured lowly. “Maybe he already knew about that female courier before she gave it to you.” 

“That rat can frag himself,” he snarled, optics never leaving the mech in their path. “That’s Thundercracker. We must be important if he’s sending his trine out.”

Despite himself, he grinned. “Have you ever called him a rat to his face?” 

“Plenty of times. The best part is, nobody gets it,” he smirked, very pleased with himself despite the situation. 

“Fiiiine, I’ll go scout further for those pit lovers. But after we find them, I deserve a polish.”

Engines buzzed and with a whoosh were off, leaving them alone in the cavern. Sideswipe gave a shaky vent and only after he couldn’t hear it anymore did he let go of Blurr, who zipped away from him. 

He felt a little empty as Blurr quickly found his friend’s hiding spots. Drift camouflaged against the white rocks, Jazz managed to find another crevasse, but Red Alert had taken a shaky refuge behind a tree, and his smile of relief was shaky. 

“That was a good first run, guys,” Drift said warmly, his cold optics scanning the sky and mountains still ahead of them. “Next time, we might not get so lucky.”

“And look who didn’t want to bring Sideswipe along,” Blurr muttered, glancing pointedly at Jazz. Sideswipe couldn’t help but brighten as they all clustered together. 

The mech sulked. “I never said I didn’t want him. Besides, we would have heard Thundercracker eventually.” 

He and Blurr shared a knowing look; if a second of time was enough to lose a race, it was by pits enough to risk lives. 

“He’ll circle back around when he doesn’t find us,” Drift said, breathing the uneasy silence that had settled over them. “And he’s not the only one looking. Sooner or later, we’ll see Starscream and Skywarp too. Maybe other bots.”

Sideswipe’s spark retaliated against that. “Maybe we shouldn’t take the straight way,” he said. “Make the trip last longer to run in circles and avoid getting caught. If need be, maybe we can change our paint, too.” 

The past Decepticon nodded. “Good idea. That way, we won’t be recognizable from far away. 

Blurr’s pale blue optics lit up and he turned to Sideswipe. “So I can finally meet Sunstreaker!” 

His relieved confidence turned sour at the mention of his twin. But, he was along their route, and would do it for free. “I don’t know if he’ll be there,” he mumbled. 

“So call him,” Jazz snapped back. “It’s not that difficult.”

Jealousy churched in his spark, but he forced himself to make the call. When his twin didn’t pick up, he shrugged as they all started walking along their trail. “Probably busy.”

That was when the message came through. 

I know why you called. You better be here tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

Notes: Boop! Of course I had to add Sidey’s twin! :P

Sunstreaker: IDW version

Café Cybertron: Made up for the most part

Paint Jobs: Blurr; RB colors. Sideswipe; Animated colors. Drift; RiD colors. Jazz; MB colors. Red Alert; Armada colors. 

-----

It was almost shocking to see the twinkling lights of a city beyond. 

They crested the rocky, dusty hill and Sideswipe vented. He hadn't driven for so long before over mountains, and his gears were all warmed up and loose, easy to drive over the stony mounds. But having three luxury/sport cars driving over rough terrain was not easy on their springs or wheels, and he found himself longing for the smooth roads. 

“I've always wanted to check Altihex out,” Blurr mused softly, engine finally reduced to a rumbling purr, with soft pops and whistles when he pressed his ‘gas.’ 

Even from here, the famed party city glowed in the early morning light, banners stretched between towering spires. 

“It's just okay,” he said carelessly, trying not to show any heat through his voice box. 

“It looks like they are setting up for another festival,” Drift casually observed, easily having the longest sight out of any of them. “It's a good place to get lost in, at any rate.” 

Great. 

With a louder growl, Blurr jumped off the short cliff, and Sideswipe internally winced for him at the dents bound to chip his underside. But for once, the speedster didn't complain, not at the prospect of getting them smoothed out with a fresh new paint job just an hour at hand, like the humans would say. 

So, they all followed him, landing heavily on the stone as his springs protested at such a stupid maneuver and they were off, heading towards the beacon of light as Sideswipe’s spark sank more and more. 

They were easily let in through the unguarded gates, and as soon as they passed the walls, the low hum that vibrated through the air grew sharper, louder, and he transformed to take in the sight of all the ruckus on the streets. 

Even from taking three steps into the place, he could count five casinos glittering that their own business was fairer, brighter, better. Bars and store shops littered whatever space the casinos didn’t want to take up, and bots crammed the sidewalks and roads, easily chatting up a storm. No matter where he went, Altihex was a vibe of its own; a loud, dismayed chaos of richness and poverty. 

“Where do we meet your brother from?” Red Alert asked, frowning at a group of particularly loud mechs, stumbling over their own feet and murmuring something which turned into a great laughter. Their drinks sloshed in their servos.

“He wants us to go to Café Cybertron,” he answered automatically. “It’s a small place nearby, one where he and I meet each other sometimes.” 

Blurr perked up at that, and eagerly followed on his heels as he led them through the clusters of mechs and femmes who celebrated . . . whatever it was. He didn’t pay much attention to them, instead shooting a quick text to his twin that they were here. 

Café Cybertron was a quaint little shop parked between two larger stores, almost invisible. Which was exactly why they both picked the little meeting spot. 

Pushing against the door, the small window brought enough light to reveal the empty chairs and abandoned register. Once they all shuffled inside, Sideswipe locked the door. 

“Here?” Drift asked, wrinkling his face as he studied every corner. His armor plated flexed. 

Blurr did too, but with a small frown. “I expected it to be open.” 

“It is!” 

Bristling, Sideswipe managed to keep his engine in check at the sound of his twin’s voice. The yellow mech stepped out from a dark hallway, wearing the biggest, stupidest grin as he gave a low bow. “The prince has entered the stage.” 

Some things never change. 

“We’re here to get our paint jobs done,” Sideswipe reminded dryly. 

Sunstreaker waved his concern off. “Of course, of course. Blurr!” He zeroed in on the blue racer and took his servo, half spinning him around. “I’ve heard so much about you! Yes, I can already imagine you killing a green and purple vibe. How does that sound?” He flashed him a stunning grin. 

Blurr returned it, engine purring at the attention. “Hi! I think that would do very nicely, Sunny.” 

“Ah, with the nicknames already?” he teased, tapping a finger on Blurr’s forehelm. “I like it.” 

Sideswipe crossed his arms, rankled how easily Blurr seemed to get along with him so fast. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t expecting, actually. All pretty bots liked to have their ego stroked, especially racers who were used to that treatment. 

His twin looked up from Blurr enough to scout out the rest of the team, and with a definite nod he tightened his grip on Blurr’s servo and announced with an air of superiority, “Follow me!” 

The room stilled for a moment, simply watching Sunstreaker lead Blurr back into the hallway he had come from before Jazz snorted and they reluctantly huddled after. “That is your twin?” 

Sideswipe vented softly. “I still think we got mixed up from the beginning.” 

“No kidding,” Jazz scowled. “The ‘prince?’” 

“I wish I could say they were swapped, but that’s not entirely possible,” Red Alert muttered. “You both have a connection to each other, don’t you?”

Always the doctor. Nodding, he added, “But we hardly ever use it. He distains me, I can’t stand him, and here we are.” 

Drift made a small hum of interest when Sunstreaker opened a secret door in the end of the hallway, ushering them all inside. The lights flickered on, revealing a medium-sized room with a couple berths and shelves upon shelves of any artist’s dream of paint, all organized in rainbow order. 

“Oooh!” Blurr chirped, making Sunstreaker swell with pride he didn’t need any more of. Sideswipe grabbed the first chair he saw and plopped heavily down, already knowing Blurr was going to get painted first.  

“Over here are the colors I was thinking of,” he said, letting go to grab two cans. One was a base purple, deep but not too dark, and the other an electrifying green. Even though he hated him, Sideswipe had to respect his good color choices. It was almost decepticon-style coloring, which was perfect at a first glance. “Do they look good to you?”

Blurr glanced at them, looked through the other color choices, and nodded. “Why not? I’ve never changed my colors before, so I wouldn’t exactly know what works.” 

“Never?” Sunstreaker’s helm side-fins glowed faintly brighter in surprise. “I’ll be honest, at first it’s really jarring. Often you forget, and remembering is always a shock.” 

He grinned at him as the bright yellow mech ushered him to stand in front of a tarp already leaning against a wall. “I’ve got the fastest processor here. There’s not much it misses or forgets.” 

Sunstreaker peered at him, looking slightly miffed that someone was better than him at something. “So,” he started, shaking a bottle as he handed Blurr a mask for his optics. He began taping up parts of his wiring, making sure to keep those safe from the spray. “Why did you decide to go? Sideswipe told me the basics. Seems to me the easiest thing would be to give up the information to Prowl and leave it be.” 

The blue mech placed the mask on and held still as the violet spray began to wash over his helm. “We talked about it,” he said nervously. 

“None of your business,” Jazz cut in from where he aggressively lounged on a berth. “This mission is confidential.” 

He huffed. “Look, whatever Sideswipe told you guys, I am a dependable mech.”

“It’s not about what Sideswipe told us,” Jazz sneered and left it at that, pretending to be invested in a datapad he took out from his subspace. 

Of course, Red Alert couldn’t leave it at that. “Look, Sunstreaker,” he said, ignoring the pointed glare from the special-ops. “We don’t want you to risk yourself for us. We have Starscream looking for us already, and we still have a long way to go.” 

Quiet, save for the repeated sprays on Blurr’s helm, slowly turning his cheerful blue to a calmer, more broody purple. “What sort of information is so special that Starscream needs it?” he asked slowly. “I mean, come on,” he went on, not noticing how everyone tensed up, “you guys are literally hiding with a new paint job. That won’t last for long, especially with a Velocitronian build among you.” 

“Sunstreaker, with all due respect, we cannot tell you,” Drift said in a low voice. “We vowed we wouldn’t, otherwise we might be found out and you’d be left for scrap metal.” 

Thinking about it a moment longer, the yellow mech shook his helm. “I wasn’t going to ask to join. I saw the video of Blurr and the femme. I’d rather die than look like she did.” Even Blurr frowned, but Sunstreaker was too caught up in his head to think much about what he just said. “Whatever happened to her will come back for you too, Blurr. And I was just wondering why, and why you guys wouldn’t go to the nearest authority member.”

Sideswipe sat back thoughtfully. They had been through this before. Starscream was out of the question entirely, which left Prowl as the only other leader. But since Jazz worked under him, they already knew it could go one of two ways; one being that Blurr was a hero and only some information was utilized, carefully removing both Autobot and Decepticon leaders out of it forever, or two, Blurr would be called a traitor and forced to run anyways while Prowl used the information to his advantage. 

Neither were what Jazz wanted, and Blurr was perfectly happy to minimize his popularity as much as he could. He was already famous in the best way, and too much of anything would sour things quickly. 

“Thank you for your concern,” Drift said carefully. “We will handle this, and call you again if we need anything.” 

Sunstreaker shrugged, and pulled back to study Blurr’s fully violet helm. 

The rest of the time dragged on with Sunstreaker carefully detailing Blurr’s body. But once the tape was peeled back and Blurr took the first step, Sideswipe was slightly amazed at how much more depth was drawn into his armor. The purple black paint worked to make him look smaller against the white walls, and the way the green paint morphed gave him slightly larger pedes and shoulders. 

Staring into a mirror, Blurr tilted his head and the sound of his optics buzzing faintly told everyone he was busy remembering it. “Neat,” was all he said, spinning around to catch every new detail. 

“Drift, your turn!” 

-----

The five mechs that came out of Café Cybertron couldn’t have said what happened to the first five that came in. 

Red Alert, now a blue and white mech, followed as Sideswipe, a rusty red and black mech, led them through the bustling city. Based on the past red racer’s pained grimaces, he wasn't happy about Sunstreaker hovering around Blurr, pointing at everything the city had to offer like he built it up with his own two servos. He felt his spark clench and wanted to intervene, to help them somehow, but knew he might only trample on more pedes than actually fix anything. 

Blurr wasn't stupid. Alert had been forced to wake up in the middle of the night to listen to Blurr mope about how he kept getting different signals from Sideswipe, how he wanted them to be a thing, but he wasn't sure if Sideswipe did too. After repeatedly telling Blurr that Sideswipe did, in fact, want to, it all ended in a tangled mess of the formerly red racer denying anything and then disappearing for a month. Since then, their friendship was mutual pinning that neither could see. 

But, after being put down once, Blurr didn't want to be embarrassed again. Sideswipe was younger than the famed blue racer, and just needed to grow up a little more to stop worrying about his pride if he really wanted their relationship to happen. 

So it was annoying for everyone else who did see, and bets were long thrown over the shoulder as the naive couple continued to remain single against better judgement. 

Which left Red Alert helplessly unable to do anything while Sideswipe glared holes into his twins back, and Blurr reveling in the attention he craved from said twin. 

“This is painful,” Jazz muttered, crossing his newly painted silver arms. His blue eyes were judging the threesome harshly. “Sometimes I want to smack them both and tell them to mann up.” 

“Pushing them won't help anything,” Drift advised, wearing a shocking orange paint that made him look way more samurai. It wasn't the best look, but it was perfect as a disguise. “You can't shove bots together and expect it to work out.” 

Jazz snorted, fluttering his wings indignantly as he stormed down the streets. Bots made way for them, never taking a second glance as they passed. “You and Ratchet didn't take this long, and he's the most grouchy, set-in-stone mech I know of!” 

“I know that time heals all wounds,” Alert said timidly, optics flickering back when Blurr giggled at something Sunstreaker said, “but how much more time do they need before Blurr becomes disinterested and starts looking elsewhere?” 

“I wouldn't even blame him,” Drift mused. 

“Look,” Jazz huffed, “we can worry about that later. Sunstreaker is weird, and he's not coming with us. There's no way Blurr could find another mech or femme during our trip, so we don't have to figure it out now.” 

Alert frowned, his plates squeaking. “But--”

A mean glare was sent his way and he shut up. But once those optics stopped pining him, Alert sighed, padding along the busy streets still dancing with music. 

He hadn't always wanted to be a medic. Back when he was younger, he knew he liked to get into other's business, but it was simply a surcace-level interest. Like indulging in gossip. 

That was how he knew a lot of his information and could piece together truth from fact. 

Although he didn't want to say it, he personally thought Optimus Prime was dead. Jazz had some sort of link, some sort of connection to him that when the famed leader died, Jazz had flew into depression and panic attacks. Alert didn't know how that connection worked, if it was stress-inrused or coded in both of them, but it happened. 

So Jazz’s proclamation that Optimus might be alive still was a far fetched one to chase. Alert had been there with Blurr and Drift, countless hours as they tried to feed him, wash him, make him sleep. As soon as any stepped out, he would spiral right back. It had been hard on them all. 

But just because he was better, didn't mean he wasn't still suffering. Sometimes, Alert could see the flashes of pain, the way his shoulders would droop before picked himself up and smiled. Sometimes his voice shook when he sang. And it hurt Alert that he didn't know how to heal that. 

Eying Drift, he tried to get used to the new orange color. The samurai bot was simply living, taking in everyone else as they danced or drank, talking animatedly. Of everyone in the group, Drift was the most stable. He was the oldest, true, and happy with his calm life with Ratchet, but he was also the most deadly. 

His past as a deception wasn't something he liked to talk about. But while he didn't mention his past, he wasn't hung up over it either. He had been the first to move on, even if he never could leave his swords behind. And Alert admired him for that, even if he himself couldn't do that. 

Not when he had seen countless bodies in the medbay, too many bots they couldn't save in time. War had shook the world, and not only theirs. 

So, no, Alert never did want to be a doctor. Fixing, mending, trying not to choke over the constant stream of injuries piling into the hospital, it never brought up a warm, fuzzy feeling. He knew what he was doing when he signed up for the job. Knew that it would always change him. 

But he did it anyway. Because he was too scared to pick up a gun. He could fix. He hated to destroy. 

And any problem left unsolved always itched like a pinched wire he could never reach. 

Chapter Text

Notes: Hewoo!! It's nice to see you guys here! ^^ Def nothing you guys would worry about, I mean, what the title—

Swindle: IDW version (Windblade saga (not me forgetting the name of the comic I most want to read T^T)) 

-----

“Okay, everything should be ready! Fine and dandy! I love how everything sparkles! I think everyone else likes it too. Oh, I wish Blurr was here to just see how well we’ve taken care of it! He would be so—”

Whirl vented and scrubbed the last table down, counter clockwise. “Blue, the silver rule?” 

An exasperated sigh and a whiny engine rumble. But at least he shut up before Whirl’s CPU exploded. 

Flexing his blades, he stepped back and surveyed the shop. But, Bluestreak was right, the bar did look great. Everything was shiny, ready for the next day, and whatever Bluestreak added to the freshly baked snacks seemed to go down well with everyone because some came back for seconds. Even the door had been removed and a new one had been set in place, an electric blue one to match Blurr's paint. 

All in all, it was going well. 

“Now, if you would stop goading everyone, this place would be perfect,” Blue had to mutter, already working on the drinks. Given a couple days to memorize the more popular ones, he didn't need the flashcards anymore. 

Whirl pouted. “But they’re always rude first!” A steely optic made him straighten with a grumble. “Fine. I'll try.” 

It wasn't that Whirl didn't try on his own. He used what Blurr taught him and tried to count to ten in his head. He even once took a jog around in the storage, but all that resulted in was broken glass and a flustered Bluestreak. 

He was built differently than the racer. That much was obvious. What really helped to ease his processor was to get rid of the problem entirely and that was often through violence. 

But Whirl needed this job more than he needed a cinder block of a room in jail. 

And thus, a new habit had formed. 

A nervous wing twitch. 

Whirl didn’t know where it came from, but the forbidden action seemed strangely familiar. Whenever a bot came in talking too loudly, glaring excessively at him, spewing threats they wanted to carry out, his wing would twitch and he would remind himself to storm away rather than launch a tempting fist into the other’s faceplate. Oftentimes the drink stormed away with him, and he would shove it at Blue and make it his problem, but it worked. Somehow, in his messed-up processor, there was an outlet that worked every time. 

But Whirl was glad. As he wiped down another slightly-mussed up table, he was secretly pleased with this new development. It meant he got to keep his spot and it meant he could prove to others that he could do this. He could prove to himself that he could act like any other bot with normal helms and servos. 

His jet engine preened. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t a secret that he was happy about this predicament. 

The door dinged open with a soft chime and he whirled, armor plates shifting into their regular positions for a prepared fight. New Maccadam’s hadn't opened yet. And Blue always made sure he locked the door afterwards. “Sorry, we’re not open.” 

The mech that walked in waved a servo, and if his narrowed optics were anything to go by, he ran on a short fuse. “I know. Drift gave me the code for this place. I’m his sparkmate.” Planting his pedes in a wide stance, the medical bot gave a curt nod of their upkeep. “Look’in good, I must say. Blurr would approve. Heck, Maccadam’s got more hype with Whirl working here. They’re all just waiting for you to explode.” 

A wing twitch. 

Whirl knew that already. He’s heard the goads, seen their expressions. Some came in here only to fight which led to the new sign taped on the glass that said ‘Paying customers only.’ It was the nicest way to convey a threat many bots threw over their shoulders anyway. 

So he didn’t need this sparkmate of Drift’s to come here and rub it in his helmplate before the day even began. 

“A drink?” he asked icily, putting all his effort into his single glowing optic, stepping back to yank one of Blue’s premixed drinks. He held the tray out, stonily looking down at the medic mech who blinked. 

“Uh. Sure.” The bot took it and sipped, grimacing at its contents. “Woah, sweet.” 

Blue piped up. “Yeah, that’s the correct way to make the Summer’s Delight. Nobody knows what a summer exactly is, but Blurr claims it tastes just like one.” 

“Ah. Of course the pampered spark would think of summer like that. I’ve been to Earth, it’s nothing like this drink tastes. Which brings me to my point.” The mech pulled a chair out and sat down heavily. The stool creaked under his weight, only deepening the atmosphere around them. Whirl could feel it in the other’s field that the medic was both annoyed and worried. “Why have you guys decided to take over the bar? Blurr’s been missing along with Drift since you guys came in.” 

Whirl shrugged, placing the empty tray back on the counter for Blue to refill. “He offered and we accepted. He left with Jazz and Sideswipe too.” 

The medic’s face seemed to grow longer. “Tch. So something happened and he didn’t bother to tell me. Fabulous.” 

Blue frowned. “But he’s your sparkmate. Shouldn’t you guys be really close? Because leaving you in the dark doesn’t seem like something a bot should do, no matter what is going on.” 

“You guys don’t know anything either?” 

“I’m just here to work,” Whirl admitted, shifting to lean against the counter. This bot wasn’t here to mess with him. This bot was here and upset because his own sparkmate ghosted him, leaving him behind while he went off who-knows-where with the owner of a bar. And any extra grievance sparked any sort of argument. Whirl could understand that. 

He groaned. “I keep calling and texting but he never answers. I can feel that he's okay. Once his spark began to pulse too fast like he was in danger, but after that it’s been radio silence. That bastard’s even enjoying himself out there.” 

Danger, then excitement. If danger got a post decepticon’s spark racing this wasn’t some fun little vacation. This was something much deeper. 

But, alas, he also couldn’t care less. Whatever happened out there wasn’t his concern. If he worried too much about it he wouldn’t be able to give Maccadam’s its best, and he really wanted to. He wanted this business to thrive so he would always have something to look back on and pat himself on the back for. This was his project, and Drift was doing his own. 

Whirl might as well share ownership with Blurr at this point with how much he cared. 

“I’m sure they’re okay,” Bluestreak tried to convince. “That’s a group of fighters we’re talking about! Even Sideswipe did something back on Earth and you know how important that planet was to Optimus. They have a lot under their resume as a whole tab. What are you so worried about?” 

The medic took another sip of the drink, forgetting how sweet it was, and made another face. “Ugh, whoever drinks this will get all his innards clogged with this sweetness. Can I have something stronger and less, uhh, summer-y?” 

“I have a Winter’s Chill?” Blue advertised, holding out a drink he just made. “This one’s a little bitter. I have a feeling Blurr wasn’t much for whatever a winter is.” 

“Smart kid,” he mused, contrary to his previous comment about him earlier, and took this one. He vented, his old engine rumbling with slight pleasure. “Ah, yes. As much as I hate winter for freezing my gears over, this certainly does define it. It’s good.” 

Blue beamed as his handiwork was praised. Of course the directions were still taped to the table were right there to look at, the edges curling from a few days, but the talkative mech never let any sort of praise go. 

Whirl looked at him a little longer. Blue’s gray paint actually seemed to glow a little more, like he took more time in waxing himself. His optics shone with a brighter light than when Whirl first saw him. Was every compliment, however offhanded, a sort of stepping stone to heal himself? Whirl had caught glimpses of a quiet, blocked out expression as they worked, but he didn’t think much of it then. 

Why was he now?

“So . . . do you think you can contact Blurr and tell me where Drift is?” 

Blue tapped at the table, his fingers rapping over and over. “Well, this doesn’t clarify as an emergency . . . In fact, it’s in the rules saying we shouldn’t call him about Drift.” His optics narrowed at the medic. “So you’re Ratchet?”

The medic startled. “He said not to call me. He has a guide book on what to call him about.” 

Whirl nodded, playing with his claws. “Otherwise Blue would have drowned him in calls the first day.” 

“Hey!” 

“So that’s why we haven’t called him yet. No fires, earthquakes, bombings, dead customers, weapons, or wanted mechs had happened.” 

“But those are extreme.” 

Yeah, they were. He shrugged. “Blurr’s orders.” 

Ratched sighed and rubbed a servo down his face. “Look, I just need to know why Drift left. He hasn’t been talking to me and I want to know why.” 

Blue vented, rubbing a glass clean. “Well, we would love to help but if I called him he would snap at me. He seemed very high-strung before he left, and I’m not willing to call him if it’s not an emergency. If a real emergency did happen, I don’t want to worry that he won’t pick up.” 

He growled and his engine revved hard. Ratchet quickly downed the drink, making Whirl marvel at how he took it down when other bots struggled to stomach it as well. And he would know. He had served many season’s drinks. Those were the most alluring for whatever reason. Possibly because of how mysterious they seemed. But the winter one was the strongest and bitterest, so he wondered if Ratchet even had taste sensors. 

“Well, thank you for wasting my time,” he said with a growl, already storming out of the bar. 

The door slammed shut, leaving the two bots to blink at where he once stood. 

“Let’s open shop?” Blue asked tentatively, his fingers tapping against the counter in a way that was quickly becoming annoying. 

Still, he nodded. “Sure.” 

-----

If Bluestreak wasn't currently on the job, he would have loved to sit back and watch how the vibe flowed. Every bot seemed comfortable with their drink, satisfied with the music, and gobbled the cakes he had fixed up. They were a happy little center, lost in their own buzz and often speaking nonsense, but he was happy with it. 

It felt like breathing life into a creature. Taking care of it and watching how it matured. From the early trickle to the late night swarm, from the lost bots looking for a way to drink away their sorrow to the daredevils who didn't know the meaning of a limit. 

It was a world of change all packed away into a simple bar. 

And Blue was glad he had been offered to help run it. 

“Ah, this party’s flowin’!” 

Glancing up, Blue glanced quizzically at the yellow and pink-red mech that lay sprawled out over the counter, fingers dipping lazily over the side. He didn’t remember serving him yet, and the other’s optics seemed to pierce him from where he stood. This mech wasn’t under the influence. 

“What can I get for you?” he asked, putting on a smile. “We have a large selection of season drinks, or I can make you a custom one—”

“Well,” he was rudely interrupted before he remembered the silver rule and gave a quiet vent of thanks, “I would like a small blue package in the shape of a sleek car. Have any of that?” His faceplate melted into a smirk, his words rolling off his glossea. “I believe you guys call it the Blurr?” 

He wasn’t impressed. Really, he’s heard a lot of different bots call Blurr different things. This one, by far, was the weirdest. “No.” Seriously, some mechs thought they were so smart, so cunning and seeing this, being a part of it felt wrong and gross--

“Aww. So what happened? I heard there’s a bounty over him. Is what why he ran away?” 

Oh. This mech didn’t want him to interface. Blue’s shoulders dropped back to normal. He didn’t know when they hiked up. “Why? He’s my boss, he wanted some time off, that’s all I know.” 

The mech glanced at him, unimpressed. “Surely you’ve seen the video?” 

The video in question was about the femme. It had circled so much with so many different mechs speculating what happened, that, unfortunately, it blew up. That was good news for New Maccadam's. More bots ordered their drinks just to have a denied chat about the race car. But Blue wasn’t sure when this publicity would sour the company, if it got to that point. So far the only new information was that even Starscream was looking for him. And it took a lot to get him off his throne and into the sky again, especially for hours. “And?” 

“Look, I’ll lay my terms out nice and clear. I’m trying to find him. Them. I know Blurr took a few bots with him, he’s not that stupid.” His face turned earnest. “I can help. My name is Swindle. I’m known for breaking the laws a couple of times. What they don’t know is that I’ve done it more times than they guess.” 

He frowned and went back to mixing drinks, unsure how to feel about all of this. Around him the music went on, upbeat and guiding the bots to dance drunkenly to the tune, unaware of the problem currently happening. Bluestreak didn’t trust him. Not with a name like Swindle. That left more than a bad taste on his glossea. “Well. That’s nice of you to offer, but I think Blurr is okay. As you said, he has some helping servos. He hasn’t called us back yet, so I don’t think he even has the time to call.” 

“Bummer,” Swindle said cheekily, smiling despite it all. “I guess we’ll have to do things the hard way, hmm?” 

Pain. 

With a gasp he collapsed to the floor, clutching his arm. The frayed wires sparked up at him, glistening from the large hole that was literally carved into his wrist. He just sat there on his knees, staring dumbly down at his new injury and at the pink energon beginning to flow down. 

This type of emergency was not in the rulebook?! 

He didn’t know what to do. Scream? Call Blurr? Fight back? Yet he did neither as his processor turned and turned, trying to understand what happened. 

“Yo, I want another drink, I’ve been waiting!” a groggy voice piped up. She leaned over the counter, now, peering down at him. “Oh—hick—You don’t look so good.” 

His engine whined in panic. 

And that was when everything took a turn for the worse. 

Whirl took one look at him and lost it. 

His blades kept twitching, over and over but he ignored it in favor of storming to the front where Swindle was grinning lazily, bloodied knife in his servoes. “Well. It’s about time you showed up. Say, how does a call to Blurr sound?” 

“YOU!” Whirl seethed. His voice growled, more than it typically did, and Blue watched in panicked fascination as the mech ran on his spindly legs, gears shifting with a finesse in its awkwardness, and absolutely pummeled the bounty hunter to the floor. 

“Now, now,” Swindle taunted, but he couldn't say more than that when a fist collided into his face, denting the soft mesh of metal with a clang.  

And Whirl didn't stop there. 

Tearing his optics away Blue gave a hic of a panicked laugh, already stumbling to his pedes. He waved his uninjured servo at the rest of the bar, pointedly glancing at the door. Some took the cue to leave, while others ignored and simply stared on, possibly recording as heavy thwacks and pained groans only got louder and louder. 

Primus, how was he supposed to explain this one to Blurr? ‘Hey, I got stabbed and Whirl is trying very hard to murder him?’ 

Frag. 

“Whirl!” he eventually cried out, daring to look down. Bloodied energon leaked down his clawed fist, coating Swindle like a thin blanket. Dents swarmed his face and neck and Blue cringed. 

But, it got the attention of the wrecker. The singular optic blazed into his own, loaded with fury despite it being a single point of light. 

His glosses had a hard time forming the next words, even as he tried to dampen the purr of his engine. 

No one had ever defended him before. 

Blue didn't know how to feel about all this. 

“Ah, I, um, I think that's enough.” 

Slowly, slowly, Whirl finally gave a nod and eased off Swindle. The latter coughed, spitting out energon. “Mm. You pack a punch.” 

“Scram.” 

Blue shuddered at the vehemence in Whirl’s voice. If that had been directed at him, he would have turned tail immediately. 

For a moment Swindle just laid there, his optics looking slightly glossed over before he raised a shaky servo and wiped his mouth. “You’ll regret that.” 

Then he finally stood up and staggered out, but the tension didn't leave Blue’s shoulder blades even as the door closed. 

Somehow, he didn't doubt Swindle would do as he promised. Nobody messed with a bounty hunter. No matter how deserved their punishment was.