Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“My name is Thoughtsplitter.”

He breathes in through his nostrils, the quill held in his talon scratching against the parchment of a scroll. Nearby, candlelight flickers and casts shadows along his desk and writing.

“I am writing this to anyone outside of Pyrrhia– I seek your help. The war has been going on for what feels like centuries, and it will continue. That is not the reason I seek assistance, however. There is something darker lurking, hiding behind the war’s massive presence and feeding off of its shadow. I can feel it within my bones. To those who find this dagger and scroll, you have been chosen.

“You were led to their location by a higher power, and to them I am grateful. They know the dangers that are happening here. They know that this force can and will reach through the stars and find others, that it will eat and devour until there is nothing left. They know something I do not, and they put their faith in you to rid Pyrrhia of this threat.”

“For the final time, this is Thoughtsplitter of the NightWings.”

***

Ratchet frowns, fidgeting with the corner of the parchment.

The words across it are legible, and worryingly so. This ‘Thoughtsplitter’ knew what they were doing, even if it meant sending out a plea in the form of an outdated messaging source. The medic has no clue as to what a ‘Pyrrhia’ is– or perhaps was, but the quality of the scroll and its cargo suggest otherwise– nor does he know what a ‘NightWing’ is. He shifts his weight from side-to-side, looking up at Optimus with a heavier frown.

“I’m not sure what to make of this,” Ratchet admits, looking back down at the scroll in his hands with a furrowed brow, “taking into consideration the way the message was sent out and the number of things within the message, there are many details about this that baffle me.”

Not to mention, the scroll fit almost perfectly in their servos– all of theirs. Smokescreen had been the one to initially find it and the dagger the parchment was wrapped around. The dagger itself was able to be held easily and without much trouble, though it had obviously been made for the hands of someone else. The grip had felt odd to Ratchet when holding it, and the weight was very off.

The blade is white and curved, resembling a tooth or a claw, and along its center are words that he can’t translate.

The Prime nods slowly. “I see.”

“It’s just.. Weird, isn’t it?” Smokescreen pipes up. “I found it in that mining outpost.. But..”

“No one was there.” Wheeljack finishes, frowning at the scroll in Ratchet’s hands.

“...You don’t think..” Bulkhead begins, looking between the scroll and then the dagger that Optimus holds.

Wheeljack looks at the bigger bot, scowling. “Nuh-uh. Ain’t no way –”

“It is possible,” Optimus hums, “that the Decepticons found it by accident.”

“The question still stands,” Ratchet says, frown still prominent on his faceplate, “ where did they all go?”

The question is left unanswered as the dagger begins to glow. Their attention snaps towards the weapon in the Prime’s servos. The blade blooms brighter and brighter, blinding them.

When Ratchet reopens his eyes, he’s falling through a bunch of branches.

***

Prowl’s head snaps upwards.

Optimus and Sentinel had been arguing over something senseless again, and with nerves high from their unfamiliar surroundings, no one had attempted to stop them. Now, the pair shut up as a group falls through the tree tops and smack-dab into the area they’ve been sitting at for the past hour.

Prowl leaps down from his perch on a tree branch, startling Bumblebee. They’ve– they’ve all been changed. Instead of armor forged from the frame he’s been with his whole life, Prowl is a dragon. Rather, everyone is. Bee is some sort of dragon with four silky wings that remind him of a butterfly. He’s a soft yellow with black details.

Optimus is a sleek dragon with fins behind his ears and below the thick, rounded horns on his head. He’s primarily a bright red with blue and yellow detailing. His underbelly is white and his tail curls into a spiral. 

Prowl himself is a dragon with leaf-looking wings. He’s dark brown with gold streaks and spots. He frowns, eyes narrowing. Sentinel backs away, his wings flaring up to somewhat shield his team.

The strangers that have fallen through the tree branches are alive, which is fortunate on their part. Prowl slinks closer like a cat stalking its prey, eyeing the nearest ones. They’re all groaning and beginning to sit up already.

A slim, navy-blue one is the first to lift their head and meet his gaze. They’ve got fins behind their ears like Optimus does, but their wings are similar to Prowl’s. Pink-blue eyes narrow at him, and he stops.

“Who are you?” The dragon growls, head rearing back somewhat. They– she? – start to sit up, fins bristling. “ What are you?”

Prowl tips his head slightly. “My designation is Prowl. I’m– we’re all dragons. I believe we’ve been turned. Who are you?”

The navy-blue dragon doesn’t seem to register his question, or maybe she ignores it. She turns to the others beginning to stand up. Some are glaring at him while others are peering over his shoulder.

“..That dagger..” She mutters, brow pinching as she turns back to look at him. “My name is Arcee.”

Prowl nods as Bee pops up at his side. “Did you say dagger?”

Arcee nods and a bulky, green-tinted dragon comes over. Optimus follows closely after Bumblebee, and Sentinel’s crew is left to stand behind them.

“Yeah,” the bulky dragon nods. He’s big, a few heads taller than any of them. Arcee doesn’t look bothered. “Found it and a scroll while clearing out a Decepticon energon mine.”

“So you’re Autobots, then?” Optimus asks, his eyes searching the dragon’s face. When he nods, Optimus sighs in relief.

“Yup. The name’s Bulkhead.” The bulky dragon nods. A pale green dragon that looks nearly identical to Prowl walks over, knocking his shoulder against Bulkhead’s.

“But–” Bee frowns– “Bulkhead is back home.. He didn’t get brought here.”

Prowl frowns as well, eyes narrowing on the dragons in front of them. Bulkhead huffs, little tendrils of smoke trailing from his nostrils.

“Nah,” the pale green dragon snorts, “Bulk’s right here.”

Sentinel finally trails over. His lips are peeling up from his teeth, his rounded muzzle scrunching. He points an accusatory, webbed claw in Arcee’s direction. “What doesn’t make sense is that Arcee is back on Cybertron. Clearly, someone here is lying .”

Prowl’s head snaps towards the Elite Guard commander. The spikes on the nape of Sentinel’s neck are raised, and the ones trailing down his spine are pressing flat. Prowl looks back at the strangers, suddenly wary again.

“ Cybertron? ” Arcee snarls, the fins on her head bristling again as she strides forward. Her wings raise. “ Cybertron is empty . What in Primus’ name are you on about? ”

Prowl blinks rapidly. Cybertron, empty? And who the slag is Primus?

“Uhm, no, it isn’t.” Bee butts in, his four wings fluttering against his back. “And who the heck is Primus??”

Arcee’s head swings in his direction, and by extension, Prowl’s. Fire practically gleams in her eyes.

“ Enough! ” A voice snaps. Arcee stiffens, turning to look over her shoulder. The owner of the voice is a black dragon with a stripe of sandy-colored scales running between his back and underbelly. Bright blue eyes sweep over them and Prowl suddenly feels like he’s back in base being scolded by Ratchet. At the dragon’s side is a massive, ruddy brown dragon that looks similar to Bulkhead, and beside that one is a stern-looking, slim but well-muscled dragon with huge wings.

The ruddy-brown dragon leads the other two towards them. Muscles roll beneath the red-brown scales and the spattering of scars across his body. Wise blue eyes flit over them before settling onto Bumblebee.

“You are getting nowhere with this nonsense.” The black dragon spits, staring them down with a look that could kill. He breathes in through his nostrils before sighing. “Now. You said you found a dagger, yes?”

Optimus nods. “Yes. It came with a scroll. Or– well. The scroll was wrapped around it.”

The black dragon nods, looking thoughtful. “I see..”

“Ratchet?” The ruddy dragon asks. Prowl balks at both the name and the sound of his voice. He sounds ancient .

“I suspect that our realities have been brought together,” Ratchet says, sitting down and linking his talons together as if demonstrating. “You say Bulkhead was left at home, and yet he stands right here..”

Prowl looks Bulkhead over again, brow furrowing. This sounds an awful lot like the shows Sari would watch sometimes, with multidimensional travel and the multiverse.

“..So you’re saying,” Prowl begins and eyes fall onto him, “that there are multiple realities?”

Arcee huffs. Bulkhead nods. “That makes sense, right?? The kids got stuck in that shadow zone that one time.”

Prowl looks at the big dragon briefly. Shadow zone?–

“Exactly.” Ratchet nods, talons now back on the ground. “Whoever this ‘Thoughtsplitter’ is, they brought us from multiple realities.”

Bee frowns. “And you said your Cybertron is empty.”

Arcee scowls, looking away.

“I believe there is much to be explained.” The red-brown dragon rumbles. The big-winged one at his right nods. “Though, for now, introductions shall be our priority. My name is Optimus Prime.”

Prowl’s jaw parts. He thinks Bee’s might’ve hit the ground.

Sentinel makes a choking noise. “Wh– hah– hat ?? What the frag. ”

Optimus blinks rapidly. The bigger one lifts a brow at their reactions. “Is there a problem?”

“No- no it’s just,” his Optimus mutters, looking sheepish, “ I’m Optimus Prime.”

“Ah.” The ancient-sounding Prime nods. Ratchet sniffs in what sounds like amusement.

“Uh– well,” Bee clears his throat, ruffling his wings, “I’m Bumblebee and this is Prowl.”

Prowl nods, though he doesn’t miss the flashes of surprise across the team before them. A pair of heads pop between the red dragon and the pale green dragon. One is primarily black with yellow stripes while the other is a deep blue with yellow details. The second head has thick horns like Prowl’s Optimus– who he’s going to just call Bossbot from this point on– and fins like him. His facial structure is similar to the red dragon on Optimus’ right.

The black and yellow dragon looks oddly bug-like, and when the pair squeeze through, Prowl can spot the clear wings on his back. Like a hornet’s. A stinger is even at the tip of his tail. On his throat are jagged scars, tearing the underbelly scales to shreds.

“ This is our Bumblebee,” the blue-and-yellow dragon beside the black-and-yellow one states proudly, a leathery wing flopping over his companion’s– Bee’s?– back. “And I’m Smokescreen.”

Bee blinks up at Prowl before looking at his still-silent counterpart. Bumblebee nods in greeting, grinning slightly. The red dragon at his side huffs.

“My name is Ultra Magnus, and I command the Wrecker unit within Team Prime.” The big-winged dragon at Optimus’ right declares, head held high.

Again, Prowl is left dumbfounded. Team Prime? Commander of the Wrecker unit? He’s not sure he knows what a ‘Wrecker’ is.

“Wait, you don’t lead the Autobots?” Jazz’s voice pipes up from behind Sentinel. The pale green dragon that’s still at Bulkhead side snickers. Bulkhead nudges him and the pale dragon shuts up, though he’s grinning.

“No.” Magnus says, glaring at the green dragon briefly. “I am second in command to Optimus.”

Optimus nods. “And a trusted friend.”

Sentinel makes the choking noise again.

“ Oh. ” Bossbot mumbles meekly. “Um. Who leads them, then?”

“Optimus does.” Arcee grins, sitting beside Ratchet. The medic rolls his eyes.

“In your reality, Mags leads the Autobots?” The pale green dragon asks, light mirth twinkling in his eyes. Ultra Magnus glares at him again, frowning heavily.

Jazz nods. “Yup, my mech. By the way, m’name’s Jazz. This is Jetstorm and Jetfire.”

Jetstorm grins. Noticeably, he is not dripping embers like his twin. He’s also slightly paler than his brother. Jetfire’s yellow eyes gleam as he’s introduced. The pair are both the color of copper.

Sentinel seems to have finally shaken himself from his shock. Clearing his throat, he lifts his head. “I’m Sentinel Prime,” and almost smugly, he tacks on, “I command a unit of the Elite Guard.”

His tail flicks towards his crewmates. Jazz nods. Arcee narrows her eyes.

“..Elite Guard..” She mutters.

The pale-green dragon huffs, though he speaks up. “Well, I’m Wheeljack.”

“Great.” Ratchet grunts. “I believe introductions are over. You have a lot to explain. Two Primes??”

Optimus hums deeply, nodding. “Indeed. You have said that your Cybertron is not ‘empty.’ Let us start there. When did you fight the war for Cybertron?”

Bossbot frowns. “A few million years ago, now.”

“And you won? ” Bulkhead asks.

“They were not alive then.” Prowl mutters, raising a brow to his leader as if asking. Bossbot nods. “I… I ran from the draft. But yes, we won.”

“ Draft ,” Arcee seems to almost laugh. She doesn’t say anything else. Prowl decides to not ask about it.

“I shouldn’t be as relieved as I am to hear that,” Ratchet mutters, shaking his head, “but to hear that the Autobots won the war somewhere brings me more hope.”

“Indeed it does, old friend.” Optimus nods.

“You said yours was empty.” Bee shoots back, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Because it is.” Arcee states flatly, her tail winding around her talons. She looks grim.

“The war left our home devastated,” Optimus says, looking solemn, “I was forced to jettison the AllSpark into deep space to prevent Megatron from finding it. Without the AllSpark there to help heal the planet, it began to die. The process merely quickened as the war continued, and Cybertronians on both sides fled. Now, Cybertron sits as merely a husk of what it once was.”

The team looks much more solemn as a whole, now, and Prowl doesn’t blame them.

“You got the AllSpark back though, right?” Jazz asks slowly. 

“No.” Ratchet frowns. “We are still fighting. The war has moved off-world, as both Autobots and Decepticons alike have been scattered amongst the stars. Our team is on Earth now.”

Bulkhead nods, scowling. “Buckethead’s there, too. And his command. Right now it’s ten-to-one, with the Con’s having the upper hand in numbers.”

Arcee bristles, nodding.

“Nothin’ a few lobbed grenades can’t fix, eh Bulk?” Wheeljack smirks. Bulkhead snorts.

“..Your Cybertron is dead? ” Bee breathes, his eyes wide.

The lighter mood is quickly quashed. Prowl curls his wings close on instinct.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Ultra Magnus hums. “It has been millions of years since we’ve seen our home alive.”

Wheeljack nods. “Take a few years off’a that to count towards the war.”

The scars they all bear suddenly make much more sense now. Prowl can’t help but pity them. The group falls silent, each mulling over what they’ve heard so far. There's been a lot of information to process. Then, Optimus speaks up again.

“You are both primes.” He doesn’t ask. Bossbot and Sentinel both nod. “Is it tied to religion or another means?”

“We earned it through the Academy,” Sentinel supplies, puffing his chest out. He drapes a wing over Bossbot’s back, who frowns. “It’s a military title that few get to have.”

Bossbot nods. “There weren’t many primes before we left Cybertron. Maybe a couple hundred or less?”

“ A couple hundred.. ” Ratchet mutters, his eyes blowing wide.

Sentinel nods along. He actually looks serious for once. “Yeah. And Magnus is also a title, which is given to whoever seems fit to lead after Ultra Magnus steps down or whatever. I might be a future Magnus.”

Bossbot rolls his eyes.

“I see.” Optimus says, nodding gently. “The title of Prime in our reality is one that only one single bot at a time receives. It is tied to Primus, our creator.”

“In other words,” Arcee picks up, “he’s the only Prime.”

The ancient sounding Optimus nods again.

“It will stay that way until he chooses another.” Ratchet huffs. Smokescreen suddenly looks nervous.

A horn blares somewhere behind the towering Optimus’ team, which has them all looking in that direction.

“Hate ta’ cut this explanation short,” Wheeljack hisses, “but I think we needa get a move on.”

“Agreed, Wheeljack.” Optimus Prime replies. He hadn’t sat at all during that explanation, nor during the introductions. “Let us move.”

Prowl finds himself corralled between Bulkhead and the still-silent Bumblebee, moving away from their current location.

***

Megatron glares.

Strangers. A whole lot of them, claiming to be Decepticons and having been some of his very own high-ranking officers. Some of them squirm beneath his gaze. Not only does he have to deal with whatever the drones had found in Mining Deposit 7E, but he now has to deal with these buffoons.

The cyclops– or perhaps he lost an eye, with these new forms it’s hard to decipher– has been preaching to the heavens that Megatron is not who he really is, that he is a copy. The mere accusation has him wanting to snap the idiot’s neck.

And yet.

The one who calls himself Blitzwing– the triple changer Megatron had heard about from Shockwave millions of years ago had gone offline sometime during the war– seemed to be the most sensible, aside from the supposed-rogue Lockdown. Though, that only seems true when his face is blue. The red and black colors have him second-guessing these Decepticons.

Blitzwing tells him how they arrived here; a scroll and a dagger. The very same the drones had found in the mining deposit. He suggests that, perhaps , their realities have merged. That there are multiple of these dimensions, pockets of realities that were or are or will be , that, perhaps , the maker of the dagger had the power to draw those from other dimensions to one.

Megatron takes this all with a grain of salt, as the humans would say, and turns to Shockwave once the supposed-three faced menace has finished speaking. The scientist, who sports a nasty scar that runs from the top of his left brow all the way down to half of his left leg– the other half is gone– looks thoughtful. Normally, Megatron cannot read the cyclops, but with these organic forms, it’s rather easy to.

Shockwave nods, finally. “This is logical. My Liege, it is entirely possible that this is what happened. I did not get the chance to study the dagger further, but from what is presently happening, that seems to be the most logical conclusion.”

Beside him, Soundwave nods along. He hasn’t spoken a word, and likely never will. His vow of silence had been taken seriously. On his back perches Laserbeak, the minibot turned into a bird. Beady red eyes stare the group of strangers down, and sleek black feathers coat her whole body. The pair of reptilians, Soundwave and Shockwave, are black as the night is dark. Soundwave has a bluer tint while Shockwave is slightly more purple. On the undersides of the wings on their backs are silver dots that resemble stars.

Megatron turns back to Blitzwing, thoughtful. The three-faced freak is an amalgamation of features; a slim face and body, spikes on the back of his neck, and a spade-tipped tail. His wings resemble the leaves of the trees around them, and he has fins behind his ears. Blitzwing looks him right in the eyes, lifting his head.

“So.. an alternate reality?” The warlord leans forward, searching the three-faced beast’s expression. “Do tell me, how goes the war?”

“Zhe Autobots would tell you it ended millions of years ago,” Blitzwing sneers, lip twitching in disgust. Red flares over the blue on his face, but it’s a brief thing and the icy-blue is back. “But we have been vorking on reclaiming Cybertron.”

Megatron huffs, smoke curling out of his throat and mouth. Hm. Ignoring the tendrils of dispersing smoke, he narrows his eyes and turns away. Starscream catches his gaze very briefly, turning scarlet-red eyes onto the strangers, glaring furiously. Starscream must take it as a cue.

“You allowed the Autobots to take over Cybertron?” The Seeker snaps, rising gracefully and slinking forwards by a few paces. “And you call yourselves Decepticons!”

At the edge of the clearing they’re sitting in, Predaking growls lowly.

Megatron’s ear twitches as he thinks. If he were any other mech, he’d be chalking it up to some faulty, massive event that couldn’t be avoided and he would tell Starscream to knock it off. But, he is not another mech. He leaves his second to scold the rather incompetent Decepticons as he ponders.

Clearly, he wasn’t in command. That, or his counterpart is rather stupid. He shifts his weight from side to side, turning to glare at the row of incompetence before him. Starscream shuts up as he turns, backing away as if giving him the floor once again. He rolls his eyes, striding forward with slow, deliberate steps. The one who calls himself Swindle seems to be the most terrified of the bunch, shrinking against Lockdown. The rogue rolls his eyes and shifts to the side, away from Swindle.

“ Clearly, ” Megatron hisses, smoke pouring from his mouth as he takes a step forward. Even Blitzwing looks nervous now. “You are all inept fools . I believe some things need to change . Knockout?”

The medic, adorned in golden jewelry that none of them know the origins of, perks up at his name. He grins, flexing his talons as he strides over. “Yes, my Liege?”

“You have some new patients .”

Chapter Text

Leaves and dirt sink under Sentinel’s talons as they walk.

It’s been silent, tension hanging in the air. He doesn’t think it’s directed at them, but rather the situation. The thought of being in an organic body is making him feel sick, and he doesn’t understand how easily the others are taking it. It brings him back to Archa VII, the spiders and–

Ugh.

Sentinel banishes the memories to the back of his mind and does his best to ignore them, even if they’re trying to claw their way back to the forefront to run rampant. Self-loathing is curling in his chest at this new form . Prowl had said they’re dragons, which were apparently human myths. Powerful creatures, according to the legends Sari had shown him.

Sentinel doesn’t feel very powerful. It’s a bit of a struggle to walk now. He has webs between his toes that are catching dirt occasionally. They feel weird, too. He cringes internally.

He nearly bumps into Bumblebee– the quiet one, how odd is that to say?– as they stop. He parts his jaws, about to ask what’s going on, only for Arcee to speak up.

“It’s too quiet.” She says, voice low. “I’m going to scout ahead.”

“Very well.” Optimus replies, tone just as low. The slim dragon nods and departs from the group. Bumblebee strides forward, glancing at the towering, red-brown dragon at the head of the crowd. When he nods, Bumblebee follows after Arcee.

They stay still, and Sentinel clocks in the ambient noises around. Rather, lack thereof. There had been birds chirping, stuff shuffling around in the foliage around them, and distant barks. Now, it’s deathly silent. He swallows dryly, looking around. Beside him, his Optimus huffs softly. He turns to glare at his old friend. The red dragon’s not looking at him though, so he turns his eyes back onto the front.

On Sentinel’s left is Wheeljack. It’s– it’s definitely weird, seeing such a reckless individual with the scientist’s name. Granted, the Wheeljack that Sentinel knows of is reckless in his own ways. This one, though, appears to be a bit more violent. Less scientist, more warrior. Sentinel doesn’t want to keep thinking of why .

Fortunately for him, Bumblebee and Arcee return. Arcee looks troubled, though maybe that’s just how her expression is normally held. In passing, Sentinel’s noticed that the femme’s stress lingers just below the surface. It’s hardly noticeable. The others of the alternate reality are very similar in that regard. Even Smokescreen, the seemingly most inexperienced of them all, has those little tells.

Arcee nods sharply. “There’s a group just ahead. We think it’s Megatron.”

Optimus frowns. “Be cautious as we move forward.”

Ultra Magnus sends a look over his shoulder, clearly directing it towards Wheeljack. Wheeljack sniffs, but doesn’t say anything. Sentinel frowns slightly.

“Arcee, Bumblebee, keep ahead of us. Alert us if anything changes.” Optimus rumbles. The pair nod and disappear back the way they came. After a beat, the large Prime keeps moving.

Besides himself, Sentinel glances at his Optimus. His old friend catches his eye, lifting an eye ridge. Sentinel huffs, glancing around briefly before meeting Optimus’ gaze again. The red dragon sighs, and Sentinel is thankful for the silent eye-talk Elita had forced them to learn back in the academy. He’d found it useless. Now? Not so much.

Optimus rolls his eyes and shakes his head softly. Sentinel scowls, turning his eyes forward once again. With the yellow-on-black Bumblebee gone, it left part of ‘Team Prime’s– ugh – little formation open. It’s easier to see past the towering figures of Ultra Magnus and Optimus ahead, providing Sentinel with an idea of what they were getting into.

At the fore, a hiss sounds. It’s still a bit distant, but it doesn’t leave much distance for Sentinel to estimate. A few steps more, and he’s beginning to see a few figures through the trees. There are a few big ones– especially the one on its own. He can see spikes akin to the ones along his own tail and spine peeking through.

Arcee and Bumblebee are nowhere to be seen, but Sentinel thinks they’re hiding. His assumption is correct– of course it would be correct, he’s Sentinel Prime – as the ruddy-brown Optimus breaks through the line of trees separating them and the group ahead. A big red one with a crown of spikes shooting out from the middle of his skull and trailing down his neck turns to look at them. Maroon eyes lock onto Optimus.

“Megatron.” Optimus says lowly, his eyes narrowing.

“ Optimus Prime ,” Megatron croons, his head raising as those maroon eyes sweep over them. “How pleasant of you to join us.”

A forked tongue flicks out from between scarred lips. With how symmetrical they are, Sentinel wonders if they’re meant to be decoration.

This isn’t the Megatron he knows, though. This one is bigger, sharper. Even he can tell that this would be a menacing mech outside of these forms. This one is much more scarred, too. Lines mark his forelimbs and neck, and when Megatron lifts the wings against his sides, Sentinel can see more against his ribs.

“Found the gift you left for us, Buckethead.” Wheeljack sneers, his own wings twitching against his back.

Megatron grins like a Sharkticon, twisting so his body is much more visible. His tail whips around. Behind him, a sleek, silvery-gray dragon with features like Sentinel’s Optimus and Prowl cackles, bright red eyes gleaming .

“Oh, did you not enjoy it, Wrecker? ” He hisses, slithering forward like a serpent. Fins that were previously pressed flat against his throat flare out, swirls of a pale, sickly green and red fill in the crimson folds of flesh. 

Bulkhead growls. “ Starscream .”

The sleek dragon bristles, a low hiss similar to that of a cyber-snake’s fills the air. Sentinel feels the spikes on the back of his neck raise defensively. “ Great . They’re all here.”

“Silence, Starscream.” Megatron snaps. His eyes are back on Optimus. Starscream’s fangs flash briefly, but he shuts up. The warlord strides closer. “I don’t suppose you have an idea on how to return home , Prime?”

With his own eyes on the large dragon, Sentinel nearly misses the movement behind him. At the edge of the clearing they’re in is a bigger dragon. Four fangs stick out of his lower and upper jaws, thick and round and sharp. Spikes like Megatron’s flare out of the beast’s neck, and huge wings nearly drag against the ground. That had to have been the dragon he spotted briefly just moments before.

The titan lumbers over, sharp yellow eyes piercing them all like knives. A feral hiss leaves his mouth, and the spikes on his neck seem to bristle. Sentinel’s own flare even higher.

How big is that bot outside of these organic forms?

“What? You don’t have any conclusions of your own?” Ratchet huffs. Megatron bristles and Sentinel focuses back on him again. “You were the ones to find it in the first place.”

Wait, what?

The warlord’s tail lashes. He doesn’t respond for a moment, but the look behind his eyes is calculating.

“Of course Lord Megatron has a way to get us back home,” a red dragon– that looks similar to Ultra Magnus– pipes up. He’s draped in all sorts of golden jewelry. His teeth gleam as he flashes a wolfish smile. “Why would he share it with you Autobots? ”

“Because he asked us first.” Wheeljack snarls. Literally. Snarls .

The jewelry-donned dragon looks slightly put-off at the sound. Megatron sneers, lip twitching. Sentinel has a feeling that, perhaps , the red dragon is lying. 

The clearing falls silent, Megatron and Optimus staring one another down. The spikier one glares sharply, but Optimus is unwavering. Eventually, Megatron spins around, his wings flaring out and slapping Starscream. The Seeker squawks, backpedaling and rubbing his face with a talon. 

“I loathe to admit,” Megatron growls deeply, “that we are stranded .”

Optimus nods slowly. Sentinel is surprised at the admission, and he doesn’t seem to be the only one. From what he can see of Ultra Magnus’ face, he’s also shocked. Bulkhead huffs under his breath.

“I believe we have hit the same roadblock, Megatron.” Optimus rumbles. Ratchet frowns on the other side of Sentinel’s Optimus.

The medic huffs. “I think if we find whoever this ‘Thoughtsplitter’ is, we’ll have more answers.”

“This is logical.” A dark dragon nods. Sentinel tries not to ogle at the massive scar trailing from the left side of his face down to half– half!– of his left foreleg. He’s got a purple tint to his scales. “I do not appreciate the lack of research I was able to conduct of the relic. Perhaps they can give us the information we require.”

Sentinel frowns, closing his mouth– when had he opened it?– as he listens to the probably-older bots (dragons?) talk. He doesn’t quite ‘appreciate’ not being in on the conversation, and hey, they were stuck in this mess, too! He’s not sure how to speak up right now, though, mind racing. He wonders just how many of these daggers and scrolls were sent out, and why Thoughtsplitter needed their help. Apparently there’s a war going on right now. Sentinel frowns harder, not even noticing as Arcee and Bumblebee rejoin them.

What war was going on? What did these dragons have to fight about? Are they dragons?? Are they human, or are they like the spiders he, Elita-1 and Optimus found on Archa VII? How big is the continent they’re on? So many questions, all left unanswered. He scowls down at the ground, flinching slightly when Optimus nudges his shoulder, looking just a bit concerned. Green floods the fins on Optimus’ neck. He can make out a few brown freckles making their way across the green, too.

Sentinel glares, lifting his chin again and tuning back into the conversation. He hears his Optimus sigh. Ignoring his old friend, even if it kind of stings, he listens intently. Megatron is grinning like a cat who got the cream, and the Autobots are, seemingly, outraged. When he hears why, he is also rather angered.

“ Optimus ,” Ratchet is saying, “you can’t be serious..!”

“ Working with Megatron?” Arcee snarls.

The Decepticons look just as put-off. Starscream, having long recovered from being whacked in the face, is bristling and gaping at his leader. The jewelry-donned dragon is silent, though he’s glaring sharply. And then Sentinel hears Lugnut. And Blitzwing. The only ones who don’t seem to be making noise are Bumblebee, the one-eyed dragon who spoke before, and a sleek, midnight-blue dragon with a bird on his back.

He scowls as the ruddy-brown Optimus at the head speaks up. The Autobots fall quiet.

“This will mutually benefit the both of us.” He says. With how wise he sounds, Sentinel almost wants to agree that this is a good idea. Almost . “The sooner we arrive home, in our own realities, the better.”

“But– working with the ‘Cons?” Arcee spits. “The last time that happened–”

Ratchet bears his teeth, and Bulkhead growls deep in his chest. “They took you.”

Megatron throws his head back, laughing. Sentinel frowns and his brow furrows, because what? This Optimus is much bigger than the one Sentinel knows, but then again, the Decepticons of their reality are also much bigger, and meaner. But still– how had they taken such a big (in theory) bot? The way Arcee and Bulkhead, and even Ratchet are acting, it seems like they did so without much of a fight. If any at all.

He watches the warlord cackle before his head lolls forward slowly.

“So, Prime,” Megatron sneers, “do we have a deal?”

Optimus doesn’t let anything show on his face, at least from this angle. “We do.”

“Very good.” The warlord nearly purrs, a cynical grin stretching his mouth wide. Sentinel takes a fraction of a step back. Beside him, Wheeljack glowers. Megatron either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice them, turning to Starscream and the red dragon beside the Seeker. “Get them grouped together, Starscream.”

“Right away, Master.” Starscream dips his head. Sentinel doesn’t miss the flash of disgust across the dragon’s face, nor the flare of emerald green across the entirety of Starscream’s scales. The color is brief, though, leaving his scales silver.

Sentinel frowns, almost thoughtfully. Optimus’ scales did that, and so did Starscream’s. He wonders what the colors mean. For now, though, he banishes the thought and watches the Decepticons rally themselves together with much arguing on Lugnut and Blitzwing’s parts. 

It seems even the bounty hunter, Lockdown , is here. Sentinel cringes, disgust worming its way into his chest. How’d the mech even get here??

As the Decepticons gather, Megatron and Optimus talk. He can’t hear them over the sound of bodies moving and feet shuffling against the dirt, but he wonders if it’s good news. Like, perhaps Optimus has changed his mind.

That doesn’t seem to be the case. Deciding he’d ignore the Decepticons for now, he turns to look over his shoulder at his team, to check how they’re holding up. They all look tense, the twins muttering to one another and sending looks past Sentinel and Wheeljack’s heads. Jazz looks neutral, but the way he’s holding himself tells another story. Sentinel’d rather not get caught checking on his team like some mother hen– slag, he has a reputation to upkeep! He looks away quickly, huffing and ignoring the little puffs of cold air that leave his nostrils.

Oh, this would be a long journey home.

***

They end up wandering rather aimlessly for a few hours.

Not that Smokescreen is counting, no. That’d be boring. He can tell how long it’s been because the sun has started to glimmer through the trees in golden rays. Optimus suggests– rather, tells Megatron that they should find shelter. Smokescreen is grateful that the warlord agrees. He would’ve probably gone anyway, tailing after his teammates and the other-wordly Autobots, but at least there’s no fight. Not this time, at least.

Bumblebee and Arcee end up scouting, along with Prowl. The dragon had been relatively quiet; scrap, they all had. Even while on their own, without the Decepticons listening to their every word, they hadn’t spoken much. Smokescreen reasons that, maybe, it’d probably been a jarring day for them all. He’s sure if he were to look closely enough, he would find that Megatron feels much more haggard than he lets on. But he’s not going to , because hello , that’s Megatron . It’d be weird. Super weird.

Arcee, Bumblebee and Prowl return, with news about a pretty large cave. Arcee says it’d hold all of them, if begrudgingly on her part, and then leads them that way. Prowl rejoins his teammates while Bumblebee takes point with Arcee, and so Smokescreen sidles right up beside his best bud. He doesn’t say anything, though, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. Being by his friend is enough for right now. Bumblebee merely gives him a small smile that Smokescreen returns.

They’re all tired– Smokescreen can see it dripping off of his leader’s frame, too. He’s seen it before, back when New Kaon had been erected in Jasper. Shoving down a shiver at the memory of being there when his leader tried to promote him–

Promote him to Prime .

Smokescreen quickly looks away. No matter how long it’s been, the memory is fresh in his mind. Just the scene of his dying leader, offering up the Matrix as if there weren’t other, better options (even if he was the only one present at that time) to take up the mantle instead. This time, he shudders. It’s not noticeable enough to raise concern, he thinks, so he keeps quiet and keeps an eye out for the cave the trio had found. 

He doesn’t have to look too hard, and the pair of scouts lead them inside. Smokescreen hadn’t even realized there was a chilly breeze until he stepped inside of the cave. Skin buzzing pleasantly from the lack of cold air hitting him, he shuffles out of the way to let the others inside. It’s very spacious, and there are a few large patches of what looks like leaves or moss lying about messily. In the center of the cave is a firepit, though it looks like it hasn’t been touched in a while. Really, none of the cave seems to have been.

It smells stale in here. Unlived in.

The thought passes by so quickly he hardly notices it. Hold on– when did he notice the quality of the air? He frowns. Smokescreen can taste the incredibly faint remains of smoke in the air on his tongue, and the presence of others being here. But the scents are old, his tongue and nose tell him. It’s safe, they say.

When his commander walks in, he trails after Magnus like a lost puppy. The second in command chooses a large patch of the leaf-moss things to lay on, and it crunches slightly as he sits. Clearly, he’d taken notice of Smokescreen following him as there is more than enough room for him to flop down. He’s too tired to care what his commander thinks right now. He’ll be embarrassed in the morning, probably, but whatever.

Sleep sounds good right now.

He curls up and finds there is enough room for another to lay down with them. Smokescreen flicks an ear, setting his chin on his crossed wrists. Sleep calls him, but he can’t answer it. Not yet. Not until he knows the ‘Cons are on the other side of the cave, away from him and his teammates comfortably. Magnus seems to feel the same, his eyes following their enemies-turned-begrudging partners like a hawk’s.

Optimus strides in closely after Megatron, and Smokescreen realizes that everyone is already inside. He’d zoned out sometime during his thinking. Beside him is Wheeljack and Bulkhead, the pair somehow fitting onto the leaf-moss blanket thingy. Given, Wheeljack is much smaller compared to Bulkhead. Leaner.

At the edge of the cave, by the wall and to Smokescreen’s left, Arcee and Bumblebee are curled up by Ratchet, who’s in his own little bed a few feet away. Optimus joins the medic, and the other-reality Autobots find spots on their own. 

Smokescreen zones back in when Wheeljack prods his side. He’s honestly surprised the Wrecker chose this spot, given his qualms with Ultra Magnus. He decides to think about it more in the morning, and then realizes Wheeljack is poking him again.

“Ya’ with me this time, kid?” The Wrecker snorts softly, mirth gently dancing in his eyes.

“Mm?” Smokescreen hums, and wow okay, he didn’t think he was this tired.

“Stop worryin’ and get some rest.” Wheeljack grins, bumping him with his forearm. “ I’ll keep an eye on the ‘Cons.”

“ We will keep an eye on the Decepticons.” Ultra Magnus butts in, frowning at Wheeljack when Smokescreen glances over. 

Smokescreen decides he’d rather not be between these two, but he’s too comfortable to move now. This is his fate. He sighs and lets his eyes slip closed. Alright, whatever.

He trusts them to do their job, anyway.

***

Smokescreen is in the dusty rock of Nevada with Optimus again.

The Forge is nowhere in sight, and the Prime is saying something. It sounds like he’s underwater. The words are muffled and won’t reach his audio receptors. And then Optimus opens his chassis, revealing his spark chamber and the Matrix.

Whispers fill the muffled space between his ears and Optimus’ voice. So many whispers. It makes his helm ache. But he can’t look away from the Matrix, not as Optimus is dying . Not when he’s being offered the Matrix. This is his last wish, right? And– and the Forge..

He had the Forge. Where is it? 

Smokescreen had brought it here. Because it would fix Optimus, he– he wouldn’t have to give him the Matrix of Leadership. Smokescreen isn’t ready, no–

No, no, no. This is all wrong.

He watches his leader’s shoulders slowly become gray. The Matrix is offered to him, and his own spark throbs as his body betrays him and opens his own chassis. He has to accept, right?

No. Stop. This– no. It didn’t go this way. It didn’t go this way. Stop.

The Matrix, predictably, doesn’t stop. It floats towards Smokescreen’s chest, towards his spark. Optimus is gunmetal gray, now–

No. No. NO. Stop– STOP–

Before it hits his chassis, he gasps awake.

Wheeljack is looking at him with concern, exhaustion pulling at his face just slightly. Smokescreen is breathing hard and turns his eyes away. Sometime during his sleep, he’d curled in on himself. His back is to Magnus now, and he has to turn his head to get Wheeljack completely out of his line of sight.

No wonder he’s so fragging tired.

***

Ultra Magnus is concerned.

For Smokescreen, that is. The young bot– dragon? He doesn’t know what to call them– didn’t go back to sleep after Wheeljack shook him from his nightmare. He ended up shifting again, laying his chin on his front legs and watching the cave with half-lidded eyes. Eventually, Magnus decides to get a few hours of rest himself, and he curls up to sleep.

He wakes from a dreamless doze to light filtering through the cave’s mouth. Wincing at the light hitting his eyes, he squints and blinks as he lifts his head to better escape the golden rays. Attempting to stifle a yawn and failing, Magnus turns to check on Smokescreen. The younger is asleep again, which brings the SIC some form of relief that he swiftly ignores. Wheeljack and Bulkhead are also passed out, the former curled towards Smokescreen just a bit.

Ultra Magnus draws his tongue around his teeth, frowning at the taste of sleep. He glances at his teammates and the other Autobots, noting that Optimus is awake and staring out of the cave’s entrance. Deciding not to bug his leader this early, Magnus moves to stand(and stretch), only to realize that Smokescreen is leaning against his side.

The SIC huffs softly. The younger needed rest– the way he had pretty much collapsed last night said enough. So he decides to stay still a moment longer and instead begins to assess the situation. With a clearer mind compared to yesterday, it’s easier.

Everything had been rather rushed once they heard the horn, that sounded like it came from the viking movies the kids watched in base sometimes. He frowns thoughtfully, eyeing the not-quite strangers asleep on the other side of Optimus and Ratchet. Two primes, the Elite Guard..

And himself as leader.

The thought sends a small shiver down his spine. It makes him uncomfortable. Himself? As the leader of the Autobots? And, by extension he supposes, Cybertron? He can’t imagine himself as anything other than Optimus’ right hand, or being a part of the Elite Guard. Or being the head of the Wrecker unit. He can hardly keep calm with Wheeljack being a ‘thorn in his side’ daily, he doesn’t know how he’d handle a whole planet. Perhaps he should speak with the other-dimensional Autobots, and learn how well his counterpart is as the leader of the Autobots. And– and well, Cybertron.

Oh, he hates the idea of leading a whole planet. Especially one that’s been dead for millions of stellar cycles.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as Smokescreen stretches out. He doesn’t wake. Magnus sighs through his nostrils quietly. He really needs to stretch, but he waits. He stiffens and heat floods underneath his scales in embarrassment as he hears Wheeljack speak up.

“Wow, Magnus,” The Wrecker says, voice raspier and groggy, but quiet all the same to keep from waking Smokescreen. He’s smirking, teasing. “Didn’t know you had it in ya’.”

Gritting his teeth, he turns his head to face Wheeljack. He keeps his voice low, too. “I am merely letting Smokescreen rest. He was exhausted last night.”

He frowns down at the young Wrecker. Smokescreen had been talking in his sleep during that nightmare he experienced. Distantly, Magnus wonders why he was mumbling about not having the Forge.

Wheeljack sighs, and Magnus’ attention is back on the reckless dragon. Behind him, Bulkhead stirs but doesn’t wake just yet.

“I know.” Wheeljack frowns, stretching his forelimbs out. A pop sounds, and the Wrecker winces. “He’s had days like that back at home.”

Ultra Magnus’ brow scrunches and his eyes are back on the young dragon pressed into his side. Perhaps they would need to talk.

Wheeljack seems to know what he’s thinking, though, and he huffs to get his attention. Only when his eyes are back on the Wrecker does he speak. “Prob’ly best to give the kid a day to process, Mags,” and there’s that nickname again. Magnus frowns at the small shudder that goes down his spine at the name. “B’fore you talk to him about it, yeah?”

Magnus huffs and looks away again, towards the cave mouth. Wheeljack must take that as a yes, because the next thing he knows, the Wrecker is getting up and arching his back in a stretch. He doesn’t even realize he’s glanced over until he forces his eyes away. For some reason, embarrassment curls in his chest.

Smokescreen stirs, groaning and shifting to curl up again. Magnus glances at him, noting the light had been on his face. It appears he’s waking up, though. Ultra Magnus’ joints rejoice. After a pause, Smokescreen lurches away. Magnus stifles a snort and merely lifts an eyeridge in the younger’s direction.

“Oh, Primus –” Smokescreen gasps– “Sorry– um. I’m– I’m just gonna–”

Ultra Magnus watches as Smokescreen briskly walks away and outside into the sunlight. Wheeljack snorts from where he had been stretching, and when Magnus looks over with a blank expression, the Wrecker is looking between him and the cave entrance. He’s grinning. Rather cheekily, too. Magnus frowns.

Instead of scolding him, he finally gets up. He grunts as he stands, joints achy from, pretty much, laying on a stone floor. Magnus dips forward in a stretch and internally cringes as his shoulders and elbows pop, and he ignores the look Wheeljack sends him. He extends each back leg individually and his knees pop, too. He makes a face at the smirk the rowdy Wrecker gives him and follows Smokescreen outside.

Apparently, Wheeljack had been waiting on him. He trails after Magnus, and they both squint as they exit the cave. Smokescreen is peering intently at a patch of grass, and he doesn’t seem to notice as the pair emerge. Magnus decides not to embarrass the young Wrecker further, and instead he finally opens up the wings that have been pinned to his sides since they arrived in this strange land.

They stretch far above his head, and he flaps them slowly, experimentally. It feels nice to have them open, even if he’s not flown once in his life, bar steering the Iron Will.
Wheeljack hums in what sounds like appreciation. He turns to find the Wrecker’s eyes on his wings. He lifts an eyebrow– eyeridge? Do they even have eyebrows?– at the dragon, who grins at him once he meets his gaze.

“Got some big wings there, Magnus.” He snorts, glancing back up at the appendages. Then, he turns his neck to look at and raise his own.

They resemble leaves, with detail lines that mimic the veins on the foliage. They’re a bit rounder than Magnus’, and a bit smaller. They’re an even paler green than Wheeljack’s scale color, which leaves the leathery skin almost white. Ultra folds his wings back against his sides, huffing and turning to look around the surrounding area. The cave has a small clearing, and a small creek springs out of the stone wall nearby. It’s clear water, so Magnus makes an educated assumption that it’s clean.

And drinkable.

By now, Smokescreen has snapped out of his thinking. He looks tired again, but the expression is quickly washed away as Magnus trots by him to go peer at the little pool of water. He dips his head to sniff at it, and the scent of moisture fills his nose.

It’s clean , his mind supplies, drink.

He dips further, dunking his mouth into the water slowly. It laps at his nostrils, but doesn’t enter. Gingerly, he begins to drink. It’s cold and clean, and he lifts his head so it goes down his throat.

Smokescreen joins him quickly, wide-eyed and he’s quick to join in drinking the water. Magnus gets his fill and then moves away, drawing his tongue over his mouth to clean the water droplets off. Wheeljack trails over once he’s moved, and while the pair hydrate, Magnus sweeps the forest edges. There isn’t much to look at, at all. He spots a little fuzzy animal he thinks is called a ‘squirrel’ scramble up a tree.

He huffs, and a small cloud of smoke billows out of his jaws. It briefly startles him, and then he remembers that Predaking, a ‘dragon’ according to Miko, breathes fire. And that he, and the other Decepticons, are still inside the cave with his teammates. Magnus frowns heavily, turning to glare at the cave mouth. Wheeljack grunts, and when Magnus looks over, Smokescreen is beside him and the pair are also looking at the cave entrance.

“I don’t like that we’re workin’ with ‘em.” The elder Wrecker gripes, the wings against his sides shifting. Ultra Magnus sighs, but nods in reluctant agreement.

“Indeed, but I do not doubt that Optimus knows what he is doing.” The SIC hums, turning away from the cave to pad closer to the forest. He can hear the sounds of birds chirping.

“Guess so.” Wheeljack grumbles. He doesn’t sound pleased, but it’s the best Magnus is going to get.

The three lounge outside for a while. Well– Smokescreen and Wheeljack do. They watch Magnus poke and prod anything and everything along the edges of the forest. Optimus eventually joins them with Ratchet grumbling on his heels. Arcee and Bumblebee follow with Bulkhead, chatting quietly amongst themselves.

And then the new Autobots emerge.

The little Optimus– oh, that’s very weird– and Sentinel are grumbling at one another, arguing like sparklings. Following them is Prowl and the talkative Bumblebee, who both look rather tired of the two already. Magnus frowns, brow furrowing. 

The pair do stop talking when they notice he’s staring them down like a hawk, and they lower their heads as they make their way over to the puddle of clean water. Right. He’s a big authoritative figure in their dimension already. Shuddering at the thought, he sits down nearby his team, shuffling the too-big wings on his back.

Prowl pauses, though. Instead of following the pair of seemingly young Primes, he turns to them and slowly strides over. Bee follows behind, his eyes widening as they get closer.

“I..” The brown dragon starts, frowning as he looks between Magnus and Optimus. Ultra Magnus glances at Optimus very briefly, trying to send a silent message. Prowl seems to understand and turns to Magnus’ leader. “I had some questions.”

Optimus inclines his head. Despite their enemies being a few feet away within a cave, possibly plotting to betray them, he has an aura of calm around him. Prowl sits down, and Bee takes a seat beside him, his wings fluttering.

“..When you said that your title was linked to Primus, what did you mean by that?” Prowl asks, expression neutral, but curious all the same.

Optimus nods. “I did not have the time to explain, but I will answer you now. I was given the Matrix of Leadership–” Smokescreen frowns from beside Bumblebee, looking at the ground now. Magnus raises an eyeridge– “and anointed as a Prime. The Matrix holds the knowledge of the original Thirteen Primes, along with the knowledge of those who preceded me.”

“..The Thirteen?” Bee asks, frowning.

“The Thirteen were the original primes that Primus created,” Ratchet explains as if he’s done this countless times, though he doesn’t sound tired of it, “to protect Cybertron from Unicron the Destroyer.”

“It would help to mention that Cybertron makes up Primus’ body,” Ultra Magnus says, unwavering as the pair blink owlishly at him. “And at that time, he was in the process of becoming what we knew as Cybertron.”

“Yes,” Ratchet nods, “unable to transform back into ‘bot-mode’, due to the life now springing up on his surface, Primus created the Thirteen Primes. That is the only time in history that there has been more than one Prime.”

Optimus Prime hums. “Indeed. The Thirteen stopped Unicron successfully, and Primus was able to continue his transformation safely.”

“So–” Prowl frowns– “the AllSpark. Is it.. Is it Primus’ spark?”

The Prime dips his head in a nod. He looks solemn.

Magnus huffs through his nostrils, gaining the younger’s attention. He’d rather them not ask too many questions about their dead home, so instead he asks about their home.

“How does your Academy work?” He asks, lifting a critical eye ridge.

Bee immediately looks grouchy, and that is how Magnus is suddenly being rambled to about everything that happened during the dragon’s Academy days. Having Sentinel as an instructor? Terrible , according to him. He says that is how he met his world’s version of Bulkhead, though. That Bulkhead had been very interested in space bridges, a fact that makes their Bulkhead huff in surprised amusement. 

Bee tells them about meeting a bot named Longarm, how he and Longarm uncovered a Decepticon traitor whilst learning how to be members of the Elite Guard. He goes on and on, and eventually Prowl butts in to tell them of his time fleeing the draft for the Great War.

He apparently is a cyber-ninja, trained in the arts of Circuit-Su and Metallikato. Ultra Magnus remembers hearing of the cyber-ninjas back on Cybertron, at the beginning of the war. He hasn’t heard of them since, and he assumes they all found their ends at the nose of a blaster.

Magnus listens, though he doesn’t appear to be the only one. Ratchet and Optimus seem very keen on learning more of these other-wordly strangers, and so does Arcee. Smokescreen had entered a conversation with Bee, though occasionally they’d pause to listen to what Prowl had to say. Bulkhead and Wheeljack, though..

The pair had been oddly silent, and when Magnus takes a moment to see why, he finds them both glaring at the cave. He returns to listening to Prowl, but he keeps an eye on the corner of his vision.

At the mouth of the cave, Megatron and Starscream are sitting. Nearby is only who Magnus can assume is Knockout, and the warlord is glaring at a slim dragon with spikes coming from his neck, leaf-shaped wings and a spade on his tail-tip, and scales that don’t seem to stay one color. He nods as Prowl recounts the moment he met Yoketron, his teacher. The dragon before Megatron is telling him about something, the spikes on his neck raised high and the frilly fins that were pinned against his neck suddenly pop out with a bright yellow. It flares quickly.

Ultra Magnus shifts his weight from haunch-to-haunch, lifting his neck as Prowl pauses in his retelling. Predaking strides out of the cave powerfully, and a spike of fear jolts down Magnus’ spine. His right talon aches with sudden phantom pains, and he curls them into the dirt. The dragon is huge and sports four of the six fangs Predaking has, and so there is no question as to who the behemoth is.

“Who is that?”

Bee’s voice nearly makes Magnus flinch. He swallows dryly as Wheeljack answers.

“Predaking,” he growls as the beast settles nearby the other Decepticons, though still on the edge of the clearing. “He’s eh– a Predacon.”

“...which is..?” Prowl asks slowly, just a twinge of snark on the edge of his tone. Wheeljack doesn’t seem to notice or care. Smokescreen answers instead.

“Miko says he’s a Cybertronian dragon, which I’m starting to see why she says that.” The young Wrecker frowns down at himself very briefly. “He’s huge and hits hard.”

“ Real hard.” Wheeljack grumps. Ultra Magnus doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker to his right talon, to the digits missing compared to his left. It’s very hasty, but Prowl seems to have picked it up. He frowns as he follows the Wrecker’s gaze.

The ninja doesn’t ask, though, and has seemed to have made his own assumptions. By now, the two previously-arguing primes have joined Prowl and Bee, sitting at a small distance as they listen. Jazz and the twins he had introduced are at the little puddle of water, chatting idly, but quietly.

Magnus silently relives the moments in the cave he and Wheeljack had exploded as the Autobots watch the rest of the Decepticons file out of the cave. His talon aches the whole time, so much so he shifts his weight so it’s not all on the appendage.

Eventually, the other Decepticons are awake and out, and have had their fill of water. Optimus leads them over to Megatron, and Magnus finds himself beside Wheeljack and Bulkhead. Smokescreen is behind them while the Wreckers flank him. Megatron must be as antsy as they are to get moving, as he almost immediately agrees. Though, perhaps it has something to do with one of the newer Decepticons he has. A one-eyed one that goes by the name Lugnut.

They get moving, and unlike yesterday, chatter picks up relatively fast. Magnus doesn’t tune into it, keeping his eyes on the area around them. He’s not the only one, the pair of Wreckers at his sides tense. Bulkhead keeps casting glances over his shoulder towards the Decepticons and Wheeljack is frowning, staring straight ahead.

Smokescreen, though, is talking to the twins. Magnus wonders how he’s so close to the pair, with one literally having embers collecting on his scales.

At some point, Megatron had made his way to the front with Starscream on his heels. Ultra Magnus frowns, glaring at their backs. He keeps an eye on them as they emerge into a clearing. He can hear a creek gurgling nearby, and he can smell the moisture in the air.

“How exactly are we meant to find Thoughtsplitter?” Starscream pipes up, sneering at Optimus as they stop. 

The crowd falls quiet in a few moments. Magnus scowls at the Seeker.

“Ratchet?” The Prime asks whilst turning to the medic. Ultra Magnus follows his gaze after a moment’s hesitation.

Ratchet huffs and lifts one of his wings. Wrapped around his torso is the dagger and scroll. Magnus’ eye ridges raise slightly in surprise that the weapon had even followed them here.

The medic takes the dagger from its place in a sheathe, lifting it with a dark talon and offering it to the Prime. Optimus takes it, observing the tooth-shaped weapon.

“I believe we can use this as a tracker of sorts,” Ratchet says, plodding closer to the Prime and the dagger, pointing with a claw at the blade. “Considering the properties we already know about, I think it will lead us to its maker.”

Starscream frowns, but surprisingly doesn’t retort. Shockwave shoulders his way forward, pushing through the Autobots, to have a look. His eye practically glows as he looks it over.  On his tail is who Magnus can only assume is Soundwave and Laserbeak. The bird glares at him as they pass, and he feels the row of spines along his back and tail bristle.

Shockwave nods firmly. “This is logical.”

Ratchet frowns.

“So, what, are we just going to wave it around?” Knockout grumbles from somewhere behind Magnus.

Ratchet glares past him, scowling. “ No . We’ll simply hold it and keep an eye on it. It glowed when it transported you here, yes? ” Knockout huffs, but stays quiet. Ratchet continues. “Using that train of thought, we’ll let it guide us.”

Ultra Magnus shifts his weight, stifling a hiss as the joints in both of his foretalons ache. Optimus hands the dagger back off to Ratchet, who lifts it and begins to sweep the surrounding clearing. Magnus watches the blade carefully, catching the exact moment it begins to glow softly. His eyes widen.

“Well, polish my tail-pipe..” Wheeljack mutters in astonishment.

Ratchet is grinning, his eyes gleaming from the dagger. He looks rather proud of himself, Magnus thinks. Behind Ultra Magnus, he can hear Knockout cursing up a storm.

With that, they follow Ratchet and the subtle glow of the dagger.

Chapter Text

The sun is high above in the sky when Optimus notes how quiet it gets.

Not the lack of talking between the groups and factions, no– that had ended a while ago, exchanged for tension and sharp glares. No, it’s the silence of the forest that unnerves him. At his side, Sentinel seems to have also noticed the quiet. They share a glance, and the blue dragon frowns.

He’s powerfully built, with wide shoulders and a thick tail meant for what Optimus assumes is swimming. The gills along Sentinel’s neck add to that conclusion. There’s spikes along his spine and the back of his neck, and all of those details are different shades of blue. The thing that stands out to Optimus the most is the other Prime’s horns– they’re orange at their bases, fading up into white at the tips.

Optimus swiftly looks away, not wanting to get caught accidentally staring. He has no doubt he’d get a sour look from Sentinel.

Instead, he keeps his eyes on the forest, muscles tensing with each step. Something’s not right.

It seems the others have picked up on it, too. Looks are shared and eyes are sweeping around their surroundings. Optimus’ frills prickle against his neck, and the inside of his mouth itches. Whilst trying to scratch at the spot with his tongue to make it go away, his frills– which he’d been doing a great job of keeping still– fly up from their spots on the sides of his neck. He can feel the colors shifting around within the folds of leathery flesh, swirling with unease and oozing worry and anxiety.

He can see Sentinel glance at him out of the corner of his eye. He’s not looking at Optimus’ face, though. His gaze is off, and Optimus thinks he must be looking at his frills. His mouth opens, and Optimus starts to turn his head to see what Sentinel wants, only–

Only he’s– he’s being slammed into the ground from his right.

A shrill shriek leaves his jaws as he twists against his attacker, his frills bristling in a wide threat display, colors spilling across his scales. Fury, fury, fury, and distress, distress, ring out in his mind as shades of dark red and a deep green are broadcasted over his whole body.

His attacker is a red dragon that looks like Ultra Magnus– firm, well muscled and big-winged. Except, this dragon has silver armor coating their head, forearms, and torso. A spear is in their left talon, pressing dangerously close to his jaw.

Above him, there are surprised shouts.

“One move ,” The dragon above him snarls over the noise, silencing the crowd within moments. “And the RainWing gets it .”

As if for emphasis, the dragon nudges the spear closer.

“Bossbot!” Bee yelps.

Optimus can hear Sentinel hiss a curse.

The dragon huffs, smoke twirling out of their nostrils. Then, as if pleased, they lift their chin and smirk smugly. “Converge!”

Out of the trees from behind the armored dragon, more dragons come. They’re covered in armor. Some have spears in their talons while others have them on their hips. There’s not a lot of them, twenty or less , and they range from red, to orange and even a dull golden color.

“Captain, there’s MudWings in here.. Is this a good idea?” A dragon speaks up meekly, shrinking back when the dragon pinning Optimus turns their head to the speaker.

The captain snarls, hissing smoke. “If they’re with these sorts, they’re most likely traitors. Speaking of,” they turn back to the group, nodding sharply with their head, gesturing, “why are you mingling with a bunch of hybrid scum? Has your pride for your kingdom sunk this low? Or perhaps you’ve gone mad .”

Optimus wishes so badly to see who they’re referring to, but with being held at knife-point (pretty much, right?), he can’t.

Whoever they’re speaking to doesn’t answer, except for perhaps a low growl. The captain sneers distastefully. “And you . An IceWing-SkyWing?” Their neck rears away slightly, giving the effect of wishing to be anywhere but here. Then they grin. “Seize some of the smaller ones.”

Optimus hisses somewhere low in his chest, the itching in his mouth returning. The dragon above him sniffs, leaning down. They don’t shift the spear by a fraction, keeping it perfectly steady.

“I’m surprised this thing is even out here,” the captain snarks. “With how lazy they are in that jungle of theirs.”

Another armored dragon huffs. “True.”

Optimus’ lips twitch. These dragons are talking as if they aren’t even there . Not to mention, the way they’re insulting him and the group. He bears his fangs, and the armored dragon on top of him laughs.

“What’re you gonna do, huh? I’ve got you stuck here.” The dragon tilts their head, their grin growing into a wolfish smile.

Spit , his mind sneers right back, burn.

With a shrill, piercing noise, he follows instinct and it pulls him along. He opens his mouth and spits a thick, oozing, black substance at his attacker. The dragon shrieks, immediately backing away and swiping at their face. With that, the area develops into chaos.

The captain’s face is steaming, the black ooze hissing. Optimus uses this time to scramble to his feet, turning to help his friends– and, he guesses, his enemies too.

He’s closest to Sentinel and the Jet twins. A pair of dragons with spears are pointing their weapons at the Prime, who has his wings folded in a way to shield the younger mechs.

Optimus rushes to Sentinel’s side, raising his wings defensively. The pair of armored dragons take steps back, and one even glances towards their captain. The other dragon snarls, threateningly shoving their spear closer.

“D-don’t come any closer,” the dragon holding their spear out stammers. Optimus frowns. Now that he knows he has a weapon, he wonders how far it can go.

Instead of testing that theory, Sentinel takes a step forward, smirking just a tad. Both spear-wielding dragons take a step back. The one who had glanced at their captain flares their wings.

“An IceWing?” They ask their companion. The other shakes their head.

“No- no, that’s– that’s a SeaWing, right?” 

Optimus frowns harder, glancing briefly at Sentinel. The other Prime meets his gaze, shrugs minutely, and then focuses back on the pair before them. Optimus is surprised he even got such a reaction from Sentinel, and he tries not to dwell on it as the sounds of fighting fill the air.

Then without warning, Sentinel shoots a cold gust of air from his jaws. Optimus and the pair of armored dragons startle, though the latter don’t get very lucky. The cold air hits them, clinging to their scales. Ice is quick to form, crawling up their forearms– the ones on the inside, as they are standing side-by-side– and going up their limbs, towards their shoulders.

Optimus’ eyes widen, and the pair of dragons cry out in pain.

“ Frostbreath! ” One screams.

“IceWing! IceWing! ” The other shrieks, wings flailing uselessly.

The pair scramble away, smoke furling out of the second’s nostrils before a whirlwind of flames is shooting forth. Optimus leaps back, the movement strengthened by a flap of his wings. Sentinel snarls, stumbling back. He hisses and turns his back towards the fire-breathing dragon, shielding his face and the twins.

IceWing, SeaWing. Is that what he is?? The captain mentioned a RainWing, referring to me, right?

Not the time, Optimus. Actively fighting, remember?

Though, as the fire stops, Optimus notes how Sentinel’s scales glisten, as if melting . He doesn’t focus on that for long, though, turning to the pair of dragons and bristling his frills. At this they flee, half-limping, half-scampering away. He turns to Sentinel, confident they’d be left alone for just a moment. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, glancing at his scales again. They’re very shiny, as if Sentinel had gone and jumped into Lake Erie, and then crawled back out.

Sentinel straightens up, huffing. He shakes his whole body, and bits of water are flung everywhere. 

He was melting .

“Peachy.” The other Prime grumps, though the way he’s holding his right talon above the ground just a bit tells Optimus that he’s not okay. He frowns at the blue Prime, who scowls back.

Ignoring his old friend, he looks around. There’s less of the armored dragons around now. Bulkhead has one pinned, spear in his jaws. Wheeljack is talking to the downed dragon right beside him. Further away, Predaking is squaring off with four others. Two look wounded, and Predaking himself has a gash along his side.

Optimus quickly sweeps the area, noting Megatron and Starscream tag-teaming, the other Optimus thwacking a dragon in the face with his tail, and Shockwave spitting fire. But some are missing. 

“Where’s Bee and Prowl?” He asks, trying not to panic as he looks around for his teammates.

“What?” Sentinel blinks. “They were right over there–”

“SkyWings!” An armored dragon bellows. “We have what we need! Retreat! ”

Optimus swallows roughly, watching the armored dragons take off with powerful pumps of their wings. 

“Where is being Jazz?” Jetfire pipes up as the dragons– SkyWings?– fly away.

Optimus’ heart sinks in his chest. Some of the others are missing, too. Smokescreen, Blitzwing, and Arcee are also gone .

Anxiety curls in his stomach. It swirls along his scales and his breathing picks up. The other Bumblebee is nearby his Optimus and Ratchet, and the medic is talking. The dagger is no longer in his talons, presumably in its sheath

“Where’d they take them?” Optimus mutters, forcing his frills flat against his neck.

Bulkhead grunts, jerking his head when they look over. He still has a SkyWing pinned. By now, the dragon has long-since given up thrashing. Optimus glances at Sentinel before trailing over.

The SkyWing glares, smoke pooling out of their nostrils. Their scales are a fiery orange, fading to red at their tail tip and claws. “Let me go , fool!”

“Not’a chance,” Wheeljack sneers, leaning close. “You’re gonna tell us what we wanna know.”

The SkyWing snarls, wiggling beneath Bulkhead’s hold. The Autobot growls back, shoving both talons down onto the dragon to hold them still. The armored dragon hisses as their armor digs into their scales. Optimus frowns, eyeing the Wreckers.

“Now– where’d ya take our teammates off to?” Wheeljack hisses. The SkyWing huffs.

“You must be stupid , or not from around here. I mean, look at you. You’re not like any Pyrrhian dragon I’ve ever seen–” They grunt when Bulkhead pushes just a bit harder. “Fine! Fine! They’ve been taken to Queen Scarlet’s palace– to the arena!”

Wheeljack frowns, glancing over his shoulder. “Optimus?”

For a moment, Optimus thinks he’s being talked to, and nearly opens his mouth to reply when the ancient-sounding Optimus speaks instead. Right .

“Where is this palace?” He rumbles.

The SkyWing scowls. “You’ll know it when you see it, traitor. Have you never been? ”

Wheeljack huffs. Ratchet shoulders forward, and at this point the Decepticons have come over as well.

“And where are they being held?” The medic asks, frowning and searching the SkyWing’s face.

The armored dragon flinches back by a fraction. “On the pillars or under the arena in the holding cells, NightWing.”

Ratchet scoffs, but turns to his Optimus with an arched eye-ridge. The older Prime nods.

“Let them go.” He hums. Bulkhead grunts, but nods and steps off.

The SkyWing scrambles up, snatching the spear Bulkhead had discarded sometime during the interrogation. With a hiss, they take off in a burst of wind. Optimus squints to keep the dirt from getting into his eyes.

“An arena, hm?” Megatron sneers, though his tone is somewhat thoughtful.

“We know what to look for now,” Magnus huffs, shuffling his wings. He has a few nicks along his jawline and neck, but nothing too serious.

“Indeed. It’s just a matter of getting there. The trees block a lot of our sight, and with these new forms, we have no way of scanning our surroundings.” Ratchet sniffs.

“Idiots.” Starscream snaps. “We have wings . We can fly. ”

Optimus swallows around a lump forming in his throat, turning to look at the Seeker.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Screamer ,” Knockout huffs, “ Some of us don’t know how .”

Optimus blinks. Sentinel grumbles something under his breath about ‘Decepticons and their flying’ .

“Then figure it out, Knockout ,” Starscream bristles, the pair glaring at one another.

“Enough!” Megatron snarls. Behind him, Predaking’s lips twitch. 

Optimus glances away, frowning at the spot the SkyWing had been held down. It looked simple enough, and he’d pushed himself back with his wings earlier. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?

***

Prowl hisses as he’s shoved down onto a wooden platform.

“Shut up.” A SkyWing snarks, tightening something around his wings. “And stay still , for the three moon’s sake.”

Prowl glares, his wings twitching at being touched. Eventually, the two dragons that had transported him get him secured and they leave, flapping away from the platform they’d tied him to. He rises from the crouched position he took on whilst they were over him, testing the limits of his movement. He feels a tug that’s not his own, and eyes a ring of wire connecting to his– and others, wow that’s a lot of dragons–  restraints. There are more pillars than his own, he realizes with a start.

“Ohoho! Such vonderful treatment!” Blitzwing’s voice hits his ears.

Prowl turns, frowning at the Decepticon. The dragon on the other side of Blitzwing glares from their spot. They’re curled up and have obviously been here a while. The dragon– an aquatic dragon with deep blue scales and green detailing– curls their head back up with the rest of their body.

“I could crush zhem into pulp!” Is Blitzwing’s next exclamation, face previously having been black suddenly turning red. An array of colors floods over his scales, and the spikes on the back of his neck bristle before the red gives way to blue.

Prowl elects to ignore the insane mech, turning to look for anyone else. A few pillars away, he can spot Smokescreen thrashing and causing problems for the SkyWings. Two more come over to help out the first two, pinning the younger to the pillar. He watches them lock on two metallic bands around the tips of his (Smokescreen’s) wings. The four dragons get out of range of Smokescreen’s mouth, hissing and laughing.

Prowl scowls. He hadn’t known Smokescreen very long– hardly a day– but he seemed like a good kid. The four dragons fly away, down into the bowels of the pit below.

Smokescreen meets his eye, breathing hard, and jerks his head down. His frills are flared out, freckled with shades of red. Prowl ignores that for now, creeping to the edge of his platform and peering over. Beneath it is a pit, yes, but it’s– it’s huge . There’s rings around the pit, elevated and clearly made for sitting and watching. Behind the arena is a towering palace, seemingly glimmering in the sunlight. Red tapestries displaying a golden, fire-breathing dragon flap in the wind near the gaping entrance of the castle.

Just below the palace, though, in the arena, is a little covered area clearly meant for someone important. The arena is empty at the moment, but with the little red blobs moving around in the dusty bowl below, Prowl is assuming something is happening here soon.

Though his eyes are drawn back to the palace. It is truly something to marvel at, with multiple towers standing tall around it. Flags flap at their peaks, and he can barely see the SkyWing guards moving around the exposed tops of the few without rooves.

His gaze catches on a pair of SkyWings carrying something yellow between them, and he realizes that the yellow thing is Bumblebee, who can be seen struggling. The SkyWings carry him down towards the arena, though instead of dropping him in the dusty bowl, they disappear under the covered section. Prowl frowns, his tail twitching. He looks back up to see if anyone else had been taken, too, and finds Arcee glowering down at the arena like it’d personally offended her.

Prowl digs his talons into the wood beneath him. It’s grainy and dry-rotted, splinters poking at his scales and threatening to pierce the soft flesh of the undersides of his talons.  He turns his neck to peer at the wire connected to his wings. Except, it’s not just wire. There’s a thicker band around the thumbs of his wings, just beneath the claw coming from the tip. He tries to unfold his wings and isn’t surprised to find the band unmovable. If that’d been the case, there wouldn’t be other dragons here, would there?

He assumes that at least some of them are prisoners, and maybe a few are prisoners of war.

He settles onto his belly, thinking. How is he going to get out of this? If some of these dragons can breathe fire, why hadn’t they done so already and melted the wire? Were they fireproof?

No, that can’t be. With how primitive everything else is so far, they can’t be.

But, still, why hadn’t those with fire-breath tried? His brow scrunches. So much doesn’t make sense.

His head snaps up when the wire is yanked harshly. Grumbles and snarls form all around the circle of pillars, and he turns to find the source. It’s a quick thing, and he settles for a blank look when he finds it’s Blitzwing gnawing on one of his wires like some rabid animal.

Again, Prowl ignores the Decepticon in favor of jolting upwards at the sound of a horn. His breath catches in his throat, briefly. That sound had been the one they heard yesterday whilst talking to the other Autobots. The ninja scowls, creeping forward again once the sound of chatter reaches his ears.

Red is flooding the seating stands, speckled with larger bodies that Prowl suspects are the ‘MudWings’ the SkyWings had mentioned, along with sandy colored figures. Three different species, perhaps? 

Either way, they’re loud and excited as they fill the seating. Prowl’s stomach churns uneasily, and he glances up and around at the prisoners chained up. Realization begins to dawn on him. 

It’s a gladiatorial arena, and the prisoners are the contestants. 

***

Soundwave trails after his leader silently.

His footsteps are quiet, purposefully so, as he moves. He’s practically gliding over the ground as they look for a clearing. The bloodied trail they left behind had been too shrouded for the Autobots to even attempt flying. The communications officer had merely given the Autobots a look, though none were paying attention, too caught up in the anxieties of flying. Oh, this would be a great joy to watch. Perhaps some would plummet and meet their fate with their noses squished into the ground, broken and bloody.

But, Soundwave thinks, that wouldn’t be very helpful. Having to stop and mourn– because he knows these bots are too soft, too sentimental to not move on from a dead compatriot– would render their efforts of returning home rather long and tedious. And Soundwave would like to not deal with that.

On his back, Laserbeak makes a throaty clicking noise, as if agreeing.

They stumble upon a rather large clearing suitable enough for their enemy to soar. At least, Soundwave reminds himself, Prime knows the feeling of flight, of freedom in the air. Though, I wonder how he will fare with wings instead of a jetpack.

Again, his partner makes a noise, though this time it sounds more like a chortle. Megatron sends him a look, raising an eye ridge. Soundwave replies with a blank expression, not giving anything away. Laserbeak clicks her beak together and Soundwave’s leader huffs, turning back to the Autobots.

The twin dragons– who Soundwave has decided are SkyWings, looking too similar to their attackers to not be such– are murmuring to one another as they pace into the center of the grotto. Jetfire, the one with embers clinging to his body like cobwebs, spreads his wings first. Jetstorm backs away by a fraction before following his lead, and together, the two shoot up into the sky like it’s second nature.

Interesting. They must fly outside of this world, too.

Distantly, Soundwave remembers meeting a mech by the name Jetfire. He doesn’t remember where specifically, and the memory fades as quickly as it had come.

He turns his head to the other Autobots, who look almost reluctant. Optimus is speaking quietly to his medic, and Soundwave strains his– stupid, puny, tiny – organic ears to listen in. He wants to scowl, but remains still as the Prime leaves Ratchet. He spreads his wings, which are rather massive and fit the size of his– MudWing, was it?– body rather well. With a powerful leap and pump of his wings, he joins the twins in the air.

Soundwave can hear the little Autobots muttering amongst themselves, gasping and hissing under their breaths. He cocks his head to the side and Laserbeak ruffles her smooth feathers. She takes off to perch in a branch of a tree near the talking Autobots. Soundwave leaves her to eavesdrop, eyeing the Autobots he’s familiar with.

Their medic is scowling at the second in command, who in turn, is glaring at Wheeljack. He missed something. Cursing himself mentally, Soundwave glides closer.

“..been doing this far longer than any of us have,” Ratchet is saying, a slight scolding tone to his voice. Soundwave stops within hearing range, keeping his body turned so as to not draw attention to himself. He instead keeps his eyes on the little Autobots, Laserbeak’s beady red eyes staring them all down. “We need to take this slower.”

“The Doctor is correct,” Ultra Magnus says firmly, frown evident in his voice. “Do not go leaping into the air as if you’ve done this your whole life, Wheeljack. You will injure yourself.”

“It’ll be fine , sunshine.” The Wrecker snorts. Ratchet hisses. Soundwave’s ear flicks as the blue dragon– Sentinel, he believes– growls at the little Optimus Prime. The Prime looks put-off by the sound, but not so much so that this seems out of the ordinary for him. “And Magnus, I didn’t take ya’ for such’a worrywart.”

The Autobot SIC doesn’t respond, but his stern silence is taken by Ratchet.

“Just take your time, for Primus’ sake. I’m just as worried about Arcee and Smokescreen as you all are, but that doesn’t mean you need to injure yourselves in the process of finding them.”

Soundwave rolls his eyes and drifts over to the little Autobots. He’s gaining nothing from this conversation, and Laserbeak seems to be interested in what’s going on with these ones. She caws, startles the Autobots, and flaps back over to Soundwave. He looks them over once they flinch at his presence, secretly pleased with himself at their reactions. Laserbeak tilts her head with the jerky motions all Earth birds seem to have, clicking somewhere deep in her throat. Soundwave inclines his head, towards the center of the clearing.

Go get to flying. Get this over with. Some of us would like to go home soon.

The smaller Optimus seems to understand him, quickly trotting into the middle of the clearing, though not without giving him a look. Soundwave ignores him and the Prime’s attempt at reading him, turning and giving the other, remaining Autobot a stare. Sentinel scowls, bearing rather sharp fangs clearly meant for tearing into tough flesh, before following Optimus.

Finally, Soundwave spreads his own wings. Laserbeak flies off to let him take off on his own, and he does.

This form is rather sleek, especially compared to Shockwave. The scientist seems to be the same kind of dragon he is, though much stockier. It seems like it will carry well in the air, reminding him of how he normally is. He doesn’t feel too alienated in this body at the very least, which is nice.

He jumps into the air just as he shoves his wings down, and he pelts through the tree cover. At some point, Megatron had gotten into the air with Starscream. The seeker is shouting through the tree tops at Knockout, instructing him with mild irritation in his tone. Eventually, the red medic joins them, followed by Shockwave. The pair are obviously unsteady in the air, but they’re flying and that’s what matters.

The strange Decepticons follow after them without much issue. Thankfully, they’d been rather silent since Lord Megatron had scared them with the idea of being cut open. Though it'd been implied, Soundwave noticed how Blitzwing had stiffened up before the Autobots interrupted them.

Soundwave wants to be back in his normal body, back on his normal ship with his not-so-normal leader with the not-so-normal energon in his system. He manages a small sigh through his nostrils, peering down at the trees for the other Autobots.

Optimus Prime is through first, a ripple of orange and yellow flickering across his scales. Soundwave notes that away for later, watching Sentinel Prime burst through next. The Autobots Soundwave knows are through next, one at a time.

Two Primes. So odd.

He looks away to peer around his surroundings.  Sure enough, just as the SkyWing had said, the palace towers in the distance. It’s imposing and sticks out from the environment like Dark Mount had on Earth. Though, it’s not that bad, Soundwave must admit. He can spot a ring of pillars in front of the palace and he has a brief moment of wondering why that is before they’re moving.

It’s a slow thing at first, getting the Autobots accustomed to flying. Soundwave could’ve scoffed. Eventually, finally , they get to moving at a much faster pace.

It’s very weird , flying with wings and not with thrusters, but it’s not all that different. Instinct had taken over and muscle memory– that he’s certain he does not have , because Soundwave is jet, not a bird– had taken those reigns, steering him onwards. Towards the palace.

He keeps an eye on the palace, to ensure nothing comes from it, for them. The scuffle in the woods had been a taste, and he knows it. Simply part of a bigger army, no doubt.

As they draw nearer, Soundwave can see figures sitting on the pillars and the sounds of a crowd gathering filling the air. Megatron grunts, stopping in the air. He turns his head to look over his shoulder.

“I believe it would be in our best interests if we land here and scout ahead on foot.” The warlord says, turning fully with a few controlled flaps of his wings. The Autobots stop as they catch up, and the Optimus Soundwave is familiar with nods firmly.

“Agreed,” Prime says, his eyes leaving them to peer up at the palace and the pillars. “There might be more of those SkyWings.”

Soundwave nods in silent agreement, turning his head to follow Optimus’ gaze. He did have to admit, the little attack they coordinated was helpful for him. Shockwave could breathe fire, so Soundwave is confident he can as well. And it was quite a brawl. Soundwave has a few nicks that are stinging. He’d rather not get wounded any more than he already is.

He turns when he hears Megatron give an order to land, and he’s quick to follow the Decepticons into the branches. Knockout grumbles something about his wrists and ankles being sore from the landing despite the low height he did drop down from. Soundwave rolls his eyes as Laserbeak lands on his back, nibbling at his neck with her beak gently. He reads it as a show of affection and a small huff exits his nostrils in return.

The Autobots land cautiously, not counting Optimus. Soundwave ignores them and their clumsiness, turning to his leader expectantly. Megatron meets his gaze and nods once. Laserbeak caws, leaping off of Soundwave’s back as quickly as she had landed, disappearing through the tree branches above. Soundwave turns back to the Autobots, eyeing their mute scout with disdain. Optimus sends them off, with the twins– Jetstorm and Jetfire, if he picked up their names correctly(he knows he did, he is a communications officer, of course)– on their heels.
He watches them go before padding silently to a little semicircle of bushes. There’s a string at the back of his mind, waiting to be pulled. Soundwave settles into the semicircle and closes his eyes, reaching for the string. He grasps it, and pulls.

Immediately, he’s spiraled into a new area. Or– no, body? He can’t tell, but then he feels wings beating and a clicking noise, and he can tell that this is Laserbeak.

Interesting , he muses. 

He can’t do anything but observe from Laserbeak’s line of sight. He can feel everything, though; the wind rushing through his minicon’s feathers, each wingstroke she makes, and the deep-throated hum she produces.

She’s above the area with the pillars. Soundwave gets a bird’s-eye-view(no pun intended) of it. Her eyes are sharp, and he can make out the figures filling the sitting areas. Red, brown, and sandy-colored bodies are taking up each place. Most of it is red, variations practically glimmering like precious gems.

Gems . 

Laserbeak. Huh. He had no clue he could hear her, too.

Gems , her mind repeats, her head cocking to look down at the dragons filling the seats. 

Soundwave ignores her, looking at the other details. There’s a dust bowl directly beneath Laserbeak, huge and open. Very few shrubs and ferns line the walls of the bowl– though pit would be a better way to describe it– and stones were scattered about, long left alone.

It hits Soundwave much too late.

It’s an arena.

Despite himself, his stomach churns. Swallowing, he instructs Laserbeak to look around the pillars. She clicks her beak, flapping and circling the arena, The pillars are visible and quite close, close enough that Soundwave is able to see the dragon that goes by the name ‘Prowl’. Soundwave knew a mech by that name, once. Met him on the battlefield, even. And Jazz, too. 

Though, mentioning the laidback mech, he can spot the white dragon wearing his name lounging on a pillar. Laserbeak dives closer, slowing down and leisurely flying by. Jazz’s frills are pressed into his neck and throat tightly, and they’re speckled with emerald green. Oh, how curious Soundwave is about the colors. He pushes the curiosity down, figuring Shockwave would find out about them.

Laserbeak speeds up and finds Prowl again, landing on his pillar beside his front talons. She ignores Prowl blinking at her, turning to stare down at the canopy-thing, because there appears to be one within the seating bleachers.

She can’t see much from here. Soundwave sighs. It’s, quite obviously, meant for someone important. It’s best to leave it be for now, in case some dragon tries to eat Laserbeak. So he feels her turn, meeting the eyes of Prowl.

The gold in his scales glimmers from the midday sun beating down on them. Laserbeak’s head tilts as Prowl speaks.

“You’re Soundwave’s bird, aren’t you?” He asks, a neutral frown adorning his face. Laserbeak clicks her beak as if in confirmation. Prowl must take it as much, nodding slightly. “Then you must all be coming for us. I do ask you to hurry, though. I– I have suspicions that this is a gladiatorial arena. Any of us may be selected to fight.”

Soundwave’s heart plummets, memories of the days before the war flashing in his mind. Images of Megatron downing others in the pits of Kaon, of the warlord making his speech.

Soundwave blinks, and he’s back in the forest in his semicircle of foliage. Starscream is nearby with Knockout, the pair watching him like they’ve seen a ghost. The others are missing, presumably scouting the perimeter.

“..Welcome back.” Knockout mutters, walking forward with wide eyes. “Erm– we tried to get your attention, Soundwave. Megatron asked us to, but–”

“–you were off, somewhere else.” Starscream finishes, scowling. “The scales under your eyes were glowing. Dimly, but they were. What daydream did you travel off to?”

Soundwave stares the Seeker down, succeeding in having the second in command cower back a bit. The frills against his neck lift up and spread.

Knockout rolls his eyes, only for them to snap away from Soundwave at the sound of a sharp caw .

Laserbeak shoots through the leaves, landing skillfully onto Soundwave’s back. She dips her head, fixing the feathers under a wing. Then she lifts her head, snaps her beak in a cutting click! It sounds almost guttural, though.

And then a voice is coming from the bird.

“.. gladiatorial arena .” She mimics, sounding all too much like Prowl. Her throat feathers spread. “ Any of us may be selected to fight. ”

Even Soundwave is a little wide-eyed.

Laserbeak goes back to preening her feathers, so Soundwave turns his head back to Starscream and Knockout, expression once again blank.

“Right–” Knockout mutters, shaking his head. The obscene amount of gold along his body jingles– “wait. Arena? ”

Starscream groans, his frills pressing against his neck. “ Great .”

Soundwave stands, flicking his wings and tilting his nose up. He ignores the pair as he searches the edges of their small area for Megatron, or even those Autobots. Laserbeak hums softly.

“We’ve been instructed to stay here.” Knockout croons almost lazily. When Soundwave turns to him with a twitch of his ear, though, Knockout looks a bit worried. Probably about the news of the arena. “The big M said they’d be back within a few cycles.”

Soundwave dips his chin. He’d learned enough, anyway.  He sits down a small distance from Starscream and Knockout, tilting his head to peer at his sides, where his wings are furled close. On their backs– or perhaps the tops? He’s unsure– it’s a flat, dark blue. When he opens his wing though, little glimmers of silver greet him like old friends. What had that SkyWing called Ratchet? A NightWing?

The medic looks similar to Shockwave and himself, though he does have that streak of sand-colored scales. Perhaps a hybrid of some sort, then. And maybe..

Maybe he and Shockwave were these ‘NightWings’. Hm.

He curls his wing back up and turns his eyes to Knockout and Starscream. Soundwave can confidently say that Knockout is a SkyWing– the facial structure, the size of his wings, the medic’s scale color all matched the SkyWings they had already seen. But, Starscream..

Soundwave huffs and decides not to ponder on it any longer. He has a feeling he’ll be learning more about this place in the near future, anyway.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee’s not sure why they’ve taken him here.

Under the shade, away from the sunlight that is much too strong. It’s hot and heavy, and the heat makes it hard to suck in air at times, but it’s cooling off in the shadows of– of whatever this little cover is. It’s relatively spacious, too, even with the white tree structure underneath. There’s a dragon on it, seemingly sleeping, with colors flooding all over their scales in a rainbow.

Bee tries to not think much about them, or the metal cuff-things around the dragon’s wings– a RainWing, if Bee matches the dragon up with Bossbot and the name that one SkyWing had called him– and the chains keeping them locked to the tree. He wiggles his own wings, bound by some sort of metal wire. It presses into his wing membrane almost painfully, so he stops moving and frowns.

He’s pretty sure the others are up on the pillars, so that brings him back to wondering why he’s down here and not up there.

He shifts and glances at the guards at his sides. They both hold spears and wear that armor, even with the stifling heat. Though, they look almost unbothered by it. One is orange, yellow speckles freckling the visible part of their muzzle and  their talons. The other is crimson. Both have sharp yellow eyes, and look rather tired .

And a bit thin, too.

“Why am I down here?” Bee asks, resisting the urge to flinch when the crimson guard turns to glare at him.

“Shut up.” The orange guard growls.

Bumblebee scowls, opens his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by the sound of someone flying. Well– multiple someones.

He turns when the dragons land. They both look important . There’s a SkyWing with a golden necklace around her neck and a golden chainmail chestpiece, orange scales, and piercing yellow eyes. She coos in interest at the sight of him, striding over.

The other dragon is a large sand-colored one– pale yellow and pale golden scales cover her body, and unsettling black eyes seem to look at him. Bee says seem , because her eye is entirely black . He swallows roughly at the amount of jagged scars covering her body, and her talons .

They look stained, a crimson tint to them.

“What’s this? ” The SkyWing asks, her eyes practically gleaming. Maybe they are , considering the little gemstones embedded around them as she draws closer. Similarly, the top-side of her wings have little gemstones, too. “More artwork, hm?”

“It’s not a RainWing, Scarlet.” The sand-colored dragon snaps. She, too, draws closer and as she does, the heat in the air seems to increase. It’s as if she radiates it. Bee leans back, his eyes wide. “I’ve never quite seen anything like this before, though.”

Even her teeth look stained. Bee gulps.

Scarlet huffs. “ Obviously , it’s not a RainWing, Burn .” She rolls her eyes, leaning into Bumblebee’s space and poking him with a talon. Around it is a golden circlet with little diamonds scattered about. “What are you?”

Bumblebee doesn’t respond. Scarlet scoffs and leans away.

“No matter. Put it on display.” She says to the guards. They both nod in unison. Scarlet hums, then, “somewhere around here. I want to look at it while in between fights.”

“Of course, Queen Scarlet.” The orange guard nods. Scarlet and Burn turn away, trodding to the edge of the cover. 

Bee gets dragged after them, towards the tree the RainWing is chained to.

“No, no, not over there!” Scarlet suddenly says. Bumblebee is yanked to a halt, stifling a yelp. “Over here.”

Scarlet gestures to an area on the other side of the platform. The guards drag him over without question. The orange guard huffs, then flies off. The crimson one stays behind, grip on his wrist tight. Scarlet and Burn ignore them both, talking loudly to each other. Bumblebee understands none of it– it sounds like some sort of political nonsense, something about MudWings? Queen Moorhen? Alliances? 

Bee tunes them out, instead looking at the arena. There are so many dragons sitting in the crowd. His breath catches.

“Queen Scarlet,” a voice says, catching Bee’s attention too. A deep yellow dragon is flying in front of the platform, silver armor glinting and two golden bands around their horns catching the sunlight. “We’ve gotten more prisoners that don’t seem to have come from Phyrria.”

Scarlet visibly perks up. “Send it to fight after the scheduled ones.”

“Of course.” 

The dragon flies off. Bumblebee’s stomach churns uneasily. Fight?  

The orange SkyWing guard comes back with another guard. In between them is a large cage made of copper. The two dragons set the cage down, and the orange SkyWing opens the door. The crimson guard at Bee’s side huffs, shoving him in roughly. The door slams shut and Bumblebee twists, talons clutching at the bars.

“Wonderful!” Scarlet purrs, grinning at him. “Now, go! Get Topaz to begin.”

“Right away.” The crimson guard grunts, taking off with the other two.

Bee watches them go, pushing the metal bars of the cage. Testing it. Nothing budges. The door’s locked, secured tightly. Bumblebee scowls. It’s cramped, hardly big enough for him, but clearly made for holding dragons like this. Scarlet and Burn are ignoring him now, eyes trained on the arena.

Bee reluctantly follows their gazes, sighing quietly. Distantly, he thinks Prowl would be proud of him; he’s been quiet for a few cycles now.

He wiggles forward and sticks his head through the bars, because apparently his face is just that slim. The antenna on his head brush the bars, and his quiet streak is thrown out the window as he yelps.

Okay. Those are sensitive, got it.

Scarlet and Burn pay him no mind. Bee’s ears flick at the sound of a voice booming, and then he spots the owner.

A deep orange dragon that almost appears brown is flying stationary above the arena. Their tail dips into a deeper color, and when they spread their forelimbs in an arc, Bee can see how the darker brown clings to their talons.

“Welcome!” The dragon is shouting. The crowd roars in excitement, tossing gemstones and necklaces into the air. “This month’s fighters are all prepared to be tossed into the arena! We’ve also just gotten some new fighters, one of which just so happens to be fighting at the end of today’s rounds. With that, let me introduce to you Barracuda of the SeaWings!”

The crowd reaches a peak in volume at the name mentioned. Despite the heat, Bee shivers, watching a few dragons in the stands toss glittering rubies and other, various gems into the pit. Below, a gray-blue dragon emerges from beneath the platform Bee is on. A few scales along his body glow briefly, and he lifts his head.

SeaWing, Bumblebee thinks, frowning at the slightly-dried out look the dragon’s scales have, shouldn’t he not be so dehydrated??

Barracuda roars, a deep sound that reverberates in Bumblebee’s chest. Notably, his wings are bound. Just like the RainWing on the tree. The dragon looks a bit deranged, his eyes wild.

“And I present to you, Iceberg of the IceWings!” The announcer thunders. Bee decides that this must be Topaz.

Barracuda is on the other side of the arena now as Iceberg comes out. White, blue-tinted scales shimmer in the sunlight like diamonds. Spikes bristle and raise on the back of Iceberg’s neck, and a thin, whip-like tail thrashes behind them. Spikes, like those on Iceberg’s neck, seem to twitch on the tip of their tail. From what Bumblebee can see, the claws on the IceWing’s wings are serrated.

Iceberg hisses coldly, trekking forward. Barracuda snarls, scarred lips twitching.

“Claws up! Fire ready! Fight! ” Topaz roars, flying out of view.

***

Ratchet sighs.

“We’re getting nowhere with this.” He says to Optimus, the bulkier form of his Prime directly at his side. “I don’t think there’s a way in from down here.”

“Agreed, Ratchet.” Optimus nods, looking at the stone wall in front of them. “We will converge with the others and forge a plan.”

The medic nods, another sigh leaving his jaws. The two of them turn and begin to trek back to where Soundwave, Starscream and Knockout are waiting. It’s silent between them for a little while, the only noise being their footsteps and the crowd’s roaring fading into the background.

“..Optimus, I’ve been– pondering, I suppose. Is it really wise to be telling so much knowledge of our home to these strangers?” Ratchet casts a glance up to his leader briefly before looking back at their path again. “It’s just.. The information they have could be broadcasted to anyone if– once they return home. The Decepticons of their dimension may easily find ours, or vice versa.”

Optimus hums thoughtfully. “That is a genuine concern, Ratchet. But I do not believe that these Autobots will be spilling this information so recklessly. They are also at war and, most likely, will not be letting it slip to the Decepticons.”

Ratchet nods slowly. “I suppose. I just– worry. These Autobots are young.”

“Indeed. Though, I believe in their ability to keep things under wraps if need be. As for our Decepticons trying to find their dimension; I have no doubt that Megatron will attempt to find theirs, to conquer their Cybertron. All we can do is try to stop it.”

Ratchet sighs once again. He feels drained. “Very well, Optimus.”

They walk in silence for the remaining distance. Not even the sound of birds chirping accompany them. Ratchet suspects they wouldn’t nest so close to such a dangerous area. He huffs and takes in the forest.

It’s heavily wooded, but not so incredibly thick that he can’t see. The trees– well. Ratchet hasn’t bothered to learn very much about Earth’s plant life, and has hardly learned of its fauna given their current circumstances. He notes to do so once they return home, filing it away in the back of his mind.

He may not know what type of trees they are, but he knows that they’re oddly calming. Walking down the pathway that’s being carved alongside Optimus brought some peace to his stressed mind. A gentle breeze sweeps by, and Ratchet can banish the sounds of the crowd of dragons behind him.

All too soon, though, they enter the clearing they had left the three Decepticons in. They appear to be the first to return. Ratchet frowns, weary, as eight pairs of eyes land on them– Laserbeak included.

Optimus seems to ignore them, settling down without so much of a hint of a frown. He looks passive, but Ratchet– and the Decepticons– know that he would leap to his defense if need be. Ratchet merely reminds himself of this and sits close to Optimus. 

The clearing is tense and quiet, aside from Knockout and Starscream's hushed whispers. Ratchet rolls his eyes, leaning against Optimus gently and keeping an eye on the surrounding trees for his teammates and the other ‘Cons. 

Sentinel Prime is through first, followed by the other dimensional Optimus Prime. The two are frowning, and the younger Optimus is looking over his shoulder as they make their way to Ratchet and his Optimus.

Primus, this is so confusing. Ratchet would like to go back to his war, please. He’s decided now.

“Did you find anything?” Ratchet asks them when they approach. The younger red Prime shakes his head.

Sentinel huffs, little bursts of cold air puffing out of his nostrils. He looks irritated. “ Nope . It’s all a stone wall.”

At Ratchet’s side, Optimus hums. Ratchet sits up straight after remembering he’d been leaning. “The same we found. I believe the only way in is from the top.”

The little Prime nods– Ratchet decides the little Optimus will be Prime from now on– in agreement. “Yeah. We found that out pretty quickly. We couldn’t find any entrances or anything, so..”

Prime shrugs slightly, looking off to the side awkwardly, radiating nervousness. Ratchet is about to ask him a simple question, one pertaining to his crew, when Bumblebee and the Jet Twins return. Bumblebee looks frustrated, or sad. Or both. 

Ratchet swallows harshly at the sight of the scar on the scout’s throat.

“We were finding nothing.” Jetstorm frowns, his wings twitching against his sides, the giant limbs hitched high above the ground. Jetfire nods, his own wings nearer to the ground. Whatever they brush against turns dark, burning almost immediately.

“Just bunch of wall.” Jetfire scowls.

Ratchet frowns as well, rising and casting a glance around the clearing. The others are trickling back in. The one called Lugnut is ushering Lockdown and Swindle– if Ratchet overheard correctly– forward with his wings, lips peeled in a snarl. Surprisingly, the large Decepticon is speaking in a low voice to the pair, his one eye narrowed.

Lockdown doesn’t seem all that affected, but rather, he looks more irritated than anything. Swindle appears a bit more anxious, but is smirking weakly. He even waves a talon, brushing Lugnut’s dark-brown wing away. Lugnut scowls, but draws his wings back against his sides. Ratchet’s frown deepens.

“Do you have a problem, Autobot? ”

Ratchet flinches, turning his head to watch the Predacon stride into the clearing powerfully. Predaking, if he remembers correctly. 

His eyes pierce Ratchet as he moves. Beside him, Optimus stands as well.

“Predaking,” Megatron growls, padding into the clearing with Shockwave behind him, “we do not have time for arguments.”

“Indeed.” Optimus agrees, with a touch of reluctance in his tone that both Ratchet and Megatron seem to pick up on. “Has anyone found a way in from below?”

Negatives of all kinds ring out. Ratchet feels his brow pinch. He sighs through his nostrils.

“The only way in is up ,” Starscream lours, his fins and wings twitching. “But we have to do it carefully. Soundwave and Laserbeak saw quite a lot.”

Megatron lifts an eyeridge. Ratchet is inclined to follow, but scowls instead as he turns to the Decepticon communication’s officer.

The bird on his back clicks its beak, staring at Megatron. Soundwave nods, gesturing to the middle of the clearing. He begins to draw in the dirt with a talon. Ratchet cranes his neck forward.

It seems to be an aerial view of what they saw coming in– the pillars circling around a, well, bigger circle. Except it seems like a pit.

“It’s a gladiatorial arena,” Knockout sighs. “Laserbeak– she relayed that, well–”

“The prisoners are the participants,” Starscream finishes, scowling at the drawing even harder. “So if we want to get those– eugh . Those… other dimensional Autobots–”

“–and Blitzwing,” Swindle butts in, starting to look like he’s composed himself a bit more.

“....and Blitzwing,” Starscream repeats with disdain, “then we must do it quickly.”

Megatron hums deeply. “Then this will need to be a coordinated movement.”

“We do not want to draw attention to ourselves, for very long, if at all.” Ultra Magnus huffs. “We may have survived that first encounter, but I doubt any of us will last very long if an entire stadium is notified of our existence.”

“I hate to say it, but the Autobot’s right.” Lockdown grunts, his spikes twitching on the back of his neck.

“Very well.” Optimus rumbles. “Let us formulate a plan.”

***

Blitzwing isn’t very fond of his restraints.

Nor is he fond of the cheering from below as Barracuda massacres Iceberg, nor is he fond of the IceWing’s screams. Yes, he is a Decepticon, and yes he’s had his fair share of murdering, but it doesn’t mean he’s entirely immune to the moaning and groaning of dying, or the shrieks and screams and shouts of claws tearing through cable.

Or, he guesses, in Iceberg’s case, scales and flesh.

Either way, he doesn’t appreciate it. 

Ooh, but I vill destroy my captors!

No. Too many dragons here, and he may be a high-ranking officer, but he does not know the limits or the capabilities of this organic body. Irritation bleeds out onto his body. He can feel it, like it’s alive.

He twitches in his confines, ignoring the prodding of voices in the back of his mind as he attempts to think. How can he get out of this? Out of here, preferably without the Autobots tailing after him?? He twists his head, the frills on his cheeks fanning out and bristling.

The little Prime spat some sort of– magic death spit, yes? Perhaps he could, too. After all, they seem to share the same species, if only a little. The frills and all.

Blitzwing hisses and flashes his fangs in an attempt to figure out how the black goop works . All he gets is an irritating itch in his mouth, but nothing more. He frowns and turns his attention down into the pit. Barracuda is now the one on the ground. Iceberg’s wings are flared as wide as they can go with wing clamps, and they’re digging their talons into Barracuda's throat.

Within moments, Barracuda lies still. Iceberg roars, hoarse and crackly, as the announcer hovers over the pit. Iceberg is swept back under the mouth of the tunnel that must lead to underground prisons, and Barracuda’s body is dragged away towards the same path.

“What a lovely beginning round!” The dark dragon crows. The crowd cheers with them, and Blitzwing watches as the throng tosses something into the air, each catching the light of the sun and glinting. “Now, onto our next one!”

Blitzwing tunes out the contestants names, only briefly catching SeaWing , and only that. Two SeaWings, then. He taps the wood of his platform. So, he can’t spit black ooze. What can he do?

Ice , a little voice chirps in the back of his mind, which is unusually silent, spit ice.

Ice? Blitzwing narrows his eyes. Perhaps it was like Sentinel Prime’s frost-breath he had glimpsed in the ambush. He focuses, breathing slowly through his nose, to try and tap that feeling .

Except– there’s nothing . His chest feels empty, and his body seems to tell him that he doesn’t have the organs to produce such a chilling demise. Frustrated, Blitzwing hisses. 

“Fragging organics!” He exclaims, gaining the attention of any nearby prisoners. Prowl looks over at him and frowns. He snaps his head in Prowl’s direction, baring his fangs. Despite not being able to spit the ooze, he had the prominent fangs Prime did. “Vhat are you looking at, Autobot?!”

Prowl shakes his head, dropping it onto his crossed wrists. Blitzwing bristles and turns away to stare down at the pair fighting. He could figure out how to escape soon.

He had to.

***

Arcee, by now, had seen loads of different dragons fight.

Each one ended up with someone dead. She isn’t surprised– it’s an arena crafted for that exact purpose, and the spectators below clearly loved it. Disgust had wormed its way into her chest and expression hours ago. This place had to be as terrible as the gladiatorial pits back on Cybertron she heard about. The one Megatron had come from.

Arcee frowns deeply, watching the announcer fly out above the previous contestants. They clear their throat, and then dramatically wave their forelegs towards the gaping mouth of the tunnel.

“I would like to welcome our reigning Champion, Peril, to the arena!” The dragon roars. The crowd picks up in volume immediately, tossing valuables into the air.

As the crowd screams, a glowing dragon exits the mouth of the tunnel, wings seemingly unbound. They flare open wide, and the dragon lifts their head.

Once the noise dies down to a volume that the announcer can speak over, the brown dragon continues, “Our beloved Champion will be facing against Clay of the MudWings!”

A brown dragon enters next, head low. Clay is smaller than most of the other dragons Arcee has seen enter, though one of those SeaWings– Tsunami, was it?– had been around their size, too. Her brow furrows.

She watches the fight without truly seeing it, and the next thing she knows, she’s watching SkyWings fly up towards the pillars. She bristles, though they aren’t heading in her direction. They’re moving towards Prowl.

She springs up, yanking harshly at the wires connecting her to the other prisoners, with a shout. “No!”

They’re taking him, Arcee thinks with a sharp inhale, Primus, no. Don’t let him die.

Three SkyWings snag Prowl while a fourth undoes the restraints holding him to the pillar. Arcee, distantly, feels a bit of pull lessen on the wire.

They take him down into the pit as Clay is ushered away. The MudWing is injured, but not dead, which brings Arcee some relief. But it’s short-lived, as Prowl is dropped in next. Anxiety builds and Arcee feels it bleed onto the fins pinned to her neck.

“For today’s final fight, I bring you Peril and–” The announcer pauses awkwardly, frowning. A SkyWing guard flies over and whispers to the dark dragon before disappearing. “–and Prowl!”

The crowd thunders with excitement, and Arcee swears she feels the pillar beneath her rock and sway.

“Claws up, fire ready, fight!”

The announcer vanishes and Peril roars. Arcee watches with wide eyes. Prowl and Peril circle the arena’s walls.

Arcee holds her breath.

***

Prowl hisses, pressing himself into the walls of the pit.

Peril smirks, her head tipping. Some emotion gleams in her eyes, but it’s gone within a blink. She leaves her spot by the wall, running toward him. Prowl waits, his tail swaying, before he leaps to the side and lets the gladiator slam into the wall he’d just been standing beside. Even though he hadn’t touched Peril, he can feel the heat radiating off of her body as he flees.

She’s like Jetfire , Prowl frowns and turns on his heel, with the embers on her scales.

“Fight me!” Peril bellows. Prowl nearly yelps as she spits fire in his direction. The flames scorch the ground, and it makes the sand glimmer where he’d been standing. “Quit running!”

No thank you . Prowl scitters to a stop, turning and going another direction. Is there a time limit? Could he just run around until the spectators got bored?

Peril suddenly slams into him full force. Prowl shrieks as heat is pressed into his side. Peril shoves him into the ground, snarling. Ripples of heat make the atmosphere around her shiver.

He has to think He’s going to die if he doesn’t. Quickly, wiggling just so to pop a talon near his head, he starts flinging sand at Peril’s face. She hisses and backs away, shaking her head. She blinks rapidly.

Prowl stumbles to his feet, groaning and swaying slightly. He retreats to a far end of the arena to regain his bearings, and he flares his wings as much as he can.

Peril snarls and shakes her head fiercely before seemingly getting rid of the sand in her eyes. She whirls on him, enraged, and roars aggressively. Prowl feels utter panic and fear form in his chest, and his eyes widen as she launches herself at him.

He avoids the attack, only to have his tail grabbed and yanked. He collapses and hisses as Peril rolls him over, pushing a burning talon into his chest. She crushes his breastbone, a sickening snap echoing through the air as Prowl flails at her forearm. His throat burns, and he realizes that it’s from screaming in pain.

His vision is growing dark as the sounds of fright flood the spectator’s seats.

***

Bumblebee backs into the bars of his cage.

The dragon on the tree leaps for Scarlet and Burn. Burn is quick to react, yanking Scarlet in front of her and using the SkyWing as a shield. Scarlet shrieks as the– RainWing , right?– spits black goop at her face. It hisses as it no doubt eats away at Scarlet’s scales. Burn releases her and turns away. Striding off with a few guards that resemble her.

The dragon on the tree destroys her chains with her spit, and then turns to him, scales a vivid display of red. She leaps down and looks at him briefly, before damaging the lock on his cage. She leaves, sprinting off of the platform and flying away, as the SkyWing guards help Scarlet.

Bee doesn’t think twice. He busts out of his cage and scrambles to the edge, stopping before he can go flying off. Peril is standing over Prowl, though her attention is on the sky. Bee follows her gaze, gaping at the horde of dragons in the sky. The shapes are familiar, and he’s quick to make the connection that those are the other Autobots and the Decepticons coming to their rescue. Bee beams, though it’s brief, as he turns back to Peril and Prowl.

Peril has left Prowl, now, leaping into the air and flying towards Bee’s allies. She roars. Bumblebee swallows and spreads his own wings, gliding shakily down into the arena. He stumbles as he lands, but he shakes it off and sprints over to Prowl’s prone form.

“Prowl?” Bee calls. “Are you okay?”

Prowl doesn’t move. Bee feels a rock sink in his belly.

“Prowl?” He mutters, padding over. He’d heard the screaming, but–

Any words on his tongue die as his eyes find the gaping hole in Prowl’s chest. It’s charred around the edges and bleeding heavily. Prowl’s head is lolled to the side, his eyes wide open and his jaw closed due to the way he’s laying. His eyes are dull, staring off at nothing.

“Prowl!” Bumblebee cries, shaking the brown dragon with a choked noise.

No, no, no, no! You can’t be dead– you can’t be.  

Someone lands nearby. Bee can’t bring it upon himself to turn and look, pressing his head into Prowl’s side. They gasp sharply.

“What happened?”

It’s Jazz.

Bee sits up and looks at the Elite Guardsmen. “Peril– she–”

He turns back to Prowl, sniffling. Jazz is silent.

In the corner of Bee’s vision, he can see dark red, a flame-colored orange, and dark gray spasm across Jazz’s body. He turns away with a snarl, and then a gust of wind hits Bee in the side.

Bumblebee keeps by Prowl, his head bowed and his heart heavy.

***

Chapter Text

To be perfectly honest, a brawl is exactly what they were trying to avoid, and here they are– brawling . Knockout crushes himself against the ground behind the brutish force of Lugnut as he practically tosses a thinner SkyWing off to the side. There are screams and roars everywhere, and fire is being blown from every direction. Knockout thinks he saw Blitzwing appear, looking a bit miffed whilst also seemingly excited, before he disappeared yet again into the chaotic fray of spectators and guards.

Personally, Knockout would keep hiding behind Lugnut and avoiding what conflict he could. He was not about to mar the clean, ruby-sheen of his scales, thank you very much. The sand in the floor of the arena was enough of an annoyance as is.

Lugnut pins another hapless victim to the ground, ignorant of their hissing threats, as he flaps his wing into another and knocks them flat onto the ground. Lugnut is huge, a near-literal tank of a dragon that rivaled Optimus and Megatron in size. Knockout has no clue as to how Megatron figured that, before they were found by the Autobots, Knockout could even begin to dissect such a brute on his own. Why not subject Shockwave and his pet to it?

Speaking of, the Predacon– Predaking , Knockout supposes sourly, is easily snapping the neck of a SkyWing guard and thwacking another with his spiny tail. The armor the dragon is wearing is protecting them enough from the spikes, and they have enough sense to flee when they realize that this is a losing battle.

The SkyWing leader, or who Knockout assumes is such, is thrashing violently against the floor of her covered parapet, a talon holding her steaming face. She’s been all but abandoned, save a pair of guards watching her unsteadily. His vision is obscured by Megatron’s sudden bulk, and when his master moves, the SkyWings are gone, leaving only the toppled white tree and a copper bird cage.

Knockout straightens when Lugnut moves away, and he scrambles out of the way of a swipe directed at him from a sand-colored dragon, eyes as black as the void of space, lacking any of the starlight normally spotted out of the windows of any space-faring vessel. A stinger jabs at him, and he yelps and bolts away. As he flees, he notes how most of the spectators have gone, leaving only well-muscled savages to deal with them. There’s a mix of SkyWings, and the MudWings, and those sandy-colored dragons with pitch-black eyes. Belatedly, he realizes he must look like some sort of noble, with all of the golden bits draped on his figure, and he wonders if that would make him more of a target.

He beelines for the pale-yellow figure of the small Bumblebee, whose head is bowed over Prowl’s lean, dark body. Prowl is sprawled out, and there’s clearly a hole in his chest. Knockout sniffs to himself before he’s in hearing range; of course one of the small ones would die first. They did seem less experienced in literally everything.

The dragon startles when he approaches, then rises and puts distance between them. At least this bug knew to keep away from a Decepticon, though Knockout isn’t sure he’d be willing to get blood beneath his rather shiny talons.

“What happened?” Knockout asks, peering down at the corpse and the scorched hole in his chest, a cavity still lightly smoldering and smelling awfully of burnt flesh.

“Some dragon named Peril killed him,” Bee says, voice shaking near the end of his sentence, as if he couldn’t believe such a thing could happen. Knockout rolls his eyes, then prods Prowl with a talon, careful to keep away from the wound that was his demise. Bee bristles, and Knockout wordlessly draws his talon back. He knows how fierce the little ones can be– his mind flits to Arcee and the run-in they had that one time in Jasper– and isn’t keen to know how sharp Bee’s teeth are.

“ Peril? ” He asks instead, turning his head to look over the fighting factions and beasts.

“She’s gone,” Bee says bitterly, coiling up again, “left with a dragon she fought earlier and his friends.” He pauses, then huffs, “I think they were friends, anyway.” And he falls quiet, something Knockout was used to with the other Bumblebee, even if his words were chirps and buzzes. His eyes have fallen back down onto Prowl’s prone form. Knockout ignores him and watches the fighting slow.

“Looks like we’re finally getting out of here,” Knockout says, watching Laserbeak shoot into the air with Soundwave not far behind. Above, the smaller Prime and his blue friend were working away at as many of the wired prisoners as possible; they’d already freed Arcee and Smokescreen.

“We can’t just leave him,” Bee says, voice strained. So far, he appeared to be the only one aside from Knockout to know of Prowl’s death.

“Oh, deal with it, would you?” He snaps. “We can’t just carry that thing around; do you know how much death stinks when we aren’t organic freaks?” Knockout flips his wings. “You can either sit here and cry about it and die, or come with me and not do any of that.”

Bee flinches harshly, looks at Prowl and then at the chaos still buzzing around them, and then draws himself up.

“ Fine ,” he hisses back, though with a final look to Prowl, he murmurs, “sorry, buddy.”

Knockout ignores him and takes to the air, not waiting on the bug to catch up. He follows Soundwave and Laserbeak, and the two twins. The others start following after them as well in a flurry of wings and hissing breaths.

For a while, they fly, with no words spoken between anyone. The dragon with fins and color changing scales have been seemingly somehow communicating with one another, for all of them look grim together. Even that Smokescreen looks depressed. The only one who doesn’t seems to be Blitzwing, but he’s quiet and twitchy right now.

Eventually, they land in a rather forested area by a river, away from the massacre of the SkyWing palace– not that Knockout is sure anyone else died, but it was a brutal fight. Sentinel Prime immediately dunks himself into the river completely, and blood paints the surface red as it flows downstream. Knockout makes sure to drink from in front of the bleeding dragon, where the current is sweeping things down. He’s not keen on getting a mouthful of Autobot blood.

“We were too late,” the little Optimus Prime says, scratching his forehead with a talon absently. “We were too late and Prowl is dead.”

The words hang in the air over the Autobots as Knockout moves away, to where he can watch the little ones process the grief of losing one of their own. It is peculiar to watch one’s enemy mourn. Knockout is no stranger to grief; he was given some leave when Breakdown died, and he spent the whole time doing the job Breakdown normally did for him; buff his paint. He feels some sympathy towards them, but not enough to care whether or not they were sad.

“You did what you could,” Ratchet says gently to Prime, whose small head is drooping. “We all did.”

“You didn’t see it though,” Smokescreen says, looking ghastly and pallid, mostly due to the fact his scales were rippling white. “Or hear it– Primus ,” and he cuts himself off abruptly, his eyes large and glazed over, staring off at nothing.

Knockout decides he hates that look on the youth; every time he’d seen the kid, he’d been happier than a human’s dog to do something for his team and his noble cause . Again, though, he cares little and leaves the dragon be, inspecting his claws and picking sand out from between his scales.

“I didn’t even see it, and I was there ,” Jazz hisses angrily, “I was underground.”

Sentinel’s head jerks up from its lethargic droop along the river bank. “ Underground? How did you get out?”

“The chaos got the guards going,” Jazz says distractedly, “and I spat my way out of there.”

The blue Prime bristles loudly, the spikes on his neck clicking together, as if ice could do such. He says no more, glaring at the river.

“Well, for one thing, we can’t stay here,” Ratchet says, getting up from where he’d been laying a wing over Smokescreen’s back. Megatron, having been weirdly silent this whole time, huffs a puff of smoke. Knockout realizes his silence had been from his time licking the wounds he gained in the pit.

“We were on a path, were we not, doctor?” Megatron asks, and Ratchet nods jerkily.

“We’ve no clue how far this thing is going to take us,” Ratchet says, pulling the dagger from its hiding place. Even as he lifts it, it glows dimly when directed; nearly the same flight path they took to get here and notably away from the SkyWing palace.

“We should find shelter and move on in the morning,” Ratchet says and tucks the tooth-shaped knife away again, “we have injured, and there needs to be a time to process Prowl’s death.”

Megatron bristles, producing a near-identical sound to the one Sentinel made. He rises and strides over powerfully, only stopped by Optimus standing and putting his bulk in Megatron’s way.

“We do not have time ,” he spits, and Knockout draws himself up, finding Starscream at his side within a blink, “we must move .”

Megatron has clearly had enough of taking orders from Autobots. Knockout doesn’t blame him.

“We will make time,” Ratchet spits, unheeding of Megatron’s non-verbal threat. “Even Blitzwing is hurt. You cannot risk infection with even the smallest of wounds, Megatron. You should know this.” The medic rises, lips pulling back. “We must have time for wounds to heal over and not cause a great risk of septicemia.”

Knockout flinches when he’s looked at; clearly he’s their medic and not Shockwave. “Well, Knockout?” Megatron asks in his rasp, his spikes raised high with irritation. “What is your say?”

“I-I- er, Lord Megatron, I hate to agree with the Autobot, but he makes a valid point,” he says, cringing back at the fiery rage building in the warlord’s eyes and the tenseness in his muscles. “Even you are susceptible to such an infection, and any of the injured might die from it.”

His leader’s eyes search him, and then he exhales a thick cloud of smoke before turning. “Very well then, Ratchet , though we will be taking the lead and finding shelter.”

Knockout is only glad to be rid of that piercing look. Starscream bumps their shoulders together, as if he could read Knockout’s mind. 

They stay there, for a while, by the riverside, washing away grime and blood, before eventually leaving and following the water down. There would be a cave, or a grotto large enough for as many dragons as they were, or something that they could stay in for a day or two. He hopes, anyway. He’s already exhausted from the day’s events, and the sun has drifted so low that its rays are no longer peeking through the bodies of the trees, and instead have painted the sky in vibrant hues. On the other side of the sky, a blue-black has begun to spread as the veil of night drifts over their heads.

Chapter Text

They find a clearing covered overhead by ancient trees stretching their branches towards the sky. The weight of yellowy-green leaves has drawn them into a dome-ish shape, providing shelter enough for them to heal in. Some distance away is the river they left behind, and there’s a faintly salty scent to the air, but if one breathed in a second time the smell vanished.

Jazz hates this. The one bot he shared a history with (sort of) was gone, and over Sentinel’s and Prime’s teams hangs a heavy sort of silence that only comes after someone has died. There’s no quips from Bee, or cheerfully loud chatter from the twins, or even the arguing commonly found between the pair of Primes. Jazz would do anything for one of those things, not excluding the arguing. He would do anything to have his fellow ninja back.

The worst part is that they couldn’t even bury him; they’d had to flee before more guards and muscle-men came. And Prowl’s body had been abandoned in that stupid sand pit that had the name of an arena. Jazz digs his talons into the dirt, uprooting the half-dead grass and other small weeds.

They’d separated from the other Autobots, and the Decepticons had extracted themselves to the far side of the clearing, whispering amongst themselves; Megatron was lounging away from them enough to seemingly allow them to chat as they were now. Jazz keeps his eyes on his team and OP’s, gently nudging Jetstorm’s head with his chin in comfort.

“He’s gone ,” Bee says miserably, coiled around his Prime’s feet. Out of his team, it was only himself and Bumblebee now; not even their medic and Bulkhead were present to know of their teammate’s death. “Bossbot, he’s gone .”

Optimus says nothing, but curls a talon over the pale yellow scales of Bee’s neck. He hadn’t seen it– no one had but Bee, out of any of them in their circle at least. Jazz is beyond angry. He notes the mixture of dark gray and blood red fluttering in his fins. Sorrow and fury . Jazz exhales a breath in agreement.

“We’ve hardly been here,” Sentinel says, sounding more upset than Jazz would peg him to be; he didn’t seem to like anyone on Optimus’ team, including Optimus himself, but Jazz supposes that death brings forth that sort of feeling on anyone. “And we get attacked and jumped, and some of you get kidnapped and now we’ve got one dead.” His face twists painfully, eyes alight with the barest hint of rage, and he glares out at no one. “Why one of ours and not one of theirs? ” At this, his rounded muzzle jerks towards the Decepticons, and the spikes on his neck flare out in anger. Jazz’s fins twitch against his neck. Optimus eyes them.

“Don’t say that,” he says, his own fins flicking out a bit. “It’d be just as bad if one of them died, or one of theirs died,” and he glances over to the Decepticons, and then the other Autobots in succession. “It’s just going to be very hard to tell this to Ratchet and Bulkhead when we get home.”

The ‘if’ hangs in the air like a death sentence; for all they know, they could be trapped here for the rest of their lives. The fear of such is cradled gently in his chest, buried deeply beneath everything else going on. They wouldn’t be able to go home , or see Earth again, or Cybertron. It makes Jazz feel antsy, like he hasn’t done enough. They’ve only been here three days. Who was that guy the other Autobots spoke about?

Right. Primus– three days. Three days and they’d lost one of their own. Three days, and they’d escaped a prison and gladiator arena. Three days, and they’re trapped in a forest with no end in sight.

Jazz lowers his head. “It’s only been three days.” He says in the silence, and the startles around their circle make him flinch. “We’ve been here three days, mechs.”

“ Three days. ” Bee says meekly, covering his face. Optimus’ eyes suddenly appear a lot more distant and foggy than before, and the emotions have stopped flooding his fins. Jazz’s talons twitch uneasily; he hadn’t ever seen the Prime look like such, even if they’d only really had time to speak when Sentinel had them stop for a patrol on Earth.

Jazz looks away as Sentinel’s wing twitches, and then slides carefully over Optimus’ back. Seeing Optimus with such a vacant look on his face was uncanny, and Jazz feels his stomach give an unpleasant twist.

Silence hangs over all of them as the information processes, and subsequently hits with that pang of surprise and anger. Jazz is definitely mad. They’d been here three whole days, and had accomplished nothing but being kidnapped and, in Prowl’s case, murdered.

“If that stupid Thoughtsplitter guy hadn’t brought us here, none of this would’ve happened.” Bee says, the delicate antenna on his head twitching back. “It’s his fault that Prowl’s dead.”

Optimus says nothing, but he dips his head and inhales sharply. 

The sun casts a dim glow through the trees, shimmering a delicate gold not unlike the jewelry sprawled on the arena floor. Bugs buzz in the dying light, and the forest quiets for the most part. Jazz tries to focus on it. He’s stepped away from his friends to meditate near the edge of the clearing. 

They hadn’t shifted much except to pretty much dogpile–Optimus had slithered away to coil up in a mess of dark gray and blue-gray scales. Sentinel had followed after him, and was now stretched out beside Optimus, his round nose highlighted by the dusk light. His spikes are relaxed now, but there’s a stiffness in his joints that tells Jazz that he’s on the lookout. For what, Jazz has a guess, but he doesn’t think they’re going to be chased after what happened at the arena today.

At last, the sun disappears and the bugs silence. As Jazz curls up to go to sleep, lights flicker at the corner of his vision. He turns his head to find the clearing filled with little glowing, floating lights.

Fireflies , he recalls Prowl telling him once on one of the Elite Guard’s stops. Or lightning bugs. In some cultures, they symbolize fallen warriors.

Prowl had continued by listing various other culture’s beliefs, but Jazz wonders if Prowl could see them right now. Was he one of these little guys? Either way, he marvels at the insects. They bob around in silence, their lights fluttering in mesmerizing patterns. It’s a nice reprieve from the sad-anger bubbling in his head. Something like hope settles in his chest.

The next morning, Ratchet takes point with the larger Prime at his side, as usual. He holds the dagger that got them into this mess, and he’s speaking quietly with the giant MudWing. Jazz keeps close to Sentinel and Optimus. The red prime looks a bit better; he’s holding his head level and his scales are back to their normal color. Bee still looks anguished and lost in thought, sticking close to Jazz. The twins trail behind the two of them, hissing to one another.

The Decepticons take up the head of the group, and the other Autobots tail just nearby, their eyes narrowed and faces scrunched with distaste. Wheeljack is saying something with a bitter smirk on his face to Bulkhead, who rolls his eyes. He grins, too, replying in an equal manner, for Wheeljack outright barks a laugh. Ultra Magnus shoots the pair a sharp look over his shoulder, to which Bulkhead ducks his head. Wheeljack juts his chin out defiantly, opening his mouth.

Jazz pulls his eyes away from the three, and instead looks ahead and past the bulk of Predaking at Ratchet and his Optimus. They’ve stopped speaking to one another, and Ratchet is watching the dagger in his grasp thoughtfully. It’s pulsing gently, and the medic stops briefly to swing it around. Their direction changes onto a denser path. Jazz exhales silently. This was already draining on him. He’d rather jump through the trees, just for a change of pace, or even fly. He knows Prowl would, too.

A vast swath of blue, edged with a bleached-beige color, stretches out before them. Jazz breathes out a gentle gasp. Seagulls crow above them, diving down low and swooping at one another. A curious couple of birds land in the sand, hopping forward a pace or two. Laserbeak sweeps in from Soundwave’s back, scaring off the birds.

Ratchet holds the dagger up, scowling before lifting his wing to sheathe it. “We need to turn and head west, it looks like.”

“So we’re not flying over all of that?” Wheeljack pipes up. Sentinel’s nose wrinkles. Jazz hears him muttering under his breath–something about swimming.

“Thankfully, no.” Ratchet says. He turns, and so does Jazz, as he says, “no, instead, we’ll be going over those .”

Not-so-distantly, mountains stand tall and proud, crested with white peaks and shrouded just barely with blue from the atmosphere. Behind them, clouds are gathering in a tall, thunderous-looking pillar. Jazz has seen enough storms in Detroit to know the sign of them–a thunderhead cloud, one that would carry rain over them within a few hours.

Even while heavy with grief, Jazz can hear Bee groan.