Archive of Our Own ^beta

He came back to himself when something slammed into his helm and sent him sprawling to the ground.

When he finally was able to get his optic to boot up, he was greeted with a mech sneering down at him. 

“Get the frag out of the streets, mono.” the bot spat at him.

Blurr found himself flinching back from the insult. “I-I-” he sputtered, but cut himself off immediately. He didn’t know what he would say.

“I didn’t ask for your input.” the mech hissed.

“Just call the enforcers! They’ll get the scrapheap out of here and back to where he belongs.” Another voice called out impatiently. 

It made him flinch, and when he looked around he finally realized he'd entered the city proper. He must have been wandering the streets after he’d fled the junkyard. The only question was what city he was actually in, since he didn't recognize anything around him. But right now he was on the ground, surrounded by angry, bristling mechs who looked at him in disgust. 

Wait. Enforcers.The thought sent cold panic racing through his lines. He couldn’t let them get to him. He didn’t know what they’d do, but he didn’t want to find out. He stumbled to his pedes, looking desperately for a break in the crowd. 

He spotted a gap leading towards an alley and stumbled for it, the mechs hurrying to part so he wouldn't touch them. He heard a scoff behind him as he stumbled into the alley, collapsing at the end with a gasp. 

Primus, but walking with his new legs was so hard. How would he ever run with them?

Could he even run with them?

He could still hear the hissing of the crowd behind him, one or two mechs grumbling about having called the Enforcers to “clean up the scrap”. He flinched, trying to force himself up.

He didn’t understand. Why were they looking at him like that, treating him like that? He may not be recognizable, but he was still a mech! 

Right?

Except, he wasn’t. Not to them. The realization struck him with a sickening lurch, making him sway. 

A soft voice shocked him out of his downward spiral. “Hey. Are you okay?” 

He shuddered, blinking and looking up at the owner of the voice. It was a mech, with black plating. They–he, their EM field indicated– had green arms and thighs, and a green faceplate. Distantly, Blurr noticed the scuffs and scrapes, the dirt and dents. He blinked again, meeting his gaze. His blue optics were kind, as he held a servo out to him.

“Come on now. Let’s get out of here before the Enforcers show, alright? You’re new to all this, aren't you? I can take you somewhere safe.” he told him gently.

He shook, but a raised voice from the mouth of the alley made him flinch. He raised a servo–claw–to take the mech’s offer, but stopped. Claws. He had…claws, now. Sharp, pointed.

The mech’s expression turned to one of understanding and he hummed. “Okay. I’m just going to take your wrist, okay?” He warned him.

He appreciated it. He felt the servo wrap around his wrist, and the mech tugged him up and took his weight, then led him off into the alleys and shadows.

Behind them, the distant sound of Enforcer sirens drew nearer. By the time the officers arrived, Blurr was gone into the depths of the Dead End.

The stranger pulled him through alleys and side streets, eventually coming to a stop in front of a broken down, abandoned building. “Here we are!” He turned and smiled at him. “Come on in. Let’s get you fuelled up.” He encouraged gently, leading the way in. 

Blurr followed slowly, looking around. This place was...wholly unimpressive. Rusted and falling apart, holes in the ceiling and the walls partially collapsed. But at the very back of the building, the stranger led him to a room that was almost entirely intact, if not dirty and in disrepair.

And gathered around a small fire were three other mechs. They looked up when the stranger entered, grinning widely, only to blink in confusion when they saw Blurr.

“Hey mechs! I brought along a guest. He was at the edge of Dead End. Almost got caught by Enforcers. Figured it’d be a decent thing to lend him a servo. I think he’s new to all this.” the stranger told the new mechs.

He saw an understanding dawn on them, and the one he recognized as a speedster frame, with white and gray armor and optics shining red, nodded.

”Sure. Us casteless trash gotta stick together, right?” the speedster said with a sardonic grin.

“Drift.” the first stranger scolded. “We aren’t trash. Just because we don’t have proper functions doesn’t mean we don’t have worth.”

So, he’d been right. He had guessed, from the mech's appearance and the state of this place, but the words were confirmation that this was a crew of street mechs. 

The speedster, Drift, just huffed and rolled his optics.

The first stranger jolted, then shot him an apologetic look, taking his wrist again and leading him to the fire. “Here. Sit. Rest. You look like you need it.” He sat beside him, then perked up and chuckled. “Oh! I never introduced myself!” he turned to them and grinned. “I’m Gasket. The white idiot over there is Drift.” he nodded at the speedster. “Over there are the twins, Runabout and Runamuck.” At their names, each mech nodded as they were introduced.

Finally, Gasket turned back to him. “What about you, stranger? What’s your name?”

And Blurr...froze. He was Blurr. 

Right?

But...was he really Blurr, anymore? He didn't have his voice, or his face, or his servos, or his legs. He didn’t even know if he could still run like he used to.

Was he really still Blurr if he couldn't run?

(He was. He was Blurr. He was Blurr. He…He was Blur. HewasBlurrHewasBlurrHewasBlurr.)

He had to be Blurr…didn't he?

Was he really Blurr, could he be Blurr, when he’d lost everything that made him, him?

He was taking too long to answer.

“I-” he choked. 

Gasket’s expression softened. “Hey. it’s okay if you don’t remember.” he said gently.

“I do!” he blurted out. “I do remember! But-But, I-!” he couldn’t finish. 

Primus

Was that really his voice now? It was so...toneless. Cold. It lacked all his usual intonation and emphasis. It was just…monotone, in a way he hadn't expected. But then, it made sense. It was hard to emote properly without things like lips and a glossa and denta. He couldn't speak with his distinct flair and intonation without them.

He choked. “My-My voice!” Even now, in distress and panic, his voice was almost bland.

Gasket’s expression was sympathetic. “Hey, Hey. It's okay. It’s okay if you don’t want to give us your old name. I’ll just…call you Blue for now, okay? Just until you feel ready to tell us your name, or come up with something else.” At his shaky nod, Gasket continued.”And it’s okay if your voice is different. That’s pretty standard for Emps.” he smiled kindly. “Just practice. Work at it some, and you can get back to how it was before, yeah?”

Just...practice. He could do that.

And…Emps. That had to be short for…for…

Primus, he couldn’t even think of the word in his own processor.

“Okay.” he whispered instead.

Gasket smiled warmly. “Great!” he nodded in satisfaction. “So, Blue. How about we get some fuel into you? We may not have a lot of energon, but we’ve got enough to share.”

He felt his spark constrict. These mechs…they had so little. So, so precious little. Their frames carried textbook signs of malnourishment, so much so that even he could recognize it. And yet, even then, they were willing to share what little they had with him, a stranger. It was a kindness that made his spark ache. 

“Okay.” he said, sagging, because what else could he do but accept? “Thank you.” .

Gasket smiled warmly, nodding. One of the twins, Runabout, turned and dug energon cubes out of a crate that had been hidden under a tarp. He found himself staring. It wasn't like any energon he’d ever seen. The fuel, rather than being a bright, smooth, fluid pink, was dull, thick, gritty, and colored a sort of muddy magenta. The cubes were also half-full, the energon inside sloshing as Runabout handed one to each of them.

Runabout passed two of the cubes to Gasket, who nodded his thanks and set one down. The other, he opened and held out to Blurr. “Here.” he said with a warm smile. 

He stared at the offered cube, one tiny part of him simultaneously grateful and ashamed that the mech had opened it for him. He reached for the cube with both servos, using his pincer-claws to grasp onto it. As he lifted it out of Gasket’s servos, his own shook, the liquid inside sloshing around. 

He brought it up to his helm, only to freeze. He didn’t have a mouth anymore. How would he fuel? In his panic, his grip slipped, and the cube tumbled from his claws. The energon inside splashed over the fire, making it flare briefly before it died down and crackled fainty.

Everyone stopped and stared, and Blurr curled in on himself. “I'm sorry.” he choked out. “I-I couldn’t grip it, and-and I don't know where my fuel intake is.” he said frantically.

Drift blinked, and then his expression twisted to one of sympathy. “Frag. So you're, like, new-new to all of this.” 

Blurr felt himself shudder. “I woke up in the junkyard around-” he tried to think. He’d lost time, but he had vague memory of Hadeen’s position in the sky. “Around mid-orn, I think.”

“Smelt me.” Drift cursed, shaking his helm and wincing.

Blurr viciously agreed with that sentiment.

A soft noise from Gasket made him look over. “Hey, Blue?” he said gently. “How about I give you mine, okay? And maybe I can feed it to you. Just for now. Until you get a hang of your servos. I can also help you find your fuel intake. I’ve met Emps before, I have an idea where to look.”

He stared at the mech, a part of him wanting to reject the offer, but could he afford to?

“Are you sure? It’s…it’s your fuel.”

Gasket smiled warmly. “I’m sure. You need it more than I do right now.”

After a moment, Blurr nodded. Gasket lifted his servos, reaching towards his helm. Blurr felt himself flinch away. The other mech slowed, shooting him a soft, almost sad smile. “May I?”

He swallowed the thickness in his throat and nodded. Gasket moved forward again, servos coming into contact with his helm. The contact felt…strange. Almost wrong. Gasket moved his servos slowly, until he reached under his chin and his servo and brushed something that made him perk up.

“Here we are!” Close to the base of his helm, where it joined his neck, Gasket’s fingers pressed over…something. “There’s a small panel here. Can you feel it? Try to open it. Some Emps have a retractable proboscis.”

He frowned, giving a dubious hum. He quickly cycled through his internal commands, landing on one that seemed promising. He activated it, and felt the panel gasket had indicated open. 

The mech peered at it, then sighed. “No proboscis, unfortunately.” He leaned back to meet Blurr’s gaze. “Are you okay with me pouring some energon in your intake? We can look for some sort of straw or tubing tomorrow.”

Blurr thought for a second, then gave a stiff nod. He was hungry. Hungry and too ashamed of wasting his first cube to insist on pride.

Gasket gave him that sad smile again. He reached for the other cube, opening it, then lifting it with one servo and using the other to gently tip his helm back. “Easy…” he soothed gently as the blue mech shook. He lifted the cube, then gently poured the fuel into the intake port. 

Blurr, to his own relief, found he had enough control to be able to swallow on his own. When the cube was emptied, Gasket set the cube down and the (former) racer shut the small panel and shuddered despite himself.

All four of the other mechs sent him sympathetic looks.

“Blue.” Gasket urged.

Blurr looked at him.

“Why don’t you stay with us a while? At least until you get your footing.” 

He glanced around, not seeing any disagreement from the others. After a moment, he swallowed and nodded, stark relief making him sag. 

“Yes. Please. Thank you.” he croaked.

Gasket hummed and patted his shoulder. “Good. We’re happy to have you, Blue. And if you decide to stick around permanently, you’re welcome to.” he smiled warmly. “Get some recharge, yeah? We’ll show you the ropes tomorrow.”

Blurr found himself nodding, the exhaustion of the day starting to drag him down now that most of the panic had faded to something duller. He settled down as comfortable as he could, optic flickering off, and soon found himself falling into recharge. 

Above him, the small crew talked in hushed whispers, planning the days to come.

And outside the borders of Dead End, the media broadcasts all ran the same story, all of them asking the same question:

"WHERE IS BLURR?"