Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Living in rural small town America means that certain things are a given, whether you want to admit it or not.

One: Everyone knows everyone and everything about them. Secrets are a joke and nosiness is a defining feature shared amongst anyone who dares to call this place their home.

Two: There is often jack all to do at any given moment except be a menace to society or haunt the one and only fast food restaurant in the entire town like you’d been murdered there in 1943. Entertainment for the kids came in the form of committing crimes and being the sole reason why Jasper had a police force, whereas adults found theirs at the singular bar on an early Wednesday morning or ass deep in someone else’s business.

And of course, three: That being this far out in the desert means that a lot of people tended to either believe in aliens rather than the government or were entirely convinced that they have had an encounter with the third kind. These people were also more often than not, laughed out of any establishment they walked into the second they opened their mouths. Being weird was almost a requirement for living out in the middle of nowhere but even then there was a limit to how crazy you could be before someone called you out on it and you became the local nutjob.

You personally did not believe in aliens. At least not the kind you see in films with the flying saucers and bad disguises used to hide amongst the common man and the whole kidnapping in the middle of the night to probe assholes and steal cows. Nor did you humor conspiracy theories or have an obsessive distrust for the government. Just the normal amount of distrust formed towards any group of old white men who believe they know best despite knowing absolutely jackshit.

Regardless to say, this meant there was some getting used to when you moved to little old Jasper, Nevada and that a lot of attention was instantly thrown upon you like gasoline onto a dying fire. You were the talk of the town and even something as simple as food shopping left you with a crowd of curious onlookers. It left you with an odd pang of sympathy for celebrities and their flocks of paparazzi. Coming from a fairly large city in a somewhat colder state, there was a bit of a culture shock so to speak. Becoming invisible amongst the rabble was as likely to happen as the weather forecast mentioning five feet of snow in Texas and the neighbours were another thing entirely. Not only were you the most exciting thing to have apparently happened in the past eight months in Jasper, but you were the first new person to have moved into town in the past two years. You had gone from barely knowing the name of the guy who lived across the hall from you and seeing him maybe once a month at most when you both left your respective apartments at the same time, to having every single person on your street become as invested in your life story as one would a daytime soap opera. Unfortunately for them, you would call yourself openly boring and with no secrets to share, or at least none that you were about to expose to a group of overly prying oldies and housewives who had nothing better to do. Thus, unfortunately for you, they created their own. 

The neighbour to your left, Mrs. Mary-Jane Evans, you believe she told you, was fully convinced that you were the long lost affair child of someone in town and you had come back to take revenge on your scorned and estranged parent. The look she’d given her husband when she said this was more than a touch telling of who she thought this parent was. The neighbours on your right, the closest thing to a frat house Jasper had considering its lack of colleges, had started a bet at the bar that you were actually a murderer on the run because why else would anyone willingly move to Jasper? They had given you a pack of beer as a welcoming gift and you’d been slowly regifting these beers back to them over the course of a month. You were fairly certain they’d be willing to join you as title bearers of ‘murderer’ you if you asked to. The man across the road from you, lovingly known only as Jenkins (which apparently isn’t his real name?), had asked you in at least five different ways if you were either, a) working for the government, b) an alien, or c) an alien working for the government. It was safe to say that was both the worst and funniest conversation you’d ever had and one you would rather never have again. Trying to explain to a man twice your senior that no, you weren’t an alien and that no, you couldn’t peel off your skin to prove it whilst in the middle of unpacking your truck of your kitchen supplies wasn’t an experience you were trying to repeat.

Despite the oddities that tended to come with a place like Jasper, you found yourself growing fond of the old dusty town very quickly. As one would expect when making a major life choice, you had your reasons for picking up and moving halfway across the country, and Jasper just so happened to have met the requirements you’d been looking for. Small and intimate with a strong tight knit community, had a school, and best of all, wasn’t freeze my fucking balls off cold. Well, mostly. Like any desert, the nights held quite a bit more bite than you normally would have been comfortable with but then again, you figured, how often would you really be out and about at night? At least there wasn’t any snow, day or night.

Nonetheless, of all those prerequisites the most important one to you, was the school. As a teacher, Jasper's school was perfect. The minimal amount of students gave you the ideal environment to flourish as a teacher in a way your other schools hadn't permitted. Here, you had much more freedom on how you could teach, with what your lesson plans could look like and they even let you decorate the classroom! The student body size also gave you the chance to properly get to know each and every student on a more personal level which in turn would allow for you to adjust your lessons to best meet and match their learning styles and give you the room to work with them one on one when needed. Your last school had well over a thousand students total and that was purely a highschool, unlike little Jasper with its sixty odd students across all grades from Pre-K to Senior year. To say it was a change would be an understatement but you fell into a new routine much faster than you thought you would, much to your delight. Finding a home in your new life wasn’t something you had expected for at least a couple of months but was not one you were going to let go unappreciated. 

Mixed grade classrooms and Elementary to Middle school teaching wasn't your specialty but given the size of the town, it was simply another thing you had to make do with, one you weren’t complaining about after having done a grade 1 class that involved singing about different shapes. In the weeks following your first arrival to the sleepy town, there were a lot of things you had to get used to and find ways to adjust accordingly.

One of the hardest was the silence. Never in the city was silence a thing. There were always cars honking and speeding by, ambulance or other emergency vehicle sirens wailing, or all manner of people yelling and making a fuss, no matter the hour. Jasper had very little of that. It took two months for you to hear your first siren and not only was it (luckily) a false alarm, but it had all your neighbours standing on their porches with poorly concealed curiosity. The nights were uncomfortable and long for the first couple weeks, the only sound permeating through the air being crickets and other distant wildlife or Mrs. Evans yelling briefly at her husband loud enough for you to occasionally catch full words (Mr. Evans frequented the bar a little too often apparently). You had been so used to falling asleep to the white noise of bustling city life nightscapes for so long, the lack of chaos had made it difficult to doze off for a while. You’d gone as far as to get a white noise machine to fill the quiet voids that nights brought and liked it enough for you to get a second one which you used during the day in your classrooms to help your students focus during tests and quiet study periods. 

Another was how dark it got. Jasper had roughly three and a half neon signs and maybe ten street lights total. You were used to having headlights and brakelights flashing outside your window at a near constant rate, neon signs flickering and pulsing above every doorway, office building lights shining like tall glowing obelisks no matter the hour, and of course, streetlights every couple of steps, bright as a beacon even through curtains. The darkness, even in the suburbs, seemed to swallow everything. You knew the desert was going to get pitch black but the sight outside your window was an ominous ever consuming black hole of nothing except the twinkle of stars that acted as your only guiding light. You stared at those stars from your bed a lot more often than you liked to admit those first nights.

Eventually though, like with anything, you got used to it. Found a rhythm and new sense of normalcy and comfort amongst the crazy old conspiracists, nosy neighbours, and disquieting nights. All of Jasper's bizarre intricacies started to become a part of the norm for you.

As the days settled into weeks and the weeks melded into a solid month, a few of your students started to stand out to you more than the rest. This was natural with any group of students in any school of course, your brain sorting and categorizing the children to make it easier for you to remember their names and interests. Usually they fell into groups like ‘Sporty’, ‘Artistic’, ‘High Energy’, ‘STEMers’, ‘Theatre Kids’, ‘DON’T LET OUT OF SIGHT AT ANY COST’, and so on and so forth. Things that made it so you knew what those kids needed in the classroom and how to interact with them in a way that held their attention. Rarely did you ever find a student that was impossible to connect with or who didn’t fit into a category at all. But three of your beautiful kids had started to give you a reason to worry. Even amongst the normal categories, you couldn’t help but find yourself creating a new group in your mind for them in particular despite how they did fit into other groups. You needed something more solid and entirely separate to help sort all of the information you were slowly complying. Thus the creation of your now least favourite classification group, The ‘Should I Be Worried or Am I Crazy?’ group.

The first and most certainly the one to who needs the closest eye on was Miko Nakadai, an incredibly headstrong and rambunctious 15 year old who frequently left a trail of destruction and chaos behind her everywhere she went. She was the kind of kid who you very quickly realised hated the classroom and the standard learning methods, often needing assignments to be laid out differently to her peers in order to get her properly engaged in the material. She was scarily smart however, when given the opportunity to showcase it which explained how she had managed to get into an exchange program in the first place. Overall, this generally made for the type of student you were not to leave alone in the science lab with a bunsen burner or any kind of chemical unless you wanted to turn the lesson into a 101 in emergency evacuations.

The next was quite a bit more surprising with Jack Darby. He could only be described as an exceedingly awkward but kindhearted 16 year old that had a tendency to fade into the background compared to his peers. He was the easily forgotten, sit in the middle row kind of student. Good temperament in the classroom, average to slightly above average grades, and never does anything to stand out. He seemed content doing the bare minimum and making life as easy as possible for everyone around him. Him standing out despite his responsible attitude and apparent wish to go through his highschool years largely undetected was exceedingly concerning.

And last but not least, Rafael Esquivel. He was undeniably the brightest student in the entire school, if not your entire teaching career despite being only a mere 12 years old. Perfect grades nearly across the board if it weren’t for P.E and Art, never got into trouble and showed a quiet enthusiasm for anything academic, especially if it was mathematic or tech based. Hell, you overheard that he once hacked into the James Webb Space Telescope just to prove to NASA that their security sucked. Whether or not that was true was besides the point. The point was that you could believe it. The fact he was a part of this list of students was almost as concerning as Jack if not more so. He was a good kid with a lot of potential for damage that you would rather steer towards world betterment than terrorist hacker.

Now of course, you, to a degree, know how kids work. There was a reason you work in the education department and did well in it. You understand how their brains function and can spot what could be considered strange or unnatural behaviour from them pretty quickly, a skill that has saved you quite a few times in your career thus far. The thing that very first made the trio catch your attention was, frankly, very innocent if not a little odd. This thing was simply that the three of them were practically attached to the hip whenever they weren’t in class and even then, Jack and Miko shared a good chunk of their classes together and always stayed within arms reach of each other. Rarely did 15 and 16 year olds tolerate preteens even existing in the same space as them, but for someone as loud and non academically inclined as Miko to willingly hang around and befriend the soft spoken and often left behind Raf was a comically weird sight. One you openly welcomed, mind you, considering how the funky friendship seemed to be benefiting the youngest Esquivel by giving him a space to be himself and gain that boost of confidence he was sorely missing before. They held a raw sort of protectiveness for each other however, that betrayed a deeper threat than the average bully held. It was as endearing to see as it was gut-churning and unequivocally terrifying. That being said, this wasn’t what originally pushed your brain into creating that ‘Concerned For Both Their Safety and My Own Mental Health’ group. It was a small town afterall, your choice in friends is a touch more limited when you have roughly twenty five people within a similar age range as you to pick from.

No, that wasn’t it at all. It was the subtle behaviours all three displayed when they thought no one was looking, things that even if others did notice, didn’t seem to be worth pointing out. Frankly, it scared you how little the other adults in their lives seemed to notice about these kids.

It took a week of hearing passing comments of the ‘base’ for you to first feel that slowly flashing warning sign go off behind your eyelids. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have raised any brows (a recurring theme for your trio it seemed: ‘normal literally any other time than now’). What kid didn’t have a ‘secret’ hideout or favourite hangout spot at some point in their life? It was the way they discussed it that caught your attention in the beginning. Always in muted exaggerated whispers that they fully believed were actually quiet, and through a series of what you could only explain as code words, because what the fuck was an Autobot and what did it have to do with deceiving the fast food chain in town? What was it called? ‘Knockout’? You’d actually yet to visit. Anyways, once again, this wouldn’t have been weird if it wasn’t for which kids were talking about it. Jack was at that age where anything gleamed as childish was instantly shunned and tossed out the window. Bases and codes and the like was the exact thing that normally would have had him declaring that he wasn’t a ‘kid’ anymore with an eye roll and dramatic crossing of arms. Miko on the other hand was the kind to boldly brag about anything she considered awesome to anyone willing to listen and sometimes even to those who weren’t, quite loudly too, like you’d heard her done time and time again about her guitar skills and that cow skull she once found. For her to keep this on the down low gave you a sense of foreboding you had nothing to do with except cradle to your chest with a prayer that it stays only as that. A faint feeling that had nothing concrete to be based off of.

As if their ominous secret hideout conversations weren’t enough to trigger a building sensation of paranoia, they decided to take it up a notch. You could roughly recognise just about every face in town give or take a few of the more secluded members of the community, if not genuinely recall their names but the kids would mention names you’d simply never heard. ‘R.C’, ‘Bossbot’, ‘Prime’ and ‘Primus’, ‘Sound Wave’, ‘Bulk’ or ‘Bulk Head’, ‘Docbot’, ‘Screamer’, ‘Optimus’, ‘Ratchet’, ‘Megs’ or ‘Megatron’, the list went on and on. You chalked these up to being nicknames considering the nature of them, but even then they were not any you’d heard anyone using before. The idea that these kids were going off to some secondary location with a group of people that weren’t using their real names and that no one in town knew of was almost enough to make you throw up if you thought about it for too long.

Ah, and speaking of secondary locations. The next bit of nauseating information to make your hands tremble was finding out their hideaway was in, what you gathered to be, an abandoned building. Abandoned buildings were often abandoned for a reason! The panic that surged through you at the idea of them messing around in an old run down place filled with asbestos or needles or dangerous people using the lack of traffic as a place to do nefarious business likely would drain years off your lifespan. But what made it worse was a quite simple if not undeniable fact.

Jasper didn’t have any abandoned buildings. 

Sure the place was old, but it was small. Any buildings that were empty were either very quickly repurposed to save the time and money of constructing a new place or was demolished for health and safety reasons. There was just no space for unused buildings in Jasper. 

Naturally, you investigated further. Paid closer attention to the trio since it seemed literally nobody else was and for your efforts, you were cursed with yet another horrifying realisation you didn’t know what to do with, and that was how the kids were getting home.

Raf always, every single morning, got a ride into school from his mother who liked to drop off all her kids in one go, and who all found their own ways home at the end of the day due to having after school activities or jobs or friends that made them finish at different times. The youngest’s choice method just so happened to be a sunny yellow sports car with black racing stripes that his mom most certainly did not own (you had seen her 2007 Dodge Caravan, that thing was her lifeline) nor would ever be able to afford. You had seen the car driving around town before so it wasn’t too far of a stretch to say that perhaps it belonged to one of his older brothers or a family friend. You taught a couple of the Esquivel children and his brothers did seem the type to be gearheads plus the town itself seemed to have a very underground, if not aggressive car scene. Vince solidified that with his flaming hotrod you were almost certain he was taking out street racing. That theory was uncomfortably cut short when you asked around however, very quickly discovering that no one could give you a name as to the owner of the flashy vehicle as no one had actually seen anyone get in it other than the licenseless underage Rafael.

Miko was just as suspicious, walking into the grounds every day in the morning and all but borderline sprinting out in the afternoon into a large and blocky muted green armored SUV that looked like it could belong to the military. It was safe to say that her host family also didn’t own such a car when their choice vehicle was a Ford pickup truck. Hell, once you even swore that you saw the door open by itself for Miko to dive into with no one sitting behind the wheel. Driverless cars were a thing, sure, but they often still needed someone to actually be in the car at the very least and they certainly did not exist in little car dealership-less Jasper. You then also had to question whether or not you’d been spending too much time listening to old Jenkin’s stories because that sounded just as insane as any one of his conspiracy theories. Cars that could drive themselves and open their doors on their own and didn’t need any external inputs to make sure they didn’t crash or run over a child? Like they were sentient? Just crazy enough to be a Jenkins theory. He once told you that the reason there were no werewolves in Europe anymore was because the American government sent them to the moon. Why the American government was the one to round up and collect European werewolves you didn’t know but he followed that theory up with that the moon was a projection and wasn’t actually real the next day. The whiplash on that one was almost enough to snap your neck.

Jack was the least worrying on the surface. It was no secret he was obsessed with motorbikes so realistically the fact he had one was the most in character of the three. He would ride a stunning blueish purple bike in and out of school with such ease, you’d have thought he was born driving it. Jack was also the only one of the group who had a part time job and was old enough to get his license so the idea he either bought it entirely himself or at least for half of it while his mom helped pay for the rest as a gift wasn’t that far fetched. What stood out however, was the bike itself. When you had asked about it, he’d stuttered uncomfortably and nearly tripped over his own feet. An already very weird reaction to a very normal question and his lack of excitement at being asked about his beloved bike drenched you in concern. He quickly shot off what sounded like excuses, that ‘she’ (boys and their habit of referring to their vehicles as women) was a real second hand fixer upper, abused and in desperate need of work. You may have believed this had you not already been quietly losing your mind over these kids for the past several weeks. No teen working minimum wage after school would be able to afford a brand new motorbike, even with the help of his poor overworked single mom but you’d seen his bike. Heard it. That thing purred like a cat with a fresh bowl of milk, smooth deep thrums that rumbled without a single gear clicking out of place, and easily loud enough to make any hardened biker cry in pure adoration without being loud enough to actually hurt your ears. You’d heard bikes fresh from the factory sound and look only half as good as Jack’s apparent ‘wrecked’ two wheeler. Not to mention the real lack of bike stores in Jasper, second hand or otherwise. The closest thing to a dealership for either two or four-wheelers was a single mechanics garage that was owned by a positively ancient man called Jimmy who’d swear at anything that didn’t have four wheels and was made after 1988. As far as you knew, Jimmy didn’t sell vehicles, just yelled abuse at them and slapped duct tape on the pipes.

No one saw or heard of Jack having headed out to the next town over to the closest bike place to collect it. It was as if the motorbike had just appeared suddenly one day in the same manner that the bright daisy sports car and heavy duty SUV did. No one knew where they came from or who they belonged to.

Of course, you had no real solid evidence of anything actually egregious happening, otherwise you would have mentioned this to someone with more authority than you by now. There was only so much you could voice your concerns for those kids without becoming the town's next Jenkins. Thus, you did the only thing you could do, as both their teacher and as a concerned adult. You kept an eye out for them. Tried to offer more support for them in class and make sure they knew you were a safe person and that they could come to you if they needed help. Offer one of them a ride home instead of letting them get in these random cars every now and again (not that they ever accepted), and keeping in closer contact with their legal guardians. Small things that people wouldn’t blink twice at but big enough for you to make sure no one was about to get kidnapped or murdered. At the end of the day, they all came to school on time everyday and were seemingly unharmed or traumatized, and frankly that was all you could really hope for.

~-~-~-~

Miko wasn’t as stupid as people liked to believe. There was a lot more to her than ear bleedingly loud rock music and high-octane excitement. Bulkhead, surprisingly, was one of the first people to really see that. A mechanical alien from a dying and war-torn planet thousands of lightyears away understood and saw Miko for who she really was better and faster than any human she’d ever interacted with before. It would be considered almost depressing if it wasn’t for the fact that Bulkhead was her bestest friend in the universe, and she wouldn’t expect anything less from literally the coolest person she knew. For said alien, it was wholly as almost depressing for him just how much he related to this little organic ball of energy. That this creature that could fit inside the palm of his servo was not only looked down upon in the exact same way as he often was, but was somehow the coolest person he knew, second to The Optimus Prime himself. They were both people that others found easy to write off as nothing more than destructive blockheads, good for nothing more than ruining plans and making life harder for those of more responsible sensibilities. And while both found that causing chaos and breaking things was fun and sometimes even incredibly useful depending on the nature of the situation, it was difficult knowing that’s all people thought you were good for. 

Bulk was often banned from touching things others considered important and he didn’t miss the way his fellow Autobots had flinched the first few days after the human children started hanging around whenever he got too close, like they were afraid he would mindlessly squish them without a care in the world. Like he of all bots wasn’t distressingly aware of just what he was capable of if he lost control for even a moment. Ratchet would sometimes even entirely skip explaining procedures and often otherwise important information like how to use the terminal or communications hub, just assuming he wouldn’t understand and thus didn’t even try. Like Bulkhead wasn’t in construction before the war had broken out, before he was a Wrecker, like he never used to handle all sorts of specialised mathematics with the same ease in which one would switch between root and alt mode. Even Optimus was guilty of this, never leaving Bulkhead in a position of authority. He understood that yeah, Arcee or Bee were much better choices as leaders when the Bossbot wasn’t around, but no one ever even gave him the chance to learn. It meant that when he was asked to be in charge (often due to there being no one left) he was left bumbling about and yelled at later for using ‘bad judgement’. No one gave him the chance to be more than what people thought he was. 

Miko was used to people talking around her, avoiding direct conversation and treating her like a loose cannon. Like any piece of information fed to her could be used as a weapon against them at any given moment or like she would explode into a fiery tornado with the express purpose of disobeying orders and finding a way to ruin your day. She was observant. Uncomfortably so sometimes and more than a bit disappointed that others didn’t seem to hold the same level of attention to her as she did them. It wasn’t her fault that no one seemed to understand or notice that piano was boring and hurt her fingers or that staying still for too long often made her bones itchy and that silence reminded her a little too much of an empty house when everyone else was too busy to stay. She was emotionally intelligent, more so than anyone would ever give her credit for, and almost always knew when something was wrong, even if people were trying to hide it. To most, she was the problem. She didn’t fit into the mold set out for her, thus she wasn’t worth even looking into. She was easy to overlook if you ignored the noise she made apparently.

That being said, Miko was the first in the trio of human Autobots to actually notice the new teacher properly. The first to notice the way their eyes lingered on her group, the way they hovered nervously after school by the door as the three of them ran off towards their respective rides to the base. Miko saw the way their stride would hiccup with a miniscule shred of hesitation whenever they walked past, saw how their brows pinched in concern when focusing on any one of them. She knew that they knew something was up.

Arcee was the first of the Cybertronian Autobots to notice the new teacher in town. Obviously all the bots knew about them to some degree, even Ratchet. The kids had talked up a storm after their first day with the teacher back at the base to the point that even Optimus had to redirect their attention to something else before Ratchet blew a gasket. No one blamed them though, it wasn’t everyday someone new showed up in Jasper, let alone a person that directly affected and seemed to deeply care about the kids themselves and it was a cause for excitement. But to the point, of the three guardians, Arcee was the first to really pay attention to this new teacher. Jack didn’t tend to speak fondly of school, just treated it as a thing he simply had to deal with and would complain occasionally if there was nothing else going on about Vince or some girl problem that had cropped up. Since the newbie arrived however, Arcee noticed a slight change in her charge. He seemed a bit less dower after days that had classes taught by the stranger and that he was a bit more excited about learning, if only slightly. He even started spewing back some of the new things he’d learnt and found cool to her. Overall, he’d started treating school like it was less of a chore to deal with. Naturally, that would be enough to get anyone curious and before long, Arcee found herself keeping an optic out for the newcomer with a bit more vigor than she normally would for a human that wasn’t one of their own.

Everyone knew Arcee was observant. That wasn’t a surprise at all. If anything, it would be more shocking for Arcee to not notice something then for her to see it. She saw ust about everything. She was trained in recon, assassintion and had personally worked alongside bots like Prowl and Jazz after all. Hell, there was a period where she had to team up with Hot Rod and if being around him didn’t keep you on the tips of your pedes, then you either just like him or stuck in med-bay as the aftermath of something he’d done. Either way, attention to detail, being able to read between the lines and see the things no one else saw were all skills you had to learn fast when Prowl of all mechs was your mentor and your teammates were as reckless as Hot Rod.

Miko however, unlike Arcee, was quick to assume the curious gaze of their now favourite teacher wouldn’t become a problem. Throw them off trail with boring fakeouts, toss a red herring here and there like ‘accidentally’ revealing that hideout was actually just Jack’s garage and talk loudly about some war based board game or a sci-fi themed D&D campaign and boom! The teacher would get bored, assume nothing was wrong and all would be fine and dandy, right? Acree wasn’t convinced in the slightest. If there was one thing she had learnt about humans in her time on Earth, it was that they were endlessly curious to the point of detriment for everyone involved more often than not. That, and certain humans, especially human adults in charge of human youths, were often terrifyingly protective of them. She’d seen Jack’s mother, June, get defensive over her child’s safety when he wasn’t actually in danger more than enough times for Arcee to know that was just something you didn’t provoke.

If this teacher really was convinced the kids were in some sort of trouble, then it was very unlikely that they would just drop it after a little bit of falsified information. If Miko was anything to go off of, it was that a curious human was a dangerous human that needed to be kept under close observation and within arms reach at all times. And that wasn’t counting for the fact that Acree had seen those kids lie before. They were as good at lying as Swerve was, which was to say that they couldn’t lie convincingly to save their lives. It was a miracle that the entire town didn’t know about the Cybertronians living just outside the city limits in the desert. She could already see all the ways this was going to go wrong and could practically hear Fowler’s voice yelling about how Team Prime had let yet another human see them. Her processor ached in advance, a drop of sympathy flowing through her fuel lines for the incredibly stressed Prime who would be taking the brunt of Fowler’s anger when it occurred.

But in the end, nothing came to a head. Days melted into weeks and everything stayed the same. You had no further proof of anything and the kids gave nothing else away than what they already had, nor were you crazy enough to do something as stupid as stalking the children and their mystery getaway drivers. That’s how people got scorned as creeps and lost their teaching licenses. It was a complicated situation you technically had no stakes in but should something go wrong or be misinterpreted, could go very, very badly for you. So you left it as is. If no one else was really worried, then perhaps you were simply looking too deeply into nothing. 

~-~-~-~

You’d been in Jasper for a total of three and a half months before you took your first trip out into the desert. There had been no reason to before and you knew enough about the landscape to know it was a potentially dangerous but otherwise very bland and vacant place. And to be entirely fair, your reason for going now wasn’t exactly necessary either and easily could have been avoided with the easiest bit of internet research. The latest science classes you were teaching one of your younger set of students was about space and you thought it would be best to get some more personal material for them to work off of instead of just pictures you found online. The weather had been exceeding clear these past few days and what better place to get pictures of the exact celestial bodies you were teaching than your own backyard (around 3 miles out of town into the middle of buttfuck nowhere) where the view of the sky was so crystal clear you could see into the deepest stretches of the universe. Equipped with a camera and tripod you’d borrowed from Mrs. Fisher (the local sky nerd and only librarian found within the next 30 miles) as well as a thermos of warm soup to starve off the icy chill of the desert night, you’d driven off in your dusty and clunky pickup truck. There were honestly plenty of places to choose to settle down in for the night and everything kind of just started to look the same to you so you ended up stopping at a fairly flat stretch of land a little off the beaten track to avoid any car headlights and the general lights of town, and set up shop in the back of your truck. Phone in one hand, internet tabs open to show an extensive star chart of the hemisphere you sat under and the handle of the tripod in the other to lead the camera right where you wanted it to face, the hours ticked away peacefully as you took photo after photo. 

The Milky Way, Andromeda Galaxy, Venus, Jupiter, Mars, Orion, Taurus, Ursa Major. All beautifully captured in your lens and undisputedly perfect for your lesson next Tuesday, thus you decided to end it for the night. You were practically out of soup, your fingers had started going numb and it was getting uncomfortably late into the night if how much you were yawning was anything to go off of. Carefully packing away the borrowed equipment, you cast one last look out into the vast open expanse of the sky. Maybe you could come out here more often, borrow a telescope from Mrs. Fisher next time or from the school if they had one laying around. It was too good of an opportunity not to and could be used as a teaching moment honestly. Get the parents to sign a waiver for an after school trip, have a couple teachers come with and borrow the school bus to go out of town and let all the kids stargaze a bit. Hell, have the parents join in if they want to and make it a family bonding thing. From what you gathered, the kids didn’t get much of a chance to go on excursions with how little there was to go and do in Jasper. The best shot they had was travelling out to the next town over and that often was a pricier and harder to organize trip then the principle saw as worth it.

You had just swung the door to your truck open when something caught your attention, breaking you from your musings. A soft whirring sound that slowly morphed into a low droning that got progressively louder the longer you stood there, one shoe in the footwell of your truck on the drivers side and the other planted in the rusty orange dirt. A vaguely familiar noise that you couldn’t quite pin until it suddenly became the sputtering cough of a dying turbofan engine as a sleek grey and silver fighter jet came barrelling from around the side of a large mesa with a lurch. The tip of one of the wings clipped the edge of the stone tower in an explosion of debris that launched chunks of rock out in all directions, sending the jet careening off directly towards you as the pilot over-corrected in an attempt to stabilize. The night was barely bright enough to shine a clear view of whatever the fuck was happening, thick billowing smoke puffing out from the left side of the warbird, blocking out larges swathes of the stars as it came closer and closer towards the ground. From what you could tell, the plane’s trajectory would have it shoot straight over head, missing you entirely, and crash down some hundred feet away from you into the flat barren stretch of land that sat between where you parked and the town.

Entranced and somewhat horrified at the idea of seeing a plane crash right before your eyes, you stood transfixed halfway inside your car, watching as the smooth narrow jet thundered overhead with the streak of black smoke blotting out the sky above ominously like a nightmarish omen. 

Realistically, no one would even find out about a plane crashing this late into the night and with how far out into the desert you are until the morning, the thought making your heart clench painfully in your chest. The fact that you were out here at this exact moment possibly could save this pilot’s life. Your hand blindly reached towards your car keys, eyes trained on the out-of-control aircraft like one would a falling star.

Reverently and with a pleading wish trapped in your throat.

Please be okay, please be okay, please don’t let this be the end of someone’s life, please let this person walk free with minimal harm, please for the love of God don’t let anyone die here today. Over and over, repeating silently behind closed lips in a never ending terrified prayer, please let this end in the least amount of tragedy as possible.

Mere seconds before the sleek metal bird struck the ground, the seams around the cockpit seemingly began to crack and split open, wings snapping in half and folding away from the body, every panel shifting smoothly and quickly like origami folding away to create a new shape. You may not have known a lot about fighter jets and military aircrafts, but you knew that they probably weren’t supposed to do that. Flabbergasted, you stepped up onto the driver's seat to get a better look just as the jet vanished into a cloud of dust as it crash landed. With a deafening screeching crunch of collapsing and ripping metal, dirt and stone flew up from the impact site, the ground under you shaking with just enough force to nearly knock you over, fingers curling tightly around the open door and roof to keep yourself stable.

The engine fell silent. 

It was surreal in a way, how quickly everything had changed. One second you were casually taking pictures of the sky, the next a fucking plane appeared and nearly squashed you like a bug. You didn’t wait to try and process anything that had transpired in the last few moments, all but swinging yourself into the driver's seat before gunning it towards the smoking heap of scrapped metal, barely remembering to close the door behind you. The cloud it created was so thick you couldn’t even see the plane itself anymore, just dust and heavy black smoke that hung in the air and drifted lazily upwards into the starry night. You could see the beginnings of a crater around the circumference of what you were sure was now a plane corpse, a slope that barely tilted down before disappearing into the haze, making it impossible for you to see how deep it actually went and how large the crash site truly was.

Your little truck jolted violently as you sped over rocks and small shrubs, the old rickety but beloved shitbox not quite handling for rough terrain like it used to anymore and in dire need of new suspension, your head nearly cracking into the window a few times as you force the vehicle to its limits in a desperate attempt to get to the pilot before anything else happened. You could only hope the impact didn’t kill the poor pilot and that you’d make it before the smoke suffocated them.

There was a sudden screech of shifting metal that wanted to make your ears bleed as you assumed something collapsed in on itself before an entirely different type of sound engulfed you and rippled up through your bones. It would be more accurate to say that you could feel the deep bassy vibrations rather than hear it the closer you got, even through your car. This low heavy mechanical churring that whooped and burred through bursts of static. It was a sound unlike anything you’d heard before and it made your teeth vibrate in your skull. It was what you would imagine a geiger counter coughing and R2-D2 stubbing his nonexistent toe would sound like mixed into one. Slamming on the brakes and skidding to a rough stop just before the entrance of the newly formed ditch, you all but threw yourself into the car door as you opened it and flung yourself out into the desert once more.

No one exactly trained you what to do in the event of an emergency like this. You knew the basics like fire drills in office buildings or CPR but not what to do in the event of crashing air vehicles in rural areas. Did you just rush in and hope nothing was on fire and/or was leaking poisonous gases to haul pilot ass out of the danger zone? Try to call someone despite the little to no bars? All you knew was that every nerve in your body was alive and fucking rattling at your spine and ribs like a monkey in cage for you to do something .

Shoving a hand into your pocket told you that your phone was somewhere in your car. Probably now under one of the seats from how hard you stepped on the brakes. 

Fuck.

In your muted panic, you barely noticed the high pitched whine of metal scraping against metal or the whirring chk-chnk-chrRRRR-RRRRR-CLNG-CLKCLKCLK-shuk-chk of shifting moving mechanics (something sounding as if it got stuck for a second). Your body was torn between diving into the hole to yank the poor pilot free or searching your car for your phone to call 911, a weird indecision limbo that had you practically glitching on the spot as you kept trying to go and do both at the exact same time. And thus, you almost missed the way two bright blood red spot lights slowly turned on hazily from within the dust cloud. Your brain all but stopped the same way a record scratched when paused too suddenly as you watched the lights shift clunkily in time with the screaming metal noises, moving as a pair to the left and right, up and down and to the sides. Like fog lights searching through the darkness for a way home. Another loud wheeze of static and garbled electronic tonals set your body on edge, your eyeballs feeling like they were being blasted by a microwave. What in the ever living fuck was making those sounds?

And then you saw a hand. 

A massive, spindly gunmetal grey robotic hand emerging from the now finally settling dust. 

Ah. 

Perhaps that was the source of the techno-dribble computer death noises.

It slammed violently down onto the ground at the edge of the crater, all claw, no finger with narrow pointed tips that reminded you of spider legs. There was basically no palm either, a thin flat square of metal where the fingers joined to the wrist, the whole thing very akin to the Other Mother from Coraline. They clinked and tinked with every slight movement and twitch as a deep thrumming seemed to emanate from it, giving off the same effect as standing right under a transmission tower. A second hand swiped through the haze viciously and waved around the same height as the red lights with a buzzing mechanical whooping that vaguely evoked imagery of a particular Colossal Legendary Pokemon having an asthma attack. 

Was this the part where you scream? That felt like a natural response, right? The part of your brain responsible for survival instincts was definitely screaming. Last time you checked, there were no planes in existence that had hands after all. Dully, something in the back of your mind was telling you that maybe the pilot wasn’t quite a priority anymore, if there ever even was one to begin with. With your legs shaking under you, the smoke cleared thanks to the giant hand’s effort and gave way to an unobstructed view of what exactly had crash landed before you. And unfortunately, placing you in its direct line of sight too.

The pause that transpired could only be described as awkward as your eyes met that of the robot plane now-not-plane’s, said robot freezing with a look reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights. 

It was hunched over within the hole it had created from freefalling and was utterly smeared in a bright glowing fluorescent cyan liquid. Streaks of it decorated its torso and arms as drops fell down onto its legs in viscous globs, as thick as molten lava fresh from a volcano in a shockingly familiar colour. It was very reminiscent of the same glowing blue seen in bioluminescent deep sea creatures, a topic you’d just taught about last week. The origin seemed to be from a large charred hole that sat just under its armpit on its left side, one long clawed hand now weakly holding it in an attempt to stop any more glowstick squid goop from escaping. It looked like it had taken a fucking tank shell at close range, the metal ripped unevenly and caved inwards, the edges blackened and drenched in the radioactive looking sludge. Long shapely supermodel-esque legs were splayed apart giving you an open view to its lower body, one bent at the knee joint which was topped with a very dangerous looking spike that was almost as long as its forearm, while the other was folded up under its flared pelvis so it was sitting atop it. You swore you could even see inbuilt three pronged heels jutting out from the bottom of its feet. The position allowed you to see tightly wound thick cords and wires that you imagine weren’t supposed to be visible, threading together between the silvery shiny metal plating around its hips and inner thigh like sinuous muscles and tendons, each lined in a series of flashing blood red lights that flicker every so often. It also had large pointy wings sitting across its back that shot up and stood stock still as its massive glowing ruby eyes slowly grew wider in what you assumed was mutual surprise. Apparently you were just as much of a shock to it as it was to you, a mildly comforting thought as your heart all but fell out your asshole, breathing caught in your throat. This narrow-waisted, slim-figured, unnecessarily spikey RuPaul looking robotic motherfucker with pretty red accents who was roughly two-stories tall and had literally fallen from the sky was looking at you like you were one who was out of place here.

Was it still the right time to start screaming? 

Maybe Jenkins was right. Maybe he wasn’t actually crazy after all and the whole rest of the world was living entirely unaware of what was happening right under their noses. Maybe the reason he babbled on about how pigeons were surveillance drones sent out by the government to spy on us or how snow is a government made chemical substance used to mind-control the public was because he had actually seen shit like this . Unexplainable, terrifying things that otherwise had no way of existing. This towering robot plane man that looked exactly like a military grade fighter jet and could turn into a metallic twink with stiletto nails and high heels looked just the thing Jenkins would tell you about on his porch as you come home from work. And the only explanation you had was that this was a Government Experiment™, either weapons prototype or some war machine or something. Because who else had the money, skills and resources to build something this stupidly complex and insane? The design choice was a little more confusing though and made you question the tactical advantages of a slutty grabbable waist and twelve-inch heels.

Either way, this wasn’t real. In fact, at this point you were convinced you weren’t real. Nothing about this was happening and there totally wasn’t an Adonis built Slim Jim Pacific Rim style Jaeger mech squat before you. Because that would be insane , wouldn’t it? 

Teacher mode clicked on. “Hey buddy, th-uh-that seemed like a pretty nasty fall. You good?” 

Oh my god you were a fucking idiot. 

Your voice sounded shrill even to your ears, every word coming out shaky and uneven. It was a struggle to hold back a wince at that. 

It’s fine. 

This is fine. 

Chances are this robot didn’t speak English or understand human nuances or social behaviours. The fact you asked it a question was wild enough as is because it wasn’t like it was sentient, right? Just an AI surely. Strings of code and programming that responded to very specific inputs and triggers. The government wouldn’t be stupid enough to create a fully sentient giant murder robot with free will, right? 

(And remember kids, the next time somebody tells you the government wouldn’t do that… Oh yes they would.)

Your throat suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. 

The robot stared back, its mouth going slack like you just asked it to jump into oncoming traffic. 

You began to sweat. Surely this thing wasn’t capable of independent thought, right?

… Right?

Its thick curved eyebrows seem to furrow like ones does when deep in thought, hesitation stalling its movements as it closes its mouth, eyes darting from left to right as it observed the area around you. Its gaze seemed to linger on your still running car, the camera-like lens expanding as if it was zooming in before shifting its focus to sit solely on you. It was insanely expressive for a robot. Despite its face appearing to be made of the same solid inflexible metal the rest of its body was, there was no sight of any rubber or silicon that would allow for such fluid movement. And yet the metal moved like flesh, squishing and pulling and bending . The whole thing was uncomfortably uncanny valley, looking at a face move in such a way that your brain knows it shouldn't be able to. Its hauntingly humanoid but distinctly unhuman face pulling expressions that humans are known to do made your stomach turn uneasily. 

Faintly, your brain supplied you with images of those scary 3D modeled unidentified persons police mockups that looked nothing like a human. 

Was the AI so complex that this robot felt the need to make expressions? Would massive war machines even need to pull facial expressions? Display body language? You couldn’t imagine a practical purpose for having your deathbot be able to emote on its enemies (discussions with your students of how ‘T-Bagging’ wasn’t a school appropriate activity unwillingly came to mind).

Eerily, if its posture was anything to go off of, it was in near unbearable discomfort and clearly hurting in a way that set off every parental instinct in your body so hard you wanted to throw up and start crying. Like looking at an ugly toy and feeling the urge to love it because no one else would. Its face flickered through a series of emotions in short succession, starting with staunchly confused before melting into near horrified disbelief, then a disturbing brief flash of pure unadulterated rage that morphed into mild uneasy disgust, each mixed in with sprinkles of pain that it clearly didn’t want to show but seemed to win over the emotional warfare this Tin Can Man was experiencing regardless. The disgruntled not-plane had just sped-run through the five stages of grief upon laying its weird little (massive) camera eyes on you. The pained grimaces it made left a sickeningly heavy stone in your gut because why would anyone program a robot to feel and respond to pain? To stop it from accidentally shredding itself apart and save on repair costs? It felt….

Wrong. Immoral and unethical. That healthy governmental distrust was starting to turn a little more sour with every second you were left staring up at this kicked puppy of a machine. 

The next thought you had just so happened to absolutely slam into your skull with the driving force of a freight train and concuss you into the next century. What in the ever living fuck damaged this thing? This titanous, solid metal being that could turn into a goddamned military war grade fighter jet and had missiles (how did you miss the fucking missiles?!) strapped to its arms and was taller than most buildings in Jasper. You didn’t want to think about what kind of raw power something strong enough to hurt the Jaeger ripoff could possibly have. Or the fact that it had to be still close by. 

Huh. 

You were suddenly vaguely aware of the sensation of being incredibly in danger. Spiders trickled down your spine as a cold sweat filmed over your brow. What was it your students said when you gave them a test they hadn’t studied for? ‘Chuckles, I’m in danger ’?

This is fine. Totally fine.

Finally settling on disgust as its decided emotion, Robo-Twink’s wings gave a little flutter before sinking a little to flare out horizontally from its back. It was bizarrely adorable, if not incredibly intimidating. Like a large pretty bird showing off its plume of feathers before charging at you with a Jurassic Park worthy squawk. Its eyes narrowed suddenly into sharp red slivers with a soft wrrrr as the lens eyes zoomed in and out of focus on you, lip curling into a deep snarl before the leaking (bleeding?) bot bent down very quickly into your space. 

Oh dear sweet fucking jesus christ on a stick, nothing that big should be able to move that goddamn fast. 

A splash of cerulean sprayed across the dirt in front of your feet before you even had the chance to think about moving, the very tip of one of your shoes now flecked with a glowing splatter. You hoped that it wasn't radioactive. You liked those shoes. 

The instant Birdy Bot started moving had you scrambling back like your life depended on it but it was clearly faster than you and your ability to think, let alone react. Your lower back smacked into the bumper of your car as it leaned right down to be eye level with you, your entire being barely as tall as its face. Moving away had done nothing for you, this menacing mechanical drag queen getting as close and personal as it could, following you until you couldn’t get any further away and any closer would have it laying flat along the ground like one of your French Girls.

Static rumbled through its throat before cutting off with a distinct click, like a radio turning off or switching stations before a shockingly masculine and almost deep scratchy human-like voice slips from its mouth instead. “Are you speaking to me, Human ?“

Dear fucking lord, how did you not just shit your pants? 

It was a decidedly more violent reaction than you were inherently comfortable with. Did they program it (him?) with a Stranger Danger protocol? A ‘Don’t be nice to unauthorised personnel’ line of code to go off when faced with a person not on the ‘List’? Regardless, the response left you feeling more than a little unsafe, much more so than you already did. You give a dazed, if not detached singular nod, eyes flickering to either side of you as if to say ‘do you see anybody else here?’. Robo-RuPaul raises an unimpressed eyebrow that quickly drops low over his eyes in anger, snarling lip deepening with a showing of teeth in a clear threat display. You were considerably less threatened than he probably wanted as your out of touch brain honed in and focused on something you hadn’t noticed prior to that moment. A desperate attempt on your brain’s part to not completely fall apart and leave you drowning in the depths of a panic attack.

Teeth.

… Why does the airplane have teeth ?

They weren’t even real teeth, just a flat shapeless bar that sat along the top and bottom of this thing’s mouth where teeth were meant to sit. A cheap, shitty imitation of teeth like someone had briefly glanced at a human and went close enough before slapping a brick into the empty open maw of this mecha-bird man.There weren't even any seams or gaps to vaguely impress the idea of individual teeth, just a plain boring slab of grey metal the same shade as the rest of him. What possible purpose could they serve because it clearly wasn’t for eating? They didn’t have the right shape for grinding, mashing or tearing food! 

…

Would a robot even need to eat? Wouldn’t they just shove a fuel pump up his ass and fill it with petrol or gas like a car? Your eyes subconsciously started looking for a hole only to get stuck staring at the waist again. You knew people who would kill to be that snatched. His chest rumbled like an engine, your eyes snapping back up to his face and-

Oh my fucking god, why does the robot have teeth? It’s not for talking because they’d just use speakers, right? Well, you did see his mouth move when he spoke before but robots didn’t have vocal chords or lungs to produce sound so it would have had to be for show. A mimicry. 

This was upsetting you a lot more than literally anything else that had happened thus far and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. Apparently you were seemingly fine with the idea of a plane having hands and eyes and high heels, but teeth was where you drew the line.

Frankly, none of this had felt particularly real up until that point, like it wasn’t really happening and you’d just passed out in the back of your truck after drinking too much good soup and you were just having a really crazy food coma fever dream. 

Like you could faintly register the giant fuck off robot man-plane-bird-twink-thing in front of you as much as one could a puppet in the corner of the room. Was it always there? Maybe, or maybe someone put it there when you weren’t looking. But you had no way of telling and it wasn’t like every puppet was haunted and/or trying to kill you! Should you be alarmed nonetheless? Probably. 

Your mind had pulled the plug on coherent thought and switched the lights off leaving itself completely in the dark, still gazing listlessly up into the stars, leaving you totally unable to react even remotely in an appropriate manner to the situation you were faced with. Normal people would have gotten back in the truck and sped the fuck outta there by now. Started screaming and yelling and calling the police or FBI or something. Not… Whatever it was you were doing. Standing, staring, worrying about the practical uses of teeth in airplanes, and mentally checking the fuck out into disassoication-ville. 

Sadly for your poor strained mental capacity, it was starting to feel a little too real now the longer the two of you sat eyeballing each other in awkward silence. Your brain was pulling out the car jumper cables and had hooked them up directly to a nuclear power plant sized battery ready to fry the ever living shit out of your consciousness. 

The constant undercurrent of buzzing electricity in the air like being in the vicinity of downed power lines, the low humming of fans chugging and skipping like a PC filled with dust, the clicking and unfamiliar whirring of mechanical bits and bobs moving and shifting. The hot vent of air now fanning over your face as he leaned in real close to stare you dead in the eye.

The cables clipped in and the engine revved. Then without warning, your brain connected the circuit and stepped on the goddamned gas. 

Petal to the motherfucking metal bitches.

For a brief agonising second, you felt your heart actually stop entirely as a cold hand curled around the organ and squeezed it. Your heart isn’t a pushover however and refuses to take it like a bitch as it punches your lungs with a painful solid beat as it forcefully starts itself again, beating the hand away with a baseball bat and subsequently whacking itself in the face in the process. The world goes silent around you and you can genuinely hear nothing. Not the blood thrumming violently through your veins or the crickets that’d started chirping again once the dust had settled, nor your heart (that's now seemingly working again) thrashing wildly against your rib cage like a feral raging gorilla on steroids, or the constant ambient soundscape this bipedal warbird seemed to emit.

Your vision goes black. Eyes rolling up into the back of your head, your knees unlock and fold in on themselves as the desert fades to nothing. Body now limp and at the whims of gravity, you slump and your skull cracks against the protruding lip of your car's bumper. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately in the case of your now throbbing brain, having your dome used as a ping pong ball against a solid chrome metal bar of a paddle wakes you the fuck up. The world comes rushing back to you in the form of a goddamn suplex of sensations. A ringing metallic twang echoes through your eardrums from the blunt force trauma you’d accidentally inflicted upon yourself and your eyes feel like someone shoved a flashlight behind them and started a rave, vision swimming nauseatingly until it slowly aligns and you can see clearly again. Your car might have just saved you ass, because going unconscious before this 30 foot tall teethed up plane sounds like the kinda thing that would get you killed.

And horribly enough, hes still fucking there. Right where you last saw him. Way too close and staring into your soul with the expression of a man who’d just found a bug in his soup. Never in your life had you ever felt so insignificant before. So small. Maybe it would have been better to stay unconscious because it was starting to look a lot like he was going to squish you regardless of your state of awareness. Maybe that way it would have been painless. Unable to see or feel the way his foot would come crashing down upon your weak squishy body like Atlas just dropped the world from his shoulders directly atop you. Would he use his heel to stab through your skin the same as a spear or would he smush you into a paste with the flat ball of his foot? 

Was this what the flies on your windowsill felt like as you readied your aim with the fly swatter and bug spray? Prostrated on their knees as they stare up into the eyes of a being large enough to become their entire world, begging, praying, pleading that the crime of being small and a mild inconvenience wasn’t about to be send them straight to the court of the Gods and be ruled by the judge as guilty; punishment declared to be the death sentence. 

“ Verminous fleshling.” Your metal judge, jury and prosecutor scoffed suddenly, eyes rolling in utter distaste for your apparent stupidity as he drew back from you into a more upright position. 

Court still in session, not deemed guilty yet.

The movement seemed to pull at his gaping wound painfully, his face scrunching in a subtle wince he clearly didn’t want you to see as he turned his face away from you. His side was gushing with more battery acid sea creature goop than a drooling Saint Bernard that’d just caught wind of a delectable feast.

“ Obviously I’m not okay! Shot out of the fragging sky like common fodder! Me of all mechs… I’ve never been so violated in my entire life- Ugh! Just look at what he did to my wings! May Unicron smite that blasted Prime into scrap!” Said mech snarled like a feral animal, spitting out each word like it offended him personally as his voice dropped into a rumbling growl of thunder that churned in his chest with a deep enough bass to travel up through your feet. There were four very clear dents all lined up next to each other on both of his wings, all roughly in the shape of fingers .

Something, or someone had grappled this big ass flybot hard enough to dent the metal into the shape of their massive boxy fingers. Your stomach twisted into a knot worthy of earning a boys scout badge, bile clawing its way up your throat like you owed it money and it was coming to collect.

Did he just say…

Prime ?

Chapter Text

Starscream wasn’t stupid, despite what his esteemed lord liked to proclaim on a near daily basis. He was just in a bad situation and for once he couldn’t even lay claim to it as being of his own undoing (silly little mistakes aside). That won’t stop the blame from being pinned onto the wounded Air Commander regardless, of course, as all it seemed to take for something to be conceived as Starscream’s fault was for him to be vaguely in the vicinity of said thing happening. Sometimes it took even less than that for him to cop the credit, much to his displeasure. 

The Nevada deserts had been showing infrequent scattered blips of Energon signatures for a while now on their equipment, prompting the glorious leader of the Decepticons to come to the conclusion that there must be a large deposit hiding somewhere out amongst the rocks. And according to vehicon troop reports, the town of Jasper and surrounding desert was deemed as a highly favoured destination for the Autobots. Suspicions were formed that this disputable Energon mine must be one the Autobots were personally utilising. 

Starscream called complete and utter rustwash. 

Yes, Autobot activity had been confirmed to be disturbingly dense in this particular section of Earth but that was generally because it was where their human pets were located. With how often they were also found in other areas of this Primus-forsaken mudball of a planet looking for Energon deposits, it was obvious they had none of their own mines to gather fuel from. The Autobots barely had enough members to call themselves a team let alone a faction. Even a singular small mine would easily sustain them for a few stellar cycles if they were smart about it but they just didn’t have the mech power to maintain and protect a proper mine against the might of the Decepticon cause. Not to mention that Starscream knew certain sectors of this planet had a tendency to frag up their scanners due to how many Pit-damned Earth minerals formed there or from pollution or for some other scrapped up reason. Sometimes the scans would come back claiming the soil to be rich in Energon only for the next to show nothing at all and all physical investigations would leave scouts empty-servoed or with the bare minimum. Nothing ever worth investigating and always a waste of resources to do so.

Starscream knew what this really was. A punishment. He’d been too cocky and pushed too many buttons again. And Megatron was going to use him as an example. Again .

Nonetheless, what should have been measly drone work quickly turned into a task ‘necessary’ of High Command to complete and as Commander of the Seekers, it had fallen to him. Megatron had made sure Starscream knew that there was to be no mistakes made on such an ‘easy’ mission and exactly what failure to find anything would lead to. It was naturally a doomed quest from the start. Starscream knew he wasn’t going to find anything out here but returning to the Nemesis with nothing to show was out of the question unless he wanted his T-cog ripped from his chassis. 

The SIC needed something. Anything . The worst part was he knew he couldn’t even bring back the helm of a Terran-tainted dirt kissing Autobot to save himself from this, as the humans referred to it, sisyphean task because there hadn’t been any recent sightings in half a deca-cycle. His Seekers had personally scoped the surrounding desert lands out for him just breems prior to be certain! But nothing. No Energon readings, no Autobot scum, and no shiny new information that Soundwave didn’t already know about to serve to his lord that’ll save him from getting made into a pile of scrap. He’d scoured and scanned every inch of that Pits by damned hellscape for groons, coming up utterly blank. He even dared flying within sight of that human settlement on the off chance that the earthlings had built their flimsy lives atop a deposit, but no! Absolutely nothing!

And then, Optimus Prime himself appeared. 

Starscream couldn’t decide whether or not it was a blessing or a fragging curse. On one servo, he had something to show for this wretched mission. On the other, he was truly, completely and thoroughly scrapped. Perhaps he’d gotten too close to the fleshling’s habsuites, garnering himself Prime’s attention as a direct result, or perhaps it was pure unfortunate coincidence. 

When it came to Primes, there was one simple widely known fact amongst all Cybertronians, Autobots and Decepticons alike. A battle of any kind against a Prime was not one any bot should willingly be seeking out unless an untimely, if not brutal death was the goal (not including one maniacally processor-damaged warlord with a vendetta so big it could be mistaken for a kink. We’re talking about you Megatron, you freak). Even if there technically wasn’t a mech in existence that could defeat Starscream in terms of aerial combat, the Seeker knew he needed to be smart about this. The only one who’d ever actually succeeded in taking Starscream down from the skies was Megatron himself and honestly, Starscream knew that fight hadn’t been a fair one the moment it had begun. Skywarp or Thundercracker might have once upon a time had a chance at fairly grounding the SIC, but that was many vorns ago before the war had even begun and tragically neither would ever get the chance to try again (his spark still felt as if it was shattering, like he was witnessing the breaking of his trine over and over again with every cycle that passed without them by his side). Regardless, his titles as both Second in Command of the Decepticon Army and as Air Commander of the Seekers wasn’t just for show, despite what those around him said. Not like he got much chance to actually prove that nowadays thanks to a certain tyrannical Decepticon leader.

It was just his luck that he’d completely missed the Autobot leader appearing from around a closely formed group of mesas, driving well over the speed limit down the long empty stretch of road fairly close behind him. His scans had been too centralised and narrowed down for reading beneath the dirt rather than a top it and it wasn’t like he could hear the roar of a disgraceful ground alt mode engine over his smooth rumbling flight based one. For once, being focused on his task had turned against him rather than reward him and it led to the Seeker getting shot nearly straight from the skies. How encouraging that carrying out Megatron's ludicrous orders the way the warlord wanted led to getting blasted at like he was a common drone. It really made him want to listen and follow all those insane orders more often! (In case it wasn’t clear he was being sarcastic, he was being sarcastic.)

To be fair, he had been flying much lower than he normally would have and was barely at a cruising speed fast enough to stay airborne in his hunt which did regrettably put him directly within Optimus Prime’s range. But still! Him! Shot! Ugh, the humiliation .

The larger mech’s shot skimmed his undercarriage with a fiery burn of plasma that nearly melted the nanite paint right off him, the SIC barely having time left to barrel out of the way lest he lose a landing strut. A one on one wasn’t the worst circumstance to be against Optimus in, and Starscream did have the advantage of the flight in this case. If he had been grounded then there wasn’t a fragging chance in the Well of Allsparks that he would win, but he wasn’t. He had total control of the air whilst the Autobot leader was stuck slogging mud.

The lack of current cloud cover evened out the playing field in Prime’s favour a bit more than he was comfortable with but Starscream had speed, agility and altitude that the Optimus could never hope to match. He just needed to stay out of blaster range and let the darkness cover his tracks. He didn’t have headlights to worry about like a revolting ground vehicle would after all and his biolights could be shut down with enough focus.  

The Seeker could feel his turbofan engine all but purr under his plating, wings shivering as a jolt of masochistic delight shot through his frame. If he was smart about this, he could realistically kill the last Prime. He had the field (sky) advantage, the skill, and the aerial combat prowess to dominate this fight. He was finally going to prove to everyone that once and for all, he is the rightful leader of the Decepticons and that they should be bowing to him . He could end this Primus-forsaken war by doing the one thing Lord Megatron never could. 

By killing a Prime.

Redirecting his course, Starscream shot straight up into the air until the stone towers littering the landscape had shrunken down to fade into the background and Optimus had become but a mere cyber tick on his radar. The numbers on his dash kept climbing, up and up and up until he was around 42,000 feet up into the atmosphere. Naturally he could go higher, easily into the very upper limits of this planet’s pathetic atmosphere where his nose radome could brush the icy chill of space, but that wasn’t necessary for what he was going to do, not this time. Starscream’s entire view gave way nothing but the never ending expanse of stars as he purposely stalled his engines. 

Silence engulfed him as gravity gently held his silvery frame afloat for a brief moment, seemingly hanging still in the sky like one of the many twinkling celestial bodies above him. The pause had his tanks churning in excitement as ever so slowly, his frame started to tilt back, the world spinning on its helm as the earth became his up and the sky his down. He would never get sick of the ardor that wrapped itself around his very spark every time he took to the sky. Never get sick of this . You’d have to claw the ability of flight from his cold offline servos and even then, Starscream was sure he’d come crawling out of the Well to take it back. How anyone would willingly choose a boring, limiting ground alt mode when they could experience something like this was completely beyond his understanding. This freedom to go anywhere faster than anyone else, this weightlessness that cupped under one's frame like loving servos, this speed that had one’s wires literally buzz from the pressure, and the maneuverability that came with having such a sleek and sensuous frame. There truly was nothing like it. Velocitron and its mediocre user base had nothing on Vos and its sprawling open airways and stunning Seekers. 

Starscream couldn’t help shutting his optics offline as the freefall took over him, the wind whistling through his audial receptors and sliding under and around his aerodynamic body smoothly as he started to pick up speed. With a gentle tilt to one side, his body began to rotate, twirling straight down towards the earth like a rocket, hitting terminal velocity and maintaining it so he was but a deadly tornado of sharpened metal. The sensation of his gyroscopic attitude indicator violently spinning in his dash sent zaps of dizziness to his processor much in the same way one got when chasing a Mood Whiplash with straight Nightmare Fuel. Addicting, thrilling, and encompassingly intoxicating. And just like guzzling Nightmare Fuel, was also likely to make one purge his tanks if he wasn’t careful. His processor subconsciously started counting as the dials on his variometer, altimeter and barometer all started wildly to spin and flick over the numbers from the drastic and sudden changes in both altitude and air pressure. 

Three… Four… Five…

He had time to enjoy this feeling before engaging in the fight properly. With Earth’s gravitational pull and maximum velocity, he had nearly an entire klik of free fall before needing to turn his engines back on. It’d been so long since Starscream could genuinely fly like this with how his illustrious leader liked to keep an unyielding steel grip around the Seeker’s wings, to keep him chained to the Nemesis and within sight. That was of Starscream’s own doing of course, from his many, many attempts to overthrow the tyrant. It didn’t take the sting off any less. Every strut in his frame called for the skies and to take that from him was a punishment worse than death. He was built for soaring and gliding, for bending the will of physics to his whims and breaking every sound barrier in every sentient creature’s understanding of science. Permanently grounding him would be as bad as forcing an Empurata ritual onto him in his opinion (don’t tell Shockwave he said that). His wings were his servos and his thrusters his helm. Flying was as natural and important to him as breathing was to the squishy inhabitants of this planet.

Twenty-two… Twenty-three… Twenty-four… Twenty-five… Twenty-six…

A soft whirring hum started along the underside of his wings as the SIC began charging his plasma cannons, reveling in the artificial warmth generated from his weapons systems, feeling it flooded through his energon lines and into every joint, nook and cranny of his frame. With each nanoklik the droning whine got louder as his systems flickered to life, missiles shifting under wing in preparation of firing.

Thirty-eight… Thirty-nine… Forty… Forty-one… Forty-two… Forty-three…

His optics turned on in time to see the solid flat expanse of sand come rushing up towards him, engines suddenly blaring to life in a blazing fiery explosion of power. The whiplash was enough to make every panel of his plating tremble, threatening to rip right off as he pulled the controls up. Forcing his flight path to snap up into a sharp swoop, his body evened out so he was flying parallel to the ground once more and consequently, directly towards Optimus. The strain it caused was delicious to the Seeker, akin to the way a human’s body produced adrenaline, his energon lines pumping furiously in an attempt to keep up with the hammering of his fuel pump. Finally being able to push himself to the limits of this disgusting planet’s physics once more was enough to make him reckless. The burn mark along his undercarriage heated his spark chamber with electrical shocks of pure thrill and unadulterated, manic joy. This was going to end before it even started and he was going to be the victor of this battle. 

A flashing warning popped up on his HUD. He ignored it, pushing it aside. 

Starscream knew what it was. The force of gravity he’d just put himself through for showsies had definitely put his outer armor through the wringer, loosening crucial parts. A single well placed hit would have all his biomechanical organs exposed to the grime and grit of the desert. His systems were close to overloading and not in the fun way, too many of his internal mechanisms redirecting vital processing power to keeping him online after slamming his processor through the g-force equivalent of actually feeling each individual rotation a planet makes on its axis. He was going to ignore it though because his plasma cannons were fully charged, missiles docked and ready to fire, and Prime was a sitting dynametal duck in front of him. 

Starscream let loose.

Now normally Starscream was considered to be a coward. Ask anyone on the Nemesis or amongst the Autobots, they’d tell of how he was nothing more than a traitorous backstabbing coward. He’d disagree. He considered himself to be smart . An opportunist that understood that it took more to lead than a bit of charisma and a big gun (though he would be lying if he said he didn’t have pretty big missiles). He evaluated the circumstances as they came and weighed up the odds of a success. It wasn’t his fault that he and his Seekers had brilliantly wiped out most, if not all Aerial bots off the galactic map vorns ago, leaving almost all the current day battles to be left between those of a more… Ah… Let’s call it… 

Physically persuasive inclination.

Starscream knew his strengths. Fisticuffs in the dirt with barbaric weaponry such as axes and swords were not within his purview. Thus, a majority of fights were simply out of his skill set nowadays. One couldn’t really blame him for wishing to not involve himself into a clearly lost cause, now could they? It wasn’t cowardice if there was a tactical reason behind it, not like any of his half-clocked co-workers seemed to understand that.

This was, however, one of the rare times his so-called ‘cowardice’ was not on display. Because Starscream, in that very moment, genuinely believed he had a chance. That he was without a doubt, going to win .

He was wrong.

Two ballistic missiles shoot off from under the Seeker’s wings, streaking forward through the air towards the charging Autobot only for neither to hit their mark. Without slowing for even a nanokilk, Optimus unfurled and folded out on himself as he began to transform. A single servo appears from the mass of spinning metal, coming up and down in an arch to strike the road. Sparks fly as he comes to a skidding stop, momentarily lighting up the highway in an array of orange and white flashes. All that momentum having to go somewhere from the sudden impromptu breaking, the ball Prime had become all but rolls over itself. Legs start to form up, flinging vertically into the air as the shifting mass of red and blue metal pushes himself into a one servoed servo-stand, balancing all his weight up onto that one arm as he turns from truck to mech around the missiles, letting them slide through the gaps of his shifting torso and joints without disturbing their path. 

Starscream felt himself go cold despite his diagnostics not reading any energon level changes in his fuel lines. That was a close range, straight on shot in near perfect weather conditions with literally nothing to impede or block his aim. He hadn’t even needed to calculate wind resistance or trick shot it! There wasn’t any way he could have possibly missed. The SIC had hit smaller, faster moving targets who were moving in unpredictable ways from impossible distances in glitch-dreamish conditions before and yet a helm-on direct shot like this was easily dodged by a several tonne stampeding Peterbilt doing a handstand . 

The larger mech kicks his legs out, flipping over himself to land back on his pedes as soon as he’s clear of the missiles before lowering his stance with narrowed optics as he, without missing a beat, lets Starscream barrel into him. The Seeker hadn’t had time to pull up and out of the way after his failed attack, having fully expected Optimus to fall back to the ground and let him fly overhead or move to the side or something! With arms spread out wide to easily catch the speeding F-16, Optimus lets the nose pass through the gap between his chassis and arm before clamping down to avoid having to take and absorb the full impact, digging his digits into both of Starscream’s wings as the two of them collide and go rocketing down the highway. The added weight completely unbalances Starscream, sending them both spinning and weaving wildly before tumbling down into the asphalt and dirt with a painful screeeeeeech of metal getting ground into rust. He was already wincing in preparation for how bad the scratches were going to be, knowing that his simple polished grey nanite paint would be practically scrapped right off, much in the same way the blue and red bot was now looking suspiciously silver. Knock Out was going to throw such a glitch fit. That and he felt one of his load-bearing joints crack under the combined weight of himself and Prime when they had hit the ground. A landing strut that translated into a pede joint if he was correct, snapping in the complete wrong direction. Scrap. Not only was that going to suck dealing with later, but by the Pits, that fragging hurt! 

Either way, Starscream knew he needed to put distance between himself and Optimus and he needed to do it before he was turned into an abstract art piece. He started transforming the second they stopped rolling to try and get out the Autobot’s hold, feeling his sensitive wings getting crushed under the death grip of the other’s digits. He couldn’t fly away with his wings trapped but a quick reshuffle of plating should free him easily enough.

It doesn’t work. 

He only gets halfway through the transformation sequence when the Prime shoves his entire servo between one of the weaker now open seams of his plating, ripping it open further than it was ever made to, using his wrist and forearm as a blockade to prevent the panels from closing and reshaping. Starscream wasn’t strong enough, couldn’t push enough force into the panels to snap them shut around the other’s wrist to sever servo from arm. He was stuck. Impaled .

He should have stayed in the air, out of reach. Kept attacking from a distance, using the mesas as cover, anything other than what he’d just done. He’d been too enraptured by the feeling of free flight to think clearly.

He’d gotten cocky. 

Again . 

And now he was stuck. He let himself get grounded. The one thing he should never let happen under any circumstance in a fight and he fragging let it happen all because he wanted to be a showboat. Starscream momentarily understood exactly what kind of disappointment his esteemed leader often felt towards him and he didn’t know what was worse; actually agreeing with that tyrannical burnout or knowing he was (sometimes) right. Both options sat heavy and bitter on his glossa like spoiled Engex in that punishing way that self-loathing and disgust often did. He was doing unwilling shots in the back of MacCadam’s, pounding back a dreadful cube of ‘I’m so fragging scrapped’ 40-Weight, chased by a tastefully painful ‘what would my trine think, seeing me like this?’ Mood Whiplash canister before finishing it all off with a brawn of ‘why am I like this?’ Nightmare Fuel that’d been unwittingly spiked with Nucleon for that extra bit of spicy self directed revulsion. The hangover would be enough to last cycles of nothing but deliciously torturous self inflicted hatred if the drinking (or Prime) didn’t instantly kill him.

That sweet, sweet god-complex is currently locked in the Pits of Kaon having a gladiatorial wrestling match against insecurities strong enough to punt Unicron into the sun and neither seem to be anywhere near winning for the foreseeable future. The crowd goes wild as self-deprecation goes for the bearings! Ooh, that gotta hurt! What a low ball shot, will the god-complex ever come back from this blow? What’s this?! God-complex just landed a roundhouse kick straight to the faceplate! We are in for a long fight folks!

Panic swells in his chassis as his spark whirrs violently in its chamber at the intrusion of his inner mechanisms. He was trapped half way between alt and root mode in a position that made all his weapons useless because he couldn’t aim them like this and didn’t have his servos out to claw or scratch his way free. He was pinned to Optimus, cockpit flush with the other’s chassis, nose radome (and subsequently all his missiles and blasters) pointed towards the sky and thrusters lamely dangling down towards the ground. 

He hadn’t been pinned like this in vorns by anyone who wasn’t Megatron (his modesty panel would have warmed at the memory of Skyfire’s wandering servos if it weren’t for the current quite painful life or death situation he was in), but Optimus’ intent removed any raw sex appeal that otherwise being entirely held up by one servo against the chassis of a much taller, much stronger mech normally held. Leave it up to Prime to suck the fun out of everything.

There was only so much Starscream could do as an immobilized vertical F-16 with legs. The panic that was thwacking his spark like a cyber-cat playing with a glitchmouse was violently swinging between anger and fear at speeds close enough to break the sound barrier. He couldn’t even tell if the rolling within his tanks was being caused by his emotions thundercunting themselves at his cranial stem or from Optimus fragging Prime’s physical whole aft arm fisting his chassis cavity like he was some loose-valved glitch. All he knew was that if he didn’t think of a plan soon, Prime was going to crush him like a human aluminum cylinder designed for holding carbonated liquid. The Autobot’s servo was currently crammed in the space right under his cockpit between his wings, directly next to his ventilation systems, slowly digging in deeper and closer to the middle of his chassis. The sensation made him feel as if the servo was pushing through the wiring around his fuel pump and up into his subspace, his tanks churning once more but this time in sickening terror and discomfort. Something in his lower spinal strut made a noise not unlike a rusted gear being forced to move as Optimus curled himself around Starscream, slowly crushing him. Too much weight was being forced onto his flight based frame. It wasn’t made to be load-bearing and if much more pressure was pushed onto him, his spinal strut really was at risk of snapping along a few of the weaker servomotors, though in his alt mode like this, it was going to look a lot more like his body collapsing in on itself. 

The image his processor provided was a gruesome one he’d like to avoid at all costs. Fear coiled around his vox with a loud click as it reset itself.

The Seeker distinctly felt one of Prime’s digits twitch before static suddenly dusted over his vision for a split nanoklik as his entire frame shook with what he could only describe as solid suffering. Whatever that lugnut just touched was sending his diagnostic programming haywire, at least four different warnings flashing erratically over his HUD between the bars of shifting distorted coloured lines and static. If his optics failed on him now, he was going to become even more helpless. Shuttering them didn’t clear the lines. 

Primus, save him.

If he didn’t pull himself free, he was going to get snuffed. Either entirely by accident from this dustkicker’s clunky digits touching something they shouldn’t or by painfully and purposefully having his innards turned into the opposite.

The Autobot leader moved his free servo around in front of Starscream, letting the SIC clearly see it before the digits flipped back and vanished into the space of his forearm, switching out into an axe.

Oh fun! A new third option has appeared; having his chassis forcibly cracked and torn asunder by Optimus Prime’s signature weapon to give him easy access to his poor oscillating spark. 

The Autobot was talking, he could feel the deep bassy vibrations travel through his frame but Starscream couldn’t hear a word of it, his audials processing none of the sounds around him as his whole focus narrowed down to the Pit awful energon-blue axe. 

If nothing else, at least his spark would go the same way Thundercracker’s did. A cold comfort knowing the same weapon that separated them would be the very same to reunite them in the Well.

…

The pendulum of emotional slag-wash swung directly into the rage category with a thruster powered piledriver from the upper atmosphere.

Frag that !

Thundercracker deserved better and Primus be damned if he was just going to sit here without even trying! Those two piston headed slabs would never forgive him for just… Giving up. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to face them in the Well if he did.

This was literally the worst possible scenario and under any other circumstance he’d be swearing at himself for getting into this mess. But since it was Prime he was stuck against, he was going to take that slag out on everybody else. So fraggit all! Frag Vector fragging Sigma and absolutely frag Alpha Trion himself to the very fragging Pits ! Servo to servo combat was his weakest area of expertise and he was trapped in a situation that relied on melee to not get violently offlined. 

His traitorous vox glitches out on him entirely before he could even think of pleading for his life and weirdly enough for maybe the first time, Starscream didn’t want to. Instead, he does the first thing that comes to his frazzled processor. He throws his frame backwards into the larger mech as hard as he could, his cockpit cracking against the glass of Optimus’ windshield with a sharp TIK . Nothing shattered luckily but the action pushed that blasted servo deeper into his chassis cavity, a breathless sensation taking over him as for a brief terrifying moment his optics shut down against his will. Primus above, there were a whole three slagging digits inside his cooling fans! Prime might as well have shoved his entire arm through his tanks and out his aft! Oh Primus, he was going to purge-

Starscream’s frame shuddered painfully, a dry heave catching in his throat in a gargle of static but the mech pushed on regardless until he was leaning his full weight against the Prime. It took the pressure off his spinal strut, the relief almost enough to make his optics leak if it wasn’t for the absolute torture his chassis was going through. They might leak regardless with how fragging painful the whole situation was. 

This was his chance. He had one shot at this or his faceplate was going to be separated from his helm. 

The Seeker jumped, allowing himself to be fully held up by the servo rammed into his chassis, pedes no longer touching the ground. 

He nearly blacked out. 

Optimus stumbled, unprepared to suddenly be holding up the sleek Decepticon but caught himself before they both took a tumble, readjusting his stance for better balance. The axe arm went up, ready to come striking down on Starscream’s exposed undercarriage, right against the previously left burn mark. A weak spot already turned weaker.

With his legs being the only part of his root mode that made it through the cut off transformation sequence, Starscream used them as his only weapon left. Swinging them up, he folded himself in half, thanking Primus for making him lithe and flexible enough to do this, and jammed his heels under Optimus’ chin and mouth guard. The tips caught a seam and hooked him there, making it so the only way Prime could get him off was to drop him. The pain was nigh unbearable at that point, every move he made pulling a wretched scream from his intake ferociously enough to nearly shred his vox to pieces. 

Starscream clung to that feeling of pure and utter agony, sinking his claws deep into the burning pain to keep it within arms reach. It was a reminder he was online . That this fight wasn’t over yet. And it was going to serve as a constant reminder burned into the very depths of his processor and for the rest of this Pit forsaken war to never face off against Optimus Prime ever again, especially not alone.

So close. He was nearly free, just one more thing left to do.

The only warning Prime got for what was to transpire next was the sudden glow of a white-blue hot flame framing his chin and the steadily growing whine of engines heating up. The Autobot reacted with a sharp intake, knee joint coming up quickly to dig into Starscream’s spinal strut and kick him away just as the Seeker turned his thrusters on full blast. 

The effect was instantaneous and was exactly what the SIC was looking for. 

The large blue servo belonging to Optimus was ripped brutally from the spinal region of Starscream’s alt mode, freeing him from his entrapment with a neon splattering of his energon gushing over the front of Prime’s chassis just as said Prime got a faceplate full of fire. The larger bot barely had enough time to jerk his helm back out of the direct line of burning fuel and afterburner, mouth guard turning a lovely shade of orange to indicate just how hot it had gotten in the half a nanoklik it had been exposed to flame. Optimus stumbled back and was forced to remove the mask before it cooled and welded itself to his faceplate, optical ridges drawn low over his optics as he stared down Starscream. He was free, but his opponent wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Starscream wasted no time getting out of there, not even to see what kind of damage he’d done. Tucking his legs back up into his torso and closing the poor hole formed in his back, he went full alt mode once more and shot himself into the sky. He wasn’t sticking around for a second longer to let Optimus actually finish him, content with the only injuries being internal ones that Knockout could easily fix within a joor (not including the damage done to his paint job). His cooling fans stuttered and choked from the interference they incurred and the wiring around his fuel pump felt loosened, but he was still online. Oh thank Primus he was still online.

Something in his left side whined. A strained gear like grinding noise emanating from somewhere a little too close to his spark chamber for comfort. Another noise, this time a pop from somewhere deep into his chassis. Was… that his equilibrium module or his coolant pump? He couldn’t tell, his entire left side felt cold and numb like it wasn’t getting any energon. His fuel pump skipped a siphoning beat in worry, his energon lines pausing momentarily to let that icy cold sensation spread throughout his whole frame. Something splashed against his left side thrusters.

And then he was falling from the sky. 

For a moment, Starscream couldn’t even process what had happened. He figured something might have ruptured from Optimus’ invasive servo but his diagnostic programming hadn’t flagged anything as actually breaking when he took off. Wings intact (bar the digit prints dented into his metal), all of his biomechanical organs online, and most internal mechanisms were at a functioning level so why had he lost control? 

His HUD was flashing a bright angry red, something it hadn’t been doing when he first escaped the Prime’s hold. There had been warnings during this fight, multiple of them of varying levels of worry, but not one of this calibre. This was a ‘systems failure imminent’ sort of warning instead of the usual ‘hey man, this is looking kinda iffy’ warnings he’d been getting throughout this encounter.

His left side started to burn right around where he heard the pop as awareness filled his processor and a sense of dread filled him. A quick cursory glance told him all he needed to know. 

Prime had gotten one last shot in before he had made it out of range. 

Frag . 

He was going to crash.

He wasn’t going to make it back to the Nemesis in this state. Maybe he could call Soundwave for backup or even just to open the ground bridge for him but he couldn’t risk landing long enough to have a solid set of coordinates without Optimus hunting him down and finishing the job. The fact his entire left side now felt wet and slick with presumably his energon, he wouldn’t be able to handle a long flight anyways. Realising the situation at its current point had no positive outcome, Starscream changed course. If he was going down, the least he could do was go down within range of the human settlement. Prime’s options would be limited since his team was so set on staying incognito and a truck ramming into a crashed military aircraft would gather quite a bit of attention. The Autobot might be forced to leave him alone, though that did put Starscream at risk of human contact. It wouldn’t be too suspicious to find his cockpit empty, would it? It wasn’t like the humans were very smart, they’d probably assume the ‘pilot’ survived and was taken to one of those human med-bays by fellow soldiers. The military here kept a close optic on its soldiers, did they not? It would make sense of them to know of the crash and instantly come and save their fellow man. Thus leaving the humans of this pitiful town with nothing worth seeing so it would be no use staying if there was no human to save, right? Then he’d be free to get a ground bridge without worrying about Prime on his aft. Ah! It was the perfect plan! His own genius frightened him sometimes.

He had to mentally pull back the afterburners after that last thought, seeing how his hubris was the reason he was sent out here in the first place and led to earning himself a pretty nice gaping hole in his side. Why did he never learn?

Ready: Round two of god-complex vs. insecurities! They’re going for the fragging throat, folks!

Starscream could see the lights in the distance, roughly two kliks flight out from his current position at the speed he was going. He would barely make it with how much energon was left in his tanks, but he should make it. He had to make it. The terrifying sound of Optimus’ revving engine quickly began to fade as Starscream put the distance between them, wobbling in the sky as he just as quickly was beginning to lose altitude. That ominous rumbling was going to haunt his recharge cycles for a quartex at least.

His frame pitched suddenly with an uncomfortable shudder, his cooling fans making a repetitive clicking noise from somewhere in his chassis likely from getting stuck and unstuck repeatedly. A faint VRRRR rattled behind his spark chamber in compensation for his struggling parts, another dot point of worrying noises to add to the ever growing list it seemed. So much for that quick joor fix up, Knockout was going to have to spend the rest of the recharge cycle on him at this rate.

Another angry red notification on his HUD blared in the corner of his optics, adding the total to somewhere between five and twelve (was his vision doubling or tripling? He couldn’t tell against the millions of stars that gave him no reference point to work off of). He ignored it. Just a little further and then he could deal with it. The fans weren’t a priority right now seeing as his energon levels had dropped by a quarter of what they were supposed to be at and he still hadn’t reached within sightline of the human settlement yet. The rumbling of his engine cut out with a foreboding spluttering before starting up again, muted panic wrapping its servos around Starscream’s processor. He wasn’t going to get within sight of the humans. His engine wasn’t going to get him far enough. He wasn’t going to fragging make it.

His engine stalled a moment later, body dropping with a sickening lurch as the ground came up to greet him. His tanks felt like they were yanked up into his throat in a similar fashion to when he did his freefall before but considering the circumstances, the feeling was a lot less welcome. Any control he had was ripped violently from his servos as he fell directly into the path of a mesa. He didn’t have the time nor lift to pull up and clear the top of it, the Seeker sharply diving to the right to come around the side instead. Pain rocketed up his wing as the tip clipped against the stone. Something snapped, a panel getting ripped straight off now tumbling down into the desert below him with an echoing metallic clinking. Any semblance of balance was gone now, his flight turning into a sudden drop instead of a semi-smooth glide as dirt filled his vision. In a desperate last ditch effort to minimise the damage, Starscream switched to his root mode and curled into a ball, hoping to roll and evenly distribute the force of the impact across his whole frame rather than just one spot. Anything to avoid having his wings incur any more harm.

He lands with a deafening crunch of metal before he’s fully transformed, engine giving out on him entirely.

Everything goes quiet, save for the distant yet quickly approaching rumbling of a ground vehicle engine. 

Oh Primus have mercy , Optimus saw him and was coming to finish the job! He’d barely touched ground and he was going to get his aft fragged without any prep.

Dust and rocks fly up and scatter around him in a dense fog, completely blocking his vision and clogging his vents with debris. One of his pedes definitely snap, a screeching unclean crack in his upper leg strut that is going to make walking an absolute glitch-dream and once again he is stuck between forms from having something jammed between his plating. It was the same fragging pede as before as well! It’s a miracle his whole leg didn’t just fall off! He didn’t have much time before Prime would reach him, the Seeker awkwardly and blindly reaching (his servos made it through this time luckily) down to dig out stones from his joints and panels. He could see headlights through the dirt cloud as the engine screeches to a sudden stop just outside his landing zone.

“Vector fragging Sigma, Prime!” His vox crackled with more static than he liked, his Vosian accent scratching at the words with an electrical undercurrent. “Leave me be already! Haven’t you done enough damage for one cycle?” The weakness in his voice felt as bad as the hole in his side. 

Somewhere outside of the dust cloud, a door opens.

That makes the SIC pause. He expected the sound of a transformation sequence as Optimus gets ready to kick him while he’s down. 

This wasn’t Prime. 

This was a human . 

A human saw him crash and had come to check it out. While that was the original plan, things had changed. Starscream didn’t think that anyone would actually see him considering how far out he was from the settlement, hence the swearing and exposure of his root mode. 

Which he’d now done in front of a human. 

While no one had explicitly told him that he needed to stay in disguise and not be seen by the locals, it wasn’t exactly not implied either. 

Megatron was going to tear his wings off for this. 

Well, it was too late to go back now. Considering the way the mission had gone, he was probably going to get ripped apart regardless, he might as well make it interesting. Either he’d squish it (he shuddered at the thought of gross organic processor wetware getting stuck between his seams, so maybe not that one), scare it into submission or maybe he could find a use for its teeny little fleshy servos. The Autobots had like… What? Three? Four tiny humans running around and seemingly for the better. That must mean they were good for something, right?

He finished his transformation, gritting his denta as a fresh wave of discomfort and misery crawled up his spinal strut at the action, energon spurting from his side. The whole thing took a few moments longer than it should have, dragging out his agony due to the several large dents in his plating getting stuck against each other, an awful chk-chnk-chrRRRR-RRRRR-CLNG-CLKCLKCLK-shuk-chk sound emanating from him. The dust had annoyingly yet to settle and his already fragged ventilation systems were not having it. 

“Frag this blasted planet-!” He hissed, mostly to himself as a part of one of his fans let out a disquieting DNK in his chassis. Knockout was going to have a field day trying to put everything back together.  

He dropped a hand onto the edge of the crater he accidentally created to try and lift himself up, the broken pede cracking under the weight leaving him no choice but to tuck it under his body to protect it from further damage. Okay, so he wasn’t going to be greeting this human at his full height. That’s fine! He was still intimidating and illustrious whilst sitting! He waved a hand through the haze in an attempt to clear it as he’d yet to actually see this human and more than anything, he wanted this fragging dirt out of his way. His fans splutter, the grime basically filling every nook and cranny of his frame at this point leaving him wheezing in pure disgust. Even if his vents hadn’t been treated like a 20-shanix-valve in the back alley of a Kaon oilhouse by Optimus Prime, the amount of slag floating in the air would be enough to choke any mech. The washracks weren’t going to be enough when he got back to the Nemesis. He needed to be dunked in cleaning fluid and scrubbed until his paint was scratched off and the seams between his plating were rubbed raw.

Despite clearing away the smog being the intent, Starscream still wasn’t quite ready for the sight that greeted him as his vision finally does clear. His assessment wasn’t wrong as there was indeed a human standing before him. It was small, maybe only up to his shin, maybe even shorter than that, with an utterly flabbergasted expression on its mushy faceplate with wide wet little optics that reflected his red biolights back at him. He’d seen humans before, interacted with those overconfident bitlets the Autobots kept but it was still such a strange experience, one Starscream wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. Humans were just so… Weird. So uncannily similar yet so different. So soft and smooth and fragile and they secrete so many liquids and- 

Ugh, just thinking about it for too long made his ventilation systems feel tight and left his processor with an uncomfortable feeling of just wrongness . Like looking at a sparkling without any armor, their exposed protomass on display to be easily pierced or crushed. He didn’t think he normally had such an adverse reaction to organics but then again he did just have his innards shuffled around quite aggressively. It wouldn’t be surprising to him if the sight of anything in Shockwave’s slagshow of a lab would make him gag.

Ah.

Vulnerable. That was the word he was looking for.

Humans looked vulnerable in a way that made him uncomfortable. Like he was the one in perpetual danger, not them. It was weird and it was gross and he didn’t like it nor their squishy flabby bits that hung off them and wobbled when they moved. That, and they were just so small. He didn’t like that either. Normally, the idea of someone having to look up at him was one he actively sought out, but when it came to a human doing it. 

It was more unnerving than gratifying. 

Vos had a distinct lack of Minicons, Cassetticons or other Predacon/Maximals. The majority was made purely of Seekers and most of the minorities were of a more four-wheeled variety, not that there were many due to how the city was laid out. Having most if not all of your buildings built vertically through one of Cybertron’s many plates, both topside and underside, leaves very little space for those without wings to travel and Vosian culture had little interest in those who were not of a flight based frame. It was rare for Starscream to even be near anyone considerably smaller than him. Not that he was considered a short mech but when working alongside those such as Shockwave and Dreadwing, well lets just say he certainly wasn’t ever the tallest mech in any room he entered.  Even after the war began most of the Minicons who’d joined the Decepticon ranks were delegated to those whose frames could support symbiotes. This meant that there was very little need for Starscream to actually interact with any of them outside of when he needed to work alongside Soundwave and those under his care (those who used to be under his care). The most he got nowadays was sass from Lazerbeak and he’d rather avoid that flying petrorat where he could.

The human started talking, jolting him from his musings. A soft wobbly voice that it seemed to regret using if the wince on its face was anything to go off of. 

“Hey buddy, th-uh-that seemed like a pretty nasty fall. You good?”

Did his audials break in the crash? Was his optics glitching and making him see things? 

That didn’t quite seem right.

Was it stupid? 

Yeah that felt better. 

The human was stupid. It must be.

Starscream could physically feel his processor struggling to grasp at the situation. There were too many things happening at once and the human’s weird optics wouldn’t stop staring at him like it could see through his plating and into his very spark.

He had too many questions and practically no answers. Why did it think his designation was ‘Buddy’? Did it really ask if he was good? Did he look good?! Who was he kidding, he always looked good but that wasn’t what it was referring to and he knew it. You’d think the amount of energon spewing from his side was a pretty solid indicator that no, he was not ‘good’, but hey, different volts for different bolts or whatever the saying was (Primus knows how much Megatron enjoys it when someone actually managing to make him bleed).

Maybe the squish belonged to one of the Autobots and that’s why it wasn’t glitching out? No, they surely would have told one of their pets about him, right? The other smaller humans always looked ready to fight whenever they saw him so why wasn’t this one screaming at and attempting to threaten him? Where was the panic or rage? His intake clicked open as he tried to figure out his next move, optic ridges furrowing together in thought. Maybe it wasn’t talking to him? No, no, that was ridiculous! There was no one for miles, just freaky little scaled organics and miniature noisy insectoids. 

The vehicle they arrived in wasn’t of Cybertronian make, just a disgusting slaggy human four-wheeler. His optics narrowed at that. Did that mean they weren’t an Autobot? 

Primus above, this was stupid. His entire side was burning, his energon had basically puddled under him, his ventilation system was completely clogged and dislodged with earth and from Autobot fingers, and he still had no idea if Prime was on his aft. He was still in shock that he’d been hit at all to be honest. He was sure he had gotten out of blaster range fast enough but clearly he was wrong. And that pissed him off. How dare that microchipped moron! He was the Starscream! The rightful leader of the Deceptions, currently named Second in Comm- 

Oh Pits below save him, the human was still staring at him with its moist shiny optics, it was so gross! 

Ah. Right. 

It asked him a question didn’t it? Primus, he was tired and sore. What he wouldn’t give for some Engex and a quiet undisturbed night alone in his habsuite right about now. His processor was thrumming painfully in the back of his helm and the warnings on his HUD hadn’t stopped blaring yet which was making it very hard to think clearly.

Starscream had planned on slowly lowering himself down onto the human’s level to get real close and personal and make sure it knew it wasn’t the one in control. ‘Plan’ being the word of note here as his body failed him. The mech all but collapsed before the organic, barely managing to stop his chassis from crashing into the ground as his energon splattered from the gaping wound in his side over the dirt. A snarl curled at his intake at just how rough of a condition he was actually in and from the burning sensation that jolted his systems but at least the fleshbag looked appropriately terrified at his sudden approach. That made him feel just a smidge better about the situation. 

Still in control, femmes and mechs, still in control. (God-complex just did a triple whammy combo! Upcut, right hook, left! Oh, that got to have stung!)

Something in his vox felt out of place, processor cycling through the expansive list of human languages he had access to over their rudimentary data network. What primitive language did they use here? Spanish? No… That didn’t sound right. It literally spoke to him, he should know this! Ugh, they all sounded the same to him, simple sounds with no depth that left every word up to the receiver's own interpretation! 

English! That was the one! What a stupid language. 

A burst of static rumbled through his intake and out his vox instead of the words he’d be trying to say, annoyance ticking in the back of his helm. He had to reset it, a distinctive and loud click reverberating from his upper chassis. 

Way to show off what weakness looked like to the meatsack, Screamer. (Oh, what’s this?! Insecurities just performed a dropkick right to the equilibrium module! And god-complex goes down! Is this the end for god-complex?!)

“Are you speaking to me, Human ?“

That felt vaguely threatening enough without being an outright promise of death, harm and/or tragedy. The look on the organic’s face cemented the fact that he’d done a good job of being scary and a spark of pride shot through him. Though it also looked like its processor had stopped reading any input given to it and was simply reacting at the most basic of levels. The dumb nod it gave confirmed that. Starscream’s frown deepened in response to the anxious yet almost blasé audacity it displayed, its optics looking to either side of him as if to make a point that they were in fact entirely alone. 

Rude! He already knew that! It was supposed to be a ‘you are too far below me to actually be speaking to me!’ not a ‘oh I’m sorry, did you mean to address the mech behind me?’. Stupid interpretive language!

Starscream found that maybe he suddenly didn’t mind picking organic meat flesh bits from between the seams of his servos anymore, molten hot pinpoints of anger spreading throughout his spark chamber. Or maybe that was the internal bleeding. His HUD hadn’t stopped flashing and he’d yet to actually read any one of the warnings. His derma curled back threateningly in a show of denta but the fleshy had obviously stopped paying attention to him at that point from the way its horrid wet optics had settled on his lower chassis. That felt mildly violating and Starscream was overcome with the urge to cover himself. He restrained against the action alas it be taken as a sign of weakness or vulnerability, pushing down an uncomfortable shiver. Was it looking for a spot to strike? It obviously knew he was in a weakened state, perhaps it was hoping to snuff his spark while he was already down? Starscream’s vox rumbled with displeasure at the thought, plating flaring out defensively. He hadn’t survived four million brutal years of war and never ending violence from his own lord’s servos just to fade-out from a half-cube organic.

He’d been so busy stewing in his own melted down weldmesh of emotional sludge, Starscream almost missed the way the fleshling before him let out a soft gasp that rattled its entire puny frame. Its optics seemed to glaze over as it fell still, the movements in its chassis halting as it stopped breathing. That made him pause. 

Was… That normal in humans? 

He didn’t think so. 

Had it finally realised that he was the superior being worthy of fear and respect? They way its squishy optics rolled limply in its cranium before its whole frame slumped down against the car like a loose pile of energon cubes told him otherwise. 

Seemed more like whatever it had for a spark decided to snuff itself out instead of continuing this interaction for any longer. Frankly, he agreed with the sentiment. He almost would rather Megatron yell at him then to let this conversation go on for another klik. The sound its fleshy helm made against the metal was shockingly solid and reminded him a little of a vehicon tripping over an energon deposit. A twangy metallic ringing with a muted hollow echo. Realistically, Starscream was aware that there was some sort of structure under the flesh to keep them upright but it was unexpected to hear it so clearly. It was sickening, more accurately, the SIC outrightly cringing as his throat tightened. 

It seemed that the human short-circuited.

What Starscream was going to do with this, he didn’t know. Did he just leave it be? Maybe it’ll write the whole experience off as a dream or something and no one could get mad at him. With that thought, the Seeker started to move back only to see two disgustingly moist optics looking up at him. The organic woke up much faster than he’d anticipated and was stuck locking optics with the bundle of organs and wet meat again. His tanks clenched in a way that made him want to purge the longer he was in this standoff. Would it be weird to pretend half this interaction never happened and to answer its original question? He didn’t really want a crash course in human biology about whatever the frag had transpired in the last breem. Either way he was too close to it and wanted to put the distance in without coming off as awkward. He still had control of the situation, fraggit! He was intimidating and not the one being threatened here!

“ Verminous fleshling.” The words rolled smoothly from his vox like Engex after a long shift.

That had enough of a bite to it, right? It was the same tone he often used on Knockout to get the good doctor to actually do what he was told instead of questioning his superiors.

Ugh, whatever. Starscream could literally feel his energy leave his frame at that point. He just didn’t have the strength to care anymore, everything about this was taking up too much processing power and he wanted nothing more than to go into recharge already. The organic’s jelly-like optics were practically bulging from its helm as is, he could clap his wings together and fall flat on his faceplate and it’d look impressed. Being scary can go to someone with the energy to care. And be aimed towards someone who wasn’t as easily spooked. 

As evenly as he could to avoid tugging at his wound, Starscream drew himself back upright with a dramatic rolling of optics. The movement unfortunately pulled at his side regardless of his efforts and it took everything in the Seeker to not fold in on himself and collapse from the sheer burning pain that enveloped him, opting to turn his helm away instead in a poor attempt to mask how badly he was hurt. Static was dotting his vision again and his fans were struggling to whirl at a steady pace without stuttering. Another pathetic show of weakness it seemed. 

Joy .

Why couldn’t he just be in his berth right now? 

Ah. Right. 

Because Prime decided to play with his innards like a juiced up Speedster on Circuit Speeders that was just challenged to a race in Velocitron. 

The thought ignited his rage once more, all remaining energy going into all but spitting at the ignorant human before him. It asked him a question, might as well answer to relieve some of his building anger before he blew up at someone who could actually hit back and mean it ( literally anyone apart of High Command ). It wasn’t like its puny squishy processor was going to understand anything that was happening anyways, though he might garner some sympathy for his plights.

“ Obviously I’m not okay! Shot out of the fragging sky like common fodder! Me of all mechs… I’ve never been so violated in my entire life- Ugh! Just look at what he did to my wings! May Unicron smite that blasted Prime into scrap!” 

The human looked like it was going to faint again, aggressively eyeballing his wings with a growing look of horror on its smushy little faceplate. At least someone understood how horrific it was for a Seeker’s wings to get mech-handled so aggressively! Even if it was a disgusting fleshling. Ugh, all his sensors along his wings were out of whack because of the dents, practically screaming at him as if he was flying in a rust storm. It was making his helm spin even more than it already was from all the other damage Optimus inflicted on him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to fly straight even after getting the dents buffed out. Every twitch, every hint of a breeze felt like needles prickling down over his sensor-nets and into his spinal strut. It felt as if Unicron himself was stroking the concept of death into his wings and drip feeding him abomination and lead heavy enough to keep him bolted to the ground. Nothing Megatron could do to him would hurt more than flight being taken from him. 

His wings would heal. 

They had to.

The fleshy scrambled up onto its pedes before taking a shaky step towards him, its expression melting into deep concern and abject terror, optics wide and watery and drawn into sharp focus. Huh. Was it worried about him? He almost felt a bit chuffed honestly but the feeling was vastly buried under the weight of disgust he felt towards being pitied by a bloodbag. That was a bit of a blow to his ego and his tanks, barely resisting the urge to move away so it wouldn’t get close enough to touch him.

Gross fluid filled meatling.

Its mouth opened, giving Starscream a clear view down its slimy red intake and he was forced to look away before he blacked out. The amount of energon he’d lost was not helping the dizziness in his helm or the swirling glitch-dream his inner mechanisms were, static encroaching on his vision like a swarm of insecticons. Play time was over, he couldn't care less about whatever the organic was about to say to him, he needed to get out of there before he bled out or lost his last consumed rations all over the place. 

Starscream shifted in the hole, his entire leg screaming in protest at the movement as he once more tried to haul himself upright only for him to come crashing back into the dirt. If he could stand and waddle far enough to make it through a space bridge, that’s all that mattered. Soundwave would rather throw him into a smelter than heave his aft back to the Nemesis and Starscream personally felt like he’d shown enough vulnerability today to last him a hundred vorns. No, he would not allow himself to be disgraced by needing any more assistance than he already did. He tried again, something in his upper thigh outrightly snapping under him. His cracked strut couldn’t hold any weight and his side gaped in response to his squirming, the wide yawning hole dripping with thick globules of congealing energon that coated him in a vibrant icy glowing blue. It was an embarrassment enough that he'd be leaving a trail to the med-bay, let alone if someone else had to drag him there like he was a helpless sparkling. 

A distant rumbling caught his attention in an instant, thankfully distracting him from what would have been very uncomfortable for both himself and the squishy he would have inadvertently purged on. Unfortunately, the sound was not a good one for the Seeker. A low Vosian curse slipped from his vox as recognition all but glitch-slapped him across the faceplate. It was the last thing he wanted to hear in that moment, a bolt of panic seizing at his chassis with ice cold fervor. He couldn’t even stand up right now let alone fight! Throwing a servo in the organic’s direction to make sure it didn’t try speaking to him, Starscream put the other against his audial fin with closed optics and prayed to a Primus he really was starting to not believe in for someone to pick up on the other end of the comms. The human tumbled back onto its aft to get away from him, flinching like it expected him to just flatten it. He had more important things to worry about than the squishy right now!

“Soundwave!... Lazerbeak!... This is Starscream requesting a space bridge or assistance, effective; immediately!... Oh for Primus’ sake, answer you fragging slag offs!” Desperation was starting to sound a little too familiar on him and it soured in his intake, coating his words like an oil slick. “Knockout?... ST3V3?... Will someone come in already?! I am in need of retrieval and/or backup!” 

He almost expected the silence that greeted him but expecting it didn’t take the sting off any less. A pathetic soaking wet part of his spark longed for a voice he knew he’d never hear again to be the one to pick up. He secretly held this weakness like it was a servo, pulling it up to his chassis to cradle it against his spark chamber in the silence (he could still hear them screaming when he closed his optics to recharge, purple and blue fading to a dull, dull grey).

He tried again. Same request this time in Kaonic instead of Vosian, coordinates slapped on top in a neat little bow so they knew exactly where he was. 

Still no response. 

He could cry for help all he wanted in every Cybertronian dialect he knew, but no one was going to come and save him. Not over what was meant to be a low stakes mission/punishment. Him getting beat up out here simply meant that his all so glorious lord couldn’t do it later. No rust off his aft. Or worse, his merciful leader will ‘punish’ him anyways, regardless of how much damage was inflicted upon him already by Prime.

No one even tried to hide their prejudice anymore, least of all High Command. He should have started the conversation with ‘Prime’s looking for a fight’ and Megatron would have shot down faster than an addict being told there's free Syk around the corner.

The ominous sound of an engine was getting progressively louder and the human was looking as if they were about to defecate all over itself, clumsily wobbling up onto its pedes. At least someone understood the gravity of the situation though in a sense he wished it didn’t if that was going to be the reaction. 

He needed a plan, one that preferably got him out of getting sent to the Well and back to the (relative) safety of the Nemesis.

~-~-~-~

To say you fully understood the situation at hand would be an extreme understatement. The idea of a military aircraft crashing directly next to where you had parked your shitbox for a night of stargazing was hard enough to wrap your head around, let alone with how said aircraft was actually a very injured giant robot man that was awfully akin to a preening peacock. Seriously, the amount of sass this mechanical beanpole was exuding was unfathomable, showcasing all the dramatic flair of a slighted husky in each of his movements and from the way he all but whined out his complaints at you. The idea of him being some war machine built by the government was rapidly fading because who would program their death bot to whinge and pout? 

That still left you with no answers and even more questions. 

But he had to have been made by someone, right? Titanous robots didn’t naturally pop up out of the ground like carrots, unless you were really behind on knowledge about how Earth worked. Either the engineers that made him had an insane sense of humor, or this robotic cockatiel was just like that.

The first thing you wanted to know was who this Prime guy was. If Prime was the one who did this to your crashlander, then where was it (He? She? They? They.) now? Why did they attack birdybot? And did they know your students? You’ve definitely heard Miko say that name before and if you were correctly putting the context clues together, Prime was also going to be some sort of giant transforming robot. 

You could feel your chest constrict in panic, breathlessness consuming your very being as your vision swam in circles, narrowing to pinpricks on the giant grey face in front of you. What in the ever living fuck had your kids gotten themselves into? You could already see it, little curious Raf getting too close or sweet kind Jack offering a hand but these robots are so much bigger or Miko excitably running ahead, not paying attention to who or what was above her before-

CRUNCH

You had to cut that train of thought off before you made yourself sick. 

You needed to know your students were safe, happy, not in danger at all. You needed to know how many of these goddamned robots there were and what they wanted with your kids and who made them and why and what they were doing here. You had nothing but questions, each one drowning in a pool of anxiety ridden panic and worry.

It seemed you weren’t the only one about to lose your lunch, the massive towering bot sitting still in his hole was looking a little blue around the vents on either side of his face and a little paler (could massive robots get pale?). That and he refused to look at you for even a minute longer. Throughout the whole interaction it was quite obvious that he found you to be revolting. Lip curling in disgust, eyes never staying focused on one place too long without his throat moving like he was holding down his vomit or swallowing heavily, fingers drifting from holding his wound to cup his lower abdomen like one would their upset stomach. The poor guy just got the bejesus beat out of him and was now stuck looking at what was probably his equivalent of humans finding a gutted cockroach crawling out from under the fridge. 

You couldn’t really find it in your heart to be offended. Though it did raise the question of whether or not that was a programmed feature and what possible use it could have.

You also couldn’t help but wonder which one this bot was. It was natural to want a name to any face you met and Miko had spouted so many different ones over the last several weeks, all in varying amounts of either adoration or pure hatred. Though the idea of Miko having an issue with someone was not an easy one to picture. Her way of getting through life was by befriending everyone or simply letting them pass by her. If they didn’t like her, that was their problem not hers and she wasn’t going to stick around to see it play out. 

Unfortunately, you had very little to go off of when it came to what the kids thought about Prime. Scarcely spoken of and when they were mentioned, it was difficult to glean what emotion the name evoked in them. Jack always said that name like he was talking about the end of times. So seriously that it made you feel grave, like just the name alone held the entire weight of the universe atop its shoulders and the responsibilities were just trickling off them and down onto your kids. That just being in proximity to this Prime was both an honor and a punishment. It was nerve wracking to hear about it then but now it just made you nauseous with anxiety. How could anyone, robot or otherwise, do so much damage to something that clearly felt pain and fear? Would they stop at your fallen birdbot or would you be next to feel their wrath?

Megatron was another name spoken about in almost the same way as Prime, you’d noticed. Heavy and seeped in dread and sorrow, in bitter hushed whispers of secret terror and foreboding. Megatron seemed to be the counterpart to Prime, each representing one hand of a god, an approaching apocalypse that was either going to bring shelter or certain doom with it but it hadn’t yet decided which was going to carry which. They were both holy, otherworldly figures to your kids that they bounced between worshipping and fearing. You didn’t want to be a face to either of their names, the idea of meeting either one of them feeling like a daunting uphill climb to uncertainty and revelations beyond your comprehension. You weren’t feeling holy enough to face those revelations. Not now and certainly not anytime soon.

Perhaps your plane-man was one of the nicer robots that your kiddos actually liked. R.C sounded kinda like a plane name and Jack spoke about them reverently and with such strong admiration. Or maybe he was Sound Wave? Raf seemed to have personal beef with that bot though so maybe not. He certainly didn’t feel like an Optimus or a Bulk Head, too skinny for that, and he obviously wasn’t Prime since that was the robot who did this to him. Truly you had no idea and most likely wouldn’t ever know unless asked but now really didn’t seem like the right time for introductions.

Stepping forward, you open your mouth to start the interrogation against your (hopefully) friendly twinkified Gundam. You needed some goddamn answers and you needed them by 10 minutes ago, especially about this Prime figure. Before even a single word was uttered however, he started to move. Slowly at first, hands coming down to grip the edge of the hole as he pushed himself up onto one knee, carefully placing weight on the other. His face screwed tightly in pain, shuddering out gasps of agony as his left leg seemingly gave out under him with a worryingly loud crack. He was up for only mere moments before he all but collapsed back into the crater, his expression turning more and more panicked with the realization that he couldn’t get up. Another fresh bubble of neon magma-sludge dribbled from his wound from the movement, his entire left side drenched in what must be his blood. 

Your heart wretched painfully in your chest. So far he’d been a bit rude and cocky, but not outwardly aggressive towards you and you were starting to think he had just been lashing out due to how badly he was hurt. And now, it seemed he was stranded with his attacker somewhere just over the horizon.

You couldn’t do anything. He was simply too big and it wasn’t like you were a mechanical engineer or robotics expert. You didn’t even have anything in your car large enough to use as a bandage or rag for his side, let alone to splint his leg. You certainly weren’t going to be able to protect him or fight against Prime if they came to finish the job. The best you’d be able to do was distract them but even then it wasn’t guarantee that it’d work. 

Robo-birdy suddenly froze. 

You froze in response, heart practically beating out of your chest and a faint ringing started to buzz in your ears under the droning powerline-esque sound-soup the grey and red robot seemed to constantly produce. What? What had happened? Did his plane parts break? Was he about to keel over and die because he lost too much glowstick blood? Was he about to explode into a hundred different bits?! 

Electrical tonal beeps rushed from his mouth in what was probably considered quiet for giant robots, the noise sounding almost musical to you in a way that would have been pleasant if it didn’t make your bones feel like electrified spaghetti. He was looking more and more terrified with each passing second and before you could even think to ask what was happening, he whipped his hand out in front of you.

You were going to faint again. 

You’d thought it once and you certainly were thinking it again, absolutely nothing that fucking large should be able to move that goddamned fast. It stopped right before your face, not touching you but simply held out in a ‘stop’ like gesture. Your body, however, reacted like he’d just moved to smush you into the dirt, legs giving out under you as you tripped ass first backwards against your car, knees curling up in front of you like some sort of shitty shield. Everything in your nervous system was on fire and screaming for the fire department to show up and do something, heart furiously thrumming in your throat in a way that made you want to gag and barf your intestines out your nose. Your life had flashed before your eyes and it practically stunlocked you, voice getting jammed up in your esophagus before you even had the chance to start screaming as the robot’s face fell still in deep thought. It was a miracle you hadn’t pissed yourself yet, but you were sure that if you had to go through another scare like that, that you were going to actually have a heart attack and die.

He’d brought his other hand up to the side of his head, pressing a finger to where you assumed his version of an ear must be. His mouth opened and once more the air was filled with whirring hums and techno-babble whooping, the tone shifting to a higher pitch whine between each pause. Your teeth felt like they were full of bees and you found covering your ears didn’t lessen the intensity of the vibrations bouncing around the inside of your skull. 

It was like he was calling someone but they weren’t picking up, the sensation in your chest reminding you of the one you got when watching one of your students get excluded and left to play all alone. His expression was heartbreaking too, furthering that deep seeded feeling of secondhand loneliness and abandonment, his frustration building to cover up the pure and utter hopelessness that seemed to be burying him alive. 

There was a pause, a desperate unspoken plea that hung in the air between you as he waited for a reply only to receive nothing in return. When he opened his mouth next, his voice had changed entirely, every hair on your body raising with the telltale prickles of goosebumps. The noises he made had changed shape and became rougher, deeper and sharper almost. Like clicking gears and droning electric tasered whips that buzzed and crackled and the words tasted like rust and pure electricity to your ears. You could feel it in your organs this time, deep inside your abdomen in a way that made you wonder if your spleen could rupture from vibrations alone.

Was… That a different language? The pattern was the same as the first time he’d spoken but the depth and tone was completely different. He had paused in the same places and a few of those noises stayed roughly the same… Like he was saying someone's name. A new question was now burning at your tongue and much to your displeasure, it was clear you didn’t have time to ask it as a new sound caught your attention, this time not from the whirring beepy-bot. A distant, yet clear rumble of an engine. It was a heavy-duty revving that you couldn’t find in average four-wheelers, gritty and deep like that of a larger ground vehicle. Images of road trains, big rigs and military-grade 4WDs came to mind. And it was getting louder fast .

Realisation hit you like a pitbull named Princess being let off the leash in front of a toddler, which is to say suddenly and violently enough for you to consider calling a hospital because your heart was not lasting though the night. That engine was probably Prime’s. No wonder your peacock plane man was freaking the fuck out and trying to call his friends in any language he knew how to speak. The bastard who just beat him into a bloody pulp was rapidly approaching his location while he was stuck, unable to stand and all alone with nothing but a human to help him. 

Terror felt like an appropriate emotion to be experiencing right now and it hit you across the back of the head like a galvanized steel pipe with enough force to concuss you. Your mechanical drag queen seemed to agree as he too had gotten pistol whipped right in the face with his own brand of barely restrained alarm, eyes darting around him as if looking for an answer to save him from this pre-determined asskicking that was about to happen. Faintly, something in the back of your mind started crying for the emotional turmoil rolling through you to stop hitting so damn hard. Not every emotion experienced needed to be fired from your skull with a fucking shotgun at close range.

Headlights flashed in the distance, lighting the road ahead in a bright fluorescent yellow-white, obscuring the shape of what was speeding down the asphalt. 

Panic .

The mecha-man gave a low growl fueled with frustration and fear as he shifted his body once more to try and stand, focusing his weight onto his one good leg this time. The wound in his side protested with a fresh wave of highlighter fluid blood and you couldn't help the sound that left your throat. An almost whine, a gasping horrified whimper at the sight of this badly damaged being pushing past his limits in a desperate attempt to stay alive. You held your hands out in what you hoped was a calming gesture, worry eating at you from the inside out as tears sprung up in the corners of your eyes to steal your sight from you as everything started to blur.

Oh god, don’t cry. You’ve done so well so far, just a little more, hang on for just a little longer. Stay calm and breathe. Don’t panic. 

Stop fucking panicking!

“Do-don’t! Fuck, oh dear lord-” You barely managed to wheeze the words out from around your rapidly constricting throat, rushing towards the bleeding bot in hopes of getting him to stay still before he made his injuries worse. “You’re going to just make it worse! You need to stop moving!”

His crimson red eyes snapped to you, bathing you in the deep blood his eyes shined to freeze you in place before you could touch him, an odd disquietening expression morphing his face as he seemed to listen to you. Something in your chest started weeping in relief as he regarded your smaller form, staring at you like he truly was seeing you for the first time. A tear dribbled down your cheek and your vision cleared as you blinked the rest away. You could cry properly when you got home and no one was about to die anymore, goddamn it! His mouth cracked open with a shaky little exhale, eyes widening a touch as something so heartbreakingly raw and vulnerable crossed his face. The parental instinct reared its head like a raging stallion as every atom in your being screamed at you to hug this horridly sad creature before he broke out of whatever daze he’d put himself into and pushed a perfectly neutral mask in its place. You were going to start fucking wailing, holy shit .

“It seems like I am about to be extinguished either way and frankly, I’d rather die on my feet than in a ditch.” His voice had shifted to match the mask, even and calculated to hide any signs of weakness as he slung himself up onto his feet with a strained groan.

The urge to curl up into a ball and cry had stopped pulling on your pant leg to your attention and turned to wrapping its slimy little hands around your throat to squeeze. 

You choked silently on how heavy his words felt on your tongue and couldn’t even begin to imagine how sour they must be on his.

A now not so distant truck horn had started blaring obnoxiously behind you. 

It was terrifying in its own way how quickly your heart had latched onto this bot. You knew nothing about him other than the fact he was a prissy flamboyant asshole and yet the weight of your sorrow at even imagining what was about to happen to him was enough to break you in two. 

Oh . 

He reminded you of your ‘troubled’ students. 

That was what it was. 

The realization felt like getting stabbed but being forced to ignore it because there were more important things to be worrying about and it frankly made you want to rip all your hair out and scream. He was lashing out like a prick and acting all high and mighty because he was hurting and didn’t want anyone to know. 

The engine was loud enough now to grate on your eardrums and force your heart up into your throat like an invasive worm, wriggling and thrashing around the confined space. 

Overall, this sucked. Everything about this sucked. There was no other way to put it. It sucked absolute balls and you were powerless to change it. You turned around, unable to look at your bleeding and battered robot for even a second longer only to get flashbanged by bright fluorescent headlights. Only a couple hundred feet away, speeding well over the speed limit was a massive red and blue Peterbilt driving directly towards you. 

Prime .

Time seemed to move in slow motion as your perception slowed to a crawl, a loud metallic clinking ringing out above the roar of an engine as it started to unfurl and come apart at the seams. Plates and panels started to shift and slide back out of place as the big rig all but rolled over itself with a jump of its tyres. Out from the mass of twirling and arranging parts, the rough shape of a huge metal man began to form bit by bit. Two scratched up blue bricks of metal and tyres CLNG-CLIK-CLK-CLK -ed together in quick succession, forming out from the back of the truck to swing down and snapped together into legs that set off into a sprint as soon as they touched the earth. Windshield pecs clicked together in the front of his torso as heavily armoured shoulders clunked up and into place, shooting thick red forearms down that swung back and forth in a running motion. Despite transforming from vehicle to bipedal mech, his speed barely dropped at all as he barreled directly towards you, the whole transformation taking only seconds. 

This giant robot was vastly different from your fallen plane buddy and looked a lot more like a classic Pacific Rim Jaeger if not a bit more colourful. Much taller and wider with tyres that were bunched around his ankles instead of a pair of sleek wings on his back, defined by a silhouette that could rival a muscular bodybuilder’s. Though you couldn’t help but notice that the same teeny tiny slutty waist seemed to be a shared feature between the two despite how incredibly different their body types were. Your rapidly approaching American flag of a robot didn’t have any heels or sharp claw like nails either, appearing much more masculine in both shape and in body language. No dramatic wrist flicks or fluttery wings or sassy hips wiggles. Just solid, precise red-blooded movements. For a robot without testosterone (assumedly), his posture and confidence basically screamed ‘I’m a super manly hero!’.

Your observations were cut short by the sudden sensation of warm metal curling around you, unmistakable segmented cylinders bending around the curve of your body. There was a second where the awareness didn’t quite connect with the feeling as a distinctly lizard part of your brain started to have an absolute meltdown. Even before realization had noticed what had happened, your primordial instinct woke the fuck up and did what it did best. 

It screamed.

Your mouth opened and instinct released that scream out into the air in the form of a long undignified screech that echoed across the desert. 

Of all the horror and fear and panic you’d experienced throughout the night thus far, a distant part of it had felt as if your voice hadn’t quite been in sync with the rest of your body. Not once did you let out a peep save for one simple, albeit stupid question. Not hollering or howling or yelling, no screeching or screaming or whining. No normal, average verbal human responses. But finally, as pressure snapped down around your ribs and torso like the jaws of a crocodile, a horrific blood-curdlingly scream was viciously torn from your throat. Everything around you blurred as the ground was yanked out from under your feet and the cold night air rushed through your ears and the dots connected in your brain in a terrible revelation. Something had grabbed you. 

Someone . 

The fingers wrapped around you were massive, gray and spindly, attached to the arm of a heavily injured prima donna mech, one who’d clearly seen Prime approaching just as much as you had. His face was set into a cold impersonal grimace that cracked slowly into a cocky grin from the second he’d picked you up and a spike of fear so long pierced you that you could feel it enter through the top of your skull and shoot out from the bottom of your toes. 

That… Wasn’t a comforting expression.

Vertigo came up to throttle your neck and kick your diaphragm for funsies, vision swimming as the desert abruptly grew further and further away until you were being held out like a crucifix out towards the charging mechanical bull of blue and red. You were going to throw up. The janky sudden movements, the scathing panic that scratched at the inside of your eyes with a fresh wave of tears, the claustrophobic terror when you find your arms crammed against your sides and in how you couldn’t fully inhale to full capacity leaving each breath stuttery and short. It was all going to make you sick as the very idea of safety and what that felt like was ripped from your petrified clutching fingers and spat on. The ground was too far away, the metal wrapping your body too tight and everything had happened too fast for you to properly comprehend. A part of you screamed in fear of your situation as another wailed as the betrayal sunk in. Any sentimental emotion you’d ever felt in the last thirty minutes had vacated the premise fast enough to give you whiplash and break your goddamned neck in three different places as you came to the very sudden and uncomfortable conclusion that you had not made a friend. 

You’d become a tool.

Your voice died in your throat as a sob bubbled from the depths of your chest and spilled over your lips. There had been a split second you thought plane-man had picked you up for your own safety. It was scary and frightening to feel the unforgiving hard edges of metal push up against your soft malleable skin but in that roughness was a sense of comfort and security. A shield that could not be pierced easily and that could protect the weakness that was your flesh. To grab you and carry you out of the danger zone, shelter you from getting stepped on like the little bug you were. 

The fact you were dangling in his grip 30 feet up in the air being brandished like a tween who’d just pulled an ultra rare epic Pokemon card was now telling you otherwise. And so, naturally, you were freaking the fuck out. Forget about emotional constipation, you’d gone through the nine circles of emotional diarrhea hell within the span of an hour and surely would come out the other side so emotionally dehydrated that you’d forget what the basics were and how to express them. That is if you managed to survive the next five minutes.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER -” Was what you had tried to yell towards the bastard mech now using your comparatively tiny body as a wall between himself and the world’s most deserved asskicking. What you actually managed to babble out was a garbled combination of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘mother’ if they’d been turned inside out and pissed on by a clown through a broken bluetooth speaker. Which is to say, a gibberish incoherent amalgamation of punic faith and pitiful grief that had been spat into existence and then disowned for being too far removed from the English language.

As it turns out, robo-dick wasn’t like your misfit students at all and you’d projected so hard that you’d nearly given yourself an ulcer. And now you were paying the price for being curious and sympathetic with your life in a robot WWE/MMA match up. God forbid a person worries about a heavily injured birdbot that’d fallen from the sky and looked like a kicked puppy when shown basic kindness.

You were going to die.

Your body knew it before your brain could properly articulate why the hysteria you had fallen into was so bone deep and primal and finally everything clicked into place and-

You were crying.

Crying for yourself and what was inevitably going to be a horrible, painful death. Crying for all you were about to lose, your new home you’d just settled into, the school that had become such a perfect fit for you and your teaching methods, your students who brought so much joy into your life in such a short period of time and the knowledge that you wouldn’t be there to watch them grow and learn and become . Crying. Because what else could you possibly do trapped in the actual clutches of death.

An engine revved before you and through the tears you see the eyes of God. Blindingly bright blue lights that pierce through the darkness and red haze of your captors own glaring lit up eyes, so terribly blue that it was all you could see through the blur your world had become and despite not seeing at all you could see them and see that they were angry . The ground shook, or maybe it was the hand encircling you as something holy came forward. It was loud, deep and powerful in all the ways an ancient colossus awakens from a centuries long slumber. The sound rolled through your skull like a prayer being answered by an angel covered in the blood of your enemies and struck you as inherently wrong for you recognised the sound and the way it felt but every inch of it was tainted in something deeply foreign. Something much, much stronger than you were or could ever be, something that knows more than the earth can hold and had seen things beyond mortal understanding was coming straight for you. It was the growl of a truck’s engine rumbling but intertwined between each piston firing was a truly alien noise, that same distinct tonal humming of live wires and musical electricity that planebot constantly emitted.

“Starscream! This ends now! Put the human down.” 

You’d never heard a god speak before, but his voice was most likely the closest you were ever going to get to it and the sound alone was about to make you religious. A deep baritone timbre that instantly commanded the attention of anyone within listening distance, as smooth as $300 whiskey and what must have been the audio equivalent of the very concept of leadership. He didn’t yell but his voice carried over to you with ease and completely enveloped you in a blanket of relief. It was the kind of voice you could fall asleep too, the kind to guide soldier and civilian alike to safety and never in your life did you want to become a sheep so bad to be led away through the pastures of rich green grass.

You’d also learned your asshole bot was named Starscream. 

Good to know and flagrantly misuse.

It was funny how quickly the tables had turned. One second you were angsting over meeting this Prime, absolutely terrified at the idea of him approaching from beyond the horizon to come and beat the fucking shit outta Starscream. And now you were here, practically vibrating from hysteria and fear towards Starscream, suffocating under what the situation had become with death looming over you and Prime your hopeful apparent savior. You never thought of yourself as a bad judge of character, but you’d wildly misread what kind of bots these guys were, it seemed. 

“Ah, ah, ah! Not so fast Autobot .” That was the most stereotypical asshole villain thing you’d ever heard in your life. Star-bitch even had the gall to sound smug like he’d actually done something other than pick up a meat shield. 

Rage tickled the back of your mind beneath the unadulterated fear that was thrashing your brain around like a ragdolled crash test dummy being blasted from the windshield of a speeding car hitting a brick wall at 120mph. 

Starcunt made a mocking sound towards… 

Was his name Prime or Autobot? Neither really sounded like names but maybe it was a first name last name situation? You were sticking with Prime until otherwise proven. 

He tsked mockingly towards the larger mech with an overly done, falsified pout before his manic scheming smirk wriggled its way back onto his face as Prime skidded to a stop just out of arms reach of the two of you. “You wouldn’t want this precious human to become but a smudge in the dirt, do you?”

The grey plane slowly tightened his fingers around your small body, just enough for the air to be pushed from your lungs with a loud whoosh . The pressure wasn’t enough to be painful yet but it was certainly telling of what was to come. Prime inhaled sharply at the sound, hand shifting as if to reach out to you before stopping himself, taking a small calculated step away from you. That was enough to force tears back into your eyes. At this rate you weren’t exactly sure if Robocop here was going to come to your rescue or back down. It was hard to feel safe or like you might actually make it out of this when your knight in shining armour was hesitating to do anything at all. Apparently this was exactly the outcome Bitchscream had been expecting to happen as a maniacal laugh started to build in his chest and rise up through his throat as it got louder. His plan of using you as a safety net worked and had stopped him from instantly getting pummeled. 

A rumbling roar of an engine cut through the cackle, Prime’s eyebrows lowered menacingly over his eyes, expression thundering with righteous anger as a scorched and blackened mouthguard snapped over his jaw and lower face. It was the expression of a man who wanted nothing more than to properly give Starscream the beat down he deserved, tear him apart limb from limb and piss on the corpse afterwards. Your shitty evil bird seemed to gather the same as his laughter quickly slowed to a nervous chuckle, wings fluttering behind him as he took an involuntary step back away from the furious truck.

“The human, Starscream, and I will spare your life.” Prime lifted his hand, palm up and relaxed in offering, clearly wanting Starscream to hand you over like they were passing around a blunt.

Bitchstar however, looked appalled at the idea and displayed such by squeezing down on you even harder. Your heart tumbled down your ribs to settle into the bottom of your chest cavity as a new bubbling wave of panic engulfed you. Instantly the ability to breath was ripped from your throat as you managed to get in one last shaky inhale before everything was choked out. Your arms were pinned awkwardly to your sides, elbow digging painfully into the soft flesh just above your hip and as much as you wanted to cry out you couldn’t, mouth flapping open in a wheezing gasp that held no sound. Your cheeks became wet once more, silent tears streaking down the face and onto Starscream’s fingers. He showed no signs of noticing, holding you out to let Prime soak in every one of your tortured struggling gasps and watch as you wiggled and squirmed but was held down fast, unable to move even an inch.  Something cracked in your side. Loudly and horrifically and you were screaming soundlessly. 

The engine quietened and his hand curled into a fist as he lowered it back to his side. Prime seemed to be weighing up his options and was enraged by every outcome as Screamer ( that's what Miko called him!) flexed his claws teasingly, gently releasing the pressure around you with that stupid evil grin on his face. The bastard was enjoying being the one in control.

The noise you made as air suddenly filled your lungs once more was torn between a sob and a choke, greedily sucking in as much oxygen as you could and all but coughing it back out in panicked hurried heaves. Every uneasy breath in felt like ice shards in your lungs and each exhale was laced with daggers out your throat but your body craved more and forced you to keep scrambling for larger gulps. Starscream cooed mockingly at your suffering, letting his index finger stoke the underside of your chin in false concern and comfort. It was dehumanizing, humiliating and terrifying like you were a stray cat that’d been burrito wrapped and then forcefully pet for not scratching. The feeling pulled a pitiful whimper from your throat as much as you wanted to hold it back, sharp jagged metal scraping across pliant fragile skin. There wasn’t enough oxygen reaching your brain, the ground swam and spun below you and the bots looked like dancing blurs of colour and nothing made sense. 

Panic. 

Fear. 

Terror.

PANIC.

The taste of death was being drip fed onto the tip of your tongue and it was soaking into every nook and cranny of your being. Panic with its filthy claws and bloodsoaked teeth was ripping its sharpened nails over your skin, finding any cracks to latch onto and peel away to expose the layers of protection your brain tried to put up around your vulnerable body, but it was stronger than you. It was working faster, more desperately than what you could build up and you were left drowning.

Drowning in feral, unrestrained fear. No kicking or screaming or crying was making even a dent in your predicament. Metal caught on a tug of flesh as you thrashed and wailed. Your neck felt cold in the night air and something warm dripped down into the crook of your collarbone. 

Your metal cage let out an overdramatised sympathetic wordless murmur like he was trying to calm down the wild feline hiding out under his porch with a drill.

Something in the back of your mind snapped, a foaming rabid creature that was snarling and growling and clawing for something. Anything .

So you did as feral cats do. 

You bit him. 

Bitch bites dog. Get rabies douche-bot.

The metal was shockingly warm against your mouth but unsurprisingly harsh on your teeth in a way that made it feel like you were biting a car door that’d been sitting in the sun. There was no give under your bite and no matter how hard you clenched your jaw, your teeth didn’t sink into the flesh of this titan at all. All logically thinking had gone out the window and all you had left  was a fear driven instinct to fight tooth and fucking nail to avoid getting squeezed until you popped like a Go-gurt.

Starscream lived up to his name and screeched like a banshee, caught between dropping you and crushing you in his grip making his fingers twitch sporadically around your abdomen. He clearly wasn’t expecting his human prisoner to start chomping away at him and while you obviously hadn’t done any damage, the bite apparently was surprising enough to set the mechanical peacock off. Your ears burned as impossibly loud static filled electric buzzing and tonal beeps went off around and through you, every vibration strangling your body in a vice. Your bones were getting turned into guitar strings and your organs to drumsets, enthusiastic rockstars with their weapons of choice standing up onto the stage your body had become. You were going to explode from the inside out, gore and viscera would puddle behind your lips and pour out from between clenched teeth, drip from tightly shut eyes and squirt from your nose. Something warm and wet started running down the sides of your face and neck from your ears and you couldn’t hear the sound of your screams above the death-noise Screamer was producing. This was it. Forget getting popped like a meat balloon, you were going to implode from standing next to a jet taking off. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of words, a hazardous collection of swears sewn together in surprise but to you, it was bullets raining down upon your soft body. Even after he’d finished, your ears continued to ring with a high pitched humming that blocked out any other sound and every atom that came together to make up your being felt as if they had been electrocuted, vibrating and whirring under your flesh like it was filled with cockroaches. The volume and frequencies these robots could reach and at such close range, it felt as if you were dying in reverse time. 

Prime took advantage of Starscream’s momentary lapse in attention as through blurred vision you saw him move. He too, like Screamer, moved far faster than he had any right too. A massive hulking haze of red and blue smears streaking towards you, one cherry red arm raised, tipped with radioactive blue before it came thundering down and your plane man was screaming once more. This time with gusto, a wretched pained cry that you could only faintly hear over the pulsing tinnitus that was swarming over your eardrums still. Something in the back of your mind chimed in, feeling pretty confident that you’d actually gained some hearing loss because that couldn’t have been normal. 

Desperate to understand what was happening, you blinked rapidly to free your eyes of all tears to let the world around you come into a sharp focus. Your stomach suddenly jumped before you could gather your bearings, racing up into your throat as gravity seemed to rise up from the grave to yank at your ankles, pushing your body into freefall despite still being encircled in claws. Prime came into view as everything tilted to the side and as you catapulted towards the earth, you saw him. His arm was drenched in that same glowstick blood Screamy was, dripping readily off a giant handaxe that seemed to sprout from his forearm where his hand used to sit.

Ah.

Starbitch didn’t drop you. Prime simply cut off his entire arm at the elbow. 

And you were falling . 

You couldn’t hear the scream you made over the ringing in your ears that put the world on mute but you could feel how it shredded your vocal cords and ripped your throat raw. 

It was funny in a way. All you had wanted was some stupid photos of the stars. Photos you could have found online and would have probably been much better quality. You didn't need to come out here. Truly, all of this could have been so easily avoided if you had just stayed inside and worked on a different lesson plan. Stayed at home and graded some English assignments you’d gotten back that morning. Done literally anything else than what you had and the price for not doing so was going to be unpayable. It was going to cost you everything. Time stopped and your life flashed before your eyes once more.

Books lining shelves as you sit huddled at an vacant table, surrounded by nothing but textbooks in a dark empty library with nothing by a lamp to keep you company. Pulling out the driveway of your parents house in a rented moving truck, your entire life packed away in boxed and bubblewrap. Sweaty, shaking hands as you stand outside a closed door in the silent hallway, lockers standing like soldiers as you push it open to reveal lines of young curious faces. Distant voices echoing around you, long forgotten memories dripping down into an ever growing puddle of murky feelings and sensations, the shape of someone’s fingers and how easily they slid into yours, the smell of lit candles and that stupid shampoo you never liked, the dust gathering over old handwritten letters you never threw out despite how they made your throat hurt.  

…

The sound your torso made as it made contact was felt throughout your entire body, a deep sickening crack racing across your ribs. Harsh pained gasps clawed their way from your lungs as all the air was forced from them in one go, your diaphragm fighting for its fucking life with spasming contractions. Your neck bounced against the topside of Starscream’s fingers and snapped painfully with the whiplash of a sudden stop as the hit released whatever hydraulics had locked the joints in place. They unfurled like a blooming flower, leaving you pooled in his dismembered palm, twitching and wheezing and silently sobbing. Red hot throbbing pain enveloped you instead as it felt like you were rising up into the sky. Cracking open one bleary eye revealing that you were in fact moving up, the large gray face of Prime suddenly filling your entire view. There were noises, mechanical whirring and a loud droning roar of an engine but it was all so muddled and faint under that stupid ringing but that didn’t matter because despite it all, you somehow weren’t fucking dead. Though you weren’t out of the woods yet, surrounded by metal in all directions, limp in Star’s palm which was held in Prime’s. He now had both hands as hands again, axe tucked away out of sight once more as he raised you gently to his eyes to get a good look at you. You were going to start crying again, bruised and bleeding, bathed in the artificial blue light his eyes produced. You just wanted it to be over, for all these crazy robots to leave you alone already. You wanted to be at home, in bed or with a nice big glass of wine and a good book. Safe. Healthy and never having experienced the events of the night and haunted with the knowledge of what is hiding out here in the desert.

Rolling your head away from the scrutinising stare of this massive mechanical warrior, you found there to be no one behind you. You’d expected a panicking preening metal peacock man but no. Starscream was gone, now only a wobbling flicker in the distant sky. He’d transformed into that jet again but if the trail was anything to go off of, he was struggling to stay in the sky. From the way the light shifted from your body up to fade into the air, Prime’s gaze had followed yours. 

Quiet, impossibly so, and soothing enough to put a baby to sleep, he spoke, likely following what you had spotted. His voice traveled through and into you, swaddling you in security and warmth. “He will not bother you anymore, little one. You are safe now.”

The sound alone pierced through the ringing in your ears to worm its way into your brain, strength without harm, power without tyranny. Your body was interacting with it against your will and you found oxygen rushing into your lungs as your winded muscles relaxed all at once. The air was cold and sharp in your throat, burning in your chest and you wailed in relief and terror all at once. You were safe, god were you safe. But it hurt, everything and nothing all at once, adrenaline coursing through your veins like acid as you trembled and weeped into the cooling metal of Dickscream’s palm.

For such a towering titan, his movements were slow and soft as he slipped a finger under your bent knees to lift them up, unfurling you from your prone fetal position. Your spine screamed at the motion but all your battered body could do is let out an agony filled whimper, the muscles in your chest protesting. The large mech responded to your pain and slowed even more with a low calming hum, inching his fingers up your legs just enough to allow the rest of his hand space to smoothly glide up under your back without moving you any more than necessary. Transferring you from Bitchscream’s severed hand into his, Prime cradled you like you were made of glass. Faintly, the dull thud of the dismembered arm hitting the desert registered in your brain but the rest of you was entirely consumed by Prime and his presence. The metal was warm under your cheek like Starscream was but this warmth was different, akin to laying on a blanket fresh out the dryer or having the sun reach down to stroke your hair and kiss your forehead. You were crying again, tears dribbling down your face as you all but cuddled into his palms, burying yourself into him in desperation for that feeling of safety to curl around you and eat you whole. Something brushed along your spine, the barest feeling of motherly love grazing the tips of your existence, dragging down from heart to soul as the humming continued. It was the last thing you heard as everything went blank.

“ Forgive me .”

Chapter Text

The sky is empty and the road is dark. There is thunder rumbling over the hills as glowing eyes peer through the trees to watch your every move. They are small but you are smaller. You shift and something scraps along the ground under you. Gravel wedged between keratin, asphalt beneath your hooves and-

No. That's wrong.

You don’t know that. Not anymore.

Purple highlights the fluffy underside of distant stormy grey clouds as lightning strikes in brilliant flashes of colour. Everything around you becomes clear before fading into the night once more. It is still night and you are alone. It has been night for so long. The stars have never looked so dull.

You are not meant to be here .

No one is watching. Not anymore. They don’t want to be next, that is your punishment and they are not willing to save you from it. The windowsill creaks and through the haze a shape rears back, ready to strike down. There are flies in your brain and they want out, they will not go with you. You cannot see the face that is holding your fate. 

If not here, then where?

Silence. And no response will come. Why would they answer you? He who has no voice, she who has no mind, you who has no meaning. Maggots worm from your ears, plopping onto the road as they crawl and wriggle away. They will not stay with you. They know what is coming. How blind are you to not?

Fate is lit up with lightning and is made of plastic and crosshatched wires. It crackles and swings in slow motion.

You open your mouth and sound turns to dust on your tongue, sand pouring from lips that do not exist. Trickling down your throat to deafen your fear and something giggles behind your eyes in delight at the forced quiet. They know this is not your body for it is not theirs either. No matter how loud you scream and cry, the desert pushes past your teeth to fall like an hourglass turned around. Snakes rear up from the darkness and wrap around your jaw, coiling together over your nose as they all but melt into metal bars. There is a muzzle around your snout, scales falling off as life becomes not, tight and suffocating. Fangs bite down like spikes that dig through your fur and into your skin. The blood drips drip drips. They can’t hear you beg for mercy because there are no ears left to listen and no kindness to be given. Insignificance is a glue that weeps from doe eyes. Blood congeals with sand and solidifies into concrete around your hooves, sallow mourning stones locking you to the road.

The bars of your shrinking cage wreathe around your waist. Can you feel the finger in your throat, little one or should I push down harder?

There is someone hiding under your skin, crawling through the marrow and grinning from between the tendons. Your suffering is fresh and stinks of roadkill. Tonight there will be a feast and you will not eat despite the table being set on the ridges of your spine. Flesh of clay and muscle of mud, bone of chicken wire and heart made of blood, you are blinded. The road is white and two lights are shining directly at you as the rolling thunder turns into a roar of a mighty beast. Flesh of metal and muscle of wire, bone of steel and heart made of-

Ribs of ribs of ribs. Can you hear them scream? Begging for a body that doesn’t despise them, c r a c k, s n a p , c r u n c h.

You are malleable, shape molded to life by unseen hands, left frozen in time while the world moves around you. He is too, molded and sculpted but not like you. He was made to change. This shape is not yours and they know it. There is a plane overhead, engine morphing into the sound of your voice and it shrieks. It is smiling with teeth and each one has your face, labeled by date. 

September 17th; put your pens down, time is up.

January 23rd; this house has people in it, you can only see boxes.

August 2nd; row after row, they are waiting for you to speak.

Wheels spin, faster and faster and faster and faster and faster , darkness chewed and swallowed and spat into white, into white, into white, into white. Pebbles do not slow but grip tighter and push him further, light taking your sight, you are blinded by the face of death. The engine revving melts to vocal cords yelling and white becomes blood, headlights opening into angry crimson eyes. He is watching you.

He will remember your face. Will you remember his?

Fingers grow and snap and curl from windows and doors, grills turning to joints and the truck is a palm reaching forward towards you. You cannot move, spotlight a bloody sanguine and focused on you. The click of a camera. The trees are gone, each a tripod taller and taller but there are no cameras here. Swiveling lens, zooming in and in and in on you. Red and crimson and maroon and ruby and they are blinking. 

Poor little deer, stuck in fear as night becomes day but time does not move and the stars do not fade. Poor little deer, stranded in a strange land of burning rubber and gaseous fumes, the grass underfoot flat and hard and painted in stripes. Poor little deer with fingers wrapped around its throat, refused of air and love for you shouldn’t have been there. You should have known better little deer, like the other creatures of the forest and the bugs in your veins, that some places are not meant to be explored should wrath come and welcome you into its arms made of titanium and electricity.

“ Little one, you are safe now. ”

Jaws snap down, bone crunching under tooth and the hand releases its hold on you but it is too late. You’ve been struck by the big rig, meat too soft and tender to compete, and now all you can do is bleed on the edge of the highway as it drives away. 

Is it better to die with the smell of grass under your fur and the sun in your eyes or trapped, contorted under the bumper of a lifeless beast whose maw does not open but eats all the same? 

In the end it doesn’t matter. You act like you will be the one who chooses teeth of bone or teeth of steel. That isn’t a decision you get to make.

Stupid little deer, why can’t you see? Teeth are teeth are teeth, no matter the material it's made of.

Stupid little deer, why can’t you see?

You will die either way.

~-~-~-~

This place was sterile. 

That was your first coherent thought. Eyes still closed in the motionless silence of wherever you were, the scent of cleanliness so severe it burned the hairs inside your nose. It reeked of death being buried in bleach and something slid a note under the door to your brain with the word ‘HOSPITAL’ scrawled on it. That made sense considering the last thing you remembered was…

What was it? Everything spun in a wishy-washy dance of jumbled memories and ideas, feelings and sensations and-

Road rash, fresh blood and metal. 

Your ears buzzed faintly and bright white lights left red spots on the backs of your eyelids, the fluorescent glow visible despite your closed eyes and memory courses through you with the force of a hurricane.

No ! No, no, no! 

Fuck ! You were still standing on the road! Why couldn’t you move?! You needed to move, the truck! The fucking truck was coming! The buzzing of flies in your ear canal, the headlights freezing you in place on the asphalt, you were going to get hit and left to bleed out and die on the side of the freeway if you didn’t move! You needed to just fucking move!

MOVE!

…

You jolt awake properly this time and find you are alone. The room is white and flooded with both natural and artificial light, vacant of anyone save for yourself and the beeping machines you were hooked up to. The high pitched humming was still present but was much quieter now and lifting your hands revealed five very human fingers attached to furless human arms, one even with a heart rate monitor clipped over it. You were human again. No hooves, no fur or flies or giant mechanical hands. No blood or trucks or roads. 

Just you in an empty hospital room with its large open curtained window and bare white walls. 

The exposed flesh of your arms looked different and it took you a second to realise it was because they were the wrong colour. Molted bruises had patchworked and blotted up over your arms from fingers all the way up to where your arms vanished under the hospital gown and you imagined your torso looked the same, only bare slivers of your natural skin colour peeking out from behind the extensive discolouration. You looked like you were rotting, flesh decaying and dying and just looking at it made your chest hurt. Holding them up hurt.

Everything hurt.

You go limp and a hand falls onto your stomach, pain suddenly stabbing through you violently. It was like ice picks getting rammed into your chest and your lungs stuttered with stolen breath. It took a solid minute of whining and wheezing for the ache to settle into a dull creep that swarmed over your abdomen instead of the icy-hot lava that had been actively worming under your skin, exhaustion melting from your bones.

Clearly you hadn’t been hit by a truck that turned into hands while being a deer, despite that being your last memory. Logically, that kind of shit wasn’t possible considering you weren’t a deer nor were you made of clay and massive distant fly swatters didn’t tend to just sit on the horizon waiting to strike you down. That was just some wild dream logic, a random collection of unprocessed thoughts getting shoved into a blender and crammed down your brain’s throat. Even if it did feel as if you had been run over and grabbed-

Grabbed. 

Grabbed by giant metal transforming hands. 

The truck. 

Prime .

Piece by piece, the real memories of your night came rushing back to your scattered mind and it felt like boiling water had been thrown over you. Last night (last night? What time was it? How long had you been asleep?) had happened. Massive metallic titans existed and were roaming out in the deserts of Nevada fist fighting each other and apparently using stray humans as shields to save their asses. Panic felt foreign and displaced in you, like it was a man sitting beside your hospital bed calmly holding your hand and telling you it was alright instead of being a terrified toddler trapped in your rib cage. Maybe you’d panicked so much before you simply didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel it anymore. Maybe what you were feeling wasn’t panic and was actually resigned acceptance. 

You didn’t know.

What you did know was that you were in a hospital, that it was daytime and that a robot somewhere in the outskirts of Jasper who responded to the name Prime had saved your life.

“That was a nasty fall.” 

An unimpressed, tired and deeply patriotic voice announces itself, saying your full government name with all the intimate ease of a family member you hadn’t seen since you were baby. Someone who knows you but who you don't know at all. Your heart rate monitor jumped in a series of frantic beeps, matching the furious tempo of your panicking heart as you practically choked on your own breath in sheer terror. Never mind, you still had enough emotions in the tank for another heart attack. Good for you.

But that now brings the question of who the hell just entered your room and where had he come from? You’d been completely alone just a second ago and you hadn’t heard the door open.

A man steps into view following the voice, dressed in a dark navy blue suit that was obviously too warm for the weather if the sweat on his brow was anything to go off of. A loosened tie dangled around his neck like a forgotten noose and the look in his eyes made it seem like he was ready to tighten the knot at any given moment. He looked exhausted, overworked and like he would rather be literally anywhere else, talking to anyone other than you. 

You didn’t know this man. You in fact, had never seen this man before in your life and the terror his sudden arrival caused wasn’t fading. A tremor started to build in your fingers and you found your hands were no longer responding to you. Ah. That detached sense of fear was back. You gave yourself two minutes before you fainted considering that was what happened last time you got so scared your brain stopped functioning (fuck you Starscream).

“I’m sorry…?” The words tasted dry and bitter and your tongue felt heavy and useless in your mouth.

You vaguely became aware of the sensation of a cotton mouth and felt yourself smacking your lips together in an attempt to moisten them. Your eyes darted to the bedside table next to you for water. 

Just out of reach. Fuck.

“You fell into a mine.” The strange man raised an eyebrow at you as he walked further into the room, the door closing behind him feeling like you’d just been locked in a cage with a loaded gun. His fingers deftly flicked the lock shut with a deafening c l i c k .

He casually poured the water you’d been eyeing into a glass. Like a mask, his expression shifted to hide that bone deep tiredness as he stepped over to your bedside. Whoever he was, he knew more than you and the bold and uninterested mien on his face was telling of much. He looked at you as if daring you to contest against him, to prove that you were as out of your element as you felt. The glass was now in your shaky hands. You didn’t see him hand it to you, nor did you remember reaching out or grabbing it from him.

What the fuck was happening? 

You most certainly had not fallen into anything other than mecha-hell.

You knew that. He knew that. He knew that you knew that.

“What?” The realization that this wasn’t a conversation clicked in the back of your brain as he gave you a long pointed stare.

You no longer wanted to drink the water.

This was a coverup and Mr. Suit and Tie here was either working with the military or some sort of secret services group like the CIA or FBI. He didn’t just know more than you, he was here to make sure you didn’t learn any more and to keep your fucking mouth shut. Let the mind games begin. You were not mentally aware enough to play along and this conversation was about to get very hard for all parties involved. Congratulations! Everyone here was now a loser. 

Jenkins would lose his freaking mind if he ever found out about this. 

The stranger’s voice was slightly muffled and watery under the faint buzzing still swarming inside your ears and you had a feeling you’d need him to repeat himself a lot. Apparently Bitchstar had done some real damage to your hearing because you were pretty sure volume based tinnitus wasn’t supposed to last this long.

“Drink.” He said your name again, last name and title only this time. The formality took the edge off your slow boiling fear. Your students addressed you like that all the time. That was normal. 

You could deal with that.

You lifted the glass to your lips, spilling some of the water down your front from how badly you were shaking and now felt like the correct time to start crying. Couldn’t even have a minute to wake up and process the nightmare you went through before getting accosted by the CIA or whoever this dick was with. You resisted the urge to bawl like the adult you were and sipped instead. The second he left the room, you were going to absolutely crumble to pieces. The little sip was supposed to be a placating fakeout to get him to stop looking at you like that but as the first drop of liquid touched your tongue, it was like life itself had gone down your throat and you were furiously gulping down every last bit before your monkey brain could even understand what had happened. Your glass was suddenly empty and your body was all but weeping in gratitude. You felt like a dried out sponge getting tossed into a bucket of water and you had to physically fight off the tears with a taser.

The stranger looked smug as he took the glass from your fingertips to place it on the bedside table for you before you dropped it and it irked you. You may have nearly died but being treated like you were missing a brain by a prick wasn’t on your list of shit to deal with. You knew you needed water and didn’t need him to tell you that, you just didn’t want to drink it because he was the one who handed it to you and you didn’t trust this douche in the slightest. Your expression must have betrayed your distaste as he seemed to be holding back a laugh and the impulse to smack him was a difficult one to curb back. You weren’t a violent person, but everything that had happened to you in the last however long its been had been a very stressful and intense time. Your patience and tolerance for any bullshit had simply run out.

Seemingly sensing how close to the end of your rope you were, the man straightened his flaccid tie and schooled his face back into a flat neutral as he got back to business. Despite business being subtle warnings and intimidation tactics, you appreciated getting back on track. The faster he got this shit over and done with, the faster you could roll over and start sobbing your brains out.

“You decided to go for a walk out in the desert and fell into an old abandoned mineshaft. The place used to be full of ‘em back in the 1850’s when Jasper was a mining town. It wasn’t like you knew any better being new here and all. You slipped. Fell. Some rocks caved in and landed on you. A passing trucker saw you go down and managed to pull you out before it was too late. Could have happened to anyone .”

Yeah. A mineshaft that actually was a giant fuck off plane and his 40 foot tall metallic ‘trucker’ friend (enemy? Frenemy?) who turned into a truck. 

The emphasis on ‘anyone’ was telling. He was making a story and demanding you adhere to it. That this was the official story that the public will hear and if asked, it was a freak accident. Saying otherwise would cause problems. Problems you’d suffer the consequences of and he was making sure you knew it. 

His eyes flickered towards the security camera in the corner of the room and your heart rate monitor jumped again. Of course you were being watched. It would be stupid to assume this whole place wasn’t bugged after what had transpired. They were going to arrest you or turn you into a missing persons case if you slipped up or something. Whatever it was that the feds did when someone didn’t do what they wanted. The vague memory of grey fingers around your throat and chest choked you from behind and it took all your will power to not throw up over yourself. Out of the jaws of one monster and straight into the maw of another. Clearly hearing the monitor speed up, the stranger held his hands out in what you supposed was meant to be a calming gesture. From him, it felt more like being handed a bloodied knife and getting told to walk in front of a police station. 

“What did you say your name was?” Your throat felt shredded and your voice reflected that nicely with a harsh grainy rasp. The water soothed it a bit at least.

“Fowler. Agent William Fowler. It’d do you good to remember that.” Again with your last name spoken in a tone a touch too friendly for the underlying threats being placed. Was he trying to calm you down? Because, good god it was not working.

Agent . The way he said it was a threat in itself even if he didn’t mean it to be. That encroaching sensation of fainting was creeping into your brain and you were quite grateful that you were already laying down. No accidental concussions this time bitches.

We’re watching you. We know what you saw. We’ll know if you talk.

The figure of a deer standing on the freeway silhouetted the back of your mind, a shadow against deathly yellow-white but not from headlights anymore. No. A sniper rifle with a clear view right down the bright barrel, flashing with ignited gunpowder. You’d avoided the tyres of an 18 wheeler with a turbofan jet engine only to be put on a government watchlist. 

Roadkill to hunting season.

Your ribs ached and breathing felt like needles in your lungs and you didn’t know where to go next. Obviously you were expected to pretend that nothing happened at all and to move on with your life but this Agent Fowler had yet to leave. That was what he wanted right? You knew you were being threatened but you hadn’t actually figured out how you were being threatened. Was this a ‘jail time’ situation or a ‘we will be sending an assassin to remove you from the picture’ situation? Your eyes felt glazed over and blinking didn’t remove the fog in your brain. This was about you not spilling the beans, right? You felt aware enough to gather that much but then again, this could be like a really fucked up recruitment thing. ‘Hey, you saw something you weren’t supposed to, come work for us so we can keep an eye on you!’ That didn’t feel right. Nah, you read between the lines correctly the first time, this was totally a ‘threatened into submission and silence or get murdered’ thing.

Should you call a nurse in? Your eyes darted over to the call button. The conversation apparently wasn’t over but it didn’t look like he was going to stop you from bringing in a third party. But that was assuming the nurses or doctors here assigned to you weren’t imposters brought in by the government or hadn’t been bribed to shut up. 

“Where am I?” That felt like an important question and frankly, you were starting to feel a little desperate about changing the topic from ‘we know where you live and what you’ve done’. You were under the impression you were in a hospital but that was a little vague and there was a chance you weren’t even in a hospital but actually in some government facility med-bay or something.

Fowler crossed his arms over his chest and after a moment of consideration, sat down in the chair next to your bed with a deep sigh. Oh god, please don’t let this go on for much longer, don’t get comfortable. 

“Jasper hospital. You’ve been out for just under eleven hours. Got brought in at roughly 1:20 AM last night.”

Okay. So they hadn’t shipped you out to Washington D.C or to the White House or wherever the FBI lived. That was good to know. 

The heart rate monitor slowed down a touch and the sound seemed to ease the agent, his eyes watching you and the machines surrounding your bed very carefully. A cursory scan of the room revealed a clock on the wall directly above the door. A digital bar with the date and time that scrolled horizontally across it, bright red pixelated text on a stark black background. The same red as Starscream’s eyes. Heart rate spiked momentarily again and Fowler glanced towards the call button like he was debating pressing it for you. 

It was fine. You were fine. Taking control of your breathing felt like wrangling a bull while taking a hammer to the sternum but you managed through horrid wheezing gasps. The shaking had taken hold of your hands again and it took more effort then you were willing to admit to tear your gaze away from that piercing red, instead pushing all your focus onto Fowler. There were no giant robots here. You were safe. It was just you, this fucking government man and every other person in the hospital. All human. Only human.

He moved, slowly like he expected you to jump out of your skin and start screaming at any second, and quietly poured you another glass of water as he waited for your heart rate to slow again. You didn’t resist this time when the cold glass was pushed between your fingers.

You took your time with this one, small sips. “My car?”

Leaning back in the creaky chair, Fowler raised an unimpressed brow, lips drawn into a tight thin line. Apparently not the line of questioning he was expecting. You know, fair enough considering the conversation was about giant transforming robots.

“What about it?”

You had to get him to repeat that one, tilting your head to the side so you could hear him better. Something in your hip thrummed like a live wire at the movement and the pain left you breathless for a second. If the doctors had pumped you with painkillers, they had worn off. 

“My car. Where is it? I drove it out to get pictures of the stars for one of my classes. Borrowed a camera from Mrs. Fisher and everything.” God you hoped that camera survived or you’d never be allowed back into the library again.

The constant ringing in your ears was starting to give you a headache and you felt your eyes close unwillingly to try and stave off infringing dizziness. At least you hadn’t fainted this time. Not yet at least.

There was a long five seconds of silence that followed you and it was enough to prompt you to open one of your eyes. Fowler had turned his attention from you for the first time since he’d entered the room and was frantically texting someone, trying to portray a sense of calm he clearly did not currently have. You nearly laughed and definitely would have if the action of breathing in too fast didn’t feel like having hot lava poured between your ribs. His expression was so painfully similar to one of your students realising they forgot to do their homework the previous night and was wildly scribbling down as many answers as they could before having to hand it over.

Physically biting back the snicker, you cleared your throat to get his attention. Deep sunken and tired eyes snapped up to yours, brows pinched together. “Having eyes on the sky makes it hard to see pesky mineshafts underfoot, ay?” 

Fowler’s jaw dropped open for a moment as he processed the fact you just teased him, pure surprise stunlocking him into further silence before he gathered his senses just enough to throw a glower at you. Unfortunately for him however, it had no effect as you wheezed out a death-rattle of a cackle, holding your bruised and broken ribs through the throbbing pain. This was suffering you were willing to endure if it meant you got to laugh at this asshole. Did no one question as to what you were actually doing out there in the first place before writing up their cover story? Did they not see the camera in your car? The FBI honestly just assumed you’d been going for a midnight stroll 3 fucking miles out from town into the middle of nowhere. Sadly, your laughter was not long lived as the stabbing sharpness in your chest became too much and you were forced to stop, breathing laboured and heavy. Despite everything, it felt good. Normal. For the first time since last night, you felt like everything could be okay. You just needed to take it one step at a time and if teasing this uptight stick in the mud was going to help with that, then sorry William, hope you like getting bullied.

The agent regarded you quietly, his face softening as he took in your expression. It was the first expression he’d seen on you that wasn’t of fear or anguish or some sort of pain. The very first show of okayness in the near twelve hours he’d been watching over you. You looked how you should. Like a normal teacher, an average person. Not a terrified, broken mess of meat and bone that’d been stitched back together after being shot out of a cannon. That laugh, even through the obvious pain, was the reason Fowler took this job in the first place all those decades ago as the bright starry eyed cadet he once was. To make sure that normal people got to stay as normal people. To make sure that life changing accidents didn’t have to take away normalcy and humanity from the regular folk who’d just been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

He knew about you. Of course he knew about you. New teacher in town who’d gotten everyone's attention simply by showing up, by being the only exciting thing to have happened that year. Naturally, he also had all your files on hand with pages and pages of impersonal life stories, of family members and license plates and city names and workplaces. Those were just facts. Random words with no life or meaning behind them. They didn’t tell him anything actually important. He hated that aspect of the job. The lists of useless information that talked like it meant something but all it was was just filler. He wanted to know people personally. Know you personally. See people as who they really were, as people and not numbers or random names on a list and in an email. Sure, knowing if someone had kids or if they could drive or what their work schedule looked like could be useful depending on the case. But those weren't aspects that truly made a person who they were. What someone did in their spare time, their favourite shows and movies, if they enjoyed cooking and what kind of dishes they liked, stupid quirks and silly routines and all the things that made them alive. That was what made saving people feel good. Knowing that you got a real person with a life they made for themself out of shit and back into that life was what made the job worth it. People weren’t just numbers or another stack of papers from the in box into the out box like his superiors liked to portray them as and Fowler was running his ass into the ground to make sure he didn’t start seeing his cases like that. Working alongside those kids Team Prime had running around helped. Working with you, he was sure, would help. He'd heard all kinds of things about you from those kids. What you were like in the classroom or out in the yard. He didn’t know what you did outside of school or if you liked honey or milk in your tea or if you preferred rain or snow yet but you were more than just another case file in his ever growing list of things to do and he was going to keep it that way. Sitting here with you instead of meeting you at Outpost Omega One was keeping it that way.

When Optimus called him at basically two in the fucking morning (he couldn’t even be mad because he was still awake and at his desk working, again ) and showed him you’re bleeding and battered body, curled so small and fragile against the solid metal of colossal palms, Fowler felt a part of him break. It was the same feeling he had when he first saw those three sets of painfully young and curious eyes staring up at him from behind the hulking green shape of Bulkhead’s leg. The same he got whenever faced with a civilian who’d been pushed into a situation they never should have been forced into. Like he’d failed his duty in keeping good folks out of harm's way. He couldn’t protect everyone, he knew that. But kids? Children? Kindhearted average joes just trying to make a living and get through the day to day? They were the last kinda people he wanted to be exposed to the brutalities of war and aliens and government secrets. Passionate teachers who just wanted to get hands-on material for their students fell under that category too.

“How many mineshafts are out there?” Your voice, so quiet and weak, snapped him from his observations. It really did sound like you’d been buried alive. 

He understood what you were trying to ask him. How many scary robots are there? It was a hard question to answer as is. There was Team Prime and their measly five members but then there was the Decepticons and their entire America-hating army. That wasn’t including the strays he sometimes heard about, those who came and went from the deepest reaches of the universe and beyond. 

“I’m afraid there isn’t a simple answer to that.” Fowler stood up carefully, feeling his back complain and protest at the movement. He was getting too old for this and the long hours shrimped over his desk weren’t helping. “We can continue this later, once you have had time to properly rest.” 

You looked lost and confused and so, so small at that moment. He understood. Your entire world had been thrown off kilter, quite violently too and you’d been given no answers and no one to guide you through the horror you’d experienced. But as always, he had work to do. “I will be in touch, I promise.” 

The nod you gave was weak and pathetic and a hospital bed never looked bigger to him in his life. It swallowed you whole and left you swimming in a pool of white dull sheets in a room that sucked all the colour from your face. He turned to leave, pausing in the doorway as he considered his next words. Every civilian under his care deserved to feel safe and it was in his duty to make sure they knew that. 

“All will make sense soon,” His voice softened as he said your title and last name again, feeling relief at the way your hands had finally stopped shaking. “Just focus on getting better first.”

It was a start. 

The road that lay ahead of you was long and stretched on for miles, but it was a start.

~-~-~-~

Your stay in the hospital was, thankfully, a short one. They kept you there overnight to make sure there were no complications and before too long you were sent on your way with a list of do’s and don’t’s for caring for your injuries. A nurse had stopped by not too long after Fowler had left and gave you the full run down of just how badly you were hurt, followed by a lecture about wandering around in the desert by yourself. 

Three fractured ribs, extensive bruising along both arms and the entirety of your torso, a ruptured left ear drum, muscle swelling in back and shoulders, and a myriad of lacerations and small open wounds. You’d been heavily observed due to the visible signs of blunt force trauma to the back of your skull, but luckily was without a concussion. Your throat was bandaged from a jagged cut that traced your jugular and bandaids had been slapped onto less serious scraps littered across your body. There was only so much one could do for cracked ribs and blown ear drums and since you weren’t actively dying, you were sent on your way. You were told to basically take it easy for the next five weeks and visit your local GP for a check up after about six weeks to see if everything had healed itself neatly. You were given a bag of ointments and creams for the bruises and swelling, a change of bandages for the neck, a couple packages of heavy duty painkillers and some printed sheets of care instructions for broken ribs and perforated ear drums. You were also handed a plastic bag that upon opening revealed to be the clothes you’d been wearing at the time of the ‘accident’. The doctors had to cut you out of them when you first arrived and looking at them now filled you with a sense of dread. You used to love that shirt and how perfectly it sat on your shoulders. Now it just reminded you of Starscream’s long pointed claws and the way it felt when he squeezed until your air supply was cut off and you were left gasping. 

You left that bag in your hospital room. 

The nurse looking after you had been a gem and gave you some of his old scrubs to wear so you didn’t have to leave with your ass hanging out in the hospital gown you’d first woken up in. They were slightly too big and after everything, they were the most comfortable clothes you’d ever worn. Someone at the hospital had also called the school at some point while you were still unconscious and let them know of the situation for you, giving you an entire week off of work to get back on your feet. While not life threatening or even that extreme, the doctors had been concerned at just how easily it could have been worse. You gathered from overhearing conversations that no one in the hospital knew what had actually happened to you. They all had taken Fowler’s word as the truth, fully believing you’d been buried alive in a collapsed mine and only survived because someone saw you get swallowed by the earth. 

Your car wasn’t in the carpark when they released you. 

This filled you with an increasing sense of dread. Not only did you leave your phone and wallet in your car after watching Starscream fall from the sky, you had also left your house keys in there. Stranded and with no way of getting back to or to get inside your house, you stood out the front of the hospital in silence, hopelessly trying to not just start bawling. You could feel the snot build in your nose and with two hearty sniffles, you pushed the lump in your throat back down before it bubbled over. This was fine. It was going to be fine . Mrs. Evans had given you her home phone number not long after you moved in and she was normally home at this time with her husband at work. Sure, basically no one had a landline anymore but she had hers and if it worked, it fucking worked. You could turn around, go back in the lobby and use the phone there to ask her if she would be willing to come pick you up.

…

Except you’d saved the number in your phone. You hadn’t memorised it because why would you? The only number you had committed to memory was your own and you’d only just started forgetting the last few digits of your ex’s.

The lump was back and it was suffocating you, eyes actively burning in your attempts to hold back tears. Fowler said he would be in contact but he hadn’t given you any way to contact him. No business card, no mobile number scrawled onto a scrap piece of paper, no address. 

Fuck.

God fucking damnit. You should have made more of an effort to make friends, should have taken at least one emergency phone number to memory or something. Done anything to make yourself less alone in this new place. Did you even have an emergency contact in your files? God, you’d have to rectify that as soon as possible lest you have another run in with Screamer or any of his friends.

You lost the fight and slowly crumpled on the concrete out the front of the hospital. Crouched and curled in on yourself as much as your ribs would allow, you breathed in a deep long puff of fresh air and held it for four seconds. And then you released it in a loud hearty sob that absolutely hurt your chest. This wasn’t what you had expected to happen when you moved to Jasper. No one expected to be attacked by monumental titans of course, but after everything that had happened in the last 42 hours, a part of you wondered if you made the right choice. The city had been too loud, the schools too impersonal and you never were a fan of being cold. There were memories you’d rather leave to haunt the tall buildings that often vanished into the clouds when it got rainy but maybe living with the ghosts of your past would have been better than this. Maybe you shouldn’t have moved. You’d met the wrong people before and made plenty of mistakes but the scars they left behind on your skin were nothing compared to what was laying in wait in the outskirts of Jasper and the marks they were going to leave on you. You still hadn’t even been given a chance to begin mentally sorting through the shitstorm your brain was in. There had been no time or privacy to come to terms with just how close you had been to dying, no familiarity of your bed or home to hide yourself in, no safe space to sit in and just cry without worrying about someone seeing or judging. And now you were crying your fucking eyes out in the hospital parking lot regardless because you didn’t have any way home or anyone to call to come get you.

The automatic doors go off behind you, followed by the sound of shoes scuffing the concrete towards you. Normally everything about this would have been considered an embarrassment, being seen wailing like a lost child by strangers, but you just didn’t have it in you to care or even lift your head from your knees at this point. Let them see or judge, you just needed some fucking catharsis goddamn it! Someone crouches down next to you, silent and close enough for you to lean on should you choose but far enough away to give you space. This makes you pause, a hiccup catching in your chest hard enough to make you wince as you slowly turn your face to see who had decided to join your pity party. The first thing you see is the light seafoam green of nurse scrubs and a pair of well worn sneakers. Moving your gaze up, you come to realise just who this was.

“June.” You sounded as fucked as you felt. Your voice crackled around your tears and was straining to not break under every word as the soft motherly smile of June Darby regarded you gently.

She was perched on the balls of her feet, resting her arms across her knees with an expression so painfully kind it was enough to get the waterworks running again. Still yet to speak, she scooted closer to you like a bird hopping along a powerline and tossed an arm over your shoulder to pull you into her side. You collapse, losing your balance and all but falling into her arms as she wrapped herself around you like a shield and shifted to sit properly on the ground. 

Your interactions with June had been, for the most part, professional. You lived on different streets and with how hectic her work schedule was, it was not easy to run into her naturally around town. Though, as the single mother of Jack, you had found yourself reaching out to her a lot in the past three months you’d been in Jasper. At first it had been purely out of worry for her son but as the weeks went by and you found nothing concerning, your conversations with the nurse had taken a turn towards the more personal. It was the closest thing you had to a real friendship in Jasper. You still knew very little about her and most of what you knew was through Jack or your check ins, but it was the foundation of what you hoped would be a lifelong friendship. June was bright and kind and knew to not take shit from anyone.  

And she was strong. 

Stronger than you. So, so much stronger than you and in that moment her touch had left you with a yearning for a type of comfort you didn’t know existed. 

With another heartwrenching sob, June coiled her arms around you with enough pressure for you to feel completely enveloped without being tight enough to hurt your damaged body, one of her hands weaving through your hair at the scalp to rub soothing circles into you. And she stayed like that with you, the two of you entangled together on the ground outside the front of the hospital in near silence, for as long as it took for you to calm down. It couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes but it felt like hours, with eyes now swollen and puffy, your nose runny and throat raw. And even worse, you didn’t feel better. There was still a pressure building in your chest and clawing at your brain and you knew that this was only the prelude to an even bigger breakdown somewhere down the line. So much for that catharsis.

June, bless her heart, hadn’t asked a single question the entire time nor complained about the uncomfortable position or how you had gotten snot on her scrubs where you’d buried your face into her shoulder. It took another few minutes of reshuffling as she slowly stood and brought you up with her so you were both on your feet, her hands delicate and calming on your stiff arms. She didn’t let you go even after standing, keeping you tucked against her as you shakily evened your breathing and wiped at your face. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for you since you’d moved in and even thinking about it made you want to start crying again. You resisted the urge and cleared your throat awkwardly.

“Thank you for that.” Scratchy and raw, but earnest.

June snorted with a crooked smile, raising a brow at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Why wouldn’t I have done that? Carefully, she slid her arm over your shoulder and started directing you towards the parking lot. It was now your turn to raise a brow. Your car wasn’t here and didn’t she still have work? Surely you’d taken up enough of her time, probably out of her break too. 

“Let’s just get you home, yeah? You look like you haven’t slept in days. Now, remind me which street you live on? I know the number but I always get the names mixed up-”

It was a herculean effort to not just implode into a puddle of snot and tears right then and there. Kind, sweet, loving June, who offered her shoulder to lean on and asked for nothing in return, saw your miserable ass sprawled out in front of the hospital and without hesitation decided she was going to get you home and into bed. You owned this woman an entire year's supply of coffee and chocolate or something. Hell, that didn’t even scratch the surface of what she deserved but your mind was too muddled and full of chaos to think straight as you let her walk you into her dingy Subaru. 

The hospital wasn’t too far out from main street Jasper, maybe a 15 minute drive max if you were taking it slow and it was only another 5ish minutes from there to your home. It was silent save for the radio quietly playing whatever top ten hits were popular at the moment as June carefully pulled out from the carpark and out onto the open stretch of road, her eyes never once straying from the path ahead. Your name was soft on her lips as she all by sighed it out, every syllable laced in concern.

“What were you even doing out there? I mean, I heard you’d fallen into one of those exposed mineshafts from like, the 1860’s and knocked a support beam down, leading to the… You know… Cave in. But what possible reason could you have for heading into the desert alone like that? Do you know how lucky you were that someone saw you? If that trucker hadn’t been driving past in that exact moment or had been more focused on the road and hadn’t seen you-” You could hear the ‘worried mom’ tone creeping into her words, building faster and faster until she cut herself off breathlessly, unable to continue without her voice cracking. 

Her brows were furrowed and drawn low over her eyes as a frown twisted her lips. It looked wrong on her. Something in you wanted to make sure you never saw that kind of expression on her ever again. 

You reached out and placed a hand atop her knee, rubbing your thumb into small mindless circles as you lowered your gaze to the foot well. You knew what she was implying and even if that wasn’t what had actually happened, the idea was scary. You felt guilty. You knew you had no reason to feel so, none of what had happened was your fault and it had all been so far out of your control, but June didn’t know that. She had no way of knowing and from her perspective, her son’s favourite teacher and her newest friend nearly got themselves killed out in the desert and if no one had seen them fall… Well, the possibility of someone finding their body would have been slim to nonexistent. To her, you nearly became a missing persons case and no one would have known what happened to you. No one knew you’d taken your car, how far out from town you’d gone, if you went East side or West. There were apparently hundreds of silver and gold mines surrounding Jasper in just about every direction for nearly 30 miles out, basically connecting into the next town over. And that was assuming anyone thought to check the mines. You could have just as easily been taken by a venomous snake or bobcats or kidnapped by some crazy person driving past. There were infinite possibilities of things that could have gone wrong in June’s eyes.

There was a piece of paper crumpled in the corner by your foot, part of Jack’s name visibly scribbled along the top. It looked like a homework page from three weeks ago, a dirty shoe print stamped into the off white sheet. You remember it because Jack, who’d never once failed to hand up his work on time, was practically driving himself mad at his desk looking for it when he realised he was missing half his homework and had slinked up to you like a guilty puppy to confess he’d lost some of the sheets. Miko (who had conveniently ‘forgotten’ her homework) laughed at him hard enough to topple her chair and ended up sprawled over the classroom floor, cackling like a witch until he threw his bag at her.

“Would you believe me if I said it was for school?” Your reply was meek and sheepish as you glanced at her from the corner of your eye.

June’s brow twitched and it looked as if she was desperately trying to fight back a smile, her frown turning comically deeper to compensate. She couldn’t be mad at you. She was mad that she couldn’t be mad at you. Of course it was for school. Your friendship may have been fresh but June knew that more than anything, teaching was just about your biggest passion in life. She couldn’t even find the will to be surprised that you’d gone and nearly killed yourself over getting the best possible teaching material for your kids.

“Of course it was. Let me guess, Jasper’s mining history?”

It was your turn to suppress a grin now, pursing your lips as you turned your head away from her. “Worse.”

The dark haired woman let out a loud snort that dissolved into an ugly chortle. It was one of your favourite sounds from her and if you could bottle it up and save it for later, you would. She said your name sharply as she placed one of her hands on top of the one you laid on her leg. “I swear to god if it was something you could have easily just gotten online, I am going to kill you.”

You didn’t respond, your guilty smile growing as you stared determinedly out the window. June gasped and lightly slapped your hand as she said your name again, this time with the exasperation and disappointment you’d give a naughty child that you knew wouldn’t listen to you.

“Your students can survive having to look at Google images and Wikipedia articles sometimes!”

“I couldn’t help it, okay!” You lift both hands up in surrender as you finally break and melt into a broken fit of soft wheezy laughter.

June swatted at you again. “Stop laughing! You’ll just hurt your ribs even more!” You only cackled harder, arms wrapped around your sides tightly as needles and knives prickled at your lungs. It hurt, badly , but the relief each bubbling giggle gave made every stab worth it.

“I was taking pictures of the stars, okay?! You’ve seen them, haven’t you? You can’t tell me that I should just go on Google when they are right there and are so bright and clear! That’s blasphemous!” 

“I am so mad at you right now!” The indignation in her voice held no bite, another scoffing chuckle escaping her with the most dramatic eyeroll you’d ever seen in your life.

Her expression had softened drastically over the course of your light hearted argument, eyes flickering from the road to you when she could. Jasper’s main street came into view as June turned into the wide but fairly quiet road, pausing at the red light next to K.O Burgers. There was a beat of silence between you as you both calmed from your giggling fits.

“Jack was worried about you, you know?”

Good lord June, that was a fucking gut punch. The earlier mirth in her tone had all but vanished and you were left with that same guilty feeling from before like you’d made a stupid mistake and everyone around you was suffering for it. You had to remind yourself that your near death wasn’t your fault before the feeling choked you out. You had been safe before Ass-Scream decided he was a prick. You kept the town and road within sight, you had parked in a spot that still had bars on your phone (even if it was only one or two), someone knew you had been going out to take pictures, and you stayed near your truck the entire time. Not that you could tell June all that. You could only mention parts to her but lying felt like a disservice to the kindhearted woman next to you. She deserved the truth.

Of course Jack would have heard about what happened with June being a nurse and if Jack knew then Raf and Miko knew and if Miko knew… Well, it was safe to say that the whole school was going to get all the juicy details before you even got back to class. You were fine with a couple people thinking you were just a stupid city slicker, but the entire school? The kids would tell their parents and their parents would tell all their friends and neighbours and before you knew it, everyone in town was going to think you were a total dumbass. That's generally not a good look for a teacher to have. It was going to be a very long next couple of weeks.

You opened your mouth to reply but June beat you to the punch, sighing heavily as the conversation took a more sobering turn. “You’ve changed the way he sees learning, Hun.”

Oh god, she was bringing out the pet names. She only did that when she really needed you to listen to what she was saying. It was such a mom move and it worked on you every time. 

The lights turn green and the car bumps forward through an unseen pothole. You bite back a groan as your sore body is jostled and she apologetically slows to crawl over the next two with the least amount of rattling possible. Fucking Jasper and it’s potholes.

“He doesn’t have many people in his life. Good people or-or strong role models… And… And I’m- …I can’t always be there for him, you know? Not when he really needs it. But you-” Her hand blindly reaches over and grabs yours, her lithe fingers intertwining with yours. “Babe, he sees you nearly every day, several hours a day. And he knows he can trust you. Knows that you’ll always stand in his corner, especially when I can’t.”

It was suddenly very difficult to meet her eyes. 

You knew that one of the reasons you and June hit it off as well as you did was because of your connection to her only child. Yes, you had things in common and enjoyed each other’s company, but if you weren’t her kid’s teacher, the likelihood of you two ever actually having a reason to talk to each other would have been next to nothing. You didn’t know much about Jack’s father or June’s side of the family, but you did know that the two of them were entirely alone. Whether it was from death or abandonment or disownment or some other reason, you didn’t know and it wasn’t your place to ask. Jack had roughly one adult in his life he could turn to and that was his mom. And that wasn’t always easy for a teenager, especially one as responsible and understanding as Jack. You saw it in the way he did everything. Jack never wanted to be a burden, to make life harder for anyone. If he could fix it by himself, he would and if he couldn’t… Well, he was going to try until he physically couldn’t anymore or someone stepped in and made him stop. Going to his single overworked mother after she’d just done a long 12 hour shift must feel like torture to the kid. You, on the other hand, were someone he didn’t have to feel guilty about confiding in and June knew this. 

“For the first time in forever, he doesn’t seem so… So… Despondent about going to school. We both know he… Struggles with some things, namely that brat - Vince, but Sweetheart, it's thanks to you that he's trying again. He doesn’t see school as abandoning me anymore because you are giving him a reason to show up.”

The way your heart clenched in your chest couldn’t have been healthy. You knew what June was talking about. You’d seen it during your first couple of days with the kid. School had been a waste of time to him. Spending seven odd hours cooped up in a room with people who didn’t care about him, being told about things he didn’t care about and being forced to do useless tasks that didn’t help him at all. Being at school meant being away from home for long periods of time doing things he didn’t see as worth it when he could have been lightening his mom’s workload, taking care of chores for her so she didn’t have to do it when she got back from a grueling shift at the hospital. Of course you noticed this. How could you not? The only time he didn’t look like he wanted to throw himself out the window was when you mentioned life skills in the classroom.

Jack was mature for his age. He worked hard on things he saw as useful or productive, like taking extra shifts at K.O Burgers to help June with food shopping and so she didn’t have to spend money on him, buying his own bike and motorbike so June didn’t have to drive him places and the subjects he tended to focus on in school were ones that were practical. Maths? Only when it came to how to calculate taxes. English? Shakespear didn’t get people employed, teach him how to write a resume. Home Economics? Cooking was practical, the more he learned the more he could cook for his mom.

“You’ve shown him that education is important and will help him in the long run just as much as work experience. He’s a bright kid, brighter than I was at that age but academics doesn’t come to him easily and he’s got to work harder to get a good outcome. You help him make that process less harsh. He gets excited about group projects now because he knows you’ll pair him with people he gets along with and who will do the work with him and not just dump all the workload on him. He asks me questions about his homework instead of sitting alone in his room stewing over answers he can’t find. You make him want to do better for himself, not just me.”

Your street is up ahead, empty save for a couple of the frat boys sitting on their porch with an esky full of discount beers. Mrs. Evan’s face peeks from behind her curtains at the sound of a car engine and quickly vanishes once she realises it's just you. June lets go of your hand so she could properly turn down into the cul de sac and two of the boys raise their bottles in your direction. You wave.  

“I know you weren’t trying to be stupid, I just-” The sigh she released was so shaky and small. It made her sound small. “We could have lost you, Babe. Both me and Jack.” 

The car comes to a stop on the curb out the front of your house. Your car is parked in the driveway, just as dusty and busted as you remembered it, Mrs. Fisher’s tripod visible in the back seat. June kills the engine and silence floods the cab and for a moment, you don’t say anything. Because what in hell were you meant to say to that? What could you possibly say in the face of such vulnerability and worry? June hadn’t just been concerned about you, she’d been terrified. So scared of the implications of what had supposedly happened. Of what could have happened. And she had every right to be. While the series of events she heard weren't the true ones, the outcome would have been the same should the worst have transpired. You, crushed to death and left in the desert to rot and potentially never be found. You’d become an important figure in her child’s life as much as one in her own and they’d both already lost so much. Neither of them could take another blow like that.

“June I-” The heartbreakingly soft way she said your name stopped you in your tracks, your throat feeling painfully tight. 

She was looking at you again. Really looking at you. Her eyes were as drained as Fowler's had been, long dark bags cast above her cheeks. They aged her more than any wrinkle could and you just knew she hadn't slept the entire time you'd been admitted. The guilt was back and it was sinking its claws into your ribs, peeling the flesh away to leave you exposed and raw. You didn't know what she was searching for in your face, but whatever it was she seemed to have found it and it crushed her. A dagger of recognition stabbed through June and something enraging and furious was trying to rip itself free from her skin but she held it down, forcing it still at gun point. She inhaled sharply and promptly bit her tongue before she barked out whatever was building behind her teeth, mouth screwing into a tight line as her eyes gained that sheen ones did when they were about to cry. She had gone from concerned friend to raging mama bear to a woman scorned all within the span of a few minutes and it was alarming. You had no idea what had caused the sudden change but you suddenly felt incredibly unsafe. Not in the way that you knew she would hurt you, at least not physically, but in the way that something very unpleasant was going to take place and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“... June?” Whispered or not, your voice sounded impossibly loud in the silence of her car.

Her jaw clenched as she breathed in deeply, holding it for four seconds before letting it out slowly. Like she was trying to not break down into tears or break your neck. Sweet, caring, unmovable June in that very moment looked deeply, tragically betrayed. Your throat closed up and something in your chest throbbed in a pain so grand that it transcended physical understanding. 

Why ? What had you done to earn that expression from her? 

June looked ready to break in half, her throat bobbing as she swallowed down a bubble of resentment and as she lifted her gaze to pierce through you, her eyes showcased a fathomless sorrow. The anger was superficial, a guise to protect her shattering heart. Anger, because yelling and screaming and breaking something felt stronger than crying. Felt less vulnerable and raw. Not that she wouldn’t do any of those things in front of you anymore. No, she wasn’t going to raise her voice nor her hand in your direction, wouldn’t sob or wail and break down or lose her cool. You’d lost that privilege. To feel her emotions, to experience them with her and against you. 

Your hand was trembling as you slowly reached for her and she stopped you with her own. Fingers, long and normally so steady now riddled with a faint tremor, linked with yours before you could touch her. The contact was impersonal and she directed you away from her, your joined hands pushed into your lap. It wasn't an outright rejection but it was the placing of a wall that hadn't been there before.

“You should go inside. Get some rest.” Distant. Authoritative. Faint and hurt and ruptured.

You needed to leave.

She needed you out of her sight.

Standing up hurt, your sides letting you know exactly how much it despised you in that moment and you had to wheeze to relieve the pressure. June didn’t look at you, her focus pinned to the top of the steering wheel, hands planted in ten and two. Her farewell was clipped and yours was softer than you wanted it to be. You were sick of sounding as weak and broken as you felt. Your eyes met and the buried anger dwindled to utter disappointment. 

Your house was cold and empty when you entered. It was the same as how you’d left it two nights ago, yet never in the entire time you’d been living there had it felt less like a home than it did then. Half graded assignments were littered across your kitchen table in semi organized piles, your laptop still plugged in and open where you’d forgotten to take it off charge before you left, a dirty mug of what used to be hot chocolate pushed out of the way to make room for your textbooks. All the lights were off and the plate you’d had dinner on before heading out was sitting in the sink still, the shoes you’d worn to class that day haphazardly kicked off in the entryway. 

Not a single thing looked out of place.

You didn’t trust it. 

Dropping the bag of hospital goodies, you fished out one of the packs of painkillers and popped two into your mouth, dry swallowing them. The sensation was horrible as they started dissolving on your tongue instantly, the taste so dreadful you choked on one. Without waiting for them to kick in, you grit your teeth, rolled up the sleeves of your borrowed scrubs and started scanning your living room top to bottom. 

Fingers sliding along the underside of every surface, phone flashlight shoved into every nook and cranny, cushions lifted and knick knacks pushed aside, you checked everything . Light bulbs, mirrors, books, remotes and photo frames. If it could be moved or touched, you tested it. Every trick you knew was tried and you had Google incognito tabs open for the ones you didn’t as you searched for every way to tell if you were being spied on. 

You did this for four hours. And you found nothing .

Honestly, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or even more worried. There wasn’t a single bug, tracking device, camera or microphone discovered anywhere within your house. You couldn’t find anything and it didn’t look like anyone had rifled through any of your things. You were kind of expecting to find the place a mess, papers everywhere and books scattered around, all your drawers open and thoroughly looked through but no. Apparently Fowler either didn’t think you were worth keeping an eye on, or finding out about the existence of massive robots wasn’t actually that big of a deal. That, or you really sucked at finding hidden cameras.

Either way, you were now totally alone.

No one really told you about what was next, what to expect or how things were going to look from now on. All the excitement had passed and you weren’t even given a direction to start looking towards past a generic ‘rest up’. You didn’t die, the government said they’ll be in touch but hadn’t reached out, your house wasn’t bugged (you think) and your only proper friend in town was mad at you for some reason you couldn’t figure out. You’d already had your pre-breakdown out the front of the hospital and went into what you could only describe as a manic episode with how you all but tore your house apart looking for non-existent spy tools. You were out of tears to cry and big emotions to scream and you were left entirely to your own devices.

You needed something to do before you went insane. 

Needed a distraction to save you from spiralling about strange titanic metal mechs or something to push you back into the ‘normal’ alignment of existing again. Everything felt so out of wack, two inches to the left kind of off kilter and you knew it was because everything you’ve ever known was different now but you were left with nothing to do about it and it was driving you crazy. So you spent the next hour fixing the mess you’d created, putting your books back on their shelves, washing your dishes and screwing light bulbs back into their sockets, only getting part of the way done before the painkillers wore off and moving became a punishment again. Unable to do much more, you sat down for the first time since coming home, nearly five entire hours later.

… 

You were going to lose your goddamned mind. 

No matter how you sat, your lower back would complain or your ribs would ache and you still had to wait another hour before you could risk taking another painkiller. And if it wasn’t the utter agony your body was in, it was your mind, something ticking away in the back of your head. Every car that drove down the street had you snapping to attention to see if it was the big-rig or Fowler or even June coming back. It was never any of those. Just Mr. Evans coming home from work, a few of the frat boys hopping in one of their shared cars to go get pizzas, and one or two others who either lived somewhere on this road or were visiting someone who did. Turning the TV on didn’t help distract you. After school cartoons of mechas or robots on one channel, high speed car cop chase scenes on another, the news talking about a car crash in the closest sizable town, a documentary about planes. Everything brought you back to the desert and its secrets.

Before long, you couldn’t take it anymore. You popped down two more pills (this time with water) and all but threw yourself onto your bed with the intention to doom scroll on your phone until your brain freaking imploded or you fell asleep. Whichever came first.

And three days passed like this.

With loneliness, with your thoughts as your only company. With fear and bouts of calm and pain. 

You’d cleaned up the rest of your house, kept all the curtains facing the road closed to stop yourself from staring, and finished grading the rest of those assignments you’d started on before everything hit the fan. It was slow, torturous and mind numbingly normal.

It was exactly what you’d been looking for and you hated it. 

You’d been in a constant state of panic and shock throughout the whole ordeal that’d left you deeply exhausted and desperately wishing for things to go back to the way they were and now that it was over and things were normal, you found yourself missing the excitement. The feeling of being a part of something bigger than you, the adrenaline rushes. You’d discovered something so out of this world, it felt like you’d become a character in a sci-fi film or the main character in a book and it was addicting in a way you weren’t ready for. You thought that you craved the quiet life, why else would you move to a tiny town where nothing happens? As it turns out, you were an adrenaline junkie in waiting and not being able to even walk to your mailbox without pain or paranoia was driving you up the fucking wall.

That, and you’d been left with a lot of time to just think. Having busted ribs limited a lot of the things you could do. No exercise, laying down for too long, no heavy lifting or exerting yourself. Just thinking. 

You hadn’t actually connected the dots until the second day of your self imposed quarantine and you had come to the conclusion that you were a moron. The three kiddos you’d been worried about? Yeah. Their weird behaviours were totally coming from them knowing about the shapeshifting robots around Jasper. It all made sense after that thought properly clicked and left you horrified. You'd realised it at the time of course, recognising the names being exchanged, but amongst all the terror and trying to not die, you hadn't lingered on it for even a second longer. But now? Now it was all you could do.

Their mystery rides home, the strange code names, the secret hideout seemingly outside of town, their weird little conspiring looks and terrible lies when you asked a question a little too probing. It all made horrible, horrible sense. Jack's motorbike was a massive transforming robot. The cheery yellow sports car Raf rode in after school was a colossal robot. Miko's heavy set SUV was a huge-ass goddamned motherfucking robot. This was generally considered as a worst case scenario for you, having kids under your care placed into situations that put them at risk of severe injury and/or death. How had they gotten this far without getting hurt? Or worse, killed? You had one brief interaction and it nearly cost you all your ribs and your sanity, yet the children were using them as basic transportation around town. How long had they been doing this? Longer than you’ve been in town from the sounds of it and as far as you were aware, somehow not a single person has found out.

The panic that wrapped its grimy little hands around you was bordering on hysteria when you came to the conclusion that their parents must have no idea. June had no idea that her son’s motorbike was actually a massive hulking transforming robot that may or may not belong to the government (you still weren’t clear on that and Fowler hadn’t offered up anything). There was no way any sane parent would let their child go running around with murderbots in the Nevada desert, let alone sensible and worried June. She’d rather have a go at it with a pipe or a baseball bat then let Jack get into any sort of trouble. 

This also came with another heart wrenching conclusion; the reason why June had been so pissed at you when she dropped you off. She recognised that she was getting lied to but had no proof of it. She probably saw the same existential horror on your face as she probably saw in Jack. Two of the most important people in her life were in some sort of danger and she knew it but had no evidence. Her spidey-mom senses were going wild but couldn’t do anything about it because she didn’t know what was going on. Because no one was telling her anything. You couldn’t even imagine how frustrating and terrifying that must be for her, knowing that something was horribly wrong but not being able to help or protect or save your child because he wasn’t letting you know what was wrong. And then finding out your friend is in on it too and looks like they just got spat out the ass end of a cement mixer? 

Not comforting.

You spent that entire second day crying. The revelation had been too much. You couldn’t help picturing the broken bleeding bodies of your children splattered across the dirt every time you closed your eyes. Hearing their screams in the silence, choking and sobbing for their mothers, for someone to help as metal closes around them with a deep horrifying crunch of bones getting turned to splinters. You had thrown up twice by the time the sun set when your imagination had gotten too realistic, the fresh copper scent of blood and hot metal in your nose and the hurried pitter pattering of small feet dashing over your floorboards just out of sight. You knew it wasn’t real, logically. There was no one in your house but you, there were no open wounds and dying children. They were alive, happy and they’d been doing this for much, much longer than you had. They actively sought out their robots, they each had their own one they interacted with every day. They were fine . It wasn’t your fault that their parents didn’t know and it wasn’t on you to tell them. It wasn’t your fault they were in this situation and it wasn’t up to you to get them out. You knew this. And if Fowler knew about you, then he surely knew about them. It was his job to tell the parents and get them out and you were going to kill him if he wasn’t keeping them safe. But logic didn’t hold up very well against the alcoholic father guilt grew into, that resided in the gaps of your soul. He paced the long empty halls of your bones, snarling and spitting, demanding that you see him, that you know he is there. He drinks and drinks and drinks, leaving a trail of stale bile and broken bottles and split booze so every step you take is drenched in the essence of him, clinging to your skin and digging into your flesh. His fists leave holes in the walls of your heart, banging and punching through your chest with a fiery burn that commands penance for all you have done and all you have not and no amount of pushing back will get his hands off of you. No matter how many times you remind yourself that he doesn’t belong there, he finds his way back to the armchair of your sternum in front of the TV mounted on your lungs and shouts for you to go get him another beer. 

You wandered listlessly around your house like a ghost in the spaces between tears, haunting its spaces in silence and agony, begging the walls for forgiveness for a crime you did not commit. 

And they did not respond.

No one did. You were alone.

The third day was filled with mania. Cleaning and scrubbing at every inch of your house, fixing the mess you’d made when you first came back from the hospital with a vigour so intense that at one point you opened the cut along your neck. You popped a painkiller every chance you could without poisoning yourself and pushed through any bout of pain that washed over you with a grit of your teeth. Your head was so full of spiders and snakes that rattled and hissed and bit at your thoughts until all that was left was noise and writhing crawling static in your frontal lobe. You couldn’t pinpoint a single emotion or train of thought and sitting still left maggots in your ears, scratching and wiggling and humming, and cockroaches in under your skin, skittering and clawing and hissing. So you moved. Your body demanded, pleaded , begged for stillness and you curled your lips in disdain and spat at it. Your ribs were alive with angry bees and hornet nests but you had to do something . And so you cleaned everything.

You didn’t start to feel okay until the fourth day rolled around. You didn’t wake up in a cold sweat for the first time since coming home, no lingering memories of red eyes and planes flying overhead or of grinding metal and massive hands reaching for your limp broken body. So, you tried to fall back into a routine. The over enthusiastic cleaning you’d done had made it so any movement in your torso was suffering which meant you were left either melting into your couch with your laptop, creating lesson plans, or caring for your injuries like you were supposed to have been doing this whole time. Naturally, you weren’t entirely fine. You found yourself checking the news every other hour to make sure no familiar faces or places would pop up as murder scenes or under investigation, or find your hands shaking so hard you had trouble holding anything if you weren’t paying attention. Sometimes you’d think you could hear that low heavy droning and the constant clicking and shifting of metal parts under the tinnitus that’d yet to go away and it had you tensing every muscle in your body, fighting the urge to hide under your kitchen table or crawl into your closet. 

But it had been an improvement. Anything was an improvement to how you'd been.

Your day progressed and the rest of the world kept moving. There was a weird comfort within it that you didn’t know how to hold, the postulation of it slipping between your fingers no matter how much you cupped them together. Life kept moving on and it was up to you to move with it. This experience wasn’t the end and despite everything, you were still just you. Things had changed but that didn’t mean you had to. Every day is all there is and to hide away in fear and terror was to waste all you had. It came and went, pooling in your palms and spilling to the ground, swinging you back and forth as you were strung between two states of being. It wasn’t easy by the time the sun had set, you felt okay again. Sure, if you heard a car outside it took all your willpower to not rush over to the window and scrutinized every inch of it until you were certain it wasn't actually a big ass robot, but there was more focus to your thoughts again. You stopped violently alternating between inescapable cabinfever-esque fervour and inconsolable crying. The guilt had receded like the tides on a beach to give you space to breathe and the panic about your students had dulled drastically the longer you sat with it. Big red and blue hadn't crushed you. In fact he saved you, comforted you and cradled you in his massive palms, humming soft calming notes to you when you thought you were dying. He was the opposite of Starscream in every conceivable way and who was to say that your kiddos weren't with bots like Prime? Gentle and otherworldly and who'd fight for their safety? The truth of the matter was that in the however many months they'd been doing this, none of them had died or been injured (at least not badly enough for people to notice). That had to mean something. 

On the sixth day of your isolation, something changed. 

Someone knocked on your door.

At first, you ignored it. While you weren’t jumping at every sound anymore, the paranoia that Starscream would come down and snatch you up hadn’t entirely faded. You knew that Starbitch was as tall as a three story building and could turn into a plane, two things that didn’t exactly blend into suburban life and had a tendency to stand out but something still screamed at you to be careful. You also couldn’t imagine knocking on a door being his style of getting shit done. Giant fuck off missles seemed more up his alley and if he really wanted to get to you, he’d most likely just blow your roof off and flatten you. The fear crackled at the edges of your vision regardless, eyes planted firmly on the door as you waited for their next move. Anyone could have been out there and while the likelihood of it being someone who wished harm upon you was astronomically low, you just didn’t know. It could have been Fowler or June coming to check in on you, or it could be the secret services coming to arrest you after deciding you were actually too big of a risk to be left unchecked. The stranger knocked again and you once more hesitated. This time more out of respect for your bruised ribs. You’d only sat down at your kitchen table with lunch and some homework that needed grading about twenty minutes prior. Standing up again was going to hurt . Nonetheless, you shakily stood with a wheeze as your torso protested with sharp stabbing pains, and waddled your way over to the door. You didn’t have a peep hole, something you were sorely missing right now from your old apartment, and cracked the door open.

On the other side was a sight you weren’t at all prepared for. Two young boys, quietly bickering with each other, their hands full with an alfoil dish each.

Jack Darby and Rafael Esquivel.

Hearing the door open a smidge, the two instantly stopped whatever argument they were having and snapped to attention, Raf beaming at you like he had become the sun itself. Much like a puppy, he yipped out your last name and title excitedly as that massive grin took over his entire face. The kid had really come out of his shell in the past few months. Jack, on the other hand, looked like a kicked puppy. He’d always been a fairly reserved kid by all means, but the way his shoulders were drawn up and his eyes refused to meet yours was telling. Guilty, sheepish. His eyes flickered from the dish in his hand up to your face before dropping again, semi-shrugging as he mumbled out a weak hello.

“Can we uh… Come in?” 

You felt your brain short circuit trying to process what was happening.

“It won’t take long, promise! We just wanted to see how you were doing. Mrs. Darby says you haven’t left your house in nearly a week and no one had heard from you… We were worried and everyone at school really misses you!” Raf was all but stumbling head first over his words, nearly dropping the platter in his hands as Jack quickly ducked down to steady it before it ended up on the pavement outside your front door.

You hadn’t seen him this excitable since you started incorporating Kahoot into your lessons instead of doing surprise pop quizzes.

“Uhhh…” Frankly, you were a bit blown away. 

While no one had actually told you to not leave your house or talk to anyone, you also hadn’t quite felt safe or stable enough to do so. While you were on the tail end of losing your mind, drifting slowly back into ‘sane’ territory, this felt like a sudden jump into the deep end again. That, and you definitely hadn’t thought that June of all people would notice your absence considering the way your last conversation had ended and you distantly realised that the two plates they were holding was probably food she made specifically for you. It was a conscious effort to not tear up at that. You also probably should have expected that at some point some of your students would have come to visit you, but you quite stupidly hadn’t been expecting it to be two out of the three kids who also just so happened to know about the giant robots in the desert.

Speaking of, from over Jack’s shoulder glinting in the light of the sun out on your curb, you spotted it. Bright dandelion yellow with a long black stripe racing down its side, sleek and low to the ground and without a single scratch marred into its finish. Rafeal’s muscle car/robot. Your breath all but caught in your throat involuntarily and your instinct was to slam the door shut to go hide somewhere in your house. Jack, catching onto your growing panic first, was quick to step forward and start ushering you back inside with a forced calm.

“No, no, no! It’s okay! He’s one of the good one’s, we promise! Ju-uh-just… Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

You let the teenager push you inside, eyes refusing to leave the squeaky clean sheen of the car’s finish until both boys were safely behind you and you could close the door. You thought that by removing it from your sight that you would start to calm down but quickly found that not to be the case. Just knowing there was something so potentially dangerous just waiting on your doorstep, out of sight, was going to give you heart palpitations. The boys glanced at each other nervously, watching as you slowly forcibly loosened your white knuckled grip on the door handle, one finger at a time. You were suddenly insanely grateful for the light flowy long sleeved top you had decided to wear that day, saving the kids from seeing you now very colourful but violent bruises that still littered over your entire upper body and down both arms.

“So uh…” Jack gently put his and Raf’s dishes down on your countertop, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to figure out his next words. “You know about them too, huh?”

Closing your eyes, you focused on your breathing. You were safe. The boys were safe. That car-robot thing wasn’t trying to kill anyone and everything was fine. It took you several seconds to not feel your heartbeat thrumming like a hummingbird in your chest before you turned back to the two kids and gently ushered them to your couch.

“Tea? Or I have chocolate powder and I can make hot chocolates?” It was an obvious redirection and one both boys let you have as they sat down on your worn couch, muttering out that water was fine.

This conversation was always going to happen. It would be stupid to think you never would have to confront the knowledge of shapeshifting robots in the desert ever again but you just weren’t sure you were ready. Your reaction to seeing one you were 99% sure was a good bot like Prime just sitting outside your house was a pretty solid indicator of just how not ready you were. But it needed to happen.

Sitting down in the arm chair next to the couch, you placed down two glasses of water on the coffee table. You couldn’t stall forever. “I have… A lot of questions.”

The boys exchanged glances, a frown pulling at their lips. They seem nervous about how nervous you were. Raf pushed his glasses up his nose to avoid eye contact, letting his gaze settle on your bookcase. Jack made a ‘go on’ gesture, shoulders drawn up. 

You hesitated.

It wasn’t your intention to make them feel uneasy but you couldn’t help remembering Starbitch and his powerless and spooked expression moments before he all but crushed you. There was a lingering fear that the moment they let their guards down, this robot they refer to as a friend will turn around and SPLAT . You repressed an uncomfortable shiver, shoving that image out of your brain as quickly as possible before you make yourself sick again.

Their experiences with these mechs seem to be quite positive if you were understanding things correctly. Your experience wasn’t theirs. You didn’t have any right to make them doubt the friendships they’ve built, even if you were just genuinely concerned. Not every massive mechanical bot was a dick like Starscream.

“Do you-... Ah are they-… How-no… Uh…Hm. Okay wait.” There were too many different things you wanted to ask and you were struggling to find a good starting point. “Okay, okay, okay. First things first. Are… Are you safe?”

That felt like a good jumping point. The two looked surprised that this was what you wanted to know first and they exchanged another look between them like they were having a silent conversation. One of Jack’s brow raised as Raf tilted his head towards the door where his yellow friend was waiting outside, so-so gestures were shared and Jack pulled a disgusted face at something Raf implied (was that hand movement meant to be a spider?). It took them a few moments to come to a decision on how to answer but when they did, they both turned to face you again. The bespectacled boy picked up his water and eyed his friend, indicating who was going to speak for the two of them.

“The short of it? Yes.”

You didn’t like that. “And the long version?”

They paused, Raf sending the taller boy a quick panicked look before chugging half his glass to avoid having to answer.

“... Yes?”

That wasn’t any better. You heard that pause before the teen spoke.

“Jack . Are you safe ?”

He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth and deflated into the couch a bit. “It’s a bit more complicated than a ‘yes I am’ or ‘no I’m not’. Because… Yeah. I am safe, we all are. We’re probably in the safest place in the entire world!”

You felt a ‘but’ coming.

“ But… ” 

There it was.

“But it's because of that… That we are also exposed to a lot of danger. Not that they’d ever let anything happen to us!” His voice was tight, bordering on defensive and defeated at the same time as he gave you a wary look. “You… You won’t tell mom about this, will you? She’d absolutely ground me for the rest of my life if she found out and she’s already freaking out enough as is.”

It felt like you just took a bullet to the chest. You sure as hell wanted to. You wanted nothing more than to tell June everything you’d seen and beg for her to do something, anything to get Jack and the rest of the kids out whatever this was and make sure there was nothing that could do him harm. But you also knew that this was a delicate situation. One you had very little control over. You breathed in sharply and instantly regretted it, spackles of pain skittering over your chest. 

“... No. I won’t tell June.” You made sure to look Jack directly in his eye as you said this, the boy sitting up straighter as his lips pulled into a thin line. “This goes for you too Rafael. Neither of your parents will be hearing from me about this and the only reason is because I legally am not allowed to.” Your eyes narrowed and it was an effort to not let your face twist into a snarl.

They didn’t deserve your displeasure at that. It wasn’t their fault. Your anger was for Fowler for not getting these kids out of this mess. You took another quick breath in, letting the burning pricks of pain ground you. “The car outside.”

Raf perked up at this, a delighted gasp leaving him as he scooted to the edge of his seat. “You mean Bee!”

That was a disarmingly cute name for what was most likely a very scary murdering machine that could pulverize you for funsies. “Yes. ‘Bee’. Is…It? Uh… He? Is he… A good robot?”

The shorter boy’s expression scrunched at your words and you could already feel a lecture building on his tongue. “Of course Bumblebee is one of the good guys! And they don’t like it when you call them that. They’re mechs or if you really have to, Cybertronians , though I think Ratchet would have a fit if he heard you saying that.”

He was just saying made up words at you. ‘Cybertronian’? Sounded like something out of an 80’s Saturday morning cartoon or Tron or something .  

Jack nodded along in exasperation, putting on a crotchety grandpa man voice with way more sass than you were expecting. “I can hear him now. ‘Ugh, puuuh-lease ! Robots! Unbelievable.’”

Raf snorted at the impression, apparently finding it either spot on or exceedingly hilarious that Jack did it at all, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the giggles. “When he meets the Teach he’ll be all, ‘By the Allspark! Not another one!’ before yelling at Bulkhead and Arcee to get rid of them!”

That nearly keeled you right over. While you were fairly certain this was a light hearted conversation with how much the two were snickering, hearing the words ‘get rid of them’ in relation to a giant mechanical monster seeing you made you sick to your stomach. You’d already been there and done that, no more having metal beasts trying to squeeze you out of existence thank you very much! Jack must have seen the way you paled or how your fingers had curled tightly into fists, digging into your knees with a slight tremble, the young boy instantly quietening with a worried look on his face. Raf followed suit, noticing the sudden quiet, his eyes widening upon seeing you.

“A-ah not like that! Ratchet is good, promise!” You didn’t know which of the two said that, the world blurring out of focus as the ringing picked up in your ears again. “He’s just a really grumpy old man, like he would rather stab himself in the chest then show that he cares, but he does really care! He’s not a bad guy, he wouldn’t hurt anybody !” 

You could hear a thrumming electronic droning from behind you, the dreaded almost familiar soundscape these bots seemed to emit emanating from all around you. You wanted to glance over your shoulder, check that Starscream wasn’t crouched in your backyard with his massive bloody red camera lens eye peering through your windows. You knew he wouldn’t be there. It was just you, the two kids and their currently disguised car friend out the front. It was the memories, the fear that was making you hear it but it was all you could hear nonetheless. A thick noise soup of heavy bassy whooping and burrs, high pitched beeping and tonal chimes. 

There were little hands atop yours, gripping tightly onto your fingers with an urgency that could only be found in a scared child. That snapped you back to reality faster than anything else could have, your teacher instinct kicking into gear and entirely overriding your potential shut down. Your gaze instantly shot up to find the source only to come face to face with a very worried Raf. His eyes were glassy, brows drawn together in the middle of his forehead with a deep frown etched into his face. Jack was hovering behind him with a glass of water that didn’t belong to either of them, slowly holding it out to you, your title and last name coming out of his lips questioningly and soft. You hadn’t heard or seen him go and get it for you.

“You don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to. But I think Optimus would really like to see you again. And Bee’s been super excited about meeting you all week. Every time Agent Fowler comes to visit, he gets all buzzed and starts overthinking how to introduce himself, thinking you’ll be there.” The shorter boy was confused as much as he was worried, not understanding why would possibly wouldn’t want to meet all the mechs or why you’d suddenly started silently freaking out. 

Something seemed to click in Jack’s mind as he squatted down next to your chair, placing the glass between your fingers. “Optimus didn’t tell us what happened. Just said that you’d seen him but due to… Certain circumstances would need some time before visiting. Then mom mentioned that you’d been brought into the hospital because of an accident but refused to go into detail. She looked so scared and angry when she got home though. I overheard her muttering to herself about close calls.”

He paused, debating whether or not he should keep talking. “Something… Really bad happened, didn’t it?”

Raf’s head spun to Jack fast enough to give him whiplash, panic growing on his face in a way that made you want to just scoop him up and comfort him. Distressed kids were not on your radar of things to deal with. Not now, not ever. Reaching over the shorter boy, you placed the glass on the coffee table and gently put one of your hands in his hair to calm him instead, letting your fingers sink into his fluffy locks.

You lied. “I’m fin-”

Jack cut you off, seeing through your bullshit before you even started. “Don’t say that! You’re clearly not! You looked like you were going to faint just seeing Bee and you totally zoned out and started shaking when we were talking about Ratchet! That’s not even mentioning how you’ve basically locked yourself up in here for nearly a whole week!” 

His voice raised in indignation, ludicrous disbelief coating his words as he stood up and gestured animatedly to your front door, pacing the length of your living room. His eyebrows were knitted together and he didn’t seem to know what to do with all this sudden emotion he was experiencing other than to move and shake it out. It was quick to burn out as he all but curled in on himself upon he finished his tirade, realising he might have gotten a little excited. With all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenager, he promptly shut his mouth and took a silent seat back on your couch. 

The concern was sweet, even if it was being yelled at you and all his mannerisms were painfully familiar. It was like talking to June all over again, no DNA test needed. They both get so angry on the behalf of others and flailed their arms around in the same way when they got worked up. It was as heartwarming as it was amusing and you could only imagine the dressing down you would get if you ever managed to get them both going at the same time. An endearing nightmare.

You found yourself smiling without meaning to, making a placating motion with your free hand as Raf scooted closer to you, practically laying his head in your lap as he looked up at you with those big worried brown eyes and crooked glasses.

“I am fine. It’s as this Optimus said. I just need…. A little time is all. I had an unpleasant experience with a mech and some things might have gotten out of hand.”

“Who?” You glanced down at the younger boy, lip twisting in thought. You didn’t want to scare them but you also felt the need to warn them so they don’t have to go through the same thing you did.

“...” Your eyes drifted to your front door, a bubble of nerves rolling through your gut. It was frustrating that even trying to say his name left you feeling a sense of dread. “I believe the big red and blue one referred to him as Starscream. He was running from a mech called Prime, basically fell from the sky in front of me.”

There were two very distinct reactions from the boys at that. Jack pulled a face like you just put your entire foot in his dinner while he was trying to eat and Raf gained this starry eyed like wonder to posture.

“Of course it was that scheming coward.” Was Jack's low, frankly quite pissed off remark as he crossed his arms over his chest and twisted his lip in contempt.

Raf bounced up onto his knees, pulling himself nearly onto your lap with a massive grin. “You saw Optimus fight?!”

You blinked. Optimus? You had sworn the big one was Prime or Autobot. That and you were horridly uncomfortable with the knowledge that these two seemingly knew and had interacted with Dickscream before.

“I thought his name was Prime?” You’ll start with that one. The sooner you learn all these names, the less confusing these kinds of conversations would be later on. “And not really unless you include Screamer losing an arm-”

The lanky teenager on your couch let out a snort, a very satisfied smirk curling onto his lips upon hearing of Starbitch’s loss but still seemingly quite mad about the grey bot in general. “It’s both. Technically his full name is Optimus Prime but he lets us call him a bunch of things like Bossbot, Prime or Optimus, OP. From what we’ve gathered, Prime is more of a title than a last name, something he earned when he was given the Matrix.”

Neo flashed through your mind, dodging slow motion bullets in a long black coat. You knew that couldn’t have been what he meant by ‘Matrix’ but it was the first thing you thought regardless. You were going to have to pick apart that line of questioning later.

“Okay… And he is… What? Like a mentor or boss?” You figured if someone was gonna be nicknamed ‘Bossbot’ then they probably were going to be a figure of authority.

Raf nodded, sinking into the floor a little so you could only see his eyes peeking out from the tops of your knees. “Sorta. He’s the leader of the Autobots.”

Ah, so that’s why Screamy called him Autobot. “Who are the Autobots?”

“Oh my god, Fowler didn’t tell you anything, did he?” Jack sounded exasperated, a certain tone of dislike emphasizing the Agent’s name. You almost felt the need to defend him considering you were quite out of it when you met. Almost . The dude was still kind of a douche.

“He told me to stay quiet.” 

Both boys rolled their eyes at that, Raf speaking up. “Sounds about right. Look, it’s pretty complicated and Optimus would be able to explain it better than any of us but basically; the bots come from the planet Cybertron-”

You were going to have an aneurysm. Not government built war machines but fucking aliens .

“-and are currently in the middle of fighting in a four million year long civil war-”

A fucking what for how long?

“-with the Autobots fighting for freedom and peace while the Decepticons are… What is it? ‘ Peace Through Tyranny ’? They pretty much want to turn Earth into a new Cybertron since they killed their planet-”

Jesus Christ , what kind of motto is that?! And why Earth?! Go to some uninhabited planet! Mars is right there.

“-but the Autobots aren’t going to let that happen! They’re also sorta stuck here. Both sides are actually.” 

He took in a deep breath as he finished, waiting to see how you’d respond to that infodump. Both boys were actually, Jack leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked over at you. 

This… Was much, much bigger than you ever expected it to be.

“You’re allowed to walk away.” Your eyes darted over to Jack who had an oddly calm expression on his face, something deeper lingering on the surface. “OP would understand. He wants to accept you into a part of the team so he can keep you safe but he's not going to hold you hostage or anything.”

You thought this was about government conspiracies and wars with countries overseas, not alien refugees and wars from outer space . You thought this was AI and weapons testing or extreme advances in technology and robotics. You didn’t once consider conflicts dating back to the dawn of time and totalitarian dictatorships. This was so much more than anything you could have conceived or possibly imagined. 

“How many of you are there?” The two boys practically lit up, Jack doing his best to temper it while Raf shot up to his feet. 

“Currently we have Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Arcee and Bulkhead!” 

Holy shit. He had to be joking. Your stomach twisted painfully at the sudden surge of anxiety that just was blasted into you. Just five of them? And three human children ? “And the Decepti-guys?”

Raf deflated considerably and turned away from you sheepishly, letting Jack speak for him. “Oh you know, their High Command is made up of Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave, Knockout, Breakdown… Uh… I guess Lazerbeak too? Does he count? And then they have countless numbers of identical drones they call Vechicons.”

The enemy’s leadership team had more members in it than the entirety of the Autobots. Your side started twinging with a bone deep burning and you realised it was because you had started tensing. Taking a deep breath, you slowly and forcibly relaxed each muscle in your torso before standing up.

Fuck it. 

“I think I would like to meet Optimus. Properly, this time.”

Chapter Text

When you’d told the kiddos that you were willing to meet with Prime again, you were expecting to have to wait on Fowler to hash out an appointment with you or to plan out a time to go and see him wherever it was that he hid away in. You know, in a couple days time. What you weren’t expecting was for the boys to high five each other and for them to basically herd you out your front door and into Bee’s front seat right then and there. They barely let you put the dishes June made in the fridge, put on shoes and lock your front door on the way out before they all but shoved you onto the curb. The two of them clambered excitedly into the back of the yellow muscle car whose door opened and passenger seat folded down all by itself to let them in, yapping away about how much you were going to love it and how cool the bots were. The steering wheel spun in a full circle as you nervously approached, the bizarre blocky symbol (that vaguely looked like Optimus Prime’s face you noticed) on horn lighting up as he whirred and beeped cheerfully. 

“Come on already, Teach!” Raf had pushed his head between the two front seats from the back, trying to usher you in with a bright grin. 

Jack was leaning back, seatbelt already on with his phone in hand. “Should we tell the others we’re on our way back?”

The car made a whirring woo whee bwomp sound and Raf giggled. “Bee’s right! Let’s make it a surprise!” 

You were going to be sick. Or faint. You hadn’t decided yet. Surprising giant metal beings who could kill you by flinching didn’t sound like something you wanted. That and everything about this just felt intrinsically wrong. 

You knew this car could turn into a bipedal mechanical man and that he wasn’t actually a car and yet the boys had no problem crawling inside of him and touching everything. It felt like an invasion of privacy or personal space or something. You didn’t know what translated to what, like what if the front seats were the equivalent of his lungs and sitting on them was going to suffocate him? Okay, that was a bad example and you knew it but the sentiment stayed the same. It just felt weird. Like you were a baby kangaroo but worse, like you were getting Osmosis Jonesed and you were about to play patty cake with his spleen. 

Taking a deep breath, you ducked down and slid into the car on the passenger side. It was shockingly comfortable and the seats were faintly warm under you, like they’d been sitting in the sun all afternoon. You instinctively moved to close the door but it smoothly shut on its own before you could reach out and you were quick to snap your arm back to your chest out the way. The seatbelt followed suit, extending and shifting around your body before clicking into the buckle all without you having to grab anything. It was vaguely terrifying, like being in a haunted house and watching the kitchen cupboards get opened and slammed shut by the poltergist fucking around in there. Super unnatural in every sense of the word. The seatbelt was loose on you, barely putting any pressure over your body which took you a second to realise but when you did, you found it surprising. The whole thing was leaving you to feel a bit like a fish out of water before noticing that you’d inadvertently tensed up and had tried to wiggle away from all the free moving parts, pushing yourself as far back into the seat as you could. Considering he was the car itself, he definitely felt your quiet panicking and had done his best to not make you feel restrained or trapped. It was… Kinda sweet in a horribly freaky way. You gave the wheel a shaky smile, not quite knowing where his eyes were or if he could even see everything happening inside his cab. Was that like you being able to see in the inside of your skull or into your stomach? Oh god, please don’t let this be the inside of his stomach. Did they even need a stomach or to eat and digest material? You were getting lost in the overwhelming amount of questions you wanted to ask again and forcibly pushed them to the back of your head as Bee let out a little whoop whoop. The wheel and radio lit up again in time with his chirping, apparently having seen your smile and responding in kind the best he could without a visible face. Everything around you faintly hummed and droned with an electrical undercurrent, Bee’s soundscape definitively different from Scream’s but yet still similar enough for them to sit in the same vein of ‘titan robot noise soup’. You imagined the idle thrumming must be their equivalent of being able to hear someone breathing, proof that they were alive and functioning. You could feel it in your bones, a light tonal buzzing that wasn’t strong enough to hurt or even tickle but just there in a way that was noticeable in moments of silence and stillness that differed to the way a car’s rumbling engine would roll through your body. It was so fucking weird.

The ride to wherever it was they were taking you wasn’t a long one but it was more awkward than you’d like to admit. Not visibly seeing someone sitting in the driver's seat with their hands on the steering wheel was going to send you into an early grave and it was a struggle for you to not grab the ‘oh shit’ bar above the door. You also just didn’t know what to do with your hands in general and even breathing made you feel bad. What if your breath stank and this was like breathing directly into his open mouth? What if you touched something sensitive or weird? Were you sweating? You felt like you were sweating. Were you leaving gross human oils and fluids in his leather? What part of him was the leather? How much of what you were doing was he actually able to feel? You had so many questions of their biology and history and culture but it didn’t feel appropriate to just start asking. That and as you very quickly learned, Bumblebee was the only one of the crew who couldn’t speak English. He understood it just fine and you were encouraged to speak to him as you would anyone else, but you figured trying to get answers back would be the hard part. Raf somehow was the only human that could make heads or tails of the beepy boops Bee made and he softly pleaded with you to not talk through him if you wanted to talk to Bee. Apparently people tended to look over to others when trying to talk to the yellow bot, acting as if he couldn’t understand or hear them which drove him insane. Though it was still something you found was hard to get your head around. Rafael, bilingual by human standards, also somehow could very easily understand and translate an alien language with no prior studying or learning. That felt like something you should be questioning too but from the look Jack shot you, you guessed it wasn’t worth digging into. So you talked to the radio because it felt weird not having a subject to look at when talking and it flashed in a neon light blue every time Bee made a noise back.

“Okay, so he pretty much said that they’ve technically been on Earth for roughly four solar-....oh right sorry, four stellar cycles but they’ve only been in contact with our government for just under three. Hm?... Oh, yeah, sure. He’s asking you to not tell Agent Fowler that-”

You nodded along sagely as if you perfectly understood. You did not. “Yeah no, sure. You’ve only been here for like three stellar cycles, got it.” There was a pause. “What’s a stellar cycle?”

Bee responded cheerfully with a quick fire series of whirring. Raf tilted his head and took a second to translate in his head. “A year? But like not quite our calendar year. They measure it based on the rotations of the planet around the sun.” 

The car buzzed and beeped again, this time much more coyly and with what you could only describe as giggles like he was teasing someone. Raf let out a quiet chuckle before confirming your theory. “He said most of the team hate New Year’s because it's on the wrong day. Especially Ratchet. You mention it to him at all and he loses it, goes on this rant about solstices and whatnot.”

From the little you’d heard about Ratchet, you could imagine it.

Jack, who’d been fairly quiet during the ride, sat up and leaned between the two front seats to speak to you, cutting the banter off short. “Head’s up. This next bit can be kinda scary if you aren’t expecting it but uh, welcome to base.”

You raised your brows at that, turning to look at him out of the corner of your eye. The four of you had been traveling for maybe 20 minutes tops, out of the town and into the desert. The road had been nothing but straight the whole time and you were coming up to a crossway that went either left or right. There was nothing here but a couple shrubs and a mesa or two, no buildings or anything. You turned around a bit more to look at the boys with intent to question them but was promptly shut up by the mischievous look on their faces, one that spelt out a looming sense of foreboding for you. You spun back around the look out the windshield and felt your heart leap into your throat. Bee hadn’t turned down either road. He kept the same speed, racing off the road to continue straight ahead, the smooth flat road turning to bumpy gritty dirt that jolted you around in your seats. You were heading directly towards a gigantic towering mesa that sat just beyond where the road ended with seemingly no intention of stopping or turning. You were going to crash directly into it if nothing changed.

You no longer felt iffy about grabbing onto anything, one hand braced on the dash and the other reaching up to desperately clutch the bar above the door. 

“Jack!” You couldn’t restrain the panic in your voice, both boys actively trying to suppress their giggles now. Hell, even Bumblebee made a chittering laughter like clicking and you lightly slapped the dashboard reprimandingly. The yellow car just revved his engine playfully in response, picking up speed. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a stick-!”

They said this was going to be scary, but to you that meant like a sudden steep drop off or something, not vehicular murder-suicide. You didn’t scream though. You wanted to and you damn well nearly did, the sensation clawing its way up your throat as your heart all but stopped in your chest with a painfully tight squeeze. You were putting as much trust as you physically could in Bumblebee and your boys at that moment, biting back your growing horror as the mesa got closer and closer. Gripping tightly onto your safety nets, you screwed your eyes shut and turned your head away, tensing your entire body in preparation for impact. There was a moment where nothing happened, a low droning of shifting hydraulics and then... And then the graveled texture under Bee’s wheels turned smooth again like you were on concrete once more. 

Someone poked your arm and the cab broke out into loud full bellied laughter and whooping electronic cackling.

“You can open your eyes now.” You cracked one open, brows furrowed. You were underground in a tunnel, lights lining the walls and looking out the side mirrors showed a large garage-like door closing behind you. Jack was leaning forward looking mighty smug with himself and was clearly finding your reaction to be utter gold.

“Teacher said a bad word!”

That was Raf, holding his hands over his mouth to try and muffle his amusement, eyes wide in excited disbelief at your swearing. You for a moment forgot where you were and clicked into teacher mode, horror filling your system. 

Goddamn it, you swore in front of the kids. “Ah-ah-ah! Don’t repeat that! You didn’t hear it from me!”

“Miko is gonna lose it!” 

“Raf! No!” You were going to have a heart attack, turning in your seat to face him. Forget nearly crashing into a solid stone wall, if Miko heard that you swore, she was going to never let you live it down and tell just about anyone willing to listen. “Don’t you dare-”

Your words die in your throat as the four of you come out of the tunnel into a large open space of what you could only describe as an old abandoned missile silo or old unused military base they’d use in the cold war. When you’d first overheard them talking about a secret base, you imagined a small shack they’d found, rotting wood and trashed. Maybe an old brick building that they could only access one room into. Not… This. The ceiling rose up seemingly forever, the very top so high up that it was practically bathed in darkness as the lights couldn’t reach all the way up. The walls were thick heavy concrete, most likely reinforced with steel and the entire place looked straight out of an action film or war/spy movie. 

Bumblebee slowed to a gentle stop and released the seatbelt around you before opening the door, making high pitched booping whoops. You took this as him telling you to get out and shakily stood up, a hand on Bee’s roof to stabilize yourself. He was pleasantly warm and thrummed with electric energy under your palm. Your legs were feeling particularly jelly like in that moment as you took in the sight before you. There were four colossal bots loitering in the imposing space in a loose circle around what looked to be a terminal, each with a distinct colour palette and shape. Raf tapped your stomach to get you to move as you were blocking their way out of Bee, the light touch unintentionally sending a jolt of icy pain through you. You hadn’t shown or told the kids about your bruising or broken ribs and weren’t planning on doing it any time soon. You bit back the grunt of pain and swallowed it before it could crawl out your throat, taking an uneasy couple of steps away from the cheery yellow muscle car and let yourself get herded out of the way. 

None of the other mechs seemed to have noticed you yet, all talking in low tones that vibrated through the floor in whiny electrical humming notes, utterly entrancing and indescribably beautiful. When you had met Starbitch, he had spoken in two recognisably differing languages but whatever these mechs were speaking was another entirely new third language. Of all the Cybertronian you’d heard, this was easily your favourite thus far. It was like listening to pure music rather than someone talk, chiming and lithe and flowy with rings and clicks, chirps and hums. It was different to Bee’s beeping and made you wonder how many languages they had on Cybertron and what was considered a true language versus a dialect. Was Bee’s noises its own language or was that a dialect? It sounded incomplete and basic compared to the others you’d heard, it made you wonder if it was maybe like morse code rather than a comprehensive language. Was Cybertron like Earth with different landmasses having their own spoken and written language or was there one shared written script across the whole planet with separate dialects? Did they have a written language? If so, was their alphabet abjad, alphasyllabary, ideographic or pictographic, phonetic? Something different entirely? Did their different languages evolve separately from each other the same way it did on Earth? Did they even have to learn separate languages? Like did they have computer brains and they just had to download a datapack or language module or something to understand? They must have done that with English right? Because there was no way a group of aliens naturally spoke English or learned to be completely fluent within four years. 

You were going to lose your fucking mind if you didn’t learn every single possible thing you could about these titans and the fact your kids seemed so nonchalant and ready to take this whole alien thing at face value made the teacher in you sob. How had none of them asked a million questions about everything and anything? Where was the curiosity?! It sounded like the only thing they asked was what their planet was called and what they were doing on Earth. Nothing about their biology like what allows them to transform or what life cycle looked like (I mean come on! Four million years of just war? Were they immortal in the same way lobsters and turritopsis dohnii jellyfish were? Or are they only the latest generation to fight in a war their great great grandparents started? Did they have grandparents? Did they reproduce sexually or were they built?), they hadn’t asked about dietary needs (you were going to find out why they had teeth if it was the last thing you did), or despite being aliens with no connections to Earth, why they had evolved (did they evolve from something or just made/born that way?) to have a humanoid shape. You could feel your fingers twitching for a pen and paper you didn’t have on you, a quiet but feral desperation to learn and record as much information as possible scratching wildly at the back of your mind as you stared at these majestic life forms. If you didn’t get a chance to write a research paper on them and everything about their planet, you were going to cry.

Safely directed out of the danger zone, Bumblebee all but unfolded himself, twisting metal and moving parts all clicking together and coming undone until an athletic shaped humanoid figure appeared out of the mass. It was hypnotising watching everything shift and click into place to create an entirely new shape and for Bee? That shape was fucking adorable. No visible mouth and round baby blue eyes that were practically glittering as they locked onto you with a squat little oval head, and these bumblebee-equse flappy car door wings on his back that fluttered and clapped at the sight of you staring up at him. The fact he also had washboard abs was like looking at a babyfaced teenager that could deadlift a car and left you floundering a bit as you struggled to not let your mouth hang open stupidly. You were roughly the height of his knee, making him smaller than both Optimus and Screamy but still quite tall overall, though you figured that any of these bots would be considered tall to you. In fact, if you were to guess, Bee was probably considered short to the rest of them. 

The daisy coloured mech scooted closer with careful and slow shuffles to squat down next to the three of you with a soft whee woo burring, like he was afraid of being too loud and held out his index finger to you in a cautious motion. You were assuming that he wanted to shake your hand but knew that his was too big to just offer up, instead presenting a single finger to make do. Frankly, the whole thing made you want to swoon, this gentle giant being so vigilant and attentive to not spook or hurt you despite his clear never ending curiosity. You couldn’t help but draw parallels with your students, hating the fact that it seemed to happen every time you met one of these mechanical aliens. First it was Stardouche reminding you of your misfit kids and now Bee with his childlike wonder. Though the dichotomy between this bright round bot and the dull pointy one that nearly killed out was blinding, and more than enough to take away any lingering sense of terror. Bumblebee wasn’t Starscream. You weren’t in danger despite his size and strength and he wasn’t going to step on you or crush you. He was being careful for your sake. Such control over oneself to avoid harm showed a discipline and compassion that Starcock was lacking. You could see why Raf was so taken by the shorter mech. They were sweet in the exact same way and had the same big curious doe eyes that seemed to sparkle when faced with something new and interesting.

Before you had a chance to reach out, it appeared Bee’s little noises seemed to get the attention of the others present in the room, the conversation dropping as all of them turned in your direction. You could see their lower halves from between Bee’s legs as a graceful purple-blue one stalked forward.

“Back already, boys? I figured you’d be there all afternoon with how much you lot go on about them and-” The rough feminine voice stopped abruptly as she (?) came up behind Bee, her sharp blue and pink lensed eyes appearing over Bee’s shoulder before zooming in on you. “Ah. I see.”

You didn’t know what to do with that. It wasn’t a dismissal per se but you certainly weren’t feeling welcome. Her gaze was heavy and scrutinizing, taking in your appearance quickly with a quirk of her brow. This bot was even shorter than Bumblebee and was the skinniest of the lot, all sharpened points and edges with sleek narrow curves whereas the rest of them seemed to be rounded and bulky and generally more masculine in shape. She honestly reminded you of a shorter and brighter Starscream, the way she all but stared you down not helping her case. You wished Bee was still a car so you could crawl back inside and hide in the footwell away from her piercing gaze. Pinprickles of fear skittered over the back of your neck and you got the distinct feeling of being a prey animal placed before a predator. 

She was sizing you up. 

Planting a hand on her hip, she shifted her weight onto one leg to turn back to address the one mech you did recognise. 

“Optimus, we got a straggler.” She sounded vaguely curious if not largely uninterested, eyes darting from you to the large imposing red and blue bot still standing between the others. It was as if she was reluctant to let you out of her sight for even a moment and it was making your heart stutter in your chest uncomfortably, your throat going dry as you struggled to swallow. What did she think you could possibly do against them?

“What?! Oh Primus above, you brought in another one?!” The sudden volume made you jump, terror seizing you for a split second as you took a couple hurried steps away from Bee back towards the safety of a wall. 

Despite never having heard this voice before, you instantly recognised it, your head spinning towards the kids in mild bewilderment. They looked all too entertained at your reaction, grinning at each other. That had to be Ratchet who spoke. They absolutely nailed their impression of him, right down the cadence and the tone he used. You couldn’t see his face from over Bee’s shoulder but you could see the way his feet shuffled back away from you, almost jumping back in the same way you did like he was scared you were diseased and would charge at him. Not a fucking problem Ratchet, you had no plans of getting any closer than you already were to any of them.

The olive sumo looking one in the corner walked closer with booming slow steps after hearing all the commotion, seemingly just curious and not at all suspicious or unhappy of your appearance here unlike his comrades. Bee, much to your horror, noticing that everyone was trying to get a good look at you (bar Ratchet who was actively trying to avoid looking at you), stood up to his full height and moved out of the way, leaving you now completely exposed to the rest of the room. Despite him being one of these towering mechs, for a brief moment he had been a shield. Without him blocking you from everyone else, you were feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and you missed his innocent inquisitiveness already, the large open space now laid out before you bringing you back to that moment in the desert. Small, insignificant and endangered. You felt too little, too small for such elephantine creatures to be bothering with, like you were but a little pillbug under a rock that’d been lifted and was now being scrutinized and poked at by the five year old who found you. Never in your life did you ever want to floor to swallow you up more than you did right then, heart beating furiously in your chest so hard you were sure these colossal metal beings could hear it. The green one tilted his jaw-heavy head to the side as he inspected you, a low ‘huh’ slipping from his chest as something moved on his shoulder. You didn’t know what that reaction meant but it got your hands shaking as you pressed your body against the wall even more, hoping that you could phase right into it and vanish from their lensed eyes. The movement caught your eye despite your growing fear and focusing in on it revealed that he had a little pink and purple bundle perched like a parrot in the space between his neck and the tall black shoulder pauldrons he had. To your complete horror and dread, it was Miko who was now waving wildly at the lot of you without a care in the world that she was about a two and half story building up in the air. You were going to faint, legs nearly giving out under you as your stomach churned at the sight.

“Miko! Teach said the f-word when we entered the tunnel!” Oh god, too many things were happening at once. First it was pants-shitting fear and now it was plain old embarrassment. Thanks Raf. You could feel your cheeks heat over how pale you’d gotten in your quiet panic. 

The other bots were staring at you harder than before and you just barely managed to swallow back the bile that rose in your throat. You were not going to throw up in front of a bunch of strangers from stress. What a great first impression that would have been, worse than having a child tell a bunch of aliens that you flipped your shit on the way into their home (base? Hideout?), because swearing is totally diplomatic and professional. Not like anything you’ve done in front of Optimus could be considered professional thus far with you weeping into his hands and bleeding all over him but you were still hoping to at least try and appear normal to them. The blue feminine one’s brows shot up her forehead at Raf’s giddy yell, her lips quirking up into a half smirk that she was clearly trying to push back. Jack snorted loudly, one of his hands flying to cover his mouth as he turned his head away from you, shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. That feeling of fainting crept into the corners of your vision again in a sprinkling of black dots you desperately tried to blink away as you offered up a very shaky and nervous smile. It sat lopsided on your face as you limply raised a hand to wave awkwardly at the dark green one who also looked ready to burst into laughter at any moment if his shaking shoulders were any indication. Miko was getting bumped around at the movement, clinging on with one hand like she was riding a mechanical bull, whooping out excitedly which seemed to remind her mount that she was there, his entire body going unnaturally still as he checked over her to make sure she was okay. She looked less than thrilled that her ride had been cut short.

“Yeah, first time through the tunnel’ll do that to ya. Let me guess, no one told you about the door?” His voice was a thundering rumble, bassy and low pitched that rolled through the room and up through the floor and into you. He didn’t even have to raise his voice to be loud, the sheer size of him pushing his words out clearly. You couldn’t imagine how deafening it would have been for Miko being right next to him like that if it was as loud as it was for you on the ground and backed away from them all.

“No one told them and Bee probably sped up as soon as he got off the road.” The short blue one grinned over at her green friend, her reply was swift with a hint of laughter in her words as she brought a hand to her face in a similar way to Jack to hide her amusement. The action looked learnt, like she’d seen him do it enough times that she naturally started copying him, but still stiff and awkward enough for you to realise it wasn’t something she’d done before meeting him.

“Hey! We warned them! Didn’t we Raf?” Jack sounded a little too proud of himself, barely muffling his quiet chuckling.

“You just told them it was gonna be scary, I don’t know if that really counts as a warning.” Raf threw himself over Bee’s foot, draping himself across it in a semi-hug with his cheek pressed against the warm metal. The yellow mech froze up entirely so as to not accidentally hurt the kid, carefully reaching down to ruffle his hair as an afterthought. Raf giggled, muttering about how the bot was messing up his hair with a playful swat of his hands to shoo him away.

They all sounded way too amused over this and you were getting vertigo looking up at them. Miko, now apparently over sulking at her carrier going still, looked absolutely delighted at the news, her entire expression lighting up like she’d just got a pony for Christmas. She nearly tumbled right off her perch with a howling laugh, basically rolling onto her side with an evil witchy cackle that made your heart leap into your throat. Jesus Christ, you could handle the kids laughing at your expense but she was so high up, a fall that far would do some serious damage and it was making your nervous system have a stroke watching her flop about as if she was laying flat on the ground and not ‘too fucking high’ up. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d actually stepped forward with your arms out like you wanted to catch her until Jack put a hand on your forearm to lower them for you. 

“She’s fine, don’t worry. Bulk would rather die than let anything happen to her, especially under his watch.” His voice was low and quiet so the others wouldn’t hear, but it was obvious they saw your reaction, expressions melting into something almost tender as the laughter died down.

Deciding this had gone on long enough, Optimus laid a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder and leaned his head down to mutter something to the orange and white mech before approaching the ragtag group surrounding you. He was easily the largest of them all and now in the lit up space, you had a proper view of him for the first time. Out in the desert, you’d gotten glimpses of colour and mere flashes of his hulking silhouette but here, there was now nothing to hide him. His face was passive and neutral but soft around the edges, like he wasn’t used to openly expressing himself and yet was still relaxed and comfortable enough in the environment he was currently in. There was no tension in his shoulders like before, arms hanging down by his sides at ease and posture loose. In this way, he looked like an entirely different mech. The fiery burn was missing from his eyes and without the angry scowl digging into the metal, he looked so painfully kind it almost made you want to cry. There wasn’t a single ounce of hatred or judgement in those eyes, deep endless pools of bioluminescent blue that could swallow you whole and cradle you in its cool embrace. Even now, they were still the eyes of a being much, much older, wiser and stronger than you, overwhelmingly so.  

And yet, there was still something about him that put you on edge. Your first meeting with the red and blue bot had been a terrifying blurred mess of blood and cannibalistic fear, memories blotchy and incomplete with darkness shrouding details. You could see the seams along his arms that hid weapons of violence under them, the gaps in his helm that held his mouth guard. He was a being of unlimited care and love, that was clear in his actions and the way he carried himself here and now in this space, surrounded by those he cared for. But he was also a creature capable of extreme amounts of brutality and anger, a never ending, ever growing ocean of indescribable abhorrence and resentment that puddled inside of him and you didn’t know where the line between the two was yet. His eyes were the same colour as Starscream’s blood, flashes of the thick glowstick goop dripping down slate grey metal, splashed up against the bright red of his chest as he brought his axe down, severing arm from body. You were being torn between fright and adoration, your body tensed and fearful but your mind was put into a warm hug. Optimus had been so painstakingly gentle with you. You were but a glass doll in his hands, beautiful and unmarred yet exceedingly fragile, the slightest sound enough to crack the surface. He found you chipped and missing pieces, your shiny see-through skin seeped in blood and scuffed with dirt but he held you like you were brand new and in perfect condition anyways. Like you were something to be cherished and cared for. That rage and force hadn’t been directed at you even once, voice never raised at you. But you felt it bubbling deep inside him regardless. Optimus chose to be kind despite everything. It was humbling and left you uneasy in a different way that being surrounded by mega-mecha monsters did. He may have been relaxed now, but he wasn’t unguarded. That viciousness he kept in check was still there, waiting to be released once more.

The floor shook with his steps and everything seemed to slow as he got down on one knee and lowered himself before you. A choked sound slipped from your throat and every muscle in your body froze up so hard you nearly teetered backwards like a stiffened fainting goat. Your whole world had become him as he ducked down closer to you, that humbling sensation of having someone so large and powerful bring themselves down onto your level body slammed you into oblivion. You felt Jack move away to his respective bot as Raf waddled off with Bee towards the back of the room near Ratchet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the titanous creature bowing before you, his grey face gentle and full of nous as he took in your messy appearance. You hadn’t been expecting visitors when the boys arrived nor did you expect to be taken on a field trip to the local big bot hideout leaving you now quite unkept if not comfy. You were dressed of course, you’d forced yourself to put on clothes as if you were planning on going out to encourage a routine and sense of normalcy after the near week of spiraling, but that didn’t mean you actually put any effort into looking neat, choosing comfort over style. Your hair was tousled with sleep and clothes a bizarre mix and match of colours. Under most circumstances you wouldn’t have cared. Why would you? You weren’t exactly trying to impress anybody most days, especially not after the shit you’d gone through. But now? You couldn’t help the embarrassment and shame of being seen so casually by an alien creature so perspective. He’d seen how hurt you’d gotten, saw how scared you’d been. You wanted to at least put on the illusion that the incident hadn’t completely derailed your life and mental sanity, that you weren’t letting it rule over you. 

He gave you a small nod in greeting, as if he knew of your plights and accepted you as you were anyways, not caring in the slightest if you were in a full suit and tie or just your pajamas, simply happy that you were here at all. Your legs felt weak and you wobbled back against the wall once more to put some distance between you. There was no offense in his expression and he very slowly tucked his hands behind his back as if to prove to you that he had no intention of harming or grabbing you. You didn’t understand the feeling that gurgled in your chest at that. Relief? Discomfort? Did his presence put you at ease or stress you out? Whatever it was, it was sharp and needled between your ribs.

He opened his mouth to speak and Optimus Prime’s voice was just as holy and otherworldly as you remembered it to be. Rich and deep, calming on a bone deep level that melted the tension from your soul. His words were soft but not a whisper, gentle and quiet and directed at you and for you alone yet still allowing others to hear should they wish to observe. His introduction was short and to the point but not completely impersonal, just simple. Your name however, had never tasted so biblical before, Prime turning it into a prayer full of good tidings and hope. It felt a bit weird having the kids hear your first name, but it was even weirder having an alien know your full government name before you had a chance to introduce yourself, especially one that triggered so many complicated emotions inside you. Eye contact suddenly felt very difficult and you found yourself lowering your head, bringing your chin towards your chest as you looked up at him through your lashes as if doing so would hide you from his all knowing gaze. It didn’t and he tilted his head ever so slightly at your turmoil.

“How are you feeling, little one?”

It was such a simple question but it blew you away regardless. Everything about this bot felt grander than anything Earth had to offer, like everything was at stake. You expected a whirlwind of grandiose speeches about the perils of war his people were in, about how they got here and what was to be expected of you. But instead… He asked if you were okay, using that same soothing voice he had when you were but a miserable soaking wet kitten in his palm. Even called you by that gentle nickname again that left you feeling a lot younger than you actually were, gifted with a yearning for parental comfort and love. You actually flinched, surprise widening your eyes as you stared dumbly up at him, mouth partly agape as you tried to process what he’d said. From over his shoulder you could see the blue lithe bot lean over to glance at you, her brows raised curiously at the two of you. From over his other shoulder you could see the green mech doing the same, his own eyes slightly widened as the two of them exchanged mildly confused glances at each other and towards you. 

“Uhhhh…..” Your voice cracked, eyes bouncing between the two standing behind Optimus like a ping pong ball. Clearing your throat and shrinking in on yourself, absolutely hating all of the attention on you, you smile limply. “Fine?”

Jack groaned loudly from somewhere deeper in the base with all the exasperation his lanky body could hold, his voice carrying easily from wherever he was sitting. “Bullshit!”

Raf quietly gasped in that way kids tended to do when someone said a naughty word, a hint of giddy excitement lacing it considering Jack didn’t just swear. He swore at his teacher.

That got your brain switching back into gear as teacher mode hit you in the back of the head at full swing, Optimus being momentarily forgotten about as duty took over. “Jackson Darby! Language!”

That got a proper quick bark of surprised laughter out of the menacing short mech, her head swiveling somewhere behind her where you assumed Jack was, a teasing grin on her lips. “Damn, used the full name and everything. They got you there.”

“Yeah Jack! Watch your language!” Miko’s voice was mocking as she was full on cackling once more, practically wheezing in her unadulterated joy.

The teenage boy made a noise of disbelief, his shoes squeaking against metal as he stood up. “Oh, like you can talk! You swear the most out of all of us!”

A healthy dose of fear flashed through Miko’s eyes as she glanced at you from the corner of her eye, laughter cut short. “Nuh uh!” She stuck her tongue out at him, very obviously lying.

The friendly bickering started up but despite the growing chaos behind him, Optimus never once took his eyes off of you. There was the slightest hint of a smile on his face, barely an upturn of his lips but you could see it in the way his gaze softened and his head shifted just a touch towards the noise behind him. The expression barrelled you over, all the air slipping from your lungs as you focused back in on him. It basically wasn’t there at all but being this close to his face, it was all you could see and it was an expression of unconditional love and pure endearment in the quietest sense possible. This colourful and loud group of misfits was everything to him and this huge monster of a creature was trying to adopt you into his pack. 

You were suddenly very dizzy. Is this what cats at a shelter feel like? Surrounded by something larger and wiser than you, yet so unknowing of who or what you are, of what you’ve been through, gazing down upon you like you were the reincarnation of love itself with nothing but patience in their eyes? It was a bizarre feeling. You were so much smaller than him, so much younger and naive than him or any of his kin and yet… He was carefully inching you under his wing, slowly so you wouldn’t notice the change but felt the warmth and security that came with it nonetheless. A part of you wanted to resist. And maybe that was why he was being so careful about it in the first place, because he knew you would want to. It wasn’t that you wanted to reject this idea of togetherness, that you didn’t wish for the safety that surely would come by them recognizing you as one of their own, but something deep inside told you that if you accepted this… Then there truly was no going back. No matter how much you cried and bled and pleaded and begged, if you crossed that line then you would never be able to go back to the way things were before. And that terrified you. The last week had been hell and you weren’t entirely sure you would survive another round of that. The boys said that this was a war. A war that didn’t just span decades or centuries but over several millennia. It most likely wouldn’t end in your lifetime or the kids’ and if war brought anything, it was insurmountable amounts of grief and suffering. If something didn’t happen to you, it would definitely happen to these soldiers fighting. Soldiers you would become emotionally attached to should you let them in, let them take you in. This wasn’t just about allowing yourself to make friends, it was about everything around that. The vulnerability of exposing yourself mentally to another, connections made and secrets shared, the comfort and emotions and love you would experience, all to be taken violently away from you and there wouldn’t be a single thing you could do to change or stop that. The truth of the matter was, someone was going to die sooner or later. Someone would get hurt, go missing, go crazy from loss and pain. Someone was going to take it too far and find themselves at the point of no return but be filled with too much despair to even think about turning around. Someone was going to forget who they were and what they were fighting for and you were never ever going to get them back. If you didn’t physically lose someone, you were going to mentally or emotionally lose them and you didn’t know which was worse. Chances are all of these bots had already experienced those things. There were only five of them here. It couldn’t have started that way. They were the only ones left. They were the ones who survived. 

You weren’t ready to make that kind of choice. 

Optimus lowered his voice to a rumbling murmur, bending down even further towards you while his friends were distracted, the sheer compassion and understanding in his eyes washing over you like a fuzzy blanket. “I am pleased to see that you are doing much better.”

You were going to start crying. His voice was so horribly soft and humbling in that moment, dripping in quiet pure relief as he looked you up and down again, gaze lingering on your arms and torso. He was looking for something, pausing as he considered his next words. 

“If you will allow me to be selfish, your injuries… Will you let Ratchet oversee them?” The large mech sounded cautious, like he was aware that asking of such a thing was going to set off a chain reaction of bad events but was willing to face the consequences anyways.

The sound you made in turn was entirely involuntary and was shockingly similar to a bleating goat. “Huh?”

Almost conspiringly, Optimus made a show of looking over his shoulder towards the grumpy bot who was hunched over the terminal they were all standing around before, grumbling loudly to himself over the noise the others were making. It struck you as odd seeing as every movement the larger mech had made so far had a distinct purpose. No excessive energy expended, no exaggerated motions or unnecessary actions, only move when it was required and as much as it required. And then it all clicked into place as you spotted Miko, half hanging off of the bulky green one’s shoulder (whose massive hands were worriedly hovering under her in case she fell, thank god) as she flipped off Jack with a snarky yet mischievous expression on her face. 

He must have learnt that the children responded better to more obvious body language cues and playful actions and was now using them on you because you’re also a human. It made you wonder if any of these bots actually understood how young the trio was or if they knew that you were at a completely different stage of your life to the kiddos. If they knew how much or how little the three younglings understood about the situation they’d all found themselves in.

“I am aware that he comes across as… Rough around the edges, but as a doctor, I trust his judgement more than my own in manners such as this. I am afraid I do not know enough about human biology to say I understood the severity of your injuries until Agent Fowler informed me of such.”

“... Does Ratchet know anything about human biology?” All things considered, this felt like a valid question. You’d think Robo-doctors would have a different skill set to human doctors.

His lip twitched ever so slightly at your words, one of his heavy metal brows shifting up a touch as his eyes jumped back and forth between you and Ratchet. You assumed this was the closest you were ever going to get to a playful expression from the mech. “You have met Miko, have you not?”

The unexpectedness of that sentence bowled you over, a sharp laugh forcing its way out your lips hard enough for your bruised ribs to ache. He wasn’t wrong there, if Miko was involved then a medic most definitely needed to be on site. That likely put Ratchet at a level of knowledge about human first aid where you wouldn’t trust him with an emergency, but you’d let him slap a bandaid on your cuts. Clutching your sides to try and hold off the stabbing pain, you let yourself giggle at his words. It was a clear attempt to try and put you at ease and however weak it was, you were going to let him have it. Joy was hard to find and you weren’t going to let it slip through your fingers if it was to be found. That and he was trying so hard to not scare you, like a massive polite great dane who wanted to play with a baby pug, so painfully aware of his size and sharp teeth but doing his damndest to be gentle regardless. Like Bee, he was doing his best to not overwhelm you and for such an imposing and regal looking creature, it was downright cute as hell.

Optimus paused again as you settled, expression melting back to the blank neutral as he glanced back at his team. You couldn’t see where exactly he was looking but they all seemed too caught up in whatever argument the children had started up to notice. From what you could overhear, Raf and Miko seemed to be fighting about a school project. A science one you were guessing as Ratchet chimed in quite smugly with a fact that proved Raf’s point causing the room to break out in either groans or cheers depending on who was on which side. 

The red and blue bot turned back to look at you and the depth of his worry peeked through the gaps in the brick wall his face appeared to be. It was buried under his mild manner of emoting, brows only just tilted down with the softest crease between them. “Humans recover at a much slower rate than we Cybertronians do, in ways I am unfamiliar with. Will you do me this favour and put my mind at ease, little one?”

You've never really been one to back down easily. You were a teacher, holding your ground was a necessary skill to have, after all. But in that moment as you stared up into the endless blue of Prime's eyes, the way his bottom lip seemed to jut out just a little bit and the way his entire body sagged with concern, you folded like a wet piece of paper.

~-~-~-~

Nothing about this arrangement was okay with you but you had agreed to it therefore you were going to soldier through it, even if you would rather be literally anywhere else right now. You’d been shepherded into an offshoot area of the main lobby space the crew seemingly tended to hang out in the most. You could barely call it a room, the only thing separating it from the rest of the main silo being a massive portable divider that looked like the bots had scrapped together themselves out of old sheet metal. You could see the welding lines where they’d melted roughly thirty or forty of the panels into one large one. It appeared to be some sort of medical bay, one not designed to be here but having to exist anyway out of necessity. The area was filled with all sorts of large tools and doodads you couldn’t even begin to guess the purpose of, with a large flat metal slab in the center which was surrounded in all sorts of terrifying looking lights and screens and mechanical parts. Like a hospital or operation room but much larger in scale and more high sci-fi/post apocalypse in that distinctly alien and ‘I’m making do with what I got’ kinda way.

The only ones left in the base were you, Ratchet, and Optimus as the children had all been taken out to ‘patrol’ with their guardians. You’d finally learned that their names were Arcee and Bulkhead after what you wouldn't quite consider to be introductions. It was more of Arcee gruffly tossing her name at you before speeding out into the tunnel with Jack on her back, while Miko tried to tell you every known fact about Bulkhead within the span of two minutes as he gently ushered her away so they could leave. You’d only managed to catch that his name was Bulkhead and that he was really strong out of the excitable babble Miko dumped on you along with something about monkeys. You were going to assume she was talking about the band Slash Monkeys but knowing Miko, it could have been anything. The space had become oppressively quiet without the extra noise as you came to realise that neither Optimus nor Ratchet were big on idle chatter or small talk. They both seemed to run on a ‘only speak when spoken to’ kind of function and sometimes not even then if the amount of times Ratchet openly ignored you was anything to go off of. Absolutely no unnecessary discussions or words were spoken in the short time you’d been with them. You missed the sounds of your children’s voices filling the space and the silence left you unnerved and uneasy. 

You had barely managed to climb your way on top of a crate which had been put on the most uncomfortably looking metal examination bed in Ratchet’s measly med-bay, and that had been raised up as high as it could go so you could be as close to his eye level as possible. It was a very awkward and makeshift set up as Ratchet clearly didn’t have much in the way for anything smaller than Arcee. Optimus had left the room not long after explaining the situation to the medic and said medic was now quite angrily punching something into the keyboard of his computer, back turned to you as he muttered to himself furiously. Apparently he too couldn’t say no to Prime’s request despite how desperately he wanted to. It was… More than awkward and you were starting to regret ever saying yes, or at the very least, starting to regret not having a way out of this. It wasn’t like Optimus had a kicked puppy expression on his face that you simply couldn’t resist, you weren’t sure the guy even could (he got damn near close considering he had the expressive capabilities of a brick wall), but he’d asked so nicely that you couldn’t help but agree. So here you were. Alone with the bot who’d shown the least amount of tolerance towards you about your very existence, very high up off the ground. You could probably leap off the crate and only maybe sprain your ankle if you fucked up, but getting down from the bed? That might be an impossible task without dying or breaking both your legs. 

Thus you were stuck waiting on the doctor to do something other than ignore you like a moody teenager.

He was silent for a moment, the images on the screens switching to something that looked sort of humanoid in shape and less robo-man than what it had been prior, stripes of techno-babble and weird symbols filling up the sides. If you were to hazard a guess, it was all medical readings and Cybertronian thingie-ma-jigs they’d altered to take human vitals.

“Alright, let's get this done with as quickly as possible. It’s not like I don’t have other much more important things to be doing right now.” Ever the grouch, Ratchet hadn’t even turned to face you, his screens flickering with more strange symbols you couldn’t even begin to process. “Take off your frame coverings.”

Your heart dropped into your gut, splashing around in the empty cavernous space like a dying fish. You were going to assume he meant ‘clothes’. “Uh… All of them?” You sounded disgustingly uncomfortable and you hated it.

“Only the ones hiding your injuries.” Was his clipped response, voice as stiff as his shoulders.

That was your entire upper half. Not great but better than getting stripped butt fuck naked you supposed. Your movements were clumsy and ridged but not having any eyes on you made it a little easier as you let your chest and abdomen be exposed. It was chilly without a top and goosebumps skittered over your arms as you carefully placed the items by your feet. This was worse than any check up you’d ever had at any human doctor, your shoulders hunching inwards in an attempt to cover up without outwardly covering your body. With one last ‘hrmp’ from the medic and a particularly harsh pressing of a button, Ratchet finally turned around to face you with a scowl so deep it rivaled the Mariana Trench. His expression switched the instant he laid eyes upon you though, hands coming up as if to shield himself from you as he flattened himself up against the terminal.

“By the All Spark! How in the Pits are you still functioning?! I might not know much about you squishy organics but I know you aren’t meant to be that colour!” Flabbergasted didn’t even begin to describe how he sounded, horror practically dripping from his face as he looked you up and down.

You choked on your own spit at his sudden outburst, face heating uncomfortably as you barely avoided teetering backwards off the crate. Nothing said ‘lets get you out of your comfort zone’ like stripping for a xenophobic alien doctor, but that reaction was a lot in and of itself. You’d seen the damage you’d taken, of course you had, it was your body that had sustained it. You were only all too aware of how ugly the bruises had become over the past week, time making them only brighter and more colourful as the healing process continued. It was actually a good sign that they were such a sickly array of colours, proof that you were healing and that this will pass, not that it made looking at them any easier. If that was the reaction you were going to receive until you had fully healed, you were quite content keeping them hidden until they were all gone, never letting anyone (including yourself) see them again. 

It took you a second to collect yourself, consistently fighting the urge to cover up and run away from Ratchet’s intense staring as you actually considered his question. Would it be easier to throw yourself down onto the metal cot at this point?

... Probably not. 

The large bot took a step towards you with narrowed eyes as a shiver shot down your spine. Was… His question rhetorical? You were going to answer just in case it wasn’t before he started yelling again. The bot sure as hell had a pair of (metaphorical) lungs on him when he wanted to.

Looking back on that night, you couldn’t deny that you were a bit hysterical at the time and the actions you took seemed exceedingly stupid in hindsight. Though, you weren’t about to discredit yourself. Technically, it was what got you out in the first place, therefore how stupid could something really be if it worked? Ratchet raised his brow at your silence, leaning down closer to get in your face and observe you. It was a little too similar to what Starscream had done and you have to fight the prey instinct in you to fucking run away with a goddamn bat, sweat gathering on your forehead. 

“I… Uh. You know.” You cleared your throat, looking anywhere but the doctor. “...Bit him.”

There was a long five seconds of silence, the orange and white bot freezing in place. It would have been comical if it didn’t look like he was a single word away from snapping. You could practically see the cogs working in his skull, lensed eyes shuttering before zooming in on you.

“What.” 

You wheezed at that, a bolt of fear striking you frozen where you stood. His voice had dropped to a low monotonous blank, not quite confused but more in subtle incredulousness. You licked your lips nervously, shuffling your feet. Something in his chest clicked before the quiet rumble of an engine in idle started. The docbot wasn’t angry per se but he clearly wasn’t in a good mood and it was setting your heart off in an irregular beat. You had no idea what the engine starting meant or if it was a good or bad thing. 

“I bit him.” You felt like a child getting scolded.

“Hmpf. Not what I asked. Your hearing is clearly damaged as well.” Rude. The tinnitus had cleared up about two days ago, your hearing was (mostly) fine now. 

There was another pause as he squinted at you. You had the distinct feeling that Prime might have left out some details on what had actually happened to you and the doctor was putting the clues together. “But that… Worked?” 

Ratchet sounded like you just told him gravity was a made up concept and that you could walk on walls. And frankly, you might as well have. This whole conversation was going to break you. Shirtless, being stared down by the largest doctor on Earth who just so happened to have the worst bedside manners you’d ever seen while he seemed to lose his mind over you biting a plane to save your life. A life that had become a fucking sitcom or something because holy shit how was any of this real? Your diaphragm spasmed painfully as you held back an insane laugh, a hand coming up to hide your face as you tried to shift yourself so you weren’t looking him head on anymore. From his perspective, it looked like you were trying to hide your shame behind your miserably small hands.

“Of course it didn’t! Surprised him, sure, but he didn’t put me down or drop me! Optimus simply took his distraction as an opportunity to disarm him. Literally.” You made a motion to accompany your words, one hand chopping down at the elbow of your other arm. “If that preening peacock took even a millisecond longer to calm himself down, he’d-!” 

You breathed in sharply, forcibly stopping yourself before you could flash back into that moment again. There was a tremor in your hands again and it was a conscious action to tuck them under your armpits out of the doctor’s sight. The movement made you seem all that much smaller as you basically curled in and hunched over yourself, hiding parts of your bruising from him.

His eyes narrowed at you and looking into them turned the glowing cyan blue into a deep bloody red. “Hm. It was Starscream, then?” 

Optimus hadn’t mentioned that?!

The voice rose in pitch, the deep grumbly contemplation transforming into the gritty scratch of a sneering beast and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. Sand filled your shoes and the grains pressed into the soles of your feet harshly. Invisible metal beams coiled around your waist and the faint ambiance buzzing these bots gave off wasn’t helping, alabaster white melting into a slate grey. You could feel your heartbeat pulse in your throat and swallowing suddenly felt like a challenge. Something in your brain was trying to tell you that you were in danger, that the mech in front of you wasn’t Ratchet anymore or maybe never was and it was eating away at your bones. You were in fucking danger and had no where to go. The room smelled of sand and hot metal and fire, vision blurred from the hazy billowing clouds of thick black smoke rising up from behind the monster in front of you. You wanted to step away, get back and out of your reach but you couldn't, not here on your pedestal, a pretty little trinket on display in a cage of glass. Faint outlines of metal claws began to curl around your throat so you let out one last gasp to suck in as much air as you could before it was cruelly cut off and-

“Ratchet.”

It felt like you’d been electrocuted, a near scream escaping your throat as you all but flung yourself away from the large pale face hovering over you that too drew back like it’d been shocked. Your ass met the hard metal of the crate, fingers curling around the edge as you nearly went straight over the side and a dull pain rang up your spine, the air escaping your lungs in a quiet oof. That voice was both like a breath of fresh air after drowning and like a thorn covered whip catching you across the back. Enveloping and swaddling you in a blanket of warmth and safety and dipping you into boiling hot water with the sharp tone it carried. It was grounding and all but bolted you down back into the present, deep and commanding and entirely holy all while oozing with worry like a blade soaked in blood. You couldn’t tell if it was your own or not, nor could you find yourself caring. As long as you could hear that voice again, you’d let yourself be stabbed, again and again, anything to keep the air in your lungs and the menacing grey metal of Screamer free from your mind and body.

There was a sob choking you as you blinked back to reality, spotting the bulky medic first. He looked… Deeply troubled. He’d pulled back away from you, eyebrows drawn low over his tapered eyes with a sullen frown pulling his mouth down as he regarded you like one would a feral spitting kitten with a broken leg. Unsure of how to proceed and yet undeniably aware that something was wrong. One of his hands was awkwardly extended towards you and you realised he’d tried to save you from falling off the edge of the crate but wasn’t comfortable getting closer to you. There wasn’t a word to describe the emotion that made you feel but you could tell that you felt sick. From over his shoulder you spotted the owner of that otherworldly voice that had snapped you out of it. 

Optimus Prime. 

Of course it was. 

Every time you heard him speak you were transported to a church, kneeling at the altar as a being much older than you could ever comprehend looked upon you like a father watching over his child. Something about him was beyond this world in a different way to the others, like there was a weight in his soul that was visible to the naked eye and you struggled to stay still under his all knowing gaze. He made you feel so small and helpless, like a germ under a microscope but at the same time there was something so immensely comforting about him. It was a dichotomy that was going to rip you in half, each desperately tugging you in either direction to try and convince you to commit to one feeling or the other but both were as equally strong as the other. A never ending tug of war. 

The larger bot was standing in the entryway and seemingly was refusing to close the distance between himself and where you and Ratchet stood. His shoulders were tight and his hand partly reached out towards the two of you with his own brows furrowed and lips sunken into a worried frown. You would never describe Optimus as uncertain, but this might just be the closest you’d ever get to it, the red and blue mech letting his arm fall to his side quietly. You hadn’t heard him enter the room, quite a feat considering how loud these bots tended to be when moving. That scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

“I know. I saw it.” 

Your head snapped to Ratchet, eyes practically bulging from your skull. There was no bite or snark in his tone, voice dropping to calm calculated muse as he stared down at you. From what you gathered from both your own very brief interactions and from the stories the kids told, Ratchet was not a bleeding heart. He didn’t do light and gentle. The grumpy old medic was as much bark as he was bite, heavy-handed in anything that didn’t have him elbow deep in someone’s guts, and almost always irritable. The way he looked at you made you feel as if you were just diagnosed with an incurable death disease and no one knew how to break it to you. Made you feel vulnerable and weak and soft. Sick. You weren’t even sure what had made Optimus bark out the medic’s name like that, nor why they were both looking at you as if blinking would make you vanish into thin air. Obviously they had noticed your adverse reaction, you didn't think you were exactly subtle about your near panic attack/trauma flashback but they were acting weird about it and you weren’t sure how to make them stop staring. You were exposed enough without your nipples airing out to the world as is, having both your soul and areolas being laid bare at the same time was too much.

“WELP. THAT WAS FUN.” Your tone indicated anything but, stiff and horrendously awkward as you grabbed your clothes and worked as quickly as possible to dress yourself again, turning your back to the two staring mechs for some semblance of privacy. 

Ratchet openly flinched at your sudden declaration but took no qualms in taking it for what it was, moving back as quickly as he could get away with without looking desperate. Though he didn’t go far, standing just out of reach of you near the terminal, crossing his arms over his chest with a creaking of metal.

Damn it. You were pretty sure Ratchet didn’t even get any readings or whatever it was Optimus actually wanted to get out of you doing this. Give it three days and someone was going to ask for you to do this again, you just knew it.

You could still feel their eyes on you and glancing over your shoulder as you wiggled into your shirt confirmed as much. “... Your mind at ease now?… Or?” 

That had more bite to it than you meant, a flash of guilt creeping over your features. Optimus drew his head back ever so slightly at your uneasy words, his eyes shifting awkwardly to the left as his mouth curled into a tight thin line. The fingers on one of his hands twisted together into a knot, the metal scraping loudly in the silence of the room. You didn’t think robots could sigh as they showed no signs of needing to breathe, but Optimus let out the softest, most defeated sigh you’d ever heard in your life as he took a few very slow steps towards you. Your gut shifted uncomfortably at the sound and you longed for the safety of your home. To be out of this absolute shitshow and back into a place where conversations didn’t feel like walking landmines and personal space wasn’t treated like having a gun pointed at your skull. Hunching over himself to appear as small as possible to you and get closer to your level, the large bot pushed a slight smile onto his face before holding out the flat of his palm to you, in line with the top of the crate.

“Yes, little one. Thank you for indulging me.” You hadn’t been around these guys for long, maybe three hours tops at this point, but you could sniff out the lie Optimus was gifting you. You were learning very quickly that while his expressions were minimal, nothing about the guy was exactly subtle.

That and he lied like your goddamned kids did. Refusal to make eye contact, clunky speech and twitchy fingers, and just so incredibly awkward overall. He did the whole nine yards. Made you wonder if he picked it up from them or if aliens just somehow had the same tells as humans. Either way, you couldn’t find it in your heart to call him out on it. He was just trying so hard.

This whole interaction had seemingly done the exact fucking opposite of putting anyones mind at ease and in fact, made things much worse. Ratchet wouldn’t even look at you before and now his gaze was so intensely lasered in on you, you were worried he was going to burn a hole straight through your goddamn face. And while Optimus had always been remarkably careful with you, he was acting as if breathing in your general direction was going to fucking murder you. That and both of them wouldn’t stop looking towards your torso despite it being covered up again. 

You gave the red and blue bot an awkward smile of your own as no one said anything more. They were waiting for something, Optimus still holding his hand out level to the crate, unmoving. You glanced at it with a raised brow in silence question, nervously rubbing at your arm. This was almost as bad as standing chest out in the middle of the room to get ogled at, the air suffocatingly heavy. What did he want from you? Ratchet raised a brow at the bizarre stand off happening before finally letting out an insanely exasperated sigh with a heavy eyeroll to finish it off as he turned back to the terminal, switching the screens back to the alien nonsense it was before.

“He’s waiting for you to step on so he can put you back on the ground.” The look Ratchet threw at the Prime was just as incensed and tired as the one he gave you, the doctor seemingly very done with everyone in the room.

Oh. 

Oh.

The way Optimus’ shoulders sagged slightly told you he was terribly grateful for the doctor’s intervention of this crumbling interaction and the light uptick of his lips held a much more real smile than his placating expression from before. It was in no way a smile, but for the big guy? That was probably the equivalent of a beaming grin absolutely smothered in relief.

You weren’t sure how to feel about that. You hadn’t let Ratchet touch you to get you up onto the crate in the first place and the medic was more than happy to not have his fingers come into contact with you, but you weren’t sure if you could say no Optimus’ awkward yet kind desire to be helpful and prove to you that you were safe with him and his team. Everything he’d done so far was an indication of such and he was practically going out of his way to show you so. He wasn’t going to crush you or drop you or anything of the sort. But…

You weren’t getting out of this without breaking the guy’s heart. That was becoming increasingly obvious. You knew if you said no, he’d respect it and back away without a second's hesitation nor would he say anything against you. Optimus has been polite to a near fault despite his less than riveting emotional output, if it made you happy, he’d do it without question (within reason, his moral compass seemed strictly stuck on ‘NOBLE’ and ‘FOR THE GREATER GOOD’). But you also knew that his quiet little expression would drop into the most painful neutral to hide the sting of your rejection. He so clearly was already seeing you as one of his own just from how he handled you and you imagined telling him that you didn’t want him to pick you up was probably like having your puppy turn its nose up at you and walk away when you tried to pet it.

“Alright, get out! Primus above, like dealing with sparklings-” You took too long apparently as Ratchet practically stormed over to you to shoo you onto Optimus’ hand like one would a toddler or nosy animal. You were going to need to ask someone later what a ‘sparkling’ was, another burning question to add to the bonfire.

Desperate to not piss the doctor off anymore or get bumped by his invasive fingers, you all but tumbled onto the warm metal of Prime’s palm as Ratchet’s long blocky fingers came wiggling a little too close for comfort. You landed on your hands and knees as the larger mech turned to give his medic a sharp look.

“Old friend…” It was his turn to sound exasperated now, if only just, words ever so slightly tinted in worry and displeasure as his other massive silver hand came up to cradle carefully around you.

“Bah! I know, I know! Now, get! We can talk about it later, I still have work to do.” Ratchet didn’t even turn around, simply waving the two of you off from over his shoulder as he buckled down like a shrimp over the terminal keyboard, muttering away like the grumpy old man he was.

Optimus shot you what you think was meant to be a rueful smile as he brought his hands up to the wide expanse of his chest. It was hard to tell with him. Covering you from almost all sides to ensure you were completely safe in his hold, he strided carefully out into the main room of the base. His steps were slow and steady, barely even rocking you around in the metal fingered cocoon he’d enveloped you in.

Being this close to his chest and practically encased on all sides muffled the world around you and amplified the mechanics happening within his body. The low booming of his steps were felt more than heard and there was all the usual whirring and humming of ambient electrical currents that all bots seemed to make, a constant droning that tasted like static in your ears. There was also the hissing of hydraulics and clicking of gears as he moved, a symphony of robotics all working together to make the many pieces of him into one harmonious being. In all honesty, the soundscape was almost soothing in a way, rhythmic and smooth without any sudden jarring clinks or clanks. Sort of like falling asleep in a car on the highway with the radio faintly playing some sort of gentle alien electronic dribble-drabble. But the sound that got your attention the most was a new one. One you hadn’t heard from any of the other bots thus far and you assumed it was because this was the closest to their main bodies you’d ever been, at least consciously. It was a soft noise that you had to focus on to hear over the orchestra that these creatures were, one that got louder as you pressed your head into the gap between Prime’s windshield boob plates. You felt the mech actually flinch when you got your face between the panels, his hand shifting ever so slightly away from his body but not far enough to let you slip through the gap, clearly surprised at the sensation of human flesh squished between his tiddy seams. That or his pecs were incredibly sensitive and you basically motorboating him was horribly uncomfortable. There was a moment where you forgot that the massive creature holding you was in fact a living being with thoughts and feelings and not just a walking tower of noise soup, having gotten too invested in investigating the source of this new sound as your consciousness caught up to you. A little guilty about startling and groping (god you hoped not) Optimus, you did pull your face out of his glass titties and gently pat the metal just below the glass (you weren’t about to put anymore fingerprints on his windshield) in apology. Peeking up through his fingers showed that he was already looking down at you curiously and you felt your entire face heat up. For first impressions (or however many in you are at this point), you were doing terribly. You’ve sobbed and bled all over him, freaked out like a weirdo at every given chance and now you’ve just smashed your face between his honkers without warning. You silently prayed to god that you didn’t just do something super offensive or sexual in his culture or something, giving him a lopsided wobbly smile. Because there was totally nothing weird about slamming your face into a near stranger’s bodilicious hadonkerdonkers. Not at all.

“I-I uh… I heard something and got curious. Sorry.” Your voice sounded small and you had to clear your throat and start over to make sure he could hear you.

There was a slight pause before the sound of his engine kicked on, startling you away from his body and further into the crook of his palm where his fingers started, staring wide eyed up at him. To his credit, Optimus didn’t look upset or offended in any way and frankly if you were reading him right, he actually looked faintly amused as he tilted his head at you and slowed to a complete stop, engine quietening into a soft idle.

“Heard something?” Oh lord, the bass of his voice vibrated right up through your spine and combined with the rumbling of his engine, your atoms were about to split apart and scatter into a million directions.

Like the terribly awkward person you apparently were becoming, you kind of gaped up at him for a moment before nodding, licking your lips as you tried to find a way to explain it. You hadn’t expected him to indulge in explaining your tremendously unprofessional behaviour and it threw you off kilter. A normal person probably would have dropped you or yeeted your ass across the room like you had rabies or something by now. 

“Ye-uh-yeah. I-I-I mean, you guys all kinda always emit some sort of sound pretty much at all times. It differs slightly from bot to bot, but it’s generally like this… Electrical humming or droning sound? Sorta similar to standing under the power lines or a transmission tower but more… Alien? I mean obvious alien- with you guys being- I mean… Well, you know. And when you move I can usually hear the like… The-the- what's-it’s uhhh... Mechanics? It’s all shifting gears and clicky bits and like metal moving and rubbing together, I don’t really know how else to explain it.”

He didn’t interrupt you or correct you at any point, letting you ramble dumbly up at him and simply unfurling his fingers around you so you both could properly look at each other during this conversation. It was bizarre in a way, the silence that filled the space around you as you tried to gather your words. There was no judgement from the mech and no matter how many times you expected to find some, it was just not there. With all the patience in the world, he waited for you to continue. Like your words actually held importance and you weren’t just desperately trying to prove you weren’t an alien pervert. Where others might have laughed or pointed or stared in confusion, Optimus didn’t. It was like he just didn’t know how to be anything other than kind but you knew otherwise. You’d seen him with Starscream. The broiling rage and frustration that spilled out of him, the roar of his engine filled with spite and murderous intent. It was controlled to a degree, sure, but it was there nonetheless, with an intensity that you hadn’t seen anywhere else in him at all. It had been the most emotion you’d ever seen on him and it was almost all consuming. You could see it in his eyes too, in the way he moved and plainly existed. Optimus Prime moved and spoke like he knew one day when everything was said and done, that he would have to kneel before his god and explain every action he ever took, justify to a being higher than even he that he was worth keeping around for just a little longer. That the means justified the end and he committed the crimes he did for a reason. Not that you could see Optimus committing any crimes, but the bot looked like he would drown in guilt if no one was looking at him at all times. Or even worse, he acted like he would have to beg on his hands and knees to that god that he was actually useless. Plead for it to see that he wasn’t worth anything at all, implore for all that he was that his life and purpose just needed to end already. That he’d done enough, too much. It was like his body was screaming out his intentions for him in soft muted whispers so he didn’t have to.

I’m carrying the weight of thousands of deaths upon my shoulders because it is not a weight I can allow anyone else to carry, this is my burden to bear and when my day of death comes I will beg to Primus to simply let me perish, for I cannot do this no more.

I do not care if this fault was mine to begin with or mine at the end, I will take it all as if it was my own so no other mech shall ever feel this suffering the same as I.

And you didn’t know what to do with it. Not that there was really anything you could do. You’d known the guy properly for not even a day at that point and he was a being literally several millennia older than you. This wasn’t the kind of burden your measly human body was designed to carry, nor was it something he was going to ever be willing to share with another. That just wasn’t the kind of person Optimus was. You didn’t need to know him for very long to see that. Even just hanging around the base with his team, it was like he was trying to pick up every inch of their pain and sadness to be the sole barer, do everything in his power to make sure they weren’t the ones bending and breaking under the pressure. It didn’t matter if it was his to carry, he would take it for you anyways. You could feel it even now in how he treated you. The way he looked in the med-bay as you felt your body all but shatter under hands that didn’t exist in that time or place. There was an anger under the surface, a bubbling pit of venom he wanted to unleash on the creature that made you react like that. He was so concerned, scared almost in his own mild way, but also so incredibly bloodthirsty that you can say you are almost worried about Starscream. None of that hate was directed towards you, but the fear swarmed inside you regardless. It didn’t need to be at you, anything capable of that kind of festering fury was something worth being wary of, even if it bowed down at your feet with flowers and love.

His eyes sparkled like the stained glass of a catholic church when the sun shined through it at just the right angle as he looked down at your comparatively tiny body curled in his palms. There were cracks creeping along the surface like there is the weight of everyone he’s ever known and everyone he’s never met was pressing up against it, ghosts lingering somewhere beneath the surface with neon blood splattered across the glass but like a curtain, he hid it away and buried it deep down out of sight all to indulge the pitiful little lifeform puddled in his hands. 

You almost didn’t want to talk anymore. Just looking at him was like feeling hundreds of hands pushing down on your shoulders and you knew it was because he was fighting a different kind of war that his soldiers were. You didn’t know what kind and it wasn’t your place to ask, so you didn’t. You did the next best thing. You continued blabbering like the idiot you were, and acted out as the biggest distraction you possibly could be. He may unnerve and frighten you sometimes, but he was undeniably a goodhearted and compassionate person. He didn’t deserve your fear and you weren’t going to let it cloud your interactions with him. Frankly, the guy kinda looked like he just needed a hug every now and again and if you can metaphorically provide that (seeing as size kinda made it hard to do literally), then you sure as fuck were gonna hug the shit outta him. There was a heartbreaking softness he was trying to show from under all his grief and you were going to make sure that for even for a second, that by being the weirdest dumbass he’d ever seen, that he could let that grief settle in his bones (bones? Metal bones.) instead of swallowing him whole. 

“It’s just that your chest makes a different sound, right between your windshields. I’ve heard all those other noises from like Bee and Ss-uh-Star-scream….” Your throat closes up against your will and a spike of panic slinks through your heart before you could finish your thought.

God, fuck! Enough with the fear over someone who wasn’t even in the room! Starscream wasn’t here and you knew that! He couldn’t get you here and you were safe, surrounded in thick heavy concrete and warm living metal that was surprisingly quite protective of you. At this point, it was just a fucking name! And yet… Your body had seized up and your bruises throbbed painfully under your clothes. And worse, now Optimus was looking at you with that same look he had before in the med-bay. Tight-lipped, tensed shoulders and his fingers flexed around you, the cabling in his neck snapping taunt with a low heavy creaking of straining metal. Pity without pity because that was too strong of an emotion for the mech to openly express. You were trying to distract him from being the martyr he was so intent on being, trying to be just a silly little guy to stop him from looking like he has the weight of every sin pressing down on him, to not make it worse by being a sad and scared drowned rat in his hands. 

Your hands were shaking and it felt like there was something living inside your throat, a worm coiling and wriggling through the rings of muscle. You tried to push it away, shoving your hands down flat onto Optimus’ palms for the stability they held. The solid metal under hand was unmoveable, grounding and didn’t give any room for your hands to tremble so you cleared your throat and worked around that string of anxiety squirming through you.

“You-yo-your chest-” Your voice broke and with a furrow of your brows you ignored it, staring determinedly up into the glowing blue eyes of Prime. It was just a name. Starscream wasn’t here. You were safe, cradled in the hands of Optimus. “Underneath all the humming a-and whirring and metal sounds, there is this… Rhythmic pulsing? It reminded me of a heartbeat but more… Electric.”

If Prime could tell what you were doing, he didn’t say so. The tension didn’t quite leave his body but he pressed that neutral expression back onto his face and let his fingers relax around you once more as he hummed in recognition. It seemed for your sake, he too was trying to ignore the obvious lingering pain and terror inside you and act as a distraction for you. And apparently you both utterly sucked at it, but were trying so hard and were so earnest about it that neither of you had the heart to call the other out.

“Hmm. That would most likely be my spark you are hearing. I am… Surprised you are able to pick up on any of the things you are describing.” He didn’t sound surprised, more contemplative than anything else. Suspicious was a close second. But like, if suspicion was a La Croix flavour.

“Spark? And uh… Why wouldn’t I be able to hear all that stuff? You guys are kinda really loud in pretty much every aspect to be honest. It’s actually scarier when I can’t hear you in some way or another.” 

A flash of surprise crossed his eyes as he looked down at you, pausing in thought before continuing his trek across the room until he reached a platform. Of everything in the base you’d seen so far (not that you’ve seen particularly much at this point), this was the first place you’d seen with human sized objects. It was a bit of a collage dorm set up, the surface littered with a variety of human items. In the middle was a busted coffee table being held up by a cement block with an old dingy couch pushed up next to it, an even older TV lined up on the other side, the screen as wide as it was long. You hadn’t even seen a CRT TV since you were kid and were surprised they managed to find one that still worked. All the furniture was obviously secondhand, things one of the bots most likely picked up off the curb before trash day and brought in for the kids to use. Evidence of their presence was everywhere in this space. Homework sheets were scattered over the table with a handful of pencils and pens, a K.O Burger uniform hat that probably belonged to Jack, two controllers plugged into the ancient game console under the TV, Raf’s laptop charging on the arm of the couch, a couple of Miko’s hair ties and charms on the floor where they’d fallen off of whatever they’d been tossed onto. It was honestly cozy for what it was. With all the care in the world, Optimus lowered his hands flat to the platform to allow you to step off, which you did after a second to make sure he wasn’t about to suddenly move or anything. 

“Most Cybertronians cannot hear this ambient noise you speak of. I assume it sits at a frequency most cannot hear or that we simply block it out, though I am aware that medical personnel such as Ratchet can hear it.” Optimus pulls back, standing to his full height once more, gaze drifting off to somewhere in Ratchet’s direction as he speaks softly. “As for what a spark is…”

Optimus paused, seemingly thinking about whether or not he wanted to continue speaking, his eyes calculating and focused on you with a whirl of his camera-like eyes that zoomed in on your form. It was a little weird that he was hesitant but the gap in conversation allowed you to properly think about the implications of what he’d just said. It certainly was an interesting bit of information but more importantly, it was information at all. Your never ending curiosity was finally going to get fed something and your brain happily was latching onto absolutely anything it could get its hands on. The idea that the vast majority of the robo-alien population couldn't hear this constant buzzing they all made because it simply wasn't needed was beyond fascinating. You wondered if that would be like the equivalent of humans being able to hear each other’s blood flowing through their veins. Were the bots built (you still didn’t know if they were born or built or what) into a specific caste with a predetermined function? Or did they modify themselves at a later date with the parts they needed to do the jobs they wanted to do? Your eyes were practically sparkling as you filed that tidbit of information away, doing your best to not start bouncing excitedly on the spot at the prospect of receiving more knowledge. You were an adult, you were cool, calm and collected over the idea of learning about giant alien robots.

Your entire body was practically shaking with unadulterated excitement, knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the railing of the platform as you stared up at the answer to all your questions. You probably looked like a fucking chihuahua with how badly you were trembling, practically drooling for any scrap of knowledge. Optimus wisely chose to ignore your quiet near feral need to learn, instead coming to the decision to indulge in you and let out a quiet rumbling, like his engine just switched gears as his eyes moved towards the divider Ratchet and his med-bay were hiding behind. 

“A spark doesn’t have a human equivalent in the traditional sense but the closest would be that of both a heart and soul in one. It is our core and sends electronic pulses throughout our frames, akin to how a human heart ‘pumps’ your lifeforce through yours, though that is where the similarities end. Unlike organics, when a Cybertronian goes offline they do not cease per se, not entirely. His spark will persist after death and will transcend into what we call the Well of Allsparks, even if their frame is no longer with us. What happens after that is up to debate, both scientifically and religiously. Some say your spark is reused and will be transferred into a new frame and given a new life and some say that it will forever stay in the Well with Primus, others are convinced that there is simply nothing at all.”

It was sounding scarily similar to how humans theorised what happened after death. The idea of reincarnation, endless nothing voids or a heaven with a God. You were assuming that was who Primus was. You’d heard Ratchet say the name in vain a few times now in a very parallel manner to how one might yell ‘Dear God!’ or something along those lines. There were a few words your brain had to translate through that, but you felt as if you understood. Frames were bodies, to go offline was to die, Primus was a religious figure.The spark was the power source. His hesitance to speak on the matter made a little more sense now. You're not sure if you would feel comfortable openly telling an alien about the massive weak spot in the middle of your body either. Not like you would do anything with that information. 

“Humans may not have a physical soul like you, but some believe that we do have one and that it persists after the body dies. In fact, a lot of what you just said resonates with theories we have about our own afterlife. Reincarnation, existing in a space with a god, the idea that there isn’t anything after death at all. You call it the Well, we call it Heaven. Some people believe that if you die before doing everything you set out to do, that if you have unfinished business, your soul actually gets stuck here on Earth as a ghost. An incomplete fragment of yourself, an afterimage or incorporeal body that can’t properly interact with the world around them or even be seen. Of course we don’t have any proof of or proof that isn’t what happens, nor are we likely to get any but… It’s interesting to think about. Even more so now knowing that you guys think the same.”

Optimus tilted his head at your words, eyes drifting back to you as you spoke. “It is indeed… Bizarre that our philosophies are so alike despite the distance between our homes.”

If that wasn’t the perfect opening for some of your more basic questions, you didn’t know what was. “Speaking of… Would you mind if I asked you about some things? I have so many questions and I think I am genuinely going to go insane if I don’t find out as much as I can about you guys. I have no idea how the kids haven’t gone nuts trying to figure you all out.”

Ratchet snorted loudly from his terminal, his voice travelling easily through the open space, having clearly been listening to you both from the med-bay. “You’d be surprised! They may have not asked much but the questions they did… Ugh.”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped you, one of your hands coming up to hide your smile. That sounded about right. You imagined that Miko didn’t ask anything about history or culture or general knowledge but went crazy on the non-important things. You could hear it now. Can you deadlift a train? Do you eat metal pipes for breakfast and steel beams for dinner? How much do you weigh? Can you turn into a monster truck?

The red and blue mech paused at Ratchet’s interjection, a soft hint of a smile creasing the corners of his eyes before gently lowering himself down onto one knee before you once more, leaning down to be perfectly eye level with you. You don’t think you could ever get used to something as majestic and otherworldly as Optimus bowing down before you, the sight just so much. You were too small, too insignificant for such patient attention. It honestly choked you up a bit and you had to take a step back, the size difference between you overwhelming. Being the same height as his face was more than a little menacing but being face to face with that was even more so. He didn’t say anything as you put space between you, his expression shifting just a touch as if he wanted to show you that he wasn’t offended at your action. 

“I am sure you have many questions and I would be quite happy to answer them all if I am able, but first there is something of utmost importance we must discuss.” The kindness in his voice did nothing to stop the jolt of anxiety that sprang through you, a shaky smile pulling at your lips.

Of course there was much to discuss. From what you gathered from the boys, this was most likely going to be the spiel you expected when you first entered the base. What they were going to do with you, whether or not you were going to become a trusted member of this task force or not, probably something about Fowler and the government and what they were going to do with you. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was going to be talks of someone keeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t spill the beans or something along those lines. Each child had their own watchful eye hovering around them and nearly all times, like a bodyguard so it would make sense for you to have one too. Though, your options are a bit slimmer with the grumpy doctor who does not tolerate your presence in the slightest or the almost anxious and quietly depressed commanding officer of an army being the only two left. That was if you were going to be staying with them at all. You didn’t see why not, but there really wasn’t any way of knowing until it happened. While Optimus seemed quite interested in keeping you around for whatever reason, Ratchet and Arcee appeared to more or less disagree with that idea. You couldn’t say anything about Bulkhead’s opinion considering you’ve only shared a mere half an interaction with him and while Bee was very sweet and curious, that didn’t actually tell you much about whether or not he wanted you around or if he was just interested because you were new. You knew the kids would be thrilled to have you join them in this clubhouse, but frankly, none of this was up to them. You didn’t even know if you wanted to stay. 

Yes, this was exciting in every sense of the word. Real life fucking aliens! Government secrets and adventures beyond your wildest dreams! That was raw excitement being handed to you on a silver platter while every other plate held nothing but boring adult life shit. Taxes and trying to figure out what you were going to eat for dinner that night and bills. But this was also war. Danger and fear and none of it was safe. You’ve already nearly met the business end of an encounter with their enemy and was incredibly lucky to make it out to the other side with minimal injury. Who was to say that luck would last? Was the adrenaline rush and adventure worth your life? It was a lot to consider. And if you did turn your back on everything, could you in good conscience leave the kids behind? Sure, they were happy here. These bots did seem to genuinely care about them and their safety from what little you’ve seen but that doesn’t change the fact that the kids were kids and the aliens were aliens. A lot of humans didn’t know how to look after children, how could these metal spacefarers possibly know how to without outside input? 

“Yes… I imagine so.” The words were softer than you would have liked, thoughts swirling and swarming over your mind like a heavy fog, pros and cons having an Ace Attorney battle to try and prove their points. 

You sounded as distracted as you felt and it took more effort than you would have liked to meet his eyes, still kneeling down before you, hunched awkwardly. “Would you uh… Like to go somewhere else so you don’t have to bend over like that? It doesn’t exactly look comfortable…” 

Optimus considered your words and shook his head, instead shifting so he was sitting down on the ground. The sight was beyond comical, long shapely legs bent close to his torso so that if he leaned forward he’d be able to place his chin on them, his hands resting there in the meantime. His fingers tapped against his shins in thought, eyes focused heavily on you. The seriousness in his expression was throwing you off with how silly he looked, this massive creature sitting on the floor like a child would during story time, too big for the space he’s allowed for himself, all so you wouldn’t strain your neck looking up at him nor he put any unnecessary tension in his back hunching down to your level.

“Ready?”

You nodded, leaning back against the couch to get comfortable yourself. “Whenever you are.”

Chapter Text

There was always going to be some degree of confusion going into this, even if you weren’t getting a run down on years of complex history like you wanted. You knew when you finally did get the footnotes, that it was going to be a very long conversation. Optimus had made it no secret that there was a lot of background not only between himself and the Decepticon leader, but also behind Cybertron and its citizens leading up to the eventual catalyst for the conflict that had consumed their lives. And that was ignoring all of the alien terminology that was going to be thrown around. Between understanding the complicated web of events and political action that spurred the death of an entire planet and its society, and trying to translate what were likely just basic words to Optimus into a human equivalent, your brain was going to be getting one hell of a workout. But since neither of you had really given yourselves enough time to sit down and have him properly explain through everything he wanted to, mainly due to the kids having only been taken out of the base momentarily and were likely to be on their way back any time now, this talk was put on the backburners for moment. And so you were asked to make do with simply discussing plans for moving forward, something that needed to happen anyways. As much as you wanted to soak up every bit of information like a sponge in regards to how things got as bad as it has, you understood his wish to keep the kids as separate from the war as much possible despite their involvement with the rest of the team already. Considering you felt the same in regards to keeping them out of the conflict and allowing them to remain ignorant to the horrors of war, you let the issue go to be content with just planning.

“I do apologise,” The large mech’s voice was as smooth and deep as ever, tinged in hints of regret as he stared up at you from his awkward seat on the ground, your name silky and regal on his lips in ways it's never been before. 

There were multiple meanings behind that apology, the weight too heavy for just one, though the rattling discomfort in your head prevented you from dissecting it much further than that. This felt like it was about to be another very awkward conversation and you just hoped it involved less nipples or feelings of extreme guilt this time around.

“It was never my intention for you or any human to get involved in our problems and thus, deeply regret that your life was put needlessly in peril. But alas, I am afraid I must ask you to remain here with us.”

The feeling inside your chest was uncomfortably familiar at this point, a deep seeded itch that demanded more from you than you could offer it. A part of you predicted this would be the outcome of course. Jack mentioned that Optimus would let you go should you ask of it, but realistically, how free from this would you really be? You’d gotten yourself stuck into this mess pretty fucking deep and to think that you’d be able to walk away with no consequences was just naive. No, just plainly stupid. 

The red and blue bot sighed quietly at your silence, deep icy blue eyes staring into yours with a swivel as they zoomed in on your form. “You have not only directly been seen by a Decepticon as a perceived ally of the Autobots, but with Starscream of all mechs being the one who interacted with you, it is likely he took my actions against him as your own.”

That gave you pause, the pit in your stomach growing. “I’m sorry, what ?” He did not just say that, did he? You expected there to be some degree of malice on the Decepticon’s end, though maybe not directly towards you considering lack of actual fighting within that conflict. You bit a fucker for getting handsy with you, sure but you weren’t the one who shot him from the sky and cut his arm off. “Are you honestly telling me that… Bitchscream thinks I’m the reason he lost his arm? That he thinks I am a threat?” 

Your voice wobbled on the grey bot’s name and a spike of rage prickled through your discomfort at the show of weakness. Even coming up with stupid nicknames for him didn’t take the edge away and it was getting hard to find work arounds. You’d like to have at least one conversation with these aliens that didn’t involve some sort of mental breakdown or panicking.

The way Optimus tilted his head sat somewhere between cute and ominous, the action itself endearing and bizarrely human on him, but menacing in the context. “While not directly, there is a high chance that he likely believes that if you had not been there then he would have won that fight. Starscream is… Known to be quite confident in his skills, even if the situation speaks otherwise.” 

What a diplomatic way to call someone an egotistical bitch. 

He looked strangely apologetic at that in a way you could only akin to an animal. Your brain was registering the non-verbal cues as regretful and repentant but you couldn’t physically pick any of them out. Like when looking at a picture full of random objects and being asked to point a single one out, you couldn’t. You could have been projecting all things considered, that neutral flat expression staying ever the same.

“Oh.” So Screamer was a narcissist? Who could have seen that coming ? “Shocker.” 

Your tone indicated the exact opposite. You may have only spoken to Starscream once and it had been less of a conversation as it was an absolute shitshow, but it had been very obvious that the fighter jet had an extremely high opinion of himself. Your unimpressed statement seemed to get a very amused snort out of Ratchet, who you’d forgotten was working away on the other side of the room in his med-bay, hidden behind that metal divider. You flinched harder than you’d like to admit at that, swallowing down your palpitating heart with a forced calm.

Either purposely ignoring his old friend, or just simply not finding the blank delivery of your words as funny as the medic did, Optimus continued. “While I do not believe that he sees you as a threat, I am concerned that if given the opportunity, Starscream will try to use you to exact revenge on me and redeem himself. Either way, him being aware of your presence puts you in danger and that is not something I can allow.” His eyes narrowed into sharp blue slivers at this, a hint of a frown tugging at lips. 

You raised a brow, trying to read between the lines of exactly what he is saying. While not actively trying to hide his meanings, you were finding that Optimus had a very roundabout way of speaking, saying a lot without ever saying exactly what he was thinking. “Are you suggesting… What? I get a bodyguard to follow me around at all times or…”

You make a very vague gesture towards the hallways going deeper into the base. You didn’t want to say it out loud in case speaking it would manifest it into existence, but you wanted to be certain that he wasn’t about to lock you up inside this silo for ‘your safety’. It didn’t sound like something Optimus would do, but it would make you feel better hearing him directly tell you no.

It appeared that your assessment of Prime was correct as the mech actually looked astounded at your implication. Well, for him at least. His brows both went up slightly as his eyes widened just enough for you to see the way the lenses rapidly zoomed out and his head jolted back like something with sticky fingers just tried to touch his face. His shoulders creaked as the cabling in his neck tightened and he pulled his knees a little closer to his chest as a frown pulled heavily at his lips. It was the strongest emotion you’d seen on him since he’d chopped Starscream’s arm off and the sheer sadness radiating off of him took you aback.

“While your safety is of the utmost importance to us, little one, we would never keep you here against your will. Freedom is the right of all sentient creatures and that includes allowing you the ability to think for yourself.” You may have been imagining it, but for a moment you could have sworn that Optimus actually sounded hurt that you would think he would do something like imprison you. “That is not something I, nor anybody can take from you.”

The sound of his voice and the utter defeat and anguish in his body language tugged uncomfortably at your heartstrings and before you realised it, you were backpedalling. “No, no ! Of course not! I-I mean, I didn’t think you would but I just wanted to be certain, cover all my bases, you know? I uh… Appreciate your dedication to keeping me from harm's way, it-it’s just… I have responsibilities that I can’t neglect. And I have work tomorrow. I’ve been away from the school long enough as is and I would really like to see all my kiddos again, yeah?”

It was Sunday today, right? You hadn’t quite been keeping track of the days considering everything else that had been going on. Taking into account that Jack and Raf showed up at your door at like noon however, you sure as fuck hoped it was a weekend. 

Your panicky confirmation seemed to relax the large bot, his posture shifting to that semi-loose ease he was at before while his long boxy fingers tapped awkwardly against his shins in a mindless rhythm. “I can understand the wish for clarity… That is very prudent of you.”

The awkwardness was creeping in again and like a giant sheepish dog, Optimus was struggling to keep eye contact with you, his gaze lingering on the entryway to the tunnel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was hoping for his team to return from their patrols to interrupt this slow motion trainwreck of a conversation. The silence was loud and all you could hear was the faint muttering of Ratchet who’d apparently run into another bug in his system if the sudden creative human swearing was anything to go off of. You didn’t think he’d be a fan of English but then again you didn’t know if they had the words in any Cybertronian language to string together a sentence like ‘unloveable lifeless fecal-receptacle made from the broken remains of a failed conjunx (a what?), even shadowplay (didn’t know what that meant either) wouldn’t be able to fix your ass-douche soaked processor’.

You didn’t think Ratchet knew what a douche or an ass was but the ludicrousness of it all was immaculate. It took every bit of adult maturity and control you had in you to not piss yourself laughing, eye twitching from your restraint. Your ribs twinged from the impeded laughter, shoulders barely shaking as you struggled to not let loose. Optimus didn’t even raise a brow at the medic’s psychotic babbling and you were going to just assume that it must be at least somewhat normal for Ratchet to explode at his computer for the Prime to not call the other out on his language. That or his control over his emotions/lack of ability to emote was simply that insane.

There was another stretch of silence as the docbot seemingly fixed whatever problem he’d run into or at the very least got past it, the red and blue mech still not looking in your direction. He was either lost in thought about something very important or actively hating the silence as much as you but also had no idea how to break it without being weird.

“I don’t need a bodyguard either.”

You hadn’t quite meant to just blurt that out as bluntly as you did, but the combined uneasy quiet and lack of reaction towards Ratchet losing his mind in the background was driving you mad. That and you felt that the statement was true. You didn’t think you needed one as you had no plans of going anywhere out of town by yourself ever again and it wasn’t like you went to many places within town as is. You were always roughly in one of three places: the school, your home or the local grocery store. All of which tended to be full of eye witnesses, excluding your house (unless you counted Mrs. Evans nosiness) which you were feeling fairly confident about Starscream not knowing the location of. If you were going to come here to the base, you imagined that one of the other bots would bring you over when they went to pick up the kids or you would simply drive over to yourself. It wasn’t far out and if something were to happen, they would all be nearby and able to help or worse case, you could probably be able to speed straight back into the town and hide somewhere in plain sight. Regardless, you were sure there were options you could take to keep yourself safe and alive that didn’t include getting the celebrity treatment of having armed guards floating around.

There was another very long pause as Optimus finally turned his head to look at you once more, expression unreadable and entirely blank. Something coiled unhappily in your guts. Would it kill the guy to throw you some bones? You hadn’t exactly mastered the art of reading the intricate microexpressions of his granite slab of a face yet.

“The children mentioned you a lot over the past week. It appears that you’ve been greatly missed at your place of employment.”

That didn’t surprise you. You adored your kids just as much as they seemingly adored you and you were certainly missing them. What did surprise you however, was that Optimus was bringing this up now. He was either straight up ignoring your request or had been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard it. The way his entire focus was pinned onto you said otherwise to both those theories though, gaze basically piercing through your soul. There was a purpose to that statement and he was working you both towards it. A redirect to put the ball back in his court.

“I imagine so. A week is a long time for a teacher to not show up to class. I look forward to going back.” 

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the uncomfortable confrontation to start, for the something, the whatever it was that building to finally hit the crest and break over you. This was starting to feel like that conversation with Fowler all over again, weird half meanings being said without anything actually getting spoken, all hidden behind oddly concerned words. The look in his eyes was heavy, crushing almost as he stared you down with that impassive almost clinical expression. There was a point being made here and he wanted you to get it without him having to spell it out for you. You were already missing when this was just weird and not some sort of a strange guess who mind game.

“They were worried, as was I.”

Oh god , you knew what he was trying to do. 

Could you call it guilt tripping when the guy doing it was actually worried about you? Fuck it, you were going to call it that regardless and you weren’t going to let it work. Anything that comes out of this was going to be of your own volition. Your choice. No overly sweet and caring big boys were going to sway you into doing what they wanted, not when the decision was likely going to impact every facet of your life, for the rest of your life.

“Optimus… Look, I get it. You’re… Concerned . Fair enough. I’ve had a total of one encounter with the Decepticons and it had been a very close call, I understand that but…” You bit your lip as your mind jumbled a mishmash of words around in your skull. How do you articulate to a giant metal mother hen that you doubted you would be in any danger should you just stay within the city limits without entirely discrediting their fears?

“I’m not exactly the most exciting person in Jasper.” That felt like a good start. “I don’t leave my house for anything other than work or for food and both of those places have a tendency to be filled with other people. These guys are trying to stay under the radar like you, right? So if I stay in open public places, then I should be fine.”

Despite his expression not changing, you felt that he was distinctly unimpressed with your argument. Okay, time to change tactics slightly.

“There are only so many of you guys, I don’t want to be taking up your time or limited resources. The kids are young, reckless! They’re always going out and doing things without thinking but I’m an adult. I don’t need someone looking out for me like they do. And I highly doubt you have the time to be my guardian nor do I imagine Ratchet is going to volunteer himself.”

Optimus’ brow twitched up a smidge as if he was trying to find a fault in your argument before the loud crunch of shifting metal echoed through the base as the divider separating the med-bay from the main lobby was roughly pulled back to show the miffed face of Ratchet. Instantly Optimus was on his feet as the medic stormed over, a thunderous look lining the metal of his face.

“ That’s it! I’ve had enough listening to you both stumble around in circles like overcharged minibots! Optimus, you know I would do just about anything for you, but this… Fleshling is correct.” 

Was that a slur for humans? Couldn’t say you knew how to feel about that considering he was technically helping your case but he certainly could have done it without that particular term of nonendearment. If he saw the distaste in your pinched brows, he quite openly was ignoring it.

“No one in the team, especially the two of us, have the time or resources to accommodate another human. We are struggling enough as is with Megatron growing only stronger with every passing cycle! Give them back to Fowler and let the fleshies deal with their own, just as we should be thinking of ourselves! And you heard them! They don’t want our assistance, so there’s no point in giving it.” Ratchet sounded more than just vexed and that vague terror you’d felt back in the med-bay was slowly looming back over you once more. “I certainly will not tolerate having an organic placed under my care.”

Reminding yourself that you were safe here felt more like fighting against the ocean, a tremor running up your legs and through your fingers as looking at Ratchet brought a similar feeling to looking at Starscream. You weren’t seeing the skinny flybot in the medic anymore, his eyes staying blue and his face white, instead seeing the medic as a threat in his own right. The glare he was giving you paired with his apparent outright hatred of humanity was only fueling that feeling, a distinct prey-predator instinct itching at the back of your mind for you to get the fuck outta dodge. Something in your chest burned and you could hear your racing heart under the ambient droning of electrical currents and mechanical parts. It skipped a beat as a realization prickled through the back of your building discomfort and scratching fear. 

You were technically alone here. 

The only people here were the two Cybertronians and yourself. The aliens . There were no other humans here and the closest was most likely in town which was nearly a twenty-five minute drive away or the kids . You didn’t have your car. You were brought here. You couldn’t leave by yourself and you were trapped away from civilization with an alien that looked like he wanted you dead and one that refused to let you out of his sight, locked onto your every movement like you’d turn to dust if he wasn’t there.

The room spun with black dots as you leaned back against the couch before you could drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, ribs aching from the strain. Don’t faint, don’t faint. Just get this over with and have Bumblebee take you home. Just hold on until the kids come back. You are fine. You are fine .

The larger bot’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line as he approached his comrade, hand falling upon his shoulder with a light squeeze. There was a reprimanding edge to his eyes now and you were suddenly, uncomfortably, reminded that Optimus Prime was an alien military general . “I understand and have taken note of your concern, old friend , but I am afraid this is more than Agent Fowler and his allies will be able to handle alone. Our teacher has likely become the target of a very powerful enemy that even we have not been able to rid ourselves of thus far. I will not be putting their livelihood in any more risk than it already is, do you understand ?” His voice was deeper than it had been before, laced with warning and disapproval.

You felt like the rope in a game of tug of war, each side vying for a certain outcome for you but neither willing to give up on it or compromise. It was starting to look a lot like any chances of you actually having a say was rapidly vanishing before your eyes. So much for ‘freedom being the right of all sentient creatures, including your ability to think for yourself’. The more likely outcome at this rate was the rope snapping in two, right in the middle. No one wins and everyone falls ass first into the mud.

Ratchet grumbled under his breath, seemingly debating how worth it this battle actually was before making eye contact with you, the blue turning to sharp slits as his lip curled in disdain. Worth it enough apparently. “ Hrrmp . Yes, yes, of course . Starscream, if I am not mistaken, no?”

“Indeed.” Optimus gave a singular solid nod, turning his own gaze to you. “It was no fault of their own and they should not be blamed for what transpired. It was my own carelessness that put them in danger in the first place.”

The shorter bot tensed up at that, a hot burning flash of rage crossing his face as he grabbed Optimus’ forearm with a snarl on his lips. He didn’t say anything but the looks they exchanged spoke louder than any words could. Ratchet didn’t approve of that statement and Optimus wasn’t willing to let go of his opinion on it. Another stalemate between the two and while the sentiment behind this one was sweeter than the other, it was just as tense and heavy.

The sorrow in Optimus’ voice was nearly enough to shatter your fragile heart, your throat rapidly closing against your will. You just wanted to go home. To be away from here and the confusing bundle of emotions these towering beings invoked in you. You wanted Optimus to not look so sullen and for Ratchet to not ( be an asshole ) have to be so on guard all the time and for your children to be safe and happy and-

There was a burning behind your eyes and blinking did nothing to fade the ache as you found yourself pushed up against the railing to get as close to these giants as you could, fear of Ratchet being pushed aside in favour of protecting your kids’ happiness. That happiness just so happened to be the happiness of giant aliens fighting in a never ending war against themselves as well as their enemies. You were fighting a losing battle but you were fighting nonetheless. 

You weren’t sure how long you could hold on. 

You were already bleeding and the fight had just begun.

“Optimus-”

The piercing muted rage in the medic’s eyes almost stopped you entirely, the growing urge to defend your gentle protector ebbing away under the layers of building fear but you swallowed it down as you snapped your eyes to Optimus. If you just didn’t look at the orange and white bot, you might make it through this without crying.

“Don’t… Blame yourself. I don't, so neither should you. It-you-I mean-… You had no way of knowing that I was out there and it wasn’t like you intentionally threw Starsc-ee-star-... him at me. You didn’t know that he would try and use me as a bargaining chip or anything. It wasn’t like you told him to-”

Your voice was trembling as much as your hands were and was starting to fail you under the weight of your terror. This whole thing was just too much for you at this point and probably had been for a while. You’ve only been here for what? Three hours, not even? And you’ve already had at least one mental breakdown, flashed the local xenophobe your nipples, sworn in front of an alien and the kids, groped and motorboated the leader of an army, and embarrassed yourself in more ways than you ever had before in your life. You’d say that was probably considered as ‘too much to handle/deal with’ for most people. 

Awkward conversations were one thing. That , you could handle, you’ve had plenty of them in your life. Your entire existence for the past week had been nothing but awkward conversations! They sucked sure, but you could often get through them and out to the other side relatively unharmed. This however, was more than that. The restrained animosity from Ratchet, the sudden tension that had bloomed between two friends who must have been through hell and back together as they argued over what to do with you, the constant whiplash between fearing for your life and experiencing just about every other emotion under the sun within a two minute time period. The way you’ve never felt safer before in life despite being in the most danger possible. The way that safety didn’t feel warm and as secure as it should have. You hated them as much as you wished them well, you wanted to leave as much as you wanted to stay, you were a walking paradox of contradictions and confusion.

It was too fucking much and you were cracking under the weight of it.

They were all just as concerned for their own lives, the lives of their only remaining friends, as you were for your own and while you weren’t technically a liability to them, Optimus was determined on making you one. 

His hands weren’t strong enough to save from this pressure and was in fact pushing it down harder without even realising.

Ratchet opened his mouth to yell at you, probably to tell you to shut up because a human like yourself didn’t, couldn’t , know anything, a blazing fire twisting his eyes into knives ready to cut you open before abruptly stopping. The metal of his jaw clicked shut loudly as a deep frown formed over his face, eyes zooming in on you. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you, this confused and deeply affronted displeasure, an unsure sense of second hand sadness he didn’t know what to do with like you’ve personally wronged him and the fact you were upset about it upset him. You didn’t know what caused his swift change in mood. It scared you. Put you on edge. It was like most of the aggression aimed towards you was drained from him and was puddling into the seams of his body, his hands balling tightly into fists as his shoulders tensed with a low long creak of bending metal filling the sudden silence of the silo. 

Rage without anywhere to put it because apparently you weren’t an option anymore.

Something tickled your cheek and with a struggling heaving breath you realised you were crying again, wet salty tears dribbling down your face and choking you from the inside out. The entirety of your torso throbbed from the stuttering gasping you let out, bruises aching from each rapid expanding of your chest.

Ah . 

So that’s what happened.

God fucking damnit, so much for having at least one conversation without crying. Big ass shitbot felt awkward about yelling at you since you were already sobbing like a little bitch.

It pissed you off. 

All of it did . The nonstop crying, the hesitance shown in regards to how to handle you or treat you, the fear and confusion and constant worrying and panicking. The not knowing where to go next, having to pick through molten pools of word soup to garner true meanings from second hand sentences, having no clue what was going on or why. 

Ratchet .

Just pick a fucking lane Doc , lash out like a prick or keep your distance. You didn’t care which anymore, just as long as he untied you from the pendulum of a grandfather clock swinging you wildly between ignoring you and scoffing at you with the left over aggression of a volatile teenager. 

You’d already spent so much time this past week crying and fighting to understand the whirling washing machine of emotions spinning through you. And it was bad enough when it was just you alone in your house, but now doing it again in front of two hulking robots just felt pathetic. Even more so when you saw the way both mechs were looking at you, these intensely pitying looks like you were nothing more than a wretched helpless child. Like you were a lost little lamb in need of being led to salvation and away from the hands of slaughter.

You were a fully grown adult who’d been looking after themself for a while now, you weren’t like the kids. This mothering and barely restrained hatred was ping-ponging violently from one extreme to the other and it honestly was making you want to scoop your kiddos up and take them far away from here. If this was how they were reacting to you, how on earth had they been treating the trio? You understood that they were young and in need of guidance and protection, that they were still growing and their minds weren’t fully formed yet, that this was a dangerous situation to be in but to be hovered over to this degree? It was almost belittling at this point. Like you couldn’t even be trusted to do something as simple as exist. Like you didn’t know anything about yourself and needed someone to hold your hand just to walk across the room. The helicopter parenting style will only stunt their development and damage their self-esteem and confidence in the long run if no one was careful. 

And the open xenophobia? Did he use those slurs on the kids ? Talk about them in that discriminating and mocking tone like they weren’t in the room? Make them feel weak and helpless and inferior just because they were born smaller and squishier than him? Born human ? That wasn’t a message you wanted them learning. The weakness of flesh was a curse to realise at any age, but even more so when they were young and going through puberty. What teenager ever felt comfortable and happy in their own skin even without outside forces pressing down on them? To make them hate themselves for being human on top of them struggling against body image issues and societal beauty standards was just cruel. 

You didn’t need someone hovering over your shoulder at all times or looking down at you like you were lesser than you were and neither did your children. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are, fought tooth and fucking nail to be independant and happy, and it was starting to feel like none of that mattered anymore. All agency was being slowly stripped from you and no one was listening as you screamed for mercy. But more than anything else right now, you were just stressed and weary and still in pain, still recovering from your very near close call. The babying and buried hostilities were rubbing your frazzled mind raw from the constant back and forth, the infinite unanswered questions you had just kept piling up with no end in sight and it felt like any control you’ve ever had was now being ripped from your hands with no sign of it ever being returned. Everything you’d built for yourself wasn’t yours anymore. And even if you couldn’t decide what you wanted, it didn’t fucking matter because no one was letting you make the choice either way. 

And this wasn’t just about you and your future anymore, you realised. Subconsciously, you’ve always been thinking about the three children and had been taking them into account for your next move. But now, seeing just how these two were interacting with you, you had to genuinely think about their futures and wellbeing as well as your own on a much deeper level. You might have to be the bad guy for their own sakes and you would gladly bear that burden. If it meant none of your darling brats would become a victim of war or have to experience the pain of heartbreak when one of these aliens eventually becomes KIA or betrays their trust, you’d become the villain in their eyes a hundred times over. You cared about their happiness, you were willing to fight and protect that with every atom in your body. You already were trying to, desperately trying to stop Optimus from looking so goddamned depressed, but there was a point where something caused more harm than good and it was just figuring out if it was worth letting it go. 

But it didn’t feel right for you to be making that choice. You’d seen the way these bots had improved the lives of your children. Raf was the most confident he’d ever been in his life, his P.E grades were going up, and he wasn’t as afraid to speak up for himself. Jack was showing interest in other people outside of June, was putting his own feelings forward and making choices for himself and not for the betterment of others for once. And Miko had found an outlet for all her pent up energy, found people she could confide in and not get pushed aside or forgotten about, had become less destructive and started thinking before she acted (if only by the tiniest bit). And every one of them seemed happier. Lighter. They smiled more, laughed louder. 

You didn’t know if it was the right choice to walk away and make them walk with you. You didn’t know if you should stay and fight so your kids didn’t have to, didn’t know if you should leave and trust in these dysfunctional mechs to not get your trio killed or traumatise them beyond recognition. You may be the adult in this situation, but you didn’t know all the answers, didn’t always know what to do or what was best for those who can’t make that choice themselves. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you could be the one to say that the children couldn’t decide their own fates, they were so painfully young but it felt hypocritical to stand there and choose for them when you were lamenting the loss of your own autonomy. Despite of all these swarming overwhelming thoughts, you needed to push it all aside, sit the fuck down and figure that shit out now . Before it was too late to go back, before someone got hurt or killed. This was it . You had to make a decision whether or not these bots were going to let you and make them fucking listen regardless. There wasn’t time to be wishy-washy or unsure anymore.

You knew what you wanted to say. 

You picked a side.

“ Look .” It was harder than you liked to put the force you wanted behind your words, but you forged on, pressing strength you didn’t have into every syllable. You needed to be heard. “I am… Sick and tired of being scared . Tired of hurting and cowering and wondering if every vehicle I see is secretly a massive fuck off robot with laser hands and-and-and-”

The pity was only growing in their expressions and it was stealing your voice from you. Even Ratchet looked less peeved off now, just looking down at you with this devastatingly pathetic expression that you wanted to rip right off his face. That burning in your chest was quietly growing until it became a roaring fire and breathing wasn’t helping cool it down. You didn’t want to lose your shit at them. You didn’t . There was a sense of pride in having control over yourself, of being mature and knowing how to communicate with your peers, and you weren’t about to lose that on top of everything else because of these two idiots . You wouldn’t, no matter how much the rage and frustration bubbled in you. Because you were better than that. You had to be because if you weren’t, you didn’t know what else you had left.

“ Stop looking at me like that .” Your words were spat out in a growl as it was the closest thing you could get to saying anything at all without raising your voice and yelling like a petulant child. It was low and scratchy under all the tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how many times you scrubbed at your face and that just made you angrier.

Surprise rose both their eyebrows at your aggression, Ratchet actually taking a step back like he was expecting you to bite. You didn’t know how you felt about that but you knew whatever it was, it wasn’t good, something in your gut sinking like a heavy stone to settle in your abdomen. A despicable temptation started worming its way through the chaos of your mind and despite hating that it was there, you indulged in its idea and flashed your teeth at the medic in warning. In threat . He took an uneasy half step behind Optimus like hiding behind the taller mech would save him from you.

Something uncomfortable flashed across Optimus’ face at that, a slight shift in expression you would have otherwise missed had you not been staring the two of them down as fiercely as you had been, his head tilting back to glance at Ratchet. The larger bot was greeted by the narrowed blue eyes of his old friend that were locked onto you like you were a feral animal, a disease ridden mindless beast waiting for an opportunity to attack. Distrust flickered behind the glowing lenses and something heavy in your chest burst and cracked from it, tumbling down your rib cage one piece at a time like rain on a windchime. The anger frothing inside you physically hurt, icy needles skittering over your bruised skin with every ragged breath you gulped down and the shaking hadn’t stopped, only getting worse with every passing second you were stuck here. You were slipping, losing that little bit of precious control you had left. Ratchet spoke about you like you were an inferior being just because you were human and made of meat and bone instead of metal and wiring, and it was getting on your nerves. This blatant racism hurt as much as it enraged you and you couldn’t tell which emotion was swallowing you whole but it was getting harder to keep yourself in line. To stop yourself from doing something stupid and proving them all right, that you were just a thoughtless creature in need of constant watching. You weren’t. You weren’t .

You had a fucking reason to be wary of these colossal titans, you knew how easily they could kill you whether it be by accident or choice. A simple flick of their wrist, twitch of their finger, a misplaced step or stumble. Ratchet didn’t have that. And you didn’t treat them all like blood thirst killing machines despite having every goddamn reason to never let one of them within your space ever again. Every second the doctor reacted like that around you, the flinching, the upturned nose and glares, the curled lips. It all made you want to lunge at him, to actually give him a real fucking reason to be nervous around you. To him, you were nothing but a filthy fucking cockroach skittering across his kitchen floor. Disgusted and freaked out by you, not experiencing any genuine fear for his life. You were a bane to his existence and you were seconds away from proving him right. 

You thought you’d made your choice. You had tried to feel confident in it but then you started crying and they started looking at you like that again and now you were too mad and scared to put any weight behind it. Felt uncertain all over again and now you were back at square one. You were going to tell them that you would like to stay. You’d help and let them protect you within reason. No bodyguards or guardians, no keeping you trapped in the base, but you’d stay out of their battles and well out of reach of the Decepticons. You’d keep an eye on the kiddos for them, clean up around the base and maybe learn how to use the terminal or something so they could go and do their thing and not worry about having to leave anyone behind. But now you weren’t sure. You just wanted to leave. Go home, never think about this or Ratchet’s stupid face or Optimus’ million mile tall wall he’s built around himself, ever again. You didn’t trust yourself to make an informed choice with your emotional state so far out of whack.

Optimus was the first to come back to his senses after your outburst, patting the medic’s shoulder comfortingly with a gentle look before turning back to you. And as the eyes of a divine met with yours, ice water splashed down your spine over one ridge at a time so that breathlessness could steal the air from your heaving lungs and leave you frozen solid in place, unmoving and unblinking. Hackles raised along the crests of your bones and for every second you claimed to be human, something far more primal swam closer to the surface ready to burst free. The urge to back away from the titanous metallic man, to run and hide, was strong but your anger in that moment was stronger. You bared your teeth at the Prime, your entire body shaking under the fury and wrath brewing inside you as he kneeled down before you again. Every time he’d done it thus far had felt wrong. He was too big, too noble and majestic to bow down a bug, too regal and graceful to be lowering himself down onto your level. It’d always make you feel awkward and more important than you were, but at this moment? It made you feel cornered, backed against a wall with no way out or forward and with you already so close to the edge, you felt every bit the wild animal Ratchet pinned you as. And what was worse was that Optimus was treating you as such. Careful slow movements, no showing of teeth or intense eye contact, lowered head and submissive posture. Something thrashed madly inside your chest, screaming and tearing at its hair and you felt every crazed inch of your instincts begging for you to sink your fangs into the meat of his cabling exposed at the neck, pleading with you to taste his warm blood melt on your tongue and drip down your lips. To prove them right .

You ignored it.

It wasn’t easy. The skipping beat of your heart feeling like a sledgehammer getting swung into the delicate bones of your weak torso, air tasting like fear and hatred in your lungs, eyes trying to claw their way out your miserable skull as they drown themselves in terror and sorrow. All of it swearing violently at you to do something instead of backing away and cowering. Every muscle in your body was tensed and ready to pounce and it was a conscious effort to uncoil the spring you’d become before you snapped and went flying straight for the throat of this machine. You knew the urge to attack was coming from the fact you’d simply reached the end of your rope, one too many pieces of straw placed upon your back, but knowing the cause didn’t ease the whiskey burn dread it left behind in hollow gaping holes of your oozing brain. It was all just a festering cocktail of toilet wine rage and shelter dog fear getting rammed down your throat. An overly horny drunk man with a $20 note in his pocket out in the back alleyway behind a sleazy bar, full of spit and grim and unwashed sour flesh choking and squeezing through the narrow gap of your esophagus until it was the only thing left in the sack of meat you called a stomach. 

You were mad at Ratchet, furious with his treatment of you and of his characterization of you despite knowing nothing about you. He only sees you for what you were made up of and it was untrustworthy, decrepit, and rotting with every second you were alive, dripping in viscera and gore and wet soaked meat. You are what you eat and you consume skin and marrow and blood, uselessness, stupidity and worthlessness. 

You felt anger towards Optimus for his lack of judgement against you, for his understanding and care. You were but a snapping and barking creature of incomprehensible action, lashing out without discretion. Unable to tell the difference between a hand that harms and a hand that feeds for a hand is a hand is a fist and his was the size of all your mortal terror combined. And despite it all, he was still reaching out with your warnings thrown as caution to the wind. Letting you claw and scratch and hiss and bite, remaining steady and unmoving and calm. You almost wanted him to react in turn, twist that scorn back unto you, treat you as you were treating him. But he would never. 

Optimus was better than that. Kinder . 

Disgustingly and utterly sickening in just how sweet he was being, not only in that moment but with every interaction he’s had with you. You couldn’t take it right now, mind and body rebelling against the very idea for the bitch that bares its teeth doesn’t deserve a treat but a feast was being laid out before you nonetheless. The molars buried into the soft tissue of your maw were rotting and splintering in your gums, bleeding blackened sludge from between the cracks and holes as the pure sugar he was emitting filled every space inside you. You were too small, too insignificant and unworthy of his gentle approach. Too wild and crazed for the patience in his gaze. And he didn’t care. He gave it anyway, even as ulcers bubbled and burst in your stomach and acid lined your throat from throwing it all back up. You hated him for it as much as you couldn’t bring yourself to. A mechanical being so kind he was as poisonous to you as much as he was the honey on your tongue. 

You were furious with yourself too, livid like an exposed live wire crackling at the touch. For everything. For how you’ve gone about every situation thus far, for not being better, more mature, more responsible, more in control. For your reactions and emotions, for everything you’ve said and everything you haven’t. 

You were mad about being pissed off at Ratchet, wishing you were better than you were so you could forgive and forget his transgressions. You were frustrated over your anger towards Optimus because he didn’t do anything to deserve your wrath other than worry about you and blame himself for the events that had taken place in the desert. You were even madder over the fact you weren’t angerier with Optimus for what had happened because you had no one else to blame but yourself and Starscream. It wasn’t like you could yell at that shitty plane and you were too incensed to blame yourself, but no matter your need to push the fault onto the red and blue bot, guilt tied itself to your ankles and waited to jump into the ocean and take you down with it like a mafia kill should you even dare. You sure as fuck wanted to with every inch of your being, wished you could just pin it all on him and despise him for it but you couldn’t do it. 

You were just so infuriated and you knew it was because in all actuality, you were just scared. And you were so fucking tired of being scared that your body transformed it into something new. Something visceral, sharper and louder. Being scared hadn’t kept you safe, hadn’t freed you from the shackles of danger and the unknown, and this was your mind’s next best bet at protection. You hated it. Hated that it came down to this , the loss of control of your life now blending into the watercolor painting of grief as you lost a handle on your emotions too. Like a nervous dog, baring its teeth in fear rather than a need for blood. Biting because whimpering hadn’t done shit and you’d been hit anyways.

Optimus understood that. And it only made you weep even harder. Every atom of his body softened for you, melting into rounded edges and pliant corners so that when you looked upon him, he was a blanket instead of a wall. Gnashing your teeth at him didn’t deter the giant and neither did your tears as he bent down as close as he could without overcrowding you. It was almost too much, too overwhelming and confusing. You hated all of this. You wanted to hate the Prime, hate him for putting you here and making you feel the way you do. For all the fear and terror and panic he’s forced from your unwilling body, for the rage you didn’t know you had inside and for making you feel safe in places you most certainly were not. 

“I must once again apologise, little one.” As grounding as ever, the frustration washes out from your toes with each steady ebbing and flowing wave of ocean water pulling against the tide. It rises higher with every word, creeping up your knees to your thighs and hips. “It seems I have already failed you.”

Breathing had become a challenge, diaphragm fighting violently against you as your chest seized up against your will with low heavy sobs. It took several agonising minutes to calm your ragged heaving wails into quiet hiccups, gulping down mouthfuls of air when your body allowed you the chance. The patient red and blue bot showed no signs that he minded waiting for you, the metal of his face smoothed and heartbreakingly kind, giving you the time you needed before continuing his speech. In fact, you were pretty sure you could feel the steady vibrations of his engine idling rumble up through the concrete below you and up into your bones. The sensation was like a tether to hold onto, soothing in a similar manner to a purring cat and helped ease the insanity clawing at your frontal lobe. You never would have called yourself a car person before, especially not to the point where you could say that a hum of an engine was something you found calming but considering everything else that had happened up to this point, this was not something you were going to fight against.

The pathetic sniffling you made as you willed yourself to calm down sounded obnoxiously loud in your ears and you swallowed it down in an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment, shame and confusion. The weak watery glare you threw at the massive mechanical being went ignored, bouncing off his massive shoulders with ease as he regarded you like one would a crying child. A bittersweet quarter smile barely lighting his features, eyes creased into gentle swoops but they were overflowing with both sorrow and the sweetest, most softest kind of love. Something so primally and painfully parental, rich and clotting and suffocating but you can’t help but crave more. The way Optimus looked at you was like getting hurt as a kid and instinctually crying out for your mother and having the very embodiment of maternal love come and cradle you in its arms, kiss at your wounds and heal your very soul.  

“I had told you that it was your right to choose for yourself, but disgraced myself by disregarding that notion entirely. By allowing my fears to consume me, I nearly stole your freedom from you and for that, I am deeply sorry.” Something akin to guilt crossed his face, the large mech unable to meet your eyes as he glances off somewhere to the left, lips pressed into an uneasy line. 

His engine stalled inside his torso with a disquietening thunk before starting up again in that same low comforting rumble as he bent down in on himself from his hunched position even more like doing so would shrink him into nothing. It was… Uncomfortable. You didn’t feel as if you knew enough about Optimus to openly say you respected him, but you knew he was a figure to be respected. That and he did save your life and show you nothing but kindness this entire time, no matter what you’d thrown at him. That was enough to tell you that to have Optimus of all mechs apologise and lower himself before you felt a little too close to having like… The Queen of England or the Pope bow to you. A person of much higher standing that by all means couldn’t do wrong admitting they fucked up to you. A nobody. There was a shocking whiplash of quick fire emotions zapping you, one after the other as you tried to work out how to respond, to remember how your body works and to do something with it. You wanted to yell and spit and scream at him, swear at the massive bowed shape in front of you. Tell him that he should be sorry, that he’d lied to you. You wanted to get on your knees and plead with him to lift his head, to stand back up and make him promise to never lower himself for you ever again because you just weren’t deserving of such. You wanted the floor to open itself up and let you sink beneath it to never be seen again, for your brain to turn itself off and never wake up again. Being human was hard. Understanding your feelings was hard. You were ready to let it go and never worry about it again, melt into the earth and become one with the nothingness in the beyond.

Ratchet scoffs loudly in the background at his commander’s words and it pushes against the back of your head in sparking licks of fury that are almost instantly quelled by the sharp look Opitmus gives the medic. 

“ Ratchet .” There was a tired tone to that, heavy and exhausted from something much deeper than you could comprehend and just for a moment, Ratchet even allowed himself to look ashamed.

Not enough so to apologise to you. To go back on the discrimination or to look at you normally, without the hate or disgust or pity. But enough to regret upsetting his friend. It felt so disingenuous and bullshit but there wasn’t enough fire left in your bones to do anything about it. It was clear he didn’t feel bad about his actions against you, just that his friend didn’t agree with him. That wasn’t something that was going to change overnight. Ratchet had decided how he felt about you and that was just the way it was going to be until he decided if he wanted to do something about it. But you knew that realistically, that wasn’t going to happen. People like Ratchet didn’t do ‘change’ and that was just the way it was. You imagined that something must have happened in his past to make him so prejudiced towards humans but that wasn’t your business nor your place to ask. Even if you did, you didn’t expect an actual answer so either way it was simply better to leave it as is, even if it did make your skin crawl with needling rage and discomfort. 

It was awkward as silence fell between you all once more, even more so than it was before as the intensity of the moment faded without resolution, a prickling uneasy sensation left in its wake. No grand revelations had been made, no conflicts resolved. Ratchet was still racist, Optimus was still being overprotective, and you still didn’t know whether or not to stay. 

All of that for nothing to change. Exhaustion would be less tiring than whatever you were feeling at this point, a bone deep weariness eating at you as Optimus waited for a response. You didn’t really feel like giving one after all that, even as Ratchet crossed his arms across his chest, pupils drawn into tight pinpricks, walked from the room back behind his med-bay divider to angrily punch away at his terminal once more. 

Pushing aside your encroaching fatigue, you swallowed down any remaining anger gurgling inside you. At this point, there truly wasn’t much left. You were emptied of everything but the numbing wake that often followed long bouts of extreme emotion and there was a sense of comfort in the blank nothingness easing its way into the tension of your blood hot rage and ice cold grief. Optimus didn’t deserve that aggression from you or anyone, seeing enough of it day in and day out through the hands of those he’d already lost and those that were destined to lose. From the shadows haunting his every waking dream and deep from his slumbering nightmares, from the faction that had sworn themselves to his demise. You couldn’t give him any more frustration and violence that he didn’t already know intimately, nor was it yours to give regardless. Instead you looked up into his large camera lens eyes, watching the way they zoomed out over you. Watching him watching you, seeing him as he sees you. Alien. Foreign. Confronting in just how similar you were in every way you weren’t. Sad and unsure and desperately in need of answers but not wanting to ask for fear of shame, fearing that the truth isn’t the words you want to hear but the ones you need, or worse, hearing only pain. With your body bathed in the soft blue glow, everything else was obsolete. There was nothing but you and him in this space that didn’t exist, fighting for control of a problem that didn’t need solving. 

“... I don’t know anymore.” After everything, it felt like such a cop out answer but you really didn’t. “I thought… I thought I knew, thought that I could come to a decision about what to do but I don’t even know what we…- What you are fighting for. But I can’t back out because of the kids. I’m not able to just walk away from this even if I wanted to. I don’t think they know what you are fighting for but they are willing to fight alongside and for you because they trust you and care about you !”

There was a strange look on Optimus’ face and the typing coming from the med-bay fell silent in the tide of your words. It almost felt as if he was trying to keep his expression plain, forcing a neutrality to his appearance that came across as deeply unsettling, otherworldly. You’d think it’d seem strained or constipated or something, but instead it felt more like looking up into the twisted jumble mess of an overwired electrical pole and seeing the shape of an angel amongst the taunt cords. Seeing a face in something that didn’t have one, a life you akin to organic knowing full well its existence is of sparks and friction.

The eyes shuttered like a flashing camera. A blink, you assume. You’d seen them do it a couple times, periodic shutting of moving parts for only a split second before everything opens again. The purpose evades you as the realisation that robot eyes probably didn’t suffer from dryness caresses the dips in your skull. Another question for another day.

“They don’t ask questions, they don’t see you as a possible threat, they don’t think about the consequences that could happen by being near you and when they do happen, if it doesn’t get anyone killed, they’ll ignore it! I can’t in good conscience leave them here alone. Not with you .”

Mild panic and hurt flashes through his eyes and something creaks ominously from where Ratchet is hiding from your sight, the low groan of bending metal. Guilt slithers through the groves of your meat and fear strums over your tendons like a stringed instrument, vibrations running up your arms.

“I-I wait, Optimus-” That same discomfort from before rolls through you at the Prime’s disheartened expression and you hate yourself for feeling the need to backpedal once more, for not being able to stand up for your own feelings on the matter. Hate that the sound of Ratchet tensing just out of sight set aflame to the hairs along the back of your neck. 

You didn’t trust these massive mechanical messiahs to look after your kids and that was that. No if ands or buts about it. The fact you were struggling to hold your ground on that was worrying.

Ratchet was abrasive and dismissive, sarcastic and entirely vile towards the idea of humanity, and Bulkhead, while appearing to be goodhearted, was obviously clumsy and didn’t know how to temper down his overwhelming strength. Arcee was aggressive and uncaring from the one conversation you’ve had with her, and Bumblebee didn’t seem to think before he acted, speed before safety, coming across as very teenage in his own thoughts and actions. 

And then there was Optimus Prime. Despite spending the most time with him thus far, you honestly couldn’t say you understood him at all. A complex ever shifting Rubix Cube, pieces constantly moving and changing, all laced with something far grander than you could grasp. Stoic yet so expressive should you look a little harder, pay closer attention. Wise and all knowing yet curious and questioning, strong yet so careful. 

You couldn’t trust him with the lives of your children. Not yet. Not as is. They all lacked the knowledge of basic human biology, unknowing of the difference between adult and child, of what kids need both mentally and physically. The bots needed a buffer to keep them from being the sole carers of these living organics for however many hours a day the kiddos hung around here. Something to do the heavy lifting of keeping a child alive and healthy for them so they could still experience the joys of being with the kids without having to deal with the nitty gritty.

“Optimus, I-... I’m sorry . That’s not what I meant, not entirely.” It felt like walking a fine line, a tightrope strung up in the wind. Trying to not offend or be outright rude to these creatures about the bonds they’ve made without backing down on your opinion that they are just not equipped to handle keeping a group of human children alive. 

“It’s not that I think you’ll actively try and hurt my kids, you or anyone on this team. Some of you are more… Caustic than others but I’ve seen no genuine signs of ill will or intent of harm so far. You’ve gone above and beyond in trying to keep me safe so that’s proof enough, it’s just…” Your voice felt rough and scratchy in your throat, probably from crying just before. It made the words harder to say and you felt like you were harder to take seriously. 

Though, from the way Optimus was looking at you with every inch of focus his body would allow, it seemed you were only being taken seriously. More so than you ever have been before. It was actually kind of nerve wracking. He was staring down at you like your every spoken word was gospel and in some way they might be. If Optimus felt like you had some sort of final say in regards to the kids, then your next words would be telling him if he was about to lose a part of his family or not. The thought hurt, a secondhand pain you were siphoning from him in advance. That he thought you had the power to do that, to cause that kind of harm, and the fact that he was sort of right. Should you truly feel that things are getting too far out of hand, you might really need to separate the kids from the bots for their own safety regardless of what they might think. Not only would that break the hearts of your kiddos but it damn well might absolutely demolish the bots too. 

“No, I stand by what I said. Human children are like sponges, they soak up every bit of information around them and see everything and even if they don’t understand what's going on around them, they will mimic the actions taking place. Their environment is a key part to their development, the things they are exposed to will change the way they think and process the world around them. They might not understand this war past ‘Autobot good, Decepticon bad’, but they will be mimicking any feelings you have towards the Decepticons and playing it as their own. Learnt behaviour is integral to cognitive growth, social and emotional intelligence, and for developing bonds but the contents in which they copy can and will have long lasting effects on how they interact with the world around them. I am so grateful you have been doing everything you can to keep them from the conflicts but-...”

There was a second where your eyes met Optimus’, colossal and so achingly blue, and everything else fell away leaving only you and those oceans of light. It was like a hand was shoved down your throat to steal your voice from you, silence spreading out from the remains of your will and you crumble against it. 

“I think I need to stay.” The eyes of god stare down at you in the form of an entire universe, vast and empty and full, sparkling supernovas and stars, nebulas of blue teeming with life and joy and hope. “For them. For their protection and happiness.”

There was a struggle in trying to find the right way to explain yourself, words slipping through your fingers like water to pool uselessly at your feet. Though Optimus seemed to understand, his back straightening from his stooped crouch, the lights behind his eyes sparking to life as the lens zoomed in and out on you.

“Are you certain this is the path you wish to take, little one?” There was a faint hope lining his speech, that whisper of excitement as he realised what exactly it was you were trying to say. “Once you make this choice, there will be no going back. Starscream already knows of your existence, it won’t be long before others find out about you too.”

The trembling was back but you stepped forward nonetheless, hands reaching out towards him with a soft nod. The red and blue bot bowed his face down lower to fall within your reach, your fingertips grazing the cool metal as his eyes shutter closed. You felt like the main character in a movie, hand extended towards the great monster that allows itself to be touched by a mere human, subservient to them in that moment. It felt like an olive branch, a new start of something and it solidified your answer even more. Electricity hummed under your skin, skittering up from him into your arm as a deep pulsing washed over you. 

His spark. 

It thrummed consistently in his chest, faster than you’d heard it before and you realised it was following the beat of your own racing heart. You were both scared, nervous and unsure of what the future held, of what the other before them was truly thinking. Both all too aware of how the next words spoken could change everything, how once they leave ones lips that they could never be taken back. He cared for those kids as much as you did and he cared for you the same. He didn’t want to lose anyone ever again and was exposing himself to the pain of possibility by letting more people into his life all the same.

The metal dipped under your touch with scratches and old marks gouged into the flesh of his face, divots and grooves spanning over every inch of him, each telling a story of grief and violence. These won’t be the last he’ll gain, more will be forcibly earned whether he wants it or not and you can feel through them why he insists on being so gentle. He knows the pain and damage that can be caused by a stray hand, a mistake. Of what is at stake.

“Their joy and zest for life seems to be intimately linked with that of yours, of the team’s. And I care deeply for them, so… I guess I now have to care about you and everyone else here too.” While the end was supposed to be more jokey, the seriousness in Optimus’ face left you winded and even more nervous.

His voice was soft, hauntingly so and you knew whatever he said next will follow you into your next life. “Then I must ask that you endure this, little one.”

Ever so slightly, he leaned into your hand, his engine picking up with a deep rumble that vibrated throughout his entire frame and up into you. You could relate it to a purr, low and rhythmic and soothing, seemingly a subconscious action in response to your gentle touches as you let the tips of your fingers brush up and over his cheeks. Cradling the head of a creature bigger than your entire body, his eyes mere slits gazing down at you with pupils blown wide so the black of his metal wasn’t visible and it was just blue glass was extraordinary, otherworldly.

“I am aware that this request is selfish and there is no justification I can give for there is no argument in its favour, but please. Will you bear the weight of this burden for your kin? It is clear to me that they need you just as much as we need them.” The Prime was practically whispering, sweet and sultry murmurs that blended into the growls of his rolling engine. “I do not believe my soldiers could handle losing their charges, nor I witness the loss of light within this base.”

Your heart squeezed inside your chest under the faint throbbing of your bruises. How do you even respond to something like that? Such displays of vulnerability and raw trust, a plea to be kind to his bleeding heart through the act of caring for another, to feel like an unwanted burden in the eyes of others. He was asking you to suffer being near him so that everyone else in his life could stay happy . Your lip wobbled involuntarily, that burning bubbling behind your eyes again and your vision blurred. 

“It’s not a burden . Not if it’s you .” Burden felt too strong of a word. Too brutal for what was actually going to be taking place, a weak and wavering smile tugging at your lips as the bones in your chest and the heart inside it all but shattered at his miserable words.

Optimus was a father figure, a protector, a leader to everyone here. He was a pillar of strength and comfort and heart, the glue that kept these wandering souls together. To call befriending him as something so vile felt intrinsically wrong and you weren’t going to stand for it.

“Not if it’s this team. The children saw something in you worth standing by and I can see it too. And even if I didn’t, I am willing to trust in their judgment of your character.” It felt sinful to raise your voice higher than the quiet mumbling you were both speaking in, these hushed tranquil tones. Like doing so would break him into a million pointed pieces that could never be put back together again. “I know that right now we aren’t… Friends yet, that I don’t know you or anything about you and this war, but… Will you be patient with me?”

The large mech tilted his head slightly in your grip, the metal gliding under your palms as confusion creased the space where his nose should have been.

“With time, I intend to be every bit as involved as the children, if not more so. I-I don’t… Want to be babied or looked down on as weak or useless, I want to be a part of your team. Your army. I want to help in any way I can and understand everything there is to understand about the situation and I want to care about you like you were one of my own . But I need to know what happened first, Optimus. I need to know about this war.” 

If you were going to do this, you were going to do it right . No half-assing anything, fear and terror be damned. You were going to get your hands dirty and pull your weight and you needed to convince them to let you do so. Sure, you weren’t going to be going out into the field to fist fight any giant flying laser-shooting robots any time soon, but if it kept your kids alive and well, your kids’ friends alive and well, then you wanted to be put to work. Stealth and recon maybe, use your size to their advantage, or you could learn their technology and work the terminal from base, learn their medicine and act as a nurse or something. No matter what it was, you were willing to find a way to help end this conflict. 

The way Optimus’ eyes widened showed he clearly wasn’t expecting that from you, his engine stuttering as fans clicked on somewhere in his upper chest. Your fingers tightened their grip on him, the plush of your skin digging into the malleable metal of his face as if daring him to pull away from you and deny you this. He didn’t. No, instead there was a sparkle that shined in his lenses, the camera zooming in right on your face as something competitive flickered behind the blue light. You’d not only just explicitly told him that you were willing to do anything you could for his family, but you’d also just started a race to see who could adopt the other first and it seemed the Prime couldn’t resist.

“I cannot condone human casualties at any cost,” His voice grew in strength at that, hints of that authority he possesses creeping though as your name left his mouth in a tone not quite reprimanding. “But I will keep that in mind.”

There was a pause as you both simply observed the other, memorising all the stray bits and pieces that each made you who you were. Guilt tinged your brows and you cut the moment short to duck your head away from him, fingers drifting down to his jowls and chin as you took a small step back but were still unwilling to let him go entirely.

“I’m sorry… I-I acted out. It wasn’t my intention to snap at you or Ratchet it’s just so overwhelming and I thought I was going to lose all my autonomy and it just made me so-”

His engine revved to cut you off as his eyes narrowed into that judgement free sliver, the soft metal moving under your palms to form a boyish smile. “ Scared . I know little one, I understand and I forgive you. You’ve been through a lot in a very short period of time, it is understandable for you to react in such ways.”

You didn’t feel deserving of sure quick forgiveness. He didn’t even think about it, instantly taking your word at face value without hesitance and accepting it for what it was. But the way he was looking at you left no room for arguing so you smiled and let the guilt slither through the deep recesses of your gut to eat away at your organs. That was something to worry about another day. 

The loud revving of an engine broke the two of you from your quiet discussions, Optimus pulling back before slowly pushing himself back onto his feet to stand at his full height as Bulkhead came racing down the tunnel and out into the open space of the lobby. The room filled with the ear piercing shriek of electric guitars and heavy metal, followed by Miko’s shrill giddy screams of laughter and mimicry drum sounds as the doors opened and the punk rocker tumbled out to continue her impromptu concert. Bulkhead followed suit and transformed into his bipedal form as soon as the young girl was out of reach in a flurry of shifting parts, his arm swinging down in front of his chest as if playing a guitar, head banging in time to the music playing from his speakers. A very long, loud groan of annoyance came from the med-bay, just barely heard under the screeching noise of someone scream-singing lyrics, and a petty flicker of satisfaction sparked inside you at the medic’s misfortune.

That gentle, parental expression was sitting on Optimus’ face again, a soft warm peek of a smile pulling his lips as he gazed over the two playfully jumping around each other in a circle while playing their imaginary instruments. Another deep revving echoed from deeper in the exit tunnel as Bee and Arcee soon raced down the path and came to a squealing halt, black rubber marks etching into the concrete under their tyres with little poofs of smoke. 

The red and blue mech tilted his head to you and nodded lightly towards the tunnel. “I believe we still have much to discuss, little one. Do you wish to go for a ride?”

In all honesty, you didn’t. Going for a ride in this context meant having to crawl inside his cab and sit inside him for an extended period of time. That still felt incredibly weird and watching the kids do it so easily was kind of mind boggling. You did however, know that by going with him, you were likely to get that long and complicated history explaining what started this godforsaken war and you being you, were always thirsty for more knowledge. So you waved a hand in front of you, giving him a nervous smile.

“After you.”

Chapter Text

Optimus had made it sound so simple. Let the kids do whatever it was they normally did when hanging out in the base with their guardians and Ratchet while he takes you out in a little joyride to give you an in depth history lesson on Cybertron. You get to learn something and maybe finally ask some of your most burning questions, and you would get some time away from the grumpy medic after your tense disagreement. It’d be good for you to have a breather and greedily gobble up some much needed information on this whole situation. The children however, did not agree with this game plan and had made leaving the base an impossible task. You thought they would have been too preoccupied by their guardians and each other to even notice that you were still there as they’d all come back roughly at the same time and had instantly jumped into regalling tales of how their patrols had gone. You were entirely wrong in this estimation as the second Miko’s mini jam out session ended, she gasped out in utter joy at the sight of you standing by the couch and made a break for you. This got the attention of the boys who then turned it into a race to see who could get to you first. 

The second Optimus stepped away from you with the intent to transform, all three of the rascals took the chance to all try and talk to you at the same time, racing up the stairs towards you and basically clambered over each other to be the first by your side. Miko of course reached you first with her head start, closely followed by Raf and Jack who made it to the top step at about the same time, the shorter boy wriggling under Jack’s arm to push past him and get to your side before the other. You’d become surrounded before you could blink, Bee and Bulkhead sharing curious glances with each other before following behind their charges to peer down at the gaggle of humans congregating on the platform. Arcee, you noticed, didn’t approach. She parked herself against a nearby wall next to the main terminal, leaning against it with casual ease and arms crossed, still close enough to keep an eye on you all but far away enough to feint disinterest. Though you weren’t given much time to focus on that due to the sudden rapidly approaching blurred mass of pink and purple barreling straight towards you. You barely had enough time to brace yourself against the back of the couch as Miko all but launched herself at you, arms coiling tightly around your waist as a face digs harshly into your sternum, making her claim as the winner.

You nearly collapsed as burning hot needles scratched up into your sides, a low wheezy gasp slipping past your lips before you had the chance to bite it back. Using the couch as a crutch, your legs went weak and knees nearly buckled under the combined weight of your pain and the sudden child attack, barely keeping yourself upright. It was like your entire torso was just double dipped into dry ice and boiling water at the same time leaving you to blink furiously in an attempt to ward off the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. The kids, luckily, didn’t notice the grimace on your face or the death rattle hiss you let you as their voices overlapped each other in excited babbling. The Cybertronians hovering nearby on the other hand, did notice as the three guardians all tensed up simultaneously, Bee letting out a soft whirring whine. Optimus too paused where he was, eyes darting towards you with a heavy crease between his brows as he turned to start walking back to you. You were quick to shoot a warning glare in each of their directions, making a ‘silence/stop’ gesture with one of your hands as the other came up to hold the back of Miko’s head gently. The action was to soothe yourself as much as greet her in return, the young teen rubbing her face vigorously into your shirt as Raf sprinted over to one of your sides, hands reaching for your sleeve to get your attention. You take in a long deep breath to try and ease the stabbing ache running through your ribs before turning to smile down at the short boy. You could see Bulkhead shift awkwardly in your peripheral, giving Bumblebee a half shrug. Acree had straightened up from her loose postured lean into a soldier stiff stand, one of her hands pulling the divider back enough for her to stick her head into the med-bay to whisper something to Ratchet in that lithe musical language. The medic was also now leaning around the motorbike and divider to have a look at you, one of his brows raised and his mouth scrunched into a twisted frown. You ignored them, even as Optimus took another step towards you to come up alongside the platform, your focus now solely on your kids. The truck rumbled disapprovingly but didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Miko was quick to start tugging on the front of your shirt to make sure you listened to her first, a rapidfire ‘wait, wait, wait, me first’ spilling from her mouth at Raf. The bespectacled boy seemed to think about his answer before finally relenting, pouting towards his chatty friend but allowing her to speak first, instead drifting over to Jack’s side. The older boy snickered and tossed an arm around Raf’s shoulder, bringing him closer to tease him over backing down so easily. This of course started a good natured fight between the two, Raf poking at the taller teen’s stomach with intent to tickle making the other yelp and jump away as quickly as he could. Now fully aware of Jack’s weakness, Raf wasted no time rushing after him with fingers poised to attack, the two of them bolting around the couch and TV in loud pelts of laughter, both from them and Bee who was watching with growing amusement, clapping his hands to cheer on the shorter of the two.

“Is it true?!” Victorious, Miko threw her full weight against you, basically pinning you against the back of the couch, pushing all the air from your lungs to get as close as possible to you as she gazed up into your face with every bit of focus she had in her.

There was a split second where you thought you might faint, vision filling with black dots from the sheer agony racing through your bones. You wheezed once more, fingers twitching in effort to not shove her off of you as fast as you could, instead slowly working your hands up onto her shoulders to lightly put some distance between you, which she naturally fought against much to your screaming body’s dismay.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, kiddo.” Your words were dazed and a bit slurred, tight and airy from the utter suffering she was putting your battered ribs through. 

Bulkhead let out a lovingly exasperated groan, Miko’s name coming out as a gentle reprimand at the young girl’s antics. “Mikooo… Give them some space, will ya’ kid? They can’t tell ya’ anything if you crowd them like that.”

The heavy-set bot decided to intervene at that point, reaching towards the two of you with one massive paw of a hand with shocking familiarity as if he’d done so a million times before. Your brain blanked and instinct kicked in before you could properly register what was happening, pure terror drenching you head from toe as you started to move. Without hesitation, you wrapped both your arms tightly around Miko to clutch her desperately against your body, spinning around to turn her away from the mech so you sat between them to act out as a sort of shield. Fire spread through the width of your upper torso in a burning ache at the sudden and rough movement, pain engulfing you as you pushed through and ignored it in favour of protecting the small human in your arms. You could feel your heart drop into your asshole as it raced wildly, panic crawling its way up through your veins like red hot spiders and you curled yourself around the girl as much as you physically could. 

You knew you were fine. 

You logically knew that there was no way that this hulking metal figure was about to actually do you or Miko any harm, the kids trusted them with their lives and had lasted this long with no problems. Optimus was right there too, watching everything with a careful eye. But the memories of Starscream’s long pointed claws twisting around your soft vulnerable flesh still rang harshly in your ears and you bared your teeth at the green mech with all the aggression your little body could hold. While biting didn’t do any actual harm to these massive mega-mechas, it was obvious the act was offputting and a good deterrent to most of them if Starscream and Ratchet’s reactions were anything to go off of, making it your best and maybe only weapon of defense. You’d take what you could get, even if it was just simply pulling your lips back to flash your pearly whites in order to gain a few precious seconds to escape. There was a whisper in your ear, all other noise fading into nothing as you stared down the monstrous beast behind you, readying yourself to snap and snarl and scream if you had to. 

Better safe than sorry. It’s better to be safe than sorry. 

There was a tremor working through your hands and the young girl whined in annoyance at your smothering embrace, entirely unaware of what was going on around her as she tried to wiggle herself free. Bulkhead on the other hand froze so suddenly you could have mistaken him for a statue, surprise and something so entirely heartbreaking you could practically taste it crossing his features. The lights behind his eyes dimmed, brows tilting up in this crushingly devastated look as he turned his head questioningly towards Optimus, hand hovering awkwardly in the air between the two of you before quietly dropping it back to his side. Bee stopped too, his wings that had been flapping giddily and pointed skywards were now slowly dropping down until they lay flat against his back, a confused and uncomfortable weeer-wrrr whirring in his chest. It warbled and dipped into an almost sad bweep-bwoop as his head bounced between your terrified and defensive position to Bulkhead’s utterly crestfallen expression. This naturally got the attention of the two boys, distracting them from their roughhousing. By now, they’d tumbled over the coffee table and onto the couch, Raf’s leg pressing up against Jack’s chest to try and keep him at bay while getting smushed into the cushions under the other teen’s weight as they wrestled. Both fell still and perked up at the change in tone to witness what was going down with concern and uncertainty in their eyes.

Optimus was the first to react once again, his voice quiet and deep in a low rumble that felt as calming as it sounded. “You are safe here, little one. The children are safe.” 

His hand reached over to Bulkhead, firmly placing it on the green mech’s shoulder to tug him back away from you slowly all the while keeping his eyes locked onto you. Bee seemed to understand what was happening and also took a very deliberate step back with his hands raised placatingly, though it didn’t stop his wings from drooping despondently against his back, shoulders sagging sadly. 

Bulkhead on the other hand, didn’t. Under all the confusion and panic was a sadness so heavy that he honestly looked like he was about to cry, his voice achingly quiet for how large he was as he let Optimus pull him away without a struggle. “I-I didn’t mean-I don’t understand-Optimus I swear I wasn’t gonna-...Did I do something wrong?”

The wriggling mass in your arms piped up at Optimus’ words, apparently not having heard her guardian, with a loud snort as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well duh we’re safe-ah Teach, you can stop hugging me now- have you seen the size of yourself!? You’re huge, Bossbot! Nothing’s getting past you!”

There was a deeply tired sigh coming somewhere from your left as Ratchet shuffled out from the med-bay with Arcee on his heels, eyes narrowed in annoyance and sheer exhaustion. “No Bulkhead. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s just been a bit of a… Situation that is becoming increasingly more difficult to handle.”

You didn’t miss the way the medic’s eyes darted over to you, sharp pointed slits of ringed blue. It felt like fingers around your throat and you flinched back away from him, your body curling tighter around Miko and further up against the back of the couch. You almost brought her down into a crouch with you as you slowly began to sink down to your knees to make yourself a smaller target, a panicky breath of air catching in your throat as you tense up in preparation to either lunge at the bots or bolt out of sight. 

Optimus was rather unimpressed with the doctor’s input, reprimanding him once more with a soft but pointed ‘Ratchet…’.

The kids had definitely noticed that something was wrong now, the two boys exchanging worried looks as their play fight came to a complete stop, disengaging from each other. With the silence that fell between the group after Optimus’ voice, Jack decided it was his turn to question the situation at hand. His own voice lifted in pitch as he sat up to look down at you huddled on the floor with Miko, your title and last name questioning and uneasy in his mouth. He let Raf sit up from under him so they both could properly peer down over the edge of the couch at you, the shorter boy’s glasses askew on his nose. Your eyes were wild and crazed as your head snapped up to look at them, the teen girl taking your momentary lapse in focus to finally worm her way from your arms with a loud dramatic gasp.

“What was that about?” She sounded bewildered and puffed out more than anything else, letting out a massive relieved sigh as she straightened out her shirt.

Instantly, the rotund green mech went to step forward at the sight of his little human, hand reaching out for his charge once more before freezing awkwardly as his eyes met yours. Miko made a confused sound, her head tilting to the side as she watched her bot stop in place before turning to face you, brow quirked and lips twisted to the side in puzzlement. Something finally clicked in your brain at that, a sense of rising shame setting your face aflame as the realisation of what you’d just done begins to sink in. These kids didn’t hold even the slightest bit of trepidation towards the Cybertronians. It was as if they never even once considered the possibility of these giant robots doing them harm. They were confused as to why you were thinking of such, acting like a flighty cornered rat at the sight of their friends. 

“I told you. A situation.” The response was loosely sarcastic, emphasised with an eyeroll that made your skin prickly and nerves frayed. Your hackles raised and you flashed your teeth at the orange and white bot who snarled back this time instead of flinching away. 

The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rose uncomfortably. Maybe your only weapon was losing its edge already. You didn’t like that, feeling an awful like a cat who’d just been declawed.

Raf piped up, not liking the building tension that had formed between the adults in the room, eyebrows deeply furrowed in the middle of his forehead. “Situation? You mean the thing Bulkhead mentioned? About the-”

“Ratchet. Rafael. Enough.” There was more strength to Optimus’ words this time, enough so that Arcee and Bee instinctively stood to attention like they were the ones getting told off by the general, and once more Ratchet had the expression of a put off child. 

The youngest boy only frowned harder, not taking offence to getting cut off nor over the stern fatherly tone the Autobot had taken with him. If anything, he just looked more concerned and turned to both Jack and Bee for confirmation that everything was okay. Neither seemed to be able to give him an answer, Jack just as unsure and Bee was still distracted by the authoritative tone his leader had used, yet to relax from his stiffened stance. It really was one of the first signs you’ve seen of these mechs being a part of a military faction, and that they were soldiers. Arcee looked comfortable enough with it, the straight back and neutral blank stare ahead fitting her well. Seeing Bee however, that felt a bit off. His baby face paired with the youthful attitude he wore was jarring against the show of discipline and militia behaviours he was now displaying.

With a low grumble, Ratchet waved his hand dismissively towards the taller bot and started to slink back into the med-bay, apparently entirely unaffected by the sharp tone Optimus had used on him. “Bah, fine, fine. But I think you should explain what’s going on, Optimus. I know you’d rather keep the details to yourself for whatever reason but something clearly needs to be addressed here.”

The doctor pointed at you, still pathetically puddled on the ground, making it obvious you were the subject of discussion. The kids all exchanged glances once more, a silent conversation passing between them as Optimus sighed in defeat. 

“Only if that is okay with you, little one. I am aware the incident left more than its fair share of marks on you, many of which are still raw and I do not wish to inflict any unnecessary anguish on you.” The large red and blue bot turned to face you properly, your comparatively tiny body firmly pressed into the plush back of the couch in a tightly curled ball.

You weren’t sure you wanted the children to know what had happened though from the sounds of it, people had been talking and they had picked up on something. Not a lot, but enough to paint some sort of picture. Sure, the bots were likely to find out the whole thing soon or later, but the kids? They looked up to you. To these massive robots (both literally and figuratively). You didn’t want them to feel any ill will towards Optimus for not getting to you faster, for saving you before Starscream grabbed you. You didn’t want them knowing just how close they were to losing you, how much danger you had actually been in. You didn’t want them to think you were as pathetic and weak as you actually were. But at the same time, purposely keeping them in the dark could lead to distrust, resentment, and possibly even death. If they knew, it could save them should they ever (god you hoped not) found themselves in a similar situation. You didn’t want them to feel as if you were keeping secrets from them, or think that you didn’t trust them. Either way, you didn’t particularly want to discuss exactly what had been done to your aching body with anybody currently standing in this room. But it was most likely the best course of action, regardless of your feelings on the matter.

Miko suddenly squealed, loud and piercing, the sound jumpstarting your brain into action. You were on your feet before you even realised what you’d heard, hands on the back of the couch so you could launch yourself over it the second you needed to and get to her side in an instant. You weren’t the only one who reacted like so, Optimus and Arcee’s heads snapping in her direction and Bumblebee flinched like he’d been struck, his hands flying up into a defensive position as his stance widened in preparation for a fight. 

Bulkhead reacted the fastest and loudest however, many of the outermost plates on his body flaring out making him sort of look like a puffed up bird, one of his hands folding back and reshaping into a wrecking ball, striped in glowing blue lights. “What?! What is it?!” 

Holy fucking shit, that was a whole ass mace attached to his arm. And it was lit up like a disco ball. But that thing must have weighed a tonne alone, yet Bulkhead was holding it up like it was nothing at all. You didn’t know if you felt horribly endangered or incredibly safe and decided to not even think about it anymore, shifting towards Miko to see what had caused her to freak out. The human girl was seemingly oblivious to the mild chaos she’d just caused, bouncing over to your side once again with even more energy than the first time. 

Her hands were on your arms to drag you right to the railings where a very confused Bulkhead stood, away from the safety of the couch much to your growing unease, with sparkles practically spilling from her eyes. “So it is true then?! That you went face-to-face with a ‘Con?! Did you beat him up?! Give him any nasty scars?! Who was it?! Was it Megatron himself?! I bet it was! No- wait, Knockout! You totally could give Knockout the smackdown of a lifetime!”

Your blood ran cold, feeling the colour actively drain from your face as your head cracked towards Bulkhead with a sense of building panic gurgling in your chest. Upon realising that nothing was actually wrong, the large bot’s wrecking ball fist swapped back out into a normal hand again in that same quick flurry of moving metal, his body language relaxing only to stiffen up again once seeing your eyes on him. You had stopped listening after the second question, barely processing any of the words falling from her mouth as she continued to throw question after question at you. So the kids really did somewhat know. Clearly they were missing some key details, but Optimus had obviously mentioned to his team that you did have an encounter with a Decepticon, and that information was passed down onto the kids through their guardians. You felt dizzy, the world spinning around you in a colourful blur as Miko tugged on your arm over and over again as if she was trying to shake the answers from you. The bruising up your arms were burning, deep and dull aches splintering up the bones and muscles but you didn’t even try to stop her or pull away, breathing cutting short and uneven as that ever growing familiar thrum of panic licked at the edges of your vision. Everything was closing in around you, a low ringing hum echoing in your ears. Bulkhead’s ambiance, you were assuming. It was lower in pitch than the others you noticed, a deep rumbling almost droning that was fitting for his bulky rounded shape, sort of reminding you of the same bassy rumble that accompanied a distant earthquake but if it had been fed through a vocaloid and pitched down. It was loud against the panicked static filling your brain and bullied all other thoughts from your head leaving you all too aware of just how big and close Bulkhead was to you right now, how easy it would be for him to grab you and crush you. It was getting too much and for a second, you could have sworn you saw the hint of a grey wing peek from around the corner down the corridor behind all the bots before vanishing, that panic squeezing painfully around your throat.

You wanted to scream. Doing so would probably make everyone forget about this line of questioning but then you’d have to explain that you were actually going crazy because Starscream wasn’t actually there. He couldn't have been. 

You had stopped blinking at this point, gaze pinned firmly onto the large olive bot in front of you to avoid any more Decepticon hallucinations and it had him looking surprised and horridly unnerved. Your intense stare pushed a sheepish and anxious laugh out of him as he rubbed the back of his head and shifted his eyes away to avoid further eye contact, shuffling closer to Arcee like she could protect him from you, words tumbling from his mouth before he even thought about stopping. 

“She was curious about how you found out about us, ya’ know? It’s not like we necessarily got details either, mind you. I think the Boss is the only bot here who knows exactly what went down but I let her know what I knew. Uh… Sorry ‘bout that…?”

“We all did.” The lithe blue and pink bot had been quiet for most of this finally spoke up, crossing her arms over her chest with a suspicious squint as she stepped towards the railing. “Because this team doesn’t keep secrets from each other.”

Well, wasn’t that an unnecessarily pointed sentence that didn’t need to be said but had been anyways. Thanks Arcee, because you totally weren’t already full of guilt and trepidation. 

That got Jack speaking, the older teen coming over to pull Miko off of you and redirect her towards her mech, his brow raised towards his own guardian. “Arcee, c’mon. Don’t be like that. Look, Teach, we’re sorry. We overheard the bots talking about it and sorta’ forced them to tell us. I know we should have asked you first but it sounded… Sensitive and no one wanted to upset you and… Well… We were curious, wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

He sounded so sincere. It was actually annoying how earnest he was being because it meant you couldn’t get mad at them, not that you ever really found yourself actually getting upset with your students. But just this once, you wished they hadn’t been curious or worried, that they had made this easier on you. 

Optimus too, seemed to dislike the tone the smaller bot had taken with you, giving her a very direct disapproving look with a gentle ‘stand down’ gesture. “Arcee, do not blame our new friend for their silence, for I had plenty of opportunities to tell you all about our meeting but chose not to. Unlike with the children, their first interaction with our kind was not with an Autobot and very nearly ended in tragedy."

The blue and pink mech wasn’t impressed with that, turning her discerning eye to her commanding officer after shooting you once last heavy look. She either really didn’t like humans or really hated having information withheld from her, or both. 

Miko was all but scooped up by her guardian, cradled gently in his massive hands as she fell entirely silent. It was a little disconcerting in all honesty, with how the teen girl was known for chatting up a storm at any given moment, but the way she was looking at you now spoke volumes. There was a focused crease to her brow, eyes narrowed with a long frown on her face as she scanned you top to bottom a few times even as Bulkhead stepped away from the platform to hover near Arcee. The small bot shot an inquisitive look at how quiet the normally perky human had gotten but didn’t say anything on it after Optimus and Jack’s scolding, instead turning to continue scowling at you and your silence on the matter.

With there no longer being any teenagers pushing you around, your body seemed to notice there was nothing holding it upright anymore and with how frantically your frontal lobe was buzzing with anxiety and fear, your legs collapsed in on themselves. All the adrenaline had simply left your body all at once and without any fanfare, you silently dropped like a sack of potatoes much to the horror of the children who were now all yelling your name in a cacophony of panic. Without hesitation, Jack was on his knees next to you, hands hovering worriedly over your shoulders like he was scared of touching you and making it worse but still wanting to do something. Miko looked like she’d come to some sort of horrifying realisation, her lip wobbling as she turned to glance between you and up at Bulkhead in growing distress, hands curled tightly to her chest. You wouldn’t put it past her to have connected the dots with all the cryptic language the adults had been using surrounding your incident to have figured out that you’d been injured. She was perceptive like that, smart. And she was probably now filled with immense guilt with how she’d been rough housing you the entire time you’ve been here. Her bot simply cuddled her closer to his chest with a low soothing growl of his engine, curling his fingers protectively around her as she peered out in your direction between the gaps. Raf on the other hand had frozen in place, nervous and seeking comfort or affirmation from someone older that everything was okay only to find none as everyone’s focus was firmly planted on you, deciding his best bet was to cling onto Jack who was closest to you.

“Sorry! We’re sorry! Y-you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, we’re so sorry!” Jack and Raf were talking over each other, both desperately trying to apologise as if they were the ones at fault and you couldn’t help but wetly laugh a quiet broken giggle as you buried your face into your hands.

This seemed to only freak out the children more, who were now all shouting for Optimus to do something or for Ratchet to ‘fix this’, for all their guardians to apologise for upsetting you. The Cybertronians looked to each other on what to do next, Ratchet begrudgingly coming back out into the main lobby at the sound of Raf’s terrified voice in particular as Bee clutched onto Arcee’s arm to shake it like doing so would spur her into making everything better again. She naturally didn’t appreciate that, trying to shake the yellow car off of her with a snapping bark, though her eyes betrayed how uneasy she actually was over the situation. Optimus had bowed down onto one knee again to get level with you, ignoring the chaos surrounding him to keep you as his sole focus. His eyes were pinned onto you and only you as he hesitantly reached out like he wanted to pick you up and cocoon you safely in his hands but knew better than to do so after your reaction to Bulk just before. It was frankly quite endearing just how much everyone was panicking and as much as you didn’t want to worry them further, it felt as if every last bit of energy had been sucked straight out of your body. 

So you did the next best thing.

With practiced ease, you brought your hands together in quick succession to clap out a loud and clear pattern of clap-clap-clapclap-clap that instantly got the children’s attention. They all went quiet, watching you carefully as they awaited your next words which got the bot's attention too. They glanced at the kids to guide them on what to do next, confused at why clapping in a particular way seemed to get a trained response from them, not entirely sure of what was going on. You watched Bee silently bring his fingers up to quietly clink-clink-clinkclink-clink them together, mimicking you as his wings fluttered in what you guessed was fascination.

“I’m fine. Tired, but fine. Today has been… A lot and I am still recovering from last week, yeah? Look… I’ll tell you about what happened if you really want to know, but are you one hundred percent sure you want to hear about it? It isn’t a pleasant story.” Your knees ached in the position you’d fallen in and you knew you’d have to get up soon or you’d be walking funny for the next hour or two. Damn your aging bones.

There was a pregnant pause as the kids seemed to have another silent conversation between them. Miko jerked her head towards Arcee with a pointed look as Raf shrugged at that, one of them making a vaguely insect-like movement with their fingers that had Jack openly cringing at, an exaggerated shiver going down his spine. The motorbike raised a brow at being apparently mentioned in this conversation before seemingly understanding exactly what was being referenced with a grimace of her own. The two boys then turned to give their friend a very unimpressed look while gesturing directly at a hole in the wall of the base that was as if it was the start of a tunnel but didn’t go very far, the inside lined in large semi circles. In fact, you hadn’t noticed it before but now that you were looking, it was hard to ignore. This massive gaping hole looked like the fancy entryway to a swanky club, a runway-equse strip of concrete with bright white lights stripped across the ceiling and sides in arching circles, easily taller than Optimus and Bulkhead stacked on top of each other. You had no idea how it played into the children’s silent conversation or what purpose it possibly could have to the bots considering it was just a dead end. Another question for later, once again it seemed. Miko had the gall to look offended at whatever the other two were implying, even as Raf patted his upper chest while looking at Bulkhead in a way that she seemed to understand the intent of, deflating a little. She returned fire though with a motion that you think was meant to be a laptop and maybe a satellite that had Raf sheepishly grinning like he knew he’d done something wrong but didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest. Either way, you were completely lost at this point as were the bots who, while also not quite understanding, seemed fairly content to let the kids hash out what they wanted to do undisturbed. After another moment all three nodded at the same time, coming to the same conclusion.

Jack was the first to speak up, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and Raf came around your other side. “I think we can handle it. Take this to the couch?”

You rose a brow at that, piecing together some clues as to what they were discussing amongst themselves. If you had to guess, you’d say they were trying to determine if what you’d gone through was any worse than anything they’ve experienced since becoming a part of the team, something that was highly concerning given some of the things they’d been miming to each other. You narrowed your eyes into a glare at Optimus suspiciously and the massive mech actually looked a touch guilty at your pointed stare, his own gaze falling squarely to the left of you to avoid your eyes. That wasn’t comforting and confirmed your theory that they had been put in some danger since discovering giant alien robots existed. You would chew the leader out for that later.

Letting the boys help you to your feet, you wobbled over to the couch and plopped down heavily as they took a seat either side of you, trying to gather your thoughts. Miko was content staying on her perch in Bulk’s hands and the other bots all crowded around, save for Optimus and Ratchet who both pulled back to watch from a distance, the medic clearly trying to pretend that he wasn’t interested at all. A frown was planted now on the red and blue mech’s face as he lightly crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back from his team to lean heavily against one of the walls, something contemplative crossing his features as his eyes dropped to stare into the ground by his feet. This story was not one he was proud of, nor seemingly took any enjoyment in reliving.

You’d briefly mentioned to Jack and Raf when they visited you that Starscream was your attacker, though you only brought up him falling from the sky in front of you due to him running from Optimus. That, and that the Prime had taken an arm from the fighter jet but you aren’t sure if either of them actually absorbed that tidbit of information with everything else that had been happening. Miko on the other hand only knew whatever it was that Bulkhead told her and that was only whatever Optimus had told him. You had no measure of what exactly she’d heard, what had been embellished from being passed between gossipers and what she’d taken out of proportion herself. From the sounds of it, she fully believed you got into a fist fight with some mech named Knockout which you had no idea about or where she got that idea from.

You didn’t spend a lot of time on your explanation, choosing instead to keep it simple and to the point. There was enough excitement going around as is and no matter what you said, Miko was likely to make it all seem grander than it really was and you’d rather keep that to a minimum if possible. There was also the whole nearly dying thing, something you heavily downplayed for the sake of the three wide eyed kiddos in front of you. You didn’t expect the bots listening to be as invested in your story as the kids were, their attention making the hairs on your neck prickle uneasily as you tried to avoid their eyes where you could, gaze planted fairly solidly on your hands in your lap or at one of the children, or when you were feeling particularly nervous, at Optimus. You knew he wasn’t going to interrupt or correct your story at any point, nor chime in with his own perspective, but you looked over anyways at the parts you weren’t as sure about. You wanted his confirmation, his support in this but you knew the only comfort you would be getting was that fact he was still in the room. The massive mech remained still the entire time you spoke, eyes never once leaving the ground in front of his feet, arms never moving from where they were crossed heavily over his chest. You knew he was listening though as when you said something he disliked, the tall pointy fins on the sides of his head that looked like antennae would shift and move sort of like animal ears. The first time you said Starscream’s name, they both dropped back to lay horizontal behind his head like a pissed off cat and you stuttered over your next words in fascination. It was, to put it plainly, fucking adorable and distracting as hell. You’d never noticed it before now, having pegged the Prime to be as expressive as a brick wall and while that may have been true for his face, it seemed there were other much more obvious tells on determining his emotional state. You were frankly shocked that this was the first time you had noticed the little flappy antennae. Perhaps the Autobot leader had simply been focusing harder on not moving them thus far but currently thought no one was paying attention to him and had let his guard down? You kept your eyes on them every time you went over something particularly painful, letting the flicky twitchy movements calm and ground you and keep you present in the moment.

Raf was sobbing by the time you were done, curled up against your side with his little hands clutching at your pants tightly as he buried his face into your lap to avoid touching your torso in fear of hurting you. You’d scooped him up the best you could, running your fingers through his hair and down his back as his small body heaved and shook under the weight of his emotions. The high-pitched wailing was sending Bee into a frenzy, the yellow bot pacing back and forth next to the platform with frantic worried whirring, hands reaching out and retracting back to his body as he couldn’t get to Raf or you nor was he sure if he should, leaving him unable to comfort his troubled charge or his teacher. He didn’t stop until Arcee physically grabbed his arm, the mech clearly easily able to pull himself free from her grip as he flexed, the plating along his arms flaring out as he considered doing so before finally conceding and instead dropped himself onto the ground to sit moodily. He looked ready to tear himself apart at the seams, hands gripping at his head and legs periodically, unable to stay still. His engine revved and grumbled and skipped, eyes rapidly zooming in and out on everything as his gaze skittered around the room constantly like his focus was getting violently flung from one thing to the next without pause, mostly narrowed into pinpricks of blue against matte black. You were sure if Raf wasn’t as upset as he was or if Arcee wasn’t standing directly behind the mech, then Bee would have shot himself out the base in seconds to hunt Starscream down and dismantle the flamboyant mech piece by piece.

Obviously no one was happy to hear what had taken place, but none of them really seemed to know what to do next, all showing their own signs of distress much like Bumblebee and his charge. Miko didn’t say a single word after you finished, her guardian instantly taking notice of this silence in mild panic, huddling her as close to his chest as he could to let the young girl press herself against the metal, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her fists were shaking as she brought them up to slam them against Bulk’s chest as hard as she could without thinking she’d hurt her friend. It looked as if she was trying her damnedest to not start crying herself, her breathing short and stuttery as her bot gently rubbed down her back with a singular blocky finger, barely noticing her angry punches. The expression on his own face was tight, furious and deeply saddened with his jaw clenched, brows low over his eyes with a dark rage brewing in them. His engine was quieter than Bee’s, rolling through his chest like a rottweiler at a constant low growl. You were sure if he wasn’t holding Miko that he too, would be doing something that could be considered a war crime to the fighter jet to release the building pent up fury over this aggression against someone they were all apparently seeing as one of their own. 

Ratchet and Arcee were the calmest of the group. The lithe bot had put both her hands on Bee’s shoulders as she stood behind him, either to calm him or keep him in one place you couldn’t tell, her expression grave but not overwhelmed. There was something under the surface you couldn’t quite read, her gaze pinned directly on you with an intensity that normally would have made you worry for your safety. But not now. No, she was focused and serious but the way she looked at you had softened with concern even if it was still dripping with displeasure. You hoped the discontent was towards Starscream as the distrust in her wasn’t as strong, her apathy smoothing into mild worry. Ratchet was similar, giving you that same blank look he had in the med-bay earlier. It was like he was looking through you rather than at you, no furrow to his brow nor any anger in his eyes. It was clinical more than anything else, like he was trying to work out the logistics of what Starscream had done against the damage he’d seen, how far along you’d already healed versus how much more healing you had left. You didn’t like it. It felt too impersonal, from both of them. It was better than the prejudice that came with your earlier yelling match but still made your skin itch as you became aware once more of just how alien and foreign these bots really were.

Jack on the other hand seemed to be handling it the best, his face blank save for the slightest crease between his brows, eyes locked onto some dirt on his shoes. At least, you hoped this was him taking well. Realistically it looked a lot more like him being so overwhelmed that he didn’t know what to do, instead freezing up completely. Reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his trance, head snapping up to stare at you in surprise as if he didn’t know where he was or how he got there, your heart aching at his response. A questioning tilt of your head had him stammering, stumbling over his words to the point of him not actually saying anything at all, frustration building until he finally mumbled out a small ‘I’m sorry’. It hurt, watching your kids struggle but your heart was filled with warmth regardless. There was so much love surrounding you in that moment, from all of them in their own ways, speaking volumes through their anger and worry. It was hard to feel anything other than humbled and cherished when you realised that their reactions all came from a place of care and it was one you weren’t really expecting.

From the kids, yes. Obviously you knew the kids would be concerned and angry on your behalf, you knew they cared about you and adored having you around. The bots on the other hand, not so much. You’ve barely interacted with any of them and those that you had seemed to have a less than stellar opinion on the human race, not including your children. You’ve had one entire conversation with both Bulkhead and Bumblebee but both mechs looked ready to commit a murder for you. Neither seemed to be the type to get angry easily, especially not Bee but as you were currently learning, the energetic bot seemingly had quite a streak of violent rage in him when given the right prompts.

Optimus had yet to move from his sulking corner but you noticed as you were wrapping up your tale that his little bunny ear antennae stopped moving much to your disappointment. But it did confirm that it was something he consciously hid when interacting with others. For the moment, he seemed content staying in his own world, arms tightly crossed against his chest as every cable in his neck tensed and relaxed with low heavy creaks of straining metal, the frown on his face only deepening the further into his own head he got. 

Deciding this whole thing had gone on for long enough, you stood to your feet much to Raf’s distress who whimpered at the loss of your touch. Jack instantly filled the space, letting the younger boy lean against him though neither looked happy about you moving away from them. 

“Guys, I told you already, I am fine. It’s over, what’s done has been done, and I will be staying.” That last bit was pointed as you turned your gaze to Ratchet and Arcee particularly, the latter raising both of her brows in surprise as Ratchet deflated a little despite already knowing this.

“You are?” She turned to glance at Optimus but upon seeing his lack of response focused back in on you. “Even after that? You know Screamer isn’t going to let you get away next time, right? He knows your face.”

She seemed to accept that a lot more than you thought she would, apparently not all that bothered by you staying and instead just being shocked that you would want to stay after nearly losing your life. You nodded, steeling yourself to look as confident as you could. The idea of Starscream finishing the job terrified you down to your very core, but you were a man of your word and you had told Optimus you were willing to become one of his soldiers, and you meant it. You were going to help in any way you possibly could and push past every bit of fear that wanted to stop you in your place.

“I’ve made my decision, as it has been discussed with Optimus. I-... I am aware of the dangers that come with being affiliated with you but as I told him, I think the risk is worth it.” Your voice had a faint tremor to it you bit down, straightening your spine even as your ribs disagreed with the action, eyes flickering over to Miko in Bulk’s hands and then the two boys on the couch.

Ratchet let out a loud sigh, turning his back to you as he started to make his way back to the med-bay. “Yes, yes, you certainly did. What was it you said? ‘I care deeply for the children, so I guess I now have to care about you and everyone else here too.’” 

There was a tone to that you didn’t fully understand. Resigned wasn’t it, nor was it particularly negative or aggressive. Just… Different. 

“That it’s ‘not a burden. Not if it’s you.’?”

Your cheeks heated at that as embarrassment struck you down right where you stood, stealing every bit of your falsified confidence from you. The medic looked way too pleased about that, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced at you from over his shoulder before he vanished behind the metal divider back into his haven before the chaos broke loose. You hadn’t thought he had been listening to your conversation especially when you and Optimus had been practically whispering at that point. This got Miko’s attention as she finally looked up from Bulk’s chest, cheeks red but otherwise dry with a certain twinkle in her eye that had you panicking.

“Miko, n-!”

“DO YOU LIKE BOSSBOT?!” 

Oh god fucking damnit Miko.

Now everyone was looking at you funny, Optimus jerking out of his thoughts with his own brand of mild surprise widening his eyes. The other bots didn’t quite seem to pick up on the context of Miko’s shout, faces twisting into confusion as if she just said the most obvious thing in the world. You were going to use that to your advantage to claw your way free of this misunderstanding before it got complicated. You’ve known each other for like five hours tops, kid. Relax.

“Yes. Of course I like Optimus, Miko. Just as I like the other bots too. I consider him… A friend.” You weren’t sure you would actually say that you were friends at this point, but it was something you would like once you got more used to him and the crew. “He saved my life and has been nothing but kind to me this entire time. I stand by what I said. I don’t think of it as a burden to be here with them.” 

You gave the teen a very sharp look that had her pouting, her body slumping in disappointment that there was no hidden budding romance blossoming before her eyes. “And if you must know, we were actually talking about you.”

That had her focusing back on you again, a wide eyed confused look on her face. It made you want to laugh as it often was the same expression she pulled when you called on her in class to answer a question she didn’t know.

Optimus finally decided to join the conversation, voice sweet and so painfully soft as his expression melted into something relieved. It was heartwarming to hear him use such a gentle tone with the kids when you knew how loud and brash he could be if desired, his eyes no longer so distant and stormy. “We still have much to discuss before your teacher becomes an official Autobot, but they are not wrong. You, and your brethren, Shooting Star, were a crucial reason for them choosing this path.”

Shooting Star? His nickname for Miko was Shooting Star? Oh that was too fucking cute, you wished you came up with that first because it was so fitting for your little fiery ball of light and joy. 

Speaking of, your little star was flabbergasted with big wide eyes that sparkled, mouth parted open in shock as she glanced between you and Optimus. “Us? Say sike right now! You see us every day at school, why wouldn’t you wanna stay for the big awesome bots?!”

You heard the slight tremble to her voice, your entire body softening for her. The young girl was clearly overcome with emotion at your claim to be putting yourself in danger for them, trying to cover it up by reflecting. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to hang around you guys even more? Someone’s gotta watch your concerts.”

She looked ready to cry, confronted with this idea that someone wanted to be with her rather than those around her, almost confused. Like she couldn’t understand that there were people out there that could possibly care enough about her to willingly throw themselves in harm's way if it meant protecting her. Letting out a loud sniffle, she stiffened and hurriedly began slapping at Bulkhead’s hand to lower her back onto the platform. She didn’t even wait for him to stop moving before she launched herself off of him and bolted straight towards you. It took every inch of her willpower to slow down just before reaching you so when her arms wrapped around your waist it was with all the care in the world instead of carrying the weight of a speeding train like it normally did. It was gentle, especially for her, and she buried herself into your arms with desperate sniffling as she blinked away the urge to cry into your sternum. Your boys shared a similarly misty eyed look, Raf wasting no time to join in the huddle puddle as his arms too coiled around your waist from behind. His glasses dug uncomfortably into your lower back but you paid it no mind as you shifted one of your arms to envelop him, the boy letting out a wet laugh as he tried to cuddle closer. Raising your brow at Jack, the teen looked put out, if not unsure and a little conflicted. He shuffled closer after a beat and loosely brought an arm over your shoulder to lean against you in a little side hug. Miko wasn’t having any of his awkward teenage bullshit and threw one of her arms around his upper torso to yank him against both herself and you, forcing him into a proper hug. He yelped but didn’t otherwise fight against it, grumbling quietly to himself before he relaxed in your hold and curled around you and Miko with one of his hands drifting over your back to seek out Raf.

Glancing over the tops of your kids heads, your eyes met that of Bee. It was startling, these impossibly large blue eyes that were fully blown out so no black was visible staring directly at you and your gaggle of kidlets, his brows tilted up as if he was pouting. The other bots were watching you all too, smiling lovingly at their bundle of humans all wrapped up around each other, content and relaxed. Bee however was not, his body crouched down next to the platform with his hands resting very lightly atop the rails so he didn’t break it as he eyeballed your group hug longingly. The expression surprised you and you honestly felt a little embarrassed being watched so closely by one of the mechs you didn’t know very well and you shyly waved to him in an attempt to rid yourself of the feeling. His wings flapped in response, a chippy little chirp beeping out something that made Raf giggle into your shirt. Bulkhead openly laughed at whatever it was the yellow mech said before basically tackling the shorter bot to scoop him up from behind.

Quite loudly, Bee screeched in a jumbled mix of surprise and objection, arms flailing as his feet were lifted from the ground. Bulkhead was happily crushing the smaller mech into his chest, completely ignoring the rapid fire protesting beepfest, the little bot’s wings flattened out over the green metal at a funny angle that had him wiggling for freedom.

“If you wanted a hug buddy, you just had to ask!” Bulk cackled joyously as Bee went limp in the other’s hold in defeat after making no headway, whirring a despondent bweep boopwoop that had Optimus’ antennae wiggle. 

Acree was trying her hardest to not laugh, shoulders shaking as she bit her lip before snorting ungracefully which got the large olive bot’s attention. Realising her mistake, she held both her hands up in surrender, slowly backing away as Bulkhead tucked Bee under one arm. He droned out a long singular bweeerrrp at being manhandled but didn’t try worming his way out anymore, hanging in the bigger bot’s hold like a doll. 

“Bulkhead, don’t you da-AHH!”

Moving way faster than you expected given his general shape and size, Bulk dashed forward and curled one massive paw of a hand around Arcee’s waist as she squawked at him and assumedly swore at him in some Cybertronian language as she too was lifted from the floor and into his chest. Acree fought harder than Bumblebee did, smacking at her friend’s chest with solid metallic thwacks, cursing him out as he cuddled her like one would a teddy bear, cheerily ignoring her in giddy victorious delight.

“C’mon Arcee! Scared of a little love?” Mocking and teasing, Bulkhead rubbed the bottom of his jaw against the top of her head as she swung a nasty kick right into his thigh with a very loud TWUNG.

The round bot yelped but didn’t drop his captives, instead moving his focus back onto Bee who was being a lot less violent. The yellow bot let out a beep that sounded suspiciously like a teenager whining out ‘Mooooom!’ as Bulk spun them around in a circle.

All the kids were basically pissing themselves laughing, Miko leaning her full weight on you as she nearly collapsed from how hard she was cackling, phone already pulled out to snap what was most likely close to a hundred pictures. Jack and Raf on the other hand had pulled away from you to rush up to the railings to get as close to their suffering guardians as possible, shouting words of encouragement like this was some wrestling match. This got Bee revved up, the little mech letting out some sort of war cry as he twisted around to grab at Bulkhead’s jaw, affectionately tugging and shaking it like the other was some sort of large dog. Miko wasn’t having any of it, joining her friends at the railing to cheer on Bulk only for Jack to grab her and put her into a headlock. The teen screamed, laughing loudly as she tried to pull herself free while Raf attempted to come to her rescue by jumping the taller boy. The three of them went down in a pile of limbs and giggles.

Optimus had walked over to the platform once more during this chaos, the warmth in his eyes overwhelming as he watched over his team with fatherly pride and adoration basically radiating from him. You honestly felt the same, your heart ready to burst at the sight of so much love and joy in front of you. It was such a tonal shift from how every other interaction had gone so far today and one that was sorely needed, the stress and panic melting from your bones.

“This is what I meant.”

The large mech tilted his head in your direction, splitting his focus between his family and you, a question in his gaze. 

“This is worth protecting. Worth fighting for.” Your voice was soft, a dreamy like quality to it as Miko stood up over the two boys triumphantly before holding her arm out and tapping on her elbow like a wrestler.

Raf yelled at the sight of that, instantly scrambling free from Jack to get out of the way of his friend’s wrath as she jumped directly atop the eldest boy’s stomach, the trio dissolving into a puddle of laughter and groaning as Raf tackled the young girl. 

The big rig paused at that, slowly turning to take everything in. Eyes on the human children wrestling, giggling and playing, free and happy. Watching his kin, his soldiers at ease as they tease each other, intimacy and trust and respect in their every action towards each other. You. Relaxed, peaceful. Smiling. The rage in you, the fear and terror and panic was gone and he could see you how the children did. Bright and sunny and strong.

Optimus nodded, gaze entirely soft as his lips twitched up with a little wiggle of his antennae. “I believe you are right, little one. Nothing is more precious, nor so delicate.”

~-~-~-~

Escaping the base took a little while after that. None of the kids were particularly happy with the idea of letting you out of their sights and attempted to distract you with story after story. Past fights they’d witnessed, Megatron and Optimus, Airachind and Arcee, Breakdown and Bulkhead. It took a lot of convincing that you were tired and promises that you’d see them tomorrow before they let you say goodnight and exit out of the silo inside of Optimus. The scenery out his window was dull in that repetitive way deserts often were, boring and nondescript. It all blended together into an amorphous blur of burning orange and yellow as the sun started its descent to the horizon, with smears of green littered here and there from what little shrubbery were scattered about. It gave you little excuse to not stare at any part of the red and blue bot’s cab, your eyes wandering around the enclosed space against your will with nothing more interesting to push your focus onto. It all felt too private, too personal to even be looking around in let alone sitting inside of. You still couldn’t understand how the children had no reservations about clambering around what was practically the guts of these colossal creatures, nor how they felt about having squishy little organics writhing around between the gaps of their mecha bits. You imagined it was akin to having parasites shifting through the empty cavity of your chest and the thought made you a little green around the gills, a brief wave of nausea swimming through your guts.

You shifted focus to avoid spewing inside the Prime’s cab, instead taking notice of how he compared to your short ride in Bee. Optimus was in some ways similar to Bumblebee with the same mech face symbol on the horn and blue lights flashing over the radio and dashboard. Whilst still weird and unnerving, at least in that sense the space wasn’t entirely new and foreign, even if you did notice some key differences in the general layout and makeup of the interior. You wondered if it was due to vehicle differences or if it was something more biological for them, like a sign of age or maybe like how facial features looked different on different people. Optimus’ cab was overall, much larger with bench like seats for both the back and front seats rather than the individual passenger/driver ones you’d find in a car. You didn’t like that in all honesty, even if it made sense for the big rig to have. When it was Bee, you couldn’t extend out past the limits of seat meaning it was harder for you to feel like you were taking up too much space, especially seeing as his seats were designed to be smaller overall with him being a sports car and all. In Optimus however, you could nearly lay down flat without interruption, only needing to bend your knees to fit. There were no unspoken lines to follow or anything to help you not feel like an invader in his space. In the end, you’d taken to squishing yourself up against the door as much as you could without physically touching it, thighs pressed tightly together and your hands in your lap and even then it still felt wrong. Interestingly enough, you couldn’t help but notice that the technology in Optimus seemed older too. With Bumblebee, you felt as if you were riding in a brand new model of luxury car, the kind of shit that had been released that year and you could never afford in your lifetime or the next with all these dials and switches that you couldn’t begin to imagine what they were for. Bright flashy neon lights, black sleek detailings against yellow chrome and plush race car seats that looked freshly steamed and painstakingly cared for. The Prime on the other hand could have been a truck from the 90s or even 80s, old rickety gear stick, worn leather wrapped around the benches and what looked like fake wood lining the doors. Not falling apart at the seams and on the verge of breaking down kind of old, but definitely something you would get half price at a dealership and you would suspect to have engine troubles. His dashboard at least looked somewhat sci-fi and modern, and it brought to question as to how much was due to the type of vehicle he was, or if it was signs of how old he was compared to the perky sports car. Maybe it was purely a stylistic choice and Optimus thought he’d blend in better if he wasn’t a brand new shiny big rig and maybe Bee just liked the techy futuristic design because it reminded him of home. You wouldn’t know unless you asked but that felt sort of like asking someone why they were a certain race.

Optimus’ rearview mirror moved to tilt towards you and you could see the colour drain from your face in its reflection at the eerie movement. That… Was vaguely terrifying and that haunted poltergeist-esque feeling you’d gotten with Bumblebee was back. You don’t think you’d ever get used to seeing parts that aren’t meant to move by themselves move without any human input. The seatbelts were by far the worst as they moved like living creatures, slinky and serpentine, bending like muscled boneless limbs in quick zippy movements. At least when the mirrors or doors moved, their range was limited to a swivel or a simple open and shut motion that you could pretend was just fancy self automated functions you’d see in a super fancy lambogini or something. On the plus side, you figured he could probably see through the mirrors and now knew he was looking at you. That didn’t actually do anything to lessen your nerves and if anything made them worse with the knowledge he could see you. The silence was not helping lessen the sweat forming on your palms or slow your racing heart and you came to realise that the truck was waiting for you to speak first. He probably figured you had some questions you wanted to ask before he dived into the entire known history of his planet and society as a whole. Technically, he was right but you didn’t know where to start and the whole idea felt overwhelming and too unencapsulating. Did you just ask him to start from the beginning? Try and get context about who the Decepticons are first? Hell, you couldn’t even say you knew much about the Autobots at this point. Maybe you should try and figure out what life was like before everything went to shit? God, you didn’t know. Perhaps the people were a good place to start. People were at the heart of everything and could give you a much needed perspective to the social climate at the time as much as a deeper look into the people you were going to be spending a lot of time with in the future.

“Am I allowed to ask what you all did before the war? Or were you born into it?” It felt taboo to ask but it also felt a lot safer than asking why he and the Decepticon leader had the sexual tension of a divorced couple in need of a hatefucking. You hadn’t even seen the rival leader yet, but from your kids’ yapping, their interactions seemed to always be intense and tended to border on pornographic.

You figured it was kind of a shitty question to ask as your anxiety gurgled away in the back of your brain, your heart reaching out for these mechanical beings for all they’ve had to endure. They’d been doing this whole war thing for so long, you couldn’t even imagine how painful it would be to look back at everything you’d accomplished in your life knowing now that it was all for moot and that you could never go back to how it was before. Even if the war ends and they are allowed to go back to how things used to be, would they even be able to? Things would have changed. They would have changed. Hell, you were told their planet was technically dead. Uninhabitable. Where would they go after all was said and done? Would they stay on earth, forever stuck in hiding or would they move on to another planet? 

You weren’t sure you wanted to think about that, unease adding to the emotional shit cocktail brewing in your stomach. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if they even remembered what things were like before war. What their homes were like, the faces and names of old friends, their culture and society. Four million years was an insane length of time after all. Even computers could lose memory over time, whether from damage or general wear and tear. And here you were, dredging up stories long past that he surely didn’t want to think about. Or worse, if they were born into it then none of them would have ever known a life of peace. Never have known what it would have been like to not have to fight every second for your life. Had they even seen their home planet? Bee felt so heart wrenching young, was he made before or after the planet died? Had he ever seen their cities before they crumbled, ever known friendship without worry of death, ever slept without considering whether it would be the last time he would? The longer you sat on it the worse you felt about asking but your curiosity was too strong for you to want to take it back.

Optimus however, from what you could tell from inside his cab and much to your relief, didn’t mind the invasive question as he let out a deep thoughtful hum. You were pretty sure you hated talking to the mechs in this form more than when they were massive scary robots. At least they had faces you could gleam emotion off of when they were the size of buildings. Not that Optimus ever really gave you much to work with, but it was something compared to trying to gauge his emotions just from the rumble of his engine and how fast he ran down the long strips of road. 

“Hmm… You may, little one. Your curiosity is never ending and… Quite refreshing if I am to be honest. It has been so long since I have had reason to look back on my time on Cybertron, least of all the memories that have not since been tainted with spark-loss and spilled energon.” This felt bizarrely like asking your grandpa to tell you old war stories and you supposed the imagery wasn’t too far off. “Cybertronians are exceedingly long lived, only fading from outside sources such as disease or injury. For one to lose his spark from age alone is near unheard of and only happens due to extreme neglect of the frame.”

That answered one of your questions. These guys were not only ancient, like longer than the human race sort of ancient, but also practically immortal. Like a lobster. You supposed that makes sense seeing as they didn’t have organic cells that could age and die in the same way humans did, being made up of interchangeable parts that came off and reattached. Everything about them was ever shifting, ever changing. If parts stopped working, they could just replace it with a newer one. You wondered how much of Optimus was the same as when he first came online or if he was a ship of Theseus, every part of him replaced with another at some point in time. It was kind of mind boggling to consider, knowing that this creature you were sitting inside of had lived long enough to be able to witness the rise and fall of entire empires, of entire planets. That he had lived long enough to physically see evolution at work, see the carcinisation of animals happen, watch the very land itself shift and fall apart and shatter. They were more than four million years old and still going strong, barely showing any signs of age par for their absolute wealth of knowledge and experience. And yet, four million years later and they were still maturing and learning and making mistakes. It was humbling and comforting at the same time to realise that their ever growing age didn’t make them perfect and infallible even if they were still wiser and more knowing than you could ever be. 

There was a contemplative growl rolling through the metal underfoot, the large immortal lobster bot’s voice turning reminiscent as he continued. “Ahh… Ratchet was an illegal practitioner back on Cybertron, working between multiple shopfronts to avoid the law tracking him down. He had a set up in some of the poorer cities like Kaon, Slaughter City, Tagan Heights, and Blaster City, targeting areas that had little to no available healthcare and offered his services cheap or more often than not, for free. Miners, industrial workers, substance abusers and gladiators made up a majority of his clientele, much to the displeasure of the High Council who would have much rathered lower castes to fend for themselves, out of sight of the average mech."

You had questions that you weren’t going to ask to avoid interrupting him but it was harder than you would have liked to not say something about the name ‘Slaughter City’. That felt a bit too on the nose and you hoped it was more of a translation thing rather than a planet actually deciding to name one of their cities ‘killer death city where you will die’. Was it named something else first only to be renamed after a string of unfortunate events? You didn’t know if that was any better or not. You were also very interested in the part where Ratchet apparently used to practice medicine outside of the law considering the size of the stick up his ass. The guy wasn’t a complete uptight prick and certainly had the attitude to be able to handle those who were a bit more rough around the edges, but to administer medical aid outside the standard didn’t feel right for him. Ratchet felt like he would be a bit of a stickler for the rules or like he’d rather settle down in one place, maybe a countryside down out of the hustle and bustle of the city to help some oldies with their aches and cricks.

Did that make Ratchet a quack? Surely he’d studied somewhere and gotten a degree, right? Did Cybertron have degrees and universities or colleges? Maybe they had an entirely different standard of education, or maybe Ratchet was born into the role of doctor and had all relevant information downloaded directly into his brain. Or maybe you were correct in your first assumption and Ratchet was totally a quack who used to wear a big old white coat and funny glasses to complete the picture. You nearly giggled at the thought until your brain properly processed what Optimus was actually saying. 

The medic went to places that were considered dangerous and that didn’t have access to medical treatment against the will of his government to help the lower class citizens who otherwise couldn’t afford to get or find aid. 

That sobered you up real quick, discomfort creeping into your bones. Cybertron apparently not only had drug problems within poorer cities (he did mean drugs by ‘substance abusers’ right?), but also was still implementing a type of barbaric gladiatorial bloodsports for entertainment before the war broke out. Gladiators that from the sounds of it, weren’t given adequate healthcare by the ones pushing them to fight. The blue collar workers of their planet had been put into dangerous lines of work without anything to keep them alive or functioning. The idea hit a little too close to home. You still felt the relief of knowing that you weren’t the one who had to pay for your short stay at the hospital and that Fowler had that covered for you. Under any other circumstance, you might not have been able to afford the bill and if you could have helped it, would have avoided getting taken to hospital at all unless you seriously thought you were dying. The fact that giant alien robots from space also suffered from healthcare debt scares wasn’t a pleasant one.

You were no longer sure you wanted to know what everyone did before the war. If they were anything like Ratchet, then it seemed that they all were fighting in their own ways long before the war actually started, a pang pulling at your heartstrings. You knew you were going to find out either way now that Optimus had started and that all of it would inevitably link up into what started this ongoing conflict, that sense of nervousness in you doubling down. The big rig either ignored your mildly alarmed expression or didn’t see it as his voice tilted up into what you imagined would have been a smile on anyone else.

“We originally met in the golden city of Iacon where we both studied at the Academy of Science and Technology. I graduated before him and began working primarily in the Vaults as an Archivist whilst trying to enroll into the Institute for Higher Programming. He visited often, always looking for medical records and textbooks others had long forgotten about.” There was something wistful and soft at that, memories of a time long gone bathed in longing. It was obvious that the Prime not only treasured Ratchet but also the shared memories of their youth, of time spent together.

So Ratchet did have a degree and they did have institutes for specialised education. Again, that all felt a little too human for your liking but interesting to know nonetheless. You were also surprised at the fact that Optimus, the strong heroic leader and terrifying brutalist when provoked, used to basically be a librarian. A soft spoken little book nerd, a history geek tucked away in the dark corners of a massive sprawling archive, and also had multiple degrees and went to more than one place of higher education in the pursuit of knowledge. The guy wasn’t just a beast on the battlefield, he was an academic monster as well. There was a suspended sense of disbelief at that honestly though you supposed it wasn’t that weird all things considered. Optimus did seem the type to appreciate a good book and the solitude of working alone in a calming quiet space, and he did tend to speak with a certain air of intellect. It only made you more curious about the truck though, especially with how he went from archival duty to war general because that was one hell of a leap in careers. 

“I was known by a different name then…” The reminiscence was sounding a lot less sweet now, something almost bitter getting drip fed into the words but you couldn’t be sure if you were hearing it right. His tone barely changed, but something still felt off about how he said it. “Not that it matters anymore.”

You weren’t going to even touch on that, the whole sentence feeling like poking a live grenade. He was definitely bitter about it. Or was it regret? You couldn’t put your finger on it and it felt wrong either way to interrupt his reflection on his old life. The lights across his dashboard flickered and faded to a dull blue as something under it throbbed with a heavy electric pulse. You assumed it was his spark reacting to his emotions in that similar way a human’s heart might beat harder when stressed. It sounded different to how you remembered in the base, this ethereal like thrumming vibrating over the thick metal panels under your feet in hollow echoes that reverberated from further forward into his hood. It sounded deeper, like what you imagined multiple sparks all beating together would sound but muffled and buzzing with static. To be fair, you’d only heard it once and that was when you had shoved your face between his tits in his bipedal form. Maybe sparks just sounded different when they were in vehicle mode due to the engine running like an actual car would and this sound was normal for them. 

“Acree was an apprentice Enforcer if I recall correctly, working under the likes of Prowl and Tumbler.”

Tumblr?

“Hm… Or was it Chromedome now? I haven’t heard from the mnemosurgeon in quite some time but I remember his designation changing before I became a Prime. I hope he and Rewind are doing well, wherever they are.”

Designation? You were going to assume that was just their word for ‘name’ but wow, that whole sentence caught you off guard. Because this Chrome dude was a fucking what surgeon? That was not one you could guess. You had zero clue as to what that bot did surgery on and the first part of that word was not giving anything away considering last time you checked, mnemo meant memory. It must be some part of their body because the idea that they could do surgery on their memories was insane, but as to what, you didn’t have the foggiest idea. 

What did they call all the different bits and pieces of themselves? Because there was no way that aliens also called their hands and fingers ‘hands and fingers’. That was 100% something you were going to bother one of the bots about at a later date.

You were getting sidetracked. 

He just revealed that Arcee was a cop and that didn’t surprise you in the slightest. She had ‘jaded policeman’ written all over her. Soon she’ll be paired with some naive sunshine rookie who’ll change her perspective on the world around her and they’ll go on a life changing adventure and save the city.

In all honesty, these names meant nothing to you and sort of made everything a bit harder to follow along with but you let Optimus speak uninterrupted anyways. Something about this felt like it was for your benefit as much as it was for his. You wondered if the Autobot leader ever thought about these people he once knew all those lifetimes ago outside of conversations like this, if he remembered them fondly or if he wondered if they were still alive and why they weren’t here with him if so. Maybe he was grateful they weren’t because it meant they weren’t fighting for their lives in a cruel never ending war. Or maybe he was too busy, too stressed and scared to reminisce on a time when peace was the normal, maybe he used it as fuel to keep him going no matter how tough it got. Regardless, these names seemed to light a warmth in him, a fondness tinging his voice as his dials flickered brighter. Perhaps he was indulging you because he couldn’t talk about these kinds of things with his team. Didn’t want to upset them or force them to remember all they’ve lost, leaving him to bottle up everything. If you were acting as an outlet for the mech, then you were happy to sit and listen to him yap about his old friends and past life. 

“Arcee and I had not been properly introduced then, in the few times I visited with Senator Shockwave. She was often working out on the field for experience with Hot Rod-… With Rodimus under Jazz’s watchful eye and thus was rarely in the station. I knew of her and her work as I am sure she heard plenty about me from Prowl.” You perked up a little at this, going through a whole wave of emotions at the information you’d just managed to gather from this one sentence alone. 

Most of these names were just a random bundle of words to you with no meaning at all but you did recognise one name in particular. 

Shockwave. 

Last time you’d heard that name was from Jack back in your house when he visited with Raf earlier that day. One of the members of High Command in the Deception forces. Something about that hurt, an uncomfortable itch in your chest at the fact Optimus was now actively fighting against those he once considered a friend. You wouldn’t be surprised if he has had to kill someone he used to intimately know, forced to pick between his own life and theirs. You were quick to shove that line of thinking to the deepest crevices of your brain that you were sure would resurface late into the night to haunt you while you tried to sleep.

On a much lighter note, you also couldn’t help but notice how completely dead and monotone the big rig’s voice got whenever he said Prowl’s name and something about that was frankly hilarious to you. You don’t know how long it's been since they’ve last interacted, but somehow this Prowl guy has managed to make Optimus Prime of all people, just from the mere mention of his name, utterly unimpressed and annoyed, even all these years later. You’d love to hear all the gossip surrounding that but there was also another name he said interestingly. The way he said Hot Rod or, more precisely, Rodimus’ name. It felt so incredibly fatherly in an achingly deep and heartbreaking way that you couldn't help picture the bot as anything other than deceased. Optimus kind of always vaguely sounded like a dad, soft and warm and helpful and terrifying when pissed off, but this was different. This was honest to god parental grief as if he birthed that mech and watched him perish horrifically. 

You hoped not. 

You were learning about so many different people who’d been a part of Optimus’ life before he was Optimus Prime, figuring out just how much they meant to him by his infliction alone and in all honesty, you felt grateful to be shown something that surely must have been considered vulnerable or even sacred. Sure, you were likely never to meet any of these people and you doubted you’d ever hear about them again, but it felt like it was important to the large mech and so it became important for you too to remember these names. 

“You worked with the Senate? And the law?” You couldn’t help but finally butt into his retelling, curiosity reaching a breaking point. You didn’t expect for all the Autobots to have known each other before the war, but they so far were much more intertwined than you had anticipated. “I didn’t know that being an archivist would be so involved with law enforcement and the government.”

The truck paused at that, engine stalling for a half second before revving up again. “Ah… Not quite. I supposed this all happened after my meeting of D-... Of Megatron.”

He did it again. 

That slight pause after getting a name wrong. It bothered you a bit more than it probably should have as the hiccup gave away more than the Prime probably realised. 

Optimus still remembered these people as they were before the war. Back when he was just a history nerd and not a leader of an entire army. Even after four million fucking years of grueling and devestating bloodshed, Optimus still remembered the people he once knew as they were before the war tore them to shreds. It honestly made you want to cry, the thought adorable and bittersweet and heartbreaking. That even after all this time he fondly remembered the people around him when they were at their best and not their most desperate or broken. And even more, you knew that last name. Jack briefly mentioned it as a member of the Decepticon High Command and you remembered the way kids had talked about him back when you didn’t know any better. The way they talked before letting you leave the base. Heavy and foreboding, utterly fearful and enraged. Never once had you heard your kiddos talk about Megatron in a positive light, only in dread and anger. If you were putting context clues together, this Megatron guy was not only the leader of the rival faction, but he used to be friends with Optimus. Close friends. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past them to have been lovers with how tenderly the red and blue bot said the dude’s name. 

Your heart ached at the thought. 

The fact that Optimus still looked at Megatron and saw him as his friend from before the war first and foremost felt like getting stabbed. You were seriously about to start bawling, eyes tearing up as you took a solidifying breath. Surely the war would have pushed them both to do fucked up, horrible things to each other and yet Optimus still couldn’t help but say his friend’s former name in the most endearing and gentle little voice. See in him the man he used to be before morals and conflict tore them apart. That certainly would explain the apparent crazy chemistry they had on the battlefield and with how much the kids gassed it up, you kind of wanted to witness their homoerotic sword fighting with your own eyes if it didn’t put you in immediate danger with high chances of death. Or if the idea of two dear former friends trying to kill each other didn’t make you sick to your stomach.

“I’ll explain that soon enough, little one. For now let us focus on just the team, yes?” There was an ounce of hesitance in that you barely managed to pick up on. Made sense that he didn’t want to rehash what you imagined to be the terrifying, gut wrenching traumatic series of events that lead to his friendship breaking and the eventual catalyst for the death of his planet. 

You nodded silently, not trusting your voice to break as you subtly wiped at the corners of your eyes, watching his rearview mirror tilt up and towards the darkening road stretching out behind you.

“Bulkhead was a construction worker, an engineer. Mainly worked out of Crystal City but I remember hearing about entire teams from there being sent off planet to help with the construction of a new mine on Luna 2 at some point. He doesn’t talk much about his old work so I cannot confirm if he was one of those workers or if he was there for long.” The lights over his dash dimmed again and it was more noticeable this time around with the sun dipping down to vanish below the horizon, the blazing fiery red melting into deep purples and dark blues dotted with twinkling stars.

You were going to assume that Luna 2 was a moon for obvious reasons, though it made you curious as to how many moons Cybertron used to have and if they all followed the same uninspiring naming conventions. Though why the mention of Luna 2 seemed to upset him you weren’t certain and you weren’t going to ask, finding this conversation to have had enough bad memories popping up as is. Instead you decided to focus on how ironic it was that Bulkhead used to be a builder considering the deep green bot’s skills seemed to lean more towards the destruction of things rather than the construction of. Still fitting enough that you could believe it though. You could picture him in a little tiny human sized hard hat with a hi-vis vest barely stretched over his arms and torso, stacking bricks like block toys. You bit back a giggle at that, knowing full well that wasn’t what it would have been like for him but finding the idea amusing either way.

“And last but not least, Bumblebee. He… is an M.T.O-” He paused after that, a very low and heavy rumble travelling up through the seats and into your bones. There was a sadness to his words and you couldn’t say you understood. Everything else hadn’t been too hard to piece together with the right context clues being laid out for you to gather but that acronym meant nothing to you, nor were you really given much to work with. Considering the lack of enthusiasm from the big rig however, you were going to guess that it wasn’t a good thing, or at the very least not something he’d wish for the sweet bubbly yellow mech. Maybe it was a special type of job that was given to lower class citizens? Or that was just what they called mechs who couldn’t work/didn’t have a job? Was it an age thing? Maybe Bee was simply too young to work, still considered too young and is only fighting in the war because he signed up while lying about his age or something. The beepy bot felt so painfully youthful in the few interactions you’ve had with him, you honestly couldn’t imagine him being any older than 25 in human years.

You also couldn’t help but notice the Prime’s usage of present tense.

It made you nervous, taking the weight from your theories but giving nothing in return. All the others were past tense. Because it was what they did before the war, not what they currently are doing.

“M.T.O?” You had to ask, the silence sitting between you too harsh, too disconcerting. It didn’t sound like the large mech was going to elaborate without prompting and that just made it even worse. 

What could this possibly be that was making the steadfast and solid bot not want to tell you?

For a moment, Optimus didn’t respond and it made your stomach twist. Sweat was starting to form along your palms again and you tried to wipe it off on your pants discreetly. You wondered if his silence was because he was thinking or because he really didn’t want to talk about this anymore, that whatever this M.T.O stuff was truly was that bad. A slow trickling of guilt ran down the strands of your hair at the thought of pushing the gentle giant too far, forcing him to relive horrors he’d rather never let see the light of day again. “You don’t have to te-”

“‘Made To Order’.” You weren’t offended at being cut off, confusion tugging at your brows. 

Okay… 

M.T.O. 

Made to Order. 

Made sense. You guessed?

Cool. So you now knew what the acronym spelt out but you still had no idea as to what that actually meant in this context. It gave way to some very unsavoury ideas but that could just be your imagination running wild thanks to the build up to this reveal. The large bot let out a deep sigh at your puzzled expression, clearly not enjoying this turn in conversation. Your guilt spiked again at your cluelessness, almost wishing it was Ratchet telling you this so it wouldn’t feel as bad. The medic would probably start yelling at you or something and you could yell back and it wouldn’t matter in the end. 

But like this? With Optimus?

It felt like it mattered a lot. 

His headlights switched on as a car drove past, engine whirring as he changed gears to pick up speed. “Cybertronians come into existence in roughly one of three ways.”

Holy shit, you were about to get the Talk: Alien Addition and it came in three fonts. That was a wild change in tone but you were so ready. Let’s go Papa Prime, teach the teacher about how Cybertronians do the do.

“The first was the most common back in my day; being harvested from a Hot Spot, also known as being Forged. The second only became relevant in the build up towards the war as the Hot Spots began to die out; being Constructed Cold. And finally, the least common method and one that has very rarely ever been seen; being created from the union of a Conjunx Endura.”

Ohhh-ohoho. You had so many questions. That was the second time you’d heard the word ‘conjunx’ and you had some vague ideas given the context you’d heard it in but you would love some real confirmation, because that sounded like the only option where Cybertronian babies came from sex.

“M.T.O.s are soldiers who were Constructed Cold during military campaigns and were onlined specifically to act as front line soldiers mid battle.”

All the buzzing excitement you’d begun to feel at the idea of learning more about these colossal titans was violently ripped from your hands and shot in the face at point blank. Suddenly, you uncomfortably very much understood the dread in his voice now. You didn’t know what half of those words meant or what the differences between these three methods actually were but you were forced to put it aside as you became horribly, terribly aware of what the Prime was implying about the little yellow bot.

Giddy, curious, sweet little darling Bumblebee was a child soldier.

Worse than that, from the sounds of it, he was literally born in the middle of an active battlefield and was instantly expected to fight. The very first thing he likely would have seen was someone dying.

You were going to be violently sick.

Hell, child soldiers was pushing it. Try newborn soldiers.

Even by human standards, that was low. Humans had done plenty of grotesque, inhumane things for the glory of war, to further technology designed for obliterating the enemy, but there’d yet be a way to create new life for the sole purpose of using them as meat shields in active military campaigns. And were you pretty sure that kind of idea wouldn’t get past the UN at this point in history and would raise some real ethical issues about what then constituted as a ‘real’ human. 

The sound you made was soft, a quiet distressing keen as all the air in your lungs escaped your stunlocked body, the big rig sighing gently in response. There was a creeping sensation of numbness working its way up your fingers through your clenched fists as you were completely disgusted and overwhelmed at what this meant for the sports car. That Bumblebee had never seen a life outside of war, never known peace, never got to see his home planet without the fires and blood of conflict muddying its surface and horrifyingly, this just confirmed your theory about the bot being most likely their equivalent of a teenager or at the very least, a young adult. He was made to be filler, to fatten out the front line and fill in the gaps between troops. It appeared that your ride despised telling you as much as he hated knowing himself, his engine changing gear to rumble comfortingly in that soothing purr like growl he’d done a few times before for you. It traveled up through the metal under your feet and through the seats into your body, enveloping you on all sides like a thick heavy blanket but it didn’t help clear the horror-stricken fog clouding your thoughts.

Optimus didn’t care to let that information marinate in your brain, to let you process and compartmentalise exactly what this meant, not only for Bee but for possibly hundreds, if not thousands of his people. His tone changed to something more cold and unforgiving as he pushed onward, filling the nauseating silence with more grief. You couldn’t blame him as much as you wanted to. In all actuality, you wanted to yell and curse at him for revealing something so heartbreaking, slam your fists into his dashboard until the glass covering his dials shattered and your blood was smeared across every surface of his cab for ever allowing something so wrong to happen to the bubbly mech, for not taking him out of the fight. You wanted to grab the wheel and steer your both off the road and directly into a mesa, killing you both in a fiery blaze of grief and humiliation so you never have to think about this ever again, to take you both out of your shared misery. You wanted to shrink both him and Bee down to your size and engulf them in a hug, in warmth and comfort. You wanted to reach forward and pet the dashboard in front of you in an attempt to give the truck some solace, to say something, anything to lessen the harshness of this knowledge.

But you didn’t. 

You just sat as still as a statue without saying a word as he went into further detail and kept imagining your own children in Bee’s place. Seeing their petrified expressions, dripping in crimson and dusted in ash as they cry and run as hellfire and bullets rain down upon them. Picturing Bee, confused and small and scared, surrounded by limp battered bodies and neon blue blood with lasers and-

You were crying.

Silent tears that ran down your cheeks in fat droplets and you only noticed as they had fallen from your face onto the hard ridges of your trembling knuckles, the skin white from how hard you were clenching your fists. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been crying for at that point, your lip pinched between your teeth until you tasted red.

God fucking damnit.

One conversation! You just wanted one without tears! 

“Back when the war was still new, M.T.O.s had to go through a ten-step educational program. Taught everything a Cybertronian was expected to know, history, culture, language, art, combat, before they were sent into the field. As time passed and more lives were lost, this was narrowed down to eight steps. And then three. Soon, anything to do with Cybertron was removed, stripped to the bare essentials until they weren’t even taught to read or write. Eventually all that was left was a test to ensure that they were able to fight.” There was a pause as if he was debating saying the next bit, voice quietening with restrained rage. “It was said M.T.O.s had a three minute life expectancy so why bother wasting the time and resources to teach a walking corpse?”

You didn’t quite understand all the nuances of this or how it worked but you understood enough about what was being said, that last sentence feeling like the nail in the coffin. These bots were literally seen as nothing more than cannon fodder. You didn’t know how education or this cold construction worked on Cybertron, whether it was a quick process they demanded to make quicker or if it was long and arduous that they found ways to streamline, but you knew that M.T.O.s clearly weren’t seen as people.

In trying to ask a harmless question to get to know more about the ragtag team your kiddos hung around, you’d managed to find a fucking landmine and all but threw yourself onto it.

You understood why Optimus sounded as if he didn’t care. And it wasn’t because he didn’t. You knew that. You’d seen the way he looked at his team. Like they were his family, the most precious things in the world, like they were worth everything and more. No, it was because he cared that he had to remove himself from it. Put up his walls before the rage and sorrow consumed him whole and made him do something stupid. 

Stupid and violent. 

You wanted to grab Megatron by the fucking throat and squeeze, wanted a gun to point it directly between that monster’s eyes and shoot.

You think you understood the exact flavour of rage Optimus tasted when facing his enemies now because it was swimming through your veins and for the very first time in your life, for the briefest of moments, you wished you weren’t human. That you were 40 feet tall and weighed as much as two trains, made of heavy solid living metal.  

And then it was gone. 

Replaced by the drowning sorrow and empathy for your littlest kid’s friend. Brutality for brutality wasn’t going to fix this. Violence begets more violence, and something tells you that revenge against the Decepticons will only encourage retaliation. That, and you weren't even sure you could blame the Decepticons for this. 

Bumblebee was an Autobot. 

The Autobots utilised M.T.O.s, they created child soldiers to fight for them. Yes, if this war didn’t exist, then there wouldn’t be any M.T.O.s but you didn’t know who came up with the idea first. Whether it was the Decepticons or the Autobots, no one was in the right here and everyone was just trying to stay ahead. You couldn’t blame anyone but no one was right and it sucked. Everything felt easier when there was a target. Like you could direct all these intense emotions outward so they couldn’t swallow you whole. But no. Instead you were stuck crying your eyes out again at the idea of babies getting sent out into the field, asked to fight for a cause they don’t understand for a planet and its people they didn’t know of. Crying because that sucked. Because there wasn’t anything else you could do about it. 

Optimus fell quiet once more as he shifted gears and began to tilt the wheel off road, the smooth asphalt turning to the rough gritty dirt of the desert, melancholy permeating from his very existence. You didn’t know where he was taking you, nor how to break the heavy silence covering you both. He continued on for another few minutes, slowing to a gentle stop once out of sight of the road as night fully enveloped you both, his headlights turning off so the only light came from the sky above. He didn’t ask you to move or get out, simply letting you sob away your sorrows over the fate that had befallen the brightly and springy mech with that same low comforting engine purring filling the space around you. It took you longer than you would have liked to gather yourself once more, sniffling loudly as you wiped at your face with laboured heaving breaths, awkwardly clearing your throat once you felt calm enough to acknowledge the situation.

“Do you wish to continue or shall I take you to your place of residence?” His voice was deep, tinged in understanding and shared grief, bittersweet and cautious.

You were sick of crying for one, so going home did sound great. But you still knew basically nothing and the lack of information was frustrating. Obviously, trying to summarise millennia long conflict wasn’t easy, especially paired with alien vocabulary and culture needing its own detailed explanations for anything to make sense, but you didn’t feel satisfied enough to leave it here.

“Maybe... Let’s just start small for today. And then… Yeah. Please take me home.” The lights over his dash flashed at that, your throat sore making your words weak and shaky.

“Of course, little one. What has piqued your curiosity this time?” You wouldn’t call it relief, but the unease had receded.

“What’s the difference between Forging and being Constructed Cold? And Conjunx?” 

His fans gave a solid vrrr before quietening, the whole cab around you seemingly relaxing like he was an old man settling in an arm chair. 

“Hm… I’ll start with Conjunx as you humans have an equivalent. A Conjunx Endura is a… Spouse. Another whom you have bound yourself to, a significant other. It is often a very private matter, but not an uncommon one. Traditionally, one chooses a prospective Conjunx through a ritual known as the Conjunx Ritus, a display of four acts of affection, kindness, and vulnerability. An Act of Intimacy, such as intertwining servos. An Act of Disclosure, a sharing of something deeply personal or secret about oneself. An Act of Profference, a gift without expectation of anything in return. And lastly an Act of Devotion, a demonstration of one’s love for the other. The exchanging of innermost energon is popular within Conjunx Ritus.” 

“Innermost energon?” Everything else about that made sense and was honestly incredibly sweet. Apparently, Cybertronians were way more romantic than humans with their official rituals before becoming a pair. Like marriage but cuter.

“Yes. Energon is our lifeforce, our blood so to speak. We need to consume it for fuel as much as it used for ammunition in our weaponry. Without it, we simply cease to be. Innermost energon is the energon around our spark casing. It is extremely potent and even a small amount is enough to power a vessel, making it quite sought after by scavengers in the aftermath of a battlefield. No matter what other parts of us change, is removed and replaced, it remains the same. To give another your innermost energon is a display of immense affection, a way of showing one just how important they are to you, that you care for them. It is done mostly during funerals or when someone is sick or injured, as well of course, between bonded pairs.”

There was a lot for you to gleam out of that. Firstly, could they get any cuter?! To give another the one part of you that will never change, a piece of you that sits closest to your heart is the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. Secondly, did you just find out that they eat their own blood? That their blood was used as ammo and rocket fuel? You knew they were robotic creatures so like, the idea of them drinking fuel wasn’t that far fetched, but you weren’t expecting the fuel to also be blood. That was just weird. The bit about it being highly volatile was just a touch concerning. You still didn’t know why they had teeth, seeing as they were weird little vampires drinking blood for energy and you couldn’t help the disappointment at your mystery staying unsolved.

You honestly wanted to ask if he had a Conjunx or if he’d given anyone his innermost energon. If anyone on the team had a Conjunx. But you didn’t for obvious reasons. He’d just said it was normally considered a private thing and the fact they were in a war meant there was a very high chance that if he did, they were dead. So you moved onto the next topic.

“And Forging versus Cold Construction?”

“To be Forged means to be birthed from the Cybertron herself. Hot Spots were sacred patches of land that when ignited would blossom with new sparks, a great cause for celebration. These sparks would be placed within a substance gathered from the planet’s surface known as ‘sentio metallico’ which forms into a newspark protoform. Every protoform has its own genetic code or set of instructions to help a spark develop limbs, facial features and of course, an alternate mode. It takes roughly 28 vorns for a Forged Sparkling to mature into a Cybertronian, having learned everything necessary through imprinting on its surroundings.”

Did… They call baby Cybertronians sparklings? Jesus, that was insanely adorable! This was a much needed mood changer, your tears from earlier monetarily put aside to allow room for this fluffy knowledge. Also, Cybertronians were cabbage patch kids who became adults within what was an indeterminate amount of time to you because what the fuck was a vorn? 

Interesting. Wild as shit, but interesting.

“However this did not last forever.” God damn it, please don’t be the start of another tragedy. You really couldn’t take another bout of planet wide suffering. “Pulsewaves were happening more infrequently leaving less and less Hot Spots to ignite and so a group of scientists decided to find a solution and succeeded in doing so, managing to generate and harvest thousands of sparks a day. Artificial bodies were created to house these sparks but this meant that many Cybertronians were both never sparklings and that any genetic instructions as to what their form was meant to be often contradicted the frame they were given.”

You noticed the sudden vague language around the creation of these new sparks but didn’t comment. Though you were starting to see where this was going, that familiar unease and discomfort bubbling in your gut again as Prime switched his engine and headlights back on. You supposed this conversation was nearing its end, the truck slowly making his way back to the road.

“With such an abundance of sparks being produced, many had to be stockpiled and frozen until more frames were built where the sparks would then be thawed, thus the name ‘Cold Construction’.” He was pausing again, the lights of Jasper fast approaching as the two of you made your way towards town. “How about we end it there for now, little one? I am afraid that this runs a lot deeper than I initially realised and we are nearly within the city limits.” 

Curious. You weren’t going to object though as a yawn steals your words from you before you even had a chance to say them, that encroaching exhaustion that’d been chasing you all day finally having caught up. There was always time tomorrow to continue. Optimus too, seemingly needed the break and you weren’t about to deny him that. You agreed gently, sleepily directing the big rig in the general direction of your house before asking him to stop before turning down the road. He hesitated at that, not appearing to like the idea of not personally seeing you all the way in until you explained how nosy some of your neighbours were. He obviously wasn’t happy if the grumbling of his engine was anything to go off of but he conceded and allowed you out anyways, promising to see you tomorrow after school in which you had to correct him.

“Unlike the kids, I work there. I won’t be leaving at 3pm with them, sorry. I’ll swing by the base now that I know where it is when I finish up everything that needs to be done, but I can’t guarantee a time. Is… That okay?”

Optimus hummed quietly, closing his door before you could step out to finish this conversation in the privacy of his cab. “Will you not allow one of us to come and collect you?”

“I own a car. It’s kinda suspicious if I suddenly stopped using it in favour of catching a ride with one of my students, or worse, in a big rig I do not have the qualifications to drive.” You raised a brow at him, holding back your smile.

It appears he genuinely didn’t think about that, not quite sure where to go next. “Then will you allow one of us to drive… With you?”

“Like, in front or behind me? Like an escort?”

He revved, deep and growly. “Preferably, yes.”

That overprotective streak was showing in him again and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He was honestly such a mother hen. “Fine. But how am I to let you know?”

Without missing a beat, your phone suddenly beeps. Surprised at the timing, you cautiously glance at the screen to see a notification from a number you didn’t know. Mostly because it was all in an entirely alien text, symbols and shapes you didn’t even know how to begin explaining. Under it simply read, ‘Will this suffice?’.

What a show off.

Chapter Text

Entering your home the second time after witnessing giant mechanical marvels beyond your imagination felt a whole lot more anticlimactic than the first time. There were no government conspiracies hovering over your head, nor any overwhelming sensations of paranoia driving you to the brink of insanity, and certainly not nearly as many deep lingering feelings of terror, uncertainty and guilt burrowing into the farthest reaches of your body. The pain was still there unfortunately, that hadn’t changed but was to be expected, echoing through the marrow of your ribs in near constant ebbing waves. It had diminished considerably luckily and was almost bearable now unlike before at the very least. The pain meds the hospital had given you still sat on your kitchen table, right where you left them, ready for use the second it got too much to handle and with how much you worked yourself today, the consumption of two pills were seemingly in your near future. 

The entire house was dark, quiet and it was exactly how you had left it earlier that afternoon. 

While the circumstances were different and you weren’t worried about being put into an early grave this time, coming home the second time after getting hands on with massive metal behemoths from space was certainly as exhausting as the first time around. You had actually spent a solid half a minute outside your front door, keys fumbling in your grip as you tried and failed to insert the key into the keyhole from sheer fatigue alone. Your eyes drooped and hands unsteady, making the task much harder than it needed to be until you finally managed to unlock the blasted thing and push your way inside. There was a feeling of thankfulness aimed towards yourself at your foresight to not let Optimus drop you off right outside your house, relieved you didn’t let him see you struggle so much doing something as simple as opening the door to your house. He’d never let you out of sight ever again if he saw that, his overprotectiveness already having reared its head enough that night to last you the rest of the week.

Once inside, your shoes were instantly kicked off in the doorway and pushed to the side as you drowsily stumbled through the darkness towards your kitchen without bothering to turn any lights on. You knew where you were going well enough and managed to find your fridge without running into anything more than twice. The kitchen lights did get switched on as you stuck your head into the fridge, becoming thoroughly disappointed at your prospects as you hadn’t exactly gone food shopping in over a week at that point before finally settling for whatever June had made you earlier that day to have for dinner. Between the two massive dishes, you grabbed the larger one and tossed it onto the counter to go search for a plate and some cutlery. In all honesty, you were too tired to even think about cooking and even the idea of heating something up felt daunting but the growl rumbling through your stomach convinced you to push through, grateful for your friend’s thoughtfulness and her perfect timing. Peeling back the alfoil covering revealed a golden brown cheesy baked something that smelt delicious even cold, your mouth watering as you realised you never ended up finishing your lunch due to the surprise visit your boys jumped on you, leaving you much hungrier than you normally would have been by that time. You couldn’t see under the thick layer of cheese the nurse had smothered the dish with so you had no idea what could actually be laying in wait beneath the surface but whatever it was, it was seemingly exactly what you needed in that moment. Not even ten minutes later were you sprawled over your couch with a plate of warm gooey cheese heaven and some much needed mindless TV playing in the background. Whatever was playing was of no consequence to you as your rapidly fading focus was honed in on something else entirely, the messaging app on your phone which was open to your most recently added contact that had only one single text in it that simply read: “Will this suffice?”. You’d clicked the edit button and deleted the line of incomprehensible symbols and alien text, and stared at the blank space, deep in thought. You needed to put the contact down as something but you weren’t willing to also just leave it as his name or whatever that alien writing was in case anyone saw it and started prying. Something preferably inconspicuous and that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows but also not too bland that it sticks out against your other contacts. A difficult balance to find and one that had your already strained mind buffering harder than it needed to as you went over everything you’d recently learned about the Prime, searching for something there you could use. Anything actually to do with Cybertronians or the Autobots felt way too suspicious and eyecatching, from both a context perspective as well as a basic word one. 

‘Bossbot’? Not your boss and having bot slapped on the end is begging for someone to ask questions. ‘Optimus Prime’? What kind of a name is that? Someone is going to point it out if they see it. ‘Autodad’? Kinda funny and fairly tempting in all honesty but you already had your dad’s number under a different but similarly styled dad name that would look bizarre to anyone peeking over your shoulder. ‘Big Red’? Like Clifford? No thanks. Maybe just an emoji would work? He turned into a truck, maybe that would be fine and you would know who it was. You didn’t know any truck drivers though and Optimus didn’t count, not to mention that you didn’t have any other emoji contact names so it would stand out way too much. You also didn’t want to use a name that your children would use which further narrowed down the list. If someone heard them talking about some ‘OP’ guy and then saw that name in your contacts on your phone, well… It’s more than a little weird and might encourage people to start paying closer attention to both you and your troublemaking trio. Your head was starting to hurt, a low groan escaping your lips as you gave up, typing in the next thing that came to mind.

‘Ultra Nerd’

It wasn’t witty or funny, nor all that creative but it got the point across. If anyone asked, he was a librarian you knew from your old home. Or an old co-worker from another school you worked at before moving to Jasper. Optimus used to work in a giant alien archive and talked like a nerd at the best of times which would fit the cover story just fine. If anyone saw any messages you could play it off as something from a book the two of you were reading, or like a play his students were doing, especially if he said anything specifically alien or military. It’d have to do, at least until you came up with something better. You adjusted a few of your other contacts to match, changing June from ‘Mrs. Darby’ to ‘Dr. Beat’ in reference to Gloria Estefan and Mrs. Evans’ landline number to ‘Nosy Neighbour’, silently praying that the kind but invasive woman never sees it. And with that, Optimus’ contact number (you were going to call it a number even if you didn’t exactly see a phone on him or any of them ever use one) seamlessly fit amongst your other numbers with equally lame names.

~-~-~-~

The morning after felt shockingly like a hangover you haven’t experienced since your early twenties, emphasised by the fact you were still on the couch, curled into an awkward ball with drool dried on one cheek. There was a bone deep weariness sinking into your very being, bags the size of New York parking themselves under your eyes, and a pounding headache you knew was just from sheer emotional burnout throbbing through your skull. The shrill ringing of your alarm wasn’t helping and blindly reaching out for your phone to turn it off was an effort you didn’t feel ready to deal with yet, made worse by the fact you couldn’t find it for a painfully long minute amongst the folds of your clothes and couch. When you did finally manage to pull the device free, you were greeted by the ruby red flashing low battery icon and the number on your screen sitting at a lovely 4%. Upsetting, but understandable considering how you had been too tired to even think of plugging it in the night before and you were just grateful it lasted long enough to wake you up in time for school. Tossing it on charge, you went through your morning routine to get ready for the day and treated yourself to a longer than usual hot shower not only to ease the aches and knots in your back from sleeping on the couch, but to also help rid yourself of the headache with soothing scented soaps and steam. The whole thing made you feel a little more human again and less like an amorphous blob of constipated emotions and muscle pains. You were out the door and into your car a good hour before classes started with your favorite morning drink and feeling at least somewhat normal enough to do your job.

After everything, the day went by as plainly and simply as ever. No surprise aliens bursting through the walls or ripping off the ceiling mid class to crush you to death, no cryptic messages from the government or your new found robo-friends and all the weird behaviours your trio were portraying were now very understandable and felt fairly normal given the circumstances. It was a breath of fresh air and the constant need to pay attention on your lessons made it impossible for you to think about not getting killed or this intergalactic war for the first time in nearly a week. At least three of your classes had made ‘Get Well Soon’ or ‘We Missed You’ cards and a few of your students had personally come to see you between lessons or during break to gift you items they’d made or gotten just for you. With how long and stressful everything had been recently, especially considering you’d isolated yourself for an entire week, seeing your students and how much you’d been missed in the short period you were gone was almost enough to bring you to tears a couple of times. There were brief moments of calm and silence that allowed for lapses in focus, distracted by all the things you’d learnt from your new allies slipping into your thoughts hard enough for others to notice but you were able to get free from their probing easily enough this time thanks to the entire town having heard about your trip ‘down a mineshaft’ which worked as perfect cover. You weren’t pleased exactly about everyone thinking you were an absolute clueless clutz and of course many of the younger children with a lesser understanding of what is socially acceptable to ask others about did in fact ask many a question you weren’t comfortable answering, even if the events were falsified. The mental gymnastics involved to survive those conversations were ones you should have been prepared for but ultimately hadn’t been due to being too busy thinking about ancient ongoing mecha wars, but you made it and you believed you did so without implicating yourself or anyone else involved.

You were almost expecting something to go horribly wrong with how smoothly the day went but alas, as the last bell of the day went off and as your students fled the school grounds, nothing happened. No emergencies, no near deaths or actual deaths, nothing. You’d yet to stand from your desk as the classroom emptied, finishing gathering your papers and laptop when someone stepped up to the desk. Lifting your head, you were greeted by Miko and glancing over to your door showed both Jack and Raf curiously peering around the corner. The Autobots really managed to pick the most suspicious kids in Jasper, honestly. It was a miracle the team was still a secret. Stopping your cleaning, you look up at the girl and wait for her to speak, showing that your full attention was on her. She, in turn, conspiratorially looked around and upon seeing a group of students still chatting at the back of the class, ducked down closer to you.

“So?” She was grinning in that way she often did before diving into mischief. 

“So, what?” You had an idea of what she was trying to ask you but also knowing Miko, it could be literally anything and you wanted to be sure.

The teen girl groaned loudly and dramatically rolled her eyes as she threw a ‘can you believe this shit?’ look towards the two boys by the door, who replied with a shrug and an amused snort. “So, will you be coming with?”

The group in the back finished packing up their bags and moved to the door, pushing past Raf and Jack as they continued chatting, waving to you as they did so. You waved back and called out a quick goodbye before focusing back on Miko. “No.”

“Awh, what?! I thought you- but- they said-!” She was cutting herself off every other word before she ended up yelling out something about her extraterrestrial friends, frustration growing on her features at her lack of ability to openly state what she wanted. Leaning right over your desk to get in your face, she pouted and whisper-shouted at you with a whine. “Bossbot said you were one of us now!”

Jesus Chirst, Miko. Her volume control needed work and you were glad the windows were shut as some students walked past outside towards the gate. Jack coughed loudly to cover her voice as a door down the hallway opened and two teachers passed by, nodding in greeting and wishing the two boys a good night as they turned the corner and out of sight. Putting a hand on her forehead, you playfully pushed her back with an entertained if not lovingly exasperated look on your face, trying to ignore the way your heart had sped up at how close of a call that could have been. 

“Miko, kiddo, I’m still working. I’ll swing by later but I’m not going with you. Also, it’s like, super suspicious for a teacher to get into a car with their student and I’m not trying to get on any lists. I’ll contact the big man later when I’m done and drive on over, but until then, I still have stuff I need to do. I’m behind on some assignments and need to chat with Mr. Bronski about a joint class lesson for a chemistry experiment we wanted to do next week.”

You could tell she was zoning out after you told her that you were finding your own way to the base, basically melting over your desk with a grumble. She dragged out every syllable, nose scrunched up and her brows furrowed. “How long?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, snorting at her impatience as you stood up and tucked your laptop into your bag. “I don’t know, it depends on how chatty Mr. Bronski is feeling today. You know how he is when you get him started on chemical reactions.”

The teen shivered violently at that, disgust on her face. She knew very well just how boring the science teacher could be when he started talking about science, the older man quite well known around the school for his long winded and lengthy tangents about his favoured field of study. A flash of colour out the window catches her attention before she can say another against your well intentioned co-worker, her eyes lighting up at the sight of a large dark green SUV rolling up to the curb. It seemed that her ride had arrived, the faint bassy thumping of drums heard even from inside and through the windows at how loud he was playing his music.

You tilted your head towards Bulkhead who had come to a stop, a small smile gracing your lips at her clear excitement. “Go on, don’t keep him waiting, I’ll see you later. I promise.”

She was practically vibrating, torn between trying to convince you to leave with her right then and there, and rushing out the door to her mechanical friend. “Nnnn… Fine! But you better be there!”

“I promise. Now get out of here already! The longer we talk, the longer it’ll take me to finish up.” You shooed her cheekily and the young girl didn’t need to be told twice, sprinting out the classroom before grabbing Jack and Raf by their arms to drag them out with her.

The boys barely had time to wave farewell before they were yanked out of the building and out front to their own rides who’d arrived the same time as Bulkhead, obviously all having traveled together save for Arcee who you’d seen parking around an hour earlier. You’d never noticed it before but it made sense that she didn’t just sit outside the school all day and took off when no one was looking before coming back nearing the end of the school day. You watched the kids climb into or on their respective vehicles before vanishing down the road, taking a moment to steel yourself for what was surely to be a very long conversation with Mr. Bronski.

By the time you were finished for the day, the sun had started dipping towards the horizon and the school was empty save for the janitor and a handful of other teachers who were also prepping for the next day of classes and trying to grade papers in time like you. There was frankly, still so much to get done before Friday as you hadn’t exactly been keeping up in your week off but your body was protesting from having sat hunched over the countless assignments for the past few hours, your ribs especially. Standing up with a stretch, you felt several points along your spine crack satisfyingly, relief filling the space as you groaned and sighed. It was getting close to 6pm by that point and if you didn’t stop now, you likely would never make it to the base before the kids would be expected to go home. That, and you were feeling your focus wane after staring at messy handwriting and bright screens for so long, knowing yourself well enough to know that you likely weren’t going to get much more done that night. Gathering the rest of your things, you were quick to pull out your phone as you exited the building to see if you missed anything and to open your messages. Zero notifications save for Facebook trying to get you to add a person you didn’t know as a friend, you swiped it away and sent a short and simple text off to Optimus to let him know you were going to start heading over. While you said you’d let them escort you to the base, it felt so overkill and waiting for someone to show up seemed like a waste of time. The base wasn’t far, only a 15-20 minute drive away and it wasn’t like the Decepticons would recognise your car considering Starscream only saw it briefly at night whilst bleeding out. You doubted it was ever a solid point of focus for him at that moment. It’d be nearly 7pm if you waited for someone to come drive alongside you, whereas if you started now and ran into them midway, it’d cut the wait time down by nearly 20 minutes. You knew for a fact that if you took too much longer, your kiddos would throw an absolute fit, and frankly, you wanted to leave yourself with enough time to continue talking to Optimus. You had plenty of questions and there were a few things from yesterday that you wanted more information on. 

Your phone buzzed angrily in your hand and glancing at it revealed that the bot in question was calling, the stupid name you’d given his contact info flashing at you mockingly. The beginnings of regret reached out to pet your shoulder at how condescending the name was, feeling like you were the one being called a nerd as your phone continued to ring. There was an urge to ignore it as you were pretty sure he was going to tell you to stay put, that someone was already on their way and you leaving by yourself would be unwise or something along those lines but you noted with mild interest that is kept ringing where by now he should have been sent to voicemail. You let it ring for another full minute in fascination as it just refused to go to voicemail. You wondered how long you could leave it before it hung up or Optimus gave up.

It honestly felt more suspicious if anyone was watching you (which you highly doubted) for your shitbox of a car to be followed or escorted along when you were a fairly solitary person by this town's standards. Especially if the cars following you were a several hundred thousand dollar custom sports car or a military grade SUV that looked like it could take on a tank. Or worse, Jack’s bike without Jack on it. You couldn’t imagine Optimus would let Jack escort you if he thought you were potentially in danger. You fucking hoped he wouldn’t. For you to just go out on a little jaunt by yourself seemed a lot more in character than for you to go off and vanish into the desert with Jasper’s ghost cars. But clearly, this was not a battle you were going to win if you were to go off of the way your phone had yet to stop ringing. It’d been what? 4 minutes now?

Resigned, you finally picked up and put the receiver to your ear as you slipped into your car. For a moment you thought you accidentally cut off the call instead of answering as an unnatural silence greeted you rather than the usual slight buzz that could be heard when on a phone. You pulled the device away from your ear to check, confused to see the line was connected before Optimus suddenly spoke. You actually flinched at that, nearly dropping your phone and fumbling with it for a second, the sound of his voice loud and so clear that it was as if you were sitting in his cab again and you resisted the silly urge to glance around to make sure he wasn't actually in the car with you. There was no static or fuzziness that usually came with talking over the phone nor could you hear any of his ambient humming or electrical droning that constantly surrounded the Cybertronians. It was… Weird. Too quiet.

“Little one?” He sounded like a vaguely disappointed father trying his best to not sound worried. You might have left him hanging for too long, poor guy sounded stressed by his standards. “You are still at the school, yes?”

God, you wanted to roll your eyes but held back even if he couldn’t see it. You just knew he was doing that soft little pout he did when he wanted you to do something. Clearly, he wasn’t impressed with your quick ‘omw, see you soon’ text. Did he even know what ‘omw’ meant? You should have thought of that before slinging out some slang at an ancient alien. 

Even if it was overbearing to be hovered over like this, it was no excuse to be rude, so you tempered your tone before you had the chance to snap at him. “Yes, Optimus. I'm in the carpark right now, about to head on over.”

There was a pause and it sounded so eerily silent that you had to check just to make sure he didn't hang up. The second he stopped talking, there was nothing telling you whether the line was still open or not. You didn’t like it. It felt wrong.

“Do you not trust us to keep you safe?” The big rig said your name in that painfully gentle way he did, the slightest echo of sadness in his words and you were suddenly very grateful you couldn't see his face in that moment, knowing that his expression would have crushed you.

“Optimus…” You sighed quietly with a choked off groan, leaning back in your seat to throw an arm over your eyes. You weren’t easy to piss off, but there was something so belittling and guilt-trippy about this. “You know that's not it. I just don't think it's necessary. The Deceptions have no way of knowing whether or not I even live in Jasper, Screamer never saw me leave or enter town. Plus, if I wait for someone, I have a feeling the kids would throw a fit from how long I'm taking to rock up.”

You could very faintly hear a rumbling engine, a bassy thrum that barely touched your ears and you figured he wasn't happy with your response. 

Ditto, big guy, fucking ditto.

“Just… Let me start driving and you can send someone to meet me halfway, yeah? Saves time and fuel, and I'm not alone the whole time but I’m also not getting suffocated by overly concerned mechs. Sound fair?”

“...Stay put. I am on my way.” There was a very distinct click that followed his words and looking at your phone showed that the worrywart fucking hung up on you.

Jesus Christ. He was worse than any parent you've had to deal with your entire career. Couldn’t say he isn't taking the safety of your children seriously at least, but dear lord. Also, rude. Didn’t say hello or goodbye when on the phone with you. 

Letting your phone drop into your lap, you mulled over his words. You might have honestly stayed put without a fight if he wasn't a dick about it, the truck not even listening to your argument and instead ordered you to abide by him just because he said so. Like you were a soldier. That was sour in your mouth, your lips twisting into a frown as you sunk deeper into the driver's seat. While you had told him that you wanted to become a member (not explicitly a soldier mind you, you weren’t about to get physical with any enemies) of his army, you expected that to come with being treated like equals, not like you were just another one of the kids he's picked up. Hell, you’d settle for not being his equal if it meant he’d at least try to trust your judgement when it came to your own autonomy. You knew you weren’t equal in strength or knowledge, that you were smaller and weaker and younger than him. But your body was your own. You knew it better than he did. You had enough faith in your instincts to know when to back down and get the fuck out of dodge should something go wrong. Optimus seemed to expect you to just listen to him because he said so but you were getting sick of his refusal to listen to you when you presented a reasonable argument against him. Shit was give and take, a two way street and yet you were getting cockblocked down an escalator of frustration.

You looked at it from another perspective. Realistically, what were the consequences of ignoring him over this? All the cars on the road looked normal enough and you, again, doubted the presence of Deceptions in Jasper without there being a reason. They seemed the no nonsense sort and with them having no way of knowing you lived in Jasper, there was no reason you knew of for them to be sniffing about. So, chances of Decepticon trouble were looking abysmally low. And what would Optimus do? Ground you? Trap you in the base? Send one of the others to follow you everywhere? That you also doubted. While he was way too concerned, he’d already shown a great displeasure to the idea of confining you against your will and you were sure Ratchet or Arcee would kick up a stink at the idea of having one of them act as your babysitter. You couldn’t imagine him yelling at you or losing his cool either. Wasn’t his style. The loudest you’d ever heard the Prime get was when he was beating up Starscream and even that was fairly tame all things considered. Worst case scenarios seemed to be either, you being horribly, terribly wrong about there being no Decepticons in Jasper and they not only recognise you and your car, but they also manage to get you away from the public eye where they would be free to kidnap and/or murder you. Or, you lose any respect you’ve gained (you didn’t think there was much) from the team and come across as a sooky, whiny brat of a human who was petty for the sake of being petty. Not a look you were going for. Honestly, avoiding looking like a petulant child and proving to Optimus that you did in fact need a babysitter was pretty much the only thing stopping you from pulling out onto the road at that moment as you were confident as shit about the lack of evil giant robots in the middle of town. You certainly felt bratty, stuck sulking in your car as you waited for an adult to show up to hold your hand as they took you to the base despite being perfectly capable of driving there all by your lonesome. 

With a loud and very dramatic groan, you gave up and pulled out your phone to doomscroll the next 20 minutes away while you waited for your obnoxiously worried giant truck dad to show up. Yesterday it sounded like he was planning on sending over someone else like maybe Bee but apparently by trying to leave all by yourself spurred him into taking action himself. Should you be feeling guilty about that? Forcing the general of an army to stop being leader for an hour so he can play bodyguards with you? 

Nah. This is on him for being a stubborn old man. No one told him to come and hover over you like you were a toddler next to a power outlet with a fork. You weren’t taking any blame for this.

It felt like forever for Optimus to rock up and you knew it was mainly because you wouldn’t stop glancing out your window like a paranoid freak to try and spot him the entire time. He didn’t enter the carpark, thank god, but pulled up alongside the road outside the school and blared his horn once. You were once again left wondering how the hell none of them had been caught yet (by anyone other than your three kids) because nothing screamed suspicious like a mystery truck pulling up to a school honking its horn. You were quick to put on your seatbelt and start your engine, eager to get out of town and away from the prying eyes of curious civilians who didn’t have anything better to do than gossip about the latest weird thing they’d seen in Jasper. Someone definitely heard him and was questioning what the fuck a trucker without a trailer was doing outside the school out of hours and you did not want to be seen as a part of that. Changing gear, you pulled to the entrance of the carpark and checked for incoming traffic as your phone began to ring again. A quick glance revealed it to be Optimus. Helicopter parent, much? You answered and switched to speaker phone before pulling out onto the road so you could talk without actively being on your phone, the red and blue truck coming up behind you.

“...Hello?” That ominous silence was back and you struggled to keep your eyes on the road, trying to not check if you hung up or not. You know you didn’t but the unnatural quiet made you doubt yourself.

The Prime said your name again in that upsettingly fatherly tone, only a little less disappointed this time. “I see you waited.”

Rude. “Yes, well… You didn’t really make it sound as if I had much choice.”

“You always have a choice, little one. Whether or not it is wise is besides the point.” For a guy who didn’t know how to be smug, he sure as hell was sounding smug.

And did he really just…? To think that you were worried about coming across as petty. This wasn’t something you were going to start a fight over (again) no matter how tempting the other was making it. It was like he was trying to egg you on, even if you knew he wasn’t. Made you want to snap and defend. Instead, you simply sighed in response, flicking on your indicator as you turned onto the main street. Optimus let you stew in your silence for a few minutes, trailing a short distance behind you before speaking up again once he’d decided you’d stewed for long enough. He was far enough away to not appear to be actively following you but close enough to be able to reach you if something were to suddenly go wrong, letting a car or two get between you both to appear more natural. Glancing out your side mirrors, you could see him due to him being taller than all the other cars on the road, a bright burning red and deep ocean blue. It made your skin prickle, knowing that you were being followed, even if the guy following was actually protecting you. 

“Do you wish to continue our conversation from yesterday?” He didn’t sound like he did and that sliver of guilt wormed in your gut again. 

You couldn’t fault him for his hesitancy. This wasn’t just a story, it was his life and history. His very brutal and tragic history. No one liked dredging up bad memories, much less telling them to an almost stranger. A part of you wanted to say no for his sake. To sit with your curiosity alone and let him not have to relive the horrors of war. But you also couldn’t just… Not know. How were you meant to fight for him, fully trust in him and his cause if you didn’t know what you were actually fighting for? You doubted that you’d side with the Decepticons should you not agree with him, nor did you believe that you would disagree with his cause but you wanted to cover all your bases. Wanted to know what you were risking your life for, what your children were risking their lives for.

“If it’s not too much of a hassle…” You didn’t like how weak your resolve sounded but you were aware it was just the dread of hearing about whatever trauma Optimus was inflicted with creeping over you.

He let out a low hum, soft and thoughtful and not entirely thrilled. “It is of no consequence to me, little one.”

Liar.

“Where were we up to? Ah… Yes. Cold Construction.” That discontentment was in his tone again, the deep rumble of his engine barely thrumming through the speaker over the sound of your own car rolling down the road. “I told you about how they came about, did I not?”

You nodded instinctually despite knowing that he couldn’t currently see you. “You did. Stockpiled frozen sparks being placed into pre-built bod-uh… Frames, right?”

“Correct. This… Caused some civil unrest, especially amongst the lower classes.” Optimus sounded almost defeated, the change in his voice soft and mild but you’d like to think you were getting better at reading the minute changes in his words and expressions.

“Why? I mean… I can understand why people wouldn’t like the idea of making Cybertronians just to instantly push them into battle like with Bee, but…” But that didn’t seem to be the issue he was talking about this time.

There was a long pause, your car coming to a stop outside K.O. Burgers as the light changed to red. Optimus rolled up next to you, his tinted windows dark and mysterious against his blaring red and blue paint. He really did look just like any other truck like this, anxiety skittering up over your spine at how difficult it actually was to tell the difference between a Cybertronian and a human vehicle. You knew it was Optimus and yet, you genuinely couldn’t see anything that made him look anything other than a boring big rig. No alien symbols, weird lines or seams that weren’t meant to be there, you couldn’t hear the ambient droning from inside your car and under his engine. Maybe it was better to have him here with you. You suddenly weren’t so confident in your ability to tell whether or not the car next to you was made of living metal or not and it made you cast an antsy glance around at some of the other vehicles on the road.

After a moment, the lights go green and Optimus pulls ahead of you, switching into your lane to let you follow behind him. “The pre-built frames took away choice.”

You could see where this was going. The big guy was a strong advocator for being able to choose for yourself after all. Sweat was starting to form along your palms and you were quick to wipe them on your jeans, one hand at a time.

“Forged Cybertronians subconsciously choose an alt form as protoforms which helps direct them into a career. An alt mode that feels right to them and reflects who they are as a mech. Those who are Cold Constructed are placed into a frame with a purpose already in mind, never allowed to find their true shape. Formed to fit the specifications demanded by another's greed.” Something akin to rage boiled at his words and you were starting to think that maybe Optimus was of the belief that Cold Construction was a crime against Cybertronian biology.

You didn’t feel like you had a stake in this, not enough to form an opinion on the ethics of creating mechanical life. All you knew was that the way it had happened was wrong. The end result was not worth the pain it left behind but you weren’t about to tell him that. This was not your fight and seemed to be one that ended unresolved a long time ago.

“I told you that a protoform holds genetic code, yes? Well, these predetermined frames often, if not always, contradicted those codes leaving those who were Cold Constructed to feel misplaced, out of touch or as if they were broken or wrong in some way. I still believe that to this day that Bumblebee was meant to be a seeker and Starscream is quite well known for continuously switching frames to the point many believe that his spark is still searching for its real shape, despite how every frame he picks is that of a seeker’s.” Optimus picked up speed as you both hit the city limits with a loud rev you would hear through your windows and above the rumbling of your car's own growl.

That… Was difficult to swallow. 

You weren’t unfamiliar with the concept of feeling as if one’s body was inherently wrong in some manner. You’d worked with plenty of children who believed they were broken or misplaced, that something was off about them but they couldn’t say what until they finally figured out (sometimes by themself, sometimes with your help) that they were transgender or non-binary or something along those lines. The idea of being born into the wrong body wasn’t new to you. But there was a difference between human biology and someone else picking major aspects of your life for you against the natural flow of things. You couldn’t imagine the chaos it would cause if humans figured out how to pick and choose not only their unborn child’s gender but also their path in life against what their genetics told them to be, deciding what they want their kid to be when they grow up and ensure it happens, even if nature said otherwise. So many laws would be created, protests and debates about rights and ethics. It would be messy as hell.

You also didn’t quite know what a seeker was (you could guess, but not accurately), but the point Optimus was making remained. Bee wasn’t just born as a child soldier but he was also shoved into a body that wasn’t made for him. And Screamer? That evil pretentious douchebag? He was famous for being aware his body was wrong and for trying (and failing) to fix it. You may not like the guy, but suddenly a lot of his preening and egotistical bullshit made a lot more sense. Unwanted pangs of sympathy clawed at the edges of your mind against your will and you weren’t able to push it down. The pathetic peacock of a bot had actively tried to kill you and used you as a meat shield in an attempt to save his own ass, but you could understand the inner turmoil he must be constantly dealing with and found yourself caring despite everything. You really couldn't stop comparing the asshole to your misfit students even after everything he'd done. You wondered if that was worrying enough to seek professional help. 

Was Starbitch an M.T.O like Bee or was he just Cold Constructed? Had he ever believed he finally found himself only to be proven wrong, crushed by the disappointment and frustration? Did he ever wish he'd been Forged like his peers instead of Constructed Cold? You felt uncomfortable thinking about it, stepping a little too hard on the gas and nearly rear ending Optimus as a result, quickly easing up before the other could think you were trying to hit him or something. He either didn't notice or just simply didn't comment on it. 

“Most, if not all, were built for occupations no one wished to do. Miners, waste disposal, industrial work. High risk or plain old dirty work. Careers that had short life expectancies and that were full of undesirable tasks.” There was a tightness to his words, the mech likely as uncomfortable as you were in that moment. “But there were few who cared.”

Your heart jumped oddly at that, a sharp needle digging into your ribs as you let out a soft stuttery breath. These bots were forcibly made and pushed into bad situations, and no one bothered to try and help them? It sounded about right based off of everything else you’d heard but it still left your chest hurting. 

“Cold Constructed Cybertronians weren’t seen as real Cybertronians. Fakes. Why care what happens to them?” That impersonal, distanced tone was back. The forced indifference he applied to his voice when faced with something he didn't agree with. You knew he didn’t mean it, that he was just voicing the opinion the majority of his home used to hold, but the instinct to defend and snarl reared its head anyways and you had to bite your tongue to not say anything.

God, they were literally seen as less than. As not even deserving of the same rights as everyone else. Racism strikes again, only this time on an entirely different planet and they literally built the people they were hating. You were sickened as much as you saw this coming. Disappointed more than surprised and you could only curse yourself for expecting a race that had been fighting for as long they had to have better societal standards than humans. You could only hope you weren’t looking into humanity's future because it was grim.

“This led to many Cold Constructs to become homeless as they quit their jobs. No one would hire them in fields they weren't created to do and thus their prospects were severely limited. Most turned to drugs, black markets, crime, gladiatorial work. It wasn't good and often resulted in a life expectancy similar to that of their old occupations, but to them it was better than being slaves to a system that did not care for them. And this just furthered the upper castes hatred towards them. Laws had to be made to prevent discrimination, to allow them to find work elsewhere but it did little to help. The prejudice was already too deeply ingrained into the people and Functionism was too well established.”

The town sat far in the distance behind you now, desert stretching out on either side for miles. It was getting dark and you switched on your headlights as the burning orange of the day faded. You honestly didn't have any words for the Prime. It was too similar to human history, to the problems humanity faced. Racism, discrimination, the horrid feedback loop that trapped the less fortunate in crime that perpetuated the hatred from the rich. Expect theirs landed them in four fucking million years of war with nothing to show but a dying species and a dead planet. It made your stomach churn and heart feel heavy in your chest.

“A miner known as D-16 saw a different life for himself and his peers.” Bittersweet, inspired and tragic. Optimus knew how this story ended and yet he still felt the hope the beginning should have brought them all. You hated your need to know what happened next because it wasn't going to be pretty, even if the way he spoke made you want to think otherwise.

“A poet by nature, a Cold Construct by force. A friend by choice.” His voice didn't waver, didn't falter, didn't break. But you can tell it should have. That he almost would have rathered it did. That he wished his ability to openly grieve wasn't missing, that he could express just how much he'd lost without saying it at all.

“He wasn’t built for the life he was given, was asked to stand idly by as those he worked alongside, those he’d befriended, were left to rot, forgotten and abandoned by the ones who put them down there, deep beneath the surface.” The bitterness was growing, audibly resentful now in a way you hadn’t heard from Optimus before. “None of them even had designations. They named themselves, each other, or simply kept their serial codes because what was the point in gaining a name when you were expected to offline within the deca-cycle.”

There was a muffled rhythmic growl coming from your phone and it took you a second to realise it was Optimus’ engine revving periodically like a heartbeat, loud enough to be heard even through his noise dampening phone (you still had no idea how he was calling you but calling it a phone felt easier than trying to guess). It'd been blocking out just about every sound other than his voice the entire time you've been talking to him so for you to so easily identify and hear his roaring engine felt very telling of how he viewed the conversation topic.

“For most of his mining career, D-16 was located on Luna 2. Wrote a treatise in his time up there, a pacifist dissent for a new senate and system, one that didn't exploit anyone. He had a vision for a government that treated everyone as equals, that allowed people to be what they wanted. He didn’t want to fight against the doctrine of Functionism, mind you. All he wanted was to be a medic, nothing more but the doctrine spoke against it. ‘One’s alternate mode denoted one’s role in society, and thus one’s role determined one’s rights’. D-16 wasn’t a fighter, wasn’t one to stand in the spotlight and preach to others. He was content just writing his dream for another to take a hold of, hoping his friend would be the one to take them into a new era. Hoping that no one would be placed as the sole leader of their movement and that the masses would be able to peacefully bring about a new start for Cybertronian society.”

“What happened?” Your voice was quiet, lightly mystified and humbled. You already knew the story did not have a happy ending, no matter how much you wished it did, but you were invested now and needed to know what happened next even if it was going to rip your heart out your chest. 

So far it all sounded like something Optimus would fight for, sounded reasonable, so what changed? How did pacifistic books on equality turn into a life-long war?

The truck paused, his engine muffled enough for you to no longer be able to hear it, quietening as he pondered where to go next from here. “Terminus wanted D-16 to lead them.”

“Terminus?” The name felt weird in your mouth, like bad tidings and misfortune. It was likely because the name sounded like terminal and your brain naturally connected the dots to terminal illness. You hoped it was just a translation thing again and that wasn’t what his name meant. “The friend D-16 wanted to spread their message?”

Optimus hummed softly in confirmation. “Terminus was his proofreader, his inspiration and the distributor of his works. He had lost his legs in a mining accident and the higher ups had decided the older mech wasn’t worth the cost of fixing, and so, he was left to die deep in the tunnels of the moon. He had no way of leaving Luna 2, nor any way to earn his rations, so his bosses were simply waiting for him to cease functioning before they’d ship his corpse unceremoniously back to his place of creation. But D-16 kept him alive. Would share his rations, maintain the other’s frame the best he could, help him move around from place to place.”

This D-16 sounded like an entirely different person from Megatron. You were finding no similarities between them and it was getting harder to imagine them as the same person. D-16 cared for his peers passionately, sacrificed his own wellbeing to keep them alive, rebelled against seizing power for himself and instead tried to share it evenly amongst his fellow miners. Megatron was a power hungry warmongerer, ruthless and violent, brutal, indifferent, and a tyrannical dictator. He was angry. 

A far cry from the mech he used to be. 

“The mine’s administration got suspicious after a while, a few overzealous mechs thought they could get promoted off moon should they get rid of a ‘threat’. Started asking questions, harassing Terminus while D-16 worked, asking about the writing. Threatened him. It prompted Terminus to push back harder instead of back down. He demanded that D-16 devote even more time to spreading his word, writing more works and that he act as a figurehead, to not rely on the collective.” 

You frowned at that. Terminus clearly wanted this change as much as D-16 did but by asking his friend to become a leader? When he clearly didn’t want to be one and when so much of his message relied on unity rather than subservience or following the word of one against the many? This was never going to end well. 

“The mine and most of the facility collapsed not long after, so the negotiations against the two were for naught.” There was an uncomfortable pause after that. He obviously wasn’t finished but was seemingly gearing himself up to say what happened next. The steel in his voice was hardening, feigned indifference giving him strength. “A nucleon disaster. A vein got ignited and blew out half the moon. Nearly 25% of the miners perished from the initial explosion but another 47% offlined due to the evacuation protocols.”

What?

“What?” Your voice cracked, fingers curling tightly around the wheel as you felt unease boil further up your intestines. 

You didn’t know what nucleon was to them (last you checked, nucleons were subatomic particles like protons or neutrons which you doubted was what they were mining for) but if it was anything like energon, then it sounded like it was highly volatile and incredibly important. There was just something so unbelievable about what he was saying. That the majority of the deaths were because of the evacuation protocols? The things that are made to try and keep as many people alive as possible? 

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Your mouth had gone dry, bitter resentment dripping like venom from the Autobot’s words. “Standard protocol called for Science Class personnel to evacuate first followed by Administration and then Miners and other Worker Classes. No one was under the surface save for the miners and since they weren’t allowed to leave until every other employee was accounted for, many became trapped. Got crushed by collapsing tunnels or offlined cycles later due to raw nucleon poisoning, starvation or the spreading fire and heat exposure.”

You were going to be sick. The accident might have not been preventable, but all those lives could have easily been saved and weren't because they were Cold Constructs. Instead of trying, of doing anything, they left possibly hundreds of mechs buried deep beneath the ground to rust and be forgotten.

“Terminus was never found. They never pulled his body from the rubble and he wasn't able to walk and leave with the other evacuees.”

Oh.

Your chest hurt. 

You knew it. You fucking knew this story was going to break your heart and you were right. 

Optimus was right. It was disgusting, the absolute disregard for life. Life they willingly choose to create only to subsequently enslave.

“D-16 honoured Terminus’ wish, didn't he? To lead his movement?” 

Optimus sighed, wistful and regretful. “Not yet, he didn’t. With the Luna 2 mines gone, he was out of a job. There was nowhere for him to be relocated to either as automation was becoming relevant around that time. Any mines that weren't entirely or partly automated by then were overcrowded with miners looking for work and refused to take any more. No, he was sent back to Cybertron and abandoned onto the streets of Kaon with nothing. And he was mad.”

What was it that your students said when someone was mad for a good reason? Valid crash out? Yeah. This felt like a valid crash out moment.

“Beliving he had nowhere else to go, D-16 became a gladiator.” Disapproval, pure fatherly disapproval. He’d used that tone on you just before and it sounded just as parental and disappointed now as it did then.

It actually rubbed you the wrong way, hearing it in regards to D-16. The bot became a gladiator because he truly believed he had no choice but Optimus talked about it like there were other options. And maybe there were. Maybe if D-16 looked harder, tried harder, he could have found work. But as what? A miner again? Stuck buried under the ground once more, back in the place where his friends were left behind, murdered by negligence? And how long would it have taken him? Days or weeks, sure he might be fine, but if it took months? The guy had no home, no way of getting fuel and had just lost everything. D-16 was a Cold Construct. If you’d learnt anything during this conversation, it was that the game wasn’t designed for him to play, that it was rigged against him from the start. What real prospects did he actually have? No one wanted them around, no one cared about them, they were seen and treated like trash. No one was going to help him and he was alone. Maybe other Cold Constructs might have tried but if they were anything like D-16, then they too had nothing to give and barely enough to keep themselves alive, let alone another. Optimus had a cushy job in a rich upper caste city and was given enough opportunity to get not one, but two degrees. It felt gross hearing him judge another for their actions when their circumstances couldn’t have been more different. Like a rich suburban mom telling a homeless man to try harder, to go walk into a store and demand a job like doing so would actually do something. 

You inhaled sharply, ready to have a go at Optimus for the tone he’d taken only to stop as you noticed him in front of you. Really looked at him. By all means, he was a normal truck. He even had a bland nondescript license plate and mudflaps and all the things that made a big rig a big rig. You couldn’t see all of him from behind but the metal of his cab that you were able to looked… Deflated. It was uncanny as shit first and foremost, almost kind of gross in a way like he was made of something organic that was rotting or melting under the heat of a sun. It reminded you of a wilting flower or a crayon getting blasted by a hairdryer. It wasn’t a drastic change, his form still distinctly truck shaped with all the hard lines and smoothed chrome of a four-wheeler, but you also knew what he was meant to look like and could see the difference. A stranger wouldn’t double-take or think twice but you knew better. Looking hard enough at him, his cab looked shrinkwrapped and tightened to the point of small creases showing. Not only that, but the large pipes on his back were breathing. Heavily, squeezing and expanding as if he was panting after a run and it was incredibly offputting. From all you knew (which you admitted wasn’t a lot), Cybertronians didn’t need to breathe air and yet the slight movements of his pipes, moving like organic lungs, sucked air in and huffed it back out in thick spurts of heavy black smoke.

All the wind left your sails and you sank deeper into your seat, white knuckling your steering wheel as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes in frustration. This was stupid and annoying and complicated and you hated it. What right did you have to tell the Prime off? What did you really know of their situation, of their story? How much of his aggression was real, how much of it was a defense mechanism to protect his broken heart from feeling the pain of what had happened? The Autobot was so distressed and unable or unwilling to express it over discussing D-16 that his alt mode was literally warping under the pressure, puffs of smoke coughing out the ends of his pipes with small bursts of flames chasing after them. You could hear his engine through the phone again, aggravated and grumbly like a dying creature and it took all your will power to not slam your forehead as hard as you could into the wheel to concuss yourself. You were an outsider in all of this, experienced none of it. All you had were second hand tales and pass-me-down history lessons to go off of. You didn’t know better. 

Optimus had yet to continue, the desert around you both completely dark by this point as the base loomed ahead like an ominous obelisk against the flecks of sparkling white stars that backgrounded it. You could almost feel the desperation, the hopelessness and grief coming off of him through the phone, and you just wanted to cry. 

But you didn’t. 

Not this time.

The pressure was building behind your eyes and you had to go through some breathing exercises before you gave yourself an aneurysm, but you didn’t cry. Silver linings. 

“It’s okay, Optimus. Let’s end it here today, yeah? You’ve done plenty already. And… Thank you for telling me about him.” You managed to swallow down the break in your voice before it hit, your words soothing and calm against the inner war the other was seemingly drowning in.

He flinched, the actual truck jumping like you lifted your hand to strike him and within moments all the weird little things you’d noticed vanished, leaving behind a normal big rig once more. No more fire and breathing pipes and wrinkling cabs. It was all smooth shiny metal and inanimate looking once more. It was like watching someone bite down their tears and wipe their eyes before smiling as if nothing happened at all. It made you anxious and sick. Want to run up and give the guy a hug and tell him everything is okay and that you’re so sorry for all he has lost and had to put up with. That he was so strong for getting this far and it’s okay to be weak sometimes.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, the engine cutting off as if he was consciously forcing it to go silent. “As you wish, little one. I am always willing to answer any questions you may have or tell you of our history, all you must do is ask.”

You couldn’t stop the frown from working its way over your face, brows twisted low over your eyes at his dismissal of his own feelings on the matter and at how quickly he pushed his distress away for your sake. The walls he’d put up around himself were miles high and you could see why but you only wished that he didn’t feel as if he had to put on a brave face for you. That he didn’t feel the need to act as if he didn’t care and that all this war and trauma didn’t hurt. Bottling up couldn’t have been good for him and it made your heart ache, reaching out for him.

The two of you were silent as you entered the base. The second time around was a lot less scary than the first as you were fully ready for the garage doors this time, helped further by having someone enter before you. A lot of the awe and wonder from your first visit still lingered as you drove through, the sheer size of everything still out of this world to you. It took only a moment to find a place to park, a good bit away from where the bots seemed to walk the most in hopes that no one stepped on your beloved shitbox, right up against one of the walls. Optimus simply unfurled himself from his alt mode as soon as he reached the middle of the main lobby area, fluidly going from truck to mech without slowing to a stop. He didn’t cast a glance in your direction, instead heading towards the main terminal where Ratchet was with Raf, dipping his head down to mutter something to the medic in that angelic tonal Cybertronian language. The Prime looked tired, if only barely and gave a short nod to the youngest boy before heading towards the hallways that led deeper into the base, waving to the other children as he vanished into the thick concrete halls. You felt bad. You technically didn’t do anything wrong but you knew his absence was in part due to your probing questions and curiosity. You’d have to apologise later, maybe give him that metaphorical hug if he let you.

Stepping up onto the platform that made up the general hang out space for the kids, you weren’t surprised to see Miko and Jack locked in an intense competition, both entirely focused on the old TV with controllers in their hands. You were surprised however to see Bumblebee, Bulkhead and Arcee all equally as engaged in the fighting game playing before them. Looked like an old Street Fighter rip off, both kids nearly standing from their seats as they moved in time with their characters on screen like it would help them take the win from the other. Bee was shadowboxing, mimicking motions the pixellated characters were doing with narrowed eyes and flapping wings while Bulk was loudly cheering on Miko like she was the one personally fist fighting. Arcee was the calmest of the group, tossing out advice and words of encouragement to Jack whenever Miko started dominating the game, and she was the only one to notice you walk up the stairs, giving you a solid singular nod of acknowledgement. It wasn’t a warm welcome and she made you kind of nervous, but you returned the nod and decided it best to not disturb the battle playing out before you. Glancing over to the main terminal, you were a bit stunned to see Ratchet. While you hadn’t spent very long in the base, you had learnt pretty quickly that Ratchet was not one to spend much time outside of the med-bay. He had his own computer in there and everything. But alas, the red and white bot was out in the main lobby area in all his grumpy glory, a tool of some sort in one hand as he gruffly called out to Raf. Rafael on the other hand, was sitting atop the terminal with a laptop on his legs, typing furiously as he answered the other. Figuring you’d say hi to everyone when they were less involved in an apparently high stakes video game, you waltzed over to the catwalks that linked up the terminal to the main platform. The metal was rusted and creaky in many places, lazily painted in flaky yellow paint here and there for what you imagined used to be for safety purposes, but solid enough for you to walk over without (much) fear of falling.

Ratchet had opened up a series of panels along the floor under the terminal and was periodically sticking his head inside to check something before asking Raf to complete some string of code or turn something on for him. The mech was apparently focused enough in his task to not see you approach, whereas Raf spotted you almost as soon as you’d hit the halfway point on the catwalk. Waving enthusiastically to you, he missed a request from the medic which in turn garnered his attention, curious at what had distracted his helper.

“Hey kiddo, whatcha’ doing?” Ratchet was glaring at you in that way that made your skin break out in goosebumps which you actively tried to ignore in favour of talking to the youngest boy.

“Teach! You finally made it! Miko bet $10 that you wouldn’t come after it hit five because of how long you were taking.” Not what you asked and how wonderful it was to hear how much faith the trio had in you.

You let out an amused snort at his words, plopping down next to the boy with a soft grunt as bending down strained your ribs. “I did say I was coming and I intend to keep my word. Now, what’s Ratchet got you working on here?”

The boy opened his mouth excitedly to respond only to be cut off by an obnoxiously loud scoff. “Nothing that concerns you, I can assure you of that.”

Thanks Ratchet. Very helpful.

Raf raised a disapproving brow at the medic in a manner very similar to Optimus, enough so for the mech to actually look astonished and a touch guilty. 

“He doesn’t mean that. It’s just been a long day and everyone is getting antsy waiting for the ground bridge to come back online.”

“The… Ground bridge?” That was a new term.

Ratchet sighed upon realising that this interruption to his work wasn’t leaving anytime soon and stood up to his full height with a low groan like any old man would after being bent over for any period of time. “Yes, the ground bridge. It’s a scaled down version of space bridge technology and integral for keeping up against the Decepticons.”

You opened your mouth to ask the next very important question, but closed it upon seeing the unimpressed look sitting on Ratchet’s face. Okay, so maybe you should ask someone else what a space bridge was…

Sweet baby Raf came to your rescue. “A space bridge is like… A giant teleporter made for intergalactic travel. It’s how the Cybertronians came to Earth in the first place, but it requires a lot of energon and maintenance to keep functioning. The Autobots just don’t have the means or supplies for one to be feasible. A ground bridge however, works in a similar manner on a much smaller scale! With it, they can teleport anywhere around the world in a matter of seconds!”

He pointed to the funky hole in the wall you noticed last time you were here, the large dead end hallway that was lined with striped lights. So… That’s what that was for? When working, it was a teleporter? You felt like you should be more astounded by this information, like this should have been an amazing revelation worthy of shock and awe. And it was, you were. Just maybe not as much as you might have been had you not already seen these guys in action before. Or maybe because it was off and to you they were literally just talking about a hole, or because your brain wasn’t ready to believe it yet.

“Really? You guys can just… Pop up anywhere you want, whenever you want?” Sounded a bit too farfetched to you and what you knew of science, and you had to remind yourself that you were practically living in a sci-fi action movie right now, so anything could be possible. Not like they had any reason to lie to you about it either.

Ratchet looked irritatingly smug and it irked you enough to scowl at him, the look only seemingly encouraging him. “A miracle considering the quality of your blasted earth tech, but yes. As long as someone is at the terminal to input coordinates, we can open a portal anywhere we wish on this planet. I should know, I built it myself.”

Damnit, he had a reason to be smug. 

“That’s… Incredible.” You sounded a touch breathless and it annoyingly made the self-satisfied expression on Ratchet’s face grow. You couldn’t even pretend to be unimpressed at what the other was implying. He built a teleporter out of what must have been scraps to him. 

“I know.” Okay, assbot. Enough showboating. His tone took the wonder out of you a little and suddenly made his accomplishment a lot less impressive even if it was out of this world (literally).

“And it’s… Broken?” Boom bitch, shots fired. That was enough to wipe the cocky expression right off his face, the large mech deflating with an exasperated and displeased sigh.

“Yes, well… Earth tech isn’t exactly designed for such feats of engineering and often melt or break under the strain after so long.” The bot grumbled unhappily, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared down at the open panels in the floor.

They were full of electrical bits and bobs, wiring and cables, and what looked to be motherboards but like three times bigger. You couldn’t make heads or tails of what any of that stuff did but Ratchet seemed quite comfortable with each individual piece and what they did as he stuck his hand back down there. You could see how it being offline could cause some anxiety and impatience amongst the team. Without it, they were a bit stranded and would have to rely solely on their wheels. If something was happening on the other side of the world, there wouldn’t be any way of them to make it in time and against the Decepticons and their much larger forces, it seemed the Autobots needed every advantage they could get their hands on.

“And you’re helping patch it up, Raf?” 

The boy nodded, branding his laptop at you. “I can’t access the terminal or ground bridge controls by normal means due to their size, but with this-!” He pointed to a section of his screen. “I can input the command and coordinates with ease, remotely!”

The screen was an absolute mess of half translated symbols and strings of code that left you feeling dizzy so you simply nodded along with a smile. “That’s awesome, buddy! Making life easier for Ratchet, eh?”

The kid beamed at you, your praise apparently exactly what he needed to hear in that moment as he turned his gaze to the medic for confirmation. Said medic looked incredibly put out and thrown off kilter, eyes widening as they bounced between the two humans in front of him.

“Uhh... Well, I mean… Hm. Yes, yes, of course.” It was dismissive and mumbled but it was enough for the boy next to you.

Raf looked ready to vibrate through the floor in pure excitement, his teeth sunken into his lip as he tried his best to temper the giddy grin on his face, ducking his head down to hide behind his screen to pretend he was much more invested in his work than he actually was. It was like he didn’t want to come across as too happy at hearing the mech’s words but couldn’t help it.

It was… Disarmingly cute. You knew most kids seeked out affirmations and praise from the adults in their lives, you had plenty of wide-eyed eager kiddos wishing to hear they were doing good from you all the time. And it was something you did often in the classroom to keep them excited about learning and because they deserved it, but to see Rafael turn to a giant alien robot for that was sort of weird. You supposed it made sense in a mildly disquietening manner. Ratchet was an adult figure Raf had been spending a lot of time around apparently, they shared similar skill sets in being techy nerds, and the old bot was just the right kind of gruff and tough that seemed to attract kids like flies to honey. The exact type of rough around the edges that children thought was cool and craved the approval of, to be seen as cool by the guy they thought were cool. Should you be worried that one of your children’s role models was a xenophobic war medic from outer space? Perhaps. Were you just happy to see Ratchet uncomfortable and your kid happy? Oh hell yeah you were.

“How long has it been out for?” You ruffled Raf’s hair but the question was directed to the mech fiddling with technology you’d never understand.

He grunted in response, yanking out a melted motherboard with a frown as he inspected it closely. “Hm… Six joors now. Nothing I shouldn’t be able to repair before recharge.”

You had no idea what a joor was and glancing at Raf told you nothing as the boy had clearly stopped listening to your conversation to focus on a new line of code. “Before you recharge what?” 

Ratchet paused, physically freezing in place as he processed your question. There was an expression on his face you couldn’t place as he very slowly turned to look at you. He seemed to be waiting, like you were about to deliver a punchline or something and upon not seeing one coming, the medic groaned.

“Before I recharge myself.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, exhausted and bordering on mocking.

It was your turn to look at him like he was pulling your leg, confusion twisting your brows. “I thought… You guys used energon as fuel, not electricity.”

There was another pause and for a brief moment, Ratchet looked ready to keel over and die. Like this was positively the worst conversation he’s ever had in his life and that he would do anything to get out of it.

“We do. But we also recharge… Sleep as it were.”

You didn’t understand but based off of Ratchet’s body language, this was not something you should continue prying about. Instead you gave the other an awkward smile and nodded like you got it. As far as you understood, humans and many organic creatures sleep for a variety of reasons ranging from energy conservation to replenishing brain glycogen levels, for repairing the body, and to process and consolidate memories. Most of these didn’t seem like things robots would have to worry about. You’d have to ask someone else about it later, but you also figured that the answer would be something along the lines of ‘I don’t know, we just do. Why do you sleep?’ and might not be worth the bother.

The medic eventually rolled his eyes but ultimately dropped the topic as well, turning back to the jumble of wires at his feet, much to your relief. While you knew you were technically safe here and that none of the mechs would harm you, it was still another thing to be facing off against a pissed off robot that absolutely towered over you. Ratchet wouldn’t raise a hand to you, but the guy had one hell of a death glare that got shivers running down your spine regardless.

The moment was thankfully broken further by the loud sudden shouts that one often heard at the conclusion of a sports game, both filled with utter joy and excitement, as well as groans of disappointments and demands for a rematch. It was the perfect excuse to leave them to their work and so you waved goodbye to Raf and made your way back over the catwalk towards the platform. Jack was standing on the couch, both arms in the air as he declared victory, bowing dramatically to his adoring fans (Bee who was politely clapping and Arcee who was grinning). Miko however, looked ready to start a new fight altogether, one that was a bit more hands on than with controllers. Bulkhead was doing his best to calm her but didn’t seem to get very far as the young teen tackled the boy around the waist, taking them both down onto the couch and over the armrest to the floor. They landed with a heavy THUNK onto the metal of the platform, long lanky legs stuck over the armrest of the couch as Jack moaned out a pained curse.

“Miko Nakadai!” You knew the trio were quite physical with each other, both in affection and violence, as it seemed to be their way of showing comfort and endearment to one another, but this was a step too far for your liking.

Before you knew it, you were dashing as fast as you could over to them, quickly grappling the young girl under the arms to haul her up and off of Jack. “What on Earth are you doing?!”

Surprised to see you, she instantly stopped struggling against you with wide eyes before snarling with an accusing point towards the groaning teen on the floor. “He cheated!”

“So you tried to give him a concussion?! Miko, the floor is made of metal!” Exasperation was creeping into your words, adjusting your hold as she made to lunge at him again. “Stop it already you feral-!” 

Jack sat up dizzily, rubbing the back of his head as Arcee snorted out a laugh, gently prodding the teen into a more steady upright position. “Told ya’ she’d freak if you pulled that combo.”

You felt your eye twitch, barely holding back the urge to snap at the lithe blue bot who was still lazily grinning over the whole situation. They clearly didn't know the difference between play fighting and actual fighting in children and that was something you were going to have to amend. Bulkhead looked only mildly concerned and you think that was just because of how frazzled you appeared to be rather than what had actually taken place and Bee was tilting his head as he looked between Jack and Miko in confusion.

“It’s not fair! I totally was winning until he-!” She kicked your shin as she tried to free herself from you. “Why does he get to win, huh?!” 

That was sounding a lot more personal than losing in a video game. She wriggled and wormed in your arms, nearly foaming at the mouth as Jack frowned at her, not quite understanding where the hate was coming from. The teen boy stepped forward with the intention to defuse the situation only for an elbow to suddenly swing around into your sternum. Normally the hit wouldn’t have done more than sting a little, but with your injuries still recovering, it nearly knocked you on your ass. Within moments Miko was free as you wheezed and gasped for air, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. It was like needles injecting your upper torso with molten lava, knees going weak as you leaned against the back of the couch to keep yourself upright, Miko entirely lasered in on Jack. She jumped him again, using the coffee table as a launch pad this time as Jack out right yelled in horror before getting flattened with a dreadfully loud BANG. Vision swarming with black dots, you took in several shallow breaths as inhaling too deeply feeling like ice in your lungs, trying to calm the burning pain in your chest as fast as possible so you could stop the two from killing each other. 

Going off of what she was saying, you knew the aggression was less from just losing a game and was more likely from her tendency to bottle things up until she exploded paired with her high energy leaving her restless and in need of movement. Chances were, something was bothering her and this one thing not going her way was just the straw breaking the camel's back. That didn’t excuse the unnecessary violence towards her friend, nor yourself but at least was more comforting than the idea of the teen harbouring some sort of dislike towards her friend, resulting in physical force. 

Seeing you in pain was what apparently got the bots moving as they realised that this wasn’t a game anymore, Acree and Bulkhead reaching out to each scoop up their respective charges. Jack was barely able to fit in the motorbike’s hands, both cupping under his legs and lower back to cradle him to her shoulder while Miko was swallowed by Bulk’s massive paws. She was hissing and spitting from between his fingers, trying to push herself between them before realising she was stuck, collapsing silently into his palm. Bee was the one who came to your side, crouching down next to the platform as he peered through the railings, one of his hands coming up to sit next to you. He made no move to touch you, hesitant to approach any closer but still wishing to be of some help with low quiet droning beeps. You could see what he was trying to do and you were tempted to ignore it, fear skittering over your sides at the idea of willingly touching something so big that could so easily hurt you, especially in your weakened state. But it was sweet caring Bee who was offering, Bee who’d done nothing but try and make you feel at ease even with his size and strength. The tug of war pushed and pulled you in your mind before you gave up trying to think and just moved, allowing yourself to carefully rest against the inside of his hand. The yellow bot’s wings shot straight up as he went ramrod stiff, clearly terrified of scaring you whilst also overjoyed over the fact you were the one to initiate touch between the two of you. It reminded you of being held by Optimus back out in the desert, his palm warm against your back, fingers carefully curling around you in a loose semi-circle to leave you plenty of room to move away should you wish but still enough so to act as a barrier from the rest of the world. That buzzing electric humming the bots always emitted surrounded you, the sound slowly becoming synonymous was safety rather than death as you took in great gulps of air. The ache was fading with each breath you took and you let most of your weight rest against the crook of Bee’s fingers. His wings flapped in response, bweep-bwooping at his comrades chirpily, almost as if to say ‘look! They’re not scared of me!’.

The noise and chaos had gotten Ratchet’s attention in the meantime, the old medic walking over with Raf in his hand and a frown on his face. “What in the Allspark is going on over here?” 

Bulkhead and Arcee exchanged looks before glancing at the humans in their hands, shrugging to each other. You figured it was time you stepped back in as they apparently didn’t quite know.

“Nothing, Ratchet. Just a little disagreement is all. Bulkhead.” Your tone was sharper than you wanted, quite curt, and you winced quietly at the tightness in your voice.

The large mech flinched at the sound of his name leaving your lips, shrinking in on himself as he looked over at you. You offered him an apologetic smile as you pushed yourself away from Bee’s palm. The yellow bot whined sadly at the loss of contact and you awkwardly patted one of his fingers as you stepped away and down towards the stairs. 

“Put Miko down, will you? I think someone needs to talk, no?” The large olive bot looked uneasy at the idea, his eyes jumping from the teen in his hands and you multiple times. 

“You can join us if she wants.” The offer takes the discomfort from his shoulders as Bulk brings his hands up to his face to listen to Miko’s response. You couldn’t hear what she said, only the slight muffled whine of her weepy voice, her guardian nodding along before transferring her to one hand to bend down before you.

You took a step away from him, wary and surprised at this sudden change. “She said it was okay. Come on, I’ll take us somewhere private.” He laid his now free hand out flat at your feet, looking at you expectantly as you baulked.

Leaning against an entirely still Bumblebee was one thing and getting carried by Optimus was another, but Bulkhead? You knew little about him and have had very minimal interactions thus far. To trust him to not crush or drop you was a massive leap, one that had your head spinning. You only touched Bee before because he wasn’t in control. You could have stepped away, gotten away from him should you wanted. You were still on the ground and not several stories up in the air. If he tightened his fingers too much, you were in a position to do something with your arms and upper body free unlike if you were to sit in their palm. Curling their fingers would envelop you entirely with no chance of escape. 

The large SUV raised a brow at your hesitation, sparing a confused side eye to Bee before he seemed to remember yesterday. With wide, almost panicked eyes, he pulled his hand back with an unsure expression on his face. “O-Oh! Un-uhh-unless you’d um… R-rather uh walk?”

He looked like he was going to implode, engine revving and quietening repeatedly in what you were sure was a soothing motion for him, eyes wildly darting around to his friends for help on what he was supposed to do. It was shockingly human and familiar in a way you weren’t expecting, like watching a kid try and make friends with someone only to realise that they might have come on a little too strong and backpedal. Sympathy for his panic beat your fear and you sighed loudly, the large mech flinching away like you were about to yell at him. For one so big, his timidness surprised you. Perhaps he was just like this with people he was unfamiliar with or maybe it was just with you because you were important to the people he cared most about and wanted to leave a good impression. Whatever it was, you waved him back down with the same expression you’d give your nervous students. Gentle, relaxed and warm. Open. His brows went up, eyes shuttering rapidly like he was blinking as he carefully lowered his hand before you again. The size alone was intimidating, made worse by how many exposed joints and parts there were for you to accidentally get something stuck in, gruesome images of your arm getting ground into nothing or chewed up by his inner mechanics flashing behind your eyes. But you pushed through, swallowing your fear as you stepped up onto the solid metal. 

“Just… Walk slow, maybe?” It was more of a squeak than a sentence, your voice tight and pitched up by several octaves as you lost balance and fell onto your hands and knees in the middle of his palm. 

There was something akin to awe in Bulk’s expression as he carefully coiled his fingers around you, bringing both his hands together so you were with Miko before raising slowly to his feet to waddle off deeper into the base. Your young student had been silent this whole time, curled tightly into a ball in the middle of Bulk’s palm with her head buried into her knees. She’d yet to look up even as you wobbled next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, only slightly shifting to lean into you.

“It’s not fair.” You could barely hear her over the heavy low droning of Bulkhead’s ambient soundscape and thundering footsteps, muffled in her knees as she sniffled.

You said nothing in return, tightening your hold on her as you rubbed her arm gently. Bulkhead had lifted you both to his chest which was vastly different from Prime’s, rounded and barreled with no pectoral seams to separate one half of his chest from the other. It was one convexed surface from edge to edge. There was also a soft undercurrent of electricity thrumming through him, pulsing and humming like a whirring machine warming up as you turn it on. His spark you assumed. It was quieter than Optimus’ and you gave Miko a light nudge to get her attention. 

“Can you hear that?”

She didn’t move for a moment, presumably trying to listen for whatever it was you’d heard. After a second she tilted her head to the side to peer at you, brow furrowed. “Hear what? Bulk’s loud as shit.”

You decided to let the swear go unmentioned just this time, instead focusing on the fact that you got her attention properly. “They all are, aren’t they? But no, listen carefully. Can you hear that thumping? Like a plane's engine turning on but whiny and beating?”

Her brows creased deeper as she lifted her head to look at her guardian’s chest, inching forward to try and hear it. There was nothing for a few seconds before she snapped her head towards you with large, curious eyes and a hint of suspicion whatever it was you were doing. “I do! What… Is it?”

You grinned conspiringly at her like you were about to share a secret. “It’s his heart.”

Whatever was bothering her had been placed to the side in favour of this new conversation, wonder and humility crossing her features. She was probably experiencing the same thing as you were just the day before. That just hearing something as simple as beating heart made the whole thing so much more real. That something so magnificent and colossal was so similar to small little old you.

“Can you hear how fast it’s going?” She paused, closing her eyes to listen closer, a frown pulling at her lips.

“Yeah?”

“It’s ‘cause he’s worried about you, kiddo. You got him stressing.” You softened your tone, trying to come across as gentle as possible whilst breaching whatever emotional turmoil she was going through.

That wide eyed look was back, concern and guilt and anger all fighting for their place as the strongest emotion. “Yeah but- I mean- It’s not like- I didn’t ask-! Argh!” Frustration won as she buried her face into her hands, shoulders drawn in tight against her body.

The rhythmic swaying of Bulk’s footsteps slowed before coming to a stop, his fingers unfurling to showcase the new room he’s taken you to. It was large (like everything else in this place) and well lit up with large green mats lining the floor. From a quick look, it appeared to be like a gym or training area with no real equipment save for a couple of massive metal contraptions. One was a heavily dented pillar that you imagined was used like a punching bag. Sitting on a ledge, Bulkhead carefully allowed you both to sit on his knees, the teen quick to stand up and put distance between you both as she paced along Bulk’s thigh. He looked concerned, clearly not having heard your conversation on the way over.

“I didn’t ask for you to worry about me!” That was a strong start. 

“I don’t need constant protection or someone babying me! I can look after myself just fine!” This was starting to sound an awful lot like your argument with Optimus just the day before.

“Miko…” It was a low fatherly voice from Bulkhead who sighed deeply as he lifted a finger to stop her from pacing, pushing her to sit down. “You know it’s not like that.”

“So why does Teach get away with not having a guardian? Why does no one freak out when Raf goes out with Bee? Why does Jack get to go on dangerous missions with Arcee?! Why am I the only one who gets watched like a hawk and expected to sit back and do nothing?!” The frustration was growing, edging on desperation as she raised her voice to yell and spit at the large mech she was standing on.

Jack is out doing what now? You were going to really need to talk to these bots about child safety later. “First of all, I had to fight with Optimus to not get a guardian and even now he still insists on escorting me everywhere. So technically, the big boss is my guardian.”

She frowned at that, hands curling into fists. “But-!”

“Miko. What is this really about? Do you not like being with Bulkhead? Are you actually upset over the idea of people caring about you? And those things you mentioned? I’m going to take a hot guess and say it’s because you have a habit of putting yourself in harm's way, unintentional or not.” You didn’t like cutting her off but you knew she was going to get into semantics and argue for the sake of arguing if you didn’t.

The olive bot butt in, his voice low and rumbly and so soft for his size. “Your teacher is right. Bee gets sent on scouting missions with Raf because Bee isn’t expected to fight. He knows to pull back at the slightest signs of danger and is normally sent to places we are certain are safe. And Jack was only allowed to go with Arcee that one time because we truly believed there was no risk involved. No one expected Airachnid to be there, especially not Arcee. You think she was happy to watch Jack have to fight like that?”

You’d only heard that name once, from the kids when they went over previous fights in an attempt to get you to stay longer. You didn’t get the full picture but you knew that this Airachnid was dangerous. They’d conveniently left out the part about Jack being the one in danger. 

“Do… You not want me to be around? Am I not strong enough?” Oh, that one hurt and it wasn’t even aimed at you. Bulkhead honestly looked crushed like he genuinely believed he wasn’t doing enough, that he was the reason that Miko was so upset.

The kid took that personally, horror on her face as she raced up his leg to smush her body against his in her attempt at a hug. “No! Of course not! You’re the strongest mech here! I just- but-... I want to help… I want to be strong like you and take out the bad guys so you can finally be happy.” 

She was sniffling again, voice pitching up in a whine as she smeared snot across Bulk’s lower stomach. “It’s just not fair! Bee can’t talk, Arcee is standoffish, Ratchet is grumpy and moody, Bossbot is stressed and worried all the time! Teach goes out one time and gets attacked by Starscream! You’re always thinking about Breakdown! And it’s all the Decepticons fault! This stupid war sucks and I just don’t want everyone to be sad anymore!”

Ah.

“I can help! I can do more! But no one is letting me!”

You understood what this was about now. This seemed to be a long standing issue for her and the breaking point was someone she cared about getting badly hurt. Bulkhead looked broken, his posture slumped as he carefully ran a finger up and down her spine. He was conflicted, jaw tensed and eyes low with his brows drawn into a deep crease as he sighed.

“It’s not that simple, kid.” Reluctant, he looked to you for support and you didn’t know what to do. You barely knew anything about the real genuine struggles of war, blessedly. This was his story and not one you had the experience to help tell. You placed a hand on his knee and smiled regardless, watching the tension leave his face. You were there for both of them and you would help any way you could. 

“We’ve been at this for a while now and yes, bad things have happened to all of us but-...” His hands shifted to slip under his little human, bringing her up to his face as he thought about the best way to explain this to her. “There are some things you can’t change or control. This isn’t your fight and no one expects you to. In fact, we all would prefer if you didn’t because it means we can come back and know you’ll be here waiting for us. Safe. Alive.”

Miko wasn’t having it, trying to not start wailing as she clung to his thumb. “And what about us?! What if you don’t come home?! We can fight, take them down once and for all and then we can all live happily here, together!”

Something shifted on Bulk’s face and he couldn’t meet her eyes anymore, lowering her to rest on his lap as he looked away. Guilt. Fear. Uncertainty. There was something he wasn’t saying and it was obvious he wouldn’t tell her.

“You gotta listen to us Miko. What would we do if something happened to you? How could Bulkhead go out into battle knowing you were hurt? I know you just want to protect everyone but there are other ways to do that while also keeping yourself safe. You can’t help anyone if you’re hurt, can you?” You came to his aid, picking up where he left off as the teen sulked in his palms. “You are young and we-”

“I don’t care if I’m just a child to you! I can do more! Be more!” She snapped, that fear burning brighter in her eyes as she covered it in rage. 

“I care! You are a child and it would break my heart into a million pieces to see something happen to you or either of the boys. This isn’t a game, Miko!” You were getting louder to match her subconsciously and you bit the inside of your cheek to ground yourself before you started yelling properly.

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand her frustration or wish to help, to not be looked down upon but it didn’t change the fact that she was still only fifteen. “War has no place for children.”

Miko looked ready to throttle you, tears gathering in her eyes as her entire body shook, fists clenched tightly in her building anger. She took a threatening step towards you as if daring you to say more and you stood your ground against her, leveling her with a calm neutral expression. You understood and it hurt just how much you did. She needed that calmness right now, not for you to yell or berate her but it wasn’t looking as if you were going to get through to her at this rate.

“You can’t be more if you’re dead.”

Silence filled the room at Bulkhead’s uncomfortably even voice. Blank and steady, low with no hesitation and painfully raw. That was the voice of someone who had seen death and wasn’t going to let anyone else die on his watch. It wasn’t even directed at you and you felt all the hairs along your neck rise in dread and unease. The teen stiffened, her eyes wild and vacant as she slowly turned to look up at her friend. The uncertainty and concern was gone now, replaced with a hardened mask that gave nothing away. It was unsettling and disconcerting, entirely different to the Bulkhead you knew. 

Miko seemed to realise this too as she gave up the fight, letting out a frustrated scream as she dropped to her knees, grabbing harshly at her head with a choking sob. “It-it’s not fair!”

“No. It isn’t. Nothing about war is but some of us weren’t given a choice, and those that did knew what they were getting themselves into.” He paused, letting his fingers curl up around her comfortingly as his shoulders sagged and his tone softened to a sweet murmur. “I’m sorry you weren’t given that choice, Rock Star. I’m honoured you feel this way, that you want to keep us safe, but we’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you.”

“I wanna go home…” Her voice was pathetically watery and miserable now, all fight having left her body as she sobbed and cried into her hands, snuggling up to Bulk’s thumb as he held her with all the care in the world.

“I got you, bitlet. Let’s get you home.” The fatherly tone was back, warm and comforting like a blanket.

Looking up at his face, you were greeted with the softest expression, all rounded edges and soaked in love and care, so deeply parental it made your own heart ache for a father’s hug right then and there. It wasn’t a solution to her grief and worry, but for the moment you both at least managed to convince her to not throw herself into the heat of war. You’d remind her to apologise to Jack later when she’d calmed down but for now, you let Bulkhead scoop you up and take you out to the main lobby once more where he placed you on the couch.

“We’ll see you later, yeah?” There was something shy about that, like he wasn’t certain that you’d come back and wanted to make sure.

You smiled, nodding. “Of course. I’ll see you later. Both of you. Look after yourselves.”

Ratchet and Arcee were waiting for you, Bee nervously hovering behind them with no children in sight. “The other two have already gone home. Mind filling us in on what all that was about?”

“Miko was just… Feeling a bit helpless in regards to everything going on. Wanted to do more for everyone but was getting frustrated because no one was letting her.”

Ratchet rose a brow as Arcee crossed her arms over her chest. “But this isn’t her fight, she has no reason to-”

“She knows that. She wants to fight and end this war so you can all be happy. You think she doesn’t notice? That none of the kids do? They see just about everything and can tell that all of you are struggling. It’s tearing her apart inside watching you all suffer.” Your tone was sharp, licks of anger burning at your words as you glowered at the mechs before you.

It wasn’t their fault, not entirely. You had no right to be mad at them but you’d just had to listen to one of your children beg to be allowed to get herself killed and you were furious. “I know it isn’t easy keeping this fucking war outside but I swear to god-!”

You were stopped by Optimus entering the room, his steps slow and regal. His face was lightly dotted with concern, eyes locked onto your heaving form and that of his team huddled together in varying degrees of distress, guilt and rage. 

You could feel yourself deflate, embarrassment crawling over your spine. You felt like a child getting caught by a teacher doing something they shouldn’t have and even if he hadn’t said anything yet, it was as if you’d already been reprimanded. 

“Sorry. I just… That was not a fun conversation. I know this isn’t easy for anyone, especially not you guys. I didn’t mean to snap.” You must have sounded as tired as you suddenly felt because the defensive look on Arcee melted into something distinctly more uncomfortable as she turned away from you and headed further into the base.

“Whatever.” That was the closest you were getting to a ‘you’re forgiven and I’m sorry too’ from her.

Ratchet scoffed and rolled his eyes once more but there was a tightness to his posture that wasn’t there before, anxiety knotting at his brows as he frowned heavily. Bee on the other hand looked pissed and depressed at the same time. His wings were low down on his back, body stooped and despondent but his hands were curled into fists and his eyes were glaring daggers into the ground as he let out a single angry vrrrweep. After a moment he too stormed further into the base, in the direction of the training room. You could only hope he wasn’t mad at you. 

Optimus watched silently with a pensive expression, gently leaning down to have a proper look at you. “Do you wish-”

You really didn’t mean to cut him off, but you were done with the day and you honestly didn’t think you could have taken another conversation with anybody, let alone the guy who was currently telling you about the horrors of war. “No thank you, Optimus. I’ll drive back alone this time I think. I’ll see you later.”

Meeting his eyes was hard and so you didn’t, instead quickly rushing over to your car to get out of there as quickly as possible. Your chest was burning for more reasons than physical injury and your head felt like it was about to explode. A quiet drive alone was exactly what you needed and you wasted no time driving up and out of the exit and into the open desert night. Out of sight and ear range of the bots, entirely alone on the road with no other cars nearby, you take in as big of a breath as you could.

And you screamed.

Chapter Text

The drive back towards town was uneventful and dragged on forever, giving you the time and space to finally stop and think about everything without the consequences of others interfering or witnessing something they shouldn’t. The night sky was mocking in its peaceful beauty after the turmoil you’d been through just before and it felt like the universe itself was spitting at your feet. The feeling was bitter and bone deep, tasting vaguely like regret as it coated the back of your throat like a thick glue. All this chaos, this soul scarring trauma and accursed knowledge started with the very stars hanging like Christmas ornaments right above your head. To think that by doing one of the things you love the most could have dragged you this far down into the very depths of hell. It was nauseating. If you’d never gone out that one night, if you’d gone home an hour or two earlier, if you’d gone to a different location, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t have nearly died, wouldn’t have been stuck between trying to stop your students trying to sacrifice themselves for a cause they didn’t understand and consoling a creature three times your size and age, wouldn’t be burdened with the weight of knowing what unethical crimes against life lay in wait out there in the coldest reaches of space. 

It made you yearn for the simplicity of non sentience. 

For stupidity. 

They say ignorance was bliss but that only worked when you were too dumb to think about it any further. Miko was proof of that. She was ignorant to the inner machinations of this godforsaken war and yet she was being crushed under the implications of it all, powerless to do anything other than suffer despite knowing basically nothing.

If only you were one of those very stars that put you in this situation. No matter what happened, they stayed the same even centuries later. Even through war and death and pain and torture here on Earth, they remained as they were and you wished for that stability in your own existence. To stay steady and strong and bright. To not crumble under the weight of the world and instead be the thing that lights it in its darkest hour. To act as that guiding hand for lost wanderers stranded in a strange place they do not recognise, so far from their home. But alas, you weren’t a giant ball of gas thousands of light years away floating through the cold expanse of space. You were a human stuck on Earth going through the emotional equivalent of being a stuffed animal in a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle. 

You screamed a few more times during that ride, having to pull over just outside the city limits before you crashed into something. To screech and strangle your steering wheel and punch the horn until your knuckles were sore and your throat hurt. You would have done it while driving but the pause guaranteed that by the time you got back to your place, you wouldn’t feel the urge to break something or throw a fit loud enough to get the neighbours to call the police on you, thinking you were getting murdered or something. 

And so you let it out on the side of the road. 

Every pent up bit of rage and frustration, every inch of conflicting or contradicting emotion, all the things you couldn’t show the youthful trio and things you didn’t want the mechs to see. It was cathartic as much as it wasn’t. It felt like it was never going to be enough no matter how loudly you let yourself go. You could scream and yell until your vocal cords ripped themselves to shreds and you’d still feel heavy. You could punch and kick and throttle every bit of your car until it was nothing more than a heap of scrap metal, until your knuckles were bleeding and there was no skin left on your bones, and it wouldn’t be enough. How did they deal with it? How did Optimus get up every day with the knowledge that every move he made could potentially kill what was left of his team and cause, that his planet was dead and he was fighting his old friends? How did Ratchet continue patching up his team mates knowing that they’d be back in his med-bay the very next day looking just as bad or worse, that if anything happened to him then everyone was doomed? How did Bumblebee play and laugh despite never knowing a life of peace, knowing he could never go home and see it for what it was meant to be? How did Arcee still find the drive to push back and keep fighting when she knew she’d have to do it again and again until she either died or couldn’t anymore, that no matter what she did that it’ll never be enough? How did Bulkhead show such softness and be so gentle when everyone around him needed him to be strong enough to kill with his bare hands, that any sign of weakness would be exploited and used against him? How did they keep this up for four million goddamned years? It’d been barely a week for you and you swore you were going to fucking explode or lose your goddamned mind. 

You kicked the door to your car open and stumbled out into the frosty desert night, heart beating painfully against your torso as your throat closed up making it hard to breathe. The confines of your car were too small, too enclosed like it was trying to trap you in its grasp to crush you and you couldn’t get out fast enough. It was like the world was shrinking in around you, hands gripping your arms to pull you down under the ground and your legs gave out under your own body weight before you could step away from your car. The feeling of dirt was only surface level under your hands, you couldn’t feel the grit or texture, just the sharp points of stones that were dulled against your rapidly numbing palms. Your chest burned, deep under the bones and it felt like a noose had been lassoed around your neck, tears stinging behind your eyes. You didn’t quite understand what was happening, thoughts feeling like thick sludge and static in your frontal lobe, impossible to sort through or pick out from one another. It was dizzying and made your gut churn and for a second you were convinced your vision blacked out. You didn’t know if you were still awake or if you had fainted, if this was some sort of out of body experience or what, but you knew you wanted it to stop. There was a ringing in your ears that you just couldn’t hear but it was blocking out every other sound around you and you weren’t sure if you were screaming. You tried to but nothing came out, buzzing filling your ears and throat scratching against itself but no voice escaped you. You opened your mouth wider and tried again, pushing and pushing but you couldn’t hear anything until it all came out at once onto the dust between your hands. 

You’d thrown up.

It was splotchy in your spinning gaze, dark and squirming around the edges like it was alive. Moving. The sight was enough for your throat to close up and force up whatever was left in your stomach, acid burning the whole way up your esophagus and over your tongue once more. Stars flickered before your eyes and blinking didn’t remove them but your vomit no longer looked like a living mass of insects at least. The smell was acrid and singed your nose hairs, forcing you to move back onto your haunches as you tried to breath, choking on spittle and stomach acid caught in your throat. Nothing made sense and your hands didn’t feel like your own anymore, like someone had stitched on the hands of a stranger to your body when you weren’t looking. They were shaking. You couldn’t feel the cold nipping at your exposed skin but it was reacting anyways, goosebumps prickling up your arms and down your body in a way that felt sharp and blunt at the same time. All of it was bad and it wouldn’t stop, breathing coming out in short pleading gasps that devolved into panicky bursts and wheezes, hyperventilating as your hands clawed at your chest and throat like there was something inside of you wanting to get out. You couldn’t find a rhythm to follow, to try and slow your breathing into something manageable so you simply whined and blubbered around the lump in your neck over the lack of air reaching your lungs.

You don’t know how long you sat on the side of the road but it was long enough for your body to begin to feel like your own again and for the shaking to subside. The tightness in your throat and chest loosened slowly over time, enough so for you to take in great gulps of air until your breathing evened out and your vision wasn’t dancing anymore. It ended leaving you feeling like someone had just run you over with their car but the overwhelming everything had faded. Sensations came back to you one at a time and you were shocked at just how cold it actually was, your skin icy to the touch and your nose dripping. Something akin to embarrassment struck you in that moment, shame creeping over you. You had no idea what that was but it left you feeling pathetic and ashamed. Talk about an overreaction. You weren’t even fighting this war yet and here you were having some PTSD episode over nothing. Like seriously? Puking? Twice? 

Lights flashed over the crest of a nearby hill, headlights of some sort suddenly blinding you as someone drove down the empty road. A lone motorbike from the sounds of it. It basically jumped over the small rise with a leather clad woman atop the seat, in complete control of her ride despite the air time she’d just gained. She was going down the strip of asphalt way too fast but it didn’t seem to matter to her and you hoped you were hidden enough behind your car for her to miss you and drive past. Your wish was heard and instantly shat upon as she spotted you curled up in the dirt and came to a sudden stop next to your car, showering the side in gravel and smoke. There was an awkward pause as you lifted your head to look at her and for a moment she didn’t say anything as she stared you down through the dark visor of her helmet. Her head tilted down slightly towards the drying puddle of vomit in front of you and then towards your car that had gone cold from how long you’d been sitting there. That embarrassment struck you twice as hard and it took every inch of strength in you to not start crying and to not clamber into your car to drive off as fast as humanly possible, desperately hoping that she wasn’t a citizen of Jasper who would recognize you.

Once more, life kicked you in the balls as she spoke, your full name foreign in her mouth like she’d never had to say it before.

And you knew that voice. 

Hearing it here and now nearly knocked you right on your ass, and you were grateful to already be sitting down. “Arcee?!” 

Your voice crackled, strained and broken from your episode and you boggled at her with wide eyes. The woman (?) looked up and down the road to check for other people before suddenly vanishing before you in a puff of pixels. 

You had to be dreaming. 

There was no way this was happening. If you hadn’t already fainted, you were totally about to. Since when could they make holographic humans?!

The bike wheeled around to hide behind your car with you before unfurling gracefully into the crouched shape of robot Arcee, one of her brows raised as she took in the situation before her.

“So… Uh… Whatcha’ doing?” She was eyeing your puke puddle like it was radioactive and for a species that probably didn’t throw up, you didn’t blame her.

“Not much.” This was surreal as fuck and you weren’t convinced that you weren’t unconscious or dead and that this wasn’t all just some insane fever dream or afterlife scenario. 

“Rrrrright… So it’s normal for humans to purge their tanks and freeze themselves on the side of the road when they should have been home-...” She paused, tilting her head as if checking something. “Roughly two groons ago?”

Purge the tanks? Guess they could throw up. Interesting but really bizarre for a mechanical species. Didn’t seem necessary but then again, what did you know?

Speaking of, you also didn’t know what a groon was but that pause and movement looked a lot like her checking a watch but like if the watch was somewhere inside her brain. 

You wanted a brain watch.

“Depends, what’s a groon?” 

Something vaguely uncomfortable crossed her face as she lifted her brow again. “An hour? I think that’s right.”

Huh. You’d been out here for two hours. That explained the numbness in your legs. You were going to need to start keeping a list of what all their alien words meant. “Sure.”

Arcee narrowed her eyes at you as you stared blankly back. Maybe you weren’t finished with whatever fit you had yet. You didn’t quite feel real or as if you were actually there in the moment with the slinky bike. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere other than with you and for once the dynamic between you felt off balance. You weren’t the one uneasy around her as she regarded you indifferently anymore. No, now she was the one who looked wary and unsure while you felt nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Valid question. Only you didn’t have an answer for her.

“What's wrong with you?” That felt easier than trying to articulate whatever the fuck was going on with your body.

She looked taken back and you didn't blame her. That did feel a bit out of nowhere. But in your defense, what in the hell was she doing out here? Jack should have been well and truly asleep by now so she couldn’t have been going to see him.

“You're acting weird. Normally you're all twitchy and well… weird I guess but less weird than whatever this is. Like at any moment you think Optimus is going to change his mind and pitch you at a wall. Or you’re just angry. You’ve been in the base only twice and you’ve gone full Wrecker in action at Ratchet both times. And once at me and Bee I suppose.” She looked confused and maybe a touch nervous, back straight and jaw set as she stared at you. “You broken or something? Because I do not know how to fix a malfunctioning human, nor do I really want to.”

At this rate? Yeah, you were probably broken. You certainly felt broken.

You tilted your head at her, feeling the way your whole body tried to follow through. God you were so out of touch with yourself right now. Like being drunk without any of the fun or giddiness. “I have no idea what going ‘full Wrecker in action’ means but considering you said I did it at Ratchet, I’m going to say he deserved it and you probably mean that I raised my voice. He’s really good at being a dick.”

She frowned at that. You ignored it. “I meant more-... You know what? Sure. Raising your voice is going Wrecker now, Bulk’ll love that. And there is no way you call that just raising your voice.”

Bulkhead is a Wrecker? You didn’t know what a Wrecker was per se but the name itself was pretty telling. Seemed about right for the big bot.

“I sure as shit wouldn’t call it yelling. If you think that’s loud then you’re gonna be surprised as fuck when I actually do.”

She wisely didn’t comment on that. 

You both go quiet as a car drives past, the bike ducking down as far as she could while pressing herself flat against your shitbox to hide herself. She waited until it was far off in the distance to move or speak again.

“You swear a lot more when the kids aren’t around.”

You shrugged, poking at a rock with the toe of your shoe. “I swear a lot more when I’m stressed and when I don’t have to be the only functioning adult in the room.”

An awkward silence passed between you again and she didn’t seem to know where to go next. 

“Is he?” You felt like you needed the clarification since she brought it up.

“Is who, what?” You should have clarified what you wanted clarification on.

“Is Optimus going to change his mind? Yeet my soft flesh body into a wall the second he gets sick of me?” You knew the answer but hearing it from someone else would soothe that nasty little bit inside you that told you otherwise.

You apparently stumped her again, her eyes shuttering in that way you now knew was how they blinked. “...No?”

“You hesitated.” That wasn’t very comforting and maybe it would have been better if you didn’t ask because you suddenly felt a lot less certain.

“Yeah. Because that was a weird aft question. Of course Optimus isn't going to throw you into a fragging wall. He's like… The biggest squishy lover out of the whole team. ‘Protect the humans’ this, ‘save the humans’ that. ‘Forget about Cliffjumper for the sake of the humans, Arcee’.”

Wow. 

This suddenly got a lot deeper than what you were emotionally prepared to deal with.

Ignoring that insanely personal tidbit of information, at least bossbot wasn't the one to look out for. Good to know considering how touchy and hands on he was with you.

“I think I’m starting to see where the hatred of humans is coming from. Ratchet the same?”

“I’m sorry?” She looked surprised, eyes widening as her entire body went stiff. Like she said something she wasn’t supposed to and is only now just realising.

“You clearly have a prejudice against humans due to the loss of someone close to you. Is that the same reason as to why Ratchet hates humanity?” You didn’t mean for that to come across as callous and as blunt as it did but there wasn’t any take backies in the real world so you didn’t even try. 

If you thought she looked uncomfortable before, she looked ten times worse now. If she was able to sweat, you were sure she would be. “Thats not-... Ratchet has his reasons for being the way he is. And I don't hate humans.”

“Sure.” You didn't believe her. 

There was another pause and it was becoming increasingly obvious that you both sucked at holding a conversation, especially with each other. You shifted into a better position to free your stiff legs as it didn’t seem like she was going anywhere until you left first and you weren’t sure if you wanted to leave until she did and thus a horribly awkward stalemate had been born.

“Are you going to hurt Jack?” As much as you trusted the answer, it never hurt to check. 

The silence honestly didn’t bother you for once but she seemed disquietened by it. Probably because the silence was with you instead of any of her friends. 

It felt like you were being nice by breaking it. 

She didn’t act like it was.

Arcee from what you could normally tell, didn't seem to do much in the way of expressing emotions. Not like Optimus though. He didn’t seem to be able to openly express them even if he did want to. Arcee was obviously capable, but it was just more like anything other than unfathomable rage or indifference was harder for her to deal with so she limited the use of it when possible. Like she didn’t want to experience other emotions or be seen having them. 

The expression on her face now was likely the closest you'd ever get to ‘flabbergasted’ from her. “No? Why would I hurt Jack?”

It was your turn to raise a brow, regarding her with a long parental stare. She shifted uneasily, straightening her back again like you were her commanding officer or something. That soldier training was real hard to kick, huh? You just needed to pretend to have authority and that coding overrides her other functions like it's nothing. Something vaguely yanked at your heartstrings and you pushed it away absently.

“I don't know.” That was true. You didn’t. It wasn’t like she’d given you a reason to think so thus far. 

You continued anyway, not finished with that line of thought. “Why wouldn't you though? What do I really know about you and your team other than the fact that none of you have known peace since before the birth of my entire race? That some of you have never even seen a life without war? Half of you have shown nothing but contempt for humanity and by proxy that does actually include both myself and my children even if you like to pretend it doesn’t, and there isn’t a single one of you that has even the slightest clue on how to look after a human child. How am I to know that this buddy buddy thing you have is real? That you won’t one day succumb to the hatred and disgust you harbor for us. How am I meant to trust that your ignorance towards human children won’t lead directly to their deaths? How am I meant to know that all this ‘protect the human’ shit isn’t just you all covering your own asses to stop the government from blowing you sky high? That’s the fucking thing. I don’t. And all I have is your word. The word of a group of aliens that has sneered and mocked and threatened me. The word from a species that has shown me time and time again that I am nothing more than a smear of filthy vile flesh that actively makes you sick. My first interaction with one of you nearly cost me my life and the second had me stripped, sworn at, called a slur in at least three different ways, and getting explicitly told I was unwanted.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and the back of your neck prickled in warning like a prey knowing they were being hunted. But you felt nothing behind the static in your brain and in a sick horrid way, she was proving you right. 

You hated it.

“Violence is an instinctual reaction to you by now, I imagine and I don’t blame you for that, especially if it’s the thing that’s kept you alive. Four million years is a long ass time to be fighting for your life. But all it would take is for you to flinch too close to me for me to become a lifeless mess of blood and gore across the back of your hand. A single misstep and my guts will get squeezed right out my mouth as my skull shatters into a thousand pieces.” You gave her a pointed look, deadpanned and telling. “If I say the wrong thing, if I piss you off enough, there isn't a single fucking thing I could possibly do to protect myself.”

Arcee’s lip twitched at that and she forcibly relaxed her body language that had been getting progressively more aggressive and defensive the longer you talked, a hint of distaste and guilt flashing over her eyes. 

“Jack? That kid you've been dragging around to dangerous missions and out into the middle of fucking nowhere? He's my fucking responsibility since his mother doesn’t know whats going on. Miko and Rafael? They are too. And I’ve been generous so far. Any other adult in my position would have gotten them out of this shit as soon as they found out. But I haven't.”

She was silent, seriously considering your words as she looked at you properly. Your posture, the tired and drained expression on your face, the pile of vomit and the shaking of your hands. “And why haven't you?”

Wasn't that the golden question?

“Because for some godforsaken reason, they're happy here. With you.” It came out as a whisper despite how much you wanted it to be clearer, a sudden torrent of tears flooding your eyes that had you rearing your head back in surprise. “Because if I take them to safety and away from this shitshow… They'll hate me forever. They'll retreat into themselves and I'll never get the privilege of seeing them smile again.”

You lifted your gaze to meet hers and she looked back, large blue and pink camera lensed eyes meeting your squishy ones. “A small price to pay for keeping them alive, no?”

There was a tone to that. A tone that told a lot more than what she was saying and you suspected it had something to do with this Cliffjumper guy.

“You’d think so.” It came out choked and you couldn’t swallow down the pain in your voice. “You’d really fucking think so.”

Arcee seemed to think about her next words, guarded and deliberate as you ripped your eyes away from her, gazing out into the empty road instead. The light of her eyes were searing, made of shifting rings of electronics and they looked like they saw too much. More than you wanted to be seen. 

“Do you resent us for that? For the kids liking us?” She was a bit more careful asking that, more careful than you would have expected from her.

It kind of hurt and you deserved it. It was also just difficult to answer, feeling sour in your mouth as you chewed around the words. “Of course I don’t. Their happiness is my happiness. How can I hate you for making them better? Since befriending you, they’ve become so much more confident, they laugh louder, they show so much more compassion and care for those around them.”

“But?” You wished she dropped it but here she was pushing instead.

“But… But… I’m scared, Acree.” There was a crack and you hurriedly shoved it back down into the deepest crevices of your heart. This was not a person you wanted to be vulnerable to. Not right now.

She didn’t look away, your body bathed in the soft hues of her electric blue, tinted in that singular ring of hot pink making it almost purple against your skin. She was pushing without saying anything, staring until you broke and you were helpless against it as you were now, brittle and raw.

“I nearly died, Arcee and I felt every second of it. I could physically feel my bones bend under the strength of Bitchscream’s claws, feel just how helpless I was in every sense of the word. Optimus was right there and it still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get to me without risking my life and he wouldn’t do it even if doing nothing was just as likely to kill me. The only reason I made it out alive was because Cybertronians think humans are disgusting.” The tremor was back, beginning in your fingers as it traveled up over your arms and into your torso. 

Arcee looked oddly clinical after all her displays of discomfort before, her lip twisting to the side in thought as she mused over your terrified recounting. “But you didn’t. And Optimus didn’t try to kill you, he did get you out of there eventually. He’s been nothing but kind to you this entire time too. So now what? You fear all of us? We’re the problem?”

Your head snapped towards her as an unexpected burst of rage pushed itself to the surface, a snarl on your lips as you hissed at her. “Fear all of you? Is that what you think this is about? That I’m only thinking about myself? I don’t need each and every one of you to attack me to know exactly how much danger I could be in at any given moment.” 

Her eyes narrowed again, shifting minutely at your show of anger in a way that you knew would end badly for you. You'd seen that movement in cats before they pounce, the subtle readjustment to put as much power and accuracy in their attack. You were going to throw up again, lightning bolts of panic striking down upon your malleable flesh. This was bad and if you didn’t shut up, you were going to get burnt.

You weren't safe in this conversation. 

She was proving your point, again. 

…

Fuck it. 

If you threw up again, you knew where to aim this time.

“You know what? Yeah. You are the fucking problem! But I can’t do shit about it! I have to grit my teeth and back the fuck down the second I say anything against you because if you don't like it, you'll get up in my face and act like you're going to murder me! You brought your planet destroying war to my goddamn planet and pulled my innocent children right into the fucking middle of it! And you're telling me to shut the fuck up and pretend that isn't exactly what is happening because you’re upset at me for calling you out on it!” You were definitely yelling now.

Every metal panel along her body flared in that moment, making her look bigger than she ever, even crouched behind your shitty car as she was. Her brows lowered dangerously over her eyes which were glowing brighter and brighter as she leaned in close to you, the circles almost hypnotising in a horrific numbing way. Opening her mouth to shout back, you cut her off by grabbing her by the pink mandible like metal bars framing her face before she got the chance, all rational thought exiting your brain as you acted.

“See?! You're doing it right fucking now! Getting close, using your fucking size against me! Do it, bitch! Crowd me! Intimidate me until I roll over and show my fucking belly! Prove me right!”

She clearly didn't expect you to fight back, especially not by grabbing her. Eyes painfully wide, shock etched itself across every inch of her face as she basically folded, all aggression leaving her body to be replaced with uncertainty and confusion. You shook her head side to side, yanking her in closer roughly and she let you move her, utterly gobsmacked at your audacity. You could feel it as you jolted her, that if she even slightly tried that you wouldn’t have been able to shake her around even by a single inch. Teeth bared, her gaze locked onto them as something akin to trepidation pulled at her features. The shaking in your limbs had only gotten worse and Arcee could feel every tremor running through you as you ignored them in favour of saying your piece to the shiny motorbike. She didn’t look afraid of you doing anything, but was clearly astounded at your boldness and maybe a little disturbed at the sight of your teeth. You didn’t know if teeth was just a thing all Cybertronians hated or if Ratchet had done some embellishing since your visit with him.

“I know you are suffering! We all can see it! But can't you see how you are forcing everyone around you to suffer too?! I want to help you goddamn it! I want this war to end for your sake! There has to be a way to make this as painless as possible for everyone but we can't even begin to try if you don't stop with this bullshit!” It felt like you were choking, throat suffocatingly tight and your head was spinning, dizziness zapping your skull until you were pathetically crying and tilting off to one side. The only thing keeping you upright was your iron grip on Arcee’s face thingies and the bike leaned back gently to pull you up into a more vertical position. 

Her face softened at the sight of your tears, a low deep sigh coming from her chest as she shifted until she was sitting back on her ass, unceremoniously dragging you forward so you were stationed between her legs, knees raised like walls on either side of you.

“You are weird as slag, you know that right?” It was the kindest you’d ever heard her be and it was more than enough for you to start sobbing properly, a cut off hiccuping sort of crying that you were desperate to stop.

It was too open, too vulnerable, too raw. This whole conversation was like an exposed live wire, sparking and burning.

“Fuck you.” She snorted at that, no offence taken.

“I think I can see why Prime likes you.” Arcee was pondering almost, not holding you to her or coddling you, but simply surrounding you.

You’d let her go by now, puddling between her legs like a child, only lightly leaning against one of her legs. She, like every other bot you’d been near, was warm and emitted the same humming electrical buzz but hers was by far the quietest you’d heard. It was soft and light and low in pitch, enough so that it almost blended into the background noise. Fitting for the silent and dexterous mech. You assumed her role was more assassinations, hit fast and get out before being seen due to her size and build alone. 

“I actually thought you were kinda stuck up to be honest.” It was your turn to snort at that, your watery eyes lifting to meet hers. She gave you a tilted half smirk in return. “But you’re not and I don’t really know what to do with that now.”

“Rude.” 

Her response was a good natured eye roll and a gentle nudge with her leg.

You both sat in the quiet for a moment, heads turned skyward to catch a glimpse of the stars above. You could see literally thousands in the darkness, unlike anything you’d ever see in the city and you didn’t think you’d ever get sick of it. Maybe… You didn’t regret going out that night. Sure, the days were hard on you both physically and mentally right now, but you weren’t sure you could really wish you never discovered the aliens out in the desert. It was complicated and you were swinging between that need for safety and the want for adventure. 

“So now what?” Your voice was itchy and scratchy as you cleared your throat a couple times, wiping at your face as you eased down from your sudden wave of tears.

“Whatever you want I guess. Got more hostilities you wanna throw my way?” She was sounding way too casual considering what you’d said and how you’d said it.

“Aren’t you like… Mad at me?” That was pitiful, quiet and weepy as you sniffled loudly, trying to blink away the rest of your tears. You were certainly calming down just from how fucking bizarre this whole thing was.

“Hm. Sort of. But not enough to do anything about it. Kinda felt good actually.” Arcee gave a non committal shrug, poking the top of your head curiously.

“What.” What the fuck was she talking about? You waved a hand over your head to push her off, feeling the way your scalp tingled under the tickling of her pointed finger.

“You weren’t entirely wrong. I guess a couple of us do have some… Dogmatic opinions in regards to humans due to the circumstances that left us here but there isn’t anything we can do about it. It’s not like we want to hurt innocents or anything stupid like that and the kids are clueless but there isn’t anywhere for us to direct these feelings, you know? You just unwittingly gave me an outlet. A reason to yell at a human, fight back. Pretty sure you’ve been doing it to Ratchet too.”

That… Actually made sense. In a really fucked up way. She was letting you release all your negative emotions and stress that had been building up towards Cybertronians in a way that wasn’t about to get you killed or ruin all relations, which in turn gave her a chance to do the same with her complicated feelings about humans. Also explained why Ratchet got so up in arms around you but not the kids. You gave him a reason to say xenophobic bullshit without feeling guilty.

“Huh. That’s fucked.”

“You telling me that I didn’t feel good to get up in my grill like that?” She gave you a lazy grin, eyes thinning into cat like slivers. “To not back down for once and stick it to me, not caring about the consequences?”

“Touché.” Motherfucker. You didn’t want to admit it, but you did feel lighter after giving her a piece of your mind. Less burdened and honestly, any nervousness you’d been experiencing around her before was gone. 

“Wanna keep losing our shit at each other?” It felt polite to ask before getting back to it.

You didn’t know if she was done or not and you didn’t want to kill this newly found kinship right after forming it. 

“If we do, will you stop stressing Prime out?” Her long claws were poking at your hair again and you were a bit more assertive in waving her off again this time around.

“I’m not stressing him out.” She wasn’t this tactile with you before. Was this a new sign of friendship? You weren’t opposed to the idea but you did prefer your hair claw free.

The idea of touch did oddly feel a lot less volatile now in general. The long narrow claws weren’t sending you into a mini freak out nor did you feel like you were in any particular danger. It honestly kind of made you mad that this fucked up impromptu therapy was actually working.

“If he had hair, he’d be bald by now.” Were all Cybertronians this interested in hair? You supposed if your species didn’t have any, you’d be curious too. Also how did she know that humans bald when stressed? Who told her that?

You gave her a bit of an incredulous look, brow raised. “How the hell am I stressing him out?”

Arcee waved absently in the air above you in a so-so like gesture as if brushing off your question. “Oh c’mon. The way you flinch away from everyone the moment they move for starters. Bulkhead nearly cried when you went to protect Miko from him yesterday and Bee won’t shut up about how you leaned on his hand today. You got him talking like he’s the chosen one with how flighty you are. It puts Optimus on edge, gets him going all… Ugh, you know.”

You did, giving the bike a sympathetic wince. 

“And secondly, he doesn’t talk about it, but we all know you’ve been getting him to tell you about Cybertron and what started the war.”

You shrugged at that. No use denying it. “I want to know what I’m fighting for before I start fighting.”

“Preduent.”

“That’s what he said.” She snorted and you instantly knew Jack had explained that line of joke to her at some point. 

She continues. “Yeah well, after your talks, he gets all weird and secluded. Either isolates himself in his habsuite or stands in front of the terminal for ages, just… Staring at it. I’m assuming he’s planning or something but it’s kind of worrying sometimes.”

Ah.

“Oh… Yeah I think I know why. I um… Tend to have a bit of an adverse reaction to the things he’s been telling me.” She raises a brow at you. “Your planet’s history is fucked, okay? He only just finished telling me about Cold Constructs, which might I add, was wild by the way, like holy shit. I’d like to see you find anyone who wouldn’t be affected hearing about all that shit.” 

Her response was wishy-washy but she seemed to let it slide. “Okay well, my point still stands. He worries about you and you sometimes make him freak out. Do that less, please.”

Fair enough. 

“I’ll try?”

“Close enough. Alright, what other grievances do you want to dish at me?”

God this was so weird. “I-... Hm… This is a complicated situation. And it's… Not pleasant.”

Arcee snorted, rolling her eyes as she draped an arm over her knee. “You're telling me.”

You ignored that. You honestly weren’t feeling all that snappy anymore but you supposed the one thing that always got you defensive was a good place to start. “The kids don't deserve this.”

“And you think we do?” The snark was back, her lip curling back. 

Bingo, round two.

“I think it's not their fucking problem to have to worry about but look at where we are anyways.” You were quick to shoot back, flashing your teeth instinctively at her. She leaned her head away from you at the display but didn’t seem particularly bothered by it otherwise.

“So what? Are you going to remove them from our protection? Keep them away from us? You act like we want them to be involved in this Primus forsaken war.” There was a lingering dread to that like she honestly was scared you might just follow through, muffled under layers of false confidence. The back and forth was getting a little too real again and this thin line between genuine distrust and hate, and therapy sass was not one you had a grasp on yet.

These bots gave you too much power. Optimus thought you could do the same, that just because you said so, that you really could just stop these kids from ever seeing them again. And maybe you could if you tried hard enough but at the end of the day, you weren’t their parent. They technically could say no to you and there wouldn’t be much you could say or do to make them actually come with you and never go back. If you got Fowler properly involved then maybe but were you really willing to go that far? To basically lock these children up? Place them under federal care because they said no? It seemed extreme.

Another pause. How did you answer that because surely she knew, right? You didn’t turn to look at her, glancing out of the corner of your eye instead. The pinched, tightened expression she held to cover her true feelings said more than she ever could with words, hunched over herself into a small ball. She was almost cocooning herself around you. It was the most unsure and conflicted you’d ever seen her. You thought she was unmoveable, stable and steady in her every action, confident without doubt. It was strange to see her not come across as cool and collected, the anxiousness flaring out her plating foreign on her. She genuinely had no idea what you would do. 

“I-... No. I don’t think I will. Not because I don’t want to but because I can't do it. I'm not strong enough for them. For all of this. As a teacher it is my sworn duty to keep them from harm, even if it means breaking their hearts but I can't- I don't-” Your voice broke and that tightness was resurfacing again, suffocating and all consuming. “All this-this-this… Pain and grief and suffering. I don’t know if I can-”

Apparently it wasn’t fun when the target of your hate was just yourself, Acree’s worry for what you would say in regards to her guardianship over Jack melting into concern for you as you realised what was happening now that you had an audience. It was like a fuzzy picture coming into focus after you’d been staring at it for forever, logic clicking into place inside your brain in delayed and lagging pieces. 

A panic attack. 

You’d had a panic attack before the blue bot found you and you were moments away from another one, that numbness skittering up your arms again, stemming from your hands. The buzzing static sensation was scratching at your brain once more as all coherent thought was stripped from you and there was a look of desperation on your face as you turned to Arcee like she would be able to do anything to save you from this. 

You only had seconds to try and convey to her what was going on. “Uh oh. Wanna see a magic trick?” That was not helpful nor what you were aiming for.

She, rightfully, most certainly did not. “What? No, I- Is now really the time for that? What’s happening? Your heart rate has rapidly accelerated and your cortisol and epinephrine levels have increased. Elevated blood pressure too, are you dying? Do I need to call someone?”

Horrifying. She can see your biochemical reactions and organs functioning. This would have been lovely information to have earlier. You wondered how much of Optimus and Ratchet’s reactions to you had come from their ability to see your adrenaline or cortisol spike, from your racing heart or if they could tell when your adrenal glands and amygdala activated.  

“Good. Abracadabra-” 

~-~-~-~

You did not remember what happened after that.

It was obvious at some point that Acree had managed to get you back into your car and basically escort you home once you’d finished freaking the fuck out as one moment you were in the dirt on your hands and knees hyperventilating, and then next you were standing outside your front door with a holographic leather bound baddie standing behind you. A hand was on her hip as she looked over the front of your house, helmet clad head looking around at the neighbourhood and your desert plant garden. She seemed to notice a change in your behaviour as she straightened up and turned her attention to you.

“Back with us, Chief?” The voice was not coming from the human behind you, instead coming from the bike parked in your driveway. “Because that was the worst magic trick I’ve ever seen in my life and I’ve had to watch Miko shuffle cards.”

You did ask if she wanted to see a magic trick, didn’t you? God that was stupid. Ignoring that-

“Did… Did you let me drive here?” Your voice was raw and strained as you slowly turned to look at the unassuming motorbike.

“Yes?”

“Holy fuck, Arcee.”

The fake human tilted her head in confusion.

“Holy fuck, I do not even remember getting in my car let alone driving, how am I not dead?”

She snorted loudly at that, the biker lady’s shoulders shaking with restrained laughter but ultimately not answering you. “So I’m guessing that whole thing wasn’t normal for humans? Are you like… Good now? Do I need to call Ratchet?”

“Please don’t call Ratchet.” You sighed, exhausted not even beginning to explain how you felt. Ignoring what could have been a horrible accident, you pushed it away to answer her question. “And uh… I mean, kinda? It’s not great but I guess it’s normal for humans in high stress situations to just sorta… You know.” 

You made a vague gesture towards your head. “The brain gets overwhelmed and goes a bit haywire, maybe shuts down for a bit and then you’re good to go again.”

By the blank way the helmet was staring you down, you were going to assume she was raising her brow at you or giving you some sort of pointed look.

“I promise, I’m fine. I’ll sleep, go to work and then see you all again and it’ll be like nothing happened. In fact, I feel better than I did before. Yelling at you really helped actually, I bet I can let Prime hold me without flinching now!”

The pointed look felt stronger, her front wheel turning towards you as if her hologram staring you down wasn’t sassy enough for her. Now you had both human and motorbike Arcee giving you a stink eye.

“What? You want me to let you in or something? Go home already, you frickin’ brat.” You waved her off, turning away from the bike as she chuckled with a low rumbling growl of her engine. 

“I’m taking your word for it.” The playfulness was still there but there was also something distinctly serious in how she said that.

You knew she was referencing what you’d said earlier about only having their word to go off of and throwing it back at you. It was meaningful. A show of trust and you felt the annoying familiar sting of tears at the display from the normally more stoic bot. She was trusting that you knew yourself better than she did, that you were actually okay. You didn’t turn back towards her, standing up taller as you walked to your door and slid the key in.

“Arcee?” It was quiet, not quite a whisper but low and soft and almost edging on uncertain.

“Yeah?”

“... If you… Ever want to talk about… Your friend.” Cliffjumper.

Her engine stalled and her holographic human flickered from view for a moment before solidifying once more. 

“Well. I’m here.” She didn’t reply and you didn’t expect her, pushing your door open as she wheeled her way back down your drive, hologram teleporting onto her back before she sped out the cul de sac like a bat out of hell. Jesus Christ, what was the point of having a display human if it did distinctly inhuman things? Once more, the fact they were still a secret was astounding.

She didn’t need to answer if she didn’t want to and you were in no way going to force her, but the offer had been sent out for if she ever felt the need. That was what mattered.

You feel into a new routine after that. The rest of the week blended together into a seamless stream of time. You went to work, taught your classes and interacted with your students, stayed behind while the trio went off to the base to finish some grading or talk with some other teachers and then you’d go over to the base when you felt you’d done enough. Arcee and Jack or Bee and Raf escorted you for the most part which you gave Optimus a very judgemental look for considering if anything were to happen, you’d much prefer your children to not be anywhere near the scene but alas, they insisted on coming along. This led to you officially having more contacts in your phone, ‘BB’ who was your cousin if anyone asked, and ‘Gamora‘ your badass military wine aunt. Bumblebee’s contact was more for talking to Raf and having him translate rather than for speaking directly to the yellow bot, his beeping not getting automatically translated through whatever weird tech they were using to call you, much to your disappointment. It was interesting to discover that the kids had to yell to be heard otherwise they were just muffled whispers in the background and you learnt that it was because the mechs were calling you from inside their brains. Arcee referred to them as ‘comm lines’ or ‘comm links’ which you supposed made sense as it wasn’t as if they were actually calling you on a phone but it was still a line of communication. None of them enjoyed calling your phone, stating that the connection was cold and impersonal, that they could distinctly feel how the technology wasn’t alive. Arcee remarked it was like somehow connecting to the comm line of a corpse and they visibly shuddered in discomfort when you picked up. 

Optimus also gave you two more numbers which were a bit harder to name into something not suspicious. One was a direct line to the base, the terminal’s comm line which was sort of their version of a landline number. The other was a sort of group chat that the bots jumped in and out of depending on the situation. It was only to be used by those who were actively in the field so those on a mission could all be on the same page without external distractions and was also hooked up to the terminal’s comm line so the base could direct or act as support when needed. The fact you had been given access to this line while the kids hadn’t was telling despite how much you doubted ever needing it. The sentiment was still there regardless and was heartwarming. For those numbers, you stuck with something simple. ‘Power Rangers’ for the active duty line and ‘Home Base’ for the base. You could lie about those ones easily enough if you ever needed to, saying that one was a group chat for some friends from your old town and the other was your parent’s landline number or something. 

Your interactions with the Cybertronians had subtly begun to shift into something more familial after your run in with Arcee, something both Bee and Bulk were immensely grateful for even if they didn’t quite understand what had changed. You weren’t instantly all chummy with them of course, it was slow progress but it was progress nonetheless. You tried harder to not flinch or step back when they approached you too quickly, showed less over protective behaviours towards the kids when they were together, and generally snapped at Ratchet and the others less where you could. There were still moments that reminded you of just how much of a pigheaded prick the medic could be, but more often than not the two of you bickered like children when left alone for any period of time instead of actively trying to rip out the other’s metaphorical throats with your cutting words. The anger and disgust was dissipating with time instead of building now that neither of you were particularly on the defensive. 

Bee had been actually upset when you first showed less hesitation with being touched by the others, whining and complaining to Optimus in the most dramatic way possible. The bubbly bot had draped himself over his leader’s back the second he’d bent down to pick something up, trapping the large red and blue mech in an awkward half crouch, whirring and droning out in long high pitched beeps that sounded sort of like an electric guitar getting plucked. Optimus to his credit, didn’t brush off or force the younger bot off of him and stayed completely still, simply listening to his comrade pout over his lost status with a tiny patient smile. Ratchet came to the rescue not long after in the form of throwing a wrench right at Bumblebee’s ass to make him move which only made the yellow mech whine louder, sliding off Optimus to rub at the dink in his plating and sulk in the corner with Raf. The younger boy had nearly pissed himself laughing while trying to comfort his guardian, later telling you that Bee was grumpy over the fact that he couldn’t be ‘The Chosen One’ anymore if you let everyone touch you, Arcee unhelpfully adding that he never was due to how you’d let Optimus carry you twice at that point. His comeback had been that Optimus didn’t count because he was a Prime and Miko broke the poor bot’s heart again with how Bulkhead had also been allowed to carry you just the other day. The whole thing left you feeling like some sort of feral cat the team had picked up and eventually domesticated and you hated that you weren’t upset over that. 

Your lack of fleeing from their invasive hands had led to nearly all of the bots to be almost annoyingly tactile with you to the point where you had to shoo them away out of irritation rather than fear and you had no idea how the kids tolerated it. This perceived annoyance was taken as a challenge and only encouraged them to push back harder, paired with Ratchet finding it so amusing that he often prompted the others to bug you the second he felt you’d been left alone for long enough, there was almost always a lingering hand hovering nearby. He’d offhandedly mentioned to you while he was working on fixing something Bulkhead had broken earlier that the reason Cybertronians were so insistent on holding or touching humans had something to do with how flesh interacted with their ‘sensornets’. It was one of the few times that Ratchet had been so focused on his work that he didn’t have the mind to be obtuse or mean and responded as if on autopilot in a very doctor-like manner. 

“Why are we so interested in touch?” He hadn’t lifted his head, a massive nerdy pair of goggles fastened over his eyes as he welded together two pieces of ripped metal.

“Yeah. I mean Bulkhead and Bee almost always need to have one of the children touching them and Arcee has a habit of poking and nudging me and Jack while she talks but I noticed she doesn’t do that with you or any of the other Cybertronians.” You were sitting atop his terminal in the med-bay with Raf, legs swinging back and forth as they dangled over the edge.

The pre-teen had headphones on, not at all paying attention to the conversation while he worked, simply choosing to hang out in the same space as you both rather than actually engage. Apparently he was working on making a new system to help find Decepticon activity with the help of Ratchet, building and editing the code and finer details to help ease the medic’s workload.

“Hm. Well, I suppose I can understand why. Humans are extraordinarily… Soft, after all.” Contemplative but distracted, his attention being given to the project on his workbench rather than you.

“Excuse me?” Soft? This conversation could go in any direction and you were hoping it stayed firmly professional and wasn’t about to get weird.

“Yes, humans are quite… Squishy. Cybertronians don’t have much give to them when pressed but humans? Just apply the slightest pressure and all that flesh and organic material moves. Malleable and jiggly. Even the sturdiest parts of you bend and flex. Most Cybertronians would snap before even bending half as much as you. And so warm. Constantly producing heat, even in moments of stillness or sleep.” Ratchet lifted one hand to absently wave it in the air throughout his explanation, not once looking up at you.

“I-... Hm.” This gave you some things to chew on honestly. “Wait, but I’ve seen you guys move. You have basically the same range of movement as us so do you mean your bones because ours also tend to snap, especially when pushed in the wrong direction.”

There was a pause, his movements coming to a stop before he reached over to grab another scrap of metal from next to you, lining it up with his broken tool. “We can only move a fraction of what humans can, don’t think I haven’t seen those videos of performers. Folding themselves in half backwards, arms doing a full rotation in a perfect circle, legs split to make a straight line.” 

The medic shuddered violently, shaking his head softly. “Doing any one of those would rip ones protoform, think of the microtears it would create! So tedious to fix.” 

Who gave Docbot access to the internet? If he’d found videos of contortionists and gymnasts, who knows what else he’s seen.

“Okay, quick side question. What is a protoform? Because I’ve heard Optimus talk about them in regards to Sparklings but uh…” You gave a so-so gesture with a shrug.

The doctor lifted his head to glance at you, dorky goggles blocking his eyes entirely giving him a very bug-eyed look. “Hrm. Of course he did.”

Okay, so he did not want to talk about that.

“A protoform is the closest thing on a Cybertronian to human flesh. It is the soft metal beneath our plating to allow for flexible movement.” He put his tools down with hesitation, uncertainty crossing his features as he debated silently with himself about what he was about to do.

After another moment, Ratchet stood up straight and puffed his chest out so his stomach was flat and fully on display. “Look here.” He pointed at his abdomen and it took everything in you to not raise your brows at him and make a face.

“Okay…?” It looked like a stomach. Slight pudge giving him a distinctly fit dad bod sort of vibe, thin orange bars wrapping around his hips down towards his pelvis in a very eye-catching manner with a grill filling into the space under what would be his ribs in the middle of his stomach. You didn’t know what you were meant to be looking for here but this was also making you feel like a pervert.

The discomfort on Ratchet’s face was telling you that he was feeling just as put out as you over getting oogled at. How the tables have turned. Last time it was you who was shirtless getting your torso examined uncomfortably and now it was the doctor himself wishing he was anywhere but here. 

He twisted side to side, the metal platings segmented and shifting to allow for the movement, just as a human could. “You see that?”

Not at all. 

“Yeah?”

“My outer plating may have seams that allow for movement but it isn’t possible without a protoform underneath for the plating to attach to.” You were starting to understand. “A protoform is living malleable metal made up of a material known as sentio metallico which makes up our bodies. What you are seeing is our natural armor that latches onto our protoform. Protoforms aren’t anywhere near as stretchy as human skin and then pair that with how our armor restricts our movements to a certain degree, no. We don’t have a similar range of movement.”

Fair enough. Their protoform acted like muscles on a human but instead of skin, they had solid metal armor limiting their flexibility. 

“Like a turtle!” You wished you were filming just to capture the annoyance and disappointment on Ratchet’s face the moment you said that, any . 

“Care to elaborate?” He sounded so peeved and yet so curious at what the fuck you could possibly mean.

“Soft inside that attaches itself to a naturally grown hard outer shell.” You were honestly much too proud about making this connection, practically beaming up at the other as he frowned back.

The best part about this was that he couldn’t even technically defend against it. You weren’t wrong. They were kind of like turtles. 

His engine gave an upset grumble in his chest as he quickly dove back down into his work with a fierce frown, hands rougher as he fiddled with his tool. “Hrmph. Well the other reason would probably be because humans don’t have fields.” 

The other reason? They were touchy-feely with humans for reasons other than because they were squishy?

“Fields?” You tilted your head, actively looking away from his work to avoid getting blinded by the bright flashing lights as he flicked the blowtorch on again, sparks flying.

“Yes, yes. EM fields, or electromagnetic fields to be more precise. All Cybertronians have one and it is an integral part of communication. The closest we can get to sensing one from a human is through physical touch.” 

You’d heard the term EMF before, of course you had, but never quite in this context before. While you were aware of the scientific term, it wasn’t exactly a strong point for you. The most popular usage of the term from what you know is ghost hunters claiming that you could use an EMF detector to detect ghosts. From your understanding on a more practical note was that electromagnetic fields could be found both artificially and naturally in things like electrical wiring, power lines, in radio waves, microwaves, phones and television signals or in storm clouds and lightning, and Earth’s own magnetic field. It is the way an electrical current interacts with a magnetic field and how they influence each other often leading to an oscillation which creates electromagnetic waves. You didn’t think this is what Ratchet was talking about.

“Cybertronians use their fields to convey simple concepts or emotions to each other in a non-verbal manner. They are as a part of one’s self as one’s limbs, able to reach out or retreat into the frame and grasp onto other fields. For example, Bulkhead’s field is often easy to sense as he leaves it unguarded whilst in the base. He is open and feels safe enough in this space to not worry or actively think about it, allowing everyone else to interact with it with ease and usually from a distance.” The red and white bot paused, tilting his head as if checking for something.

There was a moment of silence and you felt the hairs along your arms raise as if brushed by the idea of static electricity. If you weren’t paying attention to Ratchet, you didn’t think you would have noticed. Glancing at Raf, you watched the boy absently rub at his neck like something tickled it but otherwise didn’t react. Curious. After another few seconds, the bot before you went back to work and the sensation faded. You wondered how often they did that and you just never noticed. 

“He’s focused, feeling quite competitive and proud. Maybe even supported? It’s hard to pinpoint the exact meaning behind that last one but considering he is currently located in the training room, I’d wager that he’s sparring with Bee and Miko is watching, cheering him on.”

Your brows shot up. While he literally just told you that this was something they were able to do, it was still amazing to see it in action and hear just how much detail he could get from briefly extending his field to meet Bulkhead’s. 

“He’s also now confused that I’m reaching out since it isn’t something I normally do unless in surgery, and feeling a little annoyed that I threw off his focus and made him lose the fight.” Ratchet sounded smug over that last bit and it had you desperately trying to not laugh lest you encourage him to continue being a menace.

“You uh… Open? Extend? Your field in surgery?” You weren’t sure what kind of wording to use there, tossing out guesses but the medic wasn’t focused enough on you to correct you. 

“Often as a calming method. If your doctor is relaxed, confident and calm, it helps put the patient into a pacified state too. It’s harder to operate if someone is panicking or worried. Their frame fights against me, slows any natural healing processes.”

Made sense. If your doctor was freaking the fuck out before you went under, you couldn’t imagine feeling very confident about how the operation would go.

“Bumblebee and Arcee’s fields on the other hand are basically undetectable at all times as they are frequently put into positions where they do not want to be found as a scout and recon soldier. They both subconsciously and consciously retract their fields to keep them as close to their frames as possible to make it harder for other Cybertronians to sense their presence. This has become habitual to them to the point where even when in a safe place, they do not relax their hold on their fields.” Ratchet stood up straight, groaning as he stretched his back. Whatever he was working on needed a different tool now, the medic placing the blowtorch to the side to reach for a wrench looking thing as he flicked the goggles up onto his forehead.

“Fields are designed to intermingle with each other, allow those around you to feel what you are feeling and what is causing those feelings. In war, this is dangerous and it is much rarer now to find someone willing to allow you to interact with their field. On Cybertron it wasn’t uncommon to have strangers brush against your field in public spaces for numerous reasons. Sometimes it was just to let those around them know where they were, especially seen in minibots who wanted to avoid getting pushed around or stepped on by larger mechs. Others used it to advertise businesses, trying to push a welcoming and peaceful or an excited, joyous feeling onto crowds to entice more customers. Most commonly though, it was just entirely accidental. Mechs passing by, their field open and wide due to them being with conjunx or amica, with friends, and unintentionally bumping fields with those around them.” The old bot gave a half shrug, one of his shoulders going up as he hunkered back down to finish tightening a bolt along the machine laying on his workbench.

“Since you humans don’t have any fields for us to work off of, I’m sure the others feel… Uncomfortable trying to read you and interact with you. While they can assume from your body language and words, human nuances are still foreign to us and can be misinterpreted. Pair that with the single note language you use, intent becomes even foggier. Scanning your vitals only tells us so much and is too clinical for everyday use. Touching however-” The medic lifted his head just enough to look you in the eye, brows hanging low as his mouth twisted to the side in thought.

Lifting a single finger, he placed it against the centre of your chest. It was barely a push, resting against your sternum lightly. The movement got Raf’s attention who did a double take at the events taking place, pulling his headphones off his ears to listen in on what was happening.

“When we come into contact with you, we are able to feel the primitive, organic field your body tries to produce through our sensornets. It is weak and doesn’t tell us exact emotions or ideas but the pace in which it fluctuates gives something to work with. You are currently emitting oscillations between 11 and 16 Hz which tells me you are relaxed but focused and actively thinking.”

That sounded a lot like… “Are you measuring my brain waves? There are five main types of frequencies we’ve broken into groups depending on the amount of oscillations per second. Gamma, associated with concentration and problem solving, intense focus and heavy mental strain, about 35 Hz or more. Beta which ranges from 12 to 35 Hz, normally a busy or active mind, focused thinking or for prolonged periods, could indicate anxiety and stress. Then it’s alpha, roughly 12 to 8 Hz and is seen when someone is relaxed, present but not really paying attention. Passive. Or also when someone is being creative, daydreaming, reflecting. Is it delta or theta next?”

“Theta.” Of course Rafael knew and while you weren’t actually expecting an answer, it was helpful. 

“Thank you Raf. That one is when someone is sleepy, meditating, heavily relaxed and not at all focused. You are still awake but not much is happening upstairs, often sitting around 4 to 8 Hz. Then there is the last one, delta, which is only seen in sleep.”

The medic hummed slightly. “Close. We are also able to take that into account but it’s deeper than that. You are… Emitting an energy signature that we are able to sense, it’s ever moving and blurry, constantly changing shape but when we are in contact with you, it’s easier to make sense of.” He closes his eyes and that prickling sensation tickles the very edges of your awareness again.

“You are curious, basically starving for more knowledge.” One of his eyes opened to examine you and you snorted loudly at the obvious statement.

“Of course I am. I’m a teacher, learning is sort of my whole shtick. Being able to learn anything about you guys is like… A highlight of my entire week and this is interesting as hell.” You reached up to gently wrap your hand around his finger, your hand unable to completely encircle it. He thrummed under you, buzzing with life and electricity that left you feeling tingly like being near powerlines.

“But you can understand why the others are so intent on being tactile now, yes?” He pulled away, slipping from your grasp as static zipped up your arms before fading.

“Hm. I suppose so. You guys also rely heavily on different forms of communication to interpret intent and meaning like humans do but you use methods we can’t. We seem to share all the basic ones, body language, eye contact, facial expression, touch and general gesturing, proxemics, paralinguistics, but you also use… Naturally producing electric frequencies and… Dual tone speech? You mentioned that humans use singular note language. What did you mean by that?”

Ratchet put his project aside, eyes narrowing as he fully engaged in the conversation. Apparently if you came at him scientifically enough, it stopped him from being an annoying prick. “All Cybertronian languages are highly tonal, polyphonic. Our voxes allow us to produce multi-layered sounds, several different types of pitches all at the same time which we use to create meaning and understanding. The lowest pitch is always for the word itself whilst every sound put on top is for context, intent, elucidation and commentary. Even the most simplistic of our languages have at least three layers to it.”

Assuming that a vox was what they called their voice boxes or vocal cords, that explained why their languages tended to sound so musical and complex. 

“Iaconic is the most linguistically complex, and a favoured language amongst Autobots, often reaching up to twenty-seven simultaneous frequencies and harmonies which makes it an incredibly difficult language to use if you were not raised with it. I am aware Bulkhead struggles speaking it despite being fluent since he was raised in Crystal City which mainly uses a blend of Tetrahexian and Helextic, and Bumblebee used to speak in a bastardised mix of Iaconic and Praxian specifically to annoy those around him, if I recall.”

For Bee to do that was unironically hilarious. And it also seemed about right. 

For such a joyous happy guy, he could be shockingly spiteful and petty. 

“Are most Cybertronians multilingual?” Raf finally joined the conversation, eyes wide and sparkly in interest, his laptop long forgotten in favour of this new and exciting topic.

Ratchet gave the youngster the slightest of smiles, his entire face softening around the edges. He almost looked like another bot and for a second you thought you were seeing things. 

Holy shit. 

Ratchet’s weakness was Rafael. 

That was completely understandable and adorable. And something for you to take advantage of at a later date.

“Generally due to the proximity of most cities, one tended to pick up on at least a basic understanding of neighbouring languages for convenience's sake alone but a large portion of them are linguistically very similar. There are outliers to this of course, like with Iaconic but Tetrahexian, Helextic, Praxian, Polyhexian, and Stanixi for example all share sentence structure and tonal frequencies. Kaonic, Tarnish, Tyresti are also dialectically comparable to each other.”

Raf hummed, adjusting his glasses. “So you guys do have to physically learn language?” 

You had been wondering that too, considering their shocking fluency in English compared to the amount of time they’d been speaking it. They’d been on Earth for just under a year before coming into contact with humans and from the sounds of it, they could all speak and understand the language as if they were born into it by that time. To become fluent within a year would require levels of study that the bots simply don’t have time for. Roughly, it takes most people anywhere from two to seven years to actually be fluent in any language, let alone in a language as stupid as English.

Ratchet made a noncommittal sound. “Most languages were widely available to access on the datanet. Having it patched into your processor gave you an understanding but one still had to practice the pronunciation and to produce the correct tones. We did the same with English, finding sources on your… Primigenial datanet and due to it being monophonic, little to no practice was needed for us to master it. There are quite a few words that we don’t have an understanding of thanks to both a direct lack of translation and to the ever changing nature of human language. That and the fact that humans tend to borrow words from multiple other languages and then change the meaning.” He rolled his eyes at that, scoffing to himself.

God, you wished you could brainblast languages into your dome and instantly be able to understand if not be able to speak it just like that. You’d always wanted to be fluent in at least five different languages just for the flex alone, ignoring the practical reasons you could find to use such knowledge on.

“Kaonic was designed to be used by those with damaged voxes due to the city’s position alongside the Rust Sea, making it the most simple tonally and the easiest to learn and utilize. That also made it popular amongst miners and other lower class citizens who received substantial damage from work and could no longer speak their home languages anymore. Vosian however, quite literally can only be spoken by those with a Seeker frame due to how their voxes are shaped, allowing them to produce sounds on a frequency most cannot replicate. Majority of Decepticons use Kaonic and Tarnish due to how many come from those cities but I am aware that a large portion can understand Vosian even without being able to speak it thanks to how egotistical Seekers tend to be. Even before the war began, most would refuse to speak in anything other than Vosian, forcing you to learn it just to understand them even if you couldn’t speak it back.” Ratchet scowled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against his work table.

“What are Seekers?” You’d heard the term thrown around a lot recently but no one has given you anything solid, just bits and pieces of information.

Ratchet scoffed. “Other than snobs?”

“Yeah, other than that.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Hm… Well in the most simple of terms, Seekers are flyers that came out from the city of Vos specifically. Flyers are mechs who possess the ability of flight as I’m sure you gathered.” He rose a brow at you, almost waiting for you to say that you didn’t. Prick. You nodded. “Not every flyer is a Seeker but every Seeker is a flyer. In more recent times however, Seekers became a term to refer to flyers within the Decepticon ranks while flyers within the Autobot ranks were known as Aerialbots, regardless of whether or not they came from Vos.”

That… Kinda sucked actually. To have a part of your identity turned into a military rank and associated with a specific group of unsavoury people rather than your stunning home and heritage. Also, noted that those from Vos speak Vosian. You were going to be able to guess a good chunk of city names from the languages alone.

“We had a few flyers originally from Vos back in the day but there aren’t many Aerialbots left, if at all anymore. Not here on Earth at least.” You didn’t miss the way that even now, Ratchet didn’t refer to them as Seekers. 

Raf on the other hand, didn’t seem to clock the severity of that last bit of conversation, instead looking beyond amazed. His mouth was cracked open in wonder at this wall of information and you couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. “Can you do that with everything? Download skills directly into your brains and just be able to do it?” 

The medic raised an unimpressed brow at the kid, shaking his head. “Knowing how to do something doesn’t instantly mean you are physically able to do it. Humans read up and learn about how to do certain skills at the time but you aren’t all masters of said skills after gathering a bit of knowledge. Processing datapacks is very similar to reading a book or an article to you but the information is stored in our memory banks in a way that makes it easy to retrieve when needed. Practice is still required. Theory and practical are very different and are executed differently. And not everyone’s processors are made for compiling information anyways meaning they sometimes have to go over the same datapack several times to get it to stick in their memory banks.”

It was kind of a relief to hear they weren’t able to just insta-learn anything they wanted to and they also had to study and practice to gain skills, any buds of jealousy that had started to bloom getting nipped. Their learning process was just a little faster since they didn’t technically need to read or physically memorise anything, but they still needed to gather the information and apply it to real life. 

Other than that conversation however, the week was fairly uneventful. Optimus didn't seem to get any more opportunities to continue your conversation about D-16 but you didn't know if it was on purpose or not, the whole thing feeling a bit too coincidental. He was never hanging around at the time you normally went home, leaving Arcee to drive behind you on your way back to Jasper most nights, occasionally replaced by Bulkhead on the days she had patrol. Not that you were particularly looking for anyone to escort you around, mainly wishing to use the time to learn more history with the absent Autobot leader. You’d actually insisted you were fine going home alone but after that night Arcee had found you on the side of the road, you supposed you couldn't blame them for worrying and wanting to keep an eye on you. Anytime you'd try to get Optimus for some one on one time, ask if he wanted to go for a drive or move into a different part of the base to talk, he'd conveniently be busy and don’t get it twisted, you understood. He was the general of an army, a busy guy. Shit happens and he has things to do, people to lead, plans to make! But it got to a point where you started to question whether or not your last conversation had something to do with his avoidance of you, that you said something or reacted wrong and now he didn’t like you or want to be around you. Tuesday was a Deception sighting in Alaska he deemed bad enough to warrant his presence (Ratchet later told you that it was a false alarm). On Wednesday he told you he didn’t have time and glued himself to the terminal, barely interacting with anyone to instead stare at the strips of alien text and low quality images of random places on Earth. Thursday you didn’t even see him once, even as the gang (not including the now elusive big rig or Ratchet) finally took you on a full tour of the base, which did involve going into every room. Arcee seemingly only tagged along because she didn’t want anyone going through her room without her whereas Bee was completely invested in giving the tour with Miko. Bulk on the other hand was there because Miko was, and Raf and Jack were joining in so they weren't left out. 

The base was mainly made up of long twisting hallways, corridors lined with thick metal pipes that went on forever and were full of corners with honestly only a couple usable rooms. First was the training room you’d previously seen, followed by a storage area that was absolutely glowing with massive blocks of blue cubes. You were helpfully informed that this was processed energon, not how it naturally came on Earth nor in the mines back on Cybertron but how it used to be back in the Golden Age of Cybertron when the rivers flowed with the stuff. It was the easiest form for them to consume and most efficient in their systems. They could apparently eat crystalised energon but it was weaker, tasted funny and harder to eat (finally! A use for their teeth!). That’s how you learned that there were many different types of energon, including multiple alcoholic types. They were very brief about that however, mainly due to the kids being there, but that was very interesting and made you wonder just how similar their version of drunk is to yours. Next of course was the room tours. One long hallway lined with towering doors that reached up to the ceiling, each one with two pieces of A3 paper stuck onto them. One was taped at human eye level and the other at mech eye level. Walking closer revealed them to be name plates, hand written in texta and crayon with glitter and stickers. Miko’s handy work without a doubt.

Bulkhead’s room was first, his name plates mainly a dark army green with stickers of monster trucks and drawings of lightning bolts and guitars surrounding the large blocky glittered letters of his name. The layout was similar to that of any human room if it had been upscaled for giants with zero comfort in mind. Up against the wall right next to the door was a Cybertronian sized desk with an equally large welded together chair tucked against it, both made entirely of metal. Neither looked handmade but you knew that there wouldn’t have been Cybertronian sized furniture laying about making it likely that Bulkhead himself built it, and the welds were honestly very clean and straight. The worst part was the metal itself rather than the construction, buffed of rust spots leaving some places shiny than others, dented in a couple spots where you could see someone hurriedly hammered out it to try and flatten it. Next to that, flushed with the corner was a large flat metal slab with nothing on it, the middle slightly lower than the sides which you were going to assume was a bed. It was like the cot in the med-bay but was distinctly lacking anything soft or comforting with all hard stainless steel-esque edges and this one didn’t have any cords or holes for wires to stick through like Ratchet’s med-bed. It was the most uncomfortable looking bed in existence honestly and it made you wonder if there was anything even vaguely fluffy or squishy on Cybertron. The fact they were so obsessed with touching humans because of their softness only dictated otherwise and you couldn’t help but pity those who never made it to Earth and never got to experience the joys of touching a fluffy blanket fresh from the dryer. Bulk’s walls were covered in posters that were frankly way too small for him and were clearly a gift from Miko, loaded with pictures of monster trucks and rock bands, the name ‘Slash Monkey’ showing up quite a few times. He also had a giant ball of what looked to be crumpled up metal scraps that the teen girl affectionately called a ‘lob’. You didn’t question it but Bulk seemed content just looking at it so you assumed it was important or at least held a special place in his heart. 

Across the hall from him was Bumblebee’s room, his name plate smothered in bright yellow glitter with thick black racing stripes going through the middle and stickers of bees in the corners. Similarly to Bulk, he also had a desk and an uncomfortable looking bed, just set out a little differently. Instead of his bed being in the corner, the yellow bot had moved his to sit in the middle of one wall right in the center of the room and had covered one entire side of it with pillows of every shape and colour, several actually being massive oversized (or in his case, him-sized) teddy bears and plushies. It added a sense of warmth and joy to the space, multiple flattened from his weight where it was obvious he slept with them tucked under his head or squeezed in his arms. His desk sat against the opposite wall next to the door, stickers and doodles littering the surface, some actually scratched into the metal. His room had lots of things in it, and he was apparently quite proud of his collection as he lifted you up to get you closer to a few of his favourite objects. From what you could tell, a large portion of it was items he’d gathered from his time on Earth that he liked or he found sentimental meaning in. A mirror with graffiti blocking the bottom half, a glued together puzzle missing about four pieces in random places, an entire tree he had somehow managed to bring in and put in a pot, old torn posters of sports cars and license plates from a couple of different states, a broken guitar. All useless by all means, but important to him. His crowning possession however, the favoured and most beloved of his collection was an absolutely busted up bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle that sat in the corner, and according to Raf, was his very first Earth based disguise. He’d found it in a junkyard within his first week of being on Earth and later came back to bring it to the base once they settled in and he’d found a different disguise he felt more comfortable using. You were visibly able to see his attempts to bring the car back up to scrap or at the very least, clean it up and care for it, patches of rust recently buffed from the shiny bumper and fresh new tyres still in the process of being put on. There was also a small pile of objects you couldn’t make heads or tails of that the mech didn’t show you and was seemingly quite protective of, not even letting you or any of the children get close to much to Miko’s disappointment, which you figured must mean they were relics of Cybertron. As much as you wished to learn and see, you also understood why the idea of letting anyone touch them, let alone see them made Bee so flighty. They were the last remnants of his home. A place he could no longer go to, filled with things that didn’t exist anymore. They were priceless. They were likely the last of their kind, memories of a time he could never return to or see again. Amongst the mishmash of shapes and techno baubles that could have honestly been anything, there was one piece that stuck out to you as something you could recognise. A curved metal sheet that was the same shade as Bee’s paint with large insectoid blue chromed lenses, cracked from a vicious looking puncture hole in the bottom left hand corner. It was splattered with dried dark blue splotches and you instantly knew that it was old energon, likely Bumblebee’s. 

A mask, designed for battle. 

One that had done its job apparently.

The sight alone made you sick and you pointedly averted your gaze until directed back out into the hallway. 

Arcee’s room on the other hand wasn’t overly decorated, her name plate reflecting this as well. Swirly curly lettering spelling out her name, no glitter, only a handful of stickers of motorbikes and a couple scribbles of blue stars. Inside there were no memories or gifts on display, simple and bare and very militaristic. Her desk was almost entirely void of objects, and her bed was pushed to the furthest side of the room away from the door. It looked like the room of someone who expected to have to get up and leave at any given moment, essentials only. A few cleaning and personal care items, training gear and what looked to be the horn off a giant mechanical bull. It was on a shelf high out of reach of everything else, flecked with the same dark blue stains as Bee’s mask and scuffed with dirt. 

That same sick feeling was back and you had a sneaking suspicion of who used to own that horn.

She didn’t bring attention to it and you didn’t mention it.

Next was Ratchet’s room, Bee and Miko looking quite mischievous and conspicuous as they opened the door, clearly knowing that under any other circumstance that they would not be allowed anywhere near the medic’s room. Hell, they likely weren’t now and just hadn’t told him they were showing it off. Either way, his name plate was orange for the most part, drawings of medical crosses and hearts with stickers of heartbeats and ambulances covering it, bordered in a thick line of orange glitter. His room was exactly like the doctor himself. Painstakingly tidy in most areas with spots of chaos, every surface overflowing with items of importance and had almost nothing sentimental in view. His desk was covered in tools of every kind, what looked like giant alien iPads, old empty clear cubes of what you imagined used to be energon, and other Cybertronian tech you didn’t understand. There were shelves upon shelves of more massive tablets which Arcee said were old medical texts, their own health profiles and medical history, and whatever remaining academic literature he managed to grab and save before the destruction of the Vault. It took you a minute to connect the dots and realise that these tablets were their versions of books. You didn’t stay in there long and you just knew you’d all been trespassing with how sketchy Miko was acting, hoping the medic didn’t discover that any of you had been inside lest he force a lecture onto you all. 

That left only one room to tour. 

Optimus Prime’s. 

It felt like even more of a sin to be going into here then it did Ratchet’s. Ratchet was a grumpy old man who liked his privacy, going into his room was likely to end in an angry yelling match and a moody doctor for the next two days. Going into Optimus’ room felt more like going into a church to piss in the communal wine before they served it as the blood of Christ. Optimus Prime was a genuine figure of authority, a mech that had imbued a sensation of holiness onto you multiple times just by being in his presence. He felt like he didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, was all knowing and all seeing. It was less of a betrayal of trust as much as it was blasphemy, like inviting the opportunity to be struck down, asking a higher power to smite you. Miko was vibrating from how excited she was, Raf and Jack undeniably curious but the bots all looked as uneasy as you felt at the idea of opening the door before them. You supposed it was less of a biblical crime to them though as much as it was just them straight up disrespecting their commanding officer’s private space. 

The name plate on his door was blue and red, glitter covering every inch of the paper except the big bubbled letters spelling out ‘BOSSBOT’. Simple, obnoxiously flashy, and when opened it showered down a small pile of glitter onto everyone who stood at human height. And clearly loved. You could see splotches where all the glitter had fallen off and Miko had retouched it messily, the girl even telling you that the Prime was the one to ask her to fix it, pride radiating off of her at the fact. There was evidence of it lining the floor, kicked in places where someone had walked through leaving the surrounding area vaguely sparkly. 

The inside of Optimus’ room was the blankest of them all, not a single personal item in sight. The bed looked as if it had never once been touched, coated in a thick layer of dust that puffed up when the door opened and his desk was a mess, piled with technical do-hickies and thingamajigs, alien tablets scattered across every available space. Clearly, the room didn’t get much use aside from the occasional brooding and military tactical planning he did at the desk. It was kind of sad actually. No memorabilia from either Cybertron or Earth, no photos or gifts, no decoration of any sort. It was like walking into a house before someone moves in, lacking nearly all proof of a person’s existence within the space. The most personal or sentimental item was the name plate and that was on the outside of his room. The children seemed to share the sentiment, Miko deflating with a loud disappointed groan at how empty the room was while the boys looked a little bored, if not disturbed at the plainness of it all. The bots with you didn’t look surprised by the lack of life but Bee especially seemed saddened by it. You all were quick to leave, no one daring to approach the chaotic mess the desk was in fear of disrupting or ruining whatever system the Prime had for all his texts and maps and whatnot. 

The rest of the base was mainly unusable both by humans and mech alike, either being too small for mechanical life, too structural unsound, filled with asbestos, or simply useless to everyone. You were briefly shown a room filled with early gen computers that were built into the floor, obviously a control room of some sort but nothing turned on and half the screens or keyboards were broken so it was left untouched by the current inhabitants. There was also what used to probably be a lab that you were shown but the whole place had been trashed at some point since the military vacated the premises, spilled chemicals dried into the tiles, broken glass and equipment shattered over benches and the floor, the faint smell of rot and mildew. None of the mechs allowed the kids to even get close to the door which you were grateful for, Bumblebee actually reaching out to block the entryway with his hand as you tried to peer inside. You had no plans of actually entering but the sentiment was sweet nonetheless.

Friday however, was different. The day had started normally enough, you went to work and taught your classes, Miko broke something during science class, you managed to grade a handful of assignments before it started getting late. Nothing out of the ordinary and was easy enough, just the kind of day you wanted to have on a Friday. As usual, you packed up your things and waited out front for someone to come escort you back to the base a few hours after the children had gone. And you waited. 

Five minutes.

And you waited some more.

Ten minutes past the time when Bulkhead said he’d be there.

Fifteen. 

Twenty.

You were a patient person when the situation needed it and it wasn’t like you were particularly in a rush or anything. It was a Friday, you had no reason to get up early tomorrow so if you ended up staying at the base late, then it was no big deal. But the mechs hadn’t been late once since they had started driving with you. If anything happened, they said they’d call you to let you know where they were at but Bulk hadn’t buzzed through yet and you were getting worried. 

You checked your phone again. Thirty minutes late now. Anxiety was starting to build in the back of your head and you debated whether or not you should call (his contact had been saved as ‘Gentle Giant’, your gym bro from your old town if anyone asked). It’d been long enough now, right? You didn’t want to be clingy or annoying and it wasn’t like you actually wanted to have to be escorted everywhere but this was concerning. Anything could have happened on the way over. Maybe he’d been ambushed and he’d gotten hurt trying to protect Miko, maybe the Decepticons did something to his comm links and made it so he couldn’t call for help somehow. Or maybe something happened at the base and they were all trapped, unable to contact anyone? They wouldn’t have forgotten you, that didn’t feel right. 

Right?

That growing anxious feeling snapped its teeth at you again as you pulled up Bulkhead’s contact information, hoping that you maybe just missed a text from him or that the notification didn’t come through but he was fine and on his way. 

Nothing. The last text from him was a couple hours old saying he would be the one to ride back with you today. You started drafting out a text, chewing on your lip nervously.

And then a car pulled into the parking lot. 

It was a nondescript black car, the kind you’d see government agents in movies drive, dark tinted windows so you couldn’t see inside with no markings or anything on it to make it stand out (which made it stand out so much more). You tried to ignore it, pretend you weren’t watching it with your head tilted down towards your phone as you kept it within sight out of the corner of your eye. It wasn’t one of your bots and there was no reason for anyone to be coming to the school at this time, most teachers already having left, nor was it a car you’d seen in the car park before so it couldn’t have been someone coming back to grab something they’d forgotten or left behind. Swiping through your contacts, you opened up ‘Ultra Nerd’ and poised your thumb to hover over the call button. 

The second something changes, you were going to be pressing that button and running back into the building like the Flash himself was on your ass. One near death via Decepticon foul play was plenty for you, you weren’t going to let another motherfucker catch you off guard again, not any time soon.

The window rolled down with a loud vrrrr and you flinched, your entire body tensing as you readied yourself to run faster than you ever have in your life. This was a good sign that it wasn’t a Decepticon, meaning your danger was likely coming from a more human source which wasn’t entirely comforting but at least more manageable. From experience, the bots didn’t tend to like doing car stuff when in car mode. Like sure, their mirrors moved and doors opened, seatbelts clicked into place and the steering wheel turned but if they didn’t have to, they didn’t. Bulkhead hated rolling down his windows and Bee complained when you made him open his doors or moved his seats more than necessary. It was looking a lot more like this was just some asshole coming to bother you or a freak trying to scope out the school for something. Not out of trouble yet but at least not in the robotic kind of trouble.

The window stops with a click and you are able to see inside, surprise momentarily catching you off guard. A familiar voice called out to you, title and last name in that steady, patriotic and authoritative tone you’d heard only once before.

Agent William Fowler.

Of fucking course the most secret services looking government agent in a small American town planted in some area 51 looking desert drove the most stereotypical government agent car. It was like no one in this place who was meant to be flying under the radar had the slightest inkling on how to not be obvious as shit. Jasper didn’t have an office building that warranted wearing a full suit and yet there he was, dusty blue suit with a striped tie, leaning an arm out the window with that stern look on his face as he peered out at you.

“Fowler.” You responded in kind, professional and detached as you tried to will your heart to calm down upon realising you weren’t about to get kidnapped. “What can I do for you? Didn’t think a school was your kind of scene.”

He frowned a bit at that but ultimately ignored it, nodding his head to the passenger seat. “Get in.”

Never mind, kidnapping was still on the table just via government rather than evil robots.

You didn’t move, flashing the back of your phone to him. “I have a ride, thank you though.”

“I am your ride. The… Others have already been informed.” He stuck his arm back into the car, tilting his head to look out the windshield as the window started rolling back up. “Get in.”

You didn’t like that.

Why didn’t Bulk let you know? Were the bots actually aware of this change in plans? Where was Fowler going to take you? Why was he here? You carefully picked your bag up, keeping your phone in hand should you need to call for help as you walked slowly towards the passenger side. Nothing moved or changed and you opened the door before sliding into the seat rigidly. 

“You aren’t in danger,” He almost sounded exasperated as he said your name again, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he shifted the car in reverse once you’d shut the door and  buckled in. 

“I’m sure.” You weren’t. Everything about this was weird and suspicious. “Are we coming back here?” 

“Why?” He sounded unimpressed this time, pulling out onto the main street.

“Because you’ve just left my car in the parking lot.” It was your turn to glance at him from the corner of your eye, snark hidden under your words.

The man drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, not saying anything for a moment. Whether it was because he was thinking or didn’t like the tone in your voice, you didn’t know. “Of course. I will bring you back here when we are done.” 

There was another beat of silence, the car heading in the general direction of the base. That took some of the edge off, your body minutely relaxing. It wasn’t that you thought Fowler was going to do anything to you, but the sudden change in plans and random appearance of the agent had thrown you off kilter a bit. Seeing your children as well as your large mechanical friends would be much appreciated and if trouble was afoot, Optimus’ calming presence would do you wonders. 

“We’d planned on letting you heal some more before introducing you properly to our… Unique visitors but it seems that the children had other plans.” There was mild annoyance in that, his brows lowered a touch. “It’s been a full week, no? Six days by now?”

In all honesty, you hadn’t really had much opportunity to think about Fowler since your run in at the hospital. Your days had been occupied by things much more in demand of your attention but at the very least, it was good to know why they’d seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth. Dude was trying to give you time to not have broken ribs and be faced with the objects of your most recent trauma and you were grateful for the attempt even if it had been all for naught. It hadn’t slipped your notice either the way he was referring to the bots, something you kept in mind before answering. He talked as if you weren’t alone, as if someone could possibly be listening in despite the fact no one else was in the car with you. You did a quick sweep to look for bugs or microphones but couldn’t see anything, not like you even knew what those things looked like or expected them to be out in the open.

You hummed non-commitally. It had been about six days since Jack and Raf had first shoved you into Bee’s cab, hadn’t it? You couldn’t tell if it felt like you’d been hanging around the Autobots for years or only hours. Time felt too long but so short at the same time leaving you with the longest shortest week you’ve ever had. You supposed that came with life changing events and enjoying yourself.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I also would have much preferred some form of cont-AH! Fuck me!” Your hands flew to brace yourself against the dash in front of you before you ate shit as Fowler suddenly stepped on the brakes, honking furiously at the car in front of him. 

The man next to you seemingly took no notice in the near miss other than with the beginnings of road rage building in his tensed hands and you instantly felt less safe once more upon realising just what kind of driver he was.

“Jesus fuck…” Dragging a hand down your face as you muttered out the curse under your breath, you took a second to ground yourself.

Technically, nothing was wrong. Fowler just drove like he had somewhere to be twenty minutes ago and as if the rules were just suggestions. That didn’t stop you from opening your phone and sending a live location ping to Optimus though, just in case you were about to crash and burn on the side of the road because someone couldn’t wait long enough for the old lady in front of you to pull over and let him pass. You checked it to make sure it was actively following your position and relaxed a touch upon seeing it work.

“You’re going ten under the speed limit, granny! Pull over or speed up!” He honked again with a growl, leaning back in his seat with mild frustration before turning his attention back to you. “I can imagine the sudden silence was a bit jarring but unfortunately that was out of my control. The children were unprecedented and were kept a secret from us at first meaning we had no way of protecting or keeping an eye on this group of civilians that had gotten mixed up in this mess. When we finally did discover their involvement… Well. We were met with resistance and were unable to put them under federal custody as a result. The higher ups did not want a repeat with you.”

That triggered a conflicting sensation of emotion in you. On the one hand, Fowler did try and get the kids out but was unable to due to the mechs getting defensive. That was good. That meant you weren’t the only person in this place thinking of the children’s safety. On the other… The government didn’t want you to have any involvement unless they were directly able to monitor and control how much you saw and did, and when. Something they weren’t able to do with the children. Something you weren’t sure you were comfortable doing. One of the very first things Bee mentioned was how long they’d been on Earth and he’d asked you to not tell Fowler about them being here longer than the government thought.

You didn’t know if it was due to a lack of trust on the Autobots part towards the boys in blue, or if there was something more going on, but you told Bee you wouldn’t and you were planning on keeping that promise. You weren’t going to tell any government anybody anything.

“But that’s just what happened anyway.” You mused, eyeing him from your peripheral. This conversation was happening for a reason. What his end game was, you didn’t know yet but there was more to this than simply exchanging information.

“Hm. Apparently.” A pause. “You swear a lot for a teacher.”

“So I’ve been told.” You look out the window, watching the town go past as Fowler swears at another driver, tightening your grip on the bar on the door in case he slammed on the brakes again.

“How much do you know?” The car stopped at a red light, a huff escaping the man at having to wait before he relaxed reluctantly to look over at you.

This was where you had to start being careful about how much you knew and how much to expose. You didn’t know how much the government knew nor how much the Autobots were willing to share but you had to say something. “Not much. They’ve been under your care for a couple years now, fighting in a never ending civil war that destroyed their home. They are stuck here and accidentally befriended three of my students. Sound about right?”

He frowned, brows furrowed in thought as the light turned green. “Quite.” 

The conversation fell off for a bit as he drove you out into the desert towards the base, a hesitant sigh escaping the man while his fingers tapped nervously along the wheel. “They clearly haven’t told you everything.”

What did that mean?

“Oh?”

“They have more than one enemy wanting to see them ripped to shreds and threaten the public safety of American citizens. Have you heard of M.E.C.H.?” Fowler’s face was scrunched and tight, uneasy and he obviously didn’t want to be having this conversation.

“No? Uh… Should I have?” His nervousness was making you nervous, sweat gathering on your hands.

“Hm. Maybe. M.E.C.H. is an organisation that originally worked in opposition to the government but since discovering the existence of our allies, they’ve changed targets for the time being. Their end goal is to create a new world order via newer and often experimental technology. I’m sure you can see where I am going with this.”

“Human?” Jesus Christ man, you were not equipped to be dealing with terrorist groups on top of an alien civil war. 

And you could see what he was implying. These guys wanted to use Cybertronian tech for their new world order, and likely the bots themselves. 

“Yes. Mainly ex-military. Their leader, Colonel Leland ‘Silas’ Bishop is quite hellbent on securing whatever technology he can get his hands on, no matter the cost. He’s already put my life in danger a few times and there is some concern of what should happen if he were to learn of your presence. Of the children’s.” His knuckles tightened around the wheel, eyes narrowed in distaste.

“Do the kids know?” It was a struggle to stamp down the panic in your voice, but you did.

“No. And we intend to keep it that way.” He lowered his voice, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You understood and disagreed at the same time, irritation eating at your chest at the indecision on what to do. While keeping them in the dark might keep them safe, doing so would also put them in danger if they were to get caught up in something. The lack of knowledge could be what kills them, leaving them off guard and vulnerable. But telling them could unnecessarily panic them. 

“Their guardians?” You nodded your head in the direction of the base to indicate which guardians you were talking about.

Fowler twisted his lips into a thin line. “They are aware of the danger but not in relation to your safety. I doubt they’d sit idly by should something go wrong but they have engaged once before.”

That was better than nothing but still worrying. “And you think I will become a target? That I’ll be used as bait to lure out… Their favoured tech?” 

“Keeping an eye on your interaction with them would have limited this risk but since the children’s interference, we haven’t been able to monitor your movements until now. We have no idea whether or not M.E.C.H. has caught wind of your existence.” 

“And what’s the plan then? I stay within sight of an agent at all times? Limit my contact with the others?” Neither option sounded great but getting kidnapped by techno-freaks sounded worse.

“Well-SHIT!” Fowler started to lay out his thoughts, turning his head to talk to you just as the car on the other side of the road suddenly swerved into your lane.

There was barely any time to react, Fowler violently yanking the wheel to take you both off road to avoid the head on collision, desperately pressing on the brakes with a ear piercing screech of tyres burning against concrete, the other car scratching up against your side all the way down. Everything was screaming, metal rubbing against metal in a long loud shrill SKRRRRRRRIT. Your window shattered from the force of the hit, the mirror getting ripped straight off the car as glass crashed over your body. Your attacker was much larger, a massive bulky dark Jeep that skidded to a stop before drifting around to come back at you again from behind. The movement was indicative of a skilled driver and you felt your heart freeze up in your chest, tears blurring your vision at the realisation of what was about to happen.

“Fuck! Drive, drive, DRIVE! They’re coming back arou-!” You were cut off as the Jeep rammed into the back of Fowler’s car, both your necks cracking forward at the rough hit. 

Your seatbelt snapped taunt across your body, saving your skull from making contact with the dash as Fowler’s forehead bounced against the top of the steering wheel, gritting his teeth as he floored it. His car was not made for off roading, the two of you getting jostled around as he tried to get back onto asphalt, flattening cacti and skidding in the dust. The car now behind you had no trouble keeping up, easily keeping speed almost tauntingly before ramming into you again causing the back wheels to spin out and for Fowler to lose control. 

“Hold on!” He barked out at you and your hands were clutching onto anything solid, feet bracing against the footwell to try and stop yourself from sliding across your seat. 

You were screaming, terror rattling against the inside of your brain as you squeezed your eyes shut. The one fucking time you weren’t getting escorted and this shit happens. Just your luck.

Your car spins out, turning horizontally as the Jeep is now smashing its bumper into the passenger side, shining its headlights directly at you while pushing your car through the desert with no signs of slowing down. Your door was dented and crushed from the hit and you weren’t able to see through the windshield of your attacker with the lights in your eyes but you knew this was either a Decepticon or someone from M.E.C.H. No other maniac would be crazy enough to drive someone off the road like this without reason. You were stuck, Fowler completely unable to gain control anymore as the wheels on your side lifted up from the other car, the both of you getting driven further away from safety and out into the desert. The man next to you was furiously slamming his foot down onto the gas to try and get you both free, honking his horn like doing so would get the Jeep to stop. He was swearing like a sailor, barking at you to grab the radio in the dash and call for help. You, panicking and shaking like a leaf, grab at the walkie and look to the older man for instructions. You’ve never needed to use a VHF radio before, nor did you know if he was calling the Autobots or his boys back at the Pentagon or what. He reaches over to press one of the buttons just as one of the back wheels hits a rock. Everything happens at once, the car already being off balance tilting further up as you feel your stomach drop, your side of the car flipping up into the air and going all the way over with a loud screeching crash as the roof hits dirt. You drop the radio, screaming as the ceiling makes contact with your skull, the whole car crushing down under its own weight as you feel the seatbelt catch your body leaving you suspended in your seat. There is a ringing in your ears over the sound of a revving car and the deep rumbling laughter of an incredibly satisfied man. Something wet trickled over your scalp and it felt like something had been jammed into your chest, torso absolutely burning in agony. It hurt to move, to breathe but you twisted your head to the side, seeing Fowler struggling against the steering wheel that had bent at a funny angle, trapping his legs. There was blood staining his upper lip and dripping from the side of his nose over his cheek but otherwise seemed okay as he made eye contact with you.

“Are you-” His voice was rough and strained before getting cut off, horror engulfing his face as he quickly punched at the glove box, blindly reaching for the hand gun inside while keeping his eyes firmly locked onto something behind you. 

The cab filled with bright yellow light and you think you’re going to be sick. Turning your head slowly, you come face to face with a blood red face split open into a manic grin, low sadistic laughter flooding your ears. “Sup’, squishy? Heard you made some friends with the wrong folks, eh? Oh well. Not my funeral."

Fowler didn’t hesitate, arm snapping up as he aimed sloppily and fired. The bang was deafening right against your ears, the flash forcing you to shut your eyes and look away as the bullet made contact with the mechanical monstrosity out your window. It pinged harmlessly off his face, the bot rearing his head back in surprise before shuffling back away from you. He’d been flattened on his hands and knees, chest pressed into the dirt to peer into the car at you both and you could now only see his massive feet. It felt like you were dying, throat closed up and your chest actively feeling as if there were a thousand bees swarming inside of it, each trying to eat their way free of your body and you couldn’t breathe. The agent swore again, his arm dropping as exhaustion and pain crept up on him, making him unable to even hold the gun up anymore, the weapon clattering uselessly against the car roof. The blood was starting to pool in your head by this point, dizziness spotting your vision as the car door was suddenly removed from your side. The giant bot had torn it off with ease and tossed it aside like it was nothing, crouching down again to shove his hand into the cab. 

His fingers curl around you tightly, yanking you free of the car with minimal effort, the seatbelt holding you inside for only a moment before it snaps around your body painfully from the mech’s strength, allowing you to be dragged out into the desert. His massive silver hands envelop you entirely as he lifts you into the air, ignoring your desperate screams and begging. Panic and injury were strangling you from the inside out, horror at this happening again so soon after the first making you want to throw up and cry and never leave your house again. You were like a rabid creature in his palm, cursing him out in every way you knew how as tears and blood dripped down your cheeks, teeth bared viciously as you screamed your heart out to be put down. But he didn’t crush you or throttle you or anything of the like, carefully cradling you within his hands and he brought you to be eye level with him, eyes narrowing curiously.

“Huh. You’re kinda small.” His voice was rough and gravelly, masculine and oddly confused.

Peering out from between his fingers, you were flabbergasted, stunned silent at his observation. This was the part where you were turned to paste and yet, he was just… Staring at you. His lips pursed and unsure if not even vaguely bored. Thought he seemed happier now that you weren’t losing your mind in hand anymore, dropping you to chest height as he looked around.

“Oi! Knockout! Are you sure it’s this one? It doesn’t look like much, just loud.” The blue and silver bot turned to face towards the road as a sleek and shiny cheery red Ashton Martin came tearing down the strip and onto the dirt in your direction. 

With flourish and grace, the car unfolded mid stop into the shape of skinny waisted, big chested effeminate bot with eyes as red as his paint, dramatically skidding to a complete stand still a couple feet before his taller companion. “Yes, I’m sure! You think I didn’t double check before getting you to run them down?”

This car sounded annoyed, his voice sassy and silky smooth as he sashayed his way over to you, leaning against his blue friend to get a better look at you. His face twisted into disgust as he glared down at your shivering, terrified form, bringing up his hand to compare you to something on the giant alien tablet he’d been hiding somewhere. “See! It's the same creature! Got the same sniveling expression on its filthy faceplate and everything!”

Your captor rolled his eyes, mouth forming a lazy half snarl as he started to walk back towards the road. “Then call Starscream already. I have better things to be doing than playing fetch for that overdramatic slagstain.”

“You know, I’m inclined to agree, Breakdown.”