Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were fucked.

Not the typical fucked, no, this was the grandmaster of all fucks. So fucked that, if you were to put it in traditional, more carnal terms, you'd be fornicating with the devil.

One could hardly call you "traditional." You loved to stir the pot, as they say, even if you were damn sure you shouldn't be allowed in any metaphorical (or literal) kitchen. You wouldn't go so far as to call yourself a contrarian—people who couldn't go with the flow even if the fucking Nile sat there and begged them to were high on your list of undesirables. But alas, you thrived off a good conflict like a plant takes to a good fertilizer; like said plant you were full of shit, feeling real tall, and you've got a pretty good chance of being carnivorous.

"Care to tell me why you, before the goddamn sun was up, decided to rob a convenience store of all its whiskey?"

As the officer worked his brow between rough, calloused fingers, his tired, damn near bloodshot eyes regarded you with barely disguised contempt. You learned long ago to sit and bear it—rude looks became your ally long ago. To know you really, really got to someone, bothered them down to their very core, disturbed them with every ounce of your existence? Well, you found yourself smiling like it was third grade picture day. All innocence, all teeth, and not a care in the world.

You provided the best explanation you could.

"No ablah engless?"

"No hablo inglés," the officer corrected with an exasperated eye roll, his brow working turning into brow pummeling rather quickly.

Huh. New record.

"Rather interesting, considering you had a whole lot of colorful English vocabulary at your disposal during your arrest. Your arrest that you, if I may remind you, resisted to the point of damn near sedation. When will you realize," he slammed his hands down onto the table for emphasis, "this isn't a fucking joke anymore!"

I don't know, I'm finding this to be pretty damn hilarious.

"Assault, petty theft, public indecency," the latter caused you to just barely restrain a snort, "I'm doing the best I can to keep you out of prison but you're giving me just about no other option. Do you know what your family would've said to you now? What horror you'd see in their eyes, after all you've managed to do?"

There it was, the big shebang: the obligatory tug on your empathy strings. But for better or worse, those were cut and burned a long, long time ago. Empathy as a whole was a foreign concept to you, even before you became a "bad person." Where other children cried, you stared. Where other teenagers loved and lived, you stood motionless. Where other adults planned, created, and maintained, you lay a victim of horrors of your own creation, an intricate web of failure after failure and inadequacy after inadequacy until you were surely stuck like the idiot fly you were.

It wasn't entirely your fault.

People loved to call you that magical ten letter word: narcissist. It took all of your withering self restraint to not smack the smirk off their face, to tell them that "no, asshole, a narcissist isn't a quirky little synonym for someone you don't like. It's a serious fucking condition, one that deserves to be destigmatized like all the others." Then you'd follow up with, "I think more highly of myself than your average person, but that's because I know I'm the best. I have to be. If I'm not perfect, I don't live. I'm perfectly imperfect, imperfectly perfect, so yeah, maybe I am a narcissist. Maybe I am a bad person. Maybe I was the asshole all along. Maybe…"

Maybe you'd be better off leaving the rest of that out.

"This is your final, and I mean final, clean slate. I might lose my fucking job over this but you're sick in the head, we both know that. You're gonna be sent to a facility one last time, and if you don't start shaping up? That's the end of the line for you."

"Why, thank you, officer! Truly," you went the whole nine yards, fluttering eyelashes and all, "I am beyond grateful."

You respected mental health facilities. No, you adored them. To set out and do your best to make life better for even the most dangerous, the most misunderstood? That took guts, compassion, and a whole lot of patience.

Not all facilities are created equal. If you're born white and rich and just happen to get a little too honest about your depression with your physician, you get sent somewhere with painted walls with the handprints of all your friends along with eye-bleedingly bright rainbows, cute clothes, group meditation, reasonable and kind medication practices, compassionate staff…note the "white and rich."

You were neither.

You've been poor as shit for as far as you can recall being aware of money and its uses in everyday life, and you certainly weren't pale. You were born into a world that, when given the chance to go to a cop with either a loaded gun or some melanin, many would choose the gun. Luckily (note the sarcasm) for you, biology chose the melanin, told you to go fuck yourself, and here you were on your way to a cruel hybrid of police custody and mental health institution. Because go fucking figure.

They had injected you with a sort of sedative, but where you expected exhaustion you felt excruciating pain. Your head hurt, far too much. Your wrists ached against cold, unforgiving metal cuffs, sharp edges threatening to break skin with even the slightest of movements. Your seatbelt within the inmate transport vehicle you currently rode in had been tossed over you haphazardly—a tit out here, your neck out there, it was like a bad game of hokey pokey. You put your left tit in, you put your left tit out, you see the car start to spin, and you're shaken all about—

No. This was no laughing matter. You're funny as hell, your little song took you to a better place for a moment, but the familiar road down to the facility was still the same.

Better "shape up," huh? What a bunch of horseshit.

There is no "shaping up" for me. I can't keep myself away from a bottle to save my life. Away from any harmful substance, actually. It's all so alluring, all so tempting, to say fuck it to all biology and test my fate. I can't stay out of trouble because god fucking damnit trouble comes crying to me like I'm its mother. I don't give a damn about this world or the people in it, but everyone for a good fifty mile radius thinks I should. Thinks I can.

"I'm doing the best I can for you"?

The best anyone can do for me is to let me die.

At least, that's what was going through your head before it all. Remember your dumb little song about the car spinning, being shaken all about? It became all too real in a matter of seconds. As you began counting the trees off sheer boredom alone, a dark violet car rode up against the transport vehicle—far too close, far too fast. Their (likely illegal) black tinted windows reflected only your own fear as they rammed into you, the sound of screeching metal clawing its way through your senses as the vehicle began to spin.

Your driver barked out something to an assistant, something to an officer, something to whatever god he prayed would save him, but you'd never know what was said for as long as you'll live.

It was just two popped tires—two loud pops and it's all it took for the world to turn upside down, rapidly blurred colors of the world rippling and fading as the vehicle flipped. You couldn't tell what was up, what was down, how to breathe, who caused any of this—as the vehicle came to its final orientation on its roof, all you could hear was the ringing in your own ears, your blood rushing through your head and likely out of your body, and a loud, harsh set of whirs coming from some sort of machinery. You were soon bathed in a red light, squinted eyes shutting against its painful luminance. Oh, how your head hurt. Far, far too much.

"The target has been collected, Commander. Awaiting further instructions."

What the absolute fuck?

And then it all went dark.

You, according to absolutely every sense of the word, were fucked.

Chapter Text

"Awaiting further instructions."

Your eyes flung open. Stumbling to your feet like a newborn deer, you struggled to find your footing; it was as if your legs weren't your own and your body as a whole was borrowed.

Something had to be wrong. You weren't sure what happened, but some nagging feeling told you that you should've been in far worse shape, not off wandering around in…goddamnit, where were you again? Why couldn't you get your head straight?

Daring to look around, you didn't find much further information. It was all white, almost pristine and pure—surely this isn't where you think it is. You surely cannot be dead, and there was no fucking way you'd be headed to heaven if you were.

If you were dead, it was only a matter of time before the big guy himself showed you downstairs…but said time never occurred. Your hesitant steps turned to broad strides until slowly, carefully, hesitantly, you found your bearings.

Here's what we do know: I'm in some white purgatory, I'm pain free, and I can't speak for some reason. Am I breathing? I hope I'm breathing. And just beyond arm's reach is an edge of some sort…is that where all this ends?

Here's what we don't know: everything else.

The decision almost made itself. You were getting nowhere in a hurry by standing around. So slowly, carefully, hesitantly, you peered over the edge.

There was nothing. Absolutely, indefinitely, indubitably, nothing. An inky, ominous blackness stretched out across the horizon and everything beyond it, almost calling to you somehow. Beckoning. Moaning. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

With movements that surely were not your own, you went tumbling off the edge, winds rippling through your hair as you plummeted towards certain doom.

The doom was screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming.

You were screaming.

"Will someone please," a male voice akin to scraping metal shouted, "shut that thing up?!"

"That thing, Starscream, is exactly the item Lord Megatron demanded that you retrieve. And I'll be scrapped if I let his highness's most prized possession offline under our care!"

Starscream, huh. Sure lives up to his namesake.

You were still screaming. Agony tore through your frail body, every one of your muscle fibers seemingly snapping under the immense pressure. Your heart raced so fast you could hardly consider it a heartbeat anymore. No, this was a rapid, deafening percussion, some crack-fueled drummer performing right on your entire nervous system.

Briefly, you questioned if you would've preferred hell instead.

A sharp pinch in your right shoulder put a swift end to your morbid, near suicidal thoughts, a jolt running through your nerves as your body did some sort of factory reset. And finally, for the first time since you regained consciousness, you could breathe.

"Finally…see? This is why you don't bother with organics. All they do is pump repulsive substances into their systems, sickening fumes through their vents, and don't even get me started with all the scrap they shove up their—"

You opened your eyes.

Chaos ensued. Your captor, a twenty one foot tall goddamn robot, jumped back as if it were a one foot tall kitten, its armor (or whatever it was covered in) flared in alarm as it looked at you in horror. Another one of your captors, a twenty five foot tall also goddamn robot with gigantic wings coming out of its back, rolled its eyes with thinly veiled contempt for its compatriot.

Great, you noted with a frown, I'm not even conscious. I'm hallucinating.

"Lovely. Just perfect," you said, voice strained and raw. Putting forth little care for your body—you don't feel pain in most dreams anyways—you got up. Your clothes held on stiffly against your weary limbs, hard and sticky from being so saturated in your own blood. It may have been a dream, but you could've sworn you felt real wounds pulling at your flesh, real pain in your movements. But that was just your imagination. "Last time it was some demon with twelve eyes and seven mouths. Now it's giant talking freaks, looking like something out of an 80s cartoon."

As you found yourself upon a large, far larger than humanly necessary metallic table of some sorts, an idea crawled into your brain and made its home right in the "idiotic plans" neighborhood. Sauntering over to the edge, you began to chuckle. "Maybe if I die in this dream too, I'll finally wake up," you guessed under your breath.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Starscream, you guessed by the shrill voice, shrieked in response to your carelessness. But it was all too little too late—off you went, tumbling off the edge with your smug smile well intact.

I'll go splatter on the floor or whatever, wake up, and find myself in that institution or whatever. Not a pretty end, but anything to be back in the real world. I don't do weird fantasies.

Wow, talk about a long way down. Any minute now…is it just me, or is that floor getting awfully close?

Realization and horror hit you like a truck—either your dreams learned how to make feelings real, or you were actually falling. And judging by your dreams' inability to even create a coherent scenario, you imagined it was the latter. Thus, you found yourself screaming again.

Shit fuck fuck fuck shit this is really it, isn't it? I lost my mind I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna—

Thunk!

You were positive you were headed towards the ground. You had already written a mental will, signed off all your possessions (as if you had any), and said goodbye to this cruel world. But, as your eyes dared peek at your surely bloody demise, you found yourself on a warm metallic surface instead. It couldn't have been completely metal, because it was almost soft under the touch. Not quite soft, not quite supple, but comfortable.

You opened your eyes fully, thanking whatever powers that be that you've been permitted another day to live.

"Thank god…"

"Your gratitude belongs not to your 'god,' but," you were suddenly turned around, finding yourself face to face with ruby red eyes and a shark-like grin, "to me." You inhaled to begin screaming again, only for your captor (how many captors would there be?) to nearly squeeze the life out of you, talons clenched around what was left of your ribs. Your injuries finally became apparent to you now that you were sure you were alive—every heartbeat burned through your veins, your head was on fire, you dripped blood with every movement, and as the last of your oxygen was wrung from your body, your vision began to go, too.

Then, just as quick as it came, it ended. The terrifying beast carrying you let up its grip for just a moment, bold, heartless eyes looking you up and down for a moment. Scanning you, almost. It surely saw your wounds, unkempt hair, bloodshot eyes and eyebags combined with a drooling mouth gasping for sweet, sweet oxygen—weren't you gorgeous.

"In order to preserve what remains of your pathetic lifespan, I suggest you explain why it is that you chose to end your life."

"Well," you gulped down just enough air to speak, "I was sure I was hallucinating. If I ended it all here, I'd wake up, but…here I am. Here you are. I'm surrounded by fucking robots." As your injuries, exacerbated by nearly being crushed like a soda can, screamed in pain, you grew a bit more cocky. "I suggest you explain why it is that you chose to end mine."

"I did no such thing. But let me make myself very clear," it punctuated its point by pressing the very top of its thumb against your cheek, the sharp point digging in not enough to gouge out your flesh, but more than enough to make you bleed, "if this were any other scenario, that'd remain very much an option."

You were thrown rather carelessly back onto the table, like a disobedient kitten being scruffed by its owner. Like said kitten, you longed to scratch. To absolutely maim these things, to see how and if they bled. All in revenge for how they treated you, as if you were some lesser being. But, as you were no threat to a fruit fly in your current state, you opted to sit your ass down instead.

"What am I here for? You guys gonna eat me, is that it?"

"I barely want your disgusting protoform on my hands, let alone my tanks," the first robot, one with a blindingly bright and clean red finish, huffed. "Your planet's good for a handful of things, and its choice in dominant species certainly isn't one of them!"

"Great," you felt yourself begin to panic once more, "they're aliens. Of course they're fucking—"

"You, most esteemed guest," the largest robot addressed you with as much sarcasm as it he could muster, "possess something that belongs to me. Why you managed to ingest such a thing is beyond my comprehension, but there is one thing that's for certain: I require you alive. And no matter how much pain you are caused, no matter how determined you are to end your little stay with us, I will not be losing out on my prize."

"Whatever you're looking for, I don't have it, man. I've got nothing to my name but the clothes on my back, unless you want those, too."

"What I require," a long, terrifying talon brushed against your chest, right over your heart, "lies within."

"So you want my tits."

Today was going to be a long, long day.

Chapter Text

"Your…tits," your metal overlord put the term very, very gently, "whatever those might be, are not what I'm looking for."

If you could laugh in this situation, you would. You would absolutely guffaw, considering this is likely as ridiculous as it gets. Big alien shark, literal kidnapping, you accidentally tried to kill yourself, you were losing your mind and likely far, far too much blood—you opted for a humorless huff of air instead, breathless with shock. "Then," you were afraid to raise your voice by a singular decibel, "what is it?"

"Your…energy. Your life force. Your blood."

Great. Not only was he an alien shark, but he was a VAMPIRE alien shark.

"I'm no different from any other human! Sure, humanity sucks ass, but we all bleed red! There's gotta be some other lowlife out there, on death row or something, that surely won't be missed."

You clamped your mouth shut with an audible click. Would I even be missed? What if I'm the meaningless lowlife?

Clearly, the titan's patience was running very thin very fast. In a flurry of frustration, he turned to Starscream with a pointed talon. "You, stop dawdling. Knock Out," he turned to the cherry red coward, "get our guest up to speed."

And just like that, he was gone, Starscream trailing not far behind. Leaving just you, terrified, breathless, still bleeding, positively spiraling you—and a gigantic alien beast that was afraid to even touch you. Said beast lowered himself down to your level, red and black eyes (optics? Probably. They were robots, might as well address them as such) narrowing at you. They spiraled and readjusted in likely millions, if not billions, of precise movements and calculations in a fraction of a second.

Wow, you thought, full of wonder, I'm basic as hell.

"You," Knock Out spat out the word as if it were a curse, "are not to touch anything. You are not to talk about anything. You're hardly allowed to even look at anything. Do I make myself clear?"

Crystal, you thought with a smile, yeah right. You owe me info, you sorry excuse for a discount Kool-Aid Man.

"Of course! Though," you thought, putting on a face of mock innocence, "doesn't that go against 'get our guest up to speed'?" You ended your point with a saccharine smile, causing Knock Out's faceplates to scrunch up in disgust. In just a short time, you were almost positive that you were item number one on his kill list.

With a long, exaggerated sigh, he gave in.

"Remove your frame covering."

If you could've passed out then and there, you would have.

"This is humiliating," you complained for the thousandth time, the cold air of the med bay not just nipping, but devouring your flesh. Goosebumps prickled up anywhere they could as you attempted to cover up anything and everything possible—you could only manage half a nipple and most of your crotch, but that was better than nothing.

Meanwhile, Knock Out poked and prodded you with something that must've been the size of a coffee stirrer to him, but a giant metallic bat to you. Amidst your humiliation, your injuries still remained—likely from the crash, if your fleeting memories were accurate. Your entire midsection was haphazardly scraped and cut, your neck and chest taking the brunt of the damage. Your legs on the other hand, were much worse for wear. Your flesh was all but gouged out, making the fact that you hadn't bled out yet downright miraculous.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Your protoform was disgusting even with the frame covering."

"Gee, thanks. I'm flattered, really."

"It's what I do best. So," Knock Out gestured to your left arm, which was inflamed with visible red veins underneath your skin, "I'm no human physician, but I'm going to assume that's not supposed to be there."

You…hadn't noticed that before now. Well, that was alarming.

"Figured," Knock Out guessed by your pale expression, "you were injected with a substance called red energon."

You were no chemistry major, but you figured you'd have a hard time finding that on the periodic table. "Red energon," you echoed, unable to take your eyes off of your arm. "Will it kill me?"

"Statistically, it already should have. Truly unfortunate…we had been tracking the vial of it. Just small enough for a Minicon, possibly the last bit of it on this miserable planet—mixed up in your medical supplies and wasted on insignificant little you. Never tell me the odds!" Knock Out continued prodding as if he hadn't just changed your life with one statement, tilting your head this way and that before moving to lift your arm.

"Don't touch that!" You snapped, just barely avoiding an untimely demise as Knock Out jolted in surprise. "Do you want me to decapitate you?! Why in the world can't I lift your arm? I'm checking for signs of energon poisoning or worse, you know!"

"It's covering me up!"

"Oh, boo hoo. You already bled out on my operating table, don't get shy now." Through brute force, Knock Out lifted your arms despite your kicks and screams of protest. Now that you think about it, all the kicking and screaming may have shown him just about everything you were trying to cover…

"Intriguing. Those same energon lines—"

"Veins."

"Those same veins, smartaft, follow through over the rest of your flesh. I assumed the energon had localized itself in your arm, where it was injected, but instead it spread throughout the rest of your body. But instead of killing you instantly, like it certainly should've, you seem to be thriving off it."

"Thriving? You're calling my pounding headache, bulging veins, and near dozens of panic attacks thriving?"

"Are you bleeding?"

"I…" You paused to survey your still exposed body, finding your wounds to be clearing up in record time. Typically, you'd scar easy. Just a scraped knee had the potential to leave a permanent scar on you if you didn't watch it like a hawk. But these wounds? Your larger scrapes began to scab over, and your smaller cuts and nicks were just faint red lines. Even your legs looked better, the near gouged out flesh looking more like a nasty case of road burn. "...well no, but—"

"Then you, my dear," Knock Out returned his tool to his operating table, "are thriving. Lord Megatron will be thrilled."

Lord Megatron, huh…must be the shark guy. Of course he calls himself a Lord, that conceited brat. Still…he seems not to want me dead just yet.

For the first time since you got there, you relaxed a little. Taking every bit of your situation into account, you came to a conclusion.

For the time being, you were safe. Fucked up mentally, physically, and chemically? Yeah. Far from home, friends, family, and a life that certainly didn't miss you? Absolutely. Intrigued by this alien species, alien society, and all the new alien substances that came with it? Bingo.

So, for the time being, you just might roll with the punches.

"Hey," you looked over at Knock Out, who seemed just slightly less disgusted by your existence, "you like music?"

Chapter Text

I'm good, I'm good, I'm great

Know it's been a while, now I'm mixin' up the drank

I just need a girl who gon' really understand

I just need a girl who gon' really understand

Your body, despite residual stiffness from your injuries, moved gracefully and languidly along to the music. It was like a spell—one that made you forget it all, your life's troubles vanishing with a few riffs and a solid bass.

You didn't mean to go from check up to dance party—music was just the only thing you could think of at the moment. Not like you could really go anywhere or do anything; processing your newfound trauma via your favorite album was the next best thing.

"Woke up by a girl, I don't even know her name, woke up by a—" As soon as you felt yourself really getting into the lyrics, you were snatched out of your trance. Knock Out, smug asshole as ever, had cut the music off, his alien size computer showing nothing but long strings of a foreign language. Certainly nothing from this planet, that was for damn sure.

Shoving away your annoyance and replacing it with curiosity, you gazed up at the massive screen. It was nothing you could read, that was also for damn sure. Knock Out, however, could read it as clear as day.

Subject Name: ———

Gender: X

Age: Twenty six stellar cycles

Status: Online

Summary: Twenty six year old earthling, of the dominant species (also known as human). An obnoxious attitude and a tendency towards harmful actions towards themselves. Injected with red energon via dumb luck (go fragging figure), showing few symptoms other than accelerated healing. Will examine for further info.

With a sigh, he added another statement.

Enjoys ACCEPTABLE earth music.

It was a goddamn miracle that you couldn't read Cybertronian—if you read that compliment, despite its insignificance, the praise would go right to your head. All earthlings were like that, if the snobby racers he encountered were any example.

Knock Out couldn't say he liked you. Pits, he couldn't even say he tolerated you without stretching it a little. You'd been there, what, a cycle total? And 80% of it was spent in a forced stasis. He couldn't tolerate half of his own faction, and he'd been a part of it for vorns upon vorns. You were more work, you were just as disgusting as your species if not more, and the fact that you obtained a valuable Cybertronian relic through dumb chance and didn't even fully benefit from it was just the iron shavings atop the energon cube.

But you were a breath of…air. Not necessarily fresh air, as he confidently hated you, but you were new. You were different. You were…something.

Hallucinating, to comatose, to awake in an alien hospital, to being FUCKING NAKED, to dancing the hour away because that's just the only way I can cope right now. Because that makes complete sense, that's a totally normal series of events.

Or…you assumed it had been an hour. Was it an hour? God, how long had you been here? It felt like a year, a day, and a lifetime all at once. Your wounds stung, but they didn't hurt. Your head burned, but it didn't ache. And your mind?

"My god," you breathed, mouth suddenly very, very dry. It was as if all the trauma you should've gotten from all this weighed down on you at this very moment. The crash, feeling weightless as you were tossed around, your wounds, being shocked out of a coma, your metal captors, Lord Megatron…where the fuck even were you? Space?

"Knock Out," you were suddenly desperate and breathless, alarming the medic for a split second, "where even am I? Where are we? Are we in space because I swear to god if we're in space—"

"The Decepticon warship, aka the Nemesis. Currently hovering just above the surface of the earth, still well within your atmosphere. Believe me, if we could go back out there we most certainly—"

"Thank god!" You exclaimed, cutting the doctor off as you nearly moaned in relief. You were as strong as they come, as fearless as they can be…but you didn't do heights.

"Oh?" Knock Out questioned with a sinister grin, lowering himself to your level as his sharp dentae glistened in the low light. "What's the matter, fleshie? Don't do heights?"

Biggest mistake of your damn life.

Before you had a chance to even attempt a bluff, you were airborne. You let out a shrill shriek out of pure shock as you dangled from your leg above certain fucking death, your pride thrown out the window as you clawed and grabbed at Knock Out's digits.

"Knock Out if you don't let me the FUCK go, I'm gonna tear off your armor and shove it down your—"

Knock Out, amidst your very, very detailed threat, suddenly burst out in raucous laughter, lubricant pooling in the corners of his eyes as he absolutely howled in delight. "Oh, humans," he wiped a tear with another huff of laughter, "doesn't take much to make you squirm. What a waste of evolution." He punctuated his point with a shake of your limp body, unmoved by how your eyes threatened to roll back in your head, your blood rushed straight to your brain, and, despite your darker skin tone, you were as red as his armor.

"You may be our little science experiment, but Lord Megatron would understand just fine if you all of a sudden went missing. And believe me, your pitiful species couldn't care less about you either. I assure you, you will not be missed."

At Knock Out's morbid, horrifying taunts, something within you just seemed to…snap. You didn't even mean to do it. But all you remember is your body being swung around one last time, using your momentum to grab hold of one of his massive digits, and using a gap between the plating to tear out any and all wiring you could get ahold of. Unnatural blue blood spurted through the air and into your face as you miraculously managed to wound the titan, taking great pleasure as he yelped like some pathetic wounded animal.

Realistically, it couldn't have been worse than a papercut. But the fact that you, of all creatures, wounded him? Knowing just how devastating that was to his ego had a giant grin spreading across your bloodied face, one that you were positive Knock Out would never be able to erase from his processor.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Knock Out jumped and spun around towards the source of the terrifyingly familiar voice, going from murderous to sheepish in a millisecond. It was like he was a little kid caught with his servo in the cookie jar, it was almost hilarious…almost. But as Lord Megatron's red optics burned into your very soul, all humor was drained from your body in an instant.

Still, you laughed.

You laughed. You shouted. You cried. Hysterically.

Snatched up into Lord Megatron's far, far more harsh grasp, your hysterics only increased as tears openly flowed down your bloodstained face.

You were, by all definitions of the word, broken. Oh, how you loved it all. Damn it all. God fucking damn it all.

Chapter Text

"For a human to completely and entirely lose their mind…I had considered the possibility, but it's rather unfortunate it occurred so soon." Megatron commented with a frown, voice laden with mock sympathy.

You couldn't stop laughing and crying—this all just sucked so fucking bad. You'd never see any of your loved ones again. Not like they'd care—you were the liberal, the outcast, the one to not put up with old people's bigoted bullshit every holiday and make a scene. But knowing that you would forever be separated from your own species—

A sudden pressure around your ribs shocked you out of your thoughts, a familiar feeling of weightlessness and shortness of breath overwhelming your senses yet again. Megatron wasn't having your shit; he clenched his talons around your midsection once again as he carried you out of the medbay.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

"Welcome to the flight deck. Unfortunately," Megatron held your body just above his head, the rushing wind and added height sending a rush of terror through your body. "Your stay just might be temporary."

"Please don't—"

"You impotent little brat," you shut up in record time, "you believe yourself so powerful as to wound one of my own. So great, so beyond consequences to talk back at every opportunity. So blessed, so much so that you believe you can simply beg for your life, beg for forgiveness, and you'll be granted a full pardon. Go on."

Megatron was more serious than you had ever seen him, blazing red optics staring you down with an obvious challenge.

"Beg for your life."

"You," your voice was harsh, downright venomous, "you get off on my suffering, don't you? I bet you watch me bleed, watch me die, and just go jack off whatever sick, ugly little alien dick you have! You think I asked for this shit?!" Wrenching yourself out of his grip, you tore free of all his digits but his forefinger and thumb, dangling high above the surface of the earth by just the collar of your tattered shirt. Except this time, you were more than eager to fall.

"Kill me, Megatron. Just fucking do it. I'm bleeding, I'm crying, and I want nothing more than the lot of you to choke, die, and go straight to alien hell. How's that for impotent?"

A choked sound stuttered out of Megatron's vocalizer, and for a split second you were sure you'd finally pissed him off. That you'd finally exhausted his fucked up form of "mercy" he believed he was providing you, and would soon be reunited with your beloved earth via terminal velocity. However, upon listening closely, you discovered that he was fucking laughing.

It's just like Knock Out. There's nothing that'll make them understand except for my blood and pain.

"You're an idiot, earthling. I like that."

…what?

"You're kidding me," you deadpanned.

"Far from it. You're an imbecile—one with as much value for their life as I have for their entire species: none whatsoever. Stupid, foolhardy, seemingly weak, yet here you are. Taking your own life, stained with energon you spilled all on your own. Begging for no one, not even me."

Holy shit, I'm alive.

Slowly, carefully, Megatron returned you to a safe distance from the ground—as safe as he could get, that is. But you'd take cupped servos against his warm, almost hot, slightly rumbling chassis over dangling above certain death any day.

"My relic," he ran a talon through your unkempt hair, as if you were something delicate—you and him both knew for a fact that you were not. "Do not do that again."

"My relic."

Megatron's terrifyingly gentle words reverberated through your head over and over until it was deafening. He carried you back to the medbay with tender, almost kind servos, setting you on Knock Out's desk. Not just tossing you, but literally laying down his servo so you could just walk right off, like your own personal escort.

You were less than thrilled to be back with the murderous medic again, but given your newfound favor (?) in the warlord's eyes, you found yourself unable to complain.

"Knock Out," he stood to attention immediately, sparing you just a singular annoyed glance, "gather a sample from the human for further analysis, and see to it that they're provided adequate quarters." Megatron then turned to you, knowing optics carrying more depth than ever as they regarded you with disdain and interest all at once, "I expect you to be on your best behavior. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Lord Megatron."

And just as he arrived, he was gone.

"What happened to you two?" Knock Out asked, beyond confused by this whole exchange. You looked at him for the first time since your altercation, glancing down at his hand. It looked relatively unscathed to the untrained eye, but you could make out faint scorch marks from a welder at the joint of his finger. "I had no idea you were so important. Demanding you're 'provided adequate quarters'..."

"Knock Out," you began calmly, "you just welded that finger." A warning.

"Can't help myself, watching humans suffer has always been a favorite pastime of mine. But maybe, just maybe, you're exempt from that hobby. Can't have myself out of a job, offlining the Lord's pet."

Was that…an apology?

You were stunned, but you did your best not to show it. Your pride, after being tossed around like a ragdoll, was in need of enough repair as it is. So slowly and carefully, you began to pick back up the broken, bloodied pieces of yourself. You combed your calloused hands through your hair, bits of gravel and glass freed from the rats' nest. You began to tear at the remains of your clothing; no use in having awkward tears. If you were going with the raggedy look, you were damn sure going to make it look intentional. So off the hem of your shirt went, your midriff exposed to the cool air. The legs of your pants had to go too, seeing as the hefty amount of bloodstains made their original color near impossible to determine.

A few skillful tears of loose fabric later, you were something resembling neat. You even tied the strip of fabric from the hem of your shirt around your forehead as a sort of sweatband/durag combo. It wasn't exactly your Sunday best, but it was for sure your "Whatever Today Was" acceptable.

Oh, and Knock Out was staring at you.

Doing a speedy double take, you found Knock Out attempting to avert his optics; he was caught in the act and you both knew it.

"Don't even think about it, I'm nowhere near attracted to your meaty husk. Although," the next words seemed to pain him to force out, "your apocalyptic-esque fashion sense is pleasing to the optics."

"You look nice."

"'Preciate it," you completed the final adjustments to your coily hair, picking through each individual strand as best you could with your cloudy reflection on the metallic desk, "you're not too bad yourself. You're shiny."

If Knock Out could glow (can he?) he would be absolutely beaming, blinding even as he basked in your praise. "Why, thank you! Takes a true eye for detail to notice a finish like yours truly."

Narc.

I mean, so am I, but that's besides the point.

"Wait, didn't Lord Megatron say something about a sample?"

Even Knock Out seemed to have forgotten, as he visibly deflated from the reminder. "An energon sample. Nothing too strenuous…for a Cybertronian. Considering you're human, it'll be beyond an ordeal trying not to break your fragile frame. Now hold still."

You probably should've looked away, but you couldn't help it. Knock Out prepared a comically small syringe with surgical precision; it was a bit large by human terms, and fucking hilarious by Cybertronian terms.

Probably for that Minicon, or whatever.

It was punctured into the meat of your upper arm with little, if any, warning, and you bit back a yelp with so much force your lip nearly began to bleed. You watched with interest as dark red, almost purplish red blood gushed into the syringe.

That was…concerning.

Pulling the needle out and placing a digit on the hole left behind in a swift motion, Knock Out applied careful pressure to the area until the bleeding stopped. Then it was off to the microscope and centrifuge, aka scientific nonsense you couldn't even begin to understand. You wouldn't bother to understand it. What you would do? Park your ass there, stare at the ceiling, and wait.

Yeah. You'd wait. Your eyes were slowly closing, but you'd wait. You'd…wait…

Chapter Text

CW; brief usage of slurs, not directed towards anyone. I can reclaim any and all slurs I use. Oh and a mild emetophobia warning. It's nothing major on both parts, but I thought I'd be on the safe side.

Your eyes flung open. Stumbling to your feet like a newborn deer, you struggled to find your footing; it was as if your legs weren't your own and your body as a whole was borrowed.

Something was…familiar.

Wait a second.

"I'm back in the FUCKING ABYSS?!" You shouted in anger, stomping your unsteady feet into the floor. Onto the ground. Whatever you were on.

Just as it was before, you stared off into the horizon. It was barren, white, and as you walked to the edge? Endless, black. A void that tempted you, but you weren't ready to go yet. You needed more info, you needed more time, but it screamed. It screamed and it screamed and it dragged you down as it kept screaming crying begging SCREAMING SCREAMING SCREAMING—

"Do all humans wake up screaming," Knock Out sighed, nudging you awake, "or is it just you?"

"Goddamnit! I almost had it that time…"

One day, you'd figure out what that endless abyss in your head was. No matter how many dreams it took. Unfortunately, that day was not today.

"I've been doing my research, and I've come to a conclusion."

You were already terrified.

"One, your blood is unlike anything I've ever seen. Two, the needs of a human are the same as that of your earth's flora. Sunlight, oxygen—" You burst out in uncontrollable laughter, tears threatening to pour at Knock Out's terrible observation. "Humans are far more complicated than plants, Knock Out. We need a reliable atmosphere to breathe. We need the outside world, so we don't feel isolated indoors. We need…why are you looking at me like that?"

"So, as I said. Sunlight. Oxygen."

"Holy shit, maybe I am a plant."

Smug as ever, Knock Out continued, "You certainly can't spend your life on a desk, that's for sure. So, I've come up with a solution." Knock Out, beyond pleased with himself, set down a large, metallic box.

A fucking box. He was going to have you live in a fucking box.

"You're kidding me. There's no lights, no plumbing, this is worse than my first apartment! And that one was infested with roaches!"

"Oh please, humans are self cleaning! You cleaned yourself just fine a second ago, washracks would just be a waste of water."

"Knock Out," you ran a hand down your face in exhaustion, "if you could smell the special brand of swamp ass humans get after not washing themselves for weeks—"

"Washracks it is."

The process to provide you with a livable area was…time consuming. Apparently the Nemesis had its own water tank because of course it does, and a water line already carried itself into the medbay. It was only a matter of attaching the right connectors, leading them into your box you'd call a home, and voila—you had a crude water system, thanks to you and Knock Out's eye for detail and the brawn of some other large, blue Cybertronian.

"This isn't enough," you blurted out, causing the blue Cybertronian to cry out in a long, exasperated sigh. "Fleshies, I tell ya! Always complaining."

"No, no, the water's fine. It's more than fine, thank you, it's just that there's no food, no place to sleep, I'm sick of these filthy clothes…" You trailed off, guilt gnawing at your heart. These big guys were all assholes, that was for sure, but from the looks of it they were gonna be your assholes. You didn't want to burden them with a long list of demands.

"Then we'll just have to get that," Knock Out said, catching you by surprise. Knock Out, of all people, sticking up for you? For a moment, you thought you'd find yourself back in your dreamy abyss, too. "Don't want them getting swamp ass."

It was a short and simple petition, requesting that you'd be granted temporary leave. Your captor turned caretaker called Megatron…somehow. All you saw was him touch something on his audials, implying it was some sort of built in comm unit in his head. Cool as hell.

Approved in an instant, Knock Out then gestured over to his blue buddy.

"I'm busy here, I need to figure out just what in Primus' name is in their blood. Be a dear and take them where they need to go, will you?"

The blue one looked at you.

You looked at him.

This was going to be absolutely fantastic.

"Stop squirming!"

"Maybe I would stop squirming if you stopped squeezing!"

"You," he brought you up to faceplate level, but ultimately failed to intimidate you, "it's a miracle I don't splatter you on the walls!"

"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely! I'm sure your employer would be thrilled."

Letting out yet another long sigh, you were returned to safety within his servos. You didn't mean to pull the Megatron card again—if your life was constantly threatened, however, you would have little choice.

"Breakdown."

"What?"

"My designation," Breakdown explained, frown refusing to disappear as he carried you down long, dark, endless hallways. "If we're going to be working together, we're going to be on designation basis."

Thank goodness, he's at least hospitable.

You provided your name as well, and Breakdown huffed out a short chuckle. "You sure? 'Fleshie' rolls off the glossa pretty well, I think."

"Call me whatever you like. Guaranteed, I've been called worse," you began to run the various slurs and insults through your head, a laugh escaping you as you recalled the stories connected to them. "Asshole, narc, retard, god people love that last one. Not my fault I'm on a whole nother operating system than everyone else."

"Humans have operating systems?"

"It's a figure of speech, Breakdown. I just mean to say that human brains are weird as hell. We process so many things in so many ways, we're all so different. Of course, your species is probably perfect, so…"

"What's the word…neurodivergence? Yeah, we have that too." You could hardly believe the words coming out of his intake—aliens? With neurodivergence? All this time you viewed your captors as higher beings. Assholes, of course, but still creatures far more intellectually complex than humans could ever hope to be. It was refreshing, knowing that even convenience could have a couple screws loose. "Physical differences too, we can't all be made perfect. Some of us aren't even made with a t-cog!"

What the hell is a t-cog?

Choosing to save that question for a later date, you instead took in just how similar the two of your species were. It was almost like they evolved together—but their planet must be light years upon light years away.

You hated groundbridges. No, you despised groundbridges. They were disorienting as all hell, and now you found yourself trying your damnedest not to vomit into Breakdown's servo. Poor, poor Breakdown—considering how little Cybertronians knew about human biology, the poor guy probably thought you were dying. He wasn't wrong.

"Holy fuck," you finally were able to open your eyes and look around after a few deep inhales, your stomach opting to quiet down after the longest, most terrifying ten seconds of your life.

You realized two things.

One? You were in the middle of goddamn nowhere. All you saw was a long, hardly paved road in a vast desert, with a small, faraway town just at the edge of your vision.

Two? You and Breakdown would waltz right into a supermarket and undoubtedly get shot.

"Breakdown, we can't do this," you breathed as you were placed back onto solid ground, "you're like twenty stories tall, I'm a missing persons case probably, I'm broke—"

"This is Megatron's beloved pet? With all this whining? C'mon, where's your creativity? Your sense of adventure?"

What happened next would be imprinted within your brain for the next forever. You watched with eyes nearly bulging out of your head as Breakdown's body broke apart, folding in on itself in a feat that had to be impossible by any and all laws of conservation of mass on earth.

That's just it…they're not from here. Basic fucking physics don't apply.

His metal plating then flared itself outwards, reconstructing itself until, sitting right before you, was a Breakdown-colored armored truck.

"Get in, meatbag."

You've gotta be fucking kidding.

Mind made up in an instant, you swiftly turned on your heel and headed the opposite direction. "Nope," you declared, "I am not getting inside you. You can keep your weird kinky alien bullshit to yourself, thank you very much."

Like the cheeky bastard he was, Breakdown pulled up next to you, absolutely insistent on involving you in…god, what even was this? He was a car, but he was a living car. A sentient being, who could feel every beat of your heart, every breath through your lungs, the way you'd shift around nervously in his seat and undoubtedly be nothing but a parasite to him. It was disgusting.

On the other hand, a nasty case of swamp ass. That was revolting.

Weighing your options, you hopped into the driver's seat. You were gonna be the cleanest, best dressed, most attractive fucking parasite this world has ever seen.

Chapter Text

A child's laughter is a wondrous thing to hear.

To see a child with another, toy in hand, not a care in the world. Their bright eyes full of wonder and life as their toy plane soars in the air, giddy laughter filling the air.

It strayed too close. Just a little too close.

The other child lost their temper. It was as if a rope pulled tight had snapped in two, frayed fibers fanning every which way as they smacked the plane out of their hand. It fell to the ground with a crack, imaginary passengers surely fighting for their lives in a fiery blaze. Now that was a thought.

A child's laughter may be a wondrous thing to hear, but the child was no longer laughing. Instead, they were openly sobbing, face filled with teary red eyes and a snotty green nose as they bawled, as they blamed.

A crying child getting what they deserved. An obnoxious plaything destroyed as it should. Imaginary passengers bursting into flames…it was all too hilarious. It was all too perfect.

A child was laughing. The child was laughing. You were the one laughing, all along.

Something was wrong with you. Terribly wrong.

Shaking your head with a grunt of discomfort, you returned to the present. It was called the past as opposed to the present for a reason—it was no gift. It was a deterrent, a bittersweet (but mostly sweet) look into a disastrous childhood. Nothing that'd benefit your equally disastrous adulthood now, that's for damn sure.

Amidst your little flashback, Breakdown was driving. Holy shit, he was driving. You glanced around you and found nothing but dust and gravel blown around you as he sped towards the little town in the distance, speedometer ticking just upwards of the 80 mph range.

Huh. That's an issue.

Intriguingly, you couldn't force yourself to care. Your flashback had happened for a reason; was it a reminder of sorts? Your brain informing you that, despite it all, you've still become no better of a person? That you still carry no pity or empathy whatsoever, filled with nothing but superficial, pathetic excuses for emotions?

Undoubtedly.

You weren't emotionless just to be emotionless. You had far better things to do with your life then set off as some cold, unfeeling vigilante, heart set out on rejecting every emotion known to man. You felt sadness like any other. You felt joy. You felt anger, probably a bit more than what's healthy.

But it'd stop there.

You, from a young age, could never love like others do. Never feel sad for others, feel pity for others, feel joy for others. Your emotions existed in your own head and that's as far as they'd ever go. Could you have ended up okay? Could you have turned out great as ever, successful, even, despite your narcissism and complete lack of empathy? Of course. But you were no inspiration porn, not an article in some old white lady's cookbook.

You were you. Ever flawed, ever perfect you.

"Hey, meatbag! You're quiet, and," you felt your seatbelt clench up by a smidge, "your heart, or whatever, is as loud as the Pit."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." It sounded like total horseshit coming out of your mouth, but it was the truth. Your mind had the tendency to wander into directions like these, but you refused to let it take over for long. "Where are we? Like, what town is that?"

"Like I'd know! It's somewhere out in 'The Middle Of Nowhere,' Arizona."

If you squinted, you could find just the slightest bit of relief in Breakdown's voice.

You softie.

Fighting back a smile, you leaned back into your seat. He wasn't exactly the best friend you'd ever had, or the most ideal transportation, but goddamnit, he was sweet. He would rather eat his own servo than admit it, but he cared.

"Take down a list, would you?"

"What do I look like, your personal—"

"I need a few pots, a hot plate, a few packs of silverware, some towels, and that should be it for kitchen stuff. For supplies, I need a few of those big ass jugs of water just in case the water at the Nemesis isn't filtered. I'll double check whether it is or isn't, but the jugs will do for now regardless."

" Listen, " Breakdown was more exhausted than you'd ever heard him, "I'm not gonna remember all that. In fact, I'm not even gonna try."

"Did I say I was finished? Continuing on with the supplies, I need a few packs of quick meals, like premade pasta and stuff. It's not ideal, it's not the healthiest, but it's nonperishable and won't kill me for a few years or so. Maybe some granola bars too, just to add some variety. Then I need some new clothes, it could be fucking lingerie for all I care. As long as it's clean. Speaking of clean, I need a tote and some detergent, that way I can wash my own clothes. I'll find someplace to dry them. Anything else I can find like decorations, carpets, whatever else, that'll be my last priority. And that should be it!"

Beaming with your classic, innocent grin, you felt the entire vehicle shift with the force of Breakdown's sigh.

"You're unbearable."

As Breakdown pulled into a massive supermarket, you found the two of you  subjected to a plentiful amount of stares. Due to the nature of his alt mode, no doubt—a big, beefy military vehicle showing up in a small town typically only means one of two things. Option A: you're here to keep someone from shooting up the place. Option B: you're literally here to shoot up the place. Either way, you clenched your fists around the seatbelt a little tighter, briefly wondering if Breakdown could feel it or not. It tightened up around you in its silent reply.

"Wait," you paused amidst your increasing concerns, "how the hell are we gonna do this? I'm broke, and you're…you."

"First of all, ouch," Breakdown feigned offense, "second of all, get ready to have your pede coverings knocked off!"

My what?

Before you could even think to question him, a deep, mechanical whirring came from somewhere under the hood. You briefly panicked, worrying if your big blue buffoon all of a sudden had engine trouble, until a bright blue shimmer caught your peripherals.

Then you proceeded to nearly shit your pants at the sight of a human, another fucking human being , in the passenger's seat.

Instincts took precedence over logic—not that there was any. This was plain illogical, and your speeding fist would put a swift end to that. Unfortunately, this stranger had other plans. Operating on not just instinct, but certainly some sort of military background, he firmly caught your fist in his left hand, comforting you in…Breakdown's voice?

"What. The fuck."

"You were supposed to be surprised, not homicidal! Primus, what're we gonna do with a loose cannon like you?"

This was Breakdown . In human form.

He wasn't so different from you, appearance wise. His skin was a dark tan, littered with various scars here and there. This form wore a torn navy blue tank top with an equally shredded black t-shirt underneath, giving you a very, very thorough view of the toned, powerful muscles of his arms, neck, stomach, and…

You quickly tore your eyes away, snatching your hand back as you fumed in embarrassment.

Okay, maybe we're a little different , you noted, prodding at your more…pudgy form.

"Let's just get this over with before I lose my mind," you decided, hopping out of the vehicle and onto the asphalt of the parking lot. It was a welcome change from "evil lair purple" colored metal, putting you into a world you were far more experienced in. A world you hated, but it had grown accustomed to you and you could say the same. Breakdown was jogging right up behind you as you approached the entrance, goofy smile and all as he looked around.

"So, what's a Wal-Mart?"

The words were so foreign from his mouth that you almost laughed out loud, instead opting to shake your head with a smile.

"It's the home of discounted cakes, self checkout robot ladies, and just about the worst bits of humankind you'll ever find."

"Then we're here why…?"

"You kidding? I want my discount cake!" Speeding in through the exit door (why the hell did they both say welcome, just for one to say enter here and the other to say jack shit?), you made a beeline for the bakery.

You vastly underestimated how hungry you were. Ever since…well, everything, food became the last thing on your mind. It was strange, since you were typically known for a ravenous, insatiable hunger. That of which could likely be connected to you typically pumping your poor body full of various harmful substances, but that's neither here nor there. All you knew was your epic search for that magical yellow discount sign, and Breakdown being nowhere in sight.

Shit.

"Breakdown? Where'd you—"

"You fleshies really eat this stuff?" Breakdown complained, mouth full of…something. You glanced down at his hand, filled with some sort of white, cake-esque substance. You glanced back up to the fake cake on the display area, now with a hand sized chunk taken out of it.

You and Breakdown were no longer allowed in the bakery.

"I didn't mean it," Breakdown apologized for the millionth time, pushing the cart in step one out of a million of his punishment process. "It looked good, I thought anyone could take some! It had the pretty colors, and the smell of vanilla, and…you're not forgiving me, are you?"

"No. Do the words, 'for display, do not touch,' mean nothing in Cybertronian?"

"Do not touch , not do not consume."

"And what the HELL do you have to do in order to consume it, Breakdown?"

"...should I have used a fork?"

You chose to ignore that question for both Breakdown's sake and yours, instead taking count of what your cart contained. You had packs of easy to cook food, a set of pots, a hot plate, a tote, some pants and shirts…

"Shit, what else was I supposed to get?"

"Silverware, towels, water, detergent," Breakdown recited flawlessly, catching a knowing grin from you before he could take it all back. "Not that I remembered. Or care."

"Mhm…"

Grabbing a few cheap packs of towels and some generic silverware (and a few extremely sharp knives, but that was between you and the cart), you then made your way to the cleaning products aisle. A few bottles of generic body wash hair wash combos would get you a long way, even if the idea of using the same product for everything made you shudder. A few cleaners for surfaces, a mop, and some other necessities later, it was time to pick up some detergent. Breakdown, however, had gone quiet.

"What's up, Breakdown?"

"There's so many options," he breathed, scanning the many, many shelves of detergent. "You humans need so many different things to survive, it's insane."

"Yeah, we're just inconvenient like that. Hey, you liked the vanilla scent from the cake, right?" Breakdown nodded quickly, followed by a nervous frown.

"I really didn't mean to eat that, by the way. Seriously, I didn't know and it won't happen again, I—"

"Relax, relax," you soothed him, hauling a massive container of vanilla scented detergent powder from the bottom shelf, "it's no biggie. Plus it was kinda funny."

"It was?"

"Yeah. It's like me needing iron in my diet and taking a bite outta one of you guys!" Breakdown laughed at that, his guilt from the bakery incident finally seeming to fade away. "By the way, do you need anything?"

"Me?"

"Yeah! I'm new around here, but I'm not so sure you guys get around much. While you're here, I wanna make sure you have what you need, too."

That sounded stupid as hell. He's used to being amongst the stars, what the hell could he find useful in a supermarket?

"What I need…" Breakdown echoed, deep in thought. "I've got an idea."

"Breakdown, why are we in the little girls' aisle," you deadpanned, visibly irritated.

"Hear me out," Breakdown began, "I watch a lot of earth television, and I hear your femme sparklings make these…things. They're made of strong, vibrant fibers, woven together and worn to prove alliance to one another. It was hardcore!"

"You want to make friendship bracelets."

"Yeah!"

Sighing defeatedly, you couldn't help the way you smiled and the way your heartstrings were not only tugged, but violently yanked. You hadn't had a friend like this since…well, ever. It was a welcome change from the other Cybertronians on the ship, that was for sure.

Knockout was okay. You two were on speaking terms, and even if you got on each other's nerves, it all worked out. Starscream was just loud. That's all you knew, since you had yet to see him again. And Megatron was…holy shit, he was a piece of work, alright.

But Breakdown? Absolutely pure.

"I like this one," Breakdown showed you a massive, over three hundred piece kit, complete with dozens of thread types, connectors, beads, charms, tools, anything you could ever think of to make a bracelet with.

"That's gigantic . You sure you can handle that?"

"Duh. Now let's get out of here before Megatron throws a fit," Breakdown joked, depositing the kit into the cart and heading towards the self checkout.

Upon seeing the total of exactly $512.43, you immediately facepalmed.

"How the hell are we paying for this?"

Out of his back pocket (you briefly questioned how his human form even worked ), Breakdown produced what appeared to be a credit card. As you took it from his hand, you took the opportunity to read it thoroughly. It was a recognizable credit card company, but the name seemed to belong to some old lady, not a race of intergalactic criminals.

"Did you…steal this?"

"Eh, a few years back there was some incident, some old human may or may not have found herself in Decepticon custody and may or may not have offlined. So we took her card, Soundwave hacked it, and here we are."

Damn. Sorry, grandma.

"Insert cash, or select payment type."

"Alright checkout lady, alright," you sighed, paying for the massive purchase. Seeing as you never spent more than about fifty dollars in one sitting, the large number was enough to make you queasy. Breakdown however, with his less than reasonable concept of human currency, had little to say. In fact, he seemed more fascinated with the checkout machine itself. Likely because he too was a machine of sorts.

"Scrap, hold on," Breakdown was pulled from his fascination as he pressed a finger to his ear, likely listening in on an incoming comm. "I'm needed," he explained, voice going from cheerful to serious in a second. You visibly deflated, sighing as you rolled the cart up to Breakdown's vehicle form. It hadn't changed a bit since you left it, and it was even still warm. Wordlessly (and instantaneously) he popped open the trunk, loading in the many, many boxes and bags with an apologetic smile. "Sorry to cut our little outing short. Nothing serious, but someone's gotta do it."

"I'm not offended. Really. You drop the stuff off and then do your thing," you said wholeheartedly, offering a fist, "I'll be waiting for you when you get back. We gotta make our hardcore friendship bracelets, right?"

Breakdown smiled warmly, tapping your fist with his own.

"Right."

Breakdown did not return that afternoon.

Chapter Text

Moving into a new place was always stressful for you. Fun, sure, but stressful as hell navigating a brand new environment.

Nonetheless, you steeled your nerves, clenched your ass, and got to work. You had few surfaces to your name, but a few foldable tables and an air mattress did wonders. You unfurled your "Decepticon Purple" sheets, struggling with the fitted sheet as you typically did, and haphazardly tossed a pillow onto it as you moved on to the next task. What even was next?

An uncomfortable itch atop your head caught your attention, and upon scratching it you were disgusted to see how much filth was on your hand. That made your decision for you.

Swallowing back further disgust, you ambled over to your rudimentary shower system. It was far from perfect—that was for damn sure. The temperature changing was rickety at best and fatal at worst, and you had no good way to drain out water. It would all back up into a container attached to your containment area, one that'd need to be disposed of every few days or so. But as you peeled off your sticky clothing remnants and began to wipe yourself clean of all your accumulated dirt and grime, you felt like a whole new person. Hell, you even began singing along to a song from your favorite album, every single note of it memorized flawlessly. A thorough scrub of your entire body and a deep condition of your hair later, you finally stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel as you tended to your hair in front of your new mirror.

You'd always loved your hair. Treasured it, even. It became hard to find appropriate products for it given the lack of representation for your race in big hair companies, but you sucked it up and made do. Even if it wasn't perfect—this whole scenario was far from it—you smelled like someone's boyfriend and you couldn't say you hated it. As you picked through it you found yourself feeling better and better, settling on tying your makeshift bandana around your head once more. Could you have bought a new one? Of course. Were you oddly attached? Unfortunately.

All left in your morning routine was to finish dressing yourself in a sweatshirt and basketball shorts, grab two granola bars and a water, and greet whoever was in the medbay with you.

At least, that would be an ideal scenario. Today, however, all you could greet was a very, very stressed looking Knock Out.

"Morning…" you began hesitantly, taking a gigantic bite out of a chocolate almond granola bar, "what's up with you?" Optics widening in an instant, Knock Out quickly turned on you as if you had told him to go fuck himself. "What'd I do?"

"What exactly happened when you last saw Breakdown? Tell me every last detail and I just might not gouge out your optics!"

"Jesus, calm the fuck down! We went shopping, he got a call, said he was needed for something. He dropped off the stuff, then he was out. Why, what's wrong?"

Although slightly relieved that your story carried no suspicious elements, Knock Out was far from pleased. He even clammed up slightly, which was so uncharacteristic of him that you were not only afraid, but terrified .

"Tell me, I can take it!"

"Just before dawn, Breakdown was…captured."

You were pissed.

"By humans."

You were furious .

"Knock Out," you put it as gently as humanly possible, "turn into a car or whatever, give me a second to grab my knife, and let's head out." Your…enthusiasm, to put it kindly, was both terrifying and heartwarming to Knock Out. Unfortunately, your options were very, very limited. "I heard from Megatron through Starscream, and I quote," Knock Out spat out the words like they were a curse, "'If Breakdown allowed himself to be captured by those smaller than him, weaker than him, then he deserves whatever fate awaits him.' Talk about a load of scrap, Breakdown's—"

"Smaller? Weaker ? Who fucking cares! If some humans had the means to capture one of you guys , of all creatures, then size doesn't mean jack shit. He's in trouble, there's a genuine threat at hand, and something needs to be done."

"Exactly!" Knock Out exclaimed. "I've petitioned the big lug to head out on a rescue mission just about a dozen times and that's underestimating it!"

"Then stay here," you shouted over your shoulder, running inside your box home and returning with two knives stuck securely into the fabric of your shorts and a pair of black combat boots on, an extra utility knife placed inside one of those, too. "I'll go petition old shark teeth myself, face to face! You've got shit to lose. I don't."

"Well, aren't you the brave one?" A sultry yet scratchy voice commended from the entrance to the medbay, belonging to the one, the only, Starscream. "Unfortunately, my servos are tied as well," he explained, yet something about him was…off. He looked shifty, moreso than usual, as he explained the millions of reasons he couldn't go save Breakdown. Errands for Megatron, errands of his own, does Knock Out need an energon cube, he should probably go fetch him an energon cube, he's so sorry for the inconvenience and when he's leader of the Decepticons he'll see to it that this never happens again. Things of that ilk. You weren't buying it for a millisecond.

While they talked, you stared down at the floor beyond your shelf, attempting to map a way down to the floor. When everyone's optics were completely off you, you began your journey. Off this table corner, down to this stool, sliding down a table leg fireman style until your feet were firmly on the floor. Your hands burned and your heart raced, but you were in one piece and that was good enough for you. And, ever so carefully, you latched yourself to the back of Starscream's stiletto shaped pedes, doing your best not to slice off your own fingers in the various chinks of his armor.

So far, so good.

"I'll see about that energon cube, Knock Out. Once again, terribly sorry for the state of your conjunx," Starscream continued to fawn, "this'll never happen again under my rule. I'll make sure of it!"

At that, Starscream was on his way out. The swinging of his legs was almost enough to make you sick, but you dug in hard and refused to budge, medbay door sliding shut behind you.

Now, time to see what he's really up to.

"His last coordinates were in a Russian ghost town…likely where MECH's stationed. And if I can achieve the glory of rescuing him, then it's only a matter of time before every Decepticon bows to yours truly," Starscream preened, massive wings fluttering as he surely pictured his future rule. It was too perfect…for you, that is. Because you had just obtained every last detail you needed.

"Great," you exclaimed, quickly detaching yourself from Starscream's pede before he could squish you as he startled, "take me with you."

"How in Primus' name did you get out of your containment area?! Go on, get back in and—"

"Me? Go back and tell Knock Out all about your plans to overthrow our gracious lord? Oh, I'm sure that'll go over just swell. "

Starscream narrowed his optics at you, dangerous red slits piercing your very soul. You had figured you couldn't out-con a 'Con, but you just might have proven yourself wrong. Looking around for any possible onlookers, Starscream then extended his talons out towards you. You gladly stepped into his servo, careful to avoid the deadly tips, daring to smile up at him. "Now, let's go get ourselves a Breakdown."

You were hot. Too, too hot. Burning hot, miserably hot, absolutely scalding.

That's what anger did to you. It burned and boiled like a violent inferno under your skin, and when combined with your passionate love for those you held dear? You were not just an inferno, but a volcano. And flying overhead this so called "MECH base" was NOT doing you any favors.

"See anything down there? An entrance, a worker, even just a footprint ?"

"Nothing, for the dozenth time this joor," came Starscream's annoyed reply. "You're more than welcome to head down there and see for yourself, if you're so keen on being offlined."

"Cool," you clicked off your seatbelt and fastened your knives, fists at the ready. "Go ahead and land, then I'll look around."

"And here I thought you earthlings spoke in fluent sarcasm," Starscream sighed, lowering his altitude until his alt form hovered just above the ground. Showing you little gentleness, he popped open his cockpit and did a gentle roll, taking great delight in the way you fell right on your ass. "As you fleshies say, 'go get 'em, tiger.'"

"Oh, you goddamn ass—and you're gone. Great." You kicked at an unfortunate pebble with your massive boots in frustration, kicking up dust and blowing off steam. Your idea of "see for yourself" was hopping out, checking the perimeter, and reporting back. Not being dropped from a plane and abandoned. It was a blessing you were no normal human being, given the way you bruised from the fall. As you inspected the injury, you found it clearing up rather quickly, leaving clear, uninjured flesh behind.

You were a superhuman soldier (more or less). A simple recon mission wouldn't be the end of the world. Sucking it up, you marched on through this ghost town, finding your footing on an abandoned, crackling asphalt road. You were surrounded by equally depressing gray buildings, all completely devoid of life. It was all incredibly unassuming—just as a secret base would be.

There's gotta be some secret entrance here, right? Some brick out of place, a lever, maybe just a button? Some sort of hint?

Your search brought you through alleys and down countless roads, but it was all fruitless. There was nothing. Nothing. Nothing but the faint sound of blaster fire.

Wait.

Following the sound as best as you could, desperate for something , you pressed your ear to the ground.

It was hollow!

Down below the surface of the roads, you could make out voices and gunfire. It was faint, almost silent, but absolutely there. And judging by the sounds of that blaster, it was nothing from this planet. So, your decision to intervene practically made itself. Pulling out one of your knives, you placed it in the creases of a manhole, finagling it around until you found purchase underneath it, using all your strength to pry it out. It came loose with a loud clang , and you were lightheaded with relief to see not the hideous sewer system you feared to find, but an entrance to what appeared to be an abandoned railroad system.

Other knife in hand, you maneuvered your way down the narrow tube the manhole left, using the blades to slow your descent as they stabbed into the concrete as makeshift climbing gear.

Ha! And Breakdown had the nerve to think I'm uncreative.

Breakdown. The reminder of him soured your enthusiastic attitude in record time. All you could picture in your mind was him injured, bleeding out, or worse—surely this 'MECH' would try to find out what makes him tick. But you? You would not let that slide.

Dropping down onto a metallic walkway, you ran towards sound and light with a vengeance, knives in each hand as you sprinted. You may not have been officially combat trained, but you were hardened by life and that'd have to be good enough. You ran like a cheetah—quick, low to the ground, and with absolute death in your eyes.

"Intruder! We've got a code green, I repeat, a code green!"

Alarms blared in your head as an army green soldier shouted the alarm, until you saw where his line of sight was headed. Not towards you, but towards a hole in a metallic wall, increasing with deafening strikes by what appeared to be a wrecking ball.

"Marco!"

A massive , green Cybertronian burst through his makeshift entrance, wrecking ball hand and guns blazing as manmade bullets bounced harmlessly off his thick armor.

"You're supposed to say, 'polo'!"

It's about damn time some backup got here!

You would be lying if you didn't say you were relieved, watching the giant pummel his enemies. Soldiers screamed and shot, but it was to no avail as they each fell to either blunt force or their own ricocheting bullets. A perfect takedown, you'd say. You longed to meet him, to introduce yourself and strike up a conversation, but now wasn't the time. Breakdown could offline at any second.

Tearing your eyes away, you moved onward past the commotion. Soldiers were so focused on the big picture that you slipped by with little issue—a few close bullets, sure, but you were human. One of them. Unless you were thirty feet tall and made of metal, you could slide right beneath their noses with ease.

Rounding a corner, you came to a screeching halt as finally, finally , you spotted Breakdown's massive blue form. You could nearly sob in relief, but you sucked it up as you scoped the area for enemies and ran to his side. "Breakdown, holy shit, you're alive," you stammered as you grabbed hold of whatever was closest, that being the side of his helm. His golden optic whipped towards your direction and showed shock, fear, anger, and relief all at once—wait, optic ? As in, singular?

You craned forward to get a look at the other side of his face, stomach twisting with both horror and rage as you were met with a sparking, gaping hole where his optic had been. A reminder, likely permanent, of how cruel your kind could be. No, not your kind. You didn't claim them. You never have, and you never would.

Steeling yourself, you instead focused on getting your captured compatriot to safety. Revenge could come later.

"You'll be okay, alright? There's—"

"What are you doing here? How are you here? No, why are you here?" Breakdown asked all at once, groaning out your name in exasperation. "You're gonna get yourself offlined at this rate, y'hear? Now get out of here before MECH turns you into a science experiment!"

"Fat chance! You're my friendship bracelet buddy, my favorite ride," you strained as you grabbed hold of one of his metal restraints, pulling with all your might, "and just about the last kind person left on this goddamn planet! Not person, Cybertronian—whatever! Point is, you're important, and I don't say sappy shit like this often, so quit complaining and get your ass out of here!"

By some miracle, Breakdown listened. He tugged and pulled with all his might until the metal pinning him down began to groan, finally giving in and denting under his force. "Keep it up, Breakdown! There's a big green guy out there too, he'll get the rest of you out and then we can—"

"A WHAT?!" Breakdown spluttered, efforts coming to an abrupt halt as he turned to you with furious eyes. "Get out of here, I mean it! Now!"

"But—"

"He's gonna scrap you if you don't!"

Your legs felt as if they were bolted down to the concrete, but you forced them to work in your favor as you jumped back into the shadows, chest heaving with deep breaths as you pressed yourself against the wall. Speaking of the devil, here the big guy in green came, hands balled into fists as he approached Breakdown with hatred in his blue optics.

That's no ally. They're…enemies?

There's no way. I figured Cybertronians and Decepticons were synonyms, just another way to name the same thing. But if this guy isn't a Decepticon…

You clenched your knives until your knuckles went white, nearly feral as you grit your teeth and stared him down. It didn't matter who he was, how strong he was, or the fact that he too was fighting MECH—he hurt your Breakdown. He'd pay dearly.

"It must be your lucky day."

He snapped off Breakdown's restraints.

…what.

Like they were cheap plastic, his restraints were broken, allowing Breakdown to rise to his pedes. He was unsteady, but stable enough—you thanked whatever gods were or were not out there for that. "W-what're you doing?" Breakdown asked, eyeing his enemy with obvious suspicion.

"Getting you out of here. Yeah, I don't believe it, either. Can you walk?"

"I…I think so."

A bright red alarm suddenly blared, scaring the shit out of you as you nearly dropped your knives in alarm. You were caught—all three of you. It was only a matter of time until MECH soldiers flooded the place, killing you and continuing to tear apart Breakdown and—

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Tearing at your hair in frustration, you let out a strangled growl. You were not going to fall to paranoia , of all things, in a situation like this. You were going to get your head on straight, stop fucking around, and get shit done.

"Can you run?"

"Never run when you can fight!" Breakdown joked as he brandished his hammer, already on his way to returning to his typical kind, albeit chaotic self. "Just keep that thing pointed away from me, all right?"

As the…enemy? Ally? Whatever he was ran towards the exit, Breakdown glanced back towards you, extending his remaining servo. You leapt into it as if it were the literal hand of god, clambering up his arm until you came to a rest between his neck cables.

"You had me worried, meatbag," Breakdown admitted quietly, sprinting to catch up with his temporary ally, "I'm not letting you do any stupid scrap like this ever again."

" Let me? I'd like to see you try and stop me. And uh…same. About you."

As you two caught up with the running Cybertronian, you caught up with MECH as well—they made their displeasure known via a barrage of bullets. You shielded your face as if it'd do something; it certainly wouldn't, but it was worth a try.

"Creature double feature coming at you!" The green Cybertronian burst through the offense like they were nothing, a clear opening made for you and Breakdown to flee out into the open. The cold night air kissed your skin with its chill as you looked around, bracing yourself for yet another attack as an awaiting MECH squad fired at thrice the power as the last one. It was helicopters and all—enough for the Cybertronians to shield themselves too, Breakdown taking special care to cover you with both servos as his arm guards covered what remained of his face. A turret atop his other shoulderplate fired at what it could, but it could only do so much at this rate.

"You have some sort of escape plan?" Breakdown asked exactly what you were thinking, glancing over at the green Cybertronian as he blocked a heavy shot with his arm. "Yep, but you're not gonna like it." He pressed a servo to his audials. "Bulkhead to Optimus. Rendezvous to my coordinates. I'm in need of backup!"

Bulkhead, huh? Who's this Optimus guy, and what does he mean by backup? Because if we're his enemies, then that would make Optimus…

Your thoughts were interrupted by an overwhelming nausea as Breakdown whipped around with a fucking car in hand, tossing it at a helicopter like this were the goddamn Olympics. The squad finally began to slowly disperse, allowing you a moment to sigh in relief. "Hardcore," you complimented breathlessly, earning yourself a cocky smile in response. That smile, however, was short lived as Bulkhead glared at you with wide optics, finally noticing you atop Breakdown's shoulder.

"Breakdown, on your shoulderplates!" Bulkhead moved to put a swift end to your existence, stopped just barely by Breakdown's hand blocking the blow. "They're not MECH, they're with me! And if you lay a slimy little servo on them then I'll send you straight to the fragging Pits ," Breakdown hissed, his venomous tone sending a chill down your spine. "Yeah, what he said," you  chimed in, interrupted by the sound of approaching aircrafts.

More soldiers? Shit, where do they get these things?

To your relief, these soldiers were of the transforming kind. And the stiletto kind as well, you discovered, as they landed in front of you with Starscream standing front and center.

"Consorting with the enemy, Breakdown?" He questioned, sending another wave of hot rage up through your veins. If Starscream had anything to say after sending you here on your own and showing up at the last possible second to scare off the last few soldiers like he was some hero, you weren't sure you'd be able to keep sane.

"But Bulkhead got me out of there."

"Many spark-felt thanks, Autobot. Now destroy him."

"But you—"

"Do you plan on joining their ranks anytime soon? No? Then be done with him already!" Starscream roared, providing Breakdown with little choice as he took out his hammer. He may have felt slight hesitation, but you sure didn't—an enemy was an enemy, and you'd chosen your side. "Tough break, Bulkhead. Maybe in the next life."

You didn't need to be told twice. Not looking to be put in harm's way for the thousandth time, you slid down Breakdown's arm, onto Starscream's waist plating, and onto the ground—just milliseconds before all hell broke loose. Bulkhead uppercut Starscream all the way back to Cybertron, tossed Breakdown into the remaining soldiers like he was a giant bowling ball, and punched his mace aggressively as he prepared for seconds.

"Come on! I'll scrap all of you!"

If it couldn't get any worse, bright blue gunfire shot through your allies; backup had finally arrived at quite literally the worst moment possible, in the form of a team of brightly colored Cybertronians led by the biggest one you'd ever seen. He was massive, sporting a battle mask and a red and blue paintjob, and just screamed leader. Surely, this must be this "Optimus" fellow. Oh well. Just another bot for the scrap yard, in your personal opinion.

"Retreat!" Came Starscream's cowardly cry, as him and his soldiers transformed into jets and fled. This Optimus, however, stared at you with a look you'd never forget.

Was it fear?

Was it horror?

Was it desperation?

Either way, his optics grew pitiful as his mask slid back, optic ridges creased in concern as he reached out towards you. "Everything is safe now, human. Come," he beckoned you like you were a cat, a goddamn feral kitten he found on the side of the road, "we will protect you. We will keep you out of harm's way, far from the Decepticons."

"Optimus, is it?"

He nodded, a brief smile ghosting across his dermas as you stepped closer.

"Kiss my ass." Firing up the double middle finger combo, you hopped up onto Breakdown's speedily approaching alt mode, heart racing as you took one final look back at Optimus' horrified expression and shouted back, "Lord Megatron sends his regards!"

On a path far from MECH, far from these other weak, pathetic Cybertronians, Breakdown sped away towards the horizon.

Towards home.

Chapter Text

The effects of the mission had finally caught up to you.

Your adrenaline rush, you realized, had begun once Starscream dropped you off. Maybe even earlier, maybe all the way back when you snuck out of the medbay. Either way, as you rode in Breakdown's alt mode down long highways, racing to catch up with Starscream's speeding fleet, you felt a crushing, suffocating exhaustion pulling at your muscles. Your arms ached. Your legs burned. Your hands had become callused and red, growing sores from how hard you insisted on holding your knives. They weren't built for combat and neither were you—but both of you, knife or human, had to suck it up and do what you gotta do.

Unable to keep your eyes open, you began to nod off, head bumping against the driver's seat window. "Hey," came Breakdown's gentle voice, fading in and out at the furthest reaches of your consciousness, "don't fight it. Get some rest, you're hurting."

"No, 'm not…I'm fine," you slurred, obviously not fine. Sleep finally claimed you with one last pull, sending you into the most deep sleep you'd ever been in. Breakdown continued to drive.

Your eyes flung open. Stumbling to—

No.

You leapt up to your feet, fists at the ready as you looked around. You were no newborn deer this time. No, you were a goddamn tiger. "Whatever the fuck is waiting for me here, go ahead and show yourself!"

No response.

"I'm sick of this shit! I've had my share of hallucinations, I'll give you that, but this whole dream state junk never happened 'til I got that energon in me. So if you're an alien or something, I already know. No use in hiding, or you're just gonna piss me off."

"Curious."

A booming voice startled you right out of your fighting stance, sending you right onto your ass as you backpedaled for dear life.

"What the fuck."

The voice had nothing else to say.

"What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the—"

As you backpedaled, your feet soon met nothing but air—and off the edge you went.

"Go fucking figure," you groaned as you stirred from your sleep, "of course I'd be the one to screw that up." You sat up, finding that you were…in your bed? It confused you at first, but you reasoned that Breakdown had dropped you off there upon reaching the Nemesis. Regaining your bearings, you began to look around as a delectable scent reached your nose. Upon glancing over at your designated kitchen table, you saw it—a greasy bag of what you assumed to be fast food, complete with a massive drink. You nearly cried with relief as you bolted over to it, finding a messily written note inside.

i dont know what humans eat but i got you this. thanks for the save, come see me when your better i need ur help.

- Breakdown

You're, not your, but thanks, Breakdown.

It was your generic fast food order, consisting of a room temperature cheeseburger, grainy, soggy french fries, and two packs of apple slices as a last ditch effort to put in something healthy. An effort completely thwarted by your 32 ounce cola, but it's the thought that counts. You didn't even bother with napkins—you inhaled the food as if it were your last meal, drinking a third of the cola in a singular sip as you struggled to regain your energy. It worked well enough, giving you the strength you needed to head to the shower, new clothes in hand.

After a long, warm shower, you finally pulled a black tank top over your head, complete with a pair of black sweatpants and your boots. It was nothing special—just enough to get you through the day, and that's just how you liked it. Cleaning up your trash, you finally stepped out into the open, stretching your arms with a loud yawn.

Breakdown, alerted by your yawn, turned to you with surprise, immediately bending down to your level. "Why are you walking? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He fretted, single optic shining with worry. Speaking of, his remaining optic wasn't replaced, as you feared. Instead, it was replaced with their robotic version of an eyepatch. It fit him and looked cool as hell, sure, but this was a permanent injury. That bit made you feel a little sad.

"I'm fine. A little tired and sore, but that's just it. How about you?"

"So much for my depth perception, but I'm all good. As good as I can be, anyways. Have you refueled already?"

"Yeah, thanks for the food. You?"

"Actually," he beckoned you into his hand, laughing softly as you instead climbed up his arm to sit atop his shoulderplates, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me. Get some fresh air, y'know?"

"Wow, a date already? Charmed," you giggled, earning yourself an optic roll. "Off we go, my beloved," Breakdown played along, "allow me to servo-feed you an energon cube, as well."

"Oh, please do. In fact, you may as well carry me there yourself, my brave knight in…uh…blue armor."

Breakdown looked at you.

You looked at Breakdown.

The two of you simultaneously burst out laughing, bringing you to the point of tears.

That was so fucking stupid. He's stupid, I love him.

Entering the mess hall, you found it to be full of…people. Not people, Cybertronians—but none you knew well. They all looked almost identical, the only way you managed to tell them apart was by different scars and faint differences in the hues of their purple paint. "Who are all these guys?" You asked, holding onto Breakdown a little tighter. "Vehicons," came his calm answer, "nothing to worry about. A little thick in the helm, but they're great once you get to know 'em." Mildly placated, you watched as Breakdown poured himself a cube from what appeared to be a water dispenser, settling down at a barstool connected to a tall table.

"Off you go," Breakdown shook you off his shoulder gently, and you slid down his arm onto the table. You watched in curiosity as he lifted the cube up to his dermas, taking a long sip.

"What's that taste like?"

"Why, want some?"

"Nah, that'll probably kill me. Isn't that your blood, though? How do you drink that and have it come out of you?"

"Not too different from water for humans, I'd think. Goes in you, comes out of you, it's…what'd that film call it? Right, the 'circle of life.'"

"You're telling me you watched 'The Lion King?'"

"Hey," Breakdown defended himself between sips, "that Scar guy was cool. Smart, too." Rolling your eyes, you sat yourself down on the table, crossing your legs as you stared at the ceiling. "I'm gonna go get a refill, alright? Try not to offline while I'm gone."

"No promises."

As Breakdown got up and left, you stretched with your arms crossed behind your head. Things truly were perfect. For the first time in a long, long while, you had a place you could call your own, with people you could be proud to call your allies. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

"Fleshie." You were suddenly poked right in the stomach by a sharp digit, nearly puking as you sat up quickly.

"The hell? That hurt!"

You expected to be reprimanding Breakdown or something, but that wasn't the case. Instead you stared up into a red visor, a ruby glow cast upon your shocked face. "I remember you. Car crash, red energon, all of it."

"Wish I could say the same. You don't quite ring a bell though."

"Didn't exactly introduce myself. All I did was haul your bloody frame to the medbay. Interesting, though," they poked and prodded at the rest of you, tilting your head this way and that, "you seem to have made a full recovery."

"Yeah…interesting," you shot Breakdown a "please help me holy shit" look from across the room, only to be ignored as he continued a conversation with another Vehicon, optics completely off of you. You were on your own here. "I've always been fascinated by humans. How they squish, how they pop under pressure," they punctuated their point through a squeeze of your torso, and you had finally had enough. Remembering your emergency knife in your boot, you grabbed it and slashed clean across the tip of their digit, relishing how they yelped in pain. "You fragger," they swung at you, just barely missing as their talon sliced your bare arm. Your dark blood spurted into the air and onto their wounded digit.

What the fuck?

The wound just…disappeared. Cleared up in an instant. As if it were never there, the cut sealed itself up the second your blood made contact with it, leaving behind not just healed metal, but clean, pristine metal.

"You've got some nerve, thinking you can…" the Vehicon finally glanced down at their digit, doing a dozen double takes between it and you. "The red energon."

"Breakdown Breakdown Breakdown Breakdown," you called repeatedly as he made his way back to you, causing him to quicken his pace in alarm. "What? I was just telling 'em how you—sweet Primus, what happened to you?"

"We gotta go," you breathed, clambering up onto his shoulder once more as oxygen escaped you. "Anywhere but here, just go. "

That was why Megatron wanted you. It wasn't for your wits, your personality, your charm. Your blood had healing properties for them. And because of that, you became not an ally, but an asset. And as their troops came in injured, you'd bleed dry as nothing but a tool.

"Why didn't you tell me," you hissed as Breakdown rushed out of the mess hall, energon cube long forgotten. "Why didn't you tell me Megatron was just here to use me?!"

Breakdown was silent.

"You knew."

"I knew red energon had healing properties, everyone knows that! And yeah, maybe you were kept around for that. But everyone's here for a purpose, you're no different! Knock Out is the medic, I'm the brawn, you're the—"

"The tool, Breakdown. The fucking tool."

You had heard enough.

You were getting out of here, no matter what. Sliding down Breakdown's arm, you ignored his cries, landing on the floor with a hard thump. Your ankle bent at an awkward angle and your knees bled—didn't matter. You'd walk it off.

Ignoring the sickening crunch of your ankle, you ran for the hills. You bolted down hallways, through the legs of Vehicons, and around corners—did you know where you were going? Hell no. But as you painted and gasped for breath, eyes stinging with tears, you knew for sure you were having a manic episode of some sort. Everything was fast, faster than you at a dizzying pace. Or maybe you were fast, and everything else had slowed to a stop. Either way, time and you were on two different wavelengths as you ran, until you came face to face with a pair of dark pedes.

"Get away from me!" You roared, doing a 180 as you headed back the way you came. Surely there'd be a way out—a cracked door, a hallway, hell, you'd even take an open window—but there was nothing. You were picked up abruptly, a long, dark tentacle wrapped around your torso, lifted high from the ground and up to a dark visor.

"Put me the FUCK down!"

You screamed. You cried. You were surely foaming at the mouth by now as you pounded against the glass of the visor, screaming curses and slurs and every last insult in the book. No matter what you said, it was all in vain as a sharp bolt of electricity arced through the tentacle, up the length of it, and into you.

Everything went dark.

Chapter Text

"You are regaining consciousness."

You woke with a start, heaving in large, painful breaths as you looked around wildly. Your vision was blurry, but slowly fading in was the image of a gray 'Con…

As you recognized him, you quickly went on the offensive.

"I'm fucking out of here, you hear me?! Impotent or not, don't care, just kill me or let me go!"

"I would advise that you do not speak."

"You would advise—fuck that! Fuck you, fuck your entire—"

Megatron was fresh out of patience. In his servo was a long, metal instrument akin to a tuning fork—except between the tines were several bolts of electricity. Curling his scarred dermas into a displeased grimace, he jabbed it into your side.

It was so painful, you couldn't even scream. You strained against metallic restraints as white hot pain seared through your ribs, through your stomach, through your head, yet your voice caught painfully in your throat as you let out a choked, silent wail.

"You were provided an attempt to associate yourself with my soldiers. That's how Prime and his lackeys did it, after all. His human pets lived among them, learned their ways, and complied with anything he commanded flawlessly. You, however," Megatron eyed you with a piercing gaze, filled with disappointment, "Given your recent attempt at an escape, you will require a bit of extra…encouragement. Nod in agreement."

You shook your head wildly, only to be met with another shock. Your body forced itself to nod, as much as you begged it not to.

"You will instead be regarded as an object. A tool. You will remain in possession of your living quarters, but when, not if, when I or another Cybertronian requires you or your services, you will comply. Nod in agreement."

You nodded.

"Any attempts to offline yourself or otherwise not comply will be met with harsh consequences. You've proven yourself capable of self-healing beyond nearly all injuries, after all. Your attempts would never succeed, and only further test my patience. Nod in agreement."

You nodded.

"Hold still."

Given no choice, you complied. A rough set of talons gripped your bare torso (when had it become bare?) as a piercing pain stabbed at your chest, a faint drilling reaching your ears. Then, Megatron pulled away, talons covered in your dark blood.

Why were you bleeding?

You were so tired. So tired, so terribly tired.

"That should set the standard for our interactions going forward. Now," as your vision began to fade once more, you were suddenly picked up, free from your restraints. "Out of my sight."

If you could've writhed out of Megatron's digits and onto the floor, splattering your insides across the metal and cracking open your skull, you would have. You would have done so a million times over. Instead, you lay limp as you were carried somewhere, tossed like a ragdoll into your living quarters. You were bleeding somewhere, a dark pool of red gathering underneath you. You were crying. Goddamnit, you were crying. You fucking weakling.

You were…awake. You think. You certainly hadn't fallen asleep on your bed, that was for sure.

With shaking arms, you pushed yourself up and into a sitting position…you think. You were upright, somehow, staring with dead eyes into the cold gray walls. Fluids lazily trickled down your chest, further soaking the sticky fabric of your shirt. That was…abnormal.

What happened to me?

Swallowing a lump of fear down your throat, you slowly lifted up your shirt. What you saw made you want to scream.

Smack dab in the middle of your chest was a small, circular object, almost like a pacemaker, with the Decepticon insignia burnt onto the front. Where metal met skin, your flesh had become charred and burnt. And worst of all, try as you might to claw it out, it was attached to every single cell of your body. It pulled at your skin, your muscles, your bones, even. You didn't even know what it did . All you knew was that it was bleeding. Profusely.

"Shit," you stumbled to your feet, the entire world spinning as you stood in a pool of your own blood. Rummaging through your supplies, you desperately searched for something. Anything. You found your tattered shirt from when you first arrived, already soaked in blood, and pressed it against your chest as a makeshift tourniquet. Anything to keep you alive, at the very least.

You were in shock.

Typically, your average human being wouldn't be aware of that. They'd be fully immersed in the moment. But you? You watched in horror as your life played out like a movie. A sick, repulsive low budget horror film, with a terrible protagonist and blood spewing out everywhere. It was as if your life had become third person—there was no "I." There was no "me." There was only them. That thing, that pathetic fucking creature falling against their bed as they hyperventilated.

Oh, wait.

That was you.

You couldn't breathe.

Five things I can see…the walls, made of metal. My bed, deflating. I should refill that soon. My legs. Wow, they've gotten hairy. The door. The shower.

Four things I can hear…or is it taste? Whatever, it's gonna be hear for today. I can hear the humming of the Nemesis' engines, if I focus. I can hear water rushing through the pipes, if I focus on that too. I can hear footsteps beyond the wall. I can hear my own heartbeat.

Three things I can…feel? I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, in my whole head. I can feel the flooring beneath me, made of a different type of metal. It's grooved, like those patterned metal plates you find in warehouses. Just slightly different. I can feel my sweatpants. The fleece is starting to pill.

Two things I can smell. I can smell my vanilla detergent. I can smell my shampoo. I smell pretty good.

One thing I can taste. I can taste…the cola from earlier!

Getting up, you ambled over to your table. Your cola was exactly where you left it. As you took a sip you found it to be watered down from the ice, but it still counted as a taste. It was refreshing, too.

One thing I can taste. Watered down cola.

You had gotten up. You had managed to get to your feet, not stumble, grab a drink, and keep it down. You were finally calm.

A knock at your door interrupted your little celebration, and you quickly downed the rest of your cola and slipped on your shirt. "Come in. Well, don't do that, you can't fit, but—whatever—"

"It's Breakdown. Could we…talk?"

"No."

"C'mon, fleshie," came Knock Out's sultry voice, "don't be like that."

Fueled with more than enough anger to last you a lifetime, you flung open the door, glaring down Knock Out with a gaze that could kill. Maybe if you had laser vision, or something. Either way, he grew a little less confident, taking a step back.

"I don't want anything to do with any of you, you understand?! I'm here because there's nowhere else for me to go. Humans suck, you people suck, and you can go ahead and suck all the blood you need from me until I die!"

After your little outburst, you glanced over at Breakdown. You didn't know if their species was capable of crying, but Breakdown looked like he was about to. As your eyes lowered, you found a small box in his servos.

"Glitter Glitter Girls 600pc. Friendship Bracelet Kit."

Holy shit.

You weren't one for empathy, but you felt absolutely terrible. Not terrible, mortified . You were a terrible human being. Not human being, even, you were a terrible creature. The worst creature known to man, be it human or Cybertronian.

"I didn't mean it," you stammered, "I'm going through a lot right now and we can just…we can make the bracelets, okay? Just…god. Just ignore me."

Wordlessly, Breakdown transformed. His human form shimmered into existence next to you, and you realized that whatever damage his bipedal form sustained, his human form would, as well. A long scar ran down his right eye, the eye completely shut. If he opened it, you were sure you'd find nothing but a gaping hole of where the eye used to be. Despite you staring, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you fought to find the correct words, not a sound came out of your mouth.

Next to Breakdown came another human—Knock Out, you presumed on appearance alone. He was a lighter tan than both of you, bright red hair slicked back with a few spare strands falling over his forehead and down beside his ears. He looked good and he knew it, too—instead of casual wear, he had on a white button down with a black vest on top, a red handkerchief stuffed expertly into its pocket. He was…attractive.

Get your mind out of the gutter, goddamnit.

"Look," Knock Out stood between you and Breakdown, "I see you two have some…unresolved issues, yes? Let's just, uh, hug it out! Talk it out!"

"Talk about what happened and I'm jumping off the table," you deadpanned.

"Okay, okay, message received," Knock Out sighed. Continuing his streak of silence, Breakdown sat down with his legs crossed, placing the kit into the floor. Well, the surface of the table, by his terms. And so, the long, awkward process began.

Knock Out did not talk to you. You did not talk to Knock Out. Breakdown did not talk to anyone. The most conversation that happened was after watching Breakdown set out beads with the letters of your name on them, and then look over at the thread with obvious hesitation. Several times he picked up a color, just to set it back down. It was sad, really—quietly, you informed him of your favorite colors. You figured your words went in one ear and out the other, until you saw him silently pick up the correct colors and continue.

Breakdown was in charge of your bracelet, Knock Out was in charge of making Breakdown's bracelet, and you were in charge of making Knock Out's bracelet.

The color thing for Knock Out explained itself—his favorite thing was himself, after all. That meant that his favorite colors had to be red, black, and yellow. Maybe white, too. So, you began to thread the fibers together, the beads of his name collected next to your legs. It was a miracle you all had enough of the letters "K" and "O."

"So, how are you feeling?"

"I said we're not talking about it, Knock Out."

"I didn't talk about it . I talked about you, and your physical wellbeing. I am a physician, after all."

Narrowing your eyes, you answered, "I've been through worse. I heal fast, and the bleeding stopped a while ago."

"Any discomfort?"

"Plenty. But what am I to do? Complain about your handiwork? Yeah, don't think I missed that little detail. Megadick isn't gonna do surgery on me himself."

"Yeah," Knock Out confirmed, shockingly, "at the very least, it's nothing that'll cause you harm. Just a remote controlled tracker and inhibitor."

"Meaning?"

"Your location and vitals will be known to us at all times. It can also produce an electric shock."

"Great, a fucked up version of a shock collar."

"How do you know how to make these things?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Not sure how that's relevant, but I made plenty of things as a kid. Bracelets, models of cars, clothes for cats, toy planes. I'm handy enough to get something done. You?"

Beaming with a pleased grin at being asked a question for himself, Knock Out answered proudly. "I excel at all things beauty! Accessories, buffing, paint jobs, limb replacement, you name it and I can make it happen. A bracelet is nothing."

"It looks nice, but…the colors are yellow and orange. Are you just taking artistic liberty?"

"Breakdown's favorite colors are warm colors, like yellow," Knock Out nudged the man in question, earning himself a small, strained smile, "when we first arrived on earth, he was fascinated by your sun. We spent the first few days sunbathing, actually. Became a pastime of ours, and yellow became his new favorite color."

"You two are awfully close."

"He is my conjunx, after all."

"What's a…con junk?"

" Conjunx. As in, conjunx endura. My one and only."

You stopped your bracelet making in shock, glancing rapidly between Knock Out and Breakdown. The signs sure added up, but…you still couldn't believe it.

"Wow, these bitches gay. Good for them," you commented with a chuckle. "Breakdown, I don't know how you managed to pull someone like Knock Out, but good job."

"Should I take offense?" Breakdown finally spoke, his smile a little less strained. "Probably," came your answer, and you both shared a brief laugh. "I'm single and not ready to mingle. Humans are dumb as hell, and if I'm going interspecies with one of you guys, they'd need to really wow me. I'd really need to wow them, too, and I know I've got nothing to offer. So, I do me and everyone else comes second. That's just how I like it."

"Narc," Knock Out commented under his breath.

"Aww, thanks! You too."

"Done," Breakdown announced abruptly, a big smile on his face. Eagerly, he presented your gift to you. It was messy, by human standards. But by Cybertronian standards, considering he went from massive hands to small, delicate ones? It was surely something to behold. It had multiple crossed threads, neat little knots separating each lettered bead and spelling out your name perfectly. It was…unspeakably important to you.

He wrapped it around your wrist with as much delicacy as he'd provide a flower, as if your hands were delicate, fragile petals. You weren't sure if he even breathed until the bracelet was clasped on, and he exhaled slowly.

"Do you…do you like it? My depth perception isn't as great as it used to be, so it was a little hard."

"I love it," your voice carried an amount of emotion foreign to even you, "thank you, Breakdown. And Knock Out, here's yours." With far less delicacy, you clasped Knock Out's bracelet onto his wrist. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't bad. The knots of the thread created a pattern, and although the beads ran together and you spelled his name "Knockout," instead of "Knock Out," it was finished. You were grateful for that much.

"Wow, so you're good for something more than quick-witted insults! In all seriousness, though," he turned his wrist this way and that, "I'm never taking this off."

"Hey, what about mine?" Breakdown asked, and Knock Out paled. "It's not my best work. Really, I could've done far better," Knock Out wrapped the bracelet around Breakdown's wrist, refusing to even look at it. "It's okay if you hate it. Really, just give me that, I can remake it and do better."

Knock Out was a fucking show off.

The bracelet, made into a twenty-thread braid, formed itself into a patterned rope of sorts. It was yellow, orange, and even had some metallic thread woven in, its foil-like consistency adding a shine to it all. It had Breakdown's name in beads, and between the beads were smaller threaded ropes hanging down, small star charms knotted at their ends.

You nearly screamed in nothing but petty envy, opting instead to roll your eyes.

"What? Is it that bad?"

"It's amazing, Knock Out. Shut the hell up."

Breakdown was speechless. A thank you would be nowhere near enough. Instead, he leaned over and gave him a brief kiss on the lips, cupping his face in his hands. "It's perfect, and so are you. Thank you."

"Get a room!"

Their intimate moment over, Breakdown then turned towards you. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you saw the hesitance in his eye, his mouth open as he fought for the right words.

"If you're talking about it ," you reassured, "then go ahead."

"I'm sorry," Breakdown blurted out, "I figured you would help us win this stupid war, I figured it would be fine and we'd all get along fine. But it wasn't fine, you didn't know what you were getting into and you reacted badly. I get it. If you resent me that's fine, I just wanted to apologize. Don't know what for. I'm just sorry."

"Breakdown, I don't resent you. I don't resent anyone, really. Being here, I realize…" you clenched your fists tight. "I'm not human. I never claimed myself as one, my species fucking sucks. They're selfish, destroy everything in their path, and excuse themselves with bullshit excuses like love or religion. Cybertronians are assholes, sure, but the one thing you guys never did was pity me. You never thought I was less for how my brain works, for how I work, you took me in as I am. If I have to give a little blood for that, fine. If I have to put up with Megacunt, fine. But I really like it here, with you guys. So I wanna try this whole arrangement out. I'll probably complain and kick and scream some more about it, but it's whatever. I'm here to stay."

Before you could even glance over to gauge Knock Out and Breakdown's reactions, you were assaulted with a hug. Breakdown squeezed the life out of you as he held you close, and you awkwardly pat his back as you struggled for breath.

"Alright, alright, you're gonna kill me," you wheezed, but Breakdown refused to budge.

"Get a room," Knock Out echoed, earning himself the "meatbag special," aka a double middle finger. He was a cunt. But goddamnit, him and Breakdown were your cunts.

And Megatron?

Someday, you were gonna make him your bitch .

Chapter Text

It had been a long day. In fact, long was an understatement.

It had all started once the injured Vehicons came rolling in. It was, apparently, nothing out of the ordinary. An accident at a mine, involving a certain group of rebel Cybertronians—judging by everyone's reaction (or lack thereof), it was not just normal. It was expected.

They call themselves Autobots. All I know is that their leader calls himself Optimus. That's all.

Starscream, after the Vehicons had been treated, came in next. He sported few injuries save for a few cuts and scrapes he demanded be treated, earning himself an eye roll from just about everyone in the room.

He had asked for some of your blood.

You couldn't say you were shocked. He was privileged, for one. For two, your… condition had become common knowledge aboard the Nemesis. Foot soldiers and cannon fodder wouldn't dare request such high quality treatment, but Starscream? He wanted the best, and he wanted it yesterday. And you had little choice but to oblige, unless you wanted a shock to the heart and a whole lot of drama.

"It's such a shame that such a valuable substance is wasted on the likes of you," he had commented with a sigh as you took a knife to your upper arm, slicing open a wound just deep enough to gush blood, but shallow enough as to not be inconvenient. "No more of that," Knock Out had chided you gently, collecting your blood into the alien equivalent of a cotton swab and returning to Starscream's side. "I'm supposed to extract the blood in a careful, controlled, sterile environment! Not you just slashing yourself open!"

"Oops," you apologized, completely not sorry. "So, Screamer."

You were gonna ask it. You were finally gonna ask it.

"What's an Autobot, what war are you guys fighting, and who's Optimus?"

Starscream looked at you. You looked at Starscream. Slowly, innocently, a large smile spread across your face as you clasped your hands together in a begging motion. However, it was all in vain as Starscream got up, wounds already treated with your hybrid blood, clearly mentally unequipped to have this conversation. And out the door he went, leaving you fuming with an annoyed stomp of your foot.

Knock Out barely paid you any mind, the only sign of him even hearing the conversation being a brief huff of laughter from his vents.

You weren't going to explode on him and Breakdown a second time, you decided as your thumb brushed against the friendship bracelet still around your wrist. With a deep breath, you stormed back into your living quarters, slamming your door shut.

Autobots: what do we know?

You began writing in your notes, chewing on the end of your pen as you recalled the events of Breakdown's rescue. Some were foggy, as that was how your brain just was—but others, namely the piercing blue optics, were as clear as day.

Also Cybertronians. Led by someone named Optimus. Soldier named Bulkhead, some other guys (one is either female or a twink.)

You let out an ugly snort, erasing the note and continuing.

Soldier named Bulkhead, some other guys (one is possibly female), names and abilities unknown. Whereabouts unknown. Origins unknown.

Bulkhead, the green one, is strong. Very strong, very fierce, rescued Breakdown for some reason. Has a soft spot somewhere.

Optimus: total pansy. Red and blue, absolutely pitiful.

Others unknown. Will update with more info as it becomes available.

Shutting the book and placing it on your table, you pulled back on your combat boots, readjusting the knife inside. You had questions, and you expected answers. You'd been here long enough, provided enough—if you didn't start getting some intel, you were not going to be pleased.

"Hey, Knockout and/or Breakdown. Quick question," you recited your speech to yourself as you left your box home, "what and who are the Autobots, who is Optimus, why did Bulkhead rescue Breakdown, why did Optimus seem so pitiful, and why are you fighting a war in the first place?"

Okay, that might be overkill.

"What's an Autobot?"

That's stupid. I won't learn much.

"So, Knockout, Breakdown, how's it going? I was just in the area, figured I'd ask—"

"If this is how you bide your time when you're alone," a voice commented, thoroughly disappointed, unaffected by the way you nearly leapt out of your skin, "I question how it is that your species has prevailed this long."

You knew that voice. You didn't have to make eye contact, you didn't have to peel your eyes open to identify the source. The way your skin crawled with gooseflesh, your hair prickling with alarm, your heart stopping in your chest—it belonged to one mech, and one alone.

Lord Megatron.

"Ah! Lord Megatron," you brushed yourself off subconsciously, primping and preening in an attempt to look your best, "didn't see you there. You good? Good! Great!"

Nice job, shit-for-brains. So much for "making him your bitch."

Wait, "alone? "

Glancing around, you gathered a fact that had your every single nerve screaming in alarm. Knockout, Breakdown, even Starscream ? They were all nowhere to be found, likely on missions of their own. Leaving just one mech behind—the one and only. The gray warmonger. Their overlord, the…you gulped silently, taking a step back, but not taking an eye off him for a second. He could surely see the hesitance in your eyes, but it didn't matter. You'd be able to see the aggression in his.

"Come, fleshie," he crooned, beckoning you over with a gesture of his large digits. Given no other (pain free) choice, you slowly approached the giant. One foot in front of the other. Ball your fists, nails digging into your palms. Keep. Calm.

He observed you like you were nothing but an object. That wasn't entirely untrue—they were metallic titans from beyond the stars. You were…you. You weren't even sure if you could call yourself human at this point, let alone worth something.

Shit, I'm gonna have a giant, ugly ego crash one of these days.

Slowly, Megatron's pointed digits made their way down to your chest. Typical you would be thinking with nothing but your nether regions, accepting the touch with pride. But you were anything but typical, and this was no touch of love. Instead, his digits touched the metal in your chest with a soft clink , and it finally dawned on you just how much of their species you were taking on. You started out 100% human. Now, you didn't even pump blood through your veins, didn't even have a proper heart. Instead, what remained of you flowed through metal, as cold as the table your shuddering form stood upon.

"Your heartrate increases by fifty percent when I touch you. You are currently suffering from mild hypoxemia, and you're currently located just above Nice, France."

I didn't even know any of that. Sure, my heart was a bit fast, but…

"One of the many wonders of Decepticon engineering, is it not? As are you," he ran a talon through your hair more gently than you ever expected his kind to be, "my relic."

My relic.

Once again, a shudder ran up your spine as he said those familiar words, and you leaned ever so slightly into his touch. "I'm, uh…kinda important to you, huh?"

"Far from it," came Megatron's blunt, honest reply, "your entire kind can burn to a crisp as far as I care, you included. However, your blood and your…spirit, allow for you to become vaguely useful at times."

"Guess my first mistake would be to expect something kind out of you then, my lord."

"First?"

"I'm an honest guy. I've had a few blunders here and there, I'll give you that much. Though if you're looking for me to bow down and admit fault…" You gently, yet firmly pushed his digit aside, standing your ground. "I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint."

Why did I say that?! Holy fuck, I'm gonna get shocked again. God, I'm so fucking stupid! Why did I—

Megatron's powerful engine (what vehicle did such a thing even belong to?) rumbled in what you could identify as a soft chuckle, followed by a brief sigh through his vents. "You are either awfully brave, foolhardy, or stupid."

"Depends, that's up to interpretation."

"Command quarters," Megatron ordered, turning to exit but not taking his optics off you for a moment, "be there at 2200 joors. If you are not on time, your delayed punishment for your little remark will be exacted with great pleasure."

"Me? You? There? Why?" You dared to question, stumbling over your words in shock. You were honestly surprised enough to have been left alive, to be honest. "You spoke to yourself about a desire for answers regarding Autobots and the war. Shall I reconsider?"

"N-no! No need, Lord Megatron. Thank you," you bowed your head low, before raising it to offer him a small, only slightly nervous smile, "I am in your debt."

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Text

It was almost 2200 joors. Or, in human terms, 10:00 at night. And you? You hadn't stopped pacing. You survived the long walk to the command quarters, but that was just it—nobody was outside for you, and your racing thoughts didn't give you the balls to head in yourself.

Why did he want you so late? Why did he want you at all ? To bother with teaching you about his home and history was far from expected for his personality—that implied some ulterior motives. But what were those motives?

What would he do to you?

Would he do anything to you?

A brief glance at your cheap watch read out, "9:59 P.M."

"It was either now or never," the colorful children's watch with a running blue rodent on it seemed to say. Its hands taunted you as they sped on towards the next minute marker; time doesn't always pass this fast, does it? There had to be a mistake. Yeah, you were in a time loop of sorts. So you would just walk on back to the medbay, back into your box house, and crawl under the covers. Yeah, that sounded just about—

Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

"Shit," you swore as you speedily muted the alarm, "now I'm technically late! And that means…" You attempted to shove open the door, but to no avail. Your muscles burned as you let out a growl of effort, pushing with all your might, only to fall flat on your ass as you grew lightheaded from the strain. Then, as if the heavens (or hell, in this case) had opened up, the door slid open, revealing just the tyrant you both loved and hated to see.

"It is 2200 joors," he announced with a frown, "and one klik."

Really?!

"In my defense," you kept your tone carefully neutral, "I got here at uh…" You paused to do the math in your head, counting on your fingers and choosing to ignore how Megatron rolled his optics. "2199 joors. I just couldn't open the door."

"Incorrect. The correct number would be 2159 joors."

"Goddamnit! Fuck you and fuck your military time, would it kill you to say 10 P.M.? 9:59? It's not that serious."

"Your 'military time,'" Megatron entered the command quarters, beckoning you to follow, "was adapted from the Cybertronian time system, at approximately 2100 B.C.. Many of your inventions, as a matter of fact, have Cybertronian origins."

"Guess you and us have quite the history, huh?"

"Quite." Stopping at a large monitor, he then offered you a large servo. Preparing your every muscle for a potential injury, you stepped aboard—only to be met with no malice whatsoever. He was more than capable of maiming you or worse, but he…didn't. It was as if a deadly lion from the savannah came running after you, just to gently hold you in his mouth with those same jaws used to capture and kill. It was unnatural.

You were placed atop a titan sized desk, sitting just a foot away from their version of a keyboard. The monitor itself put all stadiums to shame, the smooth glass stretching across further than anything human engineering could ever hope to create.

"The basics," Lord Megatron began, pulling up a picture of what appeared to be a planet. It was metallic, and riddled with lights as far as the eye could see. "This is Cybertron."

"Cybertron," you echoed, all of a sudden feeling very, very small. "Near here, I'm guessing?"

"Incorrect."

"Then what're you guys doing so far from your home?"

The image changed to something that made you feel a bit queasy. It was still Cybertron, but not as you had seen it a second ago. Back then, it had been filled with glory and life. But now? It was nothing more than a dark, lifeless husk.

" This is why we are here. Thanks to Optimus Prime and his lackeys, our home planet has been ravaged by war. It's not only uninhabitable, but completely stripped of our blood and lifeforce, also known as energon."

You opened your mouth.

"Completely different substance than red energon, which resides in your veins."

You closed your mouth.

"Optimus and I were brothers in arms, once. However, his soft spark was inclined towards pity. Towards coddling our enemies, ignoring all wrongdoing for the sake of 'peace.' I, on the other servo, advocated for getting our world in order. For demolishing the system that silences the oppressed in favor of the oppressors. That, human, is my idea of peace. A world where we are all one under my rule—peace through tyranny, if you will."

"Peace through tyranny. Well, my lord," you finally looked up at him, finding greater knowledge in those ruby red optics than you had ever seen before, "I believe we've finally come to an agreement. Humans aren't too different, they woo the bigots with pretty words and put down minorities for being too much, too little, too loud, too proud. If I could make them all pay, I would."

"It's not as if you do not possess the strength. You are infused with our might; if you want this world to suffer at your hand, then all you need do is raise your fist."

Raise my fist…

You stared down at your hands with great contemplation. Red, bulging veins in your wrists stared back at you, red energon pumping rapidly through them as your heart thrummed within your chest. Said red energon made you more powerful than any human on earth. You were still gaining your bearings and discovering your capabilities, but so far you could already heal almost instantly, even from shattered bones. You ran a little faster. You hit a little harder. Your thoughts ran a little clearer.

Could you truthfully use that power for the Decepticons—against your own kind?

"Lord Megatron," you looked back up at him, fists clenched at your sides, "I will raise my fist against my kind with pride ."

"And what of my kind? Would you raise that same fist against the Autobots, then offer it up to the Decepticons in the form of an outstretched hand? Or are you like a rabid animal, bearing your fangs at any creature who gets in your way?"

"Would you be against me, for me, or against all?"

"I despise this world and everyone in it. That'll never change. But you, my lord…you have shown me kindness. You have shown me belonging. And for that, I'm by your side for as long as I live."

Megatron lowered himself to your height. Your heart raced wildly as you saw every single atom of his face, every single tip of every single crease in his armor, his optics narrowed as they searched for any possible sign of dishonesty. There was none, whatsoever.

You had declared your life for the Decepticon cause, and you were not looking back. Slowly, carefully, he uttered your name, testing every syllable and how it weighed meaningfully atop his glossa. You suppressed a shudder.

"I welcome you to the Decepticons."

You nearly collapsed with joy.

"Hold still."

"Knock Out, that's a giant fucking scalpel . There is no such thing as still."

"You got a local anesthetic. You'll be fine."

You were not fine. First off, the mad doctor himself had an alien sized scalpel slicing into the thickest part of your ear, blood trickling down your face and neck. Seeing as you were now an official part of the Decepticon ranks, you needed to fit the bill and catch up with the rest of your comrades. That meant installing a comm unit, for starters.

Second off, you were now cleared for dispatch. Meaning? The millisecond a mission came up, you could be sent off to deal with it without any warning whatsoever. It was your duty now, as a soldier. Or were you a medic, thanks to your healing blood? Whatever you were, you were an asset, so you needed to act like one.

"You're about to feel a slight pressure in your right audial."

"What's an audi—holy FUCK!" It felt as if he slid a giant rock in your brain, waves of discomfort rolling across your entire head as he soldered the comm unit to the side of your skull. He then fed the rest of the unit to your eardrum, the slightest of pinches to your inner ear signaling the connection. "Hold that closed," Knock Out ordered as he retracted his equipment, and you quickly pinched your fingers around the skin surrounding the large gash the operation left. "You're not even gonna stitch it up?! Jesus fucking christ, talk about medical malpractice!"

"Remove your hand."

You obliged with a huff, only to find a bit of blood on your fingertips. You touched the area again, looking back at your hand, only to find it just slightly more red. The gash, however, had already begun to close.

"...huh. I forget I have superpowers sometimes. What now?"

"I preinstalled some basic comm frequencies. Myself, Breakdown, Starscream, Megatron, Soundwave, and the general command quarter line. To contact any of them, all you need to do is think of it. Think clearly, and all the capabilities will open up to you."

"Wow, that's vague as hell. And who's Soundwave?"

"Third in command. Now go on, get," you were gently nudged in the direction of your home, "you bled everywhere, so now I've got to clean that up and get some much needed me time. So, unless you get off on watching me buff myself, get lost so I can work."

"Message received, loud and clear," you declared with a wave as you shut the door, wincing slightly as the anesthetic began to wear off. Careful not to get any blood on your sheets, you laid back on your bed.

Okay then, how do I get this to work? I could test one of the comm frequencies, but who to contact? Knock Out is busy. Breakdown is also busy, he's usually in the medbay when he isn't. Starscream is…yeah, no. And Soundwave? Complete stranger. Leaving just…

With great hesitation, you reached out to Megatron's comm frequency. You focused every thought process into one command: "call Lord Megatron's comm frequency!" Just when you thought you'd pop a blood vessel from thinking so hard…it connected with a quiet ping . Holy shit, you were calling Megatron's brain phone.

No, no, no, stop! Cancel! Cancel!

"Who dares call my personal—"

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologized, regretting every single breath you took and every single millisecond you'd been on this earth, "I didn't mean to. Well, I did , but I—shit, I'm rambling. Knock Out installed my comm, I tested it out, it works. I called you. So it works. Obviously."

Nice one.

"I'm beginning to land my opinion of you on foolhardy, rather than brave."

"W-well, it works, doesn't it? I did the thing, I learned how to do the thing , and…"

Holy shit, I'm a mess around him! I thought I was so articulated, but when we talk I'm dumb as hell! Get it together, damnit!

"I suppose a comm unit would be to your disadvantage, considering I have a task for you."

"A…task?"

"Relic retrieval, alongside Breakdown. Don't tell me you're not up to—"

"It's perfect, my lord! Apologies for interrupting you, but it's perfect!"

"Breakdown will be there to pick you up shortly. It may be a simple retrieval, but be wary of the Autobots. Soft and pitiful as they may be, they're far from cowardly."

"Yes, sir! I'll get ready now, so, uh…bye!"

Hanging up speedily, you then proceeded to scream into your pillow. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! 'I'll get ready now, so bye?! God, I'm gonna go jump off a—GOD, that wouldn't even kill me, stupid red energon!"

What the hell is wrong with me? Genuinely…if I don't shape up sooner or later, I'll end up distracted and dead.

"No setbacks," you growled to yourself as you grabbed your knives, shoving them through the fabric of your shorts as a makeshift tool belt. "No setbacks!" You tied your tattered bandana around your forehead, taking a huge breath. "No! Setbacks!"

Forcing the door open with a shove, you faced the medbay with a vengeance, pure hatred in your eyes. "Let's get to fucking work!"

Chapter Text

“I will secure the weapon, Lord Megatron.”

The words exited Breakdown’s intake before he could even begin to filter them, to reconsider such a bold statement. Not that being as brave as this was outside of his character, but he considered himself exceptionally talented at reading the room. And right now? The room, his Lord, and his beloved TIC were all mocking them in their own ways, be it spoken or silent.

“Breakdown?” Megatron scoffed loudly, “If you can be bested by mere humans, what chance do you have against the Autobots?” Breakdown, refusing to give in to his bruised ego, clenched his fists and resumed his plea. “What I have lost is a constant reminder that I must never again fail you.” Exhausted with the mere fact that he was providing his plea a chance, Megatron closed his optics in brief consideration. Just as soon as they closed, they opened once more—this time, holding a firm, unshakeable fury. “Take the human with you. Return empty-handed, Breakdown, and I will see to it that I resume the humans’ work with you.”

“Yes, my Lord,” came Breakdown’s curt reply. As soon as he came, he was out, pedes on an all too familiar path towards the medbay. Speaking of, Lord Megatron’s demand to take the human (his companion, he noted with a loving tug to his spark) with him was…odd. On one servo, he welcomed the company. They were generally fine, problem free, and to the point. Not overly emotional, not overly helpful, just…fine.

On the other servo, the idea of them in combat was entirely different. Did they have a biological advantage over any human with the red energon in their system? Of course, he wasn't blind (well, not fully blind). But that only worked on humans. As fast and as resilient as they were, they simply were not thirty feet tall, or made of metal, or able to transform, or armed with high powered weaponry. From a combat standpoint, they were doomed.

Breakdown, as he entered the medbay, simply offered a silent prayer up to Primus that their mission would be quick and efficient.

"Let's get to fucking work," came their boisterous, overconfident voice, and Breakdown made no effort to resist a small smirk at the sight of their "combat gear."

They were completely and utterly doomed.

"It's in the FUCKING SAHARA?!"

"The 'fucking Utah,' actually," Breakdown corrected you with a smartass grin, ignoring your little outburst as he kept his optics on the tracking device. A scowl quickly formed on your face as you laid back on his shoulderplate, close enough not to fall but far enough for danger to be well within your reach. "You're kidding. You're absolutely kidding, right? This has to be Africa. Or at the VERY least, Egypt?"

"Also part of Africa."

"Listen here, you little shit," you jabbed a finger into his faceplates, stifling a yelp of pain from the unexpectedly hard surface, "all I'm saying is that we're in the middle of absolutely nowhere." Breakdown offered little more than a hum of acknowledgement at that, and you took a moment to observe your surroundings.

Weird ass masses coming out of the sky…when did rocks grow on clouds? Where the hell are—oh.

Sighing loudly at your stupidity, you turned yourself upright.

Huge rocks, huge rocks, huge cactus. Dying plant. Please tell me there's at least a cute little prairie dog out here…

Your begs and pleas went completely unheard as desert winds blew over the two of you, miniscule grains of sand breezing over your already painfully dry and ashy skin. Your hair was fully frizzed out from the humidity, your sweat and the desert providing it the ideal environment to turn into a hideous tumbleweed. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek, and you watched as it fell onto your hand. Then down your arm. Then down off your elbow, coming to a stop on the metal of Breakdown's shoulderplate amongst several more drops of sweat.

Yeah, that was the final straw. You were one hundred percent, FDA certified, grass fed and ethically sourced bored .

"If I jumped from here, would it finally kill me?"

"What, relic hunting isn't exciting enough for you? Would you prefer it if I were on my deathbed again?"

"Well, yeah!" You admitted, pulling yourself upwards into a sitting position. "You recovered fine, we're all fine. Forgot about the situation as a whole, to be honest." Breakdown hummed once more in response, except this time it was…stuttered, in a way. The way it dragged on his vocalizer, the way his optics narrowed a little, his derma creasing—

Oh. I may have fucked up. Goddamnit, where's your fucking filter?!

"N-Not that your injury is unimportant! Seriously, your disability is more than fine—"

" Disability ?"

"No-no-no, not a—god, I'm such a fucking…" You longed desperately to dunk your brain and mouth in a vat of boiling acid. To wring it out, hang it out to dry to a crisp just to crush the pieces of it to a fine powder and spread it over the ashes of your dead body. Then dump all of what remained of you into a volcano. And then shoot at the lava a few times, for good measure. "Breakdown, how are you feeling? Let's start with that, before I fuck up any further."

"On Cybertron, everyone was created for a purpose," he began, a wistful, yet spiteful look in his optic. "If you didn't fit that purpose, such as missing a limb, or having a differently wired processor for example…there was nothing you could do. If you were rich, you got it replaced. If not, you ended out on the streets, sold out to the mines or as a tool for pleasure, the arena, worse…I always considered myself lucky to be able bodied and strong. Now? Now I get it."

"You're plenty strong! You could crush me if you felt like it, you could bash Bulkhead's helm in, and you could burn the world all in one hour."

"I'm damaged goods, fleshie. Can I finish a job? Sure, but I'm still flawed—"

"Don't start that shit with me. Listen here, and listen close," you demanded, taking his cheek plates into your hands, "you don't have to be perfect to be good. Look at me—I'm a narcissistic, no not the insult, the condition, asshole who just made you feel like shit. I'm ahead of my time, that's for damn sure, but if I just said something ableist as hell, then I just said something ableist as hell. And I'm sorry for that."

"You don't have to be. Really."

"But I do," you sighed softly, resting your head against his. "You have a disability, and that's okay. That's not a dirty word. You still smack and bash and shoot like the best of them, and nothing's gonna change that. Lose an optic, lose a servo, lose half your body, doesn't matter. You're not good for your value as a 'product,' you're good because you're you."

Breakdown paused to consider your words for a moment, your every syllable weighing meaningfully atop his very spark. Slowly, a genuine smile grew across his dermas, and he looked at you with a teasing look in his optic.

"Softie."

"Never," you quickly pushed yourself away from him and crossed your arms, all signs of affection leaving you in an instant. "I'm all business. Now, where's this signal headed?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Breakdown took a few more steps forward, coming to a halt in front of a massive rock pile as the tracker beeped wildly. "Jackpot. Might wanna get down for this one, meatbag."

"Aww, you care about me." You slid down his arm and into his servo, taking a running start to leap onto the lowest rock of the pile. From there, you jumped back onto safe ground, offering a small bow as Breakdown clapped sarcastically. Then, his servo transformed into a hammer, and he bashed ruthlessly, yet carefully at the pile. A stray rock flew a bit too close for comfort, and you quickly put a little more distance between yourself and the construction zone, instead opting to scout the surrounding area.

As far as you knew, there was no one else out here. You picked up faint music from afar, but that was just it. Nothing of concern, just an offroader most likely. Nodding in satisfaction, you returned to Breakdown's side once the destruction had come to a stop.

"So, what is it?"

Breakdown pulled out what appeared to be a Cybertronian sized grip trainer, looking more than satisfied with his find. You tried to figure out its purpose, searching for some sort of clue deep in the metal…only to come up with nothing but a headache from staring too hard.

"Yeah, no idea what that is."

Chitter, chitter!

In a move likely well practiced from eons of war, Breakdown turned on a dime with his blaster already atop his shoulder, aiming directly at the source of the sound. He had even taken the courtesy to place a pede in front of you, shielding you from any oncoming threat.

It's just a rattlesnake. Just an elf owl. Just a…no, this is all too convenient! Any animal for miles would be scared off by his massive footsteps, meaning this has to be a…

Breakdown suddenly glanced upwards, and you followed his gaze up the gorge, atop the rocks, finding…

"Hot mama," you whispered, taking in this…creature. The female Autobot was just fine. But this female 'Con, she was just fine. Her pitch black, purple and gold exterior, her gorgeous purple eyes, her dermas with a lipstick-esque black metal, those fangs, oh what those fangs could do to you—at least, that's what you thought at first, until she dove down and kicked Breakdown in the face.

You went full fury mode as you ripped your knives out of your shorts, cracking your neck and preparing for a fight. Meanwhile, the force of the kick had forced the relic out of Breakdown's hands and across the desert sands, leaving it free for the taking.

I got it!

You bolted towards it, desperation in your eyes, only to have your hopes crushed as the opposing 'Con deftly picked it up with delicate, but deadly digits.

Goddamn opportunistic—

"For me?" She smiled, nearly making you forget your fury as blood rushed to your face, flustered even if she hadn't even noticed your presence. "You shouldn't have."

"I didn't." Breakdown declared, completely bitch slapping her across the hot Saharan Utah sands, relic flying into the air and into his waiting servo. "I heard a rumor about a rogue 'Con. How about I hogtie you and haul you in?"

Hogtied…get your mind out of the gutter, goddamnit! Get her, Breakdown!

As if you had personally jinxed his efforts, nearly none of Breakdown's strikes landed. They all were nimbly avoided as she retreated, leaping back up onto her perch atop the rocks. "Not much for depth perception anymore, are you?"

"Well, not much for looks anymore!" Breakdown shot back, clearly flustered. He fired a barrage of shots towards her, only for her to disappear to god knows where.

Okay, so she can jump a million feet into the air, she can dodge almost every hit and shot, fucking disappear, how the hell do we beat her?

A faint drilling reached your ears, and you whipped around towards the source. Heart sinking in realization, you called out in alarm.

"Breakdown, behind you!"

It was too little, too late. The rogue 'Con burst from the ground like a geyser, tackling Breakdown from behind and pushing down hard. He was powerless as the rock crumbled beneath him, sending him into the ground with a cry of alarm.

Yeah, you had finally had enough. More than enough, actually.

As she picked up the relic with a cocky little chuckle, she looked back on her victim with a smirk. "It was a lovely burial."

"I don't think so, you goddamn bug !" You made your presence loud and clear as your knives glistened in the daylight, a crazed, rage fueled look on your face as you stared the Cybertronian down. "You mess with the 'Cons, you mess with me!"

"Oh? What's this?" She lazily grasped at you, only for you to nimbly slide under her spider-like limb and out of reach. "A human parading around claiming to be a Decepticon? Oh, don't make me laugh."

"The only thing fake around here is your ugly ass mascara!" With a battle cry you lunged—only to fall right into her clutches as she moved faster than before. This is her actually trying, you noted with a gulp, her limb curling around you like a boa constrictor. "I think you'll make a fine trophy. Jumpy, but not too graceful. Witty, but not too smart."

"Reckless," you countered, "but not unprepared!" You slashed your knives clean across her limb, hot, burning blue energon spurting onto you as you were instinctively thrown from her grasp and a few stories into the air.

Shit, this is gonna sting. No avoiding the fall…gotta make it as painless as possible!

Clenching your teeth and furrowing your brow, you faced the ground with a vengeance. You had been through worse and would go through far worse with the 'Cons…you signed up for it all. You would die for the cause, you would live for the cause, and you would damn sure kill for the cause, starting with her!

You hit the ground with a sickening crunch , bones shattering and tendons snapping as your legs took the brunt of the fall. Your knees had been bent to avoid them snapping, but it only did so much good from that height—yet your mind was perfectly calm as you rose to your feet, facing the Decepticon's horrified face with a shit-eating grin. "Ooh, that tickled. Ready for a round two?"

Like the miraculous player two he was, Breakdown burst from the ground like the undead, clawing his way out to the surface with a gasp. Instinctively, he turned to you to check your safety—he frowned at the sight of your firm, yet shaky stance, blood flowing freely from your disgustingly bruised legs. "You've got yourself one unique human pet there, Breakdown. How about I make them the star show of my trophy case?"

Not only enraged, but fully seething, Breakdown lunged towards her, hammer at the ready and jaw set with a fierce scowl. In turn, she prepared all of her limbs minus the still bleeding one, running her glossa over her fangs in a bloodthirsty high.

Instead of heading straight for his enemy's jugular (or Cybertronian equivalent) as you had hoped, Breakdown instead dove past her, tackling the relic and rolling back onto his pedes with it in his servos and already charged up. Suddenly, he looked back over at you, and you finally noticed the slightest bits of fear in his optics. "Run!"

"Are you kidding ?! I'm not leaving you, not after everything!"

"I mean it, why can't you just— agh! " Distracted with his desperate plea, Breakdown was knocked back and across the sands, relic flying through the air once again, landing with a thud into the sand. The rogue Decepticon dove for it. Hell, even you dove for it, despite your numb lower half, only for a bright blue blaster shot to knock it clean out of range.

Bright blue…

You whirled around with pure death in your eyes, every one of your fears and suspicions coming true as you came face to face with none other but the goddamn Autobots.

So much for a round two.

With an exponentially less confident gulp, you clenched your knives with white knuckles. Gold optic stared into purple optics. Blue optics stared into both gold and purple optics. And you? You stared down past the ground and straight into hell, where your final destination was eagerly lying in wait.

Game over.

Chapter Text

"I have to be good at running. I have to. If I'm not, then one day…one day, I'll find someone real damn good at shooting."

…

…

You were running. You weren't sure how, considering your numb extremities and excruciating pain, but here you were, flying across the sands.

Why were you running?

A barrage of bright blue shots pummeled the ground where you were just moments ago. Oh, that was why you were running. You were running from the Autobots, pitiful and weak as they were. You were running from who you soon identified as Airachnid, as hot and terrifying as she was. Most of all? You were running from yourself, and the sickening realizations that were thrust upon your mind.

Number one: you or Breakdown were going to get hurt. Badly, badly hurt. Breakdown was run ragged as it is, being one Cybertronian against three others. But being outnumbered AND babysitting you? It was a recipe for disaster, and goddamn , were you two cooking it up.

Number two, almost more alarming: you weren't ready. You just weren't fucking ready.

Rescuing Breakdown was one thing. You snuck into a facility that was already in shambles from Bulkhead's attack, rushed to Breakdown's side, and sat atop his shoulder like a good little parrot. No real work done, you realized. Now? You ran in and out of Cybertronian pedes like a rabid cat, weaving back and forth in a desperate attempt to live to see another day. Another hour. Another minute, second, millisecond…

"Get the human!" Arcee ordered. Bulkhead's massive, blunt digits came towards you, but you were having absolutely none of that as you swerved out of reach, blood roaring in your ears.

Keep running. Keep running. Keep running.

Lord Megatron, I'm so fucking sorry. You put your—shit, giant foot—faith in me for this, and I failed. I fucking—holy shit, blaster fire is HOT—blew it all.

You looked up to find Airachnid appendage-deep in a squabble with the Autobot Arcee—the latter was clearly besting the former, her arm blades fully extended and slashing deep into Airachnid's armor. That was one thing the spider 'Con lacked: a sturdy form. She was fast, fearsome, and flexible, but in a battle of brute strength and stamina, she had hardly received the lion's share.

Oh well.

You looked up to find Breakdown knocked flat on the ground, and you quickly pivoted in a sharp turn, nearly falling over as you half ran, half crawled towards him. "Breakdown," you panted, voice hoarse from exhaustion, "let's get out of here, okay buddy? Together ." Before the slowly standing Breakdown could even acknowledge your words, Airachnid was thrown back at him, clanging loudly against his chassis and sending him back to the ground.

"Shit," you swore, pounding your fist into the ground. "fuck!"

What now, what now?!

"The relic!" Breakdown suddenly barked, and you were quick to get the picture. Nodding in acknowledgement, you bolted towards it.

I've got it! I can do this, I can do this, I can do this! Red energon, do your thing!

At the very last second, you jumped. You weren't exactly known for sports throughout your life, but right now you were able to give a track star a run for their money. With a shout of effort, you redirected every bit of your blood, sweat, and please-please-let-this-work into your legs—it was almost like a red shockwave formed as you kicked the strange device, sending it across the sand and towards Breakdown like a bullet. Even Airachnid seemed impressed, slowly shuttering her large purple optics with interest.

Holy shit…I did it! I actually did it! Wait…what did I even do?

"What goes up must come back down," you realized way too fucking late. Falling to the ground in an ungraceful tangle of limbs and knives, you tumbled across the sand dunes until you finally managed to roll onto your feet. The red energon…I did it, you were still incredulous as you ran your hands through your hair, grasping for your scalp in an attempt to ground yourself. I did it. We can do this!

Don't fail now. Don't fail now. Don't fail now.

"Do you even know what that does?" Airachnid scolded as Breakdown powered up the device in his servo, "it isn't a toy!" Apparently offended by the sheer stupidity of those around her, Airachnid performed a hasty retreat, Arcee hot on her heel struts. Breakdown, opting for the offensive route, swung the weapon over in Bulkhead's direction with a sinister smile on his face, only slightly betrayed by the bead of lubricant dripping down his faceplates.

I knew Cybertronians were advanced, but…

This was no grip trainer, oh no. This? This was a Cybertronian super magnet, one with a pull so intense that even Bulkhead was powerless against it. It even took Arcee straight out of her pursuit from afar, scruffing her like a disobedient cat and dragging her towards the relic despite her protests.

It's working…it's working!

Wait…why am I moving?!

Digging your heels into the sand, all you received was severe friction burns as you were yanked across the desert. You skewered your knives into the dunes as you thought fast , eyes wild with a feral fury/fear combo as you held on for dear life.

What's causing this, what's causing this?! I'm not metal…but all that shit on my chest is! Goddamn Megatron and his fucking—

"Breakdown, you IDIOT !" You roared as you flew headfirst into the back of Bulkhead's helm, colliding with a cringeworthy thunk and sending a spray of blood spurting from your nose and down your forehead. Darkness at the edges of your vision threatened to claim you, to engulf you in its terrifying, permanent black, but…

I can't die here! I need to see Breakdown pummel these assholes, I need to see Knock Out and his conjunx happy again, I need to see Megatron's satisfaction once we—no, once I make him proud!

Filled with nothing but bloodlust and blind instincts, you lashed out at anything you could reach. Your movements were anything but coordinated and you were anything but conscious, but you felt a knife pierce metal and felt the satisfying burn of hot energon boiling against your skin, and that was more than good enough for you.

At least, that was before Arcee collided with Bulkhead's back, narrowly avoiding crushing your body in the process.

You briefly registered your face slamming against blue metal. Immediately, you were out cold.

"Airachnid," Megatron regarded the deserter with interest, "it has been some time."

"Lord Megatron, what can I say? It's good to be back."

"My Lord," Breakdown addressed his master with great desolation, optic dark as he shuttered it from the world. Being abducted by humans was one thing. Pits, he'd take that twenty more times and then some, over this. A failure such as this…the words nearly died in his vocalizer several times before he was able to force them out. "The Autobots. They've captured the human."

Chapter Text

The “pacemaker” in your chest awoke long before you did.

Sluggish streams of your precious red energon pumped lazily through your toughened veins, your body warmed by its healing embrace. Warm enough to burn, scald, even—yet your body had become a sort of living flame upon joining the Decepticons, hadn’t it? It was only a matter of time before you burned from the inside out, taking the whole world with you in a fiery inferno.

You hopped nimbly up onto your feet, in a confident stride as you moved about your familiar dreamscape. It was almost like a waltz as you drifted about, an intimate ballad only you could hear. You were moving to the beat of your own drum, gliding to the strum of your own guitar, coasting to the hum of your own chorus. And? Against all odds, against all reasoning, you were completely and entirely calm .

“This isn’t normal,” you finally declared. “None of this is normal. When humans sleep or go unconscious, they’re just…there. Not any of this .”

“Curious, as you are anything but human,” came that same booming voice. Except this time? You fully expected it, facing it with confidence and curiosity. “There is no one like you, nor will there be anyone like you. Every single bit of the planet’s known red energon sources are within you .”

Gee, what a way to tack on the pressure! What next, the fate of the earth rests on my shoulders?

“Furthermore,” it continued, “your mind is unlike any other. With the aid of your own natural human stubbornness, your vivid senses, your extravagant mind…that combined with the natural intelligence and materials of Cybertronians has created something extraordinary.”

“Like…a mind palace of some sort?”

“A mind palace,” it confirmed, a warmth of astonishment and relief washing over you. So you weren’t broken…not any more so than you were already aware of, of course. You were leagues better than broken . You could enter a dreamlike wonderland (almost) at will (not quite) by simply sleeping or being knocked out. One where you had near infinite knowledge, all because you were…you were a…

“Shit,” you swore, grasping at your scalp once more, “what even am I? Human? Cybertronian? Humantronian?”

“A techno-organic. The term goes back millennia, and can be defined as a creature with a mix of both Cybertronian and organic features.”

In a way, that realization was quite a bit bittersweet. Thinking back, your younger self always wanted to be something you weren’t. An alien, a racecar, probably a multicolored horse or something…but now that you were this time, you actually were something different from every single one of your species? You found yourself walking quite the lonely road.

Amidst your disheartening realizations, you felt a brief tug at the back of your neck. You paid it no mind until it came back with a vengeance, yanking so hard you nearly lost your footing and continuing to pull. “What in the—”

“We are running out of time,” the voice announced, and you reached out, desperate for something, anything . “Remember, as your body continues to cyberform, more and more of your potential will become unlocked! Be strong!”

As you drifted back toward the world of the living, you felt…a few strange sensations. A cool, damp feeling on your face, a dull, yet steadily increasing throb deep in your skull, and a soft, plush feeling just beneath your neck, the fibers of whatever you were resting on nearly tempting enough to remain unconscious. You even considered it, for a half second. Unfortunately, the living world waited for no one, and the millisecond you began to even twitch your littlest finger, your serene atmosphere turned quite chaotic, quite quickly.

You heard frantic footsteps. No, you heard a young human girl. No, the giant steps of a Cybertronian…unwilling to leave the answer in the air any longer, you pried your eyes open with what felt like all your strength and then some.

Oh, just a human.

A WHAT?!

Jumping up in a flash, you were on your heels and raring to go, fists at the ready. You felt like the most dangerous adder in the whole jungle, but with your injuries and exhaustion, you were surely nothing more than a garden snake. Still, that wouldn’t stop you from hissing, and you’d be damned if you weren’t gonna put up the worst, ugliest fight anyone, human, Cybertronian, or beyond has ever seen.

“Easy, easy, you’re in no condition to be up and about like that,” came the frantic plea from the human woman, her jet black hair pulled into a frizzy ponytail and a look of pure exhaustion on her faceplates. No, not faceplates, face, you corrected yourself with a huff. It was easy to forget how to be human when your entire existence revolved around being anything but.

As she reached out a hand, you backed away like the feral animal you were, going as far as to let out a growl as she drew nearer. You retreated as far as you could possibly go, a metallic clunk against your back stopping you in your tracks as you hit what felt like a railing—also known as: nowhere else to go, leaving only one option left. Palming the sliced open pockets of your shorts, your heart immediately dropped to your feet.

My knives…my knives! Shit, my boots are off too, so…

You refused to let the thought fully cross your mind, but the truth was clear: you were on the Autobot's playing field now, and you had to either batter up or strikeout.

"You some doctor? The fuck do you want from me, huh?" You finally asked, voice hoarse from underuse and anger as you regarded the woman with undisguised hostility. "Name? Number? Insurance company? None of your business, 470-go-fuck-yourself, and Leave Me The Fuck Alone Incorporated!"

"Ms. Darby, allow me," the rough, yet professional voice of a Cybertronian cut in, and a brief look upwards revealed a scarlet (Red? Orange? Hell if you knew.) and white Autobot, fitted with heartrate decals and a very, very chilling expression on his faceplates. "You," he leaned in, helm only a few yards away, "are lucky to have not bled out. You came here with severe head trauma, critical fractures to both your legs, and blood spewing out of just about every single orifice of your body."

"I've had worse. I'm fine."

"You are fine," he agreed, "and that's the problem. What sort of life did you live for your injuries, as severe as they were, to have been healed almost instantaneously?"

If you had the nerve to laugh, you would have. He looked so desperate, so confused…he truly had no idea exactly who or what you were. Still, you had to give them a false sense of security, for now. Play their game. Learn their ways. Strike exactly when the time is right. So? You would play nice, for the time being.

"I…appreciate your efforts." Your voice was strained as you grit your teeth, veins threatening to burst as you forced sweet, sickening kindness. "I would prefer to keep my biological information private."

"This isn't a matter of personal preference, this is a matter of life or death!" He spat, only briefly placated by a dark servo on his shoulderplate.

"Easy, Ratchet," the owner of the servo, identified as the fucking Prime, soothed, "they have already endured much heartache over the past cycle. Do they not deserve a rest from all this questioning?"

"Yes, yes, well," Ratchet stormed off to his computer, offering one last scowl over his shoulderplates. "They were impeding my work anyways."

"Do not mind him, young one."

I am in my twenties.

Stifling an eye roll that'd send your eyeballs all the way down the local bowling alley, you looked up at the Prime with sweet, innocent eyes as he extended a servo towards you. "Oh, believe me. I'm not." You had expected to pass with flying colors, earning a kind smile and a pat on the head, however instead, a shadow passed over Optimus' faceplates as he frowned. "I have not forgotten our previous encounter. You had referred to Megatron as 'Lord Megatron,' and fled the scene with Breakdown, in what appeared to be a voluntary act."

"You'll have to forgive me for that, Prime," you patted his servo with a few loud thunks , "I've been riding with the 'Cons for a while now. The name came naturally, the escaping came naturally, and my, uh, remark towards you came naturally too."

"I have been shown no reason to incriminate you. Any creature, be they human or Cybertronian, possesses the capacity for change, and that includes you. However," his baritone reverberated throughout your head, "you will be expected to provide information on your time with the Decepticons, and if you are ever to harm one of our own…"

The threat went unspoken.

Some bearings this guy's got, you thought, hiding a displeased sigh behind the back of your hand. He's gonna make this whole extermination thing real, real difficult. Still…if I weed out just exactly who's the most vulnerable here, then I'm only that much closer.

“Thank you for allowing me the time to remain here, Prime. If I may get myself acquainted with the rest of your team?” The Prime offered a silent nod, returning to wherever in the world was out of the main tunnel and down that road.

Down that road…could that lead to the outdoors? To your escape, to confirm the location of their base, to finally snuff out their sparks once and for all? It was all too sweet, and you already salivated at the thought as you walked closer. And closer. And closer…

“Why the rush?”

“Jesus on a motorcycle—” you swore and turned on your heels, fists at the ready…until you looked down, that is. “You’re trying to tell me the Autobots captured a teenage girl?”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk,” she tutted you, placing a finely manicured finger atop your lips. You desperately fought the urge to bite it off as she shushed you, instead offering to glare hatefully like a pissed off cat. “The Autobots have befriended a teenage girl. Actually, no, the other way around! Then I met my so-called guardian but actually my bestest best wrecking pal Bulkhead and—”

“Bulkhead?!” You spat, jaw agape as you looked around wildly. “That big oaf?!” As the Cybertronian saying went, “speak of Unicron and he shall appear.” Bulkhead, summoned by nothing but the pure inconvenience that was fate, came sauntering in through a door, not having yet been aware of your presence as he picked absentmindedly through the seams of his armor. “One mission in the desert and I’m still  picking dust and dirt out of my—”

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

“YOU!” You simultaneously shouted at each other, facing each other with only about a yard between both your faces. His faceplates were annoyed, not yet hostile, and yours were full of pure fury. The teenage girl, however, simply sat by and took in the drama.

“Me?” Bulkhead questioned, offended, “we saved your sorry self and brought you back from the ‘Cons! Not that you even deserved it, rolling with Breakdown , of all mechs!”

“Breakdown? Ha! I knew you ‘Bots were pansies, but give me a goddamn break. He’s a complete sweetheart, wants the best for everyone, and when things need doing? He gets them done with no ifs, ands, or buts about it!”

“Yeah, if getting things done means scrapping every Autobot for miles, riding with the Stunticons, abandoning said Stunticons to join someone even worse , then yeah! Well fragging done, Breakdown.”

“Alright, you’re not just a pansy. You’re the whole damn bouquet! First of all,” you held out a finger, “I don’t know how old you are, but you must’ve been forged yesterday if you think there’s any good side of a war. People kill people. People miss said people. But you know what? If you wanna make sure you not only win but live , there ain’t much more that can be done.”

“Gee,” Bulkhead growled, showing his dentas, “you’re starting to sound a lot like a ‘Con.”

“ Starting ? Ha!” You tugged down the neck hole of your shirt, revealing your charred skin and Decepticon insignia for the world to see. The teenager may have oohed and ahhed, but Bulkhead was absolutely horrified. “Cool!” The young girl marveled, immediately turning to Bulkhead. “Can I get one of the Autobot logo too?”

“Miko!” He scolded, not taking his horrified gaze off you for a moment. “What did they do to you? No—what did he do to you?”

“There’s plenty of he’s. There’s Knock Out, Breakdown, Starscream—”

“Megatron.”

My relic, Lord Megatron’s voice seemed to echo within your mind, do not fail me.

“He is my lord.” You returned his gaze with a sick smile, “and I’ve got a tracker in my chest that’ll let all of you know it, too.”

My relic, Megatron’s voice echoed once more, you are a fucking idiot.

The next few moments were complete chaos. Miko screeched in horror. Bulkhead appeared as if his spark sank to his pedes. Ratchet, from nearby at his computer, completely gave up trying to hide the fact that he was listening, openly glaring at you with hatred. “You,” Ratchet stepped forward, thunderous pedesteps sending shockwaves throughout the ground, “are no innocent human. You are a spy. ”

“Well, well, well, look who finally wisened up to my master plan. I’d say I’m impressed, but I’m not. You and your humans,” you swung your head towards the nurse woman and Miko, the latter having a hand suspiciously behind her back, “you’re all dumb as all scrap.”

“Dumb, huh?” Miko questioned, her suspicious hand returning to her sides as she advanced on you. “I’ve been called anything from obnoxious, annoying, unbearable, uncooperative, disobedient, any insult in the book. But dumb? I can’t quite say I agree.”

“Miko,” the nurse hissed, eyes full of anger and fear, “what in the world are you doing?”

“Back off, kid. This ain’t your fight.”

“Maybe not!” Instead of the fear you imagined, she instead beamed up at you with all teeth. “But it sure is his .”

“His? Wh—” An abrupt arm around your neck had you in an immediate chokehold, a broad shoulder forced into your back as you went crashing down to the ground in a heap of your own limbs. You tried to squirm, but you couldn’t. You tried to fight, but you couldn’t. You even tried your comm unit, screaming out for help, but cold, wordless static was its only reply. There was nothing you could do but sit there , face smashed into the rocky floor and your wounds reopened, as your blurry eyes attempted desperately to identify your attacker. Whoever it was, they were an expert at detainment. Hell, they even put a knee into your back for good measure, all of their weight rested into a singular hand atop your head and another pinning your wrists. You were stuck, and you were stuck good.

“I had already been on my way after hearing you retrieved a human from the ‘Cons,” a deep, male, possibly black voice explained, “but Miko’s text of, and I quote, ‘help they’re actually a Decepticon superspy,’ had me hightailing it down the road.”

You could not breathe.

Inhaling the last bit of what your lungs could take in, gathering in more dust and dirt than oxygen, you let out the most terrifying, bloodcurdling screech you could muster, taking delight in how your assailant jumped slightly in fear before tilting your head to the side to see just what the hell was wrong with you. Well, what more was wrong with you, that is. Either way, you earned beautiful, plentiful, precious oxygen, and gulped in as much air as you could until it hurt.

Speaking of hurt…your head hurt.

“You are going to be taken into custody. Naturally, I’d read you your rights, let you plead the fifth, and tell you you’re entitled to a fair and just legal process. But the second you started rolling with Buckethead, you gave up your citizenship under the charges of high treason. You’re not an American. You, excuse my French, are a fucking disgrace .”

“Tell…me something…I don’t know.”

Your head burned.

Whether you were hallucinating or not, it was impossible to tell. You could only register the feeling of gravity shifting beneath you, your body being hoisted up, and the bottoms of your bare feet hitting the cold ground. A cloth at your temple…no, a swab. A swab, for sure. It felt cold…no, hot. You were…

Your head—no, your body—was burning from the inside out.

As insides go, when something went wrong? The only way out is, well, out.

“Walk,” the officer shoved you forward while keeping you in his hold in case you fell, and you stumbled a few steps forward until your mouth filled with saliva. “I said, ‘walk’!”

You were going to throw up. You were going to throw up. You were going to throw up.

Doubling over in quite possibly the most excruciating pain you’d ever felt, all you could do is lower your head and let it pour, intestines clenching around jack shit as you expelled a surely deadly concoction of blood, stomach acid, and your own energon. It was relief. It was torture. You were so together, yet so broken at the same time as you laughed. No, you were crying. No, you were openly sobbing.

My relic.

No, stop it.

My wonderful relic.

Stop it!

My priceless, most handsome, ever beautiful rel—

That’s fucking ENOUGH!

I’m no relic, Lord Megatron. I’m a failure, a cocky mess, a brash idiot. I can’t do anything right. Defenseless, offenseless, all of the above, and I can’t do shit on my own without needing some big bad robot to back me up. I’m nothing on my own.

And now?

Now, I will die.

Chapter Text

You ebbed in and out of consciousness, your mind reaching out to you and retracting as if it were a tidal wave.

“How in the world …keeping them from phoning in the ‘Cons and…?”

“Human and Cybertronian dead zone…where all telecommunications go down without a specialized encryption point…located across the earth…”

I wonder if the Decepticons have one of those.

The ‘Cons…Breakdown, Knock Out, even Starscream…Megatron, oh Megatron…

For the first time in quite a while, you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a ball forming in your throat as your lip quivered. You weren’t sentimental—far from it, actually—but goddamnit, you missed them. All of them, stiletto-heeled traitors and mindless drones alike. Who knows how long you’d be incarcerated with the Autobots? Weeks, at the least. Months, at the likely. And years, at the unbearable.

“Wake them up. They’ll need this.”

Not on my watch.

Before anyone could dare touch you, you forced yourself awake, headache crashing back in full force as you opened your tired, bloodshot eyes. As you did, inside your cell you saw the large, looming form of a man in a suit take a precautionary step backward, unease in his eyes at he attempted to gauge your next move. Above him, you noticed the even larger, even more looming form of Ratchet, optics neutral as he held in his servos a comically small, human-sized vial of a glowing blue substance. Likely energon, if your memory of the mess hall with Breakdown did not fail you. “Ratchet tells me—”

“It was you.” You interrupted the man as you glared not only daggers but full sized chainsaws at him. “You were the one who restrained me.”

“ Ratchet tells me ,” he emphasized his words, signaling that he was the one in charge here, “that you’re no everyday human. Your body’s full of somethin’ they call ‘red energon,’ and it’s mutating your body by the second. It’s continuing to spread, and it’ll do so until there’s nothing left to change.”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re dying,” he confirmed. Ratchet passed his vial down to the human, who took it in his large hands, observing its otherworldly glow for a moment before handing it to you. You turned your nose up at it, only reluctantly taking it as the thought of you dying in a pool of your own energon crossed your mind in the form of a morbid, fleeting premonition. Unscrewing the top, you offered up a prayer to any god, human or Cybertronian, that it hadn’t been poisoned before taking a long drink.

The texture reminded you of something you tried on pure human curiosity and nothing more: thick water. Not quite a liquid, not quite a syrup, not quite a honey. It was…something. Texture and its appearance of glowing washer fluid aside, the taste wasn’t necessarily unpleasant. It was reminiscent of the metallic taste you got from biting down on a fork and thinking about it too much, with its own deep, complex flavors that nothing on earth could ever come close to being a good comparison for. Either way? It felt like the most refreshing thing you’d ever ingested in your entire short, miserable life. It was the post-workout sip of cold water. It was the couch after a long workday. It was the calm after a storm, the fresh rain after a drought, the—

Okay, you should probably shut up about the taste of energon by now. Point is? It was doing its job.

Your tongue lapped at the rim of the vial for any last precious drops, deflating in disappointment as it was truly empty. Handing it back to the human, you contorted your back in an overdue stretch, steadying yourself against the wall as you slowly rose to your feet. The human (officer of some sort?) was on edge in a matter of seconds, quickly putting distance between you and the bars of your cell in the event that you tried anything funny. You couldn’t blame him—you were considering it, after all. A simple pounce and maim, starting at the neck. Your hands would travel further and further upwards until his eyes were all that remained, looking at you in complete horror as you—

“What’re you all planning to do with me?” You finally asked as the officer left your cell, standing by Ratchet. You weren’t in opposition to your plan, you had simply opted to slot that in the back of your brain, right in the file cabinet entitled “shit you think of that explains why you got put in and out of the hospital so much.” It was a miracle that it wasn’t bursting at the seams with incriminating documents galore. “You don’t do the whole ‘torture and siphon information’ thing, I’ve guessed.”

“The Autobots are beyond prepared to execute corporal punishment in exchange for valuable intel if exhausted of all other options,” Ratchet deadpanned. “We have your name, social security number, and just about every bit of personal info required to make your every waking moment a grueling reminder of the great treason you’ve committed. Prison is a given. The death sentence is on the table. If you cooperate you will, at the very least, provide yourself a chance at redemption.”

“Redemption?” You echoed incredulously. “I don’t care about redemption. I don’t care about treason. Anything left in this repulsive world can burn, damn it all! Do you really think that a whole bunch of pretty words about good and bad, right and wrong, righteous and evil, that they’re gonna turn me all warm and fuzzy? Join the ranks with a smile? Yeah, right.”

“Agent Fowler,” Ratchet regarded the human with hard, cold optics, “let’s give it a rest, for the time being. Maybe Optimus will be the one to get through to them.”

Wait…what? Don’t tell me you’re giving up now!

Agent Fowler seemed just about as stunned as you were, trailing behind Ratchet as the medic just… gave up . Autobots, as you knew, may be annoying, but they were tenacious as hell. Even you could give them that much, and you wanted the lot of them sent off to a trash compactor. But seeing the door to your containment area close with little more than a thud followed by cold, suffocating silence? Now that had you worried.

Nonetheless, you slumped against the wall as your headache pulsed in the back of your mind, not yet completely relieved. The energon had done wonders, you’d kill for more, but your pain and weakness remained. Ever since you had woken up, you’d been putting forth one whole big facade—as you smiled you hurt, as you stood you faltered, and as you fired back insult after insult, you burned alive on the inside. Not to mention your emotional damage.

Emotional damage? Ha! I don’t do that sappy pansy shit. I’m not normal people, so I don’t deal with normal people problems. “I miss you,” this, “I wish I was home,” that, none of it!

It was official—you were in denial, and you were in deep .

Well? That wasn’t your fucking problem! You were gonna sit your ass down, lay against the wall, and watch the cell door like a hawk.

Yeah, watch it. Like…like a hawk.

Like…

In a matter of minutes, you were fast asleep.

“I know you don’t have eyes, but don’t look at me like that.”

As you stood amongst your dreamscape, the usual voice in your head was nowhere to be found, seen, or heard. You, however, knew better. It was always there, always watching, always hanging on to the end of your every thought even when you were awake. To be completely silent as you stood before it? You were most certainly receiving the finest silent treatment one could offer.

“I fucked up. I know I did. I meant to stay, play nice, befriend them all to stab ‘em in the back, I-I-I couldn’t control myself! They said so much against Megatron, the Decepticons, against me —”

“These things will happen,” the voice reassured. “You are not perfect.”

“But I am, though,” you mumbled as you curled in on yourself, hugging your arms around your torso. “I’m supposed to be perfect. I’m supposed to know everything, do everything…”

If I’m not perfect, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.

“Instead of wallowing in your own pity, you must plan out your next action carefully. You are defenseless, held captive in enemy territory.”

“Well, yeah! The hell do you expect me to do? Turn my hands into guns, my ass into a truck, blow this place sky high? I’m not a Cybertronian, I’m just me !”

“You,” as if someone had descended from above just to comfort you, you felt a presence wrapped around your face, caressing your cheeks ever so softly with massive hands, “are something extraordinary.”

Me? Why…why me? I could’ve been so content as a normal human, living with my own kind, fitting in…now I’m a war criminal for both Cybertron and earth.

Except…that isn’t true, is it? I fought every day to be human. I got drunk, got high, and put every poison in my body in every attempt to cope with what I could never accept—the fact that I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal. Others were born with the silver spoon, and I was born with the short end of the stick.

Deflating, you let yourself fall to your knees, suddenly heavy in this weightless world as the burdens of simply existing pounded you into the ground. The comforting presence of your dreamscape left along with you, retreating into…wherever it belonged, being a disembodied voice and all. All that was left behind was you, your slightly shaky hands, the hot energon running through you, and the slight gloss of tears that formed over your eyes.

“I’m ready to fight,” you announced, voice very small as you looked up into the beyond. “I hate it here. I hate being here. I hate me . But if I can cause my enemies pain throughout it all…then it’s worth every drop of blood I spill.”

“Lord Megatron would be proud.”

This time, you woke up of your own volition. No shaky rise to your feet, no complaints of your headache, no intruders ready to guilt trip you into accepting your inevitable death sentence. You were up, you were upset, and you’d be damned if anyone dared get in your way.

What would be the Autobots’ greatest weakness?

“The Autobots have befriended a teenage girl. Actually, no, the other way around!”

That’s it! They’re so damn sentimental, they’d fall apart if you hurt one of their own. A Cybertronian? That would give them a bit of sorrow. A human? They would be absolutely devastated. And I’m by no means afraid to hurt some puny fleshbag.

Pointedly ignoring the fact that you too were also a puny fleshbag, you pressed your ear to the metal wall. It was all muffled and intelligible, but there were clear signs of life—human life, as well. All you had to do was get it to come closer.

What would attract an Autobot’s attention?

“Help,” you shouted monotonously, completely bullshitting, “I’m, uh, sick. No, I’m bleeding. Blood, blood everywhere. I’m phoning in the Decepticons, they’re sending in three million soldiers to kill you all.”

Did it work?

You facepalmed hard at your own stupid question and even stupider attempt, sighing as you ran your hand down your face. It would take a whole lot more than idiotic desperation to get your way out of this one, you realized. If you were gonna play, you were gonna play smart. And , you clenched your fists, I’m gonna cheat. Steeling yourself and clenching your teeth, you reared up and punched , your fist striking the bars of your cell with an abnormally loud clang .

Good. Now more, and it doesn’t matter if you bleed!

One more punch, this time towards the lock mechanism keeping you trapped in this hell. Another punch, hard enough to dent the bars with a soft metallic groan. Yet another punch, hard enough to have you seeing stars for a brief moment as fresh pain exploded across your hands, warm blood seeping down your knuckles. Roaring in pain and effort, you shook your head like a mad dog, clearing out any and all thoughts of giving up and setting yourself up for one last swing.

This is for Megatron! This is for the Decepticons! And most of all, this is for ME!

Winding up your fist, you shot forward like a bullet, the contact of fist and metal forming a cacophonous boom as a red shockwave exploded across the point of contact. You immediately jumped back, startled by your own strength, yet your blood still rushed wildly. Your hands still bled and pulsed with pain. And your nerves? They were on fire .

“As your body continues to cyberform, more and more of your potential will become unlocked!”

Could…could this be the potential they told me about? This happened once when I kicked that relic over to Breakdown, but now…now, this feels intentional. Now, this feels powerful.

Now…

You whipped around to find the door to your cell wide open, the locking mechanism absolutely decimated from the impact.

This feels right .

Senses on high alert, you darted over to the wall, flush against the doorframe as your chest heaved with every pleased, anxious, power crazy, fearful breath. You figured the door wouldn’t open with your presence alone—enough Cybertronian-activated doors on the Nemesis gave you that impression. But if you could just stay along that same wall, once someone walked in? They’d see the cell wide open, be distracted by that, and you’d have just enough time to get the hell out of here once and for all. Or better yet, you'd take a hostage, demanding a groundbridge in exchange for their life. Then, leaping into the swirling vortex, you'd kill them anyway.

The plan sounded absolutely insane, now that you thought about it. To take an Autobot or an Autobot ally hostage…your stomach clenched at the thought of it. But at the same time, bubbling beneath your cold, hard, vengeful exterior, was your innermost rage, not screaming, but roaring at you that this was all oh, so right.

So you, ever flawed, ever perfect, ever so glorious you, were on the hunt.

Chapter Text

Megatron was not having it.

“Sir,” the pleading Eradicon stressed, “in the past three joors since the incident we’ve searched every corner of the planet, as you requested. There’s no trace of it anywhere, whatsoever!”

“ It ?”

“T-they! I mean they, I mean—”

With a calculated move that’d have the gladiator stands howling had he been back in Kaon, Megatron whirled around his powerful arm, the momentum of his swing sending the subordinate flying as he grabbed her neck cables. Claws dug in hard, metal groaning in protest, warm energon threatening to burst as he held on tight. “The correct title,” he put it ever so gently, faux concern in his venomous tone, “is they . Do not make such a fatal error again.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve been very clear, my lord! Crystal , crystal clear, more than clear, my liege—”

Putting a swift end to her pathetic whimpering and groveling, the warlord released her to the ground with a rough clatter of armor plating nearly collapsing into itself. She cowered in reverence and fear, more so the latter, scrambling to her pedes and lowering her helm almost to the cold, metallic ground. A simple, dismissive wave of his servo was all it took to send her running, fleeing the command quarters as if a horde of scraplets were after her.

Megatronus was tired of corporal punishment, Exhausted, even.

To say such a thing would have come as a sharp, unwelcome, almost hostile shock to his former self. Young, fueled by nothing but hatred, a constant desire for justice running around and around through his processor until its trail was worn well and clear into every neural node, every strand of code, every bit of CNA running through his frame. His love for justice and desire to see those under him cowering beneath him was in full force as it had always been—that would remain until he turned gunmetal gray. (Well, more gray than usual.) But as of now, he desired anything but to knock sense into his troops. He wanted results, and he wanted them yesterday. No, he wanted them the second his relic vanished into the servos of his enemies, their life signal disappearing as if it had never existed at all. To continue to be fed nothing but incompetence was an insult . So insulting that his spark, constantly cold with fierce contempt, grew nearly frozen with rage.

“Curious,” Megatron commented to himself, putting his thought processes to a screeching halt, even going so far as to manually override them in his processor. “A mere human, intoxicated by energon, to be the one thing the Decepticons seek most…” His spark clenched strangely at the thought, held taut by emotions he thought he had long since buried beneath his cold, furious exterior.

He didn’t like that.

No, he didn’t like that one bit.

He would have to find you before he lost it.

"Come on, come on," you murmured to yourself, muscles pulled tight and ready to release in the form of a powerful pounce. Every sound you heard beyond your door, every second that passed, it all taunted your hypersensitive senses with a cruelty you grit your teeth furiously at. Like a piece of overconfident prey to a feral cat, a mouse prancing about as if it knows better, coming just whiskers away from the claws of doom. And worst of all? You, as powerful as you were, couldn't sink your teeth into plump, juicy flesh just yet. No, you were forced to wait, and wait you did. You'd wait until it hurt, and hurt it absolutely, undoubtedly, indubitably did.

I need to make them pay , you thought with a desperate, insatiable anger, it's the only way I'll go home.

"I hope they're not hurt," a small, innocent child's voice mused from just outside the door, and you clenched every muscle in your body once more. This was it. Your big break, your ticket out of here, your—

The door slid open, but instead of the waiting human you expected, you were greeted with a mountain in the form of two massive, black and yellow pedes.

Thinking back, you would've kicked past you in their idiotic, ground-beef-with-electricity-running-through-it-and-absolutely-nothing-more brain.

Stupid, stupid, you berated yourself, if YOU can't open that door, what makes you think anything but a Cybertronian could?!

Alright, alright, guess it's time to improvise. Red energon, now's your time to shine!

"Their cell! It's busted open, so they must've—"

"Hey, hello, hi!" You greeted frantically as you put all your power into your legs, leaping up onto the Cybertronian's leg with all the strength you had and clawing your way up in a matter of seconds. The Cybertronian in question, instead of speaking, instead beeped wildly in a string of what you could only assume were otherworldly swears and curses. He attempted to shake you off, attempts halfhearted at best due to his unwillingness to harm you and—most importantly to both him and you—the human child, hardly more than a preteen, atop his shoulder.

"God, this is all a mess—okay, look," you scrambled up his arm, glancing up into the child's terrified eyes, "I'll be taking that." In one swift move you pounced just as you had planned, tackling the child down from his perch atop his shoulderplates until you two were falling down, down through the air, nothing left to cushion your fall but hard concrete.

I could just let this happen. I could take the fall, let the human pet die, and face whatever's next. Take advantage of their grief, probably, as I bend them to my every whim. My every desire.

Yeah, right…that'd hurt like hell, and that wouldn't get me a way out of here!

Taking further inspiration from your position as a pouncing feline, you kicked your leg out in midair, flipping around amidst the pull of gravity until your legs were finally pointed towards the ground, human in your arms with your hand firmly around his throat, raw triumph shouting deep in your heart as you got exactly what you deserved.

The Cybertronian reached out desperately, surely in an attempt to catch his pet and not you, but it was too little, too late. Your feet hit the ground with an audible boom, a red shockwave forming a crater in the concrete from the sheer force of your landing—if the other Autobots didn't already know something was amiss, they surely did now.

"Bee!" The human child cried out, only for your grip to tighten just enough not to strangle, but to prove your seriousness. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," you dodged a grab from this "Bee" and his large servos, "See, I need a way home, and you're my quickest option. Sit nice and pretty," you skidded into a wall as you turned the corner, Bee running after you in a blind rage as you sped into the command quarters and crashing through the wall, "and be a good hostage for me, okay?"

"Are…are you h-hurt…?"

What?

You'd have faltered in your running speed if it weren't for the massive alien robot currently trying to hunt you down and kill you.

"Why would that matter to you?! I'm holding you as a fucking ransom, jesus," you muttered incredulously, yet the soft, innocent love in the child's eyes didn't diminish for even a moment. "I heard how you…you— ahk— " With a resigned sigh, you eased up your grip slightly as you continued to run. "I heard how you knew nothing but the Decepticons, you didn't know how to not work for them. I just thought…it was sad. I thought about how you should've had a chance to be happy again. Or be happy for the first time, maybe. I can't imagine you ever being happy around them."

What the fuck?

As you scrambled into the command quarters, you boldly ignored Ratchet's frantic shouts of countless threats, standing bold and proud in the empty frame of the groundbridge. "I'm gonna give you one chance to do this. Fire up this bridge, don't give a damn where it puts me."

"Raf…" Ratchet said in pure horror, his once fearless, stoic optics filled with nothing but raw fear . "What are you planning to do with him?!"

"Nothing, you and I would both hope. But alas, I remain the one with your pet , and you remain the one with a working groundbridge. So, if you may, doctor?"

Bee stumbled into the command quarters only a second after, optics filled with somehow even greater horror, along with crushing, debilitating guilt. As he glanced over at Ratchet, you found them both aware of just what you wanted them to so badly discover: the fact that there was no other option. They were completely and utterly defeated, all at the hands of you.

"If I provide you with a bridge," the words were choked out through Ratchet's intake as if they were poisonous, "do I have your word that you will release Rafael?"

"You have my word." You clenched your hand ever so slightly around his throat, a reminder to yourself that he indeed did not have your word. You made your plans long ago—you were taking a hostage, negotiating what you needed out of it, and killing him anyway.

Wordless and grim, Ratchet pulled down the massive activation handle of the groundbridge, not taking his eyes off you for a millisecond as he powered it up to who knows where. None of it mattered to you, not when your ticket home was swirling just behind you.

"You've gotten your groundbridge. Now, release him!" He demanded, angry and sad and scared and fierce and deadly all at once.

"Are you hurt?"

No, stop.

"I thought about how you should've had a chance to be happy again."

You stared blankly at the medic as a boiling pot of repressed guilt exploded from within, burning your brain from the inside out as you held on tight to your hostage.

You were going to kill him.

You had to kill him.

You…

Oh, goddamnit! He's what, 12? He shouldn't die like this, not when he's got nothing to do with this. He should be in school, making friends, doing homework, losing homework, losing friends, finding happiness, living life. None of this…none of any of this.

Full of frustration towards not just yourself, but everything the cruel mistress known as life had to offer, you let go.

Rafael stumbled to his feet as he hit the floor, glancing back up at you with the same love as before. Oh, how foolishly misplaced it was, put up on someone as heartless as you.

"Th…thank you."

"Whatever you do, just don't…don't steal whiskey from convenience stores, okay?"

"What?"

Completely unsatisfied, you leapt through the vortex, bidding the wretched Autobots and their pets a final farewell.

Well…all wretched save for one, at least.

As you looked around, you took in a rather familiar sight—dusty desert, rocks galore, and a burning hot sun on the horizon. Except this time, it was slightly different from where you had last encountered the Autobots, a cave nearby and a line of trees blowing their dry leaves lazily in the distance.

Where am I?

A groundbridge, its location left unaltered, will direct towards its last input location.

You nearly jumped back at the voice in your head, only for you to realize just how familiar it was: it was the voice you constantly heard in your dreamscape, except this time, it had transcended into the waking world in the form of helpful Cybertronian insight.

Wait.

Last input location. The last place he sent the Autobots.

As you whirled around towards the distinct whine of a blaster powering up, you nearly roared out a shout of pure anger and betrayal, instead opting to stare the Autobot—Arcee, you corrected—dead in the optics.

This was a trap.

Chapter Text

"You," Arcee hissed, full of pure venom, "you were brought back to base, I saw you get brought in. So if you're here…what did you do to them?!"

Them this, them that, look at you.

You took in your enemies with a scowl, taking note of both Arcee and Bulkhead. Along with them was each of their human pets, Miko alongside Bulkhead and some teenage boy alongside Arcee. They all looked rather worse for wear, as if they had been caught in a rockslide or something. And the teenage boy…he had seen something , you saw it in his eyes. And whatever it was, it had him fucked up .

Not my problem. My real problem is why exactly I was sent right into the arms of the rest of the Autobot army, and now I'M at fault for taking just one little hostage to save my own ass?

"Shut the fuck up."

"Excuse me?"

"Shut the FUCK UP!" You roared, your last bits of restraint finally snapping. You didn't want to go off on a homicidal rage on Raf, but oh, you would gladly go off on a real Autobot, and you would do so with pride. Now, you would finally, finally get what's yours. "I captured Raf, so fucking what? He's alive, unhurt, and you," you spat, "you set me free, just to put me back in the hands of you !"

"If you're taking hostages, then it's a good thing you were brought here. And now? You're going right back where you belong, in custody!"

"Arcee, Arcee, Arcee," you tsked, shaking your head. "With a stuck up personality like that, why can't you at least be hot like Airachnid?" With absolutely no warning, you were met with an earsplitting roar of rage and immediate blaster fire; you just barely dodged it as you jumped back, the heat of the blasts burning your skin and singeing off some hair. "Arcee!" Bulkhead and the human boy simultaneously reprimanded her, only to receive a sour huff in response, the femme clearly moody from…something.

I hit a sore spot. They've got some sort of history…once again, not my problem.

"Get the human!" Arcee commanded, and the wrecker sprang into action alongside her, springing towards you with blunt digits outstretched. "Shit!" You swore as you broke into a run, your enhanced blood finally failing you as you struggled to gain speed or traction in the sand. Flailing around like you were on ice, you only barely managed to stay upright as you went for a mad dash, blood roaring in your ears as your captors kept up the chase. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, FUCK!"

How do I get out of this?! Oh fuck, I'm panicking, I'm panicking after everything I did! I escaped a cell fine, I captured a hostage fine, I negotiated my own freedom fine, now I'm face to face with a blaster and this is how I go out?! God, if only I weren't in a fucking deadzone!

Wait. The Autobot base was a deadzone. But I'm not there…I'm out, so that means…!

You jabbed a fist into your ear as you thought hard : "call Lord Megatron's comm frequency!" You thought harder, harder, harder, harder until you could've sworn your eyes were about to burst out of your skull until—

Ping!

"If this is some sort of joke, then—"

"I'M GONNA FUCKING DIE!" You screeched , dizzy with both adrenaline and relief as you ran. "I'm here, it's me, details don't matter right now! But I swear, if you don't get up off your giant metal ass and get down here right now, I'll shove your fusion cannon up your—"

A deafening BOOM just a few feet in front of you had you skidding to an ungraceful stop, tumbling across the ground as you prepared to get up and run the other way, likely faced with yet another Autobot to deal with. Probably Ratchet or Bee ready to finish what they started, or even the Prime, wouldn't that be lovely —at least, you assumed that much until the dust finally cleared, revealing someone you wanted to see so badly you nearly cried .

"Megatron, how…you're here, you're—" Your voice died as a lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed down pure joy, relief, and exhaustion all at once as you clamped a hand over your mouth. Megatron, however, also looking rather beaten up, regarded you for a brief moment. His red optics breezed over your face, your body, and back up to your face, and upon finding no signs of serious injury, he then looked back up at the Autobots, fusion cannon atop his arm powered up and aiming right at them. 

"Upon seeing your… noble little pet there," he briefly looked down at the teenage boy, "I figured the rest of you could not have been very far. Now," he scooped you up in his other servo, shockingly gentle, "as much as I'd love to provide your Prime with an audial-full for abducting my relic here, I'm afraid I've got more pressing matters to attend to."

He didn't even need to shoot them. No intentions to attack whatsoever, not the flash of a talon, the slash of a sword, not even a pede moving in their direction. His words were enough to instill both fear and finality.

And yet he still shot her.

The resulting shock of being so close to such a powerful weapon sent shivers throughout your body as you shielded yourself from the blinding purple light. You could feel your entire being vibrating as you trembled, yet it wasn't in fear as you suspected. No, this was something entirely different. Awe-inspiring power, admiration, gut-wrenching nausea as you came to a realization:

You had never seen a Cybertronian bleed.

Slicing open fingers and appendages of your enemies was one thing. But to see a freshly charged ion blast explode open someone's chassis, her very spark on display for the world to see as bright blue energon burst out from the wound, crackling and sizzling through the open air as her near lifeless frame collapsed to the ground. Mortal as you were, you watched in awe as a god was slain right before your eyes.

"Consider this your final and only warning."

And with one last smirk, he transformed gracefully, landing you safely within his cockpit as he blasted off towards home.

Megatron called out your name, ever so softly, without the anger you had previously seen boiling so hot within him, without frustration, as if he were just so happy to see you, so pleased to see you okay.

The lump in your throat finally burst as your lip quivered, and you finally, finally succumbed to tears.

"Welcome back."

Chapter Text

"I will be taking them myself," Megatron announced to Knock Out, who looked terrifyingly eager to get his hands on you. Breakdown, however, avoided your eyes altogether, and your slight frown quickly turned into a scowl.

Now THAT'S gonna be a whole ordeal later…

"But Lord Megatron! They-they could be injured ! At least allow me to look them over and—"

A quiet growl rumbled from deep in Megatron's engine as he held onto you a little tighter, narrowing his optics at the medic. "If they require medical assistance beyond what I can provide, then I will let you know. Until then, they are under my supervision."

"But I—as you wish , my Lord," Knock Out finally conceded with a long vent, bowing his helm. "Please do keep in touch."

As warm as your heart grew from Knock Out's concern, you found yourself waiting in hopes of one last mech's approval: Breakdown. Despite your greatest fears, the 'Con offered a small sigh, finally glancing over at you. "Stay safe."

Slightly relieved, you nodded in acknowledgement, hanging on tight to Megatron's digits as he exited the medbay.

Command quarters, I presume?

You presumed damn wrong, that's for sure. Megatron walked right past that familiar hallway and into the more unknown, ominous corridors of the Nemesis you'd never dared even look at. And here he was, galavanting down them like he owned the place.

Oh, wait. He did.

"For someone as cacophonous and unpleasant as you," he said with a deep vent, "you are awfully quiet."

"Flattered," came your curt reply, and you briefly wiped your eyes with the back of your hand as you hiccuped, body not yet fully recovered from crying. Megatron raised an optic ridge at this, reaching out as if to protect you from whatever ailed you, only to abort his efforts with a soft huff escaping from his dermas. Then suddenly, he came to a complete stop in front of a massive door, placing his servo on a hidden panel in the wall and lighting it up with a full violet glow.

Secret door…is he gonna KILL ME?!

"Mega— Lord Megatron, where are…" The door slid open with a click, slamming shut behind you two, and you quickly looked around for any torture devices. A knife, a scalpel, some sort of alien device specifically formulated to suck out every organ in your small pathetic body right through your ass—until you found the large Cybertronian equivalent of a bed, that is.

"Oh my god, this is your room. Why'd you bring me here ?"

"You say that as if you're disappointed. Shall I return you to your beloved medic and his partner?"

Was that a…genuine offer? No tricks whatsoever, just him wondering what I want?

"No, no, no, " your response came suspiciously fast, "I don't need that. They're great, they're literally my best friends, but…I'm okay here, with you."

"Good. I already had you slip through my digits once, I can't say I'm quite ready to take my optics off you just yet."

"Wow," you chuckled, "jealous?"

"It's only my nature. I don't share."

Another one of your signature Megatron-just-said-something-hot-as-hell shivers attacked your body, and you quickly steadied yourself against one of his digits in an attempt to hide it. Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him and confirm just yet.

"Were you harmed in any way?"

"Not directly, no," you confirmed, voice barely a whisper as you studied your feet very, very closely. "Were you indirectly harmed?" Megatron specified, anger creeping into his voice. "If those wretched Autobots even dreamt of—"

"It wasn't them," you quickly set the record straight before he could continue his spiral into senseless aggression, "when I first got captured I was already hurt, that relic thingy that Breakdown got was used against us and I got the worst of it. I was pinned against Bulkhead, nearly flattened by Arcee, then I was knocked out. I assume Breakdown told you that much once he came back and gave his report," Megatron nodded in confirmation, "so aside from that, they weren't ruthless. They thought I'd be on their side and patched me up, then when they realized it wasn't the case, that I'm here voluntarily , they turned on me and put me in a prison at their base."

"A prison?"

"A human sized cell, which leads me to believe that, unless they're taking human prisoners, they're using a human facility for themselves. They did, uh, confirm something about how my body is taking the red energon, though."

How do I put this gently…

"I'm dying," you blurted out, but it wasn't the shocking, heart wrenching announcement it was. You were completely, and entirely calm. Megatron, however, appeared as if he was about to tear off all his armor, collapse, disintegrate, and die. "That cannot be true!" He suddenly shouted, gripping you tighter as if he wanted you to die quicker. "Knock Out looked you over time and time again! He confirmed that you are well, confirmed that it was giving you strength! I'll have that medic's helm on a silver platter if—"

"Stop, stop! Just—" you worked your brow with a sigh, not possessing nearly enough patience to regret how you just cut off a warlord . "Knock Out didn't know, I didn't know! But something…happened. Long story short, I gained a weird power, something in my head told me I'm getting cyberformed and Ratchet's scans confirmed it, and apparently it'll keep happening and burning away at me until there's nothing left. I drank some energon and it seemed to help, but I'm not sure if—WAH!" You screamed bloody murder as you were all but launched onto the berth, landing with a thud that knocked the wind out of you. "The fuck is your problem?! Trying to kill me faster, is that it?!"

Ignoring your little outburst and completely disregarding his, Megatron speed walked over to a large machine in his room, one you questioned the use of ever since you entered his quarters. It was connected through a massive pipe that fed in through the ceiling, a blue light flowing through it and down into the machine, which contained a large opening. As Megatron pressed one of the many switches on the front, a large, empty cube dispensed into the opening. Next, he pulled down a massive switch, and after a moment, fresh blue energon flowed into the cube, filling it up to the brim.

Faster than you had ever seen him move before, he shoved the cube in your face, opting to place it ever so gently on the berth instead of drowning you with it. You looked up at him in pure bewilderment until your brain suddenly clicked back on, glancing several times from the energon cube up to his optics and back down again.

"You have a personal energon dispenser ?"

" Drink ," came his unexpectedly harsh demand, the tone of his voice sending you up on your feet involuntarily, cupping your hands and gulping large sips of energon like it was the freshest spring water god had come down from on high and handed you personally. In some ways, it was. "There have been a multitude of attempts on my life over the millennia," he admitted after he watched you take a few drinks, calmed enough to take his eyes off you for a moment, "so, I've had an energon filter installed. It filters out hundreds, if not thousands of both common and uncommon Cybertronian toxins, as well as many found on your planet."

"Guess it's worked so far, huh? Though, how do you know I won't take that info straight to the medbay and poison you myself, right where you'd least expect it?" You dared ask, the mischievous smile on your face clearly (hopefully) expressing your jest. "Feisty, feisty," Megatron tsked you gently, "per that logic, a mere search on your 'internet' can have you offlined within the solar cycle."

"...good point," you acknowledged, voice stiff as all that dawned on you. Megatron simply smiled in response, watching closely as you took your last drink, flicking off droplets of energon and wiping the remainder of it on your tattered shirt. "You can, uh, have the rest of that. I barely put a dent in that."

"Is this your pathetic attempt on my life ? Absolutely not. You know not the millions upon billions of parasites human mouths contain, possibly an increased amount in a techno-organic!"

"Probably."

He's a complete ass, but…he chose to save me when I needed him most, and is trying to heal me. The thought of my death troubles him, as much as that feels odd to say.

"Lord Megatron?"

"Here, as always."

Yeah, gonna totally ignore that shiver too.

"Thank you. Not to be all sappy, of course, but, uh, thanks for. Y'know. What you did back there."

"It was the wisest option. You are an invaluable asset to the Decepticon cause."

Asset. Yeah, gonna ignore that pit in my stomach, too.

"Are you okay? Because I'm guessing you didn't just materialize out of thin air when you saved me, so you were there already. And, no offense, but you look…"

His armor is dented, scratched, covered in dust and debris…worn? Tattered? Beaten? Though that deep purple plating along his ribcage, or whatever the human equivalent would be…the perfectly framed face, the huge, dangerous spikes…perhaps intimidating would be the better term. Domineering. Handsome. Perfect.

Shit, I'm staring!

" Point is ," you emphasized as you chased nervousness from your system like you were a teenager with a dumb little crush, "I feel like something happened." Unwilling to put your little moment aside, Megatron raised an optic ridge as he stared back. With a small contemplative hum, he got up, rummaging through his massive nightstand next to the even more massive berth.

"There happened to be a cave in while I was in the area," he commented, pulling out a handheld buffer, then a cloth, then a small bottle of a dark, inky liquid, "it was by dumb luck that the Autobots were there as well. I was…momentarily incapacitated. But not harmed."

"Good. Well, not good that you had to deal with all that junk, but good that you're in one piece. What's the stuff for?"

"You said it yourself. Although in less words and more ogling," you snorted at that, "my finish could use some tidying up."

In front of me…? Oh, nevermind that, look at that tiny cloth, and the tiny bottle, his servos are so big! It sounds like such trouble.

"I could do it," you blurted out suddenly, eyes widening at the realization of what you just said. Looking back, you just wanted a piece of the fine piece of art that was Lord Megatron, but you digress. You were fucked . You didn't know a thing about Cybertronians, much less how to care for one! "If that's, uh, okay with you, my Lord. It would be educational for me, and save you the work."

Save!

"Your pulse has quickened, and there has been an increase in temperature in your lower half."

Fuck!

"Do you want me to do it or not?" You snapped. "A chance for me to be serviced by someone who typically deems themselves to be so high and mighty? My, my," Megatron marveled at the thought, taking a seat next to you and setting your energon cube on the nightstand. "I accept."

Hey, mind palace…does this end badly?

As if in protest to your sheer idiocy, the voice in your mind was as silent as ever. So, you'd do what you did best—improvise, beg for success, and say you "never had a doubt in your mind" if things somehow ended up okay.

"Lay back a little, then put the bottle and cloth close by. Please."

Shockingly, Megatron complied. He scooted back until his back touched the headboard of the berth, adjusting the mesh of the pillows behind him until he could half sit, half lay comfortably. The bottle of whatever the hell it was laid on his lap along with the cloth, the handheld buffer abandoned entirely for obvious reasons. Then, he had the nerve to look at you expectantly.

"O-oh! Yeah, yeah, on it," you stammered, knowing damn well that you absolutely were not on it. You completely underestimated the sheer size of Cybertronian items, glaring down with hatred at the cloth—which appeared as a small handkerchief in his servo, but a full size comforter in your hands—and letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

I'm not gonna tear his cloth. I'm not gonna back out, either. This'll be humiliating, but…

In one swift move you wouldn't give yourself the chance to regret, you pulled your shirt off. Megatron's optic ridges raised by a microscopic amount as you stripped in front of him just to make him look nice. It was a sacrifice for just a little more Megatron points—that was for damn sure, said the cold air against your bare torso—but to see that intrigued face again, you'd do it time and time again. So, with more confidence than you ever imagined yourself having, you took your half naked ass over to the bottle of what you were going to assume was polish, manhandled it in order to get some of it on your shirt, and got to work.

"You," Megatron's voice was stilted as you rubbed circles into his leg plating, polishing it until it shined, "are quite the interesting creature."

"How so?"

"I do not intend to group you in with the half of your biology you've abandoned, but humans tend to be rather…particular with who they remove their frame coverings around. Yet here you are, removing them just to serve me."

To serve you.

"My Lord, you are most worth serving." You gave your guarded reply, unwilling to show the absolute mess he made of your nerves, because you were fine. No, Megatron was completely fine to be around. Wonderful. You weren't flustered, you weren't uncertain, you weren't more sure of yourself than ever, you weren't fighting back the heat pooling in your lower half as you were not just serving him, but you were serving him, all over his frame which no mere mortal was permitted to touch, let alone you, he was just so—

"Moving…uh…up there now." You announced slowly as you finished up his lower half, tactfully avoiding his crotch area as you were in no fucking way equipped to be anywhere near alien dick. Megatron, whose optics were lidded and narrow like a content cat, simply nodded once, providing no further comment as you clambered up his chassis, finding your footing in a small gap in his armor and continuing to clean his armor. Small pebbles clattered to the ground and dust threatened to make you sneeze, but you kept your focus.

Small circles. Small circles. You were going to get this shit done, then you were going to scream at your reflection if, no, when you returned to your quarters. You would ask them what the fuck their deal is, and then you'd come to the conclusion you always have. That you're just fucking stupid, your brain's being stupid, and you need to take a step back, chill the hell out, and stop making something out of nothing with your emotions. Yeah, that's what your—

Megatron was looking at you.

On second thought, maybe your emotions had some validity. Something had to be going on, with the way his optics suddenly hardened. His optic ridges creasing slightly with your every movement. His digits twitching gently, yearning to reach out, to do something . He was going absolutely mad.

"What's up with you?"

"You do know," Megatron began with a growl, "that any attempts on my life will be met with your swift end."

You nearly laughed out loud at the sheer ridiculousness and suddenness of his remark, but laughter never came, nor did even a single grin. In fact, you weren't sure if you could frown harder.

Why the hell is he threatening me now?! I've done all this shit for him, making him look nice, literally polishing his—

A deep, steady thrum pulsed beneath your hands, and you quickly stopped polishing.

His spark. His direct energy source, the sole determiner of life or death.

I'm touching right above his spark.

Oh my god, I made him feel vulnerable and he doesn't know what to do about it.

"Hey, hey, hey," you made your way up closer to his helm, your job long forgotten as you pat his shoulder plates gently. "I'm not gonna do any of that to you. Trust me."

"Trust the word of someone from a species whose very purpose is to hurt, to discriminate, to lie and cheat their way into undeserved victories for the sake of nothing but greed?"

"Well, yeah ," you found yourself a nice cozy spot near his neck cables, taking a seat and leaning back, "if I'm capable of so much bad, then that means I'm all the more credible when I insist on doing some good."

"And if I continue to doubt your credibility?"

"Then I'd keep proving myself to you anyways, just to see the look on your face when I finally impress you."

That spurred the tiniest bit of air from Megatron's vents in the form of a halfhearted chuckle, and slowly, as if offering his consent beforehand, he reached a digit up to you. He lazily, yet so, so gently, ran it down your cheek, stopping at your jawline. The lethally sharpened tip didn't even dream of diving into your flesh and drawing blood, instead tracing over every single anomaly of your flesh.

The small dimples on your cheeks that showed themselves when you genuinely smiled.

The littlest hairs on your jaw, not quite grown but not quite shaved as you finally allowed your body to exist in its most natural state. It was appreciated, apparently.

The veins in your neck, once reddened and inflamed by your abnormal blood, just on the tamer side of crimson against your dark, tanned skin.

Down to your chest, not out of any carnal desires, but so tender, so full of fondness, tracing every last crease, every last bump, every little thing that made you… you. You dared not breathe not out of anxiety, not out of fear for your life, but out of a fear that if you did, if you disturbed this moment in any way, it would be gone as soon as it came. That he'd pull away, distancing himself to the other side of the earth. Good thing he didn't. You don't think you could live without his servos on you now, to be quite honest.

Slowly back up to your face, the wandering digit stopped just at the side of your head. Unable to resist, you leaned into his touch with a soft exhale—he did not pull away by even a millimeter.

"You're crazy, stubborn, tenacious, and on a path surely leading towards your own death."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I shall. You are an absolute marvel."

Your breath caught in your throat as your heart skipped several beats, on the brink of exploding within your very chest. With what emotion, you weren't quite sure.

No words would be enough, right now. Between him nearly being killed, you nearly being locked away in a cell for all eternity, and a heart-to-spark that had you more winded than if you ran a fifty mile marathon, you weren't sure you'd ever speak again. So, as gently as your beloved warmonger offered to you, you leaned gently into his helm, warmed with content as he, once again, did not pull away. You prayed that he never would.

"My relic," he called as he had many times before.

"My companion," you finally answered.

Chapter Text

.: Raf, wait! :.

Nearly faster than Bumblebee's neural net could process, the young boy was bolting off to who knows where.

Now that he thought about it, he saw all the signs, all the hints that he'd want to be anywhere but here. The sudden stillness and silence as soon as Arcee got carried in through the bridge, Bulkhead's arms and chassis coated in her energon. The hollow look in not just his eyes, but Jack's as well. They both looked not at each other, but so far through each other far beyond the horizon. Then, suddenly (but not so suddenly, if only Bee had just seen ), a loud sob tore out from his throat as tears welled up in his eyes, and he was just gone .

Could we have prevented this?

No, the harsher, less optimistic part of Bumblebee's processor hissed in response, causing him to clench his servos into fists. We could have prevented this.

It's too convenient for them not to have been involved. A mucked up signal all day, they come back online, then the SECOND we send Buckethead's pet through a bridge? Arcee's down, like she didn't even know what hit her. She couldn't have.

We did this.

He couldn't watch any more.

The way Ratchet rushed to her side, barking out orders to Bulkhead in a vain attempt to save her spark, how Bulkhead crumbled beneath the pressure, his movements terribly erratic and unsure, and how Optimus, who had just returned, too, looked everyone over with a look of pure sorrow. He looked at Arcee with sympathy and anxiety. He looked at Bulkhead with a question in his optics, as well as gratitude for the care he was attempting to provide. He looked at Ratchet with raw admiration and trust. And he looked at Bumblebee with—

He couldn't watch any more.

Taking off in a fear and anger filled frenzy, he tore off in Raf's direction, deep into the many hallways and corridors of the base. Wherever he was, he'd find him. He'd make this right. And if he ever found the poor excuse for a human again…his spark burned with a morbid delight at the thought of justice finally coming their way.

"So she's alive," you marveled, followed by a vexed sigh through your teeth. "Magnificent. Thought a point blank from Buckethead would've done it for that little two-wheeler."

"They're Autobots," said Breakdown absentmindedly as he checked the signal tracker, "they've got that thing you talk about when you review shows 'n stuff."

"Plot armor?"

"Bingo!"

"Ha! If anyone's the protagonists, it's us," you declared, leaning into Knock Out's neck cables with little to no protest on his part. "We're actually doing meaningful shit. Anyone can go 'oooh, freedom, peace, love, yay,' but us? We hunt for what we need to survive, thrive, and kick aft out there. And we don't do it with all that 'never take a life' junk, fuckin' pansies."

Except for me, your brain put in its two cents with a sharp jab straight to your conscience, you pitied a child and let him live. Megatron would've just killed him.

Megatron…

"Anyways! My fists burn, when do we cause problems?"

"Patience, patience, little one. Perfection takes time, much like the finish of yours truly."

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again: narc. And why not just dig the damn thing up? We've been around the same dig site for what's bound to have been hours," you gestured towards the many, many mountains galore, "dig up something and make do from there!"

"Digging up something and 'making do,' will result in a failure to retrieve our artifact, if we're spending all our time turning the place upside down. Or we could damage it. Or, and Primus forbid, what if the tips of my digits become filed down, rounded, or, by the Well, cracked ?"

Yeah, right…you just wanna go on a stupid little romantic walk with your stupid little robot husband.

"Forgive me, your self-centeredness. It's almost like some of us are working to earn our keep around here! Now move," you grumbled, clambering down Knock Out's frame and pointedly ignoring his cries of protest from your shoes scuffing his finish. As you landed gracefully on your feet, the red energon within you boiled in excitement, rage, and…something else.

Could it be foreboding, perhaps? A sense of unease, given your very unstable relationship with Lord—

"I'd shut up if I were you," you grumbled under your breath as you trudged off with a scowl, not unlike a child after a tantrum. In a way, you weren't so far off.

If you had to give one of your relationship pet peeves, it would undoubtedly be "feeling unsure." You liked the warlord enough, sure. He was assertive and gave zero fucks, just like yourself. You weren't the type to roll over under the influence of someone larger than you, stronger than you, and arguably fiercer than you'd ever be—that was pansy shit, and you were no freshly bloomed flower. You were more like an acidic, carnivorous horror. And luckily for you, all things horrific ended out right up old Buckethead's alley.

Yet I still sort of feel…

Insecure.

Conflicted. I feel very conflicted on whether I can actually settle down or not. We're companions or whatever, sure, but if this is all pretty words to make up for whatever bullshit he puts me through next under the guise of, "you're human, you're property, you're stuck here, you owe me," I'm gonna kill everyone on that ship, on this earth, and then myself as I float around in my very own cosmic grave. I feel so goddamn—

Unsafe. Vulnerable, even.

I'm looking out for myself and my best interests. That's all.

A faint spark of blue and red stood alight in the distance.

Oh, but you crave praise and validation like some child, begging for reassurance and looking back at your superiors for their eyes to shine with pride every moment you do something right. You need them. You need to be coddled. You need to be lov—

Stop it. I mean it, there's a—

You just barely clawed your way up to the bar he set for you, towards being as close to an equal as someone as glaringly mortal as you could manage. Yet you still continue to climb, claw, "bitch and moan," as you would put it. You need more. More and more, to have the emotions you buried so far down validated in the eyes of the last man on this earth who managed to earn your adoration. Yet—

"Autobots, stand your ground!" The Prime ordered, "We must not allow the artifact to fall into enemy hands!"

Shit.

…bad timing?

"You cheeky fuck," you panted as you bolted back towards your allies, who were currently busy getting their afts absolutely wrecked , "I saw something, I tried to tell you, but nooooo, you're gonna sit in my head like the annoying goddamn brainworm you know you are!" You dove behind a boulder for a moment to catch your breath, pausing to run your idiotic plan through your head one last time—then you burst out from behind your cover, shouting your battle cry, knives at the ready as you headed straight for whichever 'Bot was so unlucky as to be so close.

You do know everyone can hear you talking to yourself, right? That you were communicating with me just fine by thinking at me earlier, but now you insist on screaming at me aloud like some madman?

"Yes, I've got that—and everything else—real fucking clear! Here's what you need to know," you paused as you took a dive towards Arcee's pedes, eyeing delicate metallic tendons and cabling you were just begging to slash, "I'm in control here, not you! Cyberform this, cyberform that, you'll gain more control and get more in touch with yourself and your biology—blah, blah, blah, enough!" You slashed clean through a wire you supposed was important, as hot energon gushed from it and you were briefly pleased by her cry of pain. Briefly. "I'm well in touch, thank you very much! I don't feel any of that petty mushy gushy shit, I'm all good, and I don't need you talking down to me about my stupid little obsession over that stupid silver shithead!"

"Obsession."

"Admiration!"

"Admiration."

"I stuttered!"

Intriguing. Get behind that boulder on your left.

Obeying off instinct alone you dove and rolled, landing safely on your ass just milliseconds before Knock Out came flying across the battlefield, tackling Arcee in a pile of flying paint chips, sharp gravel, and swears you'd never even heard of.

Wow, stupid brainworm actually saved me for once. Well, not once. Dozenth time, probably. All because it knows everything, I don't, and I'm just so, so fucking—

"If I listen to your stupidass feeling talk later, will you actually do your job for once and keep keeping me alive?" You relented, the familiar feeling of vulnerability itching uncomfortably deep in your chest. "I'll listen. Whatever it is, whether I agree or not, I'll…I'll listen."

Smartest thing you've said all day. Now, across the field, a pointed rock below a cliff. What do you see? Look closely.

Tracing your line of vision down towards that place in particular, you squinted so hard your head hurt.

Not that closely, you dumb fuck.

Watch it! Seriously, who in the fucking hell even taught you to swear properly?

You paused for a moment, before facepalming so hard you could've sworn you saw stars.

Right, it's my brain.

Glad you're not that dumb. Now concentrate, you've only got about seven seconds. One.

Wait.

Two.

Wait!

Three.

"Shit, what's even over there? Rocks? Dirt?" A brief movement of pink had your entire brain jolting into focus, tracing the movement until you could finally make out the one, the only, Miko. About to jump headfirst into the battlefield.

Five.

She looked you in the eyes, balled up her fists, and sized you up like you were nothing but some obnoxious bully. You nearly laughed out loud.

Six.

Between you laid a Cybertronian…whatever. You had no idea, all you knew was that it was as big as a log, probably the thing you were supposed to find in the first place, and you were not letting her slimy little hands anywhere near it.

Seven.

You both hurried out, focused on the artifact, dodging pedes and servos left and right as you screamed like feral cats. Yet she seemed so unconcerned by the giant fucking knives you deftly wielded, instead putting her flip phone up to her ear as she huddled behind the opposing side of the artifact.

Teenagers.

"Ratchet, come in!"

"Oh, hell no, you are NOT ignoring me!" You grumbled as you attempted to get to the other side, only for a pede to flash out from nowhere, nearly flattening you into some disgusting pancake. Gritting your teeth, you waited, poised to strike the millisecond she got closer. Or you'd get closer, sealing the deal for her. Either way? She was dead, and you were going to give her a long lecture on limiting her screen time.

"D'oy! I'm with the thingamabob!"

So they don't know she's here. Typical.

"Yes! Can you bridge it out of here?"

Not happening! If I get pancaked, then so be it!

You leapt out from behind, causing her to let out a shrill shriek of terror. You spun your knives in your hands as an extra display of ferocity, grinning madly as you approached her slowly. "Well, well, well! Here to tell Fowler on me again?"

"As if I need to. Get them, Bumblebee!"

Huh?

You were suddenly scooped up like a scruffed kitten into a pair of large, black servos, lifted high above the battlefield until you stared into giant, furious, blue optics.

"Bumblebee, huh? And here I thought your name was just Bee. Now, more importantly, PUT ME DOWN!"

Adjusting for Cybertronian Morse Code.

Huh?!

.: Didn't think you'd show your face here again, not after that whole fiasco you started. :.

"That I started?! How about the trap you two sent me into!"

.: You…can understand me? :.

"Yeah, pretty shocked too. Guess it's more red energon pulling more crazy shit in my head. Would you care to discuss it on the ground?"

Bumblebee tightened his grip around you exponentially as he dodged blows from his enemies, who had likely noticed you in his servo and were attempting to retrieve you. But, as plot armor would have it, not a single blow landed as he kept you close. .: You're going straight back to base to pay for what you've done. To all of us. To Arcee. To Raf. None of them did anything wrong, we all tried so hard to help you! To get you far away from here! :.

" Here is exactly where I wanna be! You misunderstand, you absolutely insolent little bug!" You roared, adrenaline flooding you with strength as you pried his digits open, straining as you clambered your way up to his faceplates. Try as he might've to shake you off like the pest you were, you were determined to sink your teeth in more than ever and you were not taking no for an answer. "The Decepticons are my home. They've provided me with safety and security while you… YOU… !" You dragged the edge of your knife slowly across the underside of his helm, sighing. "You're all so soft. So blind. So naïve, so pathetically loving under the guise of empathy and love towards those who don't even deserve it."

Remember the task at hand!

"Right, right. Now, to rid the world of one less Autobot."

Not that task! The artifact, the artifact!

You quickly turned back towards the artifact, but it was all too little too late—an ominous hum had already begun to emit from it upon being struck by Miko's swift kick. And the Wrecker, jumping out in a foolish attempt to bring her to safety, got the brunt of the sudden blast; you could only smile in satisfaction as it shined its laser right between his optics, prepared to fire.

I suppose we can still lose one of these obnoxious assholes, hm?

A moment passed.

Why is it not firing.

Another moment.

"WHY DIDN'T IT KILL HIM?!" You shrieked, only to be scooped up into Knock Out's waiting servo, along with the now drained relic. I was going to do it…I was finally going to do it, to bring him back a helm on a silver platter, and THIS is what I get? A failed shot from some oversized noisemaker, a bug who thinks I owe him my pity and apologies, and an absolutely humiliating fight against a TEENAGER?!

"You really took one for the team, Bulkhead— my team," Knock Out gloated as a groundbridge formed behind him, joining his partner in a bold, confident retreat. Except you? Were not having it in any way whatsoever. "No, you ass! I was so close, let me—let go, just—"

"Easy, easy! Primus, fleshie, what's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"Take me back!"

"As if! Although," Knock Out, safely within the command quarters, tilted your head this way and that, observing every muscle, tendon, and bone…only to receive a sharp bite to the tip of his digit as a warning. "As your physician and most valued companion, I'll choose to ignore that. What I cannot ignore, however, is your current mental state."

"My current—have you LOST YOUR FUCKING—"

"Ah, yes, once again with the screaming. The loud swearing at a moment's notice—more so than usual—coupled with the most concerning fact of them all. You, my dear friend, have been talking to yourself. Near constantly."

Shit.

"On second thought," you leaned into Knock Out's touch with an innocent grin, "I'm suddenly feeling calm. So, so calm, calmer than I've ever felt! And wow, is that a new paint job? Because you're looking absolutely stunning."

"Ah-ah-ah, flattery may charge these batteries, but for the sake of your wellbeing, consider this session of you praising me postponed. But, do note that I will be expecting a full length essay on all the ways you adore me within the solar cycle. Deal? Deal. Now, off we go," Knock Out announced, using both servos to cage you in between his palms. "You're crazy, you hear me?! You take me back home right now, or I swear to you I'll cut you up so bad you'll need a planet sized buffer to give your finish a fighting chance! Enough oil and polish to shine a pile of shit! A—"

" ENOUGH !"

You went completely still, as if you had died on the spot. Upon looking up at the owner of the voice, you wished you had.

Megatron.

"Was just on my way to find you, my lord," Knock Out commented with a curt bow, "your precious human is, well, broken. Not sure how, not sure why, but they seem to be in some sort of manic state. Constant screaming, swearing, and they seem to also be hearing some sort of voice."

"A voice," Megatron's attention was immediately gained as he looked down at you with scrutinizing optics, and for the first time in a while, you felt human. So terribly, obviously human, in the face of someone who might as well have been your god. You couldn't even protest as he picked you up, pressing you against his chassis—but you sure as hell didn't lean into that warmth, as you would have before. No, it felt ice cold against your clammy skin as your mouth went dry, words barely registering as English as you were completely, and utterly, caught .

"It appears as if we have much to discuss."

Chapter Text

Being vulnerable was hard. No, scratch that, that was the understatement to end all understatements. You were kidding yourself. And you had a life's worth of emotional failures to prove it.

Exhibit A. You'd been so young, so little while feeling so big. You could hardly remember much, as your memory isn't quite what it used to be. Repeated substance abuse and head trauma does that to a fellow, you supposed.

Trouble stuck to you like static to a balloon, in the way that everyone you rubbed up against (and you best believe, you did plenty of butting heads) left negatively charged and with hairs on end. You pissed everyone off for the fun of it, by accident, or both. Oh, and during all this, you hadn't even hit puberty yet.

You were all talk, all hostility, but when caught in the act, you would clam up as if you'd just been outed as a murderer, set to serve your deadly sentence the minute your mouth opened. So, you didn't. You shut down completely. You shut up completely.

"Why did you hit him?" You didn't know. Maybe you did. You'd never tell, either way.

"Why didn't you stop her from hitting you?" Who knows? Maybe you craved a fight, maybe you craved the attention, maybe, deep down, you felt you deserved it. You'd never tell, anyways.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You may never know. But you would never tell, not ever.

Despite the gravity of your situation weighing you down agonizingly, you let out a laugh. Megatron narrowed his optics, calling out your name. You were already far away.

Exhibit B. Nobody ever really got close to you, not really. You couldn't admit you loved anyone, not really. It came a little easier with people like Breakdown and Knock Out and… him , but no one else. They were your little family unit now, whereas your biological ones never got a card, a call, a text, even a hello. They greeted you with open arms.

"Welcome, it's so nice to see you again, have you finally cleaned yourself up? Got your life together now?" They all asked predictable questions, so they all got predictable responses. Of course you did, you were better now. You knew better now. You didn't want to hurt anyone, you didn't want to feel better than anyone, you stopped feeling worse than everyone, you didn't care that your family only liked the concept of you rather than actually liking you, and the flask in your bag was just water. It's just water. It's just water. Yet you still found yourself face down on the floor, eviction notice on your front door. How much damage had you done?

He called out your name once more, yet you were so, so far away.

At this point, you couldn't even love properly. Before your alien encounters you'd fuck around for the fun of it, because if you couldn't be the sophisticated doctor or whatever you should've been, you might as well embrace how far gone you were, make everybody hate you for a reason. Break some hearts, take some people down with you, then at this point you would at least feel like your constant dissatisfaction with life was justified, rather than unreasonable. That you were an irredeemably shitty person anyways, so it all made perfect sense.

But deep down, you were, by all definitions of the word, terrible. Weak. Everything hurt you, and you wanted to hurt everything back. Maybe that was why you were here in the first place.

Maybe he called out your name. Maybe not. But either way, you felt yourself fading away, so far gone, until…

THUNK!

"MOTHERFUCK—" You barely got out the swear before blood shot out your nose from the sheer kinetic force of the impact, head reeling and energon, blood, pulverized organs, whatever shook around in your living corpse you called a body. What even hit you, anyhow?

You looked around for context clues as your vision finally faded back to normal, likely from your enhanced biology healing whatever damage had been done. And you found Megatron's digits, extended in such a way that implied…surely not. Surely he hadn't.

He did.

"Tell me you did not. Tell me that you did not just flick me in the head, as a bigass robot millions of times my size, give me a concussion just because you know it'll heal, expecting me NOT to rip out your goddamn SPARK! "

Relatively unaffected, Megatron simply hummed in thought. "Curious creature you are, in another one of your…moods. And right after I assisted you out of your little spiral, too."

"Listen, you condescending cunt, I'm not some child for you to talk down at. The hell did you wanna talk to me about, anyways?"

"The mania. The hallucinations, talking to yourself, in a homicidal rage every millisecond…your health has me rather…intrigued."

Also known as: concerned.

"What do you see," Megatron called out your name in a tone of wonder and contemplation, as if the universe unraveled itself before him, "do you hear things as I do?"

As…he…?

"I'm sorry," you found yourself blurting everything out before you could begin to stop yourself and save even a little dignity, "ever since I came into contact with the red energon and everything I've been seeing these things when I sleep or when I'm unconscious and like—fuck I forgot to breathe—like, it's not bad! Not really anyways, it's like this presence guiding me in the ways of how to actually be, to be me, with this weirdass new biology. And like, it translates shit for me sometimes too! All this Cybertronian shit goes right over my head half the time, but…not now. I know better now, and it's. Kinda scary, to be honest."

It wasn't the response you expected, but you could have sworn you saw all of Megatron's plating expand and retract into itself in a softened sigh of relief.

"But don't worry about it! All good here," you instinctually deflected all concern away from yourself, instead turning to him, "do Cybertronians go through that too? The whole…voices in your head thing?"

After a long, agonizing pause, spent mostly with Megatron looking far from you at some invisible horizon, over long fields of nothingness, you instead opted to slowly curl up, seated with your knees hugged against your chest.

Perhaps you were kidding yourself, with all this. With being here, being a 'Con and all. Maybe it was your typical manic brain responding to literally nothing, maybe you had a point, but two things repeated themselves over and over in your processor. Brain. Whatever was there.

Would you ever stop feeling odd around Megatron? Out of place, loved, hated, like you were standing outside the pearly gates whilst roasting in the pits of hell?

Could the Decepticons truly find value in someone like you, who fell apart the second things got emotional? You were already physically fragile, at least compared to every other soldier there. To be mentally fragile as well…

"Cybertronian," Megatron finally corrected, chasing away your sorrow in an instant.

"Hm?"

"Not Cybertronians —only myself. As for the reasons why…you are not the only one with modified biology."

Dark Energon. That's what the warlord called it. Devil's blood, that's how you'd put it. The lifeforce of their most feared deity, their story to steer sparklings away from wrongdoing, while simultaneously being very, very real.

Said deity lived within your beloved warmonger's head.

“Why tell me any of this…why now? I'm happy to know what's going on with you, sure, but knowing you, there's a greater reason for all this.”

Mildly surprised that you had gotten his intentions so on the nose, Megatron returned his gaze toward the invisible horizon.

“I had hypothesized that, if you had become so suddenly manic whilst hearing things that were not there, you had come into contact with dark energon, as well. It would be an unfortunate end for you. I would prefer to refrain from any and all contact between you and dark energon as much as possible. Your health is already fragile enough as it is—I do not wish to unnecessarily risk your life any further.”

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned in a flat voice, refusing to acknowledge the way his supposed concern twisted your heart even further, “you care about me.”

“The sudden death of a medical and scientific marvel would be awfully wasteful, don't you think?” Megatron teased with a grin, prodding at you with a talon.

Typical you, cocky as ever and unconcerned with the opinions of others, would have laughed it off. It was genuinely funny, in a “yeah, whatever, you lovable asshole” kind of way. But currently, you were not quite in that kind of mood.

“Is that all I am to you? An experiment gone right?” You mumbled, half to yourself, but his highly sensitive audial receptors picked up on it anyways. “Just a doped up primate on alien blood steroids?"

I know how this'll end. He's all badass this, tyrant that, but in three, two, one…

“Of course not, my relic. You are of incredible—”

“My relic,” there it is.

You didn't need to hear him out any further. 

“See! There's your problem! It's earthling this, experiment that, then it's relic this, incredible that, why don't you be real for me for two goddamn seconds?!”

Be real with me …the thoughts poured out into your brain all at once, even from your most deepest, repressed parts of yourself, like a rushing river dotted with flecks of every single problem you've accumulated throughout your many years. Yes, you were the river, but when around Megatron, these flecks of your repressed, perfectly contained self began to be sifted out like they were bits of priceless, rare gold in abundant, meaningless water. But those bits of you, the insecure ones, the doting ones, the inevitably, painfully pining ones, were not gold. They were pyrite—fool’s gold, at best. And the rest of you, the you you've built up over all these years to toughen up and avoid getting hurt (yet here you were, hurting now), was all meaningless water, flowing between his digits as he sifted through what you hated most.

You were the water. You would always go through him, a simple, persistent droplet of insignificance, gliding gently down his armor plating. And there you would stay. You would never see inside, you would never reach his spark, you would never reach his processor.

Normally, you'd be a bit wary about behaving so confrontationally to a twelve ton metallic overlord that could kill you without even thinking twice. He could kill you without even thinking once, actually. But every time you were with the gray giant, you found yourself in a rollercoaster of stupid, stupid feelings.

Surprise, he likes you! Surprise, you actually mean nothing to him! Surprise, you're his one true companion! Surprise, maybe, just maybe, this little crush you keep denying can be given some air, some room to breathe, a place to be truly felt rather than held back! Surprise, it all means jack shit.

“You're so kind…I'm your relic, you'll talk to me, you'll stare at me with those goddamn optics…but then you'll call me some scientific masterpiece, like you're jacking yourself off over your newest creation. You hurt me when you want to get what you want—yes my head still FUCKING hurts, you ass—dragging me where you want, when you want. I'm a relic, a foot soldier, a marvel, and an accessory to you all at once,” you laughed dryly as you buried your forehead deep into your palms, blood roaring in your ears as the question, the one you longed to ask for longer than you cared to admit, sprung forth from your dry, hesitant mouth.

“Megatron, do you even like me?”

I'm just a plan of his gone right…that’s all I could ever be.

So why did you still tug at him? Why did you hold on like he was your steadfast ship in the raging storm, whereas he didn't even like you. He didn't even know you. 

He doesn't even like you.  

He doesn't even like me. 

He would never like you.

He would never even like me.

After a lengthy pause, nothing to be heard for miles except the slow, strong thrums of his spark, the gentle in and out of his vents, the deep hum constantly reverberating from the ship’s mechanics, and your tiny heart going fucking insane inside your metal chest, Lord Megatron shifted his helm down towards you microscopically, the tiniest shift in his stance that proved that he was even still alive. You didn't even know if he heard you, to be quite honest.

(You know damn well he did.)

He lowered himself to your level ever so slightly…but nothing could be seen in his optics. Just endless pools of deep, dark red…you refused to drown in them any longer.

“I—”

“Forget it.”

It took no effort whatsoever to jump down onto the floor, your joints hardened against the strain despite the long drop. You barely left a dent as you landed smoothly, turning on your heel. 

“I'm out, my Lord. This was all just a big misunderstanding.” You sighed, voice low with resignation.

I'll be the one to shape up…not him. It's my fault for wearing my heart on my sleeve, expecting not to get confused or hurt. I'm the one who did all this to myself, I drove myself to a stupid little breakdown all because someone might not like me. Tough luck.

I'll be stronger, I won't feel so much anymore. Maybe then, I can at least be something of use—a super soldier, one who'd never waver, never falter. Invincible to all threats inside and out, emotional ones included. 

I will be perfect . 

As you shoved whatever could possibly fit inside a backpack, whatever would keep you alive for the time being, you clenched your fists at nothing, just to release all your tension in one long, strained sigh.

To earn my place in this world…to see who I truly need to be under the rule of Megatron— Lord Megatron—is by doing this.  

You shoved your knives into your shorts—it hadn't been long since your last “outing,” but in a way, this felt like the first time in forever. You felt torn up inside, but, head refocused towards not the confusion of the past but the clarity of the future, you looked ahead to days of more peace, more prosperity. This would be for the better. 

As the final piece of your plan, you took out a small pen and notepad, jotting down a quick note. 

Breakdown and Knock Out, 

I appreciate every bit of kindness you've given me thus far. You two, despite any differences or conflicts we've had, are the few things in my life that don't change—you are constant, you are stable, and without you, I wouldn't have even made it this far. I know I haven't been myself lately. But, in doing this, hopefully I will be able to come back as a better me. Someone who has the balls to face not just the difficult, but the impossible. To do what I need to do, and be a better asset to Lord Megatron.

I am leaving the Decepticons.

When I return, I will be back among your ranks, and I will proudly make up for lost time. And if I do not return, then I am dead. I WILL be back, I just need some time. Please be safe. 

In this bottle is some of my blood. Consider it a compensation for putting up with my absence.

I love you two. Good luck out there, and please do not try to find me, and destroy this message immediately after you read it.

Goodbye.

Goddamnit.

You rubbed at your eyes as tears welled up in them, sighing with a wet sniff as you took a knife to your arm. In a quick slash to a specific vein, blood gushed freely into the aforementioned bottle, and you began to fill it up. 

I hate this. 

You paused to reopen the wound as the cut began to reheal itself. 

I hate everything. They're going to be so disappointed in me.

You reopened it one last time. 

I'm so disappointed in me. I talk big shit, now when I need to suck it up and be a big bad ‘Con…I can't. Can't avoid being captured, can't kill a hostage, can't retrieve an artifact, can't keep myself together over just one stupid relationship…they certainly didn't deal with this back on Cybertron, I'll tell you that. They fought for their life and sucked it up no matter what. I don't think I can do that quite yet. 

You began to get extremely lightheaded as the bottle filled to the top, capping it off. It was a liter—more than you intended, but as you began to think and you stared down at the pooling, thick liquid, you grew mesmerized by it all. In no time, the wound was finally allowed to heal, you returned your knife to its rightful place, and you clenched the straps of your backpack until your knuckles turned white. You desperately hoped you'd have a faction to return to, after all of this.

I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna find myself…no matter what it takes.  

Chapter Text

Energon, dark and so low in supply for you, gushed freely from your wounds, painting the earth with its dark red, almost purple hue. Distantly, you wondered if consuming it would do any good. Energon goes in, energon comes out…eventually, common sense kicked in as you instead turned towards measures of self-preservation. Desperate, clammy hands clenched at your flesh in a vain attempt to save your own spark (spark?), but ultimately it was as if you had placed a piece of tape on a bursting dam. As streams of energon pumped and pulsed through your fingers, you felt the world fading away.

“That's…not too great,” you finally acknowledged, obviously the biggest understatement this millennium. “I think I'll…I think I'm gonna just lay here a bit. Just…a few…”

As your desperate affirmations trailed off into incomprehensible murmurs, you gazed off into the sky. Somewhere, deep in your mind, you wondered if anyone, anyone at all, would care to save you. Who would you see first…Knock Out? No, he's literally Decepticon CMO. If he's got anywhere to be, it certainly isn't chasing after a defector. Breakdown? Same deal. He wasn't exactly CMO, but it didn't mean that he didn't have his own duties, his own problems to deal with. Not that you wanted to bother either of them, anyways—they deserved better. And Starscream was hardly even in the equation. 

Would Megatron even—

You were suddenly wide awake as you instinctively purged any and all thoughts of the mech out of your mind, several lines of code (lines of code?) firing all at once just to get you thinking about anything, anything else. Hell, you'd rather think about your mortal wounds rather than him.

Stop thinking like a ‘Con, goddamnit! It's just you here. It's just you. 

It's just you. 

It's just…it's just…

Probably best to start from the beginning.

So, you made it off the Nemesis in one piece. Turns out it ain’t all that hard to just hitch a ride on a clueless Vehicon, landing in their cockpit once they transform, and brute forcing their flight instruments into a sudden, fiery crash landing. Who knew? Hurt like hell, but the second you hit the ground, bloodied and bruised, you made sure of two things. First? That the Vehicon didn’t live to tell the tale. One well-placed knife at a rather important energon line in their already mangled neck cables made sure of that much. Second? That you got the fuck out of there. And, a bonus third thing, you took some of their energon with you. Just to be safe. Horrific? Probably. But with no reliable source of energon for an indefinite amount of time, you could do a little cannibalism. Just as a treat.

And now, back to number two. Get the fuck out of there. You held on to the stolen and hacked credit card you and Breakdown used forever ago, still loaded with a probably obscene amount of money, and used it on some shitty used car, anything to get you around. But you couldn’t stay in one place for long. You knew that, to some extent, the Decepticons could find you. Due to the tracker in your chest and the transactions visible on the card, it was only a matter of time. But, at the very least, you wanted to choose when that’d be, via constant running, even if your capture and likely demise were inevitable. What’s wrong with a little denial?

Also, where were you even headed?

Your surroundings suggested some small town. Fine, that’s dandy and all. But where the hell did you go from here? What was your path towards becoming good enough to return to the Decepticons? Was that even your goal at this point? Or was the problem that you weren't good enough for you ? Or that you weren’t good enough for him?

“I need a goddamn drink,” You grumbled to yourself for the first time since you came to the ‘Cons so long ago, turning up the radio to drown out any other thoughts in your processor (processor?). Just for it to begin to play some shitty, unnecessarily upbeat pop song, and you nearly punched the hell out of it just to change the station.

Click! 

“L, is for the way you look at me, O, is for the only one I see, V, is very very, extraordinary, E—”

Click! 

“Lonely, I am so lonely—”

Click! 

“For the low, low price of $49.99 plus shipping and handling, get our patented self-help book! It'll teach you valuable lessons on letting love into your life, accepting yourself, and not running away from your problems!”

CRACK! 

“God. Fucking. Damnit !” You grit out, punching the radio system with far more strength than was appropriate, feeling a wicked delight in the sensation of the plastic and metal shattering beneath your fist. And finally, with a sad little crackle, the radio on your brand new (sort of) car was deceased, and all was quiet. 

A minute passed. 

Another minute passed.

And another minute passed. 

Okay, it was too quiet. Now, all you were gonna do was spiral. As you dug your hands into the steering wheel, continuing down the dusty desert roads to god knows where, all you could do was think. Was Megatron already looking for you? Of course he was. It’s already been a few days, for Primus’ sake.

“For Primus' sake?” Who even is…

You shook your head, continuing on in your thought process with only a mild bit of confusion.

Alright, so he probably started looking for you the millisecond you left his quarters, given his odd obsession with you. It manifested itself in such strange ways. The ways he hurt you. The ways he helped you. The ways he made you feel like everything, just to bring you back down to nothing. He couldn't bear not being on top, above it all. And you, as a lowly techno-organic, were no exception. There would be no threats to his position, to the feelings in his spark, to his neverending superiority complex. Unfortunately, you learned this the hard way. You were still learning it. You still haven't learned it completely, not yet.

I spent so long being so hellbent on learning that mech. Unpacking him, seeing what makes him tick. What makes him smile, what makes him snarl, what makes him hold me close and what makes him hurt me like some insect. All that time, you paused to run a hand down your face, sighing for the dozenth time that joor (joor?). All that wasted fucking time. And the worst part? All I wanna do is go back.

You clenched the steering wheel hard enough to make the leather groan.

I want to go back. I want to see Knock Out. Breakdown. I wanna see Starscream, as much as I despise that little freak. I wanna see Airachnid again, despite my infatuation/hatred relationship with her, despite her obsession with turning me into some trophy. I wanna meet this Soundwave guy. And…I want…

You wish to see Lord Megatron.

What would I even say? I hate you? I want to be around you until the end of time? I want you dead? If I can’t talk to you again, I would rather be dead? I want to learn about you so badly it hurts, but I want to forget everything about you so badly it fucking burns? I don’t have anything to say to you.

Yet you wish to see him.

I don’t deserve to see anyone. I’m some washed-up sorry excuse for a ‘Con, parading around with an insignia I haven’t even earned.

“Shit, I'm gonna have a giant, ugly ego crash one of these days.” Do you remember when you thought that?

Obviously.

These days are those days. Your uneasy relationship, constant lack of reassurance and genuine vulnerability with the object of your affection, and general disregard for your mental health are all causing you to have one big ego crash.

For a brief moment, you truly despised being you. Actually, that moment wasn’t so brief at all. Goddamnit, where was your confidence? You were quite literally a narcissist. Confidence was your thing. You were supposed to be self-assured to the very end. But here you were, getting schooled by your own goddamn processor. You were having a giant, ugly ego crash. And because of it, you abandoned everything you loved.

You've betrayed your Lord, hell, you had already betrayed him the second you turned your back on him. You've betrayed your little found family, and who knows what consequences that'd have? Would you ever be able to look them in the optics again, now that you've left them high and dry under a demon's rule? Left to rust as they toil day in and day out, whilst you run free? 

You simply sighed louder in response, mouth pressed into a grim frown as you kept on driving. If you were finally going to lock the fuck in and be a better you, you couldn’t afford to be held back by something like guilt. A real ‘Con would do what needed to be done, at any expense whatsoever. But here you were. Oh, and just crashing the car and dying in a fiery explosion wasn’t an option either. You already tried that line of thought so many times. Anything you did, you would survive it. Anything anyone did to you, you would survive that, too.

“Jesus, time for a pit stop,” you finally declared before you had the chance to do anything stupid, pulling over into a gas station. You could see it all now—start the car while pumping gas, just drink the damn gas, walk up to the clerk and say you have a gun, let the cops kill you, run in front of a semi. When did you become so pathetic? Desperately looking for a way out that you couldn’t even have. For a moment, you had to just sit there, forehead pressed into the center of the steering wheel. The leather was hot from all the sun, causing a mild sting against your forehead. You were sweating, droplets rolling down the curve of the wheel. Your mouth was dry, dry from doing nothing but huffing and sighing and bitching and moaning. Also known as? Not you. Not like you at all.

Something’s gotta give.

After a total of twenty minutes just pondering life, you decided you oughta try to at least do something. Clear your mind a little. So you headed into the gas station, fully expecting to blend right back in as a respectable member of society. Your insignia was covered, your appearance relatively normal enough. What was the worst a puny little human could do? So, with a walk that implied you felt way better than you did now, you shoved open the door.

“Greetings.”

JESUS FUCKING—?!

Visibly jumping at the sudden voice, you smoothly recovered with a very, very forced chuckle, waving back. “Hey, hi, hello, thanks, you too,” your processor malfunctioned and fired off every last “human phrase” it could think of at once. You looked at the clerk in horror. The clerk looked back with eyes that suggested a genuine hatred towards even being alive right now— agreed, man. “If I may be of assistance in any—”

“Nope, all great, thanks, gonna just—go over here, now,” you blabbered before clamping your jaw shut so hard it hurt, just to avoid saying another goddamn word, and swiftly speedwalking to the furthest corner of the store away from any humans whatsoever.

So…what was all that about?

I’m fucking killing myself.

Way to not overreact. Your levelheadedness is commendable.

Last time you remembered speaking to a human, it was when you were getting arrested in the whole fiasco that led to you being injected with red energon in the first place. The Autobots’ pets did not count. There, you had no standard to uphold. They were your enemies. Sure, you weren’t exactly fond of other humans either, but they were just normal ass people. You could only be so offputting until it just made you an asshole, and you were already an offputting asshole from birth. It was in your best interests to at least try to hold a conversation successfully, to pretend to be tolerable. You cheaped out when you bought the car—texts on used car websites were impersonal enough to render you unaffected. But another human being, right in front of you? You couldn’t stand it.

“Another” human being…yeah, because humans can self heal, survive deadly falls, run fast as hell, take hits that would shatter bones. You ain’t human, not anymore, if you ever were one. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I feel like some fraud in vaguely human skin, parading around as something I’m not.

I’m a Cybertronian demon in human skin.

Okay, so you needed a drink a little more now. You checked out with a simple ass bottle of whiskey, having a look already prepared in case the clerk asked for an ID—the bags under your eyes were lucky enough to be under thirty years old, let alone under twenty one. Oh, well—he likely didn’t get paid enough to care. Whether you were of age or a minor delving their way into underage alcoholism, it wasn’t within his job description to keep you from making poor decisions.

So, you walked your ass outside, cracking that bad boy open, and taking a long sip—come to think of it, you had been sober this long. So much for that. Lowering the bottle, you took a deep breath, preparing for the burn to hit you.

Preparing for the burn to hit you.

Preparing for the…alright, where the fuck was it?

Yo, voice in my head. Where the fuck did my drunk go?

About that.

Don’t tell me.

You’re too cyberformed to be affected by human toxins. It’d take a miracle to get you even slightly tipsy, let alone properly inebriated. In fact, doing the math now, it’d take approximately 25.8 gallons of hard liquor to put your BAC at even 0.01%. Meaning, if we’re following the standards for what’s considered legal intoxication in the United States, it would take 206.4 gallons of hard liquor to have you legally intoxicated. Which isn’t even considered drunk, by your standards. If you’re looking to be “blackout drunk,” as you’re looking for, that’d require almost 774 gallons of—

CRASH!

The whiskey bottle exploded in a spray of glass shards as you slammed it to the ground in a fit of rage, breathing stuttering as you gripped and clawed at your scalp, hard enough to feel hot energon pooling beneath your fingernails.

Was that necessary?

You were spiraling.

You need to calm down.

Can’t get drunk. Can’t even be a little tipsy. Can’t get my mind off anything, not for a second. Everything I do is just—just some monumental fuckup, where everything just goes to shit the millisecond I do a goddamn thing! Can’t have shit! Not in this life, not in my last life, not in my future life—

You need to calm down before you—

“Just shut…the fuck… UP! ” You roared as you slammed your fist into the wall, bricks shattering beneath your fist, a sizeable chunk of the building straight up disintegrating at your hand as a red shockwave rippled through the point of contact. Didn’t even hurt, god damn that too. Didn’t blow off even a fragment of steam, soothe an ounce of the cocktail of painful emotions you felt. Oh, and someone was staring at you.

Wait, what?

You jumped with an undignified yelp as you glanced to your right, finding a pair of eyes staring back at you. Eyes that belonged to…the clerk. You sighed, running a hand down your face once more.

“How much of that did you see?” You asked, not looking up from your hand as you reconsidered that whole “starting the car while you pump gas” idea. “The entirety of it,” he replied with an impressively impassive tone, “you are in shockingly rough shape.” As you finally looked up from your hand, you expected to feel nothing but rage and offense. Maybe, at one point, you would have. But now? Now you were just sad. Sad because someone took one look at you and knew you were fucked in the head, and even sadder because, goddamnit, he was right. So you allowed your legs to give out, slumping down against the wall, gripping at your scalp once more.

“Yeah, I’m…yeah. Sorry about your store.”

“Believe me, it’s hardly any of my concern,” sighed the clerk, coming to a seat next to you. He looked…uncomfortable. You would be too, if you were him. You already were, because you were you. But he was there. For some reason. Despite the customer or two that walked in, clearly needing his assistance, he was just…here. With you.

“May I…inquire about something?”

You glanced up from the ground in confusion. He was awfully formal for a cashier. But you could appreciate that in a man.

“Have at it.”

“Why are you here?”

“The hell? Fine, I’ll leave, holy shit.”

“Here,” the man put stiffly, “why here? All the way out here, you appear so…bleak. So full of misery. It is not a future I, anyone for that matter, could have wanted for you. Out in the middle of nowhere, getting inebriated, hurting yourself. It is so…” the cashier let out a long sigh. You huffed in humorless laughter. It sounded so much like your own. “I would be inclined to say pitiful.”

“I would be inclined to call you correct.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Here I am.”

A silence passed. Customers came and left, clearly furious—he didn’t really care. You weren’t exactly shocked. Minimum wage did that to a man. But this man…his sorrow was so deep, etched in his brow, a frown that suggested centuries more pain than one could expect from someone who appeared to be in his forties. He was absolutely profound . Did you hate that? Not in the slightest. For once, you talked to a human and just…enjoyed it. Awkwardly formal as he was with you, questionable work ethics and all, you finally felt listened to. That was saying a lot.

“Hey,” you began, just as serious as him, “I like you and all, but you probably shouldn’t get too cozy with me. Ain’t exactly calm and collected, and everything around me is the same. It’s a fuckin’ mess.”

“Calm? Collected? What could possibly come from such things?”

“I dunno. Peace?”

“Peace can only be obtained through—” He paused. “Is that what you wish for? Peace?”

“I suppose not,” came your soft reply, leaning your head into your hand. Your hand that, finally, wasn’t making you bleed anymore. “Seriously though, man, you don’t gotta be here. If you stick around me, it’s only gonna get worse from here on out.” Rather than be deterred, the man only glanced back at you with an obvious challenge in his eyes. “As if I’d back down from someone as intriguing as that.”

Intriguing.

“You’re weird,” you huffed with a small smile; it was the first one in days. The man’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and finally, your hands fell from your scalp, instead resting peacefully at your sides. Shaking his head slightly to clear it, he glanced down at your fingers with a frown—they were a bit bloody. Reaching out for them, he declared the obvious. “You are bleeding.”

You almost let him touch. Almost, until you tore your hands away as if he was about to touch a live grenade.

“Woah, woah, woah, careful!” You exclaimed, much to his confusion. With a resigned huff, you pulled your arms to your sides, tucking your hands in. Not much more to lose now, you supposed. Not after all he had seen. “My blood is, uh, kinda toxic. Seriously. This ain’t HIV or some shit, that’s small compared to this. You’re not meant to touch the stuff that goes through my body. It could kill you, most likely.”

The man pondered your words for some time, before taking it shockingly well in the form of a simple nod. “No blood contact. Understood.”

“Not gonna be any contact after this, actually. Can’t stay in one place too long. So, seriously, as nice as this has been, I gotta—”

“Why is that?”

“Personal reasons.”

“Either way, I would prefer to see you once more. Allow me the chance.”

“No,” came your immediate answer, your usual instinct to not get attached kicking in. But the look in his eyes as he gripped your shoulder, avoiding any blood, the look in his previously emotionless eyes looking nigh desperate ? It had you rolling your eyes, had you kicking at the ground, had you grumbling to yourself.

You couldn’t afford any distractions. You were on a mission to earn your way back to the ‘Cons. A mission proving to be so agonizing that…maybe you needed one. Just this once.

“Alright.”

“Pardon?”

“One stellar cycle—I mean, one day. Twenty four hours. But come midnight, day after tomorrow, I’m gone.”

“I can work with that.”

“ Work ? What are you—”

He leaned down. Ever so gracefully, ever so carefully, avoiding your fingertips somehow, he took your hand, bowing ever so slightly, planting a firm kiss to the back of your hand. Your skin absolutely burned where his lips touched you, your spark thrumming so loud it was certainly audible. He wouldn’t recognize the sound, of course, with what should have been a thump-thump replaced with a stuttered hum, but if he knew what that meant, you’d see some smugass look on his face for sure. His…oddly handsome face. With his oddly gorgeous eyes. He was so…

So it’s this kind of distraction, huh?

“Is this satisfactory?”

What the fuck am I doing?

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

And why am I going to keep doing it?

Chapter Text

After that day, meeting that odd man for the first time, you found yourself falling into a little routine. Sleeping in your car was growing rather tiresome—if you could handle this human, one or two more wouldn't hurt. So you headed over to a motel, in the furthest, most secluded room, and after confirming it was clean enough (the odd off white sheets, crusty ass vents, and Mysterious Brown Bug™, patent pending, were all just part of the charm), collapsed into bed. This was a bed. Albeit rickety and a little stiff, this was a bonafide, 100% organic, completely authentic bed. You could get used to this rather than your shitty air mattress that leaked air every day, still back aboard the Nemesis. The cushioned surface enveloped your body perfectly, your head sinking into the pillow, and before you could even think to plan out the next day, you were fast asleep. That night, your little mind palace situation was strangely silent, devoid of all life. You didn't wake up to any strange voids, odd sensations, distant voices. In fact, you nearly had an actual dream, which was something you couldn't say of yourself since before your contact with red energon. But, as soon as a pair of vermilion optics appeared, you were wide awake, ready to start the day rather than deal with that.

A brief glance at the clock read six in the morning. Awfully early, but there was no getting back to sleep now, with the splitting headache you felt coming on. Rummaging through your things, you located the small bottle of what energon remained from the Vehicon you siphoned borrowed it from, taking a long sip and choosing to ignore the immediate nausea that rolled through your stomach afterward.

Yeah, energon is not supposed to taste like that. 

As you swirled it around, you took note of the oddly thick, uneven texture, the sharp, acidic tang, and the dull, almost teal color—nothing like the smooth, slightly metallic, vibrant blue energon you knew and loved. This was bad. But, you supposed, that's what you got for cannibalizing a Vehicon—karma, in the form of Cybertronian salmonella. Safe to say, you disposed of that swiftly, jabbing your finger into the back of your throat, the foul energon coming back up instantly as you threw it up into the toilet. What a lovely color that was, the color of teal puke and dark red from your own energon.

Wait, why am I throwing up my own energon…?

Alright, so that brought your problem list up to four. First, it was you deserting the Decepticons, and the admitted loneliness and guilt that came from that. Then, it was your whole…thing with him. Then, it was this weird new man who treated you like you were his entire world, but he didn't quite seem like a saint himself—to be fair, neither were you. Now? You were most certainly not in peak physical condition, out of energon and losing your own. If only you could just comm Knock Out! He'd have more than enough medical insight…oh, and Megatron on your doorstep, either dragging you back or executing you on the spot. Damn it all.

Not even the dullness of television could distract you. Shitty soap operas. Melodramatic reality shows. Game shows taunting you with what you would never have. The weather. The local news, stating, “body found at local gas station.”

Womp womp. Although, isn't that the same gas station that I…?

“This morning, a body was discovered at the rest stop off Pacific Highway. The body belonged to elderly male Em Welker, who owned the shop for decades, working as its sole employee, and was beloved in his community. His body, which appeared to have been there for about one to two days, had immense bruising around the neck, suggesting a—”

You didn't need to see any more. Before you knew it, you were already headed off to find the so-called gas station clerk—by any means necessary.

You do know all this is ridiculous, right?

Tell me something I don’t know.

Then why are you still doing it?

Why were you doing this?

None of this had anything to do with you. Random ass murders in this day and age were just…normal. The death of another irrelevant human was none of your business. But, goddamnit, what was happening? Initially, you were happy to return to him, just to see what he had to offer. You didn’t owe this stranger (what even was his name?) any reassurance, any credibility, any commitment whatsoever. But when you have nothing left to hold on to, you need to find something and find something quick. And if that something was some hot stranger, then that something was some hot stranger. Didn’t take a $50 self help book to teach you that one. Now? You didn’t know if you wanted to talk to him or just straight up kill him.

Upon pulling up to the rest stop, it was as you had figured—police tape. Nothing too surprising there. Without another employee to run the store, it was essentially abandoned, which made sense—if a news article came out about the sole employee of a store dying and you were not that employee and most certainly not dead, you would get the hell out of there too. But you still found yourself disappointed, robbed of the chance to confront him. But then, staring hard inside the building, you found a figure rummaging through some things. Parking quickly and hightailing it inside, sure enough…

“Well, well, well! If it ain’t Mr. Welker himself! So sorry for your loss, must be hard being dead!” You called out, arms crossed as you kept a safe distance from whoever the hell this guy really was. You didn’t have much to go off of, but his figure was…imposing, to say the least. His hair was a dark gray with black undertones, with little streaks of silver through the sides at his temples. The gray didn’t necessarily suggest advanced age—rather a long, long life of plenty of hardships, plenty of losses. Either that, or he was just naturally hot like that. You liked men like wine—aged, aromatic, and easy to get fucked up with. And here all three checkmarks were being ticked off: his mature air, his distinct, masculine fragrance mixing with the scent of gasoline, and, as your eyes rapidly darted to his lower half, your mind had already begun to race into far less innocent territory. Except he was most definitely a fucked up character of some sort, which should have nullified everything you just said. And it did…mostly.

“I am…afraid I do not follow.”

“Stupidity ain’t attractive,” you seethed, marching right up to him, “owner of this little establishment, found dead. Yet here you are. Why is that, huh? Did you kill him?” A wide range of emotions passed through his typically neutral eyes—shock, concern, conflict, irritation, then just…nothing. He let out a soft sigh, holding out a small shopping bag for you to take.

“Here.”

“I ain't takin’ that shit! You killed a guy. I mean, my track record ain't that great either, but you're not gonna just sit here and buy my favor.”

“I would do no such thing!” He snapped, showing the first bits of anger you had ever seen from him. It was only a microscopic amount, a major annoyance at best, but what else was he capable of? And why did that tone in his voice sound so…huffing in irritation, you took it with a bit more force than was polite. “Whatever. What even is…this…?”

The bag was essentially a care package of sorts. Inside was a pack of fresh fruit that most definitely did not come from a gas station, several bottles of electrolyte drinks, snacks, skincare, hair care, everything you needed to not just survive, but actually be comfortable. The hair care was even for your hair type specifically—so oddly thoughtful of him, but thoughtfulness was starting to seem like his thing.

“You were struggling,” he stated like it was obvious, which it probably was, “I wished to aid you with a…what do you call it? A care package? It is not to manipulate your emotions in any way whatsoever. If you despise me, feel free. You’re within that right.”

“I…”

Despise you.

“I'm confused.”

“About?”

“Everything,” you groaned, helpless as you set the bag down, taking a seat against the wall. “I don't even know who you are, and you…you already know me better than anyone else. Even though you don't know a thing about me. You make me feel…appreciated. Sure, you're fucked up, but it's not like I'm all that much better. I just…don’t know what you're seeing in me.”

Wordlessly, he sat down next to you, picking a pack of Pocky from the bag, and extending it to you. You took it with a gentle huff of amusement, nursing it between your lips as you picked at the outer coating. It wasn't much, but it at least gave you a little distraction. “I simply see you,” he finally replied. “And to me, that is enough. Just to see you, once more.”

“Seriously? On some shitty ass abandoned gas station date?”

“Especially on some shitty ass abandoned gas station date.”

You weren’t really much for dates, if you could call this one. It probably wasn’t. When you ever got romantically involved, it was like a firework: quick, fiery, and gorgeous until it burned itself up into a pathetic pile of ash. You never even really intended on getting involved with anyone romantically, not again.

Besides, what I had with him was purely just…companionship. Nothing more.

Yet when you think about your love life, he’s the first one that comes to mind.

“Tell me more about this toxic blood of yours.”

The man’s (you really needed to get a name out of him sooner or later, this was getting ridiculous) question was sudden, but not unexpected. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell some version of the truth, at least enough to be digestible by a human without any prior knowledge of anything Cybertronian.

“A long while back, this weird ass freak accident got me injected with a…substance from a different planet. Don’t ask where from, that’s a story in itself. Point is, it’s supposed to be deadly to humans. Not me, though. Turned out fine, better than fine, actually. Made me resilient. Could crash my car right now, head through the windshield and all—would hurt like a bitch, but I’d live, and be back on my feet within the half hour.” You omitted the part of that where you were confirmed to be dying. “I see,” the man took that pretty well too, simply humming in thought. “You’re quite the unique individual.”

“Unique?”

“Yes, truly. You are…” his eyes were a little wide, desperate, even, as they not just looked, but gazed into yours. As if no words would truly be enough. Yet he still tried. “You are magnificent, in ways you will never truly know.”

“W-wait, wait, wait,” you breathed, momentarily dizzy from the vast amount of feelings that his words sent rushing through you; some were terribly painful, while some were what you needed your whole life. But out of a stranger ? “You’re…very kind, I’ll give you that. But very forward. What’re your intentions with all this? Like, okay, we get to know each other. Are you looking for romance? Companionship? A quick fuck? I just…I don’t get it.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know your name, for starters. How am I so magnificent if I can’t even know your name? That’s just you buttering me up for no reason.”

“My…name.”

“We’re all born with one, bud.”

His hesitation spoke volumes.

“I'm afraid I cannot tell you.”

“Typical,” you stated, frown deepening. “Might as well tell you mine, so at least one of us is honest,” you decided, telling him your name. He repeated it almost instantly. “Yeah, don’t, uh…don’t wear it out.”

The way he uttered it like it was some sacred prayer…once upon a time, Megatron made you feel that way. But now, this man did.

You took the opportunity to take in more of his features. What kind of life did he possibly live? What was he truly like? Even if he likely killed a man, he didn't exactly seem insane.

His arms were…terrifyingly toned, likely from more than just restocking shelves. His skin was a perfect medium tan—like the exposed roots of a tree, albeit weathered by the world yet kissed so kindly by the sun. His structure was broad all around, yet instead of seeming like some brute, he looked smart. Intuitive. Like he wasn't part of this world, but simply along for the ride, taking in it all, studying it all so carefully. At least, that's how he treated you. Like you were a wonder of the world.

“Why are you so…fascinated with me? What makes you so kind?” You murmured, mostly to yourself, but audible enough for him to turn to you immediately. “Something simply draws me to you. Is that not enough? To be enraptured with how you are so uncharmingly charming, such a bite to your every word? Like a flame, idiotic to reach for but so captivating that you cannot help but reach out anyways?”

“Hey—”

“You draw me in every day. So please,” he whispered your name, causing a chill to roll down your spine immediately, as if it were a magic word, “I simply wish to captivate you, too,” he declared, leaning in closer. “Captivate me,” you echoed, hardly daring to breathe with how close he was. You could smell him—metal, gasoline, and one of those car air fresheners. You swallowed hard. “Is it working?” He asked, to which you could only inhale to respond, words catching in your throat, quickly looking away. However, he wasn't having that, immediately taking your face into his hand, squeezing gently as he turned you back to face him. “May I?” He requested, glancing down at your lips. 

In all your days…this is the first time anyone ever asked to kiss you. He didn't take. He didn't claim. He simply asked, as if a no was perfectly fine. Maybe it was. 

Of course, that's not the answer you gave. 

You pushed forward immediately, forgoing words, lips locking with his hard. It didn't take long for him to fall into a more dominant role, massive hand gripping the back of your head and forcing you further into the kiss until you were moaning into his mouth. That gave him access to truly taste you on his own tongue, and gave you the chance to pull him onto you, the two of you falling to the floor in a mess of limbs. It was far from conventionally attractive, teeth bumping together and you panting hard for some reason other than pure arousal, but it was here, it was now, and it would be enough.

Your legs, wrapped around his waist, fit perfectly, almost too perfectly. Capturing you in another kiss, he reached around to thumb at your shirt, lifting the hem of it up right below your chest, looking you in the eyes, and—!

And just like that, the desire in them was gone.

“This isn't…this is not how I intended to…” he paused, obvious conflict in his eyes, and with a barely restrained sigh, you decided to be the bigger person. You were beyond fine letting this situation progress, but if he wasn't, you wouldn't. It was that simple. So, gently, you laid your hand over his, easing it off you. “No problem, big guy. No problem. We ain't gotta do nothin'.”

“Did you not expect us to? Are you not disappointed?”

“Eh, disappointed, maybe, cockblocked, totally, but none of that really matters. If you're not a hundred percent on this, I'm not letting you continue. Even if I want it. Because you don't.”

“I—”

“Do you want this?”

The man thought long and hard, the murky gray depths of his eyes seeming to swirl with uncertainty. And then, he let out a long sigh, deflating as he clenched his fists.

“No.”

“Then that's fine,” you reassured, leaning against him and returning to your abandoned Pocky. “Really. There'll be other times. But if you're not into it then, either, then that's cool, too.”

“Other times?” His lip quirked up into a knowing grin. “So much for one solar cycle, huh?”

“Hey! Ain't no harm in sticking around just a little bit longer. Don't see your ass complaining.”

“You're right,” he left a kiss atop your forehead, “I'm not.”

That night, like the gentleman he was truly shaping up to be, your…whatever this was drove you back to your motel. He didn't intrude, didn't ask to sleep over, anything, simply providing you your space. You appreciated it. So, with a quick kiss and a brief smile, you bid him goodnight, settling into bed for a nice, relaxing night. 

It was no such thing. 

What in Primus' name are you doing to yourself? 

…?

Don't bother thinking back. You can't do that, not at this point. Open your optics. 

Your body obeyed on its own, staring up at the ceiling—when did everything become so blurry, so…dull? And you couldn't move, no matter what you tried. 

Your neglect for your health is unbelievable! Your optic function is down by 45%, your motor functions currently at 5%! You don't have a CMO to fall back on, do you not realize that? 

…

You're dying. Point blank. You already were, due to the red energon taking over your body, but this is different. More accelerated. Due to energon poisoning, and now energon starvation. You weren't panting yesterday just because you were in a heated situation. You were panting because your lungs are getting weaker. You cannot go on like this. 

…?!

You need to find some energon. By any means necessary. 

…!

Now go back to sleep. If you know what's good for you, you'll have quite the day cut out for you tomorrow.

And no more distractions. 

You gasped awake at the crack of dawn, sitting upright in an instant, blood rushing through your head. “Shit,” you groaned as you pressed your knuckles into your temples, anything to relieve the pounding headache. Colors didn't look the same. Everything was so blurry, you felt so sluggish. You were not doing well. If you didn't get fresh energon in your system…

Time didn't know whether to crawl or speed by as you just sat there in complete misery—when did the sun get so high? Did you move at all today? Were you just gonna waste away? Wouldn't that be quite the way to go! Medical marvel, wonders of the Cybertronian world meeting the human world, dying of energon poisoning and starvation. Mostly your own fault. What a way to go. 

A knock at the door had you letting out an even louder groan of annoyance, pushing yourself to a wobbly stance, stomping over to it like an angry drunk. You sure felt like one, at least. “Don't give a fuck who you are, this ain't the time, this ain't the day, and I sure as hell am not the…?”

Of course it was him. Literally who else would it be. 

“Look, whatever your name is because you're still not gonna tell me, today isn't the day.”

He barely even had to study your condition. Just one glance and his face was so terribly concerned, so grim it made you genuinely feel guilty. That man already had a certain misery about him whenever you saw him—even if you didn't necessarily love him (wasn't that quite the four letter word), you didn't love anyone like that, you didn't want to do that to him, especially when there was no easy solution in sight. But this was also past the point of putting on a brave face. 

“You look terrible,” he stated the obvious yet again, inviting himself into your motel, shutting the door behind him. “Hey, you fucking…” Too angry too fast; you were gonna pass out if you fought back right now. “...yeah, you…you do that.” Collapsing back onto the bed, you felt a firm weight sink in next to you, the man's brow creasing hard . “You look absolutely horrid,” he muttered, hands clenching into trembling fists, eyes falling shut. “For you to have ended up so…so…” Just before he could say anything too honest, too straightforward, his emotions vanished. He was back to calm, calculated, and collected—you didn't know if you were incredibly impressed or incredibly irritated about it. “I had come to you for assistance with a technical matter,” the man began, fists unclenching, “a crude device that attempts to track something, yet I'm unsure what it seeks. I figured you would be able to assist me.”

The device wasn't much bigger than a phone; it was a bit bulky in the back with a compass on its front and an antenna sticking out. Nothing you'd ever seen, that's for sure. And he thought you'd be able to help with it? 

“Why not,” you sighed, taking it from him and beginning to inspect it properly. Meanwhile, Mr. Stranger Who Still Had Yet To Give You His Fucking Name had placed a hand on your back at some point, thumb moving in lazy circles along your spine. “Take care of yourself,” was all he could say at this point, before he added almost beggingly, “please.” The millisecond he left, excusing himself all of a sudden with some excuse that was probably bullshit, you were off hitting the little doohickey onto any surface, anything to get it back working. The compass spun around aimlessly, over and over, never quite focusing on anything in particular. Almost like you right now, focused on this little side quest while you were literally dying.

Stupid piece of junk. Not in the fucking mood—why am I even doing this? He can fix it his own damn self, wherever he found this thing.

However, when you turned it over, you found a little dial. As you turned it, the needle on the compass seemed to freak out, turning around three times, two times, then one time, before finally going still, pointing north. It can’t have been that easy…right? To just tune it, as if it were a radio? But, sure enough, as you tilted it this way and then that way, it remained focused on one destination in particular. Maybe it was that easy.

Let me guess. I’m thinking about following this, just to see what happens. Because I quite literally have nothing else to lose. You’re opposed to that, right? Gonna tell me how idiotic of an idea this is, how I’m wasting valuable time, how I’m only killing myself by indulging in all this?

Silence.

I’ll take that as a yes.

Nonetheless, you braced yourself for the journey ahead, knives stabbed into your shorts, boots strapped on, bandana tied, mind clear. At least, as clear as it could be, amidst the blood loss. But with this new task? It made you feel like you were actually part of something again. You loved going your own way and all, but sometimes you thrived off being dispatched for a job and getting it done right. It was so nostalgic. It almost made you feel like, once again, you were part of the—

Quit it, you grumbled to yourself as you drove on and on, following the needle as you sped down abandoned desert roads, civilization long gone for miles and miles. This ain’t about the ‘Cons. This is about you. You’re doing this as a favor. Because you are an amazing person, you will make this strange ass hot guy proud, and he will adore you so much that he spends the next week between your thighs. Consensually.

The stupid little doohickey brought you to a little collection of mountains and caves, focusing insistently on something towards the mouth of a large cavern. Pulling your car up to it, you hopped out, sighing. This was all gonna be some waste of time—it was most likely just some massive metal detector, and you were gonna come out of all this with one of those flattened pennies with the zoo animals on it. “Whatever. Not gonna find itself, I guess,” you decided, beginning to walk forward. You got a grand total of two and a half steps in before hearing a colossal crash from outside, right after a whoosh that sounded suspiciously like something breaking the sound barrier. Also known as: sounds that should not be made in the middle of nowhere. Diving behind a stalactite (or stalagmite, maybe this is why you flunked science class in fifth grade), you reached for your knives in an instant, eyes focused on the cave entrance like a hunter. At least, you did feel like a hunter. Until you heard gargantuan footsteps heading your way, definitely belonging to a Cybertronian.

You’re kidding me.

“Well, it may be awfully crude,” the stiletto-heeled freak surmised, tapping a long talon against his chin in thought as he observed his surroundings, “but it will do.”

You’re fucking kidding me!

Chapter Text

Alright, what the fuck.

You didn’t even have the chance to properly think your actions through—your pure, unfiltered rage spoke for itself as you leapt from your cover like a feral cat, stance ready, eyes narrowed. His red optics met yours, and you could almost hear the old Western standoff music playing as your fingers ghosted over your knives.

You stared at Starscream.

Starscream stared at you.

“What did Lord Megatron put you up to?!” You both shouted at once, pointing fingers and digits, before both your eyes and optics widened in shock. “Megatron?! I am here of my own volition! The Decepticon cause no longer suits me.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right, ‘cause I defected too!”

You stared at Starscream.

Starscream stared at you.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me we’re both neutral, and we both defected from the ‘Cons at the exact same time?”

“It appears so,” the mech pondered, digit gingerly scratching at his chin plating as he inspected you. “Though, you? Defecting? You’re his lordship’s prized possession. His little trophy for his case of accomplishments. Why would you possibly leave?”

“First off, watch yourself, you goddamn heavy metal twink,” you continued before he had the chance to look that word up, “second off, fuck you. Third off, fuck you twice, because you really think shit was all fun and games? It was torture. I’m only an asset to him! He just keeps me around for my blood and to jack himself off over it all. Nothing else.”

“Of course he thinks of you as only an asset! You are a medical marvel,” Starscream said with the utmost sarcasm, kneeling down to your level. From here you saw the way every little gear and cog in his optics shifted, studying you. Analyzing you. You did not miss being around Cybertronians, that was for sure. You were done being a science project. “Your blood heals practically all wounds. Rights all wrongs. Solves every…last…”

You stared at Starscream.

Starscream stared at you.

One would think, both being neutral and having absolutely no stakes in any conflict whatsoever, the two of you could find some common ground. You scratch his back plating, he scratches yours (not that you had any). Right?

Of course, that’s not what either of you did.

“Surely you can spare just a drop,” the former SIC snarled as he suddenly lunged for you with open talons, just narrowly missing your face as you dove out of the way. “Or two. Or, better yet, bleed out for me! You will be a most valuable asset, and, once I’ve spearheaded my way to my rightful place as leader of the Decepticons, I’ll be sure to inform your most beloved Megatron of the outcome of his little pet.” While you dodged the majority of his attempts to grab you, one well-placed strike had his index and thumb digits firmly piercing your left calf, digging in so deep the tips of them touched each other. Resisting a howl of pain, you whipped around, glaring at him with so much hatred you were trembling. Not from the adrenaline, not from the wounds—just how much you wanted this fruity fuck to die. “I can see it already,” he continued on, gloating over his small victory, “his faceplates as he loses his favorite little science project gone wrong.”

Don’t do it!

You did it. You fucking did it. With a shrill roar, you maniacally swung your knives at whatever was in reach, lodging them firmly into the joint of one of his digits. “I know my worth! Not Megatron, not you, not your entire damn species!” You snarled, eyes wide, panting hard. “I am a marvel! A masterpiece! I—” you stabbed that same joint again, and again, and again, “—am the best goddamn thing to come from the poisons you brought to the earth! Your pathetic plan for conquest has gotten you nothing but mediocre victories, meaningless relics, goddamn brownie points when you people do shit right for once! But I,” you were probably having an episode, “I am the only one who gets. Shit. Done!” Yeah, you were definitely having an episode of some sort. Oh, well. Either way, his digit was about to fall off, and that was a victory you could die happily with.

And Starscream? All he could do was laugh.

“Better tell me what’s so goddamn funny, because I’m not laughing,” you deadpanned. His wings trembled with amusement, raised high and proud. “You…intriguing little thing,” he lifted you by the leg, still stabbed into it, fresh energon gushing from the wound as you finally released a choked groan of pain, “you haven’t been in the field enough, have you? Your little stunt in rescuing your beloved Breakdown was a mere fraction of the stakes you’re dealing with, being a lowly human creature amidst beings like us. You think yourself powerful, all because of a few new tricks? A few new modifications? Allow me to be the first to reassure you—” Starscream firmly gripped something in your leg and pulled, a guttural screech tearing from your throat as the entire world went blurry. All you could see was red, all you could hear was a sickening crunch and snap. “You are not.”

The way you were discarded to the ground, thrown aside like a piece of garbage, had what remained of your pride absolutely shattered.

Move, goddamnit!

You tried so hard, so goddamn hard, nails digging into the rock so hard they bled, fresh energon bursting from your wounds as you strained each and every muscle in an effort to just sit up. Not even fight, not even stand. But to just lift yourself onto your elbows. Yet you couldn’t even manage that much.

Move…

You felt yourself shift, something siphoning energon from your body. It was only about a syringe’s worth, due to the click of the cap you heard, but you couldn’t exactly be thankful, knowing who was now in possession of it.

Move!

“The future, reborn Decpticon cause thanks you for your sacrifice. I would thank you personally from on high as their all new, benevolent leader, but alas…you’re not quite looking so great, now are you? I’m afraid you simply won’t be online long enough to witness it. What a pity.”

Pity. That’s what this is, what you had become. Absolutely pitiful. And now? Starscream was long gone, enough of your energon in his possession to do who knows what.

Energon, dark and so low in supply for you, gushed freely from your wounds, painting the earth with its dark red, almost purple hue. Distantly, you wondered if consuming it would do any good. Energon goes in, energon comes out…eventually, common sense kicked in as you instead turned towards measures of self-preservation. Desperate, clammy hands clenched at your flesh in a vain attempt to save your own spark (spark?), but ultimately it was as if you had placed a piece of tape on a bursting dam. As streams of energon pumped and pulsed through your fingers, you felt the world fading away.

“That's…not too great,” you finally acknowledged, obviously the biggest understatement this millennium. “I think I'll…I think I'm gonna just lay here a bit. Just…a few…”

As your desperate affirmations trailed off into incomprehensible murmurs, you gazed off into the sky. Somewhere, deep in your mind, you wondered if anyone, anyone at all, would care to save you. Who would you see first…Knock Out? No, he's literally Decepticon CMO. If he's got anywhere to be, it certainly isn't chasing after a defector. Breakdown? Same deal. He wasn't exactly CMO, but it didn't mean that he didn't have his own duties, his own problems to deal with. Not that you wanted to bother either of them, anyways—they deserved better. And Starscream was fucking dead to you.

Would Megatron even—

You were suddenly wide awake as you instinctively purged any and all thoughts of the mech out of your mind, several lines of code (lines of code?) firing all at once just to get you thinking about anything, anything else. Hell, you'd rather think about your mortal wounds rather than him.

Stop thinking like a ‘Con, goddamnit! It's just you here. It's just you. 

It's just you. 

It's just…it's just…

“It’s just me,” you finally acknowledged aloud. “What am…what am I doing?” Your voice broke as, for some reason, your eyes filled with tears. Blinking them away quickly and swallowing down the lump in your throat, you glanced at your surroundings—nothing of use. But below the rocks was a faint blue glow; could that be energon? Was the signal that little machine had been tracking been an energon signal? Surely so, that’d explain the oh so convenient timing of Starscream’s arrival. Why the voice in your head, always right as usual, had no qualms with you going on this whole mission in the first place. Because, in an odd twist of fate, it would’ve led you to energon. The one thing you had needed once. But now you were just sitting here losing it, both literally and mentally.

Whatever was happening to you was not normal. All your wounds typically healed sooner than this, but you were in a puddle of your own energon, and you didn’t dare look down at your leg. Cyberforming was great and all, but a part of you was still human; if you saw that injury, you were going into shock, and you were going to die. So it was up to you to just…stay alive.

“Stay alive,” you mumbled, blinking several times as your vision threatened to go dark. “Easy…easiest thing in the world. Just…don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die.”

How long had it been? How long were you just here…dying?

“Don’t…” you croaked, eyes dull, your extremities stiffened and cold. “Don’t…?”

A hand firmly grabbed yours. Someone was calling your name. A voice that, now that you thought about it, felt so familiar. In a way that only became clearer and clearer the more you heard it, resonating so firmly in your mind until you blinked your eyes back into focus and—!

It was him. You didn’t know his name and he’d never tell you, but it was your little admirer. Your companion, throughout all of this. Your savior.

“I…deeply regret,” his voice threatened to crack if he didn’t quickly swallow, inhaling shakily, “that I was not here sooner. I should have known this would have put you in harm’s way. I should have known.”

“D…don’t—”

“Do not strain yourself unnecessarily,” he quickly tilted up your chin as gently as he could in your state, eyes firm and resolute, “and whatever you do, do not look down. Can you do that for me? Will you do that?”

“How…bad is…”

“Incredibly bad,” he murmured, hoisting you up into his arms with no effort whatsoever. At this point, pain was simply a constant—the movement exacerbated your injuries, but you couldn’t even react to it anymore. All you knew at this point was just…all-consuming, never-ending, excruciatingly unbearable pain. But as you glanced up at him, his face tense and upset, you found yourself so, so deeply enamored with him and all that he was. He came all the way out here, just to rescue you. Carrying you off to safety, even though you were covered in—

You froze.

“Wait, no, s-stop! Stop it!” You yelled out as firmly as you could, using your last bits of strength to attempt to writhe out of his grasp, tearing at his arms. “You can’t, m-my blood! It’s touching you, you’re gonna get—”

You expected burning skin, melting flesh, oozing blood. What you did not expect, however, was to look down at his arm, covered in your energon, and see it completely fine, entirely unscathed.

What…the…fuck…?

“What in the hell…” There were only two options. One? You fucking died. Because this shit was not possible. Two? You…were still figuring that out. But it all leaned towards some real crazy shit being at play here. So you kept it simple. “Explain. Now.”

“You are in no condition to—”

“‘Condition’ my ass. First, you’re a gas station clerk. Then, you’re someone who killed a guy. Next, you wanna fuck me, I wanna fuck you, then no, you actually don’t want to. You show up in the right places at the right times with the convenience of a fucking miracle, over and over. And now? You have poisonous alien blood on your arm, and it’s rolling off you like it’s nothing but water! I don’t give a damn what condition I’m in,” all the strain from the outburst had you about to pass out, “I…need answers,” you panted out. “Please.”

You saw the gears turning in his head. Then, his eyes were at it again with that massive range of emotions; this time it was guilt, disappointment, guilt, disappointment, then, ultimately…acceptance. Pure acceptance.

Gently, as if you were about to shatter into pieces, his hand threaded itself into your hair, around the coily strands, into your scalp, rubbing gently. He had to savor that touch—it was about to be his last.

“This could not have gone on for forever,” his voice was only becoming more and more recognizable, “but, in the brief moments we’ve shared, with you so blissfully unaware, they were rather enjoyable,” it was so damn familiar, you could taste it, “and, my relic, I can only hope that, looking back, a part of you may at least attempt to forgive me.”

“Well, yeah, of course it was enjoyable, we were—”

Wait.

“My relic.”

Oh my fucking god.

You immediately passed out.

Of course you didn’t wake up to any strange dreamscapes; how could you, when you were still on the brink of death? Nothing worked right anymore. Your enhancements from the red energon were nonexistent. You felt so…human.

It was terrifying.

And then, you woke up.

“You do not need to be awake right now,” came the voice that you now knew belonged to FUCKING MEGATRON, “do not strain yourself.”

Yeah, right—as if you could ever rest a millisecond, knowing what you do now. Still unable to sit up or open your eyes much, you could at least register that you were laying on something warm, with Mr. Man Whose Name Was Actually Megatron This Entire Fucking Time sighing to himself. “What…the fuck,” you croaked, throat painfully dry, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Predicted that response.”

“Seriously—are you fucking insane?! I—” Inhaling to have a massive outburst at why he was here, why he had been here, why he was still here, you were swiftly silenced by energon bubbling in your throat—okay, that wasn’t supposed to be there. “You were alone with no source of energon or medical care. I simply wished to check on you,” he defended himself. “As if.”

“If this were truly an attempt at recruitment, could I have not simply forced you back into the fray?”

“Actually—” He had a point. “Well, fuck you,” you settled on, coughing hard. “I’m dead. I’m dead, dreaming you up in the afterlife. That’s it.”

“Careful,” his voice was so fond, “refrain from throwing yourself off any more tables.”

Only Megatron could know that you had done that, all that time ago.

“Megatron—Lord Megatron— Megatron, why the fuck…how long was I out?”

“Not long, just around a dozen kliks or so. Long enough for me to gauge the extent of your injuries. I will reiterate—do not look down. That is not a request. That is an order.”

“Can I look up?”

“Do you wish to?”

“Sort of.”

“Then you may.”

You opened your eyes, just to regret it instantly. In part, due to the way the world was a jumbled mess of colors and shapes and lights, all swirling together to look like Picasso vomited on a canvas. Also from looking directly into red optics you did not plan on seeing again for a very, very long time. Visibly flinching, your eyes quickly turned to the ground to your side. That was a lot of energon. Was it all yours? Probably. Unless Megatron bled dark, tarry red now.

It wasn’t visible how his faceplates changed, but, as you realized you were in his palms, Megatron’s frame shifted as he vented, the red light bathing you from his optics dimming as his eyes narrowed. Usually, with that face, he looked like a content cat. Now? He was more of a downtrodden puppy. “I am quite afraid,” he began with genuine regret, “that there is no outcome that ends with you surviving unless you return to the Nemesis.”

“Great, I’ll…just…die here,” you breathed, words awfully difficult in your condition. Megatron, however, was incredibly unimpressed. “If that was a poor attempt at humor, let it be known that I am far from amused.”

“Yeah, I ain’t laughin’ either.”

“Don’t be stubborn. You’re not offlining here. Or anywhere. Ever.”

“You do know that I’m already dying, y’know? Before all this, whatever Screamer did to me?”

“Of course I—” Megatron suddenly went so still that, if not for his stifled, sharp intake, you would think he had offlined right then and there. “Starscream?”

“Was he—” wow, that pain in your lower half was sharp, “—not bullshitting? Is he really gone?”

“Fool got himself captured, never returned. Judging by the pathetically miniscule amounts of energon that go missing every other mining operation or so, he is still online. Simply scavenging, like some starving scraplet separated from its pack.” In all other circumstances, his blatant disrespect for his former SIC would be hilarious right now. But unfortunately, when you’re bleeding out, humor doesn’t quite land like it used to. So all you could do was lay your head back, staring up at the ceiling of stalagmites. Stalactites. Whatever the fuck.

Could you really do this? Return to the Decepticons in such a pathetic manner, bleeding out and begging for assistance? Needing Lord Megatron himself to rescue you from this pathetic mess of your own creation? You didn’t even like the guy. You were still pissed at him. At every single ‘Con. Fuck Megatron for being so damn inconsistent and dismissive. Fuck Starscream for being Starscream. Fuck Knock Out for giving you to Megatron in the first place when he realized you weren’t really there in the mental department, as if he’s ever been the responsible one to deal with anyone’s mental wellbeing. Fuck Breakdown for not even beginning to think to intervene. Maybe you just needed space, did anyone ever think about that much? Maybe, while you had your little spiral about if Megatron gave a shit about you or not, you could have screamed it out in your living quarters. Not gotten shoved right in the face of what you had been dreading most, the baker’s dozen of truths you hadn’t been ready to face yet. You had deserved that time, and no one gave enough of a fuck to settle down and think about actually providing it to you. That’s what got you into all this. Not you; rather, no one else around you cared about you, causing you to lash out and everything to go wrong. That was surely it.

Surely.

“GODFUCKINGDAMNITOKAY!” You finally exclaimed at the top of your lungs, causing Megatron to wince at the sharp pain of your shrill voice tearing through his audials. This was what happened when left to your own devices for too long: you just became worse and worse, more of a self-centered, conceited, whiny asshole. You weren’t a kid who got grounded one too many times, sobbing into their pillow because surely their mommy didn’t love them anymore, surely they had to hold their breath for as long as possible to kill themself. Spoiler alert: that shit doesn’t work. You were an adult, goddamnit! People loved you. You loved them. You had to go back. If not to rejoin, then to just…say sorry. They were owed that much. “I suppose…dying out here would sort of be lame as hell.”

You didn’t need to say any more. With one swift movement, yet with more caution than you imagined possible, Megatron transformed around you, landing you in his cockpit with a soft thump. Before you could get any ideas to inspect your injuries, the lights were turned off, the seatbelt tightening around you hard enough to kill any ideas instantly. Almost like he cared about you. Ha. But, as many mechs whose affection you could guarantee (Knock Out and Breakdown’s, that is, hopefully still), Megatron was one mech whose feelings you were quite certain about.

He didn’t care about you one damn bit.

Back aboard the Nemesis (when did you pass out again?), things were looking a little more gray than usual. You were moving—when did you get so tall? Why was everything moving so fast?

“Knock Out, prepare sickbay immediately!” Megatron barked orders into his comm, so loud it shocked a portion of your brain back into order. He was running, and he was running fast. So fast you moved to grip his digits for stability, just for your cold hands to clench uselessly. Wounds didn’t usually act like this. You got cut up, you healed, you moved on. Why was this injury so brutal? What even happened?

Screeching metal filled your ears as Megatron skidded around the corner and into the med bay, nearly bowling over an extremely shocked, extremely exasperated Knock Out. “Lord Megatron, what could possibly have you in such a—” One glance down was all it took, and, even in your barely coherent state, the horrified gasp that left his vocalizer told you enough. You were fucked. Of course, you already figured that from Megatron’s urgency, but Knock Out was a medic. He was supposed to see mutilated corpses and go “well, in my expert opinion, this guy’s dead,” and move on. But he wasn’t moving on, he was moving forward. Moving backward. Moving every which way, grabbing various utensils, instruments, anything he could even remotely need, both average Cybertronian sized and Minicon sized, screaming something into his comm. “How in Primus’ name did you—?! First I go looking for you just to find your stupid note, now you’re—?! I can’t even begin to speak, let alone to you! I knew you were a weird one from the beginning, but you have absolutely lost it!”

“What up,” you croaked, throwing up a weak peace sign, “I lived, thanks.” Blinking at you incredulously, Knock Out instead turned to Megatron as he worked. “What could have possibly happened to them, who is the cause of it, and when am I permitted to remove their spark from their body surgically, slowly, and very, very painfully.”

“They need immediate medical treatment.”

“With all due respect, my Lord, I can see that.”

With a series of groans and mutters, likely about how much you were an idiot and how fucked this all was, you were gently lifted from Megatron’s servos and placed into Knock Out’s smaller, more dainty ones. Despite all of his anger and frustration, his thumb still came out to gently rub the top of your head, the action immediately producing a content sigh from a place of comfort within you that you thought you lost the second you left. But here it was. Here you were. Safe.

“This isn’t just your average cut or scrape. Lord Megatron, their—”

“Do not,” Megatron’s voice turned venomous, “describe the injury.”

“Why not? It’s theirs! They know! They…know, don’t they? They know? About the…that?”

“They do not know about the…that, and I am desperately attempting to keep it that way for as long as possible,” hissed Megatron through clenched dentae, “so, if you value your pathetic existence, Chief Medical Officer Knock Out, make sure they do not offline before it is you in their place.”

“Already in progress, my Lord, ” replied Knock Out in a totally unsarcastic manner as you felt a pinch in your inner elbow. “I won’t mention the that, but I will mention the severe energon deficiency and poisoning. When is the last time they ingested any energon, and what was the source?” Thank god you were unable to form too many articulate sentences—you didn’t have to explain your own monumental fuck up. “Do you recall that Vehicon that went missing in a sudden crash? With those lacerations to the neck cabling, hardly a drop of energon left at the scene?”

“You had me researching energon poisoning ever since.”

“They drank it all.”

“THEY—”

“Still alive, still have ears, mind you,” you reminded all in attendance that you were very much still alive, and if Knock Out got any louder, you would change that. Now that you thought about it, sentences were a little easier now. As you swallowed, deep in your throat you could distantly taste fresh energon; you could almost cry, it tasted so fresh. So, you were most likely getting an energon transfusion. “Oh, hush, you,” Knock Out chided gently as he lowered you onto a soft surface.

Holy shit, this is my old bed. Moved into the medbay just for me.

Finally, you were able to open your eyes fully, glancing down on instinct. Of course Knock Out covered you up already, to prevent that very thing. Unsurprising, this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo. But not seeing the injury, which you could now narrow down to being on your lower half, still had you disappointed, even if it was for the best. “Excuse you,” Knock Out snapped his digits to get your attention, to which you rolled your eyes, “Now that you’re no longer a nanoklik away from entering the Well, speak. Now.”

“Um.”

Where to start? Your abandonment of all your loved ones? Your job? Your place in a fucking war? Without as much as a ‘sorry guys, I’m probably just tweakin.’ Or, even better, your cannibalism in your attempt to survive, landing you right back where you started, only to be far more of a burden on your family than you probably already were? That’d go along just splendid.

“Hi?”

“Lord Megatron, if they do not offline from this, I will ensure that they do.”

Megatron, who had little to say at this point, was more focused on you rather than his crimson coworker, optics not leaving your form as he sat at a distance. They repeatedly glanced downwards, intake opening and closing repeatedly—whatever he had to say, couldn’t he just say it?

“Okay, not ‘hi.’ Well, yeah, hi , good to see you, genuinely, just not only hi. Y’know? I’m, uh…” ‘Sorry,’ for some reason, wasn’t in your vocabulary just yet. Asshole. “How’s Breakdown? I’m gonna go ahead and assume you’re…not too pleased with me.”

“Abso-fragging-lutely I’m not. He’s out, will be back soon. And by the way? He’s just as upset as I am.”

“Aww, someone’s upset over little old me?”

“I’m not upset!”

Megatron’s intake closed and opened for the final time, and finally, he rose from where he was seated, optics holding an intense focus. “They cannot go any longer without knowing about it,” declared Megatron, to which Knock Out pressed his derma into a thin line in contemplation. “The that?”

“The that.”

“Reason being?”

“They are no longer in as great of a risk of going into shock. Additionally, to begin recovering…they deserve to know.”

“Hey, the ‘they’ in question here,” now it was your turn to snap your fingers for attention, “however hurt I got, I can handle it. Really. Just rip off the bandaid.”

Both mechs blinked.

“It means you’re doing something abruptly that you know is gonna hurt, just to get it over with.”

Both mechs nodded in newfound understanding.

“Are you sure? It’s, ah…not pretty,” Knock Out put gently, and at this point, you were about to rip the blanket off yourself. But, in favor of being a good patient, you settled for crossing your arms in irritation. “Show me. I’m serious.”

“Alright.”

Knock Out removed the blanket in one careful motion, and you finally were able to view the extent of your injuries. You couldn’t feel much on your lower half, the majority of the sensations being what felt like a cross between tv static and unbearable agony. It was mostly blood and dust from rocks and whatnot, with most of the blood stained on your left leg. It was over your hip, down your thigh, to your knee, and below it was—

Wait.

Hip, thigh, knee, and—

Oh.

Alright, so that explained a lot. The strict, firm insistence that you absolutely did not look at your injury. The amount of blood. The snap you heard when you were grabbed and pulled and thrown, the way everything suddenly went so numb. The rest of your left leg, below your knee, was…not there. There wasn’t much more blood to come from the wound, given the sheer length of time you had been bleeding out. While your body wasn’t functioning well enough to heal (could amputations even heal with red energon?) the area, it still refused to die, the flesh remaining lively and tinted red with life rather than black with death. It wasn't just some gaping hole, either—the wound had begun to seal itself off, the blood loss ceasing as what once was a gruesome wound was reduced to a deep gash. That showed promise, didn’t it?

“While I encourage you not to succumb to hopelessness in your recovery, the odds of your red energon healing this is—”

“It’s not possible.” Knock Out finished grimly for his rather unpleased Lord as he bandaged the area. As much as he was a friend to you, he was a doctor first—providing false hope was just as bad as causing the injury itself. It wasn’t happening. Plain and simple.

That did not show promise.

“The odds of red energon, in the state that it’s in within your body, healing this? Are zero. As you already are aware, you’re dying. Before you say anything, close that intake of yours,” your jaw closed with a click, “I am aware that you only shared this with Lord Megatron, but I am a scientist as much as I am a medic. Whether you like it or not, you are a fascinating subject to study. I connected the dots.”

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything, if you knew I was dying?”

“I simply plan on changing fate,” Knock Out declared as if it was as simple as changing plans for the day, “you’re not going offline, that’s as simple as that.”

For someone to be so insistent on changing the world, just for you to thrive…you had to quickly shove away the burning lump in your throat with a wet chuckle and a soft sniffle.

“Anyways, I’ve monitored the levels of the red energon in your bloodstream ever since I figured it out. While it’s not exactly going anywhere, the potency of it to your body has decreased, for the time being. Until we find a solution, that is. It’s just as potent to other Cybertronians, as their systems don’t receive a constant intake of it day in and day out like you do. Seriously, they’d have to spend every nano-klik drinking nothing but your energon to get even close to this decrease of potency. Think of it as, when you take a medication constantly, over time, it will lose its effectiveness. That’s what you’re experiencing.”

“Make sense…I think. Was this always going to happen? From the beginning?”

“There’s no way to be sure. Nothing like you has ever existed, and while red energon remains virtually nonexistent in the nearest hundreds of galaxies,” that certainly didn’t make you feel like an waste of space, “nothing like you will ever exist again. We’re ‘playing it by ear,’ as you would say. There’s also other factors at play with your decreased healing: mainly your lack of good energon intake, the severity of the injury, and the simple fact of your biology. The human body is delicate. Even a simple substance such as water, something you require to live, can kill you with too much of it. Likewise, with red energon…it may be killing you faster than it’s helping you.”

A massive silence followed that bombshell. Fun.

“However, I am in agreeance with Knock Out. I refuse to allow you to perish,” restated Megatron, “So, in this road to recovery, you will be under constant medical care. You are going to recover.”

Another silence.

“So…how do you feel?” Knock Out asked hesitantly, and you glanced up at him, an odd look in your eye. “How do I feel? Fine, I guess.”

“‘Fine, I guess?’ I know you take things pretty well, but come on. As much as I’d hope that you’re entirely unfazed, that’s unrealistic. How are you really feeling?”

“Fine, as I said. I’m just…okay.”

Another silence.

“Do you, uh…need anything?”

“Do I need anything,” you echoed, looking around at all the medical equipment, tools, Knock Out, more tools, Knock Out, tools, Knock Out, Knock Out, Knock Out— “Lord Megatron, I wish to speak with you privately.”

If the past silences were silent, then this one was as if sound had never been invented in the first place. Megatron was shocked and intrigued, while Knock Out was shocked, offended, and concerned all at once.

“And have you without medical supervision?! Hardly!”

“I’m not gonna die without an IV for a bit. Worst case scenario, if I get low on energon again, I take it the old-fashioned way. I can use my arms now, so it works out.”

“You little—” Knock Out couldn’t deny you the right to speak to the mech who literally owned both of you. “If anything happens, anything at all, you comm me. Immediately. Not optional.”

“Yeah. Will do.” You turned to Megatron, that odd look still in your eye, eerily calm. “May we go?” Wordlessly, Megatron picked you up, patient as Knock Out unhooked you from everything, before carrying you towards his quarters, looking down at you every so often. And you didn’t say a singular word.

“So,” began the warlord as he sat down on his berth, laying back enough to place you atop his chassis, “You have never been the one to request to speak to me. It usually goes the other way around.”

“It does.”

“So?”

“So?”

“What did you wish to discuss?”

“Why did you save me?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Perhaps.”

Venting in mild frustration, Megatron was interrupted before he could even answer it. “You don’t care about me. I already know that. I’m an asset, and that’s fine. I was out there so I could deserve to come back. So that, if I can’t even begin to matter to you in any way that isn’t strictly for your own benefit, I can at least do something about this damn war to end it with you on top.”

“That is not what I—”

“Of course it's what you want! You need to end this war as Cybertron’s new ruler, snuffing out that Prime for good. I can't help you gain that by hanging around you worrying about what we are. Now? It's what we were . We're done. I'm sick of trying to read you like a book when I know you're not even gonna let me look at the goddamn cover.”

You had just interrupted and chewed out your Lord, your ruler, the mech that could smite you in an instant. But, rather than the harsh, zero tolerance leader you had come to know, he simply exhaled. A deep, weary sound that made you feel bad . And what he said next was downright shocking . 

“I am requesting your permission to speak uninterrupted. These are words I only wish to say once.”

All you could do was nod dumbly, staring up at the ceiling.

“Your presence has become somewhat of a constant to me. So much so that your absence brought upon me a new constant—constant loathing. I did not seek you out for the war—you would have already been out in battle if I had wished that of you—rather, I sought out to find you.”

You swallowed hard. 

“I wished to find you,” he continued, the words obviously stiff and unfamiliar coming out of his vocalizer, “half out of concern. You were without a source of energon, and once a certain Vehicon went missing and had signs of energon loss and lacerations that did not align with the crash, I knew you had done something foolish.”

“And…and the other half?”

“The other half…is the part I wish not to repeat. So you will listen close, and listen well, for these words will not exit my intake ever again.”

“Everything I said was true. Every bit of it. You captivate me, enrapture me, mesmerize me without fail at every moment. When I take pride in you as a subordinate, you bring me in. When I despise you for subordination, you bring me in. When I must act as your lord, you bring me in. When I must act as your equal, you bring me in. Over the past few dozen cycles or so, the primary thought circling through my neural net…I am afraid it has always been you.”

Oh no.

“You know,” Megatron leaned back a little, crossing his arms over his chassis with a gruff sigh, “we are on the cusp of greatness. Unsurprisingly, Starscream has defected. Again. Provides me with all the more chance to focus on what we've gained—the beginnings of a formula for synthetic energon. With that? We could take the earth, Cybertron, and beyond. And that's not even mentioning the artifacts, prophecies…”

“But?”

“A part of me, this… defective part of me, was eager to put it all aside. Just out of my concern for you. The synthetic energon hasn't been worked on in cycles, I was running Knock Out ragged researching energon poisoning. My conquest has plummeted, where it should be at its apex. I despise it. And, to an extent, you, for being the reason I'm doing it.”

“You're doing it again.”

“I was not finished. I—”

“I'm not finished. You said how much I'm ‘drawing you in,’ but now you're saying you despise me. Try again.”

Out of your vision, a single optic of Megatron's twitched. Of all the impotent, disrespectful, childish—

He let out another weary sigh. 

“Not all of my opinions towards you are positive.”

“Me neither, but we'll get there. For now, whatever you have to say, say it. Just…be nice, y'know?”

“I…” A tyrant? Be nice? “While you do captivate me, and the thought of furthering my intimate knowledge of you intrigues me, I am displeased with your behavior. Back here, before you deserted m—us.”

Oh my god, he's doing it. 

“You inquired as to if I ‘liked you’ or not. An inquiry that I did not have a sufficient answer for, at the time. But, rather than use your processor for one time in your—rather than listening, you interpreted my lack of response as a response in itself. Lashed out. Made up an entire new set of problems whereas you could have simply heard me out, solving at least one.”

Oh my god, he's actually fucking doing it.

“To answer your previous inquiry? It felt childish. My opinion of you varies, but is primarily dependent on your own actions. Succeed in your work, and it will improve. Allow me to teach you more about my world and I will humor you about yours, and it will improve. Next disagreement, choose not to abandon me. Then it will improve. Greatly.”

Wait, what? 

“When I left, did I seriously…do you really feel like I…”

It went without saying. “Did I hurt you? Do you really feel like I abandoned you?” Of course, to save his ego (you finally found one to match your own), you couldn't finish those sentences, but, as his frown deepened immensely, his response went without saying, too.

“You were being impatient and selfish. I had genuine intentions to reach out to you. I did not appreciate losing the chance; however, if I had acted sooner…perhaps we would not be here.”

“Perhaps,” you echoed, deflating. “I'm, uh…”

Go on. Use your big words.  

Shut the fuck up.  

“I'm sorry.”

There we go.  

“We should have just…talked. Like we are now. It was a roundabout way to come to the same conclusion: I don't know how much I can truly mean to you. That's all I ever worried about, to be honest.”

“Agreed.”

“That only addresses the first half of what I just said.”

“I am aware.” You scoffed in disbelief, inhaling to fire back an extremely displeased response, until he spoke once more. “The other half? Open-ended. Infinite.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he was suddenly very close, “your meaning to me has no limit. It is only up to how far you wish to go.”

Oh.

This was different.

“In that case…what am I to you right now?”

“Someone who I would greatly prefer not to lose. A companion, but the language for what has changed between us does not quite exist. While I can consider you a companion with ease, that does not properly encompass the…intimacy between you and my holoform.”

Intimacy.

What the fuck are we? When he's…him, he isn’t exactly straightforward about wanting one thing or the other. But in his holoform…he always seems so ready to just take it. To take me . We crossed a line in our relationship without me even knowing it was our relationship. A line that, now that we’ve crossed, I don’t know if I want to go right back where I came from, or just keep running.

So you inhaled. Ready to ask all the questions. What you meant to him in a physical aspect, what he wanted from you in a physical aspect. You were going to ask it all, once and for all.

Red optics pierced you right where you sat, right through the heart, stabbing you directly into his armor. And, with a final spurt of blood as you took your final breath, you released all your tension in one sigh that ended with your head in your hands. In another circumstance, this would have been your moment. The time where you let it all out, explained your attraction to him, how certain you were that your little “crush” was beginning to feel less like puppy love and more like dogged devotion.

In that moment, you said everything. But in this moment…your nails clenched at your scalp. 

“I can't do this,” you murmured, not even sure whether you meant this whole back and forth between you two, or life in general. “All I'm doing is hurting everyone I love. I hurt Knock Out and Breakdown by leaving, you by leaving, now I'm just…I’m supposed to go back into all this like I'm a good person, welcome back, nothing changed, just another Thursday morning. But I'm not, I…fucked everything up.”

“Correct.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“However,” a digit lifted your chin, Megatron's frown deepening at the glossy look in your eyes, “it is imperative that you persevere. Repair your bonds, capture your strength. Become as strong as you are truly destined to become, and once you have become that, break the confines of destiny, rising above all the world has prewritten you to be.”

Poetry. That's all you could describe every word that exited his intake—poetry, a private hymn to be sung to you and you alone. A tune that, more often than not, aligned its beat perfectly with your beating spark—oh, be still your beating spark, the way he looked at you was going to make you lose it .

“Be you.”

What?

“Be you,” Megatron reiterated, “and that is all I will require. Be what remains of you,” he glanced down at your left leg, what remained of it, “and then, what you have lost? Supplement it. With your allies. Your strength. Your anger. Your pain.”

“I don't…I don't know if I have any of that,” you mumbled as you stared down at the bandaged nub. Now that you think about it, you had kind of just…forgotten about it. But that wasn't normal, you don't just forget about a life-changing injury like that—was this life-changing? No, no, you'd be fine. You always just end up fine. Your red energon would heal this, like it did everything else. It was all going to be okay.

“Thank you,” came your tired mutter as you made yourself comfortable, your resting place of choice being near his neck cables. Except, once you situated yourself there, you felt his frame stiffen up, talons flexing and clenching around nothing.

Oh, yeah. Last time I was right on top of his spark, he got all defensive. Now that I'm somewhere else delicate…

Curiously, he had no threats this time, no promise that, if you were to make any attempts to offline him, your own spark would be snuffed out in return. He appeared to be…holding himself back, somehow. All for your sake. God, did this mech make you absolutely fucking ill. Still, to reassure him that you were indeed not a threat, you folded your arms over your chest, leaning back. Surely enough, he got the message, optics rotating and analyzing for a moment before settling on some spot across the room. You supposed it was of no surprise that Megatron was so contemplative—while most warlords would be conquest this, conquest that, he was conquest this, ponder the world that. Observing the world that, one day, would finally belong to him. You could only hope to be a part of it.

“I’m gonna, uh…hit the hay for a bit, I think. Haven’t slept without it being from severe blood loss in, uh…yeah. If that’s okay. I won’t be out for long, probably.” The mech’s optics dimmed for a nanoklik as he presumably looked up what “hit the hay” meant; you felt a slight grin tug at your lip. “Do whatever it is that you require.”

“Cool. So I'm just gonna—” You moved to lift yourself up and off him to go hobble back to the medbay somehow, before a massive servo quickly planted itself on top of you, pinning you right against his neck cables. “The hell? What are you…”

The look in Megatron's optics was…odd.

“Remain here,” you couldn't tell if that was a request or a demand, but the tone in his voice had you obliging regardless, “I can assure you, you will not be harmed while you recharge.”

“That's not what I'm worried about.”

“In addition to that, you have no way of returning to the medbay, if not for me transporting you.”

“And you're going to refuse to do that?”

“Affirmative.”

“Then I can walk.”

“Forgive me if that was supposed to be a poor attempt at humor—your taste simply gets worse and worse.”

“I could find a way. I'm fine. This leg shit? I can just walk it off.” You glanced down at your leg, before getting that odd feeling again—crushing emptiness, devoid of all emotion. Like a feeling was meant to be there, but no matter how many times you reached out, you could not capture it. Meanwhile, Megatron was just done with your shit. But, gentlemech as he was, he left all comments to a simple grumble, leaning his helm back carefully so as to not crush you. “Recharge.”

“Fine.”

As your eyes slowly fell shut, body finally relaxing, you felt a sort of…presence? Whatever it was, whatever caused it, it felt almost palpable, electric in the air, exuding emotions of fondness. Anger. Concern. Anger. Apprehension. Anger, so, so much anger—how could anything ever feel so angry all the time? Yet, the millisecond you reached out for it in your mind, it's as if your littlest finger brushed against it before it retreated in an instant, the mech beneath you shifting slightly. 

Odd.

But you wouldn't let it bug you—everything would be fine. That's how things turned out. No matter how much anything sucked, you stepped the fuck up, locked the fuck in, and got through it. So what, you lost a limb? It'd be fine. You just…lost a limb.

You lost a limb.

You had lost a limb.

And then, the entire world caved in. Forget sleeping—all you could do was lay there and sob. Sob for what you had done to yourself, for what had been done to you. Sob for who attempted to help you, for who you could never deserve. Sob for what you had lost, and what you would now have to become. All you could do was mourn and mourn until it all blurred out.

Megatron held you a little closer that night, his processor racing back and forth so fast that it flashed warning after warning across his HUD, but still only able to come back to one final conclusion. The same horrible, miserable, unforgivable conclusion.

He was falling in love with you.

Chapter Text

Conclusion reached. Outcome rejected. 

The conclusion was met over and over and over, screaming louder every time: this was not purely platonic, not anymore. Not with the admittedly pathetic longing he felt in your absence (he will not tell you), the nauseating concern upon your return (he will not tell you), the quasi-content feeling reverberating throughout his spark (he will not tell you) as he just…laid there. With you.

Megatron did not recharge that night. Every time he offlined his optics, his processor was plagued with visions. Visions of you, visions of what was almost done between you and his holoform, visions that could've had his interface panel sliding open, if not for him having more self control than a youngling. Visions of what you had experienced going on that stupid energon run, all because he didn't have it in him to just hand it over to you himself.

Correction: it wasn't a lack of courage. But you had finally been free of the Decepticon cause—if there was any way to maintain that freedom, leaving you to thrive with your own species once more, then he would do it. He was going to conquer this earth regardless—if he had to do it without the power of red energon, then so be it. Anything to keep you from a war you had no business participating in to begin with.

You had no business being in any of this. 

He was mistaken—had to be. Red energon and dark energon must have some adverse effect on one another. Anything. But this was absolutely not working, and absolutely was not allowed to work in the first place. So, to make things right between everyone involved, especially you (moreso him), you were swiftly scooped up into his servos, sleep undisturbed, carried off in the direction of the medbay. 

Megatron's previous escapades in romance were…not notable, to say the least. Not exactly not notable out of a lack of meaning (not that red and blue paint transfers were all that attractive on a gray finish, anyways), but rather that Megatron had simply moved on, moved forward, moved to become greater. No Cybertronian was going to interfere with his conquest—he promised himself that far back on Cybertron, when revolution was but a mere whisper into your audio receptors rather than the bloody truth screaming back at you solar cycle after solar cycle.

Cybertronian or not, he simply had better things to be involved with. 

Like running helmfirst into his TIC—if his instincts didn't kick in the last nanoklik, that is. What a mech to see—it was all too perfect. 

“Soundwave,” Megatron greeted as if he would receive a verbal response; however, none was needed. None was ever needed, if it was him. Except, rather than responding with his typical non-responses, Soundwave’s visored helm tilted down, slightly down, right into his servos, a brief “?” displayed on his screen. “The human. Nearly offlined, at Starscream’s own hand. They are simply being returned to the medbay for medical surveillance.”

“Medical surveillance—medbay—returned—own hand?”

Even through clips of his own voice, the question was clear: “why the hell are you the one doing it?”

“I took it upon myself to survey them personally. My surveillance has simply come to an end.”

“Personally.”

“Personally. They have, from the moment they stepped aboard this vessel, been a relic under my care. My control. May a mech simply not care for his own belongings?”

Defensive. Guarded. Millennia of serving under Lord Megatron ensured that no subtlety in his words ever escaped him. Also known as: he was a lying fuck, saving face. 

“I would greatly appreciate,” what an interesting strain in his tone, “if you were to return them instead. I have more crucial duties that require my attention.”

“More crucial—simply not care for his own belongings? Nearly offlined—under my care.”

“If they're yours, their life nearly came to an end, what could possibly be more important?” Would that question receive an answer? Obviously not. But, as Megatron inhaled a harsh vent to deliver an equally as guarded, yet exponentially more peeved retort, a brief smiley face emoticon flashed across Soundwave's visor as he gathered the human in his tendrils’ grasp. “Under my care—simply being returned to the medbay for medical surveillance.”

Much better. Venting in both remaining frustration and hidden relief (hidden from who?), Megatron gathered himself, servos clasped behind his back. “Your assistance is invaluable, Soundwave.”

As the TIC escorted the “esteemed guest” back towards the medbay, he found himself…curiously enamored with it. It? They? Lord Megatron used “they,” so he supposed that must be the…being’s preferred pronoun. A brief search through the Decepticon database brought up a few key facts: their name, their age of just under thirty stellar cycles, their condition. Infected with red energon, survived via medical miracle. Shows signs of superhuman abilities, as well as signs of impending death. It could go either way—a human super soldier with Cybertronian components, or a bloodied pulp of a corpse, imploding under all the pressure. Currently, it was looking like the former. What joy.

Soundwave did not see the appeal.

Whereas he felt fondness for his Minicons, that was him. That was his own programming, his own ability to form these types of bonds with lower lifeforms. But a techno-organic? Megatron? It certainly wasn't out of pity, that mech simply lacked that emotion. It certainly wasn't out of any sire programming, he likely lacked that too. And it certainly wasn't out of any romantic—

Certainly wasn't out of any romantic—

Huh. Could that really be the case? 

If Soundwave had visible faceplates, they'd have curved into a sly little grin; what an odd mech he was, Lord Megatron. Infatuated with a human.

It was only a matter of time until others caught on as well.

I'm so fucked, I don't even wanna wake up. 

As you woke up in your own head, once again, you felt no world, no voice, no presence. It was just you, as things should've stayed. Maybe you should have just kept driving, kept going, escaped the Decepticon cause. If you died, that was that. At least you'd die a whole death, body intact, not desecrated by a pathetic excuse for an enemy. But Starscream? Fucking Starscream? 

There's no coming back from this. 

As you woke up, you longed to rip out all your IVs like you were in some movie, the hero who jumps back into the fray. Except you were no hero. And you would be hobbling back into the fray. And, despite being far from squeamish, watching people do that always made your skin crawl. So you just…laid there.

The scenery was a little different. Your quarters were redesigned a little for easier Cybertronian access—oh, joy. Invasion of privacy, your favorite. A few things were new, too. No more bloodstained carpets or sheets. A fresh coat of paint on, well, everything. Everything under you felt more plush than usual, and, come to think of it, might be an actual mattress rather than an inflatable one. And that's all you could see from being bedridden.

God, you did not wanna be there right now. Better housing situation be damned, you'd prefer being housed six feet below right now. But, you supposed, that wasn't an option. Megatron had to save you. Just to ditch you in the medbay like you were a toddler who fell asleep in the car. You could only mind so much—you wanted to leave anyways before he insisted and you passed out—but for a second there, you really thought…thought you two were finally getting…

Tears formed in your eyes; why was that happening so often nowadays? You used to rarely cry. Nonetheless, you just toughened up, rubbing at your eyes until they burned. It didn't matter. It didn't fucking matter. 

“A simple ‘good morning,’ suggests good manners, you know.”

Huh?

Knock Out’s voice sang from outside, not like you could get there. But it was most certainly directed your way. “They probably ain't up to talkin’,” added Breakdown— Breakdown? Oh, goddamnit, it was hard enough seeing Knock Out again! Him, too?

“Well, sweetspark, that ‘ain't’ an excuse. The world's out here. Not cooped up in there. Their typical brooding won't do them any good.”

Typical—I'm fucking depressed, you asshole!

Fueled by anger alone, you forced your weight onto your good leg, your remaining leg, that is, huffing and heaving hard as you clutched your nightstand. Nightstand that definitely wasn't there before, but okay. You even got one of those IV thingies with the wheels, dripping energon into your system, and you grabbed it as you finally hauled yourself to one leg.

You could do this. 

“Wait, wait, wait, you're in no condition to—”

You. Could. Do. This.

Kicking down the front door wasn't an option unless you wanted to roll around like a potato that fell out of someone's shopping cart. Instead, you opted for punching it, red shockwave rippling through the door as it nearly flew off the hinges. Didn't mean to do it that hard, but okay. At least you were getting your point across.

“I'm alive and well, thanks, asshole.”

“Finally, the lion exits their den. Come to join the rest of the world instead of sulking? There's a long road to recovery ahead.”

“I—” Why the fuck was he being so…dismissive? Your fists clenched as you prayed to whatever and whoever that the tears threatening to form in your eyes dried up. “You're already on step one. Regaining the strength in the rest of your body to supplement the loss of your leg,” wow, what a kind way to put it, “ensuring that you're able to at least function at 75% capacity. It's a surefire way to ensure that you're—”

“You're a fucking moron.”

“Well, that wasn't very polite. I am attempting to—”

“Knock Out,” Breakdown interjected gently, “couldn't ya use another buff or two? I got this.”

“Breakdown, I need to ensure that they—”

“I got this. Go, take ten. It'll be alright.” Reluctantly, Knock Out gave in, muttering something about “needing to revise the recovery plan anyways,” but at this point, you didn't give a damn. Not a single mech was useful to you right now. 

“Hey.”

A singular crack in your façade.

“Hey? The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin'. Just ‘hey,’ y'know? Been a while.”

“It's been a lot more than that. I defected. I left all of you. You're supposed to lash out at me. Knock Out already did, to an extent.”

“That's him, that's how he's handling it. He's…not happy with you leaving. Neither am I. But I just had a feeling, y'know? That you'd end up back here. It's just a shame it ain't on better circumstances.”

“Go on. Talk about my recovery plan, injury, what have you. Might as well get it out of the way.”

“Nah.” Breakdown parked his ass right there in a seat, propping up his helm, just…talking to you. “Don't wanna.”

“Why?!”

“Because it's stressing you out.”

“I—”

Another crack in your façade. 

“Knock Out is talented when it comes to anything medical. Really. And his bedside manner is usually way better. But he cares too much about ya, just wants you to heal as quick as possible. Even if it means being hard on you. But believe me, if any mech gets the process you're goin’ through right now,” Breakdown tapped at the patch shielding his missing optic, “it's me.”

Another, not crack, but deafening boom rocked your entire façade, lip trembling before you bit down on it hard. 

“I don't need you to talk down on me like I'm some wounded animal,” you lashed out in self-defense, “I'm fine. Walking it off.”

“Except you can't really do that.”

“I can.”

“But you can't.”

“Watch me.”

You got a total of three steps. Three steps before your leg, unused to the extra weight, buckled beneath you, and it all happened so fast—Breakdown’s optic offlined as his holoform crackled into existence, rushing forward, ensuring that you fell into strong, firm arms, rather than flat on your face. And he wasn't letting go, no matter what. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, rubbing circles into your spine, “you don't gotta prove anything. You're just…hurting. Let it hurt. You'll feel better in your own time. For now, you just gotta stop being in denial. It finally hit you that all this is real, right? That it's gone?”

Why the fuck does he know?

“You're not getting better because you're too busy fighting it. Fighting back against what's already happened. Sometimes you gotta just…be, y'know?”

Just be.  

It was as if all the strength in your body had been siphoned from you in an instant, the way you went limp in his arms, your hands still clutching him tight. “How the hell am I supposed to do this…?”

“I dunno. Still doin' it, myself. But we're here, right? Counts for something.”

At that beautiful moment of emotional clarity, the most relieved you'd felt in a while, your favorite Aston Martin made his grand return. 

“Alright, I've got it! The new and improved recovery plan, sure to ensure that—” Knock Out glanced down at you two, then over to Breakdown’s root mode, then back over, an optic ridge raising. “—I…may have missed something.” Quicker than you could register, Breakdown's holoform vanished and, before you could lose balance, his large servo was pressed against you. “Don't everyone speak at once, what in the world happened?”

“Knock Out,” you began carefully, with more boldness than you were used to when it came to all things vulnerability, “can we, uh…talk?”

“About?”

“This whole… injury thing.” You were going to avoid the a-word for now. “About you being an amputee,” you facepalmed, “the only way for your recovery to begin is to—”

“That's what I wanna talk about.” Your eyes darted over to Breakdown, who made an encouraging motion with his servos, then back towards Knock Out. “You're too…forward. Pushy. I need to get better, I know that, but I just recently became not better. Mentally, I haven't…I’m just barely registering that it all happened in the first place. I need time.”

“We don't have time. You need to get better. I need you to get better.” At realizing what he said, Knock Out immediately stiffened up, looking away with a scoff. “I refuse to let my patient offline. That's all.” Regardless of his brush-off of anything sentimental, you were still cheesing his way, your grin absolutely blinding. “Yeah, ‘cuz all your ‘patients’ give you friendship bracelets.”

“Zip it, meatbag. But, I suppose…we can give it a rest. For the time being. So,” he leaned down, optics oddly tender, “what do you need?”

“To sit down,” you settled on, using Breakdown's extended servo to lower yourself into a seated position, legs sprawled out. Well…leg sprawled out. Everything was leg singular, not leg plural. Wasn't that odd?

“Did you feel this way when you headed off with Lord Megatron yesterday?” Knock Out asked out of nowhere, and apparently, that was news to Breakdown. “Wait, they what?”

“When they got back and got a little more stable, first thing they did was go off with him.”

“Well, I was uncomfortable here, with you being so pushy!”

“Pah! As if he's any better.”

“He was! Finally got some sleep for once, mind you.”

Knock Out looked at you. 

Fuck.

Oh, no, he wasn't looking at you. In a moment his entire helm was in your face, studying you so closely you could see every last circuit in his giant optics. “Don't tell me.”

“What?”

“Do not. Fragging tell me. Tell me this is a joke. Tell me this is just some sick, twisted little joke.”

“What?” Breakdown and you questioned, and Knock Out whipped around to whisper something into Breakdown's audio receptors, his optic going just as wide.

“You interfaced with Megatron?!”

“Tactful, Breakdown. Very tactful.”

“W-WHAT?! No, fuck, no, a million times no! The fuck kinda ideas are you putting in his head?!”

“Ideas that just might be true,” the cherry red mech sneered, leaning in. “Even if you didn't…do you want to? You two have always had this weird half hated, half adored relationship with each other. You revere him, but curse the land he walks on. He hates you like he hates everyone, but you're an absolute marvel to him. So you two…ooh, I can see it now!”

“Knock Out.”

“Megatron and—”

“Knock Out!”

“—sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—”

“I'm gonna cut off my other leg.”

“Easy, easy!” Breakdown soothed once more, laughter in his vocalizer, “Your taste is just…odd. Ain't gonna encourage it, ain't gonna knock it, you do you.”

“They don't wanna do them. They wanna do him.”

“I. Do. Not.” Do I? “We're in…an odd place right now, I can admit that. He's…kind to me. I mean…” You glanced around before death glaring at them both. “This doesn't leave the medbay. But…when I left, I saw this man following me. Gave me gifts, cared for me, talked me down from some drastic shit. Even—” Yeah, just mention how you almost fucked him. Go ahead. “—came to see me at my motel, just to have a heart to heart. Then he shoves this little machine in my hands, tells me to follow it. Turns out? It led to energon, which I was completely out of at the time. Of course, I wasn't alone, hence,” you gestured to your left leg, “but it turns out, that was his holoform. The entire time.”

If a pin dropped in the medbay right now, it would be absolutely deafening.

“Oh, he wants you wants you,” Knock Out marveled, a servo over his intake as his optic ridges furrowed. “Is that a good thing?” Breakdown questioned, at which Knock Out shook his helm rapidly. “No, no, no! You are not doing this. You hear me? You are not this sore for companionship, right? Me and Breakdown, don't we talk to you enough? Do we need to go out more? More friendship bracelets? Whatever we're not doing, please just tell us!”

“It's not you, the hell? I enjoyed it.”

“That's the problem! Why not find yourself a nice human, a doctor! That's it. Find a doctor.”

“Fine, how about you? We'll fuck, then I'll have my taste of Cybertronian ass.”

“Breakdown, get the lubricant.”

“I'm kidding! Jesus fuck…” you worked your brow hard, throwing your head back.

Was it…really that bad? 

About Megatron wanting you, that was bullshit. It wasn't like that, and you didn't love him. If you did, it wasn't like that, anyways. It was like Knock Out or Breakdown, not like someone you wanted a relationship with. You didn't do those, not anymore. But sex was impersonal. You didn't need to be in love with him. You just needed to do it. And you had already gotten close. If you wanted to, you could march (well, limp) on over to his quarters, stomp right up to him, and demand to resume what you started with his holoform. Not like you'd mind the action, like you weren't used to fucking around. You had less experience having meaningful sex, to be honest. This was right up your alley.

“Not that I'm doing it, but what's so bad about all this, anyways?”

“That's Megatron. You don't want him.”

“But what if they do?” Breakdown chimed in. “Yeah, but what if I do? Wait, no, I don't—”

“I'm not having this conversation. You two can, but the fact that you have even allowed it to continue for this long is confirmation enough that something's going on, something I do not want anything to do with. Now, if you excuse me, I need to go purge my tanks.” Knock Out turned on a heel strut, promptly exiting the room once more. Tough crowd. Your eyes slowly made their way towards Breakdown, who simply shrugged. “Your questionable taste, your business.”

“I don't even like him. Whatever. I'm hungry for something that isn't glowing blue,” you sighed, motioning to stand, before Breakdown lifted you himself. “Sorry,” he murmured as he placed you inside your living quarters, “don't want you overdoing it.”

“That's…fine,” you stated as you limped over to your cabinet (not there before, but okay) pulling out a simple cup of ramen. A golden optic on you the whole time. You made your bowl and added water, putting it in the microwave, a golden optic intensely following your movements. As it spun around slowly, you felt a golden—

“You good?” You finally asked, a little creeped out at the live studio audience, to which Breakdown shifted awkwardly. “What? Me? Yeah, for sure. Just, uh, keep doing what you're doing.”

“Alright, then.” You eventually took out the ramen, added the little seasoning and vegetable packets, his stare not easing up in the slightest. Sitting down to eat, you got a whole bite in before you let out a long sigh at, once again, the golden optic watching you. “Breakdown,” you put it gently, patiently, “I love you and all, but the staring is creeping me out. What's up?”

“Nothing! Just, uh, making sure you're good, y'know? Safe. Staying here. Y'know.”

“Safe.”

“Yeah.”

“Staying here.”

“That's right.”

Okay, so you just officially gave your best friend separation anxiety. Good to know. He thought you were just gonna up and leave at every moment, making sure you didn't as much as eat a goddamn bowl of instant noodles without supervision. But, you supposed, this was what you deserved. You gave no one any reason to trust you. It could only be so surprising that they…didn’t trust you. 

So you ate your noodles in contemplative silence. Eventually, Breakdown surmised that you weren't going anywhere. Knock Out returned to continue his synthetic energon research. You just…ate. Human food was starting to feel like more of a rare, unnecessary delicacy as energon began to take up more and more of your diet. Who knew that, after a life of poverty, you could still find yourself craving those same struggle meals? You'd fuck up some cheese and butter on pasta right now, if you were pre-red energon you. But red energon you turned out to have little appetite for human food anymore, and while it remained a comfort, just this would be plenty to satiate it.

I wonder if Megatron is okay. 

The fuck? Where the hell is this coming from? I was doing fine, not thinking about him. I don't even need him. 

I just…worry, I guess. He would have seen me by now. Checked up on me in that weird obsessive way of his. Not complete radio silence. 

You had half a mind to comm him yourself—not that you had anything to say. Your time to question what could really come of your relationship, physically foremost, had long since passed, leaving an uncomfortable plateau in its wake; there was simply nothing to discuss. You were back? Cool. You were intact? Cool. There was nothing else to be said. 

Except there was. There was just so…so much.

Ping!

“What's poppin’,” you said before common sense could kick in, forcing an overly casual tone as you talked to not only your boss, the object of your attraction, but the soon-to-be ruler of the world, “everything okay?”

Silence…could comms go to voicemail? If so, his certainly did. But just before you could cut the line and smash your head into a wall in embarrassment, you heard him. “Peculiar.”

“Hm?”

“Usually, it is I who seeks you out. Not you seeking me, much less in search of casual conversation. Has your medic finally grown bored of you, my relic?”

Nine times out of ten, a crack like that would have you screaming back profanities and threats. But this time…you were just happy to hear him on the other line, seemingly not rejecting your—your advances? Were you making advances here, with this? 

“Nah,” you answered both Megatron and yourself, “things are just dull as a whole here. At least for me. Can't exactly head off on some mission.”

“I will admit, I am rather…surprised.”

“Hm?”

“Cybertronian limbs can be repaired and replaced in mere moments. Humans are so…flawed, in the fact that whatever frame they are equipped with, they must remain in.”

“Hey, no one said anything against prosthetics in the future.”

“Yes, but they are not a part of you. They are a mere supplement to just barely scrape at compensation for what you have lost.”

“...thanks.”

“Any unnecessary bluntness was unintended.”

An…apology?

“Anyways,” you quickly reoriented yourself with a deep breath, “I'm through with thinking about all that stuff, at least for now. Unless I come to terms with it right here, right now, recovery ain't in my future, let alone a prosthesis.”

“Have you not come to terms with it already?”

“Get your leg ripped off, see how you cope.”

“I have, twice, back when the war was at its apex.”

“But it's been ‘repaired and replaced in mere moments,’ right? You didn't have to deal with an emotional aspect. But this? I'm never getting my leg back. Point blank.”

“Never getting it back,” echoed Megatron, and you could hear his vents release a heavy sigh. “It appears that I had not come to terms with it, either.”

“Sucks, doesn't it?”

“It…is rather unfortunate.”

A sympathy silence was not what you needed right now. 

“I appreciate you saving me, once again,” you admitted quietly. “I appreciate you. Thank you.”

One nanoklik.

Two nanokliks.

Three nanokliks.

And then the communications were cut with an abrupt click.

What the fuck?  

Meanwhile, on Megatron's side of the world, he released a strained growl of…whatever he was feeling, slamming his fist into the console in a fit of rage. This little thing could not continue. “I appreciate you”? The tenderness in your voice as you said that, oh frag him. No creature was permitted to speak to him so tenderly, so kindly, so delicately. Surely you were mocking him somehow? Something? Anything? This just wasn't right. He was an absolute prick for cutting communications so abruptly, he knew that much, but he just could not do this.

Loving you was painful. He was beginning to see that. But to be unable to speak to you, to see you, to hold you as he held you in his holoform, to be between your legs, mere moments from—

“My quarters. I will collect you in five kliks.”

Megatron was a glutton for pain.

You didn't even have enough time to think it through. His words were quick and concise, comms cut again, giving you just five kliks to prepare. And, now that your processor consistently translated all Cybertronian units to earth units, you now knew that was just about zero fucking seconds. Rushing out as fast as you could, unhooking your IV with a gag (how did people do that in the movies?), you sped out of your quarters to face a very confused Breakdown and Knock Out.

“Everything alright?” Knock Out asked with a suspicious lilt, to which you could only laugh nervously. “So, uh, big guy's coming here to get me. Don't know what for, just, uh…wants me.”

“Oh, he wants you, alright,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chassis. “Be back in one piece.” While Knock Out was absolutely done with your shit, back off to work, Breakdown glanced back over at you once, twice, then rushed over to you with a datapad produced from his subspace, thrusted into your hands. “Read that first. Good luck. Have fun? I disapprove. Be safe.”

“Wh—okay, great, you're running away too,” you groaned as he excused himself in an instant, and you glanced back down at the title of the document opened on the datapad. 

Cybertronian Sexual Education: A Guide to All Things Interfacing.

“BREAKDOWN! I'm not reading this, you asshole!”

You continued to read.

Holy shit, you were learning a lot. A spike, valve, holy shit, the pictures—did Megatron really have…those? You wanted to find out, find out how they felt, learn how to—

What the fuck, I don't want this. He can jack himself off to the thought of me serving him for life or whatever he's into. Damn sure isn't me. 

Except…everything that happened with me and his holoform. He was about to fuck me right then and there. So there's something there, isn't there? Something I'd at least like to explore? 

Before you could fully decide it for yourself, here your chariot came—the fuck was that look in his optics? Red depths like pools of magma, bubbling and burning and wanting nothing but to consume on and on and more and more like an endless flame—

“Hey,” you condensed all that into a strained greeting, to which he could only nod his helm just barely, extending a servo. “Come.”

You wanted him to tell you that in a very, very different context. Yeah, you were gonna do it. 

He attempted to move his servo closer to assist you, but you pridefully refused, insisting on hopping over until you could sit in his palm with a sigh.

Yeah. You were gonna do it.

And, by god, he was gonna love it.