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Chapter Text

To Have a Spark: Behind the Lines
War and Cheese

The salt. The snow. The...cheese. Between the cheese and the sick, disgusting taste/sensation of low-quality diesel fuel, Optimus Prime couldn't decide which was worse. It made him shudder, sliding and squelching through his gears, gumming up cogs like some twisted rendition of Airachnid's webs. The poor quality fuel roiled dangerously in his tank, sloshing against the rapidly draining energon. No, energon and raw diesel do not mix. What was that human saying, 'like oil and water'? That sounded right. It tasted foul, too. For a moment, Optimus Prime briefly thought of Renalt's curious questions regarding how Cybertronians sense things. Smell, taste, sound. Yes, he could taste and no, this wasn't pleasant.

The Prime decided right then and there that he was glad he was not a synaesthete like his charge.

That would have made this sensory hell so, so much worse.

All of that wasn't even factoring in Gary's terrible driving, blatant disregard for federal transportation laws. Or that human's Primus-forsaken, awful singing. 'What I would not give to hear Renault right now. At leas that human can sing well!' Off-key singing and 14-hour podcasts about vampires that were completely... He couldn't say 'inaccurate', since vampires were not real. But there was another word for it. Illogical. That was it.

He saw himself as if disembodied drag his chassis into Omega One. He felt the once-fluid, graceful transformation turn into a shuddering, salt-filled, crunching mess of an operation. It was as if his own chassis didn't want to transform, or further aggravate already abused joints, cogs, cuffs and gears. One arm made it fully through transformation. The other still had a tire at its end when the nausea made him clutch his own midsection. Trying yet not trying to purge while in the middle of transforming was not an experience he'd wish on anyone. Not even Megatron.

The purging began.

=s=

Optimus Prime woke to the sound of singing and a human hand stroking across his spark chamber. His optics flickered, then blinked as the nightmare receded to the back of his waking processor. That was right – he'd opted to spend the night here again, in his old berthroom. In the sanctuary he'd chosen to keep Renalt in...a sanctuary that would soon, no longer be his secret. Some part of himself that was still Orion Pax didn't want this secret to be out, but the Prime knew it had to be done. Omega One was lost and it wasn't like they could all fit in that lightless underground cave the Prime had nearly died in.

That wouldn't be a place to call home, anyway, would it?

His metallic head lifted slightly, optics peering at his tiny human companion. A finger gently stroked the boy's back, letting him know that the Prime was awake. And perhaps gauging what state Renalt's nerves were in.

“Renault? You were singing. You're finally singing again...”

“You were hurting. I heard you. You were shaking and making strange noises, like...” Renalt sat up, allowing the Prime to stroke his back. As much as he wanted to burrow into that touch, the boy found his skin acting strange – his nerves weren't on fire yet but anything harder than this might set them off.

Optimus slowly, carefully sat himself up. Catching Renalt on the gentle slide down, the Prime cupped his charge in his hands, staring down at him.

“I am sorry.”

“Do I have to remind you not to be? Again?” Renalt offered a shy smile.

“I suppose not.”

“Was it another war-thing? I mean, if you want to...” his question came out more hesitantly than it had before. He was still questioning his place.

Optimus sighed, sending a warm puff of air down onto the human in his grasp. A small shudder rolled through his chassis, causing his hands to tremble the slightest bit. Renalt felt it, worry immediately slicing through him. His mind was a shattered, distorted mess most of the time now, but Optimus Prime had been the one constant. He'd become like Len: The one thing in his life that never left his thoughts; the one thing in his mind that guided anything he did. Renalt's comparatively tiny hands trailed, then stroked the Prime's metallic fingers.

Eventually, the Prime replied; his tone more than suggesting something Renalt understood but wouldn't himself give voice.

“I am... Unsure. It was not Decepticons. However, the event was... Degrading. To a degree I do not wish to expose you to. I am unsure you would be able to fully understand. Not out of ignorance or lack of intellect. Out of... You are not a Cybertronian. I do not know if there would be a human equivalent.”

“Up to you. I may not be the best choice but... Still. If you have a chance to put down the load in your head... Promise me you'll do it? That you won't try this 'going it alone' cac tarw,” Renalt found a thumb. Awkward as it was, he tried to give the Prime a hug by wrapping his arms around the titan's thumb.

“Language, Renault,” Optimus brought his hands close to his faceplates. He tried to sound like a stern parent but didn't hide the brief, mechanical chuff. 'Swear words' sounded kind of funny in his Welsh.

“I am not a little kid,” he said back, stifling a giggle.

“To me, you most certainly are a... 'Little kid'. Or do you forget how much older I am than you?” the smile was his usual: Subtle, restrained, but he still let it show through his tone.

“So you've said. How old are you, then?”

“Nine million years.”

Renalt blinked. “...You're serious.”

“I am serious,” He was very serious.

“Well, I don't care, old-timer.”

“What did you just call me?” Optics cycled in, blinked, then cycled out, amusement tinting his voice.

“Old-timer. I could call you Taid, but...Mmm... Doesn't fit you, somehow.”

“Of course not,” a finger gently poked his belly, earning a short laugh.

“So, what was it? You don't shake unless it's bloody awful,” Renalt straightened up, the faintest touch of something adjacent to stern in his face.

“How is it you are so attuned to that?” It was a pathetic attempt to derail the topic, Prime knew.

“My blind arse has to do things somehow. Besides, aren't you aware of that by now? So, what was it?”

“I would rather not,” Another shudder ran through his hands.

“You don't shiver without reason, fy mrawd,” Renalt's patience was running thin. Standing up, the boy put his hands on his hips and did his best to at least act like he was staring the Prime down. Or... Up. Or something. His eyes twitched madly, destroying the stern illusion.

“Do not presume you know me so intimately.”

“Oh, don't I? Or how did we first meet, hm?”

That did it. As patient as he could be, there were a few instances... A few soft spots. Spots that, when bothered, burned the Prime in a way he couldn't usually articulate. Elita One's loss was such a spot. Jazz had been another. Ironhide's potential (and very likely) death was yet another. Bumblebee's disfigurement at Tyger Pax, another. Now another had been added to the list – another soft spot that flipped a switch inside Optimus Prime's head.

The memories came back to the forefront with alarming clarity. Afraid of a wrong move or an inadvertant twitch, the Prime dropped Renalt onto the berth as gently as he could. The boy still ended up on his rear, an indignant look on his face.

“Bloody hell, what's got into you?”

“I said not to ask! Why do you persist with me?!” The deep, rolling baritone of the Prime was usually level, calm, soothing. Usually. His tone slowly changed, morphing into something strained, something angrier by the second.

“Because you did with me. One turn earns another. D'you expect me to just ignore it when I feel you shivering beneath me?”

“Yes! I do not need you hen-mothering me! I am not the sparkling here,” Smoky vapour puffed from his smokestacks in a moment of unconcealed irritation.

“Cac tarw. If you are as old as you say you are, that's a bloody shitload to have to deal with. And, knowing you... Mister Stoic 'I-Can-Barely-Crack-A-Smile' Space Pope, you'd break your own shoulders trying to carry it all by yourself,” Renalt didn't remain on his rear for long. His mind was starting to go a mile a minute and he needed to stay focused. The boy almost leapt to his feet, adopting the same hand-on-hips pose, outright glaring up at the mech towering before him.

“That is because it is what I must do, you foolish child! It comes with what I am!” Optics began to blaze. His self-control started to slip.

“Brathwch fi gyda'r nonsens yna! You asked me to trust you just in the last day or so. After you... Did that. And now you expect me to just let you alone when you, of all people I know, start shivering in his sleep?!” A shiver ran down his own spine. He could do this. Renalt planted his feet and forced his mind to focus on one thing and one thing only: The Prime.

“Must I say it again? Yes, I do. An inferior life-form could not possibly comprehend, let alone bear such a weight. And yet, one nearly drove me to my own end!” How Optimus Prime could make himself hiss out his words was anyone's guess.

“What did you just call me?” Renalt growled back at the titan. Something between disbelief and unsurprised fury blazed in his useless, twitching eyes.

Silence fell. From one tiny human to a towering mech, a one-way gaze blinked as optics flared, then dimmed, then cycled in and out like said mech just realised what had come out of his vocaliser. They stood frozen in place as the words echoed through each of their minds. The Prime finally sat back down on his berth; a heavy, tired sound that echoed through the berthroom. Renalt scurried a few feet away from the massive metallic frame almost falling rather than sitting down. Despite his useless eyes still glaring, still narrowed, he could almost hear the hunched-over droop of gigantic metal shoulders.

A puffing hiss erupted from Optimus' smokestacks. A shudder rolled through his metal body. A crackling sound that could only be described as akin to walkie-talkie fuzz emitted from the mech's vocaliser.

“Who am I kidding? Ratchet was right... Inferior life-form...? Hah. Megatron would kill to know a mere human nearly... What's the word? 'Took me out'. Cogs...” Optimus murmured.

Renalt blinked. He'd never heard Optimus Prime sound like he was talking to himself. Alarms screamed inside his own head – this wasn't like other nightmares he'd sat through with the Prime. This was something worse. Something far deeper. Something... visceral. But now, the boy was torn between his own teenage anger at being called inferior, and the sheer agony he could tell the Prime was going through. His insecurities wailed at him, begging him to simply cut and run. To put it all behind him and let the Prime live his life as he saw fit. His instincts, however, demanded something other. They demanded dual action: Resolution and, if he discovered enough, revenge.

No one brought his idol this low.

That thought made him quietly think, forcing his mind to remain focused. He could deal with his teenage bullshit later. He could break later. Renalt pushed down his own selfish impulses for now – it wasn't an easy thing. He was human. He was a kid, as imperfect as any kid could get. But, he managed it as the Prime's voice began to roll again in a tone that was completely foreign. It was the tone of a broken mech.

“The blizzard was my first sign of total isolation. I was cut off... Diesel is disgusting, did you know that? That human, 'Gary'... ugh. Patted me,” Metal rattled gently amid a shiver. “It was patronising.”

“I know what that's like. Patronising, that is,” Renalt dared to whisper, letting the Prime know that he was still there. The boy sat down about five feet away from the Prime's left thigh.

“The road salt was an annoyance... At first. Then it grew. Three days without recharge and inane audio feeds. What's the word? Podcasts... He can't sing, either. I do not know which was worse: His singing, his driving or his utter disregard for anything around him...” the Prime let out something close to a laughing sob.

“Oh, hell. And I thought I hated wintering my cane wheels,” Renalt's almost-joke fell flat.

“The human, Gary... he almost drove us both off a cliff during that blizzard. Black ice... Did I mention his utter disregard for transport laws? However, I could not simply let us careen over the edge... I was hungry by then, but what humans other than Team Prime know what energon is?”

“You'd begun to starve...? I mean, really starve,” Horror flooded into his voice, but he was still too afraid to move any closer. Another thought struck him as memories of his own flooded by in disjointed, unconnected shards. Optimus Prime had never once refused or retracted his consent to allowing Renalt into the cab of his alt-form. Another kind of horror made Renalt break out into a cold sweat – whoever this Gary person was had simply... Renalt shook his head, trying not to imagine the scenario. His imagination ran with it anyway.

Optimus Prime, under his alt-form, sat ready and alert for a mission involving Decepticons. Some unknown guy named Gary simply opening his cab door and climbing inside. Patting his dashboard, probably yammering on, calling the big rig some sort of ridiculous pet name. Clumsy hands fiddling with controls that, realistically, no human would have any inkling of how to operate...

And he was in disguise, unable to risk revealing himself. Unable to speak his mind and assert his autonomy.

“Bydda i'n lladd y mochyn yna...” Renalt whispered angrily to himself through clenched teeth as he fought back tears. The thought of lost autonomy, the invasion Optimus Prime had endured...

“I am glad I am not a synaesthete, Renault... Diesel does not mix with energon. But three days with no energon... It would be like a human trying to survive on – on I do not know what,” Another rattling shudder.

“Like trying to eat sawdust or wood chips... Gods,” Briefly, a vague memory of some school class covering world hunger ghosted by his mind. Examples of starving Korean kids, emaciated Middle Eastern mothers unable to feed their babies and wailing infants in some gods-forsaken American hick town too poor to remain afloat somehow overlaid themselves with the imaginings of the Prime pushing himself onward without having the energy to do so.

“The fourth day, I discovered that I find 'cheese' revolting,” That laughing sob racked through the Prime's vocaliser again.

Renalt couldn't take it any more. He knew he risked possible wrath. How far that wrath might go, the boy refused to think on it – Prime could swat him off the berth. He didn't care right then. Everything he'd heard was enough, but as he listened on, his horror only grew. Emotions bubbled an ever-angrier brew within him. Horror, fury, indignant shame the likes of which he'd only felt once in his own life. Renalt stood up and walked those five feet, closing the distance between himself and Optimus. Upon running into Cybertronian metal, Renalt's hands simply rested there on the place where the mech's hip struts and his thigh met.

“He called it... ugh... 'road nachos'. I have never heard or felt something so revolting in my function. He was not even careful about it... I suppose he thought he was 'sharing' with me when half of his meal fell through interior seams...” Another shudder.

“Wait, that's... That's in your joints, where you bend. Isn't it?”

“Mmhmm. Three wiring conduits had – had to be fully replaced. That was after the purging – Ugh... I can't say it!” Optimus Prime openly gagged. The sound came out like an unholy union of walkie-talkie fuzz, television snow, something liquid gurgling and wrenching, stressed metal.

“Dydy o ddim yn digwydd. Dydw i ddim yn arogli'r baw yna arnoch chi. Rydych chi'n lân. Yn lân i gyd. Nid oes unrhyw faw. Dim baw. Dim baw...” English wouldn't suffice here. Casting his English aside, Renalt risked Primely wrath yet again by crawling up onto Optimus' leg. He leaned forward onto the mech's chassis and simply whispered, embracing him as well as his tiny human self could.

In the back of Renalt's mind, he found it a bit of a wonder that Optimus didn't swat him off like a fly. Right now however, wasn't the time to question it. Right now, all he knew was this: The mechanical titan had been broken in a way few others could imagine. Even second-hand, just hearing the Prime's tale was the stuff of nightmares. Some weird side-thought made the boy promise himself to never, ever allow the Prime to come near cheese of any kind. As delicious as Renalt knew cheese could be, this was completely understandable.

Tiny human hands stroked shuddering metal as Welsh continued to murmur from his voice. Twenty minutes later, Renalt dared to crack a smile.

“Hey, uhm... You want a spa day?”

“I need... I need to get back. Ratchet will be calling for a check-in. I will... I will send Arcee and Jack to check on you later,” The Prime slowly stood back up, moving in such a way that led to gently sliding Renalt back onto the berth. Without another word, Optimus disappeared from the room.

=s=

Renalt had landed on his rear again. He let the tears come when he knew he was alone. Emotion came out in a twisted yet orderly procession, letting the boy cry out the horror of what he'd heard. Tears of anguish became tears of fury in short order. He knew he was talking to himself, completely oblivious to the fact that Roller sat tucked at one end of the berth. The boy didn't know, yet, that through Roller, Optimus Prime could hear every word he said. Through Roller, the Prime caught glimpses of an angry teenager thundering across a Cybertronian berth, roaring at empty air.

“Who does that pile of minger-filth think he is?! I am going to bloody well kill that mab duw ffug... I am going to murder it!”

“Murder who?”

Renalt started at the new voice. Angry eyes twitched as he turned left, then right to find it. He never saw Arcee blinking down at him. Jack stood by her left ped, silently listening for now.

“Pwy yw hynny?” he snapped.

“Uhh... English?” Jack spoke up then, calling from below.

“Hey, Renalt. It's Arcee. And Jack. Remember us?” The femme eyed Renalt critically: She saw the fury in his posture, the blaze in his eyes. And was that a flash of Cybertronian-blue for a moment? She dismissed it as a flicker of ambient light.

It took a minute, but the blind boy stopped his furious pacing. “Oh, uhm... Noswaith dda. Aerceh. Jack? You're on the floor?”

“Nice pronunciation, kid,” Arcee smiled a little. It sounded kind of weird but kind of pretty.

“Yeah, down here. Uh, who're you gonna kill?” Arcee deftly picked Jack up, depositing him onto the berth so both boys could be at face-level with each other.

“That mochyn ffycin Gary,” Renalt was seething.

“I...don't think I should repeat that?” Jack tried to joke.

“Eh, don't. I can curse effectively in both of my languages,” Renalt finally heard his own voice calm down. “I don't care at this point if Optimus thinks me inferior. I owe that bastard.”

Jack and Arcee glanced at each other. Having been partners a good while longer than Renalt had even known of Team Prime, they knew pretty quickly what the boy was getting at. In all honesty, there was a measure of sympathetic feeling here, despite the fact that the actual event was, by now, a year or more old. Still, it wouldn't do to jump to conclusions. Better to ask, to confirm. The femme leaned onto the berth to more easily make eye contact.

“Gary. Who's this Gary person? Tell me what's going on?” Arcee had a particular tone in her voice, one that Jack sometimes called her 'teacher tone'.

Renalt paced for a moment, getting out some of the roiling energy in him spurred by that white-hot anger. It wasn't something he could simply walk off, unfortunately. When he began to speak, he never saw the brief look on Jack's face.

“I was... We were asleep. His spark feels nice, d'you know? Warm. Safe. Anyway, I woke up to him shivering. He doesn't strike me as someone to shiver for no reason and it's not like it's terribly cold in here.”

Arcee frowned. She considered everyone on Team Prime friends, but the femme maintained a mostly professional air with everyone... Usually. A soldier's decorum lay thickly atop a quiet, secret affection she held. Still, it was a point and she had to think hard on any time she herself had seen Optimus Prime shiver, shake or display any level of discomfort. Ultimately, she found very few examples to draw on: The cold of the Arctic, those subtle, easily-missed moments during the battle against Unicron the Unmaker and that... Her processor ground to a halt. Prior to Renalt's arrival, there weren't many significant moments wherein the Prime outright displayed what he felt beyond that almost-smile, or that look the kids called “The Disappointed Dad” look. Arcee's optics narrowed slightly. She was hesitant to bring up that time Renalt had been away after his encounter with Laserbeak – it felt wrong somehow, almost the same kind of wrong it felt talking of the times before he'd arrived into their fold at all. Still, she had a theory.

“Renalt. Come here. Look at me, or... Try,” A sleek hand rested on his shoulder to stop him from continuing his caged-tiger pacing. “Listen. You're right about that. Optimus isn't known for much emotional display... Before he met you, he was pretty restrained. Almost uptight. But there are instances. You remember when... Laserbeak. Those seven months?”

“I do. I...don't like thinking about it,” he didn't laugh at her visual reference. “Mentioning that, was it you who left those whole grain biscuits?”

“Uh, yeah. My mom's kind of a health nut,” Jack scratched behind his head.

A small smile crossed his face. “Diolch... They were pretty good, actually.”

“Don't blame you. But, to the point, Renalt, there was a... A mission during the time you were away. We were under our disguises. You know, that 'robots in disguise' rule?” A little finger-squeeze to his shoulder brought his mind back to the present.

“I do. I still find it amazing you do that.”

“Heh. Well, listen. The mission ultimately turned out to be a bust, but before we discovered that, we were under our disguises. Optimus was... well. His disguise meant that humans outside of Team Prime believed he was just another truck. A human from a shipping facility believed he was his assigned truck for a long-haul delivery...” Arcee fell silent. She recalled seeing the Prime drag himself into Omega One, she recalled the painful sound of a transformation that was, in essence, forced through a body with neither the energy nor the proper fuel to do it. She saw the expressions flash across Renalt's face as he digested this.

It was too easy to put it together and, once again, the femme wondered if she imagined the faint flash of Cybertronian-blue flicker across Renalt's useless eyes.

“Gary. That had to be Gary. I am going to kill him,” his whisper was deadly. As crazy as he might be, he sounded perfectly lucid.

“There's no way to find this guy. And it was a while ago. Why is it coming up now?” Jack ventured, suppressing a shudder. He was smart enough to not say out loud that right now, Renalt made him nervous.

“Do you Cybertronians suffer PTSD?” It wasn't a joke.

Arcee sighed. “Is that what you humans call it? You could say that. Nightmares, flashbacks... We have those. Are you telling me you saw Optimus have a nightmare?”

“He's had several. I am a light sleeper, most times. So I hear him decently enough to wake up. When he's let me sleep on that spot, it's impossible not to wake me up. Why?”

“He left for a patrol route earlier than usual today. He sounded...”

“His brand of 'quietly angry'?” Jack supplied. “Did you piss him off?”

At this, a new emotion began to build alongside his teenage indignation at being called inferior: Guilt. He'd hoped the Prime might cut himself some slack but now the boy realised that maybe he'd crossed a line. His dark skin tinted faintly in a blush. His head bowed. “I asked him what woke him. Things...escalated. He called me an inferior life-form and then talked of that Gary person.”

Arcee and Jack locked eyes. They could understand the outrage, even the fury. Jack frowned – he could understand that expression of guilt. He'd screwed up with the Prime himself but good a time or two (that secret race with Vince came to mind). They thought of the mission and again, they found common ground. As much as they'd seen when Optimus had dragged himself home, neither had been privy to what led to Optimus being in such a state. Ratchet hadn't talked – medical confidentiality and all that – but now, they had a good idea. And it made their respective blood and energon boil.

“Renalt. I am going to ask you something. I need you to listen very carefully, got it?” Arcee's optics glinted.

Renalt canted his head silently.

“I think we can find this Gary and get some justice. But you're going to have to do some...fabricating of the truth to maintain our secret. Can you do that?”

“I can,” Renalt tried, actively tried, to at least 'look' Arcee in the voice. His twitching eyes 'aimed' for the place he heard her.

“Uhh... You sure about this?” Jack scratched the back of his head again. He wasn't keen on pissing Optimus Prime off a second time.

“If you want to go back to base, Jack...”

The black-haired boy stood still for a moment. He remembered the colossal mech's excruciating transformation sequence. He remembered that following day, visiting the Prime in the medbay – he had still looked utterly exhausted. Between that and Renalt's near-fanatical rage at merely learning of the whole event, Jack Darby made up his mind. His eyes glinted with their own brand of will.

“No. Let's get some payback.”

Chapter Text

To Have a Spark: Behind the Lines
War and Cheese II: Prime Reasoning

The bar wasn't entirely a nice place. It wasn't completely seedy either. It was just a plain old bar about half an hour's drive away from the nearest shipping place. Its sign was old and faded; its bricks were weather-worn. Just the kind of place blue-collar guys came to relax, have lunch or enjoy a drink after a long, insufferable shift. For some, it was the perfect place to take a break between long hauls on the road. For others, it was just another watering hole for nobodies who would do their jobs and be content being nobodies in this big economy that depended on shipping and trucking.

It was just the place to have a coffee before returning to Hangar E. He only regretted he couldn't have a beer – it wouldn't do to drive inebriated, would it?

Agent William Fowler nursed a rapidly cooling cup of black coffee with two sugars, idly chatting with the man next to him on his left. His companion was a slender, slightly muscular bloke with short brown hair and dark eyes. His hands bore dozens of tiny little scars from metalworking.

“...in college now, which is good.”

“Yeah, they grow up too fast, huh?” Fowler smiled briefly, then grimaced.

“What?” Fowler's companion eyed him.

“I kinda wish the four I had to babysit would grow up some, heh. They're...”

“A handful?”

“You could say that again, Cade. Especially my fourth. Little sucker's got a penchant for the weirdest trouble,” Fowler flagged a waitress down to top off his coffee.

“The blind one?”

“The very one. They're all suckers for trouble, honestly.”

“But worth every headache?” Cade grinned. He was a father; he knew what a headache kids could be.

Fowler scoffed lightly, but didn't refute that. With his coffee topped off and steaming again, the special agent enjoyed a long sip, letting it warm his aching bones. He still had a long day of reporting with Prime to get through, but for now, it was nice to catch up with old Ranger buddies.

=s=

Arcee skidded to a halt, letting Jack dismount. Beside her, Bumblebee and Smokescreen had tagged along – keeping something like this from Miko and Raf was impossible. And, given Bumblebee's proximity to Raf, well... They were lucky Bulkhead was out with Optimus on an energon scouting mission. Ratchet had said they'd call if they needed help. Smokescreen had volunteered to ferry Renalt since the blind boy couldn't understand Bee too well still (and Renalt had been absolutely pedantic about consent).

One by one, the kids emerged. They stood together in an almost-huddle for a moment. In that huddle, Miko passed a spare cane to Renalt, which was received with a low noise of gratitude.

“This the place, Raf?” Miko asked.

“This is it. Are... Are you sure we should do this?” Raf's voice quaked a little.

“I won't ask you to come with me if you don't want to. But... It's... Personal, kind of. I don't know if that makes any sense,” Renalt responded. The look on his face was resolute but still bore a hint of deep-seated insecurity.

“No, I get it. If some jerk had done that to Bulkhead, I'd... Well. Some jerk did something as bad to Bulk. I got even for him,” Miko's eyes narrowed. She offered Renalt a brief shoulder-squeeze.

Jack nodded silently, forgetting that one in their midst couldn't see him do it. A moment of silence passed before they turned and, walking almost in a row, four teenage kids entered the bar.

=s=

Neither Cade nor Fowler looked up when the bar door opened. It was likely just another customer coming in for a drink. Nothing to write home about. Ambient chattering and semi-audible country music played on an old speaker somewhere in the back of the place, adding to the low-key atmosphere. It was a decently quiet time for a while... Until a familiar voice cut through the din.

“Gary! Ble mae e, Gary?” English and Welsh blended into something almost creepy. Renalt's voice took on a low, deadly tone that still somehow carried. The blind boy's cane tip skittered across the floor as he stalked forward.

The other three kids silently gave guiding touches to his left or right arms to signal a nearby obstacle his cane tip missed.

Agent Fowler groaned softly and buried his face in his hands. Damn it, what were these kids up to now?! Cade peered curiously at Fowler, then twisted to get a look at the four new arrivals. How odd. All of them teenagers – a black-haired boy with a doubtful look on his face. A punk-rockish Japanese girl with a scowl. A bespectacled brown-haired boy who looked kind of nervous. And a blind, dark-skinned lad who looked like he had murder in his eyes even though they didn't work.

“Gary. Where the bloody hell are you?”

Someone from the bar stood up. He'd been seated on Fowler's other side, about three seats down from him. The man wasn't much to describe – a kind of everyman. Mid-forties, plain, had the look of permanent job-stress on his face. And for some reason, he constantly smelled like stress, caffeine and cheese. He turned, blinking down at the kids.

“I'm Gary. Whaddaya want, kid? This ain't a place for you,” he was already tired but he tried to be nice. These were just kids, probably just little punks looking for teenage antics.

Renalt stalked forward in a gait that was oddly scary – his steps never seemed to leave the floor. His shoulders swayed slightly like he was the living pendulum of a ticking clock. His useless hazel-blue eyes twitched this way and that. And was it Gary's imagination or did those eyes occasionally flash with an unnaturally bright shade of blue? The boy began to speak again, whispering something that enhanced his creepy little walk. It was clear what he was trying to do here: Renalt was trying to evoke an air of terror. Of fear. He was intending in this first stage, to sow fear. He wanted to terrify this man.

“One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead men got up to fight;
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other...”

It didn't help Gary that Renalt's voice was decently trained in music. The boy used this to his fullest advantage, sending his spooky melody lilting through the place. Jack, Miko and Raf glanced warily at each other. Miko smiled briefly – she was beginning to get a kick out of Renalt's creepy ways. Renalt walked in his odd way slowly, advancing on Gary like an oncoming storm.

“A blind man came to watch fair play,
A mute man came to shout 'Horray!'
A deaf policeman heard the noise and
Came to stop those two dead boys...”

“Well, that's ironic,” Jack muttered to himself.

Cade and Agent Fowler sat, momentarily transfixed. Puzzled. What the hell were these kids doing? The two ex-Rangers eyed one another.

“He lived on the corner in the middle of the block,
In a two-story house on a vacant lot;
A man with no legs came walking by,
and kicked the lawman in his thigh...”

Renalt's voice slowly began to build, gaining in volume as he got closer. His tick-tock swaying walk somehow made him look both drunken and something just this side of insane. His mind wanted to shatter. He didn't let it – he could shatter later.

“A frozen donkey passing by
Kicked the blind man in the eye
Knocked him through a nine inch wall
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all.”

“Renalt, what are you doing here? That goes for the rest of you! What in the name of Paul Revere's saddlebags are you kids thinking?” Fowler demanded. He couldn't tell Renalt to look him in the face, so he settled for staring the other three down. For their part, they remained silent until Renalt's spooky rhyme came to a jarring end.

“I watched from the corner of the big round table,
The only eyewitness to facts of my fable;
But if you doubt my lies are true,
Just ask the blind man, he saw it too!”

His rhyme ended in an almost shrieking pitch as the blind boy purposefully ran headlong into Gary. He'd pinpointed the man's voice and gone straight for it. Upon running into him, his cane-free hand whipped up, fingers curling into Gary's shirt. Useless eyes twitched. His dark face gave a fierce scowl as he bared his teeth. When he spoke again, his unholy shriek had dropped to another kind of unholy thing: He spoke in a clear, somehow insane mildness.

“You hurt a friend of mine, Gary. I am here to extract justice.”

“Wha..? I don't know you, kid. Go on home to ya mom, a'ight, little man?”

“You hurt a friend of mine, Gary. You must pay the price,” How the hell did Renalt smile like he had a Glasgow grin when, clearly, no such scar or wound existed on his face? That was... definitively creepy.

Gary sputtered. Then he began to chuckle. This kid was on something, had to be. Glowering down at him, the older man firmly began to work Renalt's fingers from his shirt. What he didn't expect was Renalt's cane-hand raising. Lifting. Swiping, using his own cane as a bludgeon. Unfortunately for him, guide canes don't make good bludgeons.

Chaos erupted. Despite the cane not hurting terribly, Gary did whip it out of Renalt's hand. The two ended up tangling, trading blows in an odd dichotomy. Gary, while bigger and certainly stronger, wasn't a fighter. He was however, a working man who knew how to use his hands, even if his spatial awareness wasn't the greatest. It was shit on those days he lacked coffee. Still, the arrogant trucker landed a few blows, drawing first blood by opening up a cut on the brat's jaw. Renalt was smaller, thinner, faster. Drawing on everything his shattered mind allowed him, he dared to remember Leonard and everything he taught him. His smaller hands went from fists to clawing at Gary's face to a few badly aimed ridge-hands to the neck that didn't do much more than piss the man off further. It was a blur of blows, both connected and missed by both sides.

Fowler groaned. Leaping up from his seat, the special agent first shepherded Jack, Miko and Raf toward the door with a snapped command.

“You get the heck outta here. Now! Move it!” Fowler used his 'soldier voice'. He wasn't above giving these kids orders outright.

Cade stood, approaching the duelling Gary and Renalt. His soldier's eye watched them move, noting each combatant's strengths and weaknesses. He scowled, knowing he'd have to try de-escalating things first. That kid however, was making things quite difficult. The ex-Ranger watched the boy climb like a monkey up Gary's back, then use his hands to claw mercilessly at his face. The boy leaned in close as if to whisper in his ear but the words carried. Renalt wasn't in the mood to care if anyone else heard him.

“You minger filth. I will make sure you never, ever hurt my friends like that again.”

“Big talk for a little shrimp!” Gary seethed. Yep, his day was ruined by a creepy, psychotic little brat. His hands reached behind himself, grabbing onto Renalt's shirt. Gary yanked, pulling the boy over his head to drop him onto the floor.

Renalt lay stunned for a few seconds. Gary took the time wisely, pouncing on the boy before he could stand back up. Trucker's hands wrapped around his throat as the older man stood, now dangling the teenager about six inches off the floor. Renalt didn't take this meekly. He squirmed like a fish, managing to double Gary over with a swift kick to the nethers.

Cade moved in, physically trying to break the two up with little success. Behind him, Fowler had shoved Miko, Jack and Raf clear out of the bar, then shut the door behind them. A quick glance told the special agent that a certain yellow muscle car, blue custom bike and a white racer sat out there, waiting for them.

“This shrimp bites!” And Renalt bent his head to do just that: Bite him. It didn't work, given that Gary's hands were still wrapped around his neck.

Gary's fingers began to squeeze. If you can't breathe, you can't spout off nonsense. He held the squeezing grip for a few seconds to get the point across. One hand dropped off to swat at Cade, pushing the ex-soldier off of him. That same hand gave Renalt three sound slaps across the face in a move often seen in Lifetime films. He wasn't perfect, but damn it, Gary was stressed out enough already. If this brat's own dad didn't teach him a lesson, well. Gary'd be the one to beat some sense into him. It was a shame that said brat fought back.

“You ain't got teeth, you little shit!”

Cade tried again to break the two up; giving Fowler a silent glance of gratitude as the portly Black man joined him. It took both of them to separate the two – Gary was pissed and Renalt had a scary-tight grip when he wanted to. Renalt snarled, hurling what sounded like a string of rapid Welsh curses. Fowler uneasily held onto the youth as he squirmed, determined to go at Gary yet again.

It wasn't a full-scale brawl, thankfully. Still, a few chairs had been toppled and at least two patrons lost their drinks to the scuffle. Gary seethed, trembling under Cade's military grip. He could take the brat. He couldn't take an ex-soldier and he knew it.

“Fucking crazy little punk – ”

“What is going on here?”

A new voice thundered quietly through the place. No one had heard the door open again after Fowler had shoved the kids out. The owner of this new voice walked smoothly in like he could own the place if he wanted to. Black shoes, blue jeans, a black undershirt and a racing coat patterned with red and blue flames. Blue-black hair. Eyes too blue to be natural. And he walked like a seasoned veteran. He came to a halt between the two sets of duellist/interloper. His too-blue eyes flicked between Gary and a fellow he quickly learned was called Cade, then Fowler and a still-wriggling Renalt.

“None of yer business, bub,” Gary growled.

“It certainly is if striking children is something you partake in regularly,” Damn, how was such an even-toned voice somehow able to just... compel obedience?

“Hate to say it, but I think the kid threw the first punch,” Fowler wearily cut in. “Quit squirming, you...”

“Ffyciwch i ffwrdd, mochyn!”

“Language! I will not have you speaking such foul words,” There was the stern edge. Veritably towering over all four of them by a few inches, the newcomer eyed them all with a look that demonstrated authority. You simply did as this man asked, period.

“This your kid, uh... Sir? You military?” Cade asked.

“Indeed. Agent Fowler, if you please?”

“He won't quit squirming – Oof!” Fowler grunted at an elbow to the gut.

“Renault. Stand down,” Blue eyes bore down on the boy even if he couldn't see it – this was a stare you could feel.

Minutes of silence passed, the stare and the voice's deep gravitas compelling him to stillness. Again, that unnaturally bright blue flashed through Renalt's eyes. Once the boy stilled, Fowler felt he was able to let go. He was pleased to see this new man immediately take hold of the boy's arm. His grip was gentle iron. There was no way in hell to escape that.

“You his dad?” Cade asked curiously.

“His guardian...for now. I will meet with you at the agreed time, Agent Fowler.”

“Uh, sure thing,” Fowler blinked as the voice finally clicked. A quick glance through the bar's front window told him that yes, a certain red and blue semi sat idling out there. Clever, Prime.

Gary wasn't spared another glance. Cade backed away from the man, returning to his seat beside Fowler's at the bar. For the three of them, it was an evening of silent glaring, sidelong looks and, eventually, persuasion to just leave that guy in the red coat and his brat be. They'd likely never be seen again, anyway.

=s=

The trip back to that crashed space-ship wreck started with hours of cold, oppressive silence. Optimus Prime had fairly dragged Renalt into his cab, seatbelts coiling tightly around him to dissuade any funny business. Still, there was something gentle there as the mech took in the boy's bruises and a small cut across his jaw. For his part, Renalt sat curled in the passenger seat, his face an expression of stony, cold anger. Something behind that anger lurked, glittering in his eyes.

Another hour passed with neither of them saying a word. The Prime knew exactly who that was in the bar – it was the same Gary who thought he'd been a delivery truck. The same Gary that had driven him through a Wyoming blizzard and nearly off a cliff. The same Gary that... Optimus forced his own thoughts to just stop. That mission was more than a year old by now and there wasn't much logic in it coming up again, was there? He thought about it, drawing only a single conclusion: His nightmare. Renalt waking him, then almost demanding that the mech get it off his chassis if it gave him such a fright. The discussion had escalated, and then...

“You were a fool,” Gentleness brewed with a mix of stern coldness to create a tone Renalt had never heard before.

The boy said nothing back.

“I said... You were a fool,” he tried again, his tone sharpening a little.

Again, the Prime was met with silence. Renalt tried to curl into himself more tightly, afraid to touch anything.

“At least tell me why you acted that way.”

“Mae'r sbwriel yna wedi dy frifo di,” he wanted scratch his head but didn't.

“Renault. I am not as fluently spoken as you are. Say it again so I may understand you more clearly.”

“That trash hurt you,” his voice was unusually meek.

“Revenge?” A seatbelt coil tightened briefly.

“Justice.”

Silence fell again. Optimus' engines rumbled as he rolled along. It was a longer route, but he wasn't up to climbing that mountain again. The mech was especially not up to scaling the thing while possibly carrying a human with him. This longer route allowed him to think – True, Renalt had said 'justice'. And in his mind, it probably was when revenge was a more likely scenario. It made him feel strange, honestly. It spoke of something the Prime wasn't familiar with. Optimus Prime was a warrior, a protector. Protection was his job. Keeping Decepticons at bay and guiding Cybertron was his job. Yet, here sat a child who, if one so much as spoke ill of the Prime, lashed out with an unholy ferocity.

Briefly, Optimus wondered if Ratchet's calls to Rung were bearing any fruit.

“You do not need to protect me.”

“Could say the same to you.”

“That is different, Renault, and you know it.”

“Oh? How's it different?” This was unnerving. A question like that, from him, ought to be delivered with a certain...spark. A certain smart-ass fire. Not this detached meekness.

Optimus didn't reply as the mech pulled up to the space-ship wreck. Already, Bumblebee, Arcee and Smokescreen sat outside of the thing's entrance with Jack, Miko and Raf dismounting or emerging from their respective 'rides'. Upon letting Renalt out and all four bots transforming, the Prime eyed them all with that patented “Disapproving Dad” look. Something in the air crackled slightly and for once, the kids got to notice it as the hairs on their arms stood on end. Contrition danced with defiance and a keen sense of protectiveness between the group.

“Explain yourselves,” was all Optimus said. His tone, while even and controlled, brooked no room for argument.

“Don't look at them,” Renalt maintained that uncharacteristically meek tone even as he stood up straight.

“I am looking at all of you. You could not have done that alone, Renault. None of you could. Arcee, Bumblebee, Smokescreen, you could not have done anything without exposing yourselves. Jack, Miko, Rafael, Renault. None of you could have done anything without... motorised assistance.”

Bots and humans alike cast their eyes down at that. It made sense – none of the kids could drive on their own and the distance between Hangar E (or the shipwreck) and that bar was too long to make on foot. And of course, 'the rule'. Still, an air of protectiveness still oozed off of them as the Prime stared them down.

“Optimus, when you came into base that day, you were...” Arcee began. “Not yourself. I knew something of the mission happened, but...” the femme trailed off, not entirely willing to admit she knew even a shred of what happened.

“I gave the name,” Renalt's usual defiance crept through. Something close to confidence coloured his tone for a moment – he hadn't divulged anything other than that minger's name and the fact that he'd woken from a nightmare.

Blue optics bored into each of them. When he wanted to, the Prime could stare into your soul and dissect it without fail. A new kind of silence fell upon them for a while; each lost in their own thoughts. That silence began to stretch on into something oppressive. Eventually, someone cracked first: Miko. She narrowed her eyes and stood with her hands on her hips.

“I'm with him, Boss-Bot. I know, that mission was a while ago but I don't think we care about that. We saw you when you came in. It wasn't right. You're always watching our backs and making sure we don't get scrapped. Now we're doing the same right back with you. It's only fair. Or did you think we wouldn't want to watch your back, huh?”

“That is neither your responsibility, nor did you have a right to do that,” the Prime sternly rebutted.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you stop me when I went after Hardshell? When that fragger took that cheap shot to Bulk?”

Bumblebee buzzed once, but stopped himself, hesitating. He'd openly defied the Prime during that entire T-cog fiasco and had nearly gotten himself killed in the process. Then again, how close had Miko herself come to death when Wheeljack had allowed her to tag along? They had taken out Hardshell, but... The scout's thoughts trailed away. It was luck, that's all there was to it.

They'd been lucky to make it home intact.

“The Shadowzone comes to mind,” Jack groused. That was also different.

“I maintain. That experience was lesson enough. Was it not?” Patiently.

Once again, silence fell. A few of them glanced at Renalt. The boy stood quietly, occasionally letting brief looks of confusion pass his face – as much as the Prime had begun to tell him, there was still a great deal he knew nothing about. He knew nothing about the Shadowzone, MECH or their showdown with Unicron. Renalt was still, in many ways, an outsider to them all. A wave of insecurity drifted through his mind, competing with the burning, protective fury he felt in his broken-glass mind.

“Rydw i'n mynd i'ch amddiffyn chi,” Renalt retreated to his Welsh. Already he could hear/feel his mind begin to do strange, shattery things. He wanted to get this much out at least, before the world came down.

“That is not your job. You do not need to protect me,” the Prime's tone gained a faint coldness to it, as if that alone could shield the mech from a completely foreign thought that, in all honesty, he didn't want to face. “Back to base, all of you. Renault, I will speak with you later.”

Something rippled through the group. Something silent, something almost insidious. That something spoke of a change on the horizon – a change that none of them could see as positive. The problem was, none of them could tell what that was. It was just an unfamiliar, somewhat foreboding ripple, like they were approaching a line that should never, ever be crossed. A line that, if crossed, something irreparable might break.