Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dust clung to the dim light seeping through shattered beams. Fish stood over the still form of the Autobot—now a tangle of blue-and-gold plating, dim optics, and silence. The wound across his side hadn’t healed. Nothing had.

They didn’t cry. Just… stood there. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Their sketchbook lay abandoned on a crate nearby, full of scribbled alien limbs and war machines.

Then came the thud. A metal footstep. Then another. The sound wasn’t like Decepticons—less aggressive, less shriek in the servos, more heavy resolve.

Two towering Cybertronians stepped into view: one lime-green and confidently built, the other broad-shouldered, scowling, blue with eyes like a judgmental furnace. The first one had a big gun. The second one had bigger opinions.

Fish didn’t wait.

They looked down. Grabbed a broken pipe.

Let out a half-feral noise.

And chucked it full force straight at the blue one’s chest.

It bounced off harmlessly, clattering to the floor.

A silence.

Kup stared down. “…Did you just spear me with rebar?”

Springer’s optics brightened. “Hey now—easy! We’re not here to scrap with you.”

Fish blinked. “…You’re not Cons?”

“Nope,” Springer said. “Name’s Springer. This is Kup. We’re Autobots. That’s one of ours, right?” He gestured to the corpse.

Fish didn't answer.

Kup stepped forward. “You need to come with us. Too dangerous for you to be poking around war zones like this.”

Fish took a single step back. Then another.

“We ain’t asking,” Kup said. “You’ve seen some slag, you’re in the field, and we’re not about to leave you for the Cons.”

Fish bolted.

Kup cursed and stomped forward, but Fish slipped between debris, scrambled up a pile of tires like a raccoon, and vanished behind a steel wall.

“Oh come on,” Springer groaned. “This is like trying to catch a turbofox in a minefield.”

Kup grumbled. “More like trying to pick up a scraplet with a war injury.”

“I heard that!” Fish yelled from somewhere above, disembodied in the rafters. “And you’re not taking me! I’m not your problem!”

Springer rolled his optics. “Buddy, you are now.”

Chapter Text

It had been seven days since Fish hurled a pipe at Kup and fled into the urban ruins like a rogue alley cat.

They hadn't stopped moving since. They traveled light—just a beaten-up messenger bag, a battered sketchbook, and the occasional half-squashed protein bar swiped from abandoned gas stations. Fish knew how to survive alone, and more importantly, how to disappear.

But somehow… the giant robots kept showing up.

Sometimes it was just a noise—barely audible over crashing branches or wind through twisted metal—like a gear clicking.

Sometimes it was the absence of birds. Or a crushed traffic cone that hadn’t been crushed an hour ago.

They weren’t stupid.

They left a charcoal drawing behind that time: two towering silhouettes looming over a little humanoid figure with their middle fingers raised high.

The next morning, the drawing was gone.

---

Day 4 –

Fish crouched on a rooftop, munching cold canned beans, drawing Springer from memory. They scowled at the page.

“How does he make lime green armor look smug?”

Across the street, a glint of metal shimmered in a car mirror.

Fish didn’t look up. They just flipped the page and started drawing Kup instead—with little devil horns.

---

Day 6 –

They camped in an abandoned mini-golf park, sleeping in a toppled pirate ship. They dreamed of something big, and soft, and mechanical, curling around the ship like a protective cage.

They woke up sweating.

Footprints.

Giant treaded footprints in the sand trap. Fresh.

“…No way. There’s no way they walked through a pirate-themed golf course and I didn’t hear them.”

---

Day 7 –

Fish finally lost their patience.

They stomped through a waterlogged strip mall, face tight, jaw clenched, yelling into the air:

“Stop following me!”

Nothing.

Just echo.

Then a voice, calm, smug as a stormcloud:

“Can’t. Kup said we’d lose our Wrecker licenses if we let you die.”

Fish whipped around. Kup stepped from behind a collapsing Bath & Body with all the subtlety of a freight train. Springer leaned against the broken wall, arms crossed like this was all just a game.

“You don’t even have licenses,” Fish snapped.

“Sure don’t,” Springer grinned. “But Kup takes imaginary authority very seriously.”

Fish backed up slowly. “You cannot keep following me. I don’t need robo-babysitters.”

Kup raised a brow ridge. “You sure? We counted eight Decepticon scout drones tailing you yesterday.”

“…I ditched those,” Fish muttered.

Springer tilted his head. “Because we disabled five. The other three turned on each other. We’re still not sure why.”

“I don’t want your protection.”

“You’re getting it anyway.”

Fish let out a growl of frustration, turned on their heel, and ran. Again.

Kup sighed. “Heh. Ten energon cubes says we catch ‘em before they reach that church they’ve been squatting in.”

Springer smirked, transformed, and sped off. “Double or nothing says we find a drawing of me getting eaten by a shark on the altar.”

Kup followed with a grumble: “That’s my shark drawing…”

Chapter Text

Fishbone hadn't meant to stay too long.

But the church had stone walls, a half-functioning roof, and a pew long enough to stretch out on without getting soaked. They’d been holed up here for two days, lighting candles for light rather than religion. Their sketchbook lay open across their lap, showing a crude charcoal drawing of Springer’s alt mode getting struck by lightning and Kup sinking into the ocean.

They were halfway through shading in the ocean when the air changed.

Still.

Heavy.

Wrong.

Fish froze. Candlelight flickered harder. Wind didn’t blow like that inside.

They looked up toward the high rafters. No sounds. But their instincts were screaming.

Too quiet.

They moved fast—grabbed the bag, jammed theor belongings inside, and crept toward the rear door.

Locked.

They turned. Side doors—blocked by collapsed wood and metal. They didn’t try the front; Fish wasn’t stupid enough to run into a trap.

They knew who was here.

No voices.

No warning.

Just a quiet, clever cornering.

“Nice try,” Fish muttered. “But I’m not a goddamn stray cat.”

They stomped toward the altar, climbed onto it, and slammed their heel down into a rotting board. Once. Twice. On the third hit, it cracked open with a sickening snap. The wood gave way and they dropped through it, catching their elbow on the edge and hissing.

The crawl space beneath the church smelled like mold and copper.

They didn’t stop.

Not even when a sharp piece of rebar tore through their thigh as they slid out from under the building, face-first into gravel and weeds.

They gritted their teeth. Bit back the scream. Tied their windbreaker around the wound with one hand while crawling toward the treeline.

Chapter Text

Fifteen minutes later Fishbone limped down the flooded roadside, one hand on a chain-link fence, leaving a smear of blood in their wake. Their breath came in short, broken huffs. Their leg screamed with each step.

The sky was starting to blur at the edges.

They didn’t notice the ground trembling behind them.

Didn’t see the headlights flare behind the fog.

“Got ‘em!” Springer’s voice thundered from above as his rotors cut overhead. He transformed mid-hover, landing hard enough to shake the road.

Fish tried to run.

Didn’t make it five steps before Kup's massive hand closed around their waist like a steel clamp and lifted.

“Let me go!” they shouted, flailing. Ignoring the searing pain.

Kup didn’t.

Fish kicked. Slammed a fist into his plating. “I don’t need you! I don’t need alien babysitters! I’ve made it this far without you dragging me around like some broken thing—”

“You’re bleeding, kid!” Kup barked. “You’re half-dead and limping and you think you can outrun us?”

“I didn’t ask for you! I didn’t ask for any of this!” Fish yelled, breath trembling, hands still pounding uselessly against his arm. “I was fine—I was nothing, and I was fine—”

“You were dying,” Kup said, voice low. “Alone.”

Fish stopped fighting.

Kup didn’t let go.

Springer walked up beside them, gentler than his landing. “We could’ve said something back at the church. But you’d have just run.”

Fish didn’t answer. They were too busy staring at the blood on their own fingers.

“…I don’t want to be your pet,” they whispered.

Kup knelt, setting them down gently into Springer’s waiting servos. “Too late. You’re our headache now.”

Fish leaned their head against their palm, chest still heaving, breath ragged.

“…You suck.”

Kup chuckled. “You’ll fit right in.”

Chapter Text

The moment they entered, Fish hated it.

Too bright. Too clean. Everything smelled like cold metal and something burning faintly under the surface—something alive.

Springer carried them through the entrance like a misbehaving pet, until Ratchet’s voice barked from the other side of the room, “Put them down, you oversized chopper! They're not scrap metal!”

Fish got set on a exam table nearly five times their size, obviously meant for cybertronians and not humans. The metal was cold on the back of their thighs, and they sucked in a hiss.

Ratchet loomed, scanner flicking over their leg. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose it. Deep puncture, minor tearing. Infected already. What were you doing?”

“Escaping,” Fish muttered, voice sharp. “Maybe if your friends hadn’t stalked me like predators, I’d have taken the scenic route.”

Ratchet didn’t even look fazed. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re still breathing.”

Fish wanted to slap him.

Instead, they bit the inside of their cheek until they tasted iron.

From the doorframe, Bumblebee stepped in with a cautious sort of calm. “Hey, we’re not trying to make you a prisoner. We just don’t want any more humans dying.”

Fish glared at him. “Humans are already dying.”

That quieted the room.

Even Optimus, standing farther back like a statue carved from silence, didn’t interrupt.

Ratchet returned to work, silently cleaning and stitching. Fish stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched, breath twitching in and out of their nose like steam under pressure.

Later, alone in a corner near the supply crates, Fish pulled out their sketchbook.

Charcoal. Smudged fingers. Unrelenting pressure.

First came the dead Autobot. Quiet eyes. Charred limbs. Peaceful like a statue in a graveyard no one visits.

Then Springer—jaws clenched, rotors cracked, mid-transformation with smoke behind him.

Then Kup. Half his face in shadow. Teeth bared. Eyes lit like spotlights in a storm.

Then Ratchet—drawn mid-yell, mouth wide open, fingers pointed like weapons.

Then Bumblebee. Expression blank. Fish had scribbled over his Autobot badge three times before stopping.

Optimus came last.

Fish didn’t even draw his face—just his silhouette.

Large.

Towering.

Detached.

They didn’t stop until their fingers hurt. They weren’t even sure why they were drawing. Anger, probably. Or fear. Or grief for the version of themselves they no longer were.

Fish stared at the pages. Their hands were still shaking.

From the doorway, Springer leaned against the frame, arms crossed. Watching. Not interrupting.

“You gonna keep drawing us like villains?” he asked after a long pause.

Fish didn’t answer.

They just flipped to a new page and kept going.

Chapter Text

Fish sat near a window—if it could be called that. Reinforced glass thick enough to stop shrapnel. No real view. Just clouds smeared across a gray sky like dried paint.

Their leg ached constantly. They refused to take the painkillers Ratchet left.

They were sketching again—Kup’s optics this time, shaded like burned-out coals.

“You always draw people you hate?”

Fishbone looked up.

Optimus stood in the doorway. Quiet. Massive. Somehow sadder up close.

“I don’t hate you,” Fish said. “I hate being here.”

“That’s fair.”

Fish’s fingers twitched. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I led soldiers who brought you here.”

“You led soldiers who stalked and cornered me like an animal. I wasn’t hurting anyone. You act like this war is my fault just for existing near it.”

Optimus was quiet for too long.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t loud. But it hit with a lot more weight than a shout.

“I don’t think it’s your fault. I think it’s your consequence.”

Fish’s breath caught in their throat.

“You were just living,” Optimus said. “And now the war knows your name. That’s not fair. But I can’t undo it.”

Fish’s voice cracked with something brittle. “Then why keep pretending this is for my protection? I didn’t ask for alien babysitters. I didn’t ask for my house to burn, or to watch a metal man bleed out on in the alley of a gas station. I didn’t ask for any of it. And I sure as hell don’t owe you people anything for scooping me up after.”

Optimus stepped closer, then knelt—enough to be at eye level, even if he was still so large Fish could barely see all of him.

“You don’t owe us anything,” he said with a soft voice. “But you still have a life worth keeping. And even if you don’t believe that, we do.”

Then he stood and walked away.

Fish was left staring at the empty space he’d filled.

Chapter Text

They didn’t expect company.

But Bumblebee showed up anyway.

He approached slowly, deliberately loud enough not to startle.

“Didn’t think bots needed fresh air,” Fishbone muttered.

Bumblebee sat beside them. “I like the stars. They’re constant.”

Fish tilted their head. “Constantly burning.”

Bee hummed. “True. But beautiful anyway.”

Silence lingered, not uncomfortable this time.

“…You draw all of us?” he asked eventually.

Fish nodded. “Yeah. Even the dead ones.”

“Why?”

Fish picked at a fray in their sleeve. “Because no one else will.”

Bumblebee was quiet again. Then: “Can I see?”

Fish hesitated.

Then, without a word, they handed him the book.

He flipped through it slowly. Reverent.

The sketch of him—scratched over, badge buried in graphite—made him pause.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you,” Fish said. “I still don’t.”

Bumblebee nodded once. “Then let me earn it.”

Fish didn’t reply, but they didn’t take the sketchbook back, either.

They just watched the stars together.

And for the first time since the war reached their doorstep, Fish felt the tightness in their chest loosen, just a little.

Chapter Text

“Do you have to do that here?” Ratchet grumbles without looking up.

Fish doesn’t even glance up. “Do you have to exist with such a loud personality?”

Ratchet pauses. Scoffs. “Got some bite for someone who nearly bled out from crawling under a church.”

“I was fine,” Fish mutters, more to themself than anyone else.

“You were septic.”

“Still didn’t die.”

Ratchet snorts. “Yet.”

Fish draws him next. Eyes tired. Hands worn. They don’t tell him.

Later, while pretending to sleep, they hear Ratchet mutter:
“…You draw like someone who’s seen too much.”

And they think, Maybe I have. But I’m still not sure it counts.

Chapter Text

They round a corner.

Freeze.

A girl is sitting with her back against a shipping crate, eating something out of a rusted can. Her clothes are torn, boots two sizes too big. Early twenties. Pale. Human.

She freezes too.

“…Didn’t think anyone else was here,” Fish says quietly.

“Didn’t think anyone alive was here,” she replies. “You with them?”

Fish doesn’t answer.

The girl shifts, nervous. “I’m Leigh. Been on the run since Atlanta fell. Thought this place was abandoned.”

Fish walks forward slowly, lowers themself to the floor a few feet away. Their thigh protests the movement.

“I’m Fish.”

“That a nickname?”

“Yeah.”

“…Cool.”

Silence stretches between them. Not tense. Just tired.

Fish breaks it. “You wanna come with me?”

Leigh shrugs. “Don’t have anywhere else.”

Fish nods once.

Then, almost shyly, they tear out a blank page from their sketchbook and hand it to her, along with a half-broken pencil.

“Draw something?”

Leigh stares at the offering. Then at Fish.

Then she takes it, hands trembling just slightly. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Fish sits hunched on a crate, legs crossed, sketchpad in their lap.

Their spear leans against the wall, stained but cleaned. Nearby, their jacket is folded, hiding the torn lining and blood-crusted sleeve. It still hurts to bend their leg too much.

They’ve been drawing for over an hour.

Soft pencil strokes. Gentle shading.

It’s not a fight scene. It’s not a Decepticon bleeding out or a sketch of Leigh or a memorial of that Autobot they couldn’t save.

It’s Springer—lounging on a pile of rubble with a ridiculous grin, one optic squinted like he's mid-joke. Fish had caught him like that days ago, during a lull. He’d been laughing at something Kup said. They don’t even remember what.

They only remember how relaxed he looked.

The smile on his face.

Fish finishes the sketch with careful shading along the jawline, then sets the pencil down.

They stare at the drawing.

A breath in.

Then it catches.

Their lips press tight. Their nose wrinkles. The first crack forms somewhere behind their ribs.

Suddenly, too violently, they rip the page from the sketchpad.

Hands trembling now, they crumple it. Once. Twice. They slam it against the crate, teeth grit. Their eyes sting.

Then—rip.

They tear it down the center.

Fish exhales hard through their nose, like they’re trying to push the weight back down. Shoves the torn piece into the corner of the room like trash. Like it never mattered.

They sit there in the half-dark, shaking, breathing too fast.

They don’t cry.

They don’t.

They just pick up the pencil again.

And draw something else.

Something ugly. Something meaningless.

Something no one would want to smile at.

Chapter Text

The sky was gray with low-hanging clouds, the kind that made the light feel tired, but the air smelled clean—wet grass and distant chimney smoke. Fish walked alongside Leigh on a cracked two-lane road, the sound of their boots and her sneakers brushing against pebbles and debris. Just past the hilltop lay a town—a handful of buildings huddled together like they were trying to stay warm, surrounded by pine trees and silence. Miraculously untouched.

Springer, looming green and chrome, crouched down out of sight behind the tree line where the road curved. His frame was still, save for his optics tracking their every step. He didn’t like being out of contact, but Fish had made it clear: the town would notice a Cybertronian. Too big, too alien. If they’d brought Kup, maybe… but this wasn’t planned.

“Springer,” Leigh said as she waved her radio, “don’t move from that spot unless the sky falls.”

“Copy that,” came the deep, staticky reply, tinged with amusement. “Don’t get sentimental without me.”

Fish rolled their eyes. “We’ll bring you back a magnet or somethin’.”

Leigh laughed at that, that raspy wheeze she had when something was genuinely funny. It made Fish smirk without meaning to. It felt good, walking like this. Like something almost normal. Leigh still had her beat-up wallet in her jacket, one of the zippers busted, with a crumpled twenty and a few dusty ones tucked inside. When Fish asked her why she still carried money a few weeks ago, she'd said: “It’s not about buying stuff, it’s about pretending I still can.”

The town itself looked like something out of a postcard from before the collapse—shuttered mom-and-pop shops, flower baskets hanging from telephone poles, and an old grocery store with faded signage. The only thing missing was the people. But they were there—behind windows, peeking through curtains, wariness etched into their silhouettes. These folks hadn’t seen Cybertronians up close. Not yet.

Fish and Leigh kept to the sidewalks, no sudden moves. They went into a little store that still ran off a generator. Leigh bought two cans of warm soda and a box of powdered donuts like it was just another Tuesday. The woman behind the counter didn’t ask questions, just gave exact change and looked through them like a fogged mirror.

When they left, Leigh handed Fish one of the sodas. “You know, if I squint, this almost feels like we’re on a road trip.”

Fishbone didn’t answer at first. They popped open the can and sipped, the sweetness too strong, but not unwelcome. “Yeah,” they said finally. “A road trip, with a war machine babysitter hiding in the woods.”

Leigh grinned and slung an arm around their shoulder. “Just the way I like it.”

And for a minute, just a minute, it really did feel like something good might last.

Chapter Text

The night had dropped its weight over the trees, plunging their camp into darkness only broken by the crackle of the bonfire outside. Springer’s low voice rumbled now and again, followed by Kup’s gravelly mutter.

Fishbone could see their silhouettes flickering through the tent flap—broad, mechanical shapes cast in orange light. Safe, familiar shapes now, somehow.

Inside the tent, it was quieter. Dim.

The faint sound of crickets outside met the occasional distant pop of embers.

Leigh was on her side, her blond hair splayed across the sleeping bag like strands of gold thread, catching whatever bits of light filtered in.

Her brown eyes reflected the glow like amber, and the line of three moles on her cheek shifted when she smiled faintly at something Fish had said.

Like a pretty constellation

She was still dressed like she’d stepped out of another time: soft pink sweater with mended seams, a white skirt smudged faintly from travel, and a little silver necklace she’d refused to take off even when they’d had to run.

Leigh had always insisted on looking like herself, even when the world fell apart.

They were lying close now, facing one another. Leigh’s fingers were curled near her collarbone, relaxed. Fish felt the uneven rhythm of their own breath—like a broken machine.

“I keep thinking,” Leigh whispered, her voice brushing the air like silk, “about what I’ll miss. If we don’t make it.”

Fish swallowed, eyes locked on hers. “You won’t miss anything. You’ll be here.”

“But if I wasn’t,” she murmured, “I think I’d miss this the most. Right now. You.”

Leigh gave a tired smile, one side of her mouth curling more than the other.

There wasn’t a decision to make.

It just happened—like the pause between two heartbeats. Fishbone leaned in, their noses bumping slightly, and then they kissed.

Leigh’s hand rose, fingertips grazing Fish’s jaw before settling behind their neck. They kissed again, slower this time.

When they pulled apart, Leigh was smiling in that way she only ever did when it was real—gentle and a little shy, eyes lidded like she was letting herself feel safe for the first time in too long.

Outside, the fire popped and Springer laughed—loud, amused, probably at one of Kup’s bitter old war stories

Chapter Text

The wind had a buzz to it. Like it was humming.

Leigh laughed at something—Fish couldn’t remember what. Her laugh had this wheezing edge when she smiled too hard.

Then came the sound. A crack of trees splitting.

A shadow fell over the clearing.

Before Fish could turn, before Leigh could even finish her sentence—

A Decepticon came down like a goddamned guillotine.

The impact alone knocked Fish off their feet. Sound drowned under metal shrieks and Leigh’s startled scream—cut off halfway.

The ground rumbled.

Fish sat up, head spinning.

And saw it.

Leigh. Still reaching out. Half of her gone under the Decepticon’s grey foot. Her eyes wide. Her body bent like wet paper.

Frozen.

No movement. No noise. Nothing left but—

The Decepticon turned its attention toward Fish next, raising a royal blue cannon attatched to its arm.

Fish didn’t move. Couldn’t.

But the Autobots did.

Springer came in fast. Kup followed. The Decepticon didn’t last long—but it took too damn long anyway. It fled.

Fish didn’t scream until it was over.

Didn’t stop screaming for minutes. Hours. Maybe it was only seconds. Their throat felt flayed raw, like their body was trying to cough out the grief by force.

They stalked toward what remained, boots streaking through blood and dirt.
Only her head was intact.

Fish dropped their sketchbook. The pages caught the wind and scattered.

They threw the bag next. Then the canteen. Then everything in their pockets. Hands trembled. Lips cracked. Face numb.

Kup tried to speak.

Springer tried to come closer.

Fish bared their teeth and snarled, voice cracking open on the words:
“DON’T. You don’t get to touch this. You don’t get to clean it up like it’s trash!”

They collapsed to their knees. Shaking. Sobbing silently now.

“…She didn't deserve this,” Fish whispered. “She just wanted to live.”

Neither Autobot said anything.

There wasn’t a word in any language that could fix the crater left behind.

Chapter Text

Fish barely eats. Sleeps at random. When someone enters the room, they roll away. If someone speaks, they don’t answer.

Ratchet tries once.

“You know she didn’t suffer, right?”

Fish stares at the wall.
Lips part just enough to whisper:

“She was smiling.”

Ratchet says nothing. Just leaves a data pad beside them—a new sketch app loaded, stylus included.

They throw it across the room.

But later that night, they pick it up.

Not because they want to remember.

Because forgetting would be worse.

Fish has said maybe ten words in three days. They wear Leigh's necklace now. Don’t talk much, but when they do, it’s blunt. Ugly. Honest.

“You planning to be like this the whole trip?” Springer asks as they crest a mountain pass, parked under twilight.

Fish doesn’t look up from the hill’s edge. “Like what?”

“Silent. Miserable. Uncooperative.”

Fish snorts. “I am cooperating. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Springer rolls his optics and mutters something about emotional humans.

Kup doesn’t say a word. Just walks behind them. Keeps watch. Like he always does.

Chapter Text

Kup rolls in first.

Springer transforms behind him.

Fish, small and hooded, walks behind, hands in pockets, jaw locked tight.

Blaster notices them first. He’s the one who calls out:

“New recruit, or you found a stray?”

Fish flips him off.

Blurr snorts.

Roadbuster gives a short, grumbling laugh. “They got spirit.”

Perceptor is already analyzing Fish’s posture and temperament.

Drift stands apart—quiet. Watching.

Kup finally speaks. “This is Fish. Don’t scare them off.”

“Fish?” Blurr echoes.

“That’s what I said.”

Springer nods toward Fish. “They’re a fighter.”

Fish looks at each of them. No greetings. Just a nod, short and sharp.

Then:
“…Leigh would’ve hated all this metal.”

They sit against a crate, pull out their stylus and pad.

No one asks who Leigh is. No one needs to.

Fish starts to draw. And stays.

Chapter Text

Fish doesn’t talk much—but they watch.

They learn the rhythms. Who argues the loudest (Blaster). Who broods sits in corners (Drift). Who treats pain like a casual nuisance (Roadbuster). Who actually gives a damn (Kup).

Perceptor catches them studying weapons layouts once. Offers to teach them. They refuse.

They draw every Wrecker at least twice—usually with some part scratched out. They aren't pretty drawings either, they're sad and weirdly poetic. Usually about death, but there's a message. Fighting for those we've lost.

Chapter Text

Fish wasn't supposed to be there.

Kup told them to stay back. Fish agreed. Then they didn’t.

They came flying in behind rubble like a feral animal, a broken cinderblock in both hands. Hurling it like it weighs nothing.

The block bounces off a Decepticon’s ankle joint—startles them long enough for Blurr to get the shot in.

Next comes a jagged rebar pole, whipped through the air like a spear.

It misses. Hits Roadbuster’s shoulder plating. Dents it.

“THE HELL WAS THAT?” Roadbuster snarls, half turning—

“IT WAS ME, SORRY!” Fish yells from behind a burned-out car.

Kup groans.

Springer laughs. “They’re making themselves useful!”

“Barely,” Drift mutters.

Fish dodges plasma fire, ducks, and pelts another Decepticon in the optics with a spray can tied to a shoelace.

A small explosion. The mech screams.

“See?! I’m HELPING!” Fish howls.

“No authorization!” Perceptor shouts over comms.

Fish flips him off, panting.

“I authorize myself, nerd!”

Chapter Text

Kup squats down beside them, optics narrowed.

“You disobeyed orders.”

Fish wipes blood from their nose. “Yeah.”

“You could’ve died.”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“…You’re not bad with improvised weapons.”

Fish smirks. “Didn’t know I had it in me.”

“You’ll be cleaning Roadbuster’s plating for a week.”

“I’ll draw his ugly mug on it in Sharpie.”

Kup doesn’t smile, but his optics soften.

“You’re one of us now. You know that, right? Have been for a while..”

Fish doesn’t respond for a long time. Then:

“…I didn’t throw that rebar at Roadbuster on purpose.”

Kup finally grins.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

They see the scout first.

Not big—not like the others. But fast. Sharp. Built like a blade.

Fish stays low. Hands clenched around the pole-spear they'd sharpened the night before. They've been practicing. Hitting tree trunks. Makeshift targets. Drift’s ankle, once. (He'd dared them).

The Decepticon hasn’t seen them.

But they hear something—a faint sound. A damaged vocalizer crackling, comms fried.

A perfect opportunity.

Fish moves. Fast. Breath in their chest like thunder. Every step is instinct now.

They leap from cover, screaming—

The spear drives into the Decepticon’s side, hard. Not fatal. Not yet. But deep.

The mech howls, flailing. Blaster appears at the treeline—drawn by the sound. Blaster fires.

A single shot—precise, to the knee joint. The Decepticon stumbles, gives Fish an opening.

They don’t hesitate. Another scream, another strike. This one to the throat.

It doesn’t take long.

The body crumples.

Fish stands over it. Blood—or what's left of Energon—splattered across their face, clothes, even under their nails. They’re shaking. But smiling.

Chapter Text

Fish bursts through the entrance like a living war cry.

“I KILLED ONE!”

Everyone turns.

Fish stomps into the middle of the base, soaked from the toe up in violet Energon and pride.

“I killed a Decepticon scout with a stick! A freaking stick!! Someone draw a tally—mark that down!”

They spin once, laughing. Kup’s jaw hangs slightly open. Roadbuster stares like he’s seeing a ghost. Springer raises both hands in mock surrender.

“I told you all I was useful,” Fish crows. “I should get a Wrecker badge or something. A sticker. Something official!”

They slap Blaster's leg hard, nearly knocking a weapon out of his hand in surprise. “You saw it, right?”

Blaster nods, chuckling. “Oh yeah.”

Fish grins, giddy and wild. “Knew you had my back.”

They march off, already yelling for someone to look at this spear, waving it around like a flag.

Blaster side steps over to Kup.

Quietly, he mutters, “They got the first and final hit in. I just clipped the knee. Would’ve gone down eventually, but I sped it up.”

Kup hums, arms crossed.

“…They yell at you again?” he asks without looking.

“Loudly,” Blaster answers. “Said they didn’t need a bodyguard. Called me a ‘stage prop.’”

Kup grunts. Amused.

Then, with the barest ghost of a smile: “Let ’em have it. They earned that one.”

Chapter Text

Fish has scrubbed the Energon from their body. Most of it. What’s left clings under their nails and sticks to wrinkles. Smells like hot copper and ozone. The spear leans against the wall beside them, tip cracked.

They’re shivering. Not from cold. Just… shaking.

Their fingers twitch like they’re still holding it. Like the kill’s still happening. Over and over.

They hug their knees.

'I killed something. I killed someone.'

No amount of cheering or gloating sticks now. It’s hollow in their chest. Echoing.

“It was alone,” they whisper to no one. “Didn’t even get to call home. I didn’t let them.”

They bury their face in their arms. Why did I laugh?

The spear was meant for practice. For pretending. Not for this.

They think about Leigh.

How the Decepticon’s heel crushed her like a bug. How Fish screamed until they almost passed out.

And now Fish knows exactly what it feels like to be on the other side.

They press their forehead into the floor and cry, silent and choking. Raw and ugly.

You wanted a purpose.
This is what it looks like.

They cry harder.

And in the dark, beyond the tarp curtain, someone pauses—just long enough to hear—and walks away without speaking.

Maybe giving Fish the one thing they need most tonight.

Space.

Chapter Text

Fish is already up.

They haven’t slept. Not really. Just stared at the ceiling of the tent all night, eyes wide in the dark, hand twitching every time they remembered the sound—the one the Decepticon made when they drove the spear through it.

Now, they're silent.

Not the usual kind of quiet where they're thinking about something dumb or scribbling in the margins of a sketchpad. This is stiff-jawed, unblinking, back-straight silence. Their eyes are sunken in like they've been hollowed out, but their shoulders are square. Their walk is steady.

They’ve wrapped their hands in fabric—tight. Too tight. The white’s already turning red at the knuckles.

Kup eyes them as they grab a pack of supplies.

“You good?”

Fish doesn’t look up. “Fine.”

They sling the pack over their shoulder.

Springer tries next. “If you need time, no one’s—”

“I said I’m fine.” Their voice cracks, but they don’t let it break. They don’t stop. “Can we just go?”

The other Wreckers exchange a glance. No one calls them out. Not yet.

Fish moves toward the exit like they’ve been doing this their whole life. Like yesterday didn’t happen. Like something deep inside didn’t fracture and sink.

They step out into the dead forest, eyes forward.

And they don’t look back.

Chapter Text

Springer and the Decepticon are locked in a fight that sounds like thunder in a cage.

Metal on metal. Sparks flying like dying fireflies. Springer laughs between blows, a deep-bellied thing—half bravado, half thrill.

Blurr stands leaned against a broken slab of concrete, arms crossed, optics tracking the fight with lazy ease.

“I could time how long it’ll take him to finish,” he says. “But it’d be boring.”

Fish isn’t listening.

They stand just a few feet away, watching, spear gripped in their hands like a lifeline. No sparkle in their eye. No pride. No wide smile. Just a tight grimace, as if they’re chewing glass and trying not to flinch.

Two nights ago, they were radiant, drenched in Energon and triumph.

Now they look like a wax statue left too long in the sun.

Blurr notices.

He watches their fingers whiten. Their jaw clenched. Their eyes not quite focused on the fight but somewhere just past it—like they’re watching something else play out behind the real scene.

Blurr tilts his head.

“You alright?”

Fish doesn’t answer.

The fight ends. Springer drives his blade through the Decepticon’s shoulder and slams them down hard enough to crater the ground.

Fish doesn’t cheer.

Springer straightens, venting heavily, clearly pleased with himself. “See that? Took it slow. Gotta enjoy the little things.”

Fish only nods. A quick and pained nod.

Blurr’s quiet a second longer. Then says, softly, “You don’t gotta pretend it’s still fun.”

Fish flinches like he’d slapped them.

Blurr doesn’t press. Just nudges their shoulder as he walks past, light as wind. “Just sayin’. You’re allowed to hate it.”

Fish stares after him.

Then looks down at the spear in their hand.

Their reflection doesnt come back in the rusted metal.

Chapter Text

Fish, having overheard some of the Wreckers discussing how they don’t get human entertainment, gets an idea. “Alright, enough of the card nonsense. I’ve got a game for you.”

Kup raises an optic ridge. “Not another one of your weird games.”

Fish flashes a grin. “Oh, this one’s great. You’ll love it. It’s called charades.”

Springer raises his arms. “Charades? Is that some sort of combat training?”

“Not even close,” Fish chuckles. “You have to act out something—could be a person, a place, or a thing—and everyone else guesses what it is.”

Blurr leans forward eagerly. “Sounds like a challenge. I’m in!”

“Of course you are,” Fish laughs, exasperated. “But there’s a twist. I’m only going to pick human stuff. So, no transforming into giant robots or using your fancy sensors, alright?”

Everyone groans collectively.

“Fine,” Blurr grumbles. “But if you pick something ridiculous, I’m blaming you.”

Fish just shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, if it’s ridiculous, that’s on you guys for not knowing it.”

The game begins, with Fish going first. They look over the group, grinning mischievously.

“I’ll start easy,” Fish says, positioning themselves dramatically in the center of the room. “Ready?”

“Bring it on!” Blurr says, eager to take a crack at it.

Fish takes a deep breath, then begins miming vigorously. First, they pantomime holding an invisible ball, awkwardly bending their knees, and then they start jumping. Then they spin around and pretend to wave an invisible flag.

Kup raises an optic. “Uh... are you playing sports?”

Fish shakes their head, then changes up the motions, pretending to throw something into the air, a dramatic overhead motion. They land on their feet, making a wooshing sound.

Springer frowns, squinting. “A sport… I’m seeing sports, but… what is this, exactly?”

“Basketball!” Blurr suddenly shouts, clapping his hands together. “It’s basketball! You’re miming basketball!”

Fish laughs and gives a thumbs-up. “Ding, ding! That’s right! You got it. Not bad for a bunch of metalheads.”

Blurr pumps his fist in victory. “I knew it!.”

Kup looks unimpressed. “That was too easy. Let’s see what Fish has for us next.”

Fish grins, hands on their hips. “Alright, alright. Time for a challenge.”

They drop to the ground, kneeling with one arm up in the air, pretending to hold something small in their hand. They look puzzled, like they’re searching for something. Then they dramatically mime biting down on an invisible object and wince, as though it’s tough to chew. They look around, as if searching for someone.

Kup looks at Springer, raising an eyebrow. “What are they doing? Some kind of food?”

Springer crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmm… it looks like they're… eating?”

Fish makes exaggerated chewing motions and gives them a pitiful look, clearly unimpressed with the food they’re pretending to eat. “Come on, take a guess! This one’s classic.”

Perceptor, who had been mostly quiet, raises his hand. “Could it be… an apple?”

“Bingo!” Fish says, snapping their fingers. “You got it! It’s an apple. It’s a classic human snack. One a day keeps doctors away, too.”

Kup raises his arms in mock accusation. “How could I have missed that? You’re all amateurs!"

“I’m too good,” Perceptor says with an exaggerated air of smugness.

Chapter Text

Perceptor’s voice carries as he fiddles with a scanner. “You see, the energy distribution along the southern ridge proves inefficient. I’ve told Blaster three times that if we simply—”

“—if we simply reroute the current, yeah, yeah,” Fish snaps suddenly, not looking up from their sketchbook. “You’ve said that. Twice. Loudly.”

Perceptor pauses, surprised. “I was only explaining the necessity. Perhaps it’s unfamiliar to you—”

“Oh, I get it, don’t worry.” Fish’s pencil presses hard against the page. “You think I don’t understand because I’m not twenty feet tall and made of walking calculator parts.”

Perceptor blinks, optics narrowing slightly. “That’s not what I said.”

Fish stands abruptly, sketchbook in hand, jaw clenched. “You say it without saying it every time you open your mouth, Percy.”

“Perceptor,” he corrects, reflexively.

Fish slams the sketchbook shut. “Whatever! You just love being the smartest guy in the room, don’t you?”

Now the others are starting to notice the raised voices. Roadbuster looks up from his corner, but doesn’t interrupt.

Perceptor straightens. “If knowledge bothers you, Fish, then perhaps—”

“It doesn’t!” Fish snaps, stepping closer. “You just remind me of—”

They cut themselves off, fists clenching. Their voice drops. “You remind me of things I’d rather forget.”

Perceptor is silent. Calculating.

Fish swallows, hard. “You remind me of classrooms. And whiteboards. And people who were safe and smug and thought they had all the answers while the world was on fire! You remind me of before everything went wrong.”

There’s a pause. Just the quiet hum of Perceptor's machinery.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Fish mutters, voice cracking now. “I didn’t ask for you to explain the world to me like I’m stupid.”

Perceptor shifts. “You’re not stupid.”

Fish turns away. “Tell your scanners that!”

They stomp out of the room, sketchbook under their arm, shielding it.

Perceptor doesn’t follow. But later, when Fish turns on their datapad, theres a message. Just for them, not in a group comm. It's from Perceptor. The only message he's sent them.

“You’re not stupid. But you are angry. I don’t know how to help that yet.”

Fish stares at it for a long time. Then turns the datapad off with shaking fingers.

Chapter Text

Fish sat outside the base, staring to the east where the sun was beginning to rise for the day. It was peaceful, and stark contrast from the past few stress filled days.

Nobody else was awake, not that they knew of. Their sketchpad sat in their lap, untouched since they had sat down.

They were going to draw Perceptor. Take their anger out on him.

That didn't happen.

Everything felt peaceful, like the time before everything went to hell. Before world leaders turned on each other and aliens landed on earth. Landing innocent people; like Leigh, in the crosshairs.

They didnt truly have anyone for a while, but now they really felt alone.

Sure, they had the Wreckers. Kup, Springer, Blaster, Drift, and etc, but they couldn't fill a hole that had cut it's way into their heart.

Maybe one day, but not today.

The sun kept creeping higher into the sky. Streaks of light painting Fishbone's face like a mosaic.

The day was going to be sunny.