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Chance and Unlikely Circumstance

Summary:

They didn’t look like police; glossy red finish with gold accents, not at all the matte white and blue he’d seen of the police vehicles of Jasper. Even the vehicle type was different, lower to the ground, more streamline…speedy. It was missing the obnoxious overhead lights too, though Ratchet had insisted that was not a sure-fire way to identify the local law enforcement. Perhaps they were just civilian humans on a joyride. That, at least, Smokescreen could approve of. Especially with a sweet ride like that.

 

The engine revved and the humans flashed their headlights in a taunting gesture. Smokescreen couldn’t help but grin to himself. Organic or not, Smokescreen knew that universal request to race. 

 

Or, an unlikely friendship forms between Smokescreen and Knock Out.

Notes:

Probably the most uninteresting thing I've written for anyone other than myself but Smokescreen is my favorite little fella in Prime and I love him having a hero worship of Knock Out without realizing who Knock Out is.

Anyway, this is kind of the prologue, preliminary chapter out of I think 6? I just really wanted to write something about these two becoming unlikely friends:3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Empty Roads

Chapter Text

Smokescreen knew he was probably disobeying orders but, in all fairness, he was bored . How much danger could a completely deserted open stretch of asphalt really be? He knew that line of question was asking for trouble, but it was the eighth dull patrol run he’d been sent on with no activity. He felt it was safe to assume the risk of danger was resting at the predictable zero percentile. 

See, Ratchet , Smokescreen thought bitterly, I do use my processor.

When he had joined the Autobots and Team Prime, a not so small part of him thought “this is my moment.” He had been hoping for it, counting on it ever since he was hand selected for the Elite Guard. He was destined for greatness…one day! It just hadn’t come yet, but surely now a member of Team Prime, his moment would come. Smokescreen had thought he was finally going to get a taste of the action, to be able to throw himself helm first into the fight. 

He hadn’t considered the fact that their numbers were so few on this organic planet and anonymity amongst the native species was crucial. He hadn’t realized how vulnerable their position was, how necessary discretion was. Still, he was willing to play by their rules and learn…or at least try.

Ratchet had not been happy with his selected vehicle mode. “Flashy racers,” the medic had grumbled as he scanned the alt for his database. Smokescreen would have been offended if the medic actually had taste. 

What was actually offensive was the medic’s insistence that he not use his alt for its intended purpose unless strictly necessary; something about speed limits and law enforcement. Why let the gage go that high if he wasn’t allowed to actually push it there? Smokescreen was finding that he was never going to understand the organics of this planet and their contradicting rules. Why make something if there was never an intention to use it for such a purpose?

Bee at least sympathized, knew the urge he felt to spin his wheels as fast as they could. He offered to spar instead, it just wasn’t the same. But Smokescreen ducked his helm and played along. His entry to the team hadn’t been as smooth and welcoming as he had hoped and he didn’t want to ruin his chance to be a part of something great, to help get their home back.

It didn’t mean temptation wasn’t there and patrols were the worst source. Alone on the road with no one around, Smokescreen could feel his resistance wane. 

One quick joyride couldn’t hurt, right? There was no one around, hadn’t been since the start of his patrol. He’d clock 120 in a matter of nanokliks and then he’d hit the brakes and no one, Autobot or human, would be the wiser! It was his best chance to burn off a little energy with almost no repercussions and the threat of being caught was basically non-existent. 

Smokescreen swept the area twice more for bots and humans, both visually and with his adaptive scanners. The most readings he got were the teeny-tiny furry ball creatures Jack called desert mice and they certainly weren’t going to rat him out. He grinned at his pun, knowing Jack would find it funny. Immediately, his grin dropped in realizing he’d have to keep that one to himself if he wanted to keep in good graces with the rest of the team. 

His reasons for holding back dwindled to nothing and Smokescreen tuned out Ratchet’s whiny voice from his processor. 5 kliks, that’s all it would be. No harm, no foul and no one had to know.

He floored the gas pedal. His wheels squeaked, struggling to grip the sandy road for a moment before the traction caught and he was off. The flat, straight road left no resistance, letting Smokescreen gain speed quickly. Internally, he was cheering; his field wide and giddy as his speedometer ticked past the double digits and toy with the triples. The dry, chilled desert air whipped past mirrors, whistling along his spoiler. His spark soared. 

Of course , that’s when his scanners picked up another presence. Great .

Twin headlights appeared in his rear view. Smokescreen hastily slammed his brakes to a more acceptable level, sending a quick prayer to Primus that it wasn’t one of those police officers Ratchet had hounded him about. He had received an audial full and was haunted by mental images of “the boot .” Miko had promised she’d bail him out if he ever got impounded but the very notion of being stuck in his alt and unable to move sounded like a hell worse than offlining. 

The headlights were approaching…quickly. They were gaining on him, especially now that Smokescreen had slowed himself to the appropriate speed, even going 5 miles slower than the speed limit to be safe. It was clear whoever was behind him was going much, much faster than the sensible 55 mph. He pulled himself to the right lane to allow them to pass ( yes, he had been paying attention to Jack’s driving lessons!!!). 

They didn’t look like police; glossy red finish with gold accents, not at all the matte white and blue he’d seen of the police vehicles of Jasper. Even the vehicle type was different, lower to the ground, more streamline…speedy. It was missing the obnoxious overhead lights too, though Ratchet had insisted that was not a sure-fire way to identify the local law enforcement. Perhaps they were just civilian humans on a joyride. That, at least, Smokescreen could approve of. Especially with a sweet ride like that.

The vehicle pulled up beside him, lowering their speed to match. The windows were tinted and Smokescreen couldn’t tell how many humans were inside. His alt only accounted for 5 which seemed typical but Jack had told him about some humans that liked to pile double the amount in even if it went against the safety guidelines. 

The engine revved and the humans flashed their headlights in a taunting gesture. Smokescreen couldn’t help but grin to himself. Organic or not, Smokescreen knew that universal request to race. 

Gleefully, he let his engine rev back, speeding up a touch before pulling back to their synced pace. Ratchet’s warnings fell to the back of his processor, a gentle whisper that easily was drowned out by the sound of twin revving engines. The red vehicle's headlights flashed twice and that was all the warning Smokescreen got as it sped off. Smokescreen, left in their dust, could hear a mocking double beep of their horn, laughing at him. 

Cheater!

Well, two could play at that game. 

Smokescreen floored it, chasing after the red vehicle. The humans straddled the middle lane, making it impossible for Smokescreen to pass as he caught up. Mockingly, the humans tapped on their breaks, forcing Smokescreen to slow as they resumed their breakneck pace. They did this a couple of times, each time Smokescreen felt himself getting more and more frustrated. Maybe he should stop brake checking the citizens of Jasper, it was annoying. He pulled back a few feet, allowing some space between him and the humans blocking his path. 

Stuck behind them, Smokescreen eyed the emergency pull lanes. They were crumbled with red sand and debris littering it. He’d probably do more damage to himself than have an actual hope of successfully passing. Still, he weaved as if that were his plan, the red car before him following to block him. Quickly, he spun his wheel in the opposite direction, gunning it for the opening left. He managed to pull alongside, the humans just barely stopping themselves from clipping him as they attempted to swerve back into the middle. Smokescreen had to guess they paid a pretty penny for a car like that, not to mention the maintenance. For drag racing in the desert, the finish was immaculate. 

Smokescreen was astonished by the humans’ skills. For a few kliks, they stayed neck to neck, neither of them quite able to pull the lead from the other. Despite this, Smokescreen felt exhilarated. This was exactly what he needed. Already, the tension was leaving his frame, stress melting away as adrenaline took its place and for the first time since he crash landed on Earth, he was having fun .

A slight curve in the road was approaching and Smokescreen cursed to himself. It was curving to the left, forcing him in the inner lane. It would mean his opponent would be able to maintain a faster speed to still make the turn but Smokescreen would have to slow down, even just a few degrees. He wasn’t exactly sure when they would call for the “finish line” but Smokescreen knew he couldn’t risk putting even a few feet of distance between them. 

Recklessly, Smokescreen sped up , pushing himself faster than before as the red racer slowed to safely make the turn. Hopefully, if he timed it right, he would be able to pull ahead and then cut the brakes to make the turn safely. 

Unfortunately, the turn was approaching too quickly. He could get in front of the other vehicle but slowing down would be dangerous. Smokescreen knew he’d be fine. Ratchet would be pissed but ultimately, the damage to his frame would probably be quite minimal and could be repaired with ease. 

The humans were a different story. 

As part of his education , Ratchet had forced him to watch through an hour of human traffic accidents. It hadn’t been pretty. Car frames and Cybertronian frames were completely different and the metal of Earth was very thin and very fragile. Smokescreen could still remember the horrible crunch of the video as the cars crumbled like tin. Not to mention, human bodies were even more fragile and even if the crashes weren’t fatal, the injuries themselves could be grave enough to affect a human for their entire lifespan. 

He couldn’t risk that to the humans behind him. No just for his purposes of staying disguised and not causing trouble, but all he could picture of Jack, Miko and Raf in the car, crushed up, broken beyond repair. 

Smokescreen hit the brakes hard, the loose sand on the pavement making him lose traction and skid for a second before he regained control. The humans in the red car had no issue, overtaking him on the turn and zipping past him. As much as he hated losing the distance and knowing he probably couldn’t pick it back up, he knew this was the best decision. Everyone would be safe and Smokescreen could withstand a bruised ego, despite what Arcee might think. 

Ahead of him, Smokescreen watched the humans slow suddenly. Their brake lights flared brilliant red as they drifted, spinning 90 degrees until they came perpendicular on the road. Beside them, planted in the dirt was a green sign, making the Jasper City limits and unofficially marking the finish line.

Smokescreen pulled himself to a slow stop. With the humans blocking his path, he would have to wait for them to move before he could make an exit. Internally, he groaned. If they were anything like him and Jack when they pulled their little stunts around Jasper, then he knew they were going to be smug afts about it.

The windows of the red vehicle went down an inch, not enough for Smokescreen to catch a glimpse of who was in the car but low enough for their voice to carry. 

“Nice try, kiddo,” the human practically purred in self-satisfaction. “ Try being the operative word. I’d say you almost had me worried at that turn but you chickened out. Quite sad really, you might have had potential but-”

Irritation blinded Smokescreen. It was trash talk- trash talk by humans no less -and he knew it should affect him. And yet it did. 

“You only beat me because you cheated!” Smokescreen snapped, revving his engine threateningly. “Round two you won’t be so lucky.”

There was a pause from the human and Smokescreen for a moment grinned victoriously. That was, until, the human let out a bemused, “Oh my.” Then, he raised and lowered his window in a demonstrative measure.

Smokescreen realized his grave error immediately. His windows, unlike the humans in their car before, were still rolled up tight. Smokescreen may not completely understand humans, but he was pretty sure none of them had the ability to talk through a car’s closed windows. 

Fear gripped his spark as panic flooded his systems. He screwed up and he screwed up bad . Without a second thought, Smokescreen put himself in reverse and floored it, spinning around and taking off.

If the humans in the red car responded, he didn’t hear them over the wind whipping against his frame and his inner panic screaming in his audials. They didn’t follow and Smokescreen took it as a small blessing in this horrible scenario crafted from his own hubris. All he could do was pray that no one at base found out, that the human in the red car would think he was just a figment of their imagination and nothing more. 


Knock Out watched bemused as the little speedster scrambled away.

Young, dumb, and rebellious. Reminded him a bit of himself in his younger days, though not with such a tacky paint job. There was little doubt in the medic’s mind that the kid had aligned himself with the Autobots. There was no way he would have survived too long otherwise; too naive, too trusting. Knock Out knew he probably should report it, alert Megatron of Optimus’ newest recruit. It’d certainly earn him some brownie points and with Breakdown…absent, Knock Out was in need of some allies. 

Then again- Knock Out narrowed his optics at the fading tail lights -it had been a long time since he had a racing buddy. Maybe he could wait on that report for a bit, let himself have a bit of fun before passing him up to high command. 

Knock Out slowly pulled away from his parked spot, turning the opposite way the kid sped off too. He should be returning back, before his absence was noted. Not that it matters , he thought bitterly as he peeled off. If it was the grounders missing, then there was no reason to worry. Afterall, Breakdown had been missing for nearly two weeks and not a single mech aboard the Nemesis had even bothered to question why.

Chapter 2: Intersecting Lights

Summary:

Smokescreen slowed to a near stop as he reached the intersection. Trepidation locked his wheel in place, the brakes engaging without even thinking about it. Internally, his chronometer was counting the seconds as he sat there in indecision. He had to finish his patrol and the only thing worse than reliving his mortification was completely skipping out on this part of his route. He already fragged things up enough, leaving a blind spot in his patrol was beyond negligent. His ego could withstand a little more bruising, even as fear clutched his emergency brake systems.

Notes:

ahhh thank you to everyone who read/kudos'd/commented!!! It means a lot:) I have a lot of emotions around this fic and I'm finally going to start getting into them after chapter:3 Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dread clung to Smokescreen like a fresh coat of wax. Everywhere he turned doom and destruction stared back at him; faceless and coy, saccharine words whispered in his audials. It hid in the heavy exvent from Ratchet, in every news article that popped up on Raf’s teeny-tiny monitor, in every dark corner of the base. The unseen human optics watched him and knew. Every klik that passed left Smokescreen balancing precariously on the precipice of a full-blown panic attack. 

It was only a matter of time before his mistake became public knowledge and there was nothing he could do but wait. His careless little joy ride and subsequent blow of cover hung over him like a dark cloud as he readied himself for the fallout. Smokescreen couldn’t imagine an outcome where he came out unscathed. He could barely meet the optic of anyone on the team. He knew with one glance they would see his guilt and know. 

The red vehicle haunted his recharge cycle. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind: sleek red finish reflecting back at him, the interior filled with a thousand human optics; small, dark, shiny and all knowing of what he was, the mistake he had made. He could rationalize all he wanted that a human had been in the car and not a creature of nightmares but the image refused to leave his mind. 

Every time Raf would mention finding something on his small Earthling computer, Smokescreen was certain it would be mention of his blunder, that the little grace he had with Team Prime would sharply come to an end. Not even Optimus’s trusting leniency could possibly excuse him once more. He knew he was on thin ice with Arcee and Ratchet barely tolerated him as it was. Bee was nice and Bulkhead was opening up, but as the new guy, Smokescreen felt the distance between himself and the rest of the team. No amount of rushing was going to make up that distance. He had to be patient and play it slow, even if it conflicted with his instincts. All Smokescreen knew was he couldn’t afford a mistake, not just for the sake of his own security on the team but for the safety of the mechs that had graciously let him into the fold. He didn’t want to let them down. 

But the days passed by with nothing. No mention of talking cars, no word of high speed races. Nothing. Ratchet had even praised Smokescreen for his restraint and discretion, awarding the young bot with a rare, small smile and a pat on the shoulder.  

It was undeserved. Beyond so. But Smokescreen took the praise with a beaming grin, ignoring the way it corroded in his spark. Even if his secret never came out, the guilt was eating away at the enamel of his tanks, chewing at his wires in the knowledge he could have ruined everything. He couldn’t let anything happen like that again. The risk was just not worth jeopardizing the lives of people that put their trust into him. 

When his next scheduled patrol came, Smokescreen had come to the determination he was going to do everything by the book. No straying from the path, no joy riding. He was going to take it seriously, even if it was still dull as rocks out here in the middle of nowhere. The old Smokescreen of last week was gone, obliterated by the grievous error. The Smokescreen of now was going to take this lucky break and use it to do better. Or at least try to.

He drove through the dead streets of Jasper, even mentally counting the 5 seconds at each stop sign before moving despite there not being a single other soul on the road. He kept to the speed limit, never once daring to go a mile over. He even managed to remember to use all his signals when turning, something he always forgot to do. It wasn’t until he reached the final stretch of his patrol that he felt his engine stall. 

All he had left to do was take the lengthy stretch of asphalt to the city limit; the same road as the initial incident. Simple. Easy. Yeah...

Smokescreen slowed to a near stop as he reached the intersection. Trepidation locked his wheel in place, the brakes engaging without even thinking about it. Internally, his chronometer was counting the seconds as he sat there in indecision. He had to finish his patrol and the only thing worse than reliving his mortification was completely skipping out on this part of his route. He already fragged things up enough, leaving a blind spot in his patrol was beyond negligent. His ego could withstand a little more bruising, even as fear clutched his emergency brake systems. 

Turning onto the state road, he barely gained speed when a pair of headlights flashed in his rearview. Dread coiled in his fuel lines but he resolved to retain speed, just like any human driver would. It was probably just a late night traveler and not-

The rev of a supercharger V8 engine rang in his audials, causing his own engine to hiccup at the sound. Despite only hearing it the one time, the taunting rev had haunted his recharges, the echoing sound of his own stupidity. He dared not react further as the sleek red sports car matched his speed and drove next to him. 

Terror gripped his spark. Smokescreen didn’t know what to do. Alone here, on the open road, there weren’t many places he could ditch and run. The stretch of highway went on for miles with no landmarks, no crossroads. Just empty desert and open sky. 

Smokescreen kept his optics forward, even if the driver couldn’t see this. Maybe if he ignored them, they’d go away. Maybe they wouldn’t remember him, though he knew that thought process was hopelessly stupid. 

The red sports car sped up and slowed down demonstratively; the unspoken question blatant. 

Up for a rematch?

He couldn’t do this again. It had already been risky without the end result of last time but now that the human in the car was more than aware of who and what he was, he had to disengage and leave. He had to find a way out without raising any more suspicion. If that was even possible. 

The car continued to egg him on, inching forward before falling back into pace. At one point, the driver even swerved towards Smokescreen forcing him to speed up and avoid. 

The window cracked down and Smokescreen felt his spark all but stop.

“Scared to lose again?” the driver’s voice pierced through the rushing wind, jeering and taunting. “Race me again and if you win, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

The driver didn’t give him a spare second to consider, already taking off and kicking up dust behind him. 

Smokescreen didn’t have time to think; he just pressed on the gas and chased. Despair clouded his processor as he pressed forward. The red, rear lights were too far away and what remained of the road before hitting the city limits was too short. He still had to try as hopeless as it would seem. He floored the gas pedal and sent a quick prayer to Primus that he could make up the speed. 

Luck, and evidently Primus , were not on his side. Too quickly, the city limits were approaching and what little distance Smokescreen had been able to make up was not going to be enough for him to overtake the red car. The blow of eminent defeat was crushing, but no more so than watching the humans stop their vehicle at the city limits, waiting eagerly for Smokescreen to join them. 

Headlights shone brightly on the green “Now Leaving Jasper” sign, flickering in a teasing gesture as he was forced to stop beside them. He slowly pulled beside them, processor frantically thinking of how he could turn this all around, how he could fix this.

Nervously, Smokescreen cracked his windows down. Maybe he could just pretend the incident of the night prior was a trick of the eye. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed Smokescreen’s blunder. Maybe it could all be passed off as a misunderstanding. 

“Congrats on the win,” Smokescreen threw out. He’d play it safe and reserved; hopefully he could make it out without completely ruining things. Again. He doubted it but he at least had to try and-

“Ahh, you remembered to lower your windows this time, hot shot,” the human from the red car taunted in a teasing purr. 

Scrap.

Smokescreen’s field surged with embarrassment. Not that the human could feel it. Ratchet had repeatedly lectured Smokescreen about him and even if humans could sense EM Fields, this human couldn’t locked up nice and safe in their car with the windows up-

With the windows up!

“Wait!” Smokescreen darted ahead to turn and face the red car fully, their noses nearly touching. He flashed his brights at the vehicle and- yep, no driver - the seats were empty. “ Wait! ” Without any hesitation, Smokescreen shifted to his root mode, standing over the red car in awe. “You're Cybertronian. You're one of us!”

The red car did not move, did not shift, did not transform. However, he did laugh, low and mocking. Smokescreen could only blink in confusion. 

Wow , excitable aren’t we?” The red car disengaged his brakes and slowly circled Smokescreen, still staying in his alt. “Not much of a thinker are you. How certain you are to trust a bot you just met.”

Realization quickly crawled up Smokescreen’s plating like Miko’s sticky fingers after getting into the sour candies she stashed around the base. 

The other mech was right. He had no idea if he was trustworthy. They’ve raced twice, barely had spoken and yet here Smokescreen was putting him at risk and everyone else on Team Prime. For all he knew, the other mech could be a Decepticon and Smokescreen had just handed himself over on a silver platter. If this mech didn’t kill him, Ratchet would and then Arcee, then Bulkhead, then Bee and maybe even Optimus would want in on the action. Afterall, there was no way anyone else on Team Prime was as stupid as him and-

“Hey, hey,” the red speedster honked his horn, rolling to face Smokescreen head on. “I can see your processor melting, smoke is coming from your audials. Relax.”

Surely if he were a Decepticon, he would have started shooting....right?

“Who are you?” Smokescreen finally asked, glossa stiff in his mouth. Nerves still squirmed in his tanks but he resolutely maintained his composure. At least his Elite Guard training hadn’t gone to total waste.

The red speedster revved his engine. “Oh, just a mech passing through.”

“Yeah?” It wasn’t the most unbelievable story. If anything, Smokescreen’s own tale of crash landing on Earth was more far-fetched than a mech in hiding. “Hiding out?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say hiding ,” the mech said. “But certainly better at staying low than yourself. Are there more of you?”

Smokescreen hesitated. He definitely knew better than to outright reveal the location of Team Prime…but, if there was a lost mech that needed sanctuary, wasn’t it their duty to provide that? With their kind scattered across the universe, wasn’t it an imperative to bring them all back together? 

Unless he was a Decepticon. 

Smokescreen couldn’t out right throw that possibility out, even with his ground based alt-mode. The line of questioning could be seeking intel on Optimus’s location, or trying to get a glimpse into their scant few numbers. Torn indecision, Smokescreen decided to play the middle road.

“Yeah,” Smokescreen admitted. If he was a Decepticon, then he would already have an idea of the autobot base being located around Jasper and would already know the names of their members. If he truly was a lost and lonely mech, then simply knowing there could be a place for him should be enough. “There’s not many of us, but we have a small group.”

“Sounds cozy,” the mech drawled bored, uninterested.

Smokescreen frowned. If he was a Decepticon, he should be asking questions, striving for more intel? If he was just a lone mech, wouldn’t the prospect of knowing there were more be…exciting? Neither scenario fitted the mech’s indifferent reaction. 

“Are you…alone?” Smokescreen asked. The mech’s finish looked pristine, glossy and well-taken care of. Certainly better than anyone in Team Prime which either meant the Decepticons had a wealth of luxury at their disposal or this mech was very good at staying low. 

The speedster laughed. “You know, in the middle of war, it's not good to reveal all your cards. You’d be a terrible gambler.” The all too recent familiar sensation of dread coiled in his fuel lines once more, but before he could speak, the mech was tutting. “Calm down, kid. I’m trying to help you. Even amongst friends you should never let your guard down.”

Smokescreen frown, sadness replacing the dread. “If you can’t trust your friends, then they aren’t really your friends.”

The mech was silent for a moment. In his alt mode, it was difficult to get a read on what the mech was feeling. His field was expertly contained. Even now that Smokescreen knew, it was still difficult to see the car before him as anything other than an earthly vehicle and not a Cybertronian in disguise. 

“That naivety of yours is going to get you killed.”

There was no more humor nor jest in the mech’s tone. Absent were the teasing words and coy undertones. All that remained was cold, biting words. 

“That’s why you need allies,” Smokescreen muttered. “Friends and people you trust.”

The mech snorted. “Sure.”

Slowly, the mech rolled forward, engine humming as he pointedly swerved around Smokescreen’s form. Something wasn’t right. Smokescreen had thought the conversation would be a joyous one, a happiness in finding someone like him out there. However, the air was sullen, tension making his spark constricted in his chassis. The conversation didn’t feel complete, it didn’t end right. 

“Wait,” Smokescreen spun on his pede.

The mech didn’t turn around, but Smokescreen watched the red flare of the brakes engaging the the slight rock of him coming to a complete stop. He didn’t speak though, silently waiting for Smokescreen to continue.

“Are we going to meet again? To race? You at least owe me a fair chance.”

There was a pause. For a moment, Smokescreen was sure he was being ignored, his request childish and probably desperate. Of course the mech wouldn’t want anything to do with dumb, idealistic Smokescreen. He had made it very clear he wasn’t looking for friends or peers so he certainly didn’t want to continue meeting with Smokescreen just to spin their wheels-

“Eager to lose again?” came the teasing remark. A taunting rev followed with a flashing of his headlights. Smokescreen couldn't help grin at the display. The air was still tense but there was something also charming about the jokes and jests. They didn’t feel mean spirited like Smokescreen had experienced with some mechs in the past. It felt friendly . “Same time tomorrow?”

He’d probably have patrol then and if not…well, he’s been on his best behavior the past couple of weeks- almost blowing his cover aside -he could probably ask for the patrol slot easily. 

“You bet. You’re going to love the taste of my dust.”

“Big words for a mech on a two count losing streak,” came the dry reply. “I’d say see you tomorrow, but it's so difficult to see you in the rearview mirror.”

Smokescreen couldn’t help it, he was grinning, doorwings fluttering in delight. Banter. He missed it. Team Prime was always so serious and stout. He knew, rationally, they had good reason to be, but there was something so comforting to have fun without worrying about the entire fate of the world crashing down. It was nice.

“Can I get your name?” Smokescreen quickly asked. “You can call me, Smokescreen.” Wait.  He probably shouldn’t have used his actual designation. Scrap. “I mean…uh, well-”

“See kid, too trusting. It’s going to bite you in the aft one day, just you wait. But don’t worry, no one I know cares who you are.” The mech disengaged his brakes, slowly beginning to roll forward. “You can call me, K.O.” With a final rev off his engine, the speedster, K.O. peeled out. 

Smokescreen stood and watched as the red back lights faded in the night. K.O. Probably an alias, something Smokescreen should have done. Somehow, he’s not too worried about throwing out his name. Decepticreep or not, Smokescreen found himself trusting K.O. 

Maybe it was the blunt way he spoke to Smokescreen or the light, teasing japes that felt more friendly than half the time he patrolled with Arcee. Maybe it was just the idea that he wasn’t the only outsider out there. Team Prime was close knit and he felt like he was always outside the circle, desperate to get in. 

With K.O., it was more even footing. 

At least he hoped .


The medbay was cold and empty. Knock Out dragged the microfiber cloth across his plating, wiping away the desert dust from his finish. His back was more difficult to reach alone. Tending to his frame used to be a job for two.

Knock Out threw the rag to the ground, optics slitted as it didn’t quite slam down but flutter limply. Breakdown was still missing and there was no trace of him. Dreadwing hadn’t said a thing, Airachnid was MIA, and the High Command couldn’t seem to care any less. 

In a move of desperation, Knock Out had finally broached the topic to Dreadwing, pulling the seeker aside. Dreadwing had simply raised an optic ridge and shrugged. “Who's to say?” Knock Out had nodded his helm congenial until he was finally alone. After that, well, his tools needed sorting anyway. Throwing them to the ground in a fitful fury only helped clear their containers quicker. 

He needed to spin his wheels after that, melt the frustration bubbling in his tanks and feel the crisp night air whistle against his sleek frame. There was no small part of Knock Out that was hoping in racing down the same desert road every night that he’d run into his partner. Breakdown was more than familiar with his proclivity for street racing and had even watched his races from the sidelines from time to time. He was hoping running the same path each night would eventually lead him somewhere.

He wasn’t expecting to find the kid again. Still hopelessly naive and far too trusting. His root mode was far more bulky than he had expected but the earnest way his optics glowed in trying to find common ground with Knock Out was… endearing . It had been a long time since Knock Out had met someone who was looking at him without thinking how to monopolize his value, someone that had nothing in gain in judging him by his worth.

Breakdown would like him. Woefully innocent but cockier than he had any right to be. Breakdown would be eager to bust the kid’s bearings only to slap a servo on his helm affectionately. Knock Out could see it now, the delight in Breakdown’s faceplates, smile nearly splitting it in two. His partner always did have a soft spot for young, dumb racers. 

A tired sigh slipped from his lips. 

Where was he?  

Knock Out should have received a comm or a message by now. Something. Anything. It wasn’t like Breakdown. Initially, he had wondered if the Autobots had gotten to his partner but as annoying as they were, they were too high and mighty to take hostages. Not for this long, not so quietly. Knock Out was certain the bright optic’d kid wouldn’t be so chipper if his group was imprisoning rogue mechs. The only other option Knock Out could think of was one his processor refused to fully map out, shutting down the thought-tree every time it threatened to download. He didn’t want to go down that path.

He would just have to keep looking. Knock Out was a lot of things- lazy, superficial, vain -but he was also determined and cunning. He would find Breakdown. 

One way or another.

Notes:

Thanks for reading ;__; let me know what you think!!! You can find me @noodleblade on tumblr.

Chapter 3: Idle Speed

Summary:

They talked sometimes. After they raced- after K.O. got the gloating out of his systems and Smokescreen got over the disappointment in losing again -they’d drive up to the city overlook to let their engines cool down. They’d just park in their alts and talk.

Notes:

It's been a rough week but writing this silly little fic brings me joy so:) enjoy! Maybe a bit too internal monologue-y but I still like how it came out:3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

An unexpected, but welcomed, routine was formed. 

Tenuous, in nature; Smokescreen was never sure if after each clandestine, midnight race with K.O. would be the last. He was waiting for the night he’d show up and there’d be nothing with dusty wind and sand to greet him. He knew it would come one day. No one stuck around long and even when he tried Smokescreen knew he wasn’t the most likable of bots; he was annoying, abrasive, over-eager and maybe a little socially illiterate. It was only a matter of time before K.O. smartened up and left him in the dust and Smokescreen was waiting for it.

Yet, every time he pulled up to that lonely stretch of highway, glimmering shiny red greeted him with a winking flicker of headlights. Teasing words and taunting revs made awful hope bloom in Smokescreen’s chassis that maybe they could be friends.

That being said, he had still yet to win a race. He’d gotten close quite a few times, but just when he thought this time might be it , sleek red would flash past him with graceful ease. 

He had an inkling suspicion that K.O. liked to dangle the possibility in front of him, pull Smokescreen into a false probability of winning, only to take it at the last second. He would have gotten annoyed by the antics, but even half a nanoklik of self-reflection told him, he would do just the same thing. Must be a speedster thing, though he had trouble picturing Bee with the same mean streak. Still, he kept trying as long as K.O. kept showing up.

For every race Smokescreen lost, was just another reason to have him jumping for the opportunity to take the next patrol shift and meet his new friend. Guilt still crawled beneath his plating each time he agreed to the patrol. Each heart pat from Bulkhead; each genuine smile from Arcee; each approving hum from Ratchet; Each proud nod from Optimus; All were punches to the gut. He knew Team Prime was beginning to actually trust him and see him as part of the team. It’s what he wanted…but he couldn’t tell them about his secretive meetings and new friend. Not yet, at least. 

Smokescreen wasn’t sure exactly what K.O. got out of their arrangement other than a chance to spin his wheels. He couldn’t even say he was even the best partner for that since K.O. smoked him at each turn. Clearly, the mech was lonely, even if he said otherwise. While Smokescreen knew he wasn’t the best company, he was far better than none at all. At the very least, he could hold his own in a conversation.

They talked sometimes. After they raced- after K.O. got the gloating out of his systems and Smokescreen got over the disappointment in losing again -they’d drive up to the city overlook to let their engines cool down. They’d just park in their alts and talk. Alone, under the dark sky, there was no one to listen in, no one to overhear.

It started slowly. K.O. usually took it as an opportunity to critique his form, but as the meetings continued and time passed sometimes they’d talk about other things. A small anecdote here, a complaint about the organics of the planet there, nostalgia for Cybertron and rampant debates over the occasional passersby’s paint jobs; each conversation slowly growing and growing until Smokescreen knew it was safe to say their “races” were no longer the reason they continued to meet. 

Smokescreen never talked about the Autobots. At least that he could not be blamed for. Decepticreep or just a regular old lost bot, Smokescreen knew keeping Team Prime a secret was of the utmost importance. It didn’t mean there weren’t other aspects of his life that were off-limits. His time on Cybertron up til his application to the Elite Guard were his to share. It was his story and, for once, someone seemed half-aft interested.

The red speedster never prodded more than a few teasing questions, content to listen to Smokescreen ramble. K.O., himself, was not as willing to share much but that didn’t mean Smokescreen didn’t pick up things.

He knew K.O. was medically trained. There was only so much about frames modifications and reformattings the average mech would know unless they had performed the surgery themselves. Smokescreen had only ever heard Ratchet talk about the specifics of t-cog reconfiguration protocols and modifications with such a degree of enthusiasm. 

He also knew K.O. had seen a lot of the war, speaking of events Smokescreen had no reference to other than mentions from Bulkhead or Arcee. K.O. was careful to never once claim a side in the war, simply serving his own interests and whoever could assist them. Neutrality was probably the best word to describe it, but Smokescreen had his suspicion that it was subject to change on who offered the better deal. As much as he didn’t want to, he could understand the logic of such a position. If he had been a civilian mech thrusted into war and destruction, maybe he too would find it difficult to put any trust into a side that played a hand at their world’s destruction. Safety and protection were all that mattered and Smokescreen could understand that. 

It was just another fact about K.O. that added to the complex image generated of the mech before him: selfish and guarded, wickedly smart and intuitive, vain yet resourceful and self-sustaining, social and charismatic. 

Horribly, terribly alone.

K.O. talked about acquaintances or other mechs in his life- mostly complaining about a lack of respect and a lack of recognition which Smokescreen totally understood-but as far as a friend , Smokescreen had begun to wonder if maybe he had become the closest thing to one. He wanted to ask, maybe it would be the final push to get the mech to join up with the Autobots. But he kept his mouth shut on it, taking Arcee’s advice for once to just listen .

“The terrain here really is terrible for your finish,” the red mech drawled. He had been complaining about a lack of finish protector, the earthly equivalents- while novel -did not last as long as he wouldn’t have liked. Smokescreen could see some wear had come to the red paint, scratches and dents that were beginning to accumulate with each passing solar cycle. “Routine buffing is the only thing that works against this dust, but my partner-”

Smokescreen’s headlights flickered as K.O. stopped speaking at once. A dreaded silence filled the space between them as the two words hung over. My partner .

“What about your partner?” Smokescreen attempted to prod along. He wasn’t not known for being a particularly subtle mech and he didn’t want to spook K.O. away from their flimsy bridge of friendship, but he needed to know.

Hesitancy hung as K.O. rocked on his wheels. He didn’t race off but Smokescreen could hear the emergency brake had been disengaged with a soft click.

“We used to tend to each other’s finishes.” 

The sentence was clipped, the words lacking the usual bravado in which Smokescreen had grown familiar with. If anything, they almost sounded sad .

“Used to?” Smokescreen asked quietly. He had a feeling he knew the answer that was coming, dread building up in his intake.

“Yeah.”

Smokescreen tried not to squirm, unease curling around his spark. He knew loss, knew it maybe too well, but he’d never lost a partner . He’d seen what the pain does to a mech though. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Smokescreen said earnestly. He attempted to extend his field, to express sympathy and understanding with it. “It’s painful to-”

“He’s not dead,” K.O. snarled. His field met Smokescreen’s viciously, cutting away at the comfort and assurance with anger and pain. “I don’t need your sympathies .” 

Smokescreen reeled his field in tight, wheels rocking him back an inch. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologize,” he muttered back, more exhausted than biting. A quiet moment passed and K.O.’s field reached out once more. The anger had faded but the pain was still there at the edges. “It's just a…” for once, words seemed to fail him.

“Tough subject?” Smokescreen offered, he let his field brush against the offered one, friendly and warm.

“Hardly a subject at all,” K.O. said bitterly. “No one wants to talk about it.”

Clearly, there was more to this than Smokescreen could ever understand. He didn’t want to pry further and anger his friend but he didn’t want to change the subject. True to his Autobot roots, he wanted to help.

“Do you…wanna talk about it?”

If headlights could glare, Smokescreen certainly felt it. However, the red speedster let out an exasperated sigh.

“My partner has been missing for quite some time. No one else seems worried. It’s not usual for him to disappear for a while but I would have heard from him by now.”

“You’re worried,” Smokescreen whispered. An idea popped in his processor and was spilling out of his vocalized before he could stop himself. “Want to look for him? I could help! I know the area pretty good and two mechs are better than one and-“

A laugh cut him off. Humorless, bitter. Smokescreen withered. 

“You know what’s funny?” K.O. rolled forward, closer to the edge of the overlook. “You are the first one to offer, to even ask.”

Smokescreen found himself rolling closer as well. “Sounds lonely, having no one to help you.”

“I have my partner.”

Until you don’t. 

The words were Arcee’s: bitter, angry, cold. Smokescreen might not understand completely what the loss of a partner felt like, but he’d seen what it would do to a mech. Timidly, Smokescreen brushed his field against K.O.’s.

“You have me too.”

This didn’t garner an immediate response but slowly, K.O.’s field interlocked with his in a quiet show of trust. 

“Want to tell me about him?” Smokescreen asked after a while. 

K.O. snorted, the action not as derisive as maybe intended. “I may be sentimental, but we aren’t there yet.”

The humor in his voice was reassuring. Hurt and grief still floated around them, but in this little bubble, there was a warmth of comradery. 

“I’ll wear you down soon enough,” Smokescreen beamed, flickering his headlights. “Maybe by the time I do, he’ll be back and I can meet him.”

“In your dreams,” K.O. said softly, the words weighted but genuine. “Even his bulky aft could out race you.”

“No way! I’m this close to winning and then you can both taste my dust,” Smokescreen bit at the bait. He could at least see when it was time to move the conversation along and if making fun of his speed brought some levity to K.O., Smokescreen was more than happy to play the part. 


Sometimes it was tempting to let the kid win. Knock Out half considered it nearly every time they closed in on the finish line. He could imagine Smokescreen’s reaction: overly joyous and immediately overconfident. A grin that would stretch his faceplates wide and doorwings fluttering in their excitement. As always his field would be unrestrained, unmonitored in belaying his enthusiasm. It took so little to get Smokescreen excited. Despite the war, his spark remained bright despite all the death and destruction that surrounded him. Knock Out knew that could not last long, but for once felt a need to protect that. 

Getting soft, K.O.?

The words were not sharp or cutting, but rather soft and fond in the way Breakdown always spoke to him when they were alone. In the way that Breakdown could read past his veneer of apathy and vanity. In the way that Breakdown was the only mech that truly knew him, perhaps even better than he knew himself. 

At the thought of his still missing partner, Knock Out floored the gas, crossing the self-imposed finish line with Smokescreen only a scant few nanokliks behind. 

Softness didn’t get anyone anywhere and it would be cruel to pretend otherwise.

Aw ,” Smokescreen groaned as he pulled beside Knock Out. “I almost had you!”

“In your dreams,” Knock Out drawled. Even contained to his alt, the signs of his disappointment were still evident. “Maybe next time.”

“You said that the last two times,” Smokescreen grumbled. “I’m going to beat you one day.”

Knock Out laughed as he slowly led them to their usual spot at the overlook. “Sure, sure.”

“No, seriously,” Smokescreen whined from behind. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it was to watch the micro-tantrum of the baby Autobot, but Knock Out couldn’t deny the seed of fondness that had taken root in his spark. It was dangerous and should be plucked at the source and discarded before the claws of affection sunk too deep. However, Knock Out pushed the thought away, not immediately eager to end their little friendship. There was still time. He was still in control.

“It’s called age and wisdom. Neither of which you have,” Knock Out chided. Despite his words, he let his field mingle with Smokescreen’s just enough to betray the lightness in their meaning. Smokescreen nudged his field right back, warm and happy in a way that Knock Out hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Hey! I’m not dumb!” Smokescreen protested with a little beep of his horn. “Not all the time anyways.”

Knock Out knew that was true. He’d listened to the little speedster ramble about a number of topics. While his attitude was childish and young, his processor was surprisingly well-read. Then again, from what Knock Out was able to piece together, patrol duty at the Iacon Hall of Records had been a dull affair. Reading was the only option.

A comm link pinged along his HUD as Smokescreen lamented his loss in exaggerating detail. Knock Out half tuned him out as he read Dreadwing’s designation.

::Where are you? Report to the bridge. Your partner’s signal has popped up on radar.::

Knock Out felt his engine hiccup. Beside him, Smokescreen went silent as he prodded Knock Out’s field in a mix of curiosity and worry.

“Is everything okay-”

“I have to go,” Knock Out replied in a hushed tone, almost afraid if he spoke too loud the message would disappear along with Breakdown’s signal. 

Smokescreen’s field retracted, as if it had been swatted and Knock Out may have felt a little guilty about the harsh treatment, but all his processor could think about was Breakdown. They finally found Breakdown.

His spark swelled, nearly making his processor spin. Anger still swirled below at unanswered questions whispered in his audials: Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? Are you okay? Did you even think about how worried I was? But over all, relief and joy were what he felt. Knock Out would have time to yell and scream at Breakdown later. All he wanted now was to see his partner again: happy and warm and- mostly -whole. 

“We’ll meet again soon,” Knock Out promised, with a quick apologetic brush of his field. Breakdown would want to meet the kid, regardless of faction lines. Yes, maybe it was a touch irrational to think this friendship of theirs could grow into anymore, but Knock Out liked the kid and so would Breakdown. “I’ll be in touch.”

He didn’t wait for Smokescreen’s response. Couldn’t . Not with Breakdown’s signal finally on radar. Not when he would finally see his partner again. 

Notes:

Thanks for reading ;__; I'd love to hear what ya think. Feel free to come say hi on tumblr @noodleblade

Chapter 4: E-Brake

Summary:

“When you pick different sides, it tends to ruin friendships. Like I said, it was a long time ago. Probably knew him longer as an enemy and a ‘con than a friend. He…made a lot of mistakes, did some things I can never really forgive but…doesn’t really matter, still ain’t right what happened to him.” A moment of heavy silence hung between them. The air around them was heavy, pressing against his helm. Smokescreen barely caught the muttering of, “I wonder if his partner knows.”

Dread seeped into Smokescreen’s lines as he tried not to react to that word.

Partner.

Notes:

Some light fiddling and lengthening of with the timeline for dramatic effect but relatively trying to keep the same beats of the show. Chapter is mostly centered around the episode the Human Factor.

Apologies in advance ;__;

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Smokescreen watched the slow, steady tick of his chronometer in absolute silence. At night, along the dusty stretch of highway, there was not a single sound save for the occasional gust of wind kicking up the arid sand. It hissed as it dragged along his frame, leaving microscopic scratches in his finish. 

“Premium grade liquid wax would help sustain the integrity of your finish; the skinjobs have mastered that, at least. You could do with a buff or two. Maybe a repaint. White is awfully boring. Have you considered orange? Maybe just continue on with the blue.”

Smokescreen let out a heavy exvent as the words echoed in his processor. 

Three nights had passed since K.O.’s abrupt departure. There had been no sign of the other mech since. In truth, not an exorbitant amount of time had passed, but after meeting up every night cycle for nearly an entire Earth month, the sudden break in their routine was…jolting. 

As much as Smokescreen had thought he’d prepare himself for K.O.’s eventual farewell, it did little to soften the blow of his absence. Perhaps he had fooled himself into thinking their arrangement could last forever. Perhaps he had grown too reliant on the easy, comfortable friendship that had formed. Perhaps he had been mistaken in thinking the feeling was mutual.

Smokescreen pushed those thoughts away forcefully. He shouldn’t let doubt sully their friendship. All those races and each and every conversation were not for nothing . He had to have some faith that those meant as much to K.O. as they did to him. He couldn’t let his own downward spiraling thoughts take him down that road when K.O.’s absence might be something simple and inconsequential and have nothing to do with Smokescreen.

Maybe K.O. had to deal with something important and it was just taking time. Maybe K.O. needed to stay low for a while and couldn’t risk meeting again. Maybe K.O.’s elusive partner returned. If it were any of those options, Smokescreen hoped it was the latter. K.O. did promise they could meet once his partner returned.

Well, okay. Maybe not promise , but he didn’t seem opposed when Smokescreen had suggested it! If anything, there had been interest and hope in K.O.’s field that one day that could be a possibility. 

Smokescreen decided that must be the reason. K.O. was too busy being reunited with his partner. He attempted to picture the unnamed mech, but K.O. had been pretty lax on the details, only calling him bulky. Whatever he looked like, Smokescreen hoped they were both barreling down a long stretch of highway together. The very thought of it lightened his spark greatly.

A gentle ping came from his HUD and Smokescreen immediately felt his tanks drop at Ratchet’s designation. It was never a good sign when he was called in the midst of patrol. 

::Smokescreen, where are you? Return to base, ASAP. We got a situation.:: 

Perhaps it was for the best K.O. and his partner were together tonight. Afterall, a “situation” almost certainly meant Decepticons and Smokescreen was itching for the chance to kick some aft.


A heavy energy hung over the Autobots. 

Smokescreen felt antsy, his wheels aching to spin and his doorwings twitching. After the night they just had, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to recharge peacefully for quite some time, despite Ratchet’s insistence that he get some rest. Adrenaline still pulsed through his circuits, his processor still trying to understand what he had witnessed. 

He waited until the base grew quiet, waited for the flurry of activity to settle and everyone separated. Bee was quick to volunteer to go out for patrol, Acree disappeared to watch over the Darby residence, and Ratchet and Optimus had excused themselves into a private hab for a meeting. Only Bulkhead remained; his optics staring off into the distance, unfocused and deep in thought. 

Quietly, Smokescreen saddled up to the larger mech. He perched himself on a crate beside him and tentatively let his field brush against his. A weak, barely there flicker was returned and Smokescreen took that as good as any sign that his presence was welcomed. Since their fight with the human-mech monstrosity, Bulkhead had been quiet. Smokescreen was still trying to wrap his processor around it but at least he hadn’t known the bot personally. Not like Bulkhead did. 

“Were you friends?” 

He asked the question softly, simply letting the words hang in the air. He didn’t want to press or bother Bulkhead, but curiosity was killing him. 

Bulkhead swiveled his helm, almost surprised to see Smokescreen beside him. His field pressed back against Smokescreen’s purposefully, awareness and familiarity mingling in the space between. A heavy exvent left the mech’s intake, his frame sagging in exhaustion, almost painfully so. 

“Once. Long time ago.” 

Bulkhead scrubbed at his optics with the heel of his servo as he returned his gaze straight ahead. Smokescreen followed his example and kept his optics focused on the wall before them. 

After a lengthy silence, Smokescreen hesitantly asked, “What happened?”

“When you pick different sides, it tends to ruin friendships. Like I said, it was a long time ago. Probably knew him longer as an enemy and a ‘con than a friend. He…made a lot of mistakes, did some things I can never really forgive but…doesn’t really matter, still ain’t right what happened to him.” A moment of heavy silence hung between them. The air around them was heavy, pressing against his helm. Smokescreen barely caught the muttering of, “I wonder if his partner knows.”

Dread seeped into Smokescreen’s lines as he tried not to react to that word. 

Partner

He couldn’t help but think of the red speedster along the dusty stretch of road, alone and his missing partner, field awash in anger, grief, desperation. Smokescreen wanted to chalk it up as a coincidence, that there are two pairs of mechs missing their partners. Surely it was fluke, surely what he experienced tonight had nothing to do with K.O. 

“Partner?” Smokescreen asked quietly. Maybe if he whispered, then Bulkhead wouldn’t hear him and then he wouldn’t have to hear an answer and maybe he’d never have to find out-

“Flashy, red speedster.” Bulkhead spat each word out in anger, each word piercing Smokescreen’s spark. “Breakdown was smitten with him from the moment he laid eyes on him. I told him a mech like that was only going to get him in trouble. But he was stubborn as Pits and scrap at listening.” Bulkhead covered his optics with his servo and leaned back. Another heavy exvent rattled his frame before he continued, the anger absent from his words and replaced with solemn resignation. “Guess they were happy for a while. I didn’t think a mech like Knock Out would stick around long term but from what I gathered they never parted since. I’d almost feel bad if he weren’t a ‘con.”

Knock Out…K.O.

There was no more convincing himself of this being purely coincidence. Not anymore. There were too many points of connection, too much evidence stacking up. Smokescreen wasn’t sure what was worse: unknowingly, unwittingly befriending a Decepticon this whole time or feeling the painful grief in his spark knowing the loss K.O. was experiencing. 

Befriending. 

They probably were never friends. The Decepticon probably knew who he was the whole time and was just playing him like a fool. Probably was hoping Smokescreen would be dumb enough to drop some key intel. Who knows! Maybe he would have too, a couple more races there, a few more sentimental conversations there. Smokescreen probably would have played right into his servo like the bumbling fool he was.

“See kid, too trusting. It’s going to bite you in the aft one day, just you wait.”

K.O.- Knock Out - had even warned him. Smokescreen wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Strangely enough, neither option felt particularly worthwhile. 

He wanted to feel worse about it. He wanted to be angry; he wanted to be hurt; he wanted to feel the acidic sting betrayal…but all Smokescreen felt was sympathy and sorrow. Even if Knock Out was playing him this whole time, the mech still lost his partner. Smokescreen could still remember the pain in his field, the ire, the isolation, the loneliness. Knock Out may have fabricated his relationship with Smokescreen, but his feelings for his partner, for Breakdown , had been real and earnest. 

“You think he knows?” Smokescreen finally asked. Last time they had talked, Knock Out didn't know where his partner was at all. No one else had seemed to even care. 

“You know what’s funny? You are the first one to offer, to even ask.”

“If Knock Out didn’t before, he is most definitely aware now,” Bulkhead grimaced. “I’m sure the ‘cons are dealing with it as we speak.”

“At least, he can give him funeral rites.” 

Smokescreen remembered reading about them all. Each city had its own traditions from the flypasts of Vos to ceremonial recordings of Iacon. Whatever the city, they all boiled down to the same thing: a time for mourning and remembrance. Surely, Decepticons would still uphold those values. Especially in regards to fallen partners. 

Bulkhead laughed, surprisingly jovial despite the grotesque monstrosity they had witnessed. “I’m sure Knock Out will give Silas and Breakdown what they deserve.” Upon seeing Smokescreen’s confusion, Bulkhead leaned in. “Knock Out is a possessive, controlling, selfish glitch. If anyone was going to give Silas righteous punishment, then it’ll be that horrible, violent chop-shop medic.”

Smokescreen grimaced. He tried to imagine Knock Out as an evil surgeon, saw in servo and manic glee in his optics. Instead, all he saw was a lonely mech, crushed with a loss Smokescreen hoped he would never understand. 

“You think it’ll help him?”

Bulkhead raised an optic ridge, meeting Smokescreen’s gaze for the first time since this conversation began. “Should we care?”

It was a pointed question, asking something deeper than the words stated. Smokescreen simply shrugged, ducking his helm. 

“Doesn’t make what happened right.”

Bulkhead’s field softened. A heavy servo made its way to Smokescreen’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. 

“No, it doesn’t. Breakdown was a lot of things but he never deserved that. No one does. And as horrible as Knock Out is, they were close.” Bulkhead gave his shoulder another squeeze. “Ain’t much we can do about it. At least, despite everything Knock Out is, he’ll put Breakdown to rest. I have got no doubts about that.”

Smokescreen nodded his helm as silence came once more. His spark still hurt. He could hear Knock Out’s words echoing in his helm.

“He’s not dead.”

Knock Out had been so sure, so furious at even the mere suggestion. He must be devastated. 

Smokescreen wished there was a way he could contact Knock Out. Even if they were to never meet again, to just let him know he was sorry for everything. He knew his words were meaningless. 

 “I don’t need your sympathies .”

Nothing he could say would make things right. Nothing he could do would turn back time. Nothing he had to offer would fix what was beyond repair. And even if he had the chance to see Knock Out again, Smokescreen had the sinking suspicion the red speedster would be on the other side of enemy lines.


Rage could only carry him for so long. Knock Out peered down at the parasite living in the husk with his partner with complete and utter disgust. 

Oh, he had been more than tempted to cut the infestation away. The buzzing urge beneath his plating to take the rotary saw and cut and cut and cut until it was all removed. He considered disposal by fire, burning away any lasting attempts the disease may have to survive. The airlock was also tempting. Rumor had it the flesh bags didn’t dwell too well in the cold grasp of space.

Revenge, however, kept his servos at bay. If the human got to see what the inner components of a Cybertronian really were, it was only fair Knock Out was allowed reciprocal exploration of the organic frame and there were many, many tests to run.

What was the earthly saying? “What’s yours is mine, body and soul.” Well, the soul was the human’s spark and Breakdown’s was long gone and snatched away. But Knock Out still had ownership of the body and all it possessed. A stale kindness from Megatron after accepting this gruesome nightmare into their fold.

The very thought of it burned in Knock Out’s spark chamber. Megatron had allowed this festering sickness into their rank, welcomed it with open arms while it puppeteered Breakdown’s corpse in a sick and twisted mimicry of life. Megatron had left Breakdown for dead before, and hadn't even been concerned when he had gone missing again. No one had. No one had even spared him a second thought. Only Knock Out.

“Want to look for him? I could help! I know the area pretty good and two mechs are better than one.”

And a lone, foolish Autobot.

Knock Out could still feel Smokescreen’s field, too honest and earnest in his emotions. He can’t help but wonder if he took the kid up on his offer if things may have been different. Emphatically, he knew that was not true. The human’s integration into the Cybertronian form was weeks old. By the time Smokescreen had offered, Breakdown was already gone. He would have been too late either way, but at least then he would have had agency. He wouldn’t have had to watch the corpse of his partner ambulate and move. He could have ripped out the pathetic, weak flesh and blood spark right then and there and then-

And then.

Knock Out felt a full body tremor rake through his frame, his plating shuddering. He was alone either way. 

“You have me too.”

The overly optimistic and earnest image of Smokescreen centered in his processor. He’d only see the naive little Autobot in his root mode once, but he could picture it well enough. Classic Paxian frame with every idealistic Autobot propaganda drenched in his processor. 

According to Silas, Smokescreen had aided good Ol’ Bulkhead in sending him to his defeat. Knock Out wondered if the kid had realized who he was yet. For all his naivety, Smokescreen was smarter than he gave himself credit for. Foolish and perhaps a tad too excitable, sure, but once he took a moment to think, Smokescreen would piece it all together and then…well, he definitely couldn’t continue meeting with the kid now. 

If he turned up now, he’d surely find Arcee or Bulkhead waiting for him instead. Or worse, Smokescreen would be waiting with yet another offer to join the Autobots. He could hear him now, feel his warm field of genuine sympathy. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Knock Out let out a hollow, empty laugh. 

It echoed in his lonely medbay. Knock Out had temporarily gotten used to the still quiet during Breakdown’s disappearance, but now that Breakdown’s absence was permanent , the silence was unbearable. Gone was the deep rumble of a warm, familiar engine; absent were the deep laughs and the gruff words, the whispered jokes and the murmuring of sweet nothings. Nothing remained of his partner, except his shell, tainted and destroyed at the hands of meddling skinjobs. 

They should have never landed on his vile planet, just ignored Starscream’s call and continued gallivanting across the stars. Breakdown had suggested it once, a quiet midnight musing about maybe taking off on their own and fending for themselves. Knock Out had waved it away instantly. The protection and security of the Decepticons was too great an offer to pass out. How foolish he had been to put trust into that. 

“That naivety of yours is going to get you killed.”

He should have heeded his own advice. Instead of getting himself killed, it-

Knock Out stopped that train of thought immediately, shuttering his optics and forcing air to cycle through his vents. 

It didn’t matter anymore. 

Nothing did.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think and as always, feel free to come say hi on tumblr @noodleblade

Chapter 5: Hazard Lights

Summary:

He had…come to terms with the concept of having to face the Decepticons and not always having the odds in his favor. With the number of Autobots versus the Decepticons forces, it was never really going to be anything but an underdog story. He had even thought about facing Megatron head on; admittedly, maybe even foolishly, dreamed of it as a victorious one on one battle for the ages.

Smokescreen hadn’t wanted to consider any circumstance where he’d have to meet Knock Out in the field. He knew there was no way he could avoid it, but he wished it didn’t have to be here, on the exam table with Megatron’s crazed optics watching.

Notes:

aha...its been...a bit since i've posted D:

please enjoy!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Bright, beaming lights enveloped Smokescreen as he came to. His processor ached, programs scrambling to come back online and desperate to properly reboot. His optics struggled to adjust to the harsh light, blinding him for a moment, before they refocused and reality set in. 

Red optics stared at him back; firmly pressed lip plates only accentuating the sharpness of the mech before him. His frame was all jagged edges and slicing angles. His gaze was just as cutting.

“Wakey, wakey,” the mech purred, flashing a deadly smile. 

The mech’s plating was pristine: shiny, white faceplates with red armored kibble shimmering under the heavy flood lights of what appeared to be…a medbay?

Panic set in as Smokescreen attempted to sit up but found himself bound to a medberth, thick shackles holding him flat against the icy slab. He struggled for a moment, pulling and tugging at his bonds in the hopes they’d snap off. It was a futile effort, but with the phase shifter he could-

Smokescreen blinked and his optics darted down to find his wrist bare and empty of the borrowed Iacon relic he had laid claim to. 

The red mech snorted. “If you’re looking for your phase shifter-” a clawed servo dangled in front of Smokescreen’s vision, displaying the relic in the same way Miko showed off her newest rubber band bracelets “-finder’s keepers.”

Recognition tickled at the back of his processor. The mech before him sounded familiar, the red plating too similar to that of a…speedy racer. Dismay coiled in Smokescreen’s chest as he tried his bonds once more. He shook his helm to dispel the thought, closing his eyes. If he couldn’t see it, it couldn’t be real.

This was a dream- no, a nightmare . False, all the same. It had to be. 

There was no evil torture chamber medbay. There was no mocking, sneering Decepticon stealing his friend’s voice. He was going to wake up safe and sound at the Autobot base. 

Smokescreen shuttered his optics tight, only to open them a nano-klik later to see the same scene as before: sterile, unfamiliar medbay and red optic mech looking down at him with a curious quirk of his optic ridge. He did not appear to be too impressed with Smokescreen’s reaction.

Before the red mech could taunt him again, heavy pede steps alerted Smokescreen to another’s presence just to his left. Any remaining hope of his situation evaporated as Megatron stepped forward. The warlord’s dark energon infused optics were lit with excitement. 

Smokescreen had never actually seen Megatron in the metal before and the holovids and photos didn’t do the sheer size of the mech justice nor did it come close to replicating the imposing aura radiating off him as he glowered at Smokescreen. If he could, Smokescreen would have shrunk down to hunker deeper into his armor, but faced with no other choice, he kept his chin raised and forced his plating to not tremble.

“Enough prattling, Knock Out,” Megatron snarled as he stalked forward.

The confirmation of the name was the final nail in the coffin. Smokescreen didn’t quite hear what he said next, his helm snapping to the other mech. 

Cool optics stared right back at him. There was no warmth in his gaze, nor malicious glee. If anything, he looked scared, as if it were his own frame strapped to the medberth. Smokescreen knew better than to beg and plead, but he suspected even if he did, there was no chance he would receive any mercy from the mech before him. This was no longer the neutrality of an empty road, no longer two mechs alone with no one watching but the stars above. The illusion was firmly shattered and there was no way Smokescreen could lie to himself anymore. 

He had…come to terms with the concept of having to face the Decepticons and not always having the odds in his favor. With the number of Autobots versus the Decepticons forces, it was never really going to be anything but an underdog story. He had even thought about facing Megatron head on; admittedly, maybe even foolishly, dreamed of it as a victorious one on one battle for the ages. 

Smokescreen hadn’t wanted to consider any circumstance where he’d have to meet Knock Out in the field. He knew there was no way he could avoid it, but he wished it didn’t have to be here, on the exam table with Megatron’s crazed optics watching. 

Knock Out stepped back as Megatron came closer, demanding with a snarl where the other relic was. Smokescreen barely had the processing power to hear his demands, too stunned by having to face the mech he had once considered a friend. His first- and the way things were going with the Autobots -and only friend. 

It hit him, in that moment, that Smokescreen had never seen K.O.- Knock Out -in his root mode. He’d always stayed in his vehicle mode and Smokescreen had simply followed suit after his stupid, stupid introduction. Seeing him now, his processor could easily see the transformation seams that would allow him to shift into the sleek racer he’d grown to recognize. 

He was pulled from his stupor as his captor came to view. Soundwave stood sentry as his visor flickered Smokescreen’s frame specs and a detailed diagram of his inner systems, a red shape appearing over his abdomen. It was becoming all too much to process. 

“Remove it swiftly,” Megatron hissed at Knock Out.

Smokescreen watched in complete and utter panic as the red medic raised his servo. The glittering plating pulled back and what had once been the medic’s clawed servo was a buzzing rotary saw. Suddenly, Bulkhead’s “chop shop medic” comment made a whole lot more sense. Terrifyingly so. 

He…he’s going to cut me open, Smokescreen swallowed the ball of static in his intake as those horrible, red optics turned on him. Less than two weeks ago, they had been laughing together, racing together, sharing stories with each other, connecting and now…now…

“With pleasure,” Knock Out practically laughed as he turned towards Smokescreen. “I do so resent a finish flashier than my own.”

The rotary blade hovered over Smokescreen’s chest, inching closer and closer as the mech above him smiled down on him wickedly. Smokescreen looked up imploringly. 

Where was the mech that had given him advice to protect himself? Where was the mech that offered him kindness, friendship? Was it truly all a ruse? All for nothing?

Knock Out’s optics were boring into his own, all sharp and cutting like the very saw he wielded. A small flicker of emotion flashed across the medic’s optics, his violent glee turning into something more…hesitant. It was brief, barely there, before the smirk was back in full throttle, violence and mirth radiating in heavy, opposing waves across Knock Out’s field. Smokescreen shuttered his optics, turning his helm away as he braced himself for pain.

It never came. 

Smokescreen looked up just in time to see Knock Out pull back, the saw disappearing and his clawed servo once again appearing as he flexed his digits. Confusion and a tiny, pitiful beat of hope bloomed in Smokescreen’s chassis.

“Ha, made you squirm,” Knock Out looked over at him with a smirk.

Then, demonstratively, Knock Out raised his servo and activated the phase shifter, letting his other hand slide through his plating. His red optics raised and locked with Smokescreen’s as understanding settled over him. No pain, no cutting. A small mercy. A kindness not often granted for the chop shop medic of the Decepticon forces. 

Smokescreen felt conflicted, going lax as Knock Out reached inside him. It was uncomfortable but he tried not to move too much as the medic felt around for whatever they were looking for

Smokescreen’s optics widened as a triumphant grin crossed Knock Out’s face and he pulled out- slag, what is that? - a large object. Meatron snatched it from Knock Out’s hands as soon as it was fully out of Smokescreen, demanding what it was. 

 Smokescreen didn’t know, didn’t have a goddamn idea how it had gotten inside him . He looked around pleading for any answers but found none as the Decepticons before him discussed various ways to get him to speak. Smokescreen was once again reminded he was alone here, no friends, no allies, nothing. 

The decision of a cortical psychic patch was determined and Smokescreen had little say as the Decepticon got to work, treating him nothing more than an object for their use. Megatron left as Knock Out began to prepare for the connection.

“It’ll be better if you don’t fight it,” Knock Out said as he unspooled the lengthy cable, digits toying with the head of the connector. “You don’t want to fight Megatron in this.”

Why should you care? Smokescreen wanted to ask. 

Instead, he kept his lip plates shut as Knock Out pulled his helm forward to access the port at the base of his cranium. The medic was…surprisingly gentle through the entire process. It was such a sharp contrast with the biting comments and dangerous smiles of only a few kliks ago.

“Just show him what he wants and it’ll be over quickly.”

Once the cable was secured, Knock Out released Smokescreen’s head and moved to the connecting console. Smokescreen just watched. The medic looked…tired as he worked the console. Gone was the manic smile and simpering remarks. All the performance and bravado had left him as soon as Megatron and Soundwave left. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Smokescreen blinked at the bitter twist of Knock Out’s lip plates. 

“Like what?” Smokescreen returned.

“Like I betrayed you or something.” Smokescreen stared, unsure what to say. Knock Out’s denta were chewing at his bottom lip as he stabbed at the keyboard a few more times. “Look, Kid,” he sighed, optics locked with Smokescreen’s, “this wasn’t how I pictured seeing you again.”

Smokescreen wanted to laugh or scream or something

“But you knew it would happen at some point, right?” Smokescreen asked, desperately searching the Decepticon for something, anything , remotely like kindness, friendship. 

Surely, it had crossed the speedster’s mind that their false friendship wouldn’t last forever. In all their talks, Knock Out had been the realist, shooting down every one of Smokescreen’s optimistic and hopeful hypotheticals. He had known who Smokescreen was from the beginning , he knew there was an expiration date to their meetings, their races. Knock Out had held all the cards from the very beginning. 

He was only met with a blank face and a nonchalant shrug. “I just thought I would have a bit longer to play pretend.”

A thousand questions collected at the tip of Smokescreen’s glossa. He didn’t get a chance to ask them as the doors to the medbay opened and Megatron returned. 


Smokescreen watched in real time as the realization of his position registered to Knock Out, crimson optics dropping to the phase shifted firmly attached to Smokescreen’s shiny white wrist instead of his own crimson one. The medic struggled briefly but quickly realized it was futile. He was trapped in the wall, only able to watch in dismay. 

“Out played,” Smokescreen grinned cocksure and relieved . He could do this! He could escape!

His joy was brief as his smile quickly faltered as his optics made contact with Knock Out’s piercing red. Any pride at winning against the Decepticons crumbled instantly upon realizing that Decepticons also included Knock Out…and he still wasn’t sure how to reconcile with them being on opposing sides; what he was also losing now that the line in the sand was real. 

Not that their friendship was sustainable, or even as deep as he wanted to think. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and yet, it still hurt to think it was over now. 

“‘Should scamper off before someone finds you. Even worse, if it’s Soundwave,” Knock Out snapped, words sharp but optics guarded. 

Smokescreen bobbed his helm but his pedes still refused to move. A sea of emotions swelled in his chassis and he knew the chances of him and Knock Out ever having a real conversation again was minimal to none. He should leave and forget the few weeks of their comradery. He should move along and get out while he had the chance. 

I just thought I would have a bit longer to play pretend.

“You know-” Smokescreen ignored the nagging voices in his helm “-if you ever want to try the winning side, I’ll vouch for ya.”

Knock Out blinked, his field slipping for a moment to reflect genuine confusion but tightening back up, lip plates curling into a smirk. “Make no mistake, Autobot, winning a battle doesn’t win you the war.”

“I’m not the one stuck in a wall,” Smokescreen countered. 

Down the hall he could hear the rushing of pedesteps coming towards him. His time was up. He looked down the opposite way and readied himself to make his dashing escape. However, he had one last thing to say. 

“I’m sorry,” Smokescreen murmured, tentatively brushing his field in earnest empathy. “Your partner deserved better.”

Knock Out said nothing as Smokeacreen turned and darted off. No last taunting remark, no snide grin. Nothing, but downcast optics and pressed tight lip plates. 

Defeating the enemy was supposed to feel good . Victory was supposed to taste sweet. But all he felt as he slipped past the rushing Decepticon tropes was the bitter taste of loss and its lingering chill.


Knock Out stared at the disastrous state of his medbay. The kid had managed to cause quite a mess in his brief stay. He could still hear the echoes of Megatron’s rage in losing their autobot hostage and key. Knock Out himself still felt the ache of humiliation at being left as an example in the wall for the entire cycle that followed. His once respected position on the ship had all but faded away to nothing but mockery. 

Knock Out was only slightly surprised by how indifferent he felt about Smokescreen’s flashy escape. It was hard to think about the consequences of losing the phase shifter and omega key when the kid’s words kept replaying in his helm.

I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry .

Leave it to the shiny optic’d and naive autobot brat to be the only mech to even care. 

Everyone else remained passive. The most consideration he’d been given was free range over Breakdown’s body and the vile human parasite that resided in it. Megatron had as much decency as to let him have that after allowing that flesh bag to puppeteer his partner like some horrific marionette, to masquerade as Breakdown with no consideration for the mech that once inhabited the frame. 

Knock Out wasn’t sure he could ever really let that go, but he knew better than to expect anything more from Megatron or the other Decepticons. He knew where they all stood now. Every single mech aboard the Nemesis had been more than happy to act as if his partner had never existed, never walked the halls, never shared their energon. Even the sheer mention of Breakdown was met with nothing more than a vague nod of acknowledgement. Smokescreen, who’d never even met Breakdown, never even knew his designation, never even-

It doesn’t matter. 

Sliding down to the floor, Knock Out leaned his back against the overturned slab. He felt little motivation to righting the room, little desire to do anything else but sit and wait for his next order to come. Losing the phase shift in such a humiliating fashion had been a blow to his pride, but it was nothing in comparison to knowing he had lost his little racing buddy. He hadn’t realized how… attached he had become to his autobot friend.

Friend

Knock Out sneered to himself. Maybe it was for the best; the kid was rubbing off on him. A Decepticon making friends with anyone, especially an Autobot was laughable. It would serve him no purpose. Cutting off ties now was his safest position. 

Still, he would miss having someone to race against, a safe place to spin his wheels and talk without worry about being overheard or entrapped by his own words. As much as the kid may have gleaned from their talks, Knock Out knew there was no way he would spill the contents of their conversations if the Autobots would ever become privy. He would be painted just as guilty by simple association. 

I’ll vouch for ya!

Such a sweet and naive offer. He doubted the kid had much standing in the Autobots with being so new, but he couldn’t deny the warming of his spark in the earnestness of the gesture. No one had cared about Knock Out like that since…

Yeah. 

Breakdown would have loved the kid.

Notes:

Thanks for reading :3 hopefully the last bit doesn't take a year and a half to get to you guys but no promises!!!<3

Notes:

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