Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The battlefield was chaos. Explosions echoed across the charred landscape, casting jagged shadows against the towering forms of warring titans. Shards of metal and fire rained down like hell’s confetti. Amidst it all, the piercing roar of Optimus Prime's command cut through the destruction: "Autobots, fall back!"

You watched it unfold, your heart racing with the familiar panic of someone who had seen this scene a hundred times before. Except this time, it wasn’t just the movie screen at your local theatre that conjured the booming noises. This wasn’t some nightmarish dream conjured from the depths of obsession and nostalgia.

This was real.

And you were dying.

You couldn’t feel your legs, but the searing heat around you told you they were still there—probably pinned under a piece of burning wreckage. Above you, two titans continued their clashing in a storm of blades, guns, and fists, their movements shaking the earth on screen almost in time to the ones around you. Optimus Prime and Megatron were locked in their timeless dance of betrayal and hatred, just as you had seen before, ignorant of the damages happening outside their world and yet... it had not been them who had caused the wreckage around you.

As your vision blurred and darkened, a single thought burned in your mind: It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This was supposed to be a fun time with friends watching the newest addition to the franchise as it celebrated its 20th anniversary. Not death and despair. The selfless part of you hoped they had made it out alive. The selfish part hoped they wouldn’t leave you to die alone, watching over metal giants as they fought for their own survival.

That was when the voice spoke. It wasn’t human; no, it was far too vast, too ancient, for that. It resonated in your mind like the hum of a starship engine, deep and full of purpose.

"Your spark burns brighter than most, child of another world. Do you wish to save them?"

Your breath hitched. Save them? Could you?

The answer was instinctive. "Yes."

"Then rise, bearer of knowledge. Rise, and change the course of the stars."

The darkness consumed you entirely.

When you woke, it wasn’t to the scent of scorched earth or the sight of metal giants. It was to the hum of machines and the distant beeping of heart monitors. It was to the blurry sight of white walls and soft fabric wrapped tight around your body.

It was to the knowledge that you had died and left everything you knew behind and a high-pitched mourning wail left your mouth at the thought of it.

Chapter Text

Theia Novae Wilson.

A new name for a new life.

The name felt foreign on your tongue, like trying on a suit that didn’t quite fit yet. It had taken weeks to fully comprehend. To accept that the searing pain and chaos of your death had somehow transitioned into this strange, unnerving new existence. Whoever—or whatever—that voice had been, it hadn’t been lying. You weren’t just alive; you were somewhere else entirely. Carrying knowledge that no newborn infant should know.

You had never considered how humiliating it might be to exist as an infant again.

Everything was too bright, too loud, and far too wet. The moment you’d been wrenched into this world—kicking and screaming because, well, what else could you do? —you knew something was deeply, cosmically wrong.

You were supposed to be dead.

The last thing you remembered was fire and metal, explosions that shook the earth, and the terrible sound of Optimus Prime and Megatron locked in combat as the theatre collapsed around you for whatever reason. Then there was the voice—that voice—and a promise.

‘Rise, bearer of knowledge. Rise, and change the course of the stars.’

Except you hadn’t risen. You’d been shoved down into something soft and squishy and disturbingly fragile.

And now you were here, cradled in the arms of a woman with long, unkempt hair, wide eyes brimming with tears, and a flowy gown that reeked of lavender. Her voice was soft and gentle as she cooed at you.

“Oh, look at her, Rowan! She’s absolutely perfect,” she said, her voice trembling with joy.

You wanted to argue, but your mouth betrayed you. Instead of words, all that came out was a gurgle and a pitiful cry.

Rowan, a wiry man with a beard tangled with gems and clasps that sparkled, leaned over and grinned down at you. “She’s got such a strong aura. You can tell she’s destined for something great.”

Strong aura? You almost laughed. Instead, you wailed again, partly out of frustration and partly because you were hungry, tired, and furious at the universe for doing this to you.

-------------

It didn’t take long to piece together what had happened.

You were alive—again. Or, rather, you had been reborn, plopped into the body of a helpless, squirming baby to start over from scratch.

Your new parents, Rowan and Sage Wilson (because of course that was their names), were self-described free spirits who believed in energy healing, star alignments, and the power of homemade kombucha. They lived on a sprawling plot of land somewhere in rural California, surrounded by wildflowers, crystals, and enough incense to make your new lungs wheeze. You were just happy they didn’t add weed to the already dizzying number of herbal scents that surrounded you on a daily basis.

And they had named you Theia Novae Wilson after a “vision” Sage had during her labour.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. A celestial name for someone who had once dreamed of reaching for the stars but now couldn’t even hold up their own head.

Adjusting to your new reality was... difficult.

For one, your body was an uncoordinated mess. Your limbs flailed uselessly, and your tiny hands couldn’t even grasp properly. The simplest tasks—like turning your head—felt monumental. And don’t get started on the crying. You hated how instinctive it was, how your body betrayed you with every tiny discomfort.

Worse still was the sheer boredom. Days blurred together in a haze of naps, feedings, and diaper changes. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but wait and watch.

But you could think.

And that’s what kept you sane.

Your mind, at least, was still your own, sharp and overflowing with knowledge. You spent hours lying in your crib, staring at the ceiling and replaying scenes from different movies and shows to entertain yourself.

The first real breakthrough came when you were six months old.

By then, you’d learned to sit up, and your parents were thrilled. Sage clapped her hands, declaring it a sign of your “indigo child” status, while Rowan recorded the moment on a camcorder. You, meanwhile, had your eyes on a different prize.

During one of their outdoor meditation sessions in a park—where they left you on the grass in the middle of a ring of crystals “to align your energies with Mother Earth”—you heard a familiar voice.

Big eyes widening further, your head whipped around towards the female who was cooing loudly, near tears, over her own baby a bit away. Your eyes darted over their form quickly, taking them in to confirm your thoughts. Pale skin and frazzled light brown hair that fell around but not quite touching her shoulders. Tilting your head you tried to focus in on her voice, so different from your current parents’ soft ones, carried easily even towards your distant state in a loud confirmation of who she was.

Judy Witwicky.

Wife to Ron Witwicky, mother of Samuel Witwicky, who himself was the main human character of the Bayverse Transformers franchise.

Your heart leapt. It was real.

They were real.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt. You weren’t just reborn into some random place -- you were reborn into their world. The Transformers world.

And Judy Witwicky, the mother of the franchise’s central human character, was right there, less than fifty feet away.

A surge of panic mixed with excitement shot through you. Your mind raced, recalling every detail about her and her son, Sam. Judy was kind-hearted, nosy, and fiercely protective of her family. But more importantly, she was the mother of the boy who would stumble upon Bumblebee and set off a chain of events that would determine the fate of Earth and Cybertron alike.

This was your chance—a chance to make a connection, to lay the groundwork for the future. Except... you were six months old.

What could you possibly do? Wave your chubby arms and hope she noticed? Gurgle out something profound? It was absurd.

Still, you had to try.

You clumsily turned your body towards her and let out a loud, insistent wail. Your parents, who were mid-chant in their meditation, immediately broke their focus.

“Oh, what’s wrong, my little starbeam?” Sage crooned, scooping you up in her arms.

You cried louder, flailing your tiny arms in Judy’s direction.

“Maybe she’s sensing something,” Rowan said, standing and peering around the park. “You know how babies are—so connected to the spiritual plane.”

Connected to the spiritual plane? No, Rowan, you were trying to connect to the Transformers plane.

Sage rocked you gently, shushing you in that calming voice. “Let’s walk her around a bit. The energy in this spot might be too intense for her little aura today.”

Rowan nodded, and the two of them began strolling through the park, carrying you closer to where Judy sat. Your heart pounded with each step. This was your moment.

Judy was fussing over her baby—Sam, no doubt—adjusting his blanket and cooing at him in that loud, loving way of hers. You let out another wail, desperate to draw her attention.

It worked.

Judy glanced up, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Oh, what a little cutie pie!” she exclaimed, waving at you. “Is she fussy? My Sammy here’s been the same way all day.”

“Oh, she’s probably just overwhelmed by all the energy,” Sage replied, her voice calm and serene.

Judy raised an eyebrow, clearly uncertain how to respond to that. “Well, babies are sensitive, I guess,” she said diplomatically.

Sage smiled, her grip on you tightening protectively. “Exactly. It’s why we bring her to places like this. Nature helps balance her energy fields.”

Judy gave a polite nod, though her expression said she wasn’t quite sure what to make of your parents.

You, on the other hand, were staring at Sam. The little bundle in Judy’s arms was squirming, oblivious to the storm of thoughts racing through your mind even as he tried to escape his mother. That tiny, helpless baby would one day fight Decepticons, would hold and destroy the All-Spark. And become one of the most important human figures in this universe.

And you? You were stuck in the body of an infant, with what you had thought was no real way to influence the future yet.

But this was a start. Because if you played your cards right you could influence one of the most important characters in the story.

You cooed softly, trying to appear as adorable and non-threatening as possible. If you could just make a positive impression now, maybe—just maybe—it would open doors later.

Judy chuckled, her gaze softening as she looked at you. “She’s got such big, curious eyes,” she said. “I bet she’s going to be a smart one.”

Rowan beamed. “Oh, she’s already so in tune with everything around her. You wouldn’t believe it.”

Judy smiled politely, but her focus quickly returned to Sam as he squealed in her arms. She adjusted his blanket, humming softly to soothe him. He ignored the attempts and continued to squirm, kick, and wail in her arms. As your parents went to turn on their way to give her space, you let out a panicked chirp, desperate to make more contact than this.

Sam paused in his movements, blinking up at you with deep blue eyes that were clearly already darkening to their future hazel colour. You blinked back and let out another, softer chirp and received one in return. His own chubby arms reached out to you accompanied by a flutter of coos and gurgles. You responded in kind, for once glad that you couldn’t get your body to do anything beyond normal infant things.

It was surreal. You and Sam—babies who would one day play vastly different roles in the grand drama of the universe—gurgling at each other like two pigeons on a park bench. Your tiny hearts beat in tandem, and in that moment, you felt a strange kind of kinship. A connection forged not from your shared future, but from the simple, primal understanding of infants reaching out in curiosity.

“Oh, look at that,” Judy said with a laugh, her face lighting up as she watched the interaction. “They’re already making friends.”

Sage smiled, her expression as dreamy as ever. “How wonderful! Their auras must be in harmony.”

Rowan stroked his beard, his eyes twinkling. “A meeting of souls, perhaps? Who knows what destinies might intertwine from this?”

If only they knew.

Your parents, bless their well-meaning hearts, clearly believed this was some cosmic event of spiritual significance. Judy, on the other hand, seemed more focused on how adorable the whole scene was, her scepticism toward their beliefs hidden behind a polite smile.

Sam let out another squeal and kicked his legs excitedly. You responded with your best effort at a laugh—a weird, hiccupping sound that made Sage coo over you like you’d just performed a miracle. Judy chuckled, too, bouncing Sam lightly in her arms.

“Well,” Judy said, “it looks like these two are going to be quite the pair if this keeps up.”

You wanted to scream Yes, we are! but all that came out was another gurgle. Still, you were determined. This was your chance to plant the seeds of a bond that could matter in the future. You had to make the most of it.

Sage leaned closer to Judy, cradling you as if presenting you to the world. “You know, we’re always open to playdates,” she said. “It’s so important for little ones to connect with like-minded souls.”

Judy hesitated, glancing down at Sam, who had calmed and was now staring at you with rapt attention. “That’s… sweet of you,” she said, clearly unsure how to navigate the conversation. “We’ll see how things go.”

Sage beamed, clearly taking that as a yes. “Wonderful! The stars must have aligned for us to meet today. We come out here every day now that our little starbeam is old enough. I look forward to meeting again.”

You couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? Were you actually getting a foothold into Sam Witwicky’s life—however small—through a chance encounter in a park? It wasn’t much, but it was something. A start.

Your heart raced with anticipation. The voice that had brought you here had said you were to change the course of the stars. Maybe, just maybe, this was the first step.

As your parents began to stroll away, you caught one last glance at Judy and Sam. Judy was smiling, her attention divided between her son and the retreating form of your family. Sam was still staring at you, his tiny face alight with curiosity.

You chirped one last time, and Sam responded in kind. A small sound, almost imperceptible, but it carried a weight you couldn’t quite explain.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Somehow, you would find your way back to them. You would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Over the next few years, your days were consumed by the slow, frustrating process of growing up again. Every milestone—rolling over, crawling, walking—felt like an eternity to achieve. But each step brought you closer to the moment you could truly act.

Your parents’ eccentric, but surprisingly nice, lifestyle gave you plenty of time to think. They homeschooled you early, focusing on meditation, nature walks, and ‘spiritual enlightenment,’ which left you free to secretly plan and scheme.

You learned quickly, and guiltily, how to leverage their beliefs to your advantage. Want a telescope to ‘study the stars’? They were thrilled to buy one, thinking it was a sign of your spiritual growth. Need a computer for ‘educational purposes’? Done. Books on different fields such as astronomy, biology, and even mechanics (though that one was harder to score until you brought up that greenhouse maintenance was mechanical in nature) were quickly thrown your way and you devoured each one, eager to gain all the knowledge that you could to help you on your chosen path. They were so proud for having such a smart child who was so interested in the world around them that they never seemed to pause and question how it was you could read such high-level things so early on.

By the time you were four, you’d built up a surprising amount of knowledge about the world you now inhabited. The Witwicky’s were local, living just a few neighbourhoods over. You still met up with Judy and Sam in the park, more than happy to force them to spend time with you and your little oddball family. Sam was always excited to come by and run around the grassy playground with you, listening in quiet rapture as you told stories about the stars so high above. About crystal cities on a foreign planet that towered as high as Earth's mountains and giant metallic titans that could transform and race one another at speeds, humans could never reach.

When you turned five, the next milestone was reached. A new member joined your little duo when you both started school. Miles Lancaster. A boy who enjoyed climbing trees like he was part squirrel and had a fascination with the aeroplanes and jets that were always flying by high in the sky.

Your little trio formed quickly, bound together by a shared sense of wonder and curiosity. Sam’s bright enthusiasm and Miles’ daring spirit complemented your careful, calculating approach to everything. Together, you explored every corner of your small town, finding adventure in the mundane.

At school, you were the quiet, precocious one. Teachers praised your intelligence, often amazed by how you absorbed information like a sponge. Miles was the class clown, always with a quick joke or a mischievous grin. Sam, eager to please, floated somewhere between, charming everyone with his genuine friendliness. The three of you were inseparable.

When you weren’t in class, you’d lead your friends on “missions.” These were often elaborate scavenger hunts or explorations of the wooded areas on the outskirts of your property. Armed with toy compasses, flashlights, and Sam’s overstuffed backpack, you’d spend hours pretending to be explorers in some alien world, capturing bugs and bringing home random stones you found. To you, it wasn’t entirely pretend. You’d tell stories about planets beyond the stars, weaving intricate tales that left Sam and Miles hanging on your every word.

“Do you think there really could be aliens out there?” Sam asked one day, lying on the grass of the school playground and staring up at the clouds.

“Definitely,” you said without hesitation. “The universe is too big for us to be alone. Maybe they’re watching us right now, waiting for the right moment to say hello.”

Miles propped himself up on one elbow, his wide eyes brimming with excitement. “What if they’re giant? Like... skyscraper tall! And they can shapeshift! That’d be awesome. Imagine riding on one who could turn into a dragon!”

You smirked, mind wandering briefly to Predaking and how cool it would be to ride on the giant metallic dragon. “That would be cool.”

______________

Life had settled into an odd but comfortable rhythm by the time you turned sixteen. Sam, Miles, and you had grown from wild kids with boundless imaginations to teens with an unshakable bond. It was a gift you refused to squander even when you wanted to strangle the two boys when their more stupid or perverted habits started up.

Speaking of – you watched with a roll of your eyes as Sam openly stared in admiration from his desk as Mikaela Banes walked by. You could understand it of course, Mikaela was quite the pretty girl with the popularity and smarts to match. Had you actually been a sixteen-year-old, instead of mentally in your thirties, you might have even crushed on her too. Instead, you just sat in the background with Miles, internally shaking your head at how dumb Sam suddenly became around her.

What you wouldn’t do for a good glass of liquor to burn away the feeling of second-hand embarrassment right now. You were pretty sure Rowan’s latest batch of kombucha had accidently fermented too much. If you had been home, you would have downed it without a second thought. What a shame that instead you were forced to attend the farce that was high school all over again instead of lounging comfortably in the hammock strung up in your room.

Once more despairing over your new physical age and its setbacks, you pulled out your notebook and pen ready to get today's history lesson over with.

Ever since the year had started, you had greeted each history class with a mixed feeling of apprehension and anticipation. Every day that passed brought you closer to the assignment that would become the catalyst for the horror show that would be the rest of your lives. The feelings had only grown once Sam had revealed closer to the beginning of the new semester that his father had cut him a deal about getting a new car if he could earn $2,000 and three A’s.

The future assignment that haunted your thoughts was a simple one on the surface: a family history project. Every junior was required to present a detailed report about a member from their ancestry, showcasing photos, keepsakes, or personal anecdotes. While you only had a vague idea of what to do for yours, you knew what this would mean for Sam.

In the next few days, his father would drag out the old family heirlooms. The faded photograph of Archibald Witwicky, the map, and most importantly, the glasses -- proof of the mad man’s claims of seeing mechanical beings on an icebound expedition, even if no one else knew it yet. Sam would present these with teenage disdain, joking about his family’s kooky past. He would get a, rather undeserved in your opinion, A- on his project.

The third A needed to seal the deal.

You twirled your pen idly, your mind drifting away from the droning lecture. History class felt like a cruel joke when you already knew how history would unfold. The arrival of Bumblebee, the resurrection of Megatron (did it count as a resurrection if he wasn’t actually dead but frozen in place?), and the chaos of the AllSpark drama—it all loomed over you like a storm cloud.

"Are you even listening?" Miles whispered from his seat beside you, nudging your arm.

You blinked, shaking off your thoughts. "Of course. Mr. Graham is enthralling as always."

Miles snorted, clearly not convinced. "Sure you are. You looked like you were planning world domination or something."

"If only," you muttered as you focused in on what Mr. Graham was saying. You were pretty certain that world domination would be much easier than trying to come up with a bajillion plans on how to alter future actions on not only humans but giant aliens as well so that everything came out with the least amount of loss possible.

Yeah world domination was a nice thought in comparison even if you didn’t actually care for ruling anything.

It was hard to decide how to feel about it, you mused as you watched Mr. Graham pace back and forth continuing with the lecture half of today's lesson. On one hand, the thought of seeing Optimus Prime and the Autobots in person was exhilarating. On the other, you knew the devastation that would follow. Cybertron’s war wouldn’t stay in the shadows anymore.

It would come here, to Earth, leaving destruction in its wake.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Graham began, dropping a stack onto his desk with a heavy thud, startling you once more from your thoughts. “I hope you’ve been paying attention, because today I’m assigning your first major project of the semester: family history. In college you will need to know how to research—”

Your stomach twisted as the words hit you.

It was starting.

______________

The bell rang, signalling the end of your last class for the day. You gathered your things, your movements automatic as your mind raced. How could you alter the course of events? You couldn’t stop Sam from presenting the heirlooms without raising suspicion. Even if you tried, fate seemed to have a way of ensuring these events played out. But perhaps, just perhaps, you could prepare for the fallout.

As you stepped into the crowded hallway, Sam bounded up to you, grinning ear to ear as his fingers flew over the keyboard on his phone. "Hey! Nova! Guess what? My dad says there's some family heirlooms in the attic I can use for the history project. He says I’ll find something 'super cool.' Knowing him it’ll be some piece of junk that his nature won’t let him get rid of.”

Your stomach twisted, though you forced a casual smile. "Sounds fun. Let me know if you find any hidden treasures."

Miles sidled up, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders. "If you find some old pirate gold, you better split it three ways."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, right. I’ll sell it all and get that car."

"Good luck with that," you said, feigning amusement as dread continued to curl in your chest. Wrapping its dark vines around your heart and mind, squeezing painfully even as you tried to hold it back with the meditation techniques you had learned from your parents.

The weekend, along with the due date, would fast approach, and with it, hopefully, the beginning of the end of the war. If you wanted to change the future, you’d have to act soon. There was just one problem.

You still hadn’t settled on a course of action.

That night, you sat in your room, staring at the cluttered desk before you. The telescope, the scribbled-in notebooks, the textbooks—all the tools you’d painstakingly collected over the years. They weren’t enough, you were certain of it.

Grabbing a sheet of paper, you began to sketch out another plan. You weren’t certain anyone, bot or human, could count high enough for how many plans you’d made and discarded over the years. You couldn’t stop the storm, but you could be the eye within it.

First, you need to keep track of the glasses. Once Sam unearthed them and posted them online to sell, there was no turning back. Though, you thought as you chewed on the eraser end of your pencil, you supposed you could try and convince him not to sell them. It’s not like he managed to do so in the movie so it wouldn’t affect him getting a new car.

But it would affect whether or not any of the Cybertronians found him. After all, it was that posting that alerted both the Autobots and the Decepticons to his existence.

You paused.

Had it been? You suddenly weren’t so certain that was the case. After all, how had Bumblebee known to be at the car lot that day? It was true the yellow Autobot was a scout and was likely equipped with all sorts of spy-like equipment to keep watch without being discovered. Especially by unsuspecting not-yet-in-the-loop humans. So, it was entirely possible that he had found Sam through the eBay posting and then stalked him for the next few days where he would overhear about Ron helping Sam buy a car.

But how had he known the exact car lot they were going to buy it on? He had, after all, been already parked and waiting when Sam and Ron had shown up. Maybe Ron and Judy talked about it? Or perhaps Ron looked up the lot online, choosing the cheapest-looking place he possibly could. That…. sounded exactly like the frugal man you thought. For an advanced robot-like alien, it would be all too easy to overhear Sam’s excitement about getting a new car and then hack the computer system to see where exactly they were going, and then place himself in that location as inconspicuously as he could manage.

In the movies and books, the Cybertronians abilities had seemed so cool. Now you couldn’t help but curse Primus for their every ability given that made your life so much harder.

You groaned and resisted the urge to pull out some of your hair, instead forcing yourself to move on.

Secondly, you had to prepare for the Autobots themselves. You’d memorized their arrival timeline, (Kind of. You knew that Bumblebee showed up first and then Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Jazz came a few days later. After that you weren’t entirely certain how much time passed before the other Autobots came to Earth.) but interacting with them was a whole other challenge. How would you convince them to do certain things without revealing that you were from a different dimension?

Your hand stilled, the pencil hovering over the page. Optimus Prime would listen. He had to. If he didn’t believe in you then nothing would go right. If you did anything wrong, then they might decide you were compromised, a spy for the Decepticons. Would lock you up and throw away the key and you would lose your two closest friends and your new family, and gods above you might not fully agree with all of Rowan and Sage’s spiritually free child thinking or Sam and Mile’s stupid hormonal teenage thoughts, but they were still yours, and you would be devasted to lose any one of them.

Failure was not an option.

So, you planned to the best of your abilities. Even knowing that you would have to make things up on the fly because if you changed one thing then effects would ripple through whether you wanted them to or not.

For example, if you convinced Jazz not to attack Megatron on his own then he would potentially survive the Mission City battle. But then if he didn’t distract Megatron who knows what the warlord would do instead? Would he have fought Optimus sooner? Would he have managed to get his claws on the AllSpark by getting to Sam before he could get to that building? And even if Jazz didn’t distract Megatron, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t die at the very same battle later, or even be killed on a different mission entirely.

The possibilities were endless.

With a loud thunk, your head banged onto your desk. Somehow the brief flash of physical pain didn’t counteract the massive stress migraine you were building.

You could already hear Sage lecturing you about potentially damaging your third eye as you banged your head again and again. You paused mid-bang when a thought crossed your mind.

The third eye.

A supposedly spiritual spot on the middle of your forehead that allowed one to see visions gifted to them by either a god of some sort or their higher self. It also could be used to tell the future.

You sat straight up, eyes narrowing. There was no way that would work…would it? You had been so focused on scientific answers that you never once considered whether or not you could provide some more spiritual ones. You didn’t have to be told that it was a bad idea for anyone to know that you came from another world. Hells bells it probably wasn’t a good idea for them to think you could see the future either, but it was a possibility you could consider.

After all the future was always changing.

A dinging noise on your computer brought you out of your thoughts. Glancing over you realized it was an email notification from eBay. Your heart stuttered before stopping entirely as you opened it.

Ladiesman217 has uploaded new items for sale!

Your second childhood was over.

The war was coming, whether you were ready for it or not. You somehow managed to resist the urge to cry, but it was a close thing.  

Chapter Text

When you next saw Sam you had to resist the urges to either smack him upside the head or hug him to death and never let go. He would understand neither action nor could you explain your reasonings and so you simply greeted him with the most casual expression you could, carefully making your way along the marked path through the grass lest you underwent a Ron Witwicky tirade.

Usually, you would just walk on the grass anyways, living with spiritually inclined parents had made you learn the joy of soft grass under your feet, but today the man was outside. Carefully twittering about as he made sure his precious lawn was picture perfect by American society standards. Even the thought of it made you gag.

The hunched over and muttering man waved you off when you gave a hello, his focus entirely on the random dirt island laid among the sea of grass. One day, you vowed, you would convince that man to get an OCD test.

Or you amended, as you skipped up the stairs and into the Witwicky home, you would get both of Sam’s parents OCD tests. With a raised eyebrow in question at Sam as he carefully padded down the stairs to greet you, you watched in silence as his mother darted about, moving objects just so and dusting off particles so small you wondered if even atoms could see them. Sam simply shrugged in return to your question before quietly leading you upstairs.

You had both long since learned it was never a good idea to have Judy’s attention turned on you when she was in a mood. No matter what kind of mood it was, if she was in one, you hid. You loved the women, honest, but she could be a bit much in a lot of regards.

The many pictures on the walls you passed could attest to that.

Making it to the safety of his room, you quietly shut the door behind the two of you as softly as you could. Sam flopped onto his bed with a groan. He didn’t bother looking up as he reached for the remote to his stereo. “Please tell me you have something fun to talk about because Mom’s on a rampage again, and I’m not sure I’ll make it out alive this time.”

You snorted and plopped into his desk chair, swiveling it idly. “Fun? No. Interesting? Always.”

Sam cracked an eye open, suspicious. “You’ve got that look. The one that says, ‘Sam, you’re an idiot, and I’m going to lecture you.’”

“Not a lecture,” you said, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. “More like... a friendly intervention. You remember that history project, right?”

His other eye opened, and he sat up halfway, suddenly defensive. “Yeah, why?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he’d pick now to be unreasonably stubborn for literally no reason. “Because it’s important, Sam. You shouldn’t leave something like that lying around till the last minute.”

“It’s just a history project,” he said, waving you off and laying back down. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your eyebrow twitching in annoyance. Just because there was an intergalactic war coming didn’t mean you were going to let him slip in his studies “Sam it’s worth a third of our grade and you’re the one who needs the A.”

Sam squinted at you, trying to read between the lines. “What’s the big deal, Nova? You’ve been acting weird since we got this assignment.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but any excuse you could have made flew out the window as the sound of Judy shouting up the stairs interrupted.

“Sammy! Are you moving furniture up there? What’s all that racket?”

Sam groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “No, Mom! It’s fine!”

“You better not be breaking anything!”

You stifled a laugh as Sam threw a pillow over his face. “Only my spirit,” he mumbled into the fabric.

Your attention shifted to his computer. Maybe there was another way to ensure things happened. You fully faced his desk, the glow of the screen lighting your face as you turned it on. While you generally hated doing their homework for them, you could at least start the research for your own sake. If you could find something interesting and capture his attention, it was likely he would put in the effort to get some decent work done.

Typing in the password you logged on easily to the web. While Google was nowhere near the powerhouse it would become in time, it could still do quite a decent job when you knew what to search for. With a triumphant smirk on your face, you eagerly scanned the numerous offerings the search engine gave you. Digging into any clues you could possibly find to stow away for use later while also keeping an eye out for something to capture Sam’s attention.

“Nova,” Sam’s voice broke through your concentration like a hammer, “are you Googling my great-great-grandpa?”

You jumped, smacking your knees into the underside of his desk. Barely holding back a curse, you turned to respond, “What? No. Of course not.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just casually researching nineteenth-century Arctic explorers for fun?”

You forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “I was curious! It seems like a cool story.”

Sam crossed his arms, leaning onto of the back of your chair. “Cool enough to hack into my computer?”

“I didn’t hack anything,” you shot back, feeling your face heat up. “Your password is password, Sam. That’s not hacking; that’s stupidity on your part.”

“Ouch,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You know the man was an utter wackjob right?”

“Why? Because he believed in aliens?” Your arms crossed over your chest as your turned to face him, an eyebrow raised in challenge at him.

Sam, as a teenaged boy, could be incredibly dumb at times; he could also be exceptionally perceptive at times. Usually in talking himself out of danger of which he could so clearly sense emanating from you right now.

“Well, I mean. Like it’s one thing for you to believe in aliens because you bring up odds and statistics into it, but you don’t go around all rapture doomsday yelling they’re here. This guy though, he thought he had actually met them but couldn’t provide any proof. And then as time went on, he started getting obsessed over it along with all these weird symbols.” Sam walked over to a box you hadn’t noticed, crammed as it was in between his bed and nightstand.

Rummaging around he pulled out what looked to be a leather-bound journal, riffling through the pages before he held it up for you to take. Gripping it gently you took the offering, eyes glazing over the pages in front of you. Symbols upon symbols covered them along with cursive font so curly you could barely make out the words as you scanned over them.

"These are the symbols?" you asked, running your fingers lightly over the intricate markings. They seemed haphazard at first glance, but the more you stared, the more a pattern seemed to emerge.

"Yeah," Sam said, sitting back on the bed and watching your reaction. “Crazy right?”

You gave a noncommittal hum as you turned back towards the computer, fingers still lightly tracing the symbols on the pages before you. As you continued flipping through the aged pages of the journal, something nagged at the back of your mind. The symbols—there was a pattern, a consistency in their placement. Your fingers trailed over the inked markings, a strange, electric sensation running down your spine.

Logically, you knew that symbols were more than some mad man’s ravings. Each one was meticulously placed not because of his psychosis, but because it was a language.

Cybertronian glyphs.

Sam, oblivious to your train of thought, had moved on, tossing random trinkets into a box at the foot of his bed. “See? That guy was obsessed. Spent his whole life rambling about some frozen alien cube or whatever. No one ever found proof. Just symbols and crazy talk.”

Your eyes flickered up to him, a smirk on your face. “And what if he wasn’t crazy?”

Sam snorted in laughter. “Then I guess we should all be really grateful he didn’t have Myspace.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the computer, intent on digging deeper. A quick search of the symbols would bring up nothing you knew. Internally you mourned the advancements in google that had yet to be made; everything would be far easier if you could just snap a photo of the symbols and do an image on your phone. It would also be easier to track you supposed but everything in life had trade-offs. Frowning, you clicked on an image result, only to be met with a painfully familiar sight—one of the very journal pages you held in your hands. Your stomach dropped along with the journal in your hands.

Oh right.

You had almost forgotten about that. Your head snapped toward Sam, who was now halfway through stacking old books into what you presumed was a “sell” pile.

“Samuel James Witwicky,” you snarled, your voice dripping with incredulity and just a touch of venom, “why are your family heirlooms up on auction?”

Sam flinched as though you'd just hurled something heavy at him. He peeked up at you from where he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by scattered books and random trinkets he’d claimed he was "organizing." His guilty expression was a dead giveaway, though—he hadn’t thought this one through.

“It’s not a big deal!” he protested weakly, holding his hands up as though they might shield him from the full force of your wrath.

“Not a big deal?” Your voice climbed an octave, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your temples. "Sam, this journal—this journal—is full of notes written by one of the first arctic explores, and you think it’s okay to just toss it onto eBay like a used toaster?”

Sam scrambled to his feet, already on the defensive. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t know what else to do with it! It’s been sitting in the attic gathering dust for years! Dad said if I raised 2k by myself he would chip in and help get me a car—”

“I don’t care about some stupid car!” you interrupted, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Do you know how much of your family’s literal history you’re throwing away?”

Sam hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your glare. “I mean... they’re just old things, Nova. I didn’t think anyone really cared about them. Mom has certainly wanted them gone often enough.”

You stared at him in disbelief, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “Sam, these ‘old things’ are connected to historical events that changed the world. They’re practically priceless!”

Before he could respond, you turned on your heel and snatched the journal off his desk where you’d dropped it earlier. “And you were just gonna sell this to some random bozo on the internet?!”

To be fair you weren’t really angry about him selling his family heirlooms, though that did irk you a fair bit. Even if he wanted to get rid of them, you would much prefer they be donated to a museum or learning facility rather than being used to make a quick buck for some car. Even if that car did turn out to be a giant robotic alien by the name of Bumblebee.

You were more channelling your fear of the entire situation to come and directing it into anger at him. Was that fair to Sam? No. Was it healthy? Absolutely not. Did you care in that moment? Also, a hard no.

Unfortunately for him.

"Whoa, whoa, okay! Chill, Nova!” Sam held up his hands defensively, his eyes wide with shock at your outburst. “I didn’t think they were worth anything! They’ve just been rotting away in the attic. What’s the big deal?”

The big deal?

The big deal was that by posting this book online he had unleashed a whole set of events that would lead to mayhem and destruction. The big deal was that within a weeks’ time your best friend and his crush were going to be fighting for their lives in a nearby city. The big deal was that your best friend was going to become a murderer and be traumatized for the rest of his life because of freaking eBay of all things.

eBay!

And he had no idea about any of it. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply as you tried to quell the sheer frustration bubbling within you. You couldn’t exactly tell him why he absolutely should care. Not without revealing too much.

"Sam," you said, carefully controlled. "Do you remember what I told you about gut feelings?"

He frowned, tilting his head. "Uh... that sometimes they mean you're hungry?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose and resisted the urge to throw the journal at his head. "No. That sometimes they mean you need to pay attention. That your subconscious is picking up on something important even if you don’t understand why yet."

His eyes flickered between you and the scattered belongings on the floor. You could see the gears turning, his natural scepticism warring with the years of knowing that, more often than not, you were right about this sort of thing.

"...You're saying I should hold onto this stuff?"

"I'm saying," you stressed, tapping a finger against the journal, "that if there’s even the slightest chance your great-great-grandfather was onto something, you don’t just sell that for beer money."

Sam groaned, running a hand down his face. "Ugh. You’re making it sound way bigger than it probably is."

You just gave him a look.

With another groan, he flopped back onto the floor. "Fine! Fine, I'll keep… some of it. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," you deadpanned, collapsing back into the computer chair and turning back to his computer.

Your gut twisted as you scrolled to the listing that had initially sent this entire thing off. There it was—a grainy photograph of the journal, along with a brief description of its history. Your eyes darted to the current bid. Already higher than you expected, and climbing.

"Who the hell is bidding on this anyways?" you murmured, clicking through to see the buyer history. Most usernames were randomized nonsense, but a few stood out, especially one—a name that, while meaningless to Sam, sent alarm bells blaring in your head.

Agent7Simmons.

Your breath caught. "Oh, hell no," you muttered with a snarl, teeth bared at the screen as the same three names tried to outbid one another. Or rather, as you took in the exact order of how the names fought one another, as two names tried to outbid one.

BeezKnees77 and [[Logic_Enforcer99]] seemed to be working together in a weird way. For the most part it was Beezknees vs Simmons, but occasionally, Logic would pop in just often enough to keep it from being a 1v1 fight. Often with a big jump in pricing that caused Simmons to pause before scrambling to a higher number. It could just be a coincidence of course, but something nagged at the back of your mind. Something very familiar about them that you swear was just on the tip of your tongue, waiting to overflow and spill out.

With a shake of your head, you pushed the feeling away and focused on cancelling the listings for Sam. More than likely the damage was already done if Simmons of all people had managed to find it, but you would do what you could in the form of damage control.

______________

The dam bursting came later as you left Sam’s house a few hours after the whole eBay fight, and really, it had been far too easy to convince Sam to forgive and forget with the promise of brownies, ice-cream, and helping him with homework. You thanked whatever deity that existed that Sam was so easily motivated in these kinds of affairs as you hit the latch on the back of your shoe so that a set of wheels popped out before carefully balancing and doing the same to the other shoe. They weren’t Heelys exactly, given that they had four retractable wheels rather than the usual one, but they were just as good for when you wanted to do more than just walk.

Not to mention that it was just plain fun to zoom around in them.

Readjusting the bag on your shoulder, you slowly took off down the sidewalk, slowly gaining more and more speed until it felt like you were racing time itself as the streetlights steadily turned on with the setting sun. A pout formed on your lips when you came across a crosswalk with a red light that forced you to slow down and the streetlights overtook you, you wouldn’t be able to get that lead back no matter how fast your legs moved.

With nothing better to do as you waited, you looked around the area you were in. Even with the lights, the lower the sun hid the harder it was to see but still, you threw your sight around in dulled curiosity. It wasn’t like anything ever changed in this part of the neighbourhood. It was always the same houses with the same perfectly manicured lawns. Occasionally during the holidays, an adventurous person would put out lights and decorations, but it never was up for long.

Movement on the other side of the street caught your eye and you locked on automatically. A car was coming up opposite of you. Given the time it was highly likely it was simply someone returning home from work, but there was a buzz in the air made your skin crawl and goosebumps form. A quick glance up as it got closer revealed the lights of a cop car. While they didn’t usually patrol this part of town, it was towards the end of the month, the poor soul must be trying to fill his quota you rationalized.

So why did you still feel so on edge?

You got your answer as it rolled to a stop at the same red light you were at. In the dim light, you swore you could see the barest shape of an emblem on the car hood.

If you never saw eBay again after this, it would be far too soon.

Chapter Text

Your heart thundered in your chest as you took in the car, coloured in the white and black format of the police, casually parked across the street from you.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No!

It was far too early for him to be out and about! He shouldn’t be anywhere near here! Around this time both him and his little partner should be hacking into the military and not show up for at least a few days. That was how the movies went at least.

So, what in the absolute hell was Barricade doing prowling towards Sam’s house!? Even if he had been alerted to move fast just because you deleted the listing, he should still be at least a day or two away, not mere hours!

Your pulse roared in your ears as the traffic light flickered from red to green. The police cruiser’s engine rumbled to life, its headlights flashing briefly as it eased forward.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe. Maybe—maybe—if you didn’t react, if you just kept your head down and moved normally, it would pass by. It had to. But as the car got closer, something felt off.

The colours were wrong.

The black-and-white pattern was inverted, with more white than black, and—was that a red emblem on the hood? Not the jagged, silver Decepticon insignia you’d been dreading then, but something else entirely. On the sides you could barely glimpse the words ‘Highway Police Patrol’ printed in big black letters. You exhaled sharply, the tension in your shoulders easing just enough for your brain to kick in.

Of course. Of course, the first cop car you saw wasn’t Barricade. What were the odds? You were getting paranoid. No, scratch that—you were paranoid, jumping at shadows just because you knew things you shouldn’t.

Shaking your head at yourself, you pushed off with your foot, gliding forward as you muttered under your breath, picking up speed once more. “I need to chill. The moment I start thinking every police car is Barricade is the moment I need to re-evaluate my life choices.”

You didn’t see the police car suddenly hesitate. You didn’t see the flicker of movement inside. But you did hear the distinct whoosh of a car abruptly pulling into a U-turn.

Your stomach dropped.

Tires screeched against pavement as the cruiser swerved, smoothly cutting across the road and pulling up alongside you. The driver’s side window was already rolled down, a man sitting in the driver’s seat.

His uniform was crisp, almost unnaturally pristine, and his posture was eerily perfect—like he’d been placed there by a machine rather than someone who actually lived in his skin. Dark hair, short and brushed back neatly was paired with piercing blue eyes that locked onto you with an intensity that made your hair raise in warning.

This —this was bad. You’d seen enough of these situations in media to know that being stopped by the police, let alone a potentially alien robot police officer, was never a good sign.

“Good evening, ma’am,” his voice was low and gravely but carried an odd, measured calmness to it, like every word was chosen with precision. You couldn’t help the minute flinch at his words, the urge to correct him on your gender was strong. Somehow though this didn’t seem to be the time to get into a talk on gender perception. “You seem to be in quite the hurry.”

Your throat went dry.

“Nope,” you said, forcing a laugh that sounded as unnatural as it felt. “Just, uh, skating. Exercise. Fresh air. You know, trying not to get run over on my way home.”

His sharp blue gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened, dissecting you in real-time.

“Is that so?” he said, tone cool and detached. His fingers drummed once against the car door—a small, precise movement that sent a chill down your spine. “Strange. Your body language suggests otherwise.”

You swallowed hard. Shit.

“I mean, getting nearly sideswiped by a cop car tends to do that,” you tried, forcing out another nervous chuckle. “Makes for a real adrenaline rush to come down from, you know?”

Your stomach twisted. Shit. He was picking you apart, analysing you like a puzzle missing just one crucial piece. If you didn’t keep it together, he’d find that missing piece, and you really didn’t want to know what would happen if he did.

You forced yourself to shrug, shifting your weight on your skates like you weren’t standing on metaphorical thin ice. Keep it casual. Keep it light.

"Well, yeah, I mean—it’s not every day a cop car does a U-turn just to talk to me. Kinda freaks a person out, y’know?"

He gave the slightest head tilt, "A reasonable response." His fingers tapped again—measured, deliberate. Every movement of his felt too precise, too calculated. The air felt thick, like an invisible net was tightening around you. Your mind raced. He couldn’t know anything. You hadn’t even gone near anything remotely suspicious, nothing he could prove at least.

So why did it feel like you were being dissected under a microscope?

His gaze didn’t waver. It pinned you in place, searching, waiting.

"You live around here?" he asked, his tone still eerily measured. It wasn’t the question itself that set off alarm bells—it was the way he asked it. Too neutral. Too precise. Like he was cataloguing your response before you even gave it.

Your brain tripped over itself trying to find a casual answer. "Uh, yeah. Just a few neighbourhoods over." You gestured vaguely down the street. "Not that far. Was just out, y’know, enjoying nature."

He hummed. A soft, considering sound. His fingers tapped against the doorframe again—three times, evenly spaced. You had the horrible feeling it wasn’t an idle habit.

"Odd," he said.

Your stomach tightened. "What is?"

The man studied you for a moment longer before tilting his head slightly. "Your body language suggests heightened stress levels. Your breathing is shallow. Pulse elevated. You claim to be out for exercise, yet your current movements indicate an avoidance pattern rather than a leisurely pace."

You gritted your teeth. Of course he noticed. The bastard wasn’t just a cop—he was a living machine. One that could probably analyse a hundred different things about you just from looking.

But he was bluffing. He had to be. There was no way he could truly know—C’mon, think. Say something smart. "Well, yeah, I saw a police car and panicked for a second. Who wouldn’t?"

A slow blink. A fraction of a tilt to his head. "Why would you panic?"

"Uhm—because I have anxiety?" The words were out before you could stop them. You winced internally. That was technically true, but it sounded so much worse in this context. Like you were hiding something. Like you’d been caught.

The cop’s eyes narrowed, "I see." Oh no. That was not a good ‘I see.’ That was an I just mentally filed that away for later ‘I see.’

You needed to get out of here.

Your brain scrambled for a way out. Any way out.

But there was none.

The man wasn’t moving, wasn’t reaching for anything, wasn’t even doing anything overtly threatening—just watching. Calculating. Like he already knew the answer and was only waiting for you to confirm it.

You forced yourself to breathe, inhaling through your nose and exhaling slowly. You had nothing to hide. As far as he knew, you were just some random civilian with a nervous streak.

Stick to that. Keep it simple. “I mean, I don’t usually have cops pulling U-turns just to talk to me, so yeah, maybe I freaked a little.”

His gaze remained steady, unnervingly precise. “A reasonable response,” he conceded. But there was something in his tone—too measured, too neutral.

You weren’t convincing him.

The worst part was that you weren’t even sure what he was looking for. It wasn’t like he could possibly know—

No. No, that was paranoia talking. He shouldn’t know, couldn’t know.

And yet.

Another small, deliberate tap of his fingers against the car door. The sharp, rhythmic sound made your skin crawl, like a countdown to something inevitable.

“You have an acute awareness of your surroundings,” he observed. Not an accusation, but not casual either. “An impressive trait.”

Your mouth went dry. That was not a compliment. That was a probe.

Shrug it off. Play dumb. “Uh… thanks?”

The man tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “But unusual, given the circumstances. Most civilians would not react with such immediate recognition to a law enforcement vehicle—let alone a specific one.”

Your stomach flipped. He was leading you. Steering the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go, and if you weren’t careful—

“Perhaps,” he continued, voice smooth as steel, “it is less about my presence and more about who you thought I was.”

Your heart pounded. That—that wasn’t fair. That wasn’t even a question!

But it didn’t need to be. The way your body locked up for half a second too long, the flicker of realization that must have flashed across your face—he caught it. You knew he caught it.

You needed to redirect. Fast. “Look, man, I just—c’mon, everyone’s seen those dashcam videos of cops pulling people over for no reason. Can you blame me for being a little twitchy?”

The cop hummed. A thoughtful sound. A considering sound. A ‘I’ll allow you to think you’re off the hook for a moment’ sound.

And then, deliberately, he drummed his fingers once against the car door. And judging by the way those too-sharp blue eyes narrowed fractionally, the man—Prowl? It had to be—had caught everything. And wasn’t that a surprise? Considering he had been nowhere near any of the live action movies. So why was he even here?

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Your instincts screamed at you to run, to move, but you weren’t an idiot. Running from a police car—especially one that was most definitely not a car—was a terrible idea.

So, you swallowed hard, plastered on your best attempt at a clueless smile, and prayed to whatever cosmic force might be listening that you could bluff your way out of this.

And then, deliberately, he drummed his fingers once against the car door.

A small, precise movement. Like a trigger being pulled. The air around you seemed to shift, tense with something unseen but unmistakably wrong. This wasn’t just some cop who would ticket you for speeding.

This was a threat to your very being.

“I would advise,” Prowl said, his voice even but edged with something firm, “that you choose your next words carefully.”

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

You were standing on a tightrope, balanced between life as you knew it and something much, much worse. Your mind flashed as quick as it could to dredge up everything you knew about the Autobot military strategist. He was practical – to an almost detrimental fault – authoritative, controlled, logical-

Logical. Logic. Military. Enforcer.

“Oh,” you breathed out in realization, “Logic Enforcer 99. You were the one helping Beezknees keep the journal out of Simmons’ hands.” With this realization in mind, it seemed painfully obvious that Bumblebee was the other username, to the point you kind of wanted to smack yourself for not realizing it sooner.

Prowl’s holoform eyes widened before immediately narrowing, the blue in his fake optics practically glowing as they locked you in place. Whoops, you should not have said that out loud, and to think you ragged on Sam and Miles all the time for being dumbasses.

The second the words left your mouth, you knew—knew—you had just royally screwed yourself. Your stomach twisted into a knot so tight it might as well have been a black hole, dragging every last ounce of your luck and self-preservation into its oblivion.

Prowl didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe—not that he needed to. But you could feel it, the way the atmosphere around him grew heavier, charged like an impending storm.

His optics glowed brighter, razor-sharp and calculating.

You’d just given him a new puzzle, and Prowl was ever so good at solving them.

Oh no. Oh nononononono—

Your mind scrambled, flipping through every possible escape route, every excuse, every way to not end up detained, dissected, or—hell—disintegrated for knowing too much.

Maybe you could laugh it off? Pretend you were just making a wild guess? No, no, he’d already caught the recognition in your voice—denying it now would just make it worse. Maybe you could redirect? Talk in circles until he lost interest?

Hah. Like hell. If this Prowl was anything like his usual portrayals, he had the patience of a saint and the stubbornness of a black hole. No way he’d let this go.

Your hands were sweating. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

The back door closest to you swung open on its own and you jumped at the sudden movement. “I’d suggest getting in,” his voice cut through your thoughts swifter than any bullet he could shoot at you, “We appear to have much to talk about.” A harsh swallow made its way down your throat, and it took everything in you to not submit to the screeching prey instincts inside of you. To not immediately take off and run as far and fast as you could away from the predator in front of you.

Never mind that he could probably catch up to you in two steps.

“I uh don’t suppose I can sit in the passenger seat and not look like a prisoner?” you questioned. It was more like you were pretty sure the back doors to cop cars had child locks and if you wanted to at least attempt to duck and roll out to escape at some point, then you had to be in the passenger seat. The even further narrowing of eyes and the revving of an engine promptly killed any thoughts of that.

Right, you were a prisoner.

Of a robotic alien that was millions of years old and who had who knew amounts of death of his own kind on his hands, much less other species.

Gods you hated eBay.

With the resignation of a death sentenced inmate, you put the wheels on your shoes back up and carefully got into the back seat of the car. If Sam and Miles ever got word that you were the first one of the group who ended up in the back of a police car, you would never hear the end of it. Although depending on how this night ended, they might never get the chance to take the mickey out of you.

No, you shook your head mentally. You refused to have this night end any other way than you, your friends and family safe in bed. Prowl could go rust in a ditch if he thought you were going to reveal anything to him – well anything more at least. He may have millions of years in interrogating prisoners, but you had the foreknowledge of what was going to happen next.

Or at least you thought you had.

Prowl’s existence, much less that he was here this early, was something you had not been expecting. As much as it may have annoyed you that the creators hadn’t taken advantage of having the two cop cars against one another, that had not meant that you wanted to deal with extra unknowns. 

Who else was here? Who else was coming? Was the Ark here? FirstAid and Sunstreaker? Were the other members of the Elite Trine here with Starscream? You weren’t certain you could handle having to deal with three crazed Dorito-shaped robots along with so many unknowns on top of the other dangers that were supposed to happen already.

You knew your presence would change things, but this was a bit much.

The urge to scream was strong. Briefly, an image of a Prowl swerving because he had been startled by your scream of all things caused a few hysterical giggles to escape you.

The laughter didn’t last long.

It came out thin, breathless, and far too sharp around the edges—more a choked wheeze than anything resembling amusement. The moment it started, it spiralled, twisting in your throat like barbed wire. Your chest felt too tight, lungs squeezing in a way that had nothing to do with your position in the back seat of a moving police car and everything to do with the overwhelming weight pressing down on you from all sides.

The edges of your vision blurred.

Your heartbeat, already frantic, kicked into an erratic, painful staccato.

Oh, fuck.

This wasn’t just nerves anymore. This was panic. Real panic.

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of your pants, nails digging in as you tried to steady your breathing—in for four, hold for four, out for four—but nothing was helping. The world was tilting, shrinking, and oh gods, the car was getting smaller by the second, too small, too tight, too much—

Somewhere in the haze of static that was your mind, you distantly registered movement. A flicker of something shifting in the front seat. A low, measured voice breaking through the overwhelming rush of blood in your ears.

"Calm down," Prowl said, his tone as precise as ever, but noticeably softer, like he was speaking around something fragile. "You are hyperventilating."

No shit, Sherlock.

You let out a breath that was supposed to be a laugh but came out as more of a desperate gasp. Your hands were shaking. Your whole body was jittery. You couldn’t tell if you were too hot or too cold, but it didn’t matter—either way, you felt wrong.

There was another pause. Then, with that same deliberate, calculating tone, Prowl continued, “I need you to focus. Follow my instructions.”

You weren’t in much of a state to argue.

"Close your eyes."

You hesitated. Rule number one of being prey was to never take your eyes off of your predator.

"I am not going to harm you."

Against all odds, some part of you actually believed him. Or maybe it was you clutching to the last strings of hope that you were going to get out of this alive and well.

Shaky and uncertain, you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Good. Now, count your breaths. Inhale for four seconds. Hold for four. Exhale for four."

He was using the same pattern you had just tried, but the steadiness in his voice was oddly grounding. You clung to it like a lifeline, forcing yourself to follow the slow rhythm he set.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Again.

And again.

And—gods—it actually started working. The tightness in your chest didn’t vanish completely, but it loosened just enough that you could breathe without feeling like you were drowning.

After a while, the weight pressing down on you lightened, and the tremors in your hands faded to a dull, lingering shiver. You blinked your eyes open, your vision still slightly blurred, but no longer spinning out of control.

Prowl, to your surprise, was watching you through the gate separating the front and back half of the car. His optics had dimmed slightly, no longer quite as laser-focused as before.

"Better?" he asked, voice still unreadable.

You swallowed, throat dry and nodded.

"Good."

Another pause. Then, more quietly, as if he was debating saying it at all—

“You are not my prisoner.”

That surprised you enough to glance up at him fully. His expression remained unreadable, but something about his posture had shifted. He wasn’t as stiff, as rigid as before. Not quite relaxed, but no longer bracing for a threat.

“If you were,” he continued, almost idly, “you would not be sitting freely in the back seat.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Frowned.

"You revved at me," you accused, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Prowl tilted his head slightly, as if considering. Then—

"Yes." A beat of silence. "…I can see how that may have threatened you."

The silence stretched unbearably long. You could practically feel the weight of Prowl’s processors spinning at speeds you had no hope of keeping up with. Every logical thread, every scenario, every outcome—he was analysing all of it, and you?

You were the goddamn variable.

Prowl’s optics burned into yours, unyielding and dissecting, his fingers tapping the door once more in a slow, deliberate motion. Not a warning this time, a calculation.

“You have approximately five seconds,” he said, tone eerily even, “to explain how you came by that information before I determine you as a security risk.”

Your stomach lurched. Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Your mind scrambled for an answer—something that wouldn’t get you detained, or worse, erased.

"Look, uh," you started, forcing yourself to stay still, to not look like you were about to bolt, "you’d be surprised what someone can piece together when they pay attention. And, uh, have a very niche internet history."

Prowl’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. If anything, he looked less convinced.

"Elaborate," he ordered.

Shit, shit, SHIT.

"Okay, okay!" You lifted your hands, palms open. "I wasn’t looking for it, alright? It’s just—there’s patterns! You and Beezknees leave behind similar digital footprints whenever something gets scrubbed off the net. Doesn’t take a genius to realize there's a method to it. You both target the same clusters of data leaks, the same sources. But where Bee covers tracks with messy, scattered diversions, you operate with precision. The patterns match. I just—connected the dots!"

You exhaled sharply, chest tight, pulse hammering.

Prowl, for his part, didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just stared. Then—

"…Your assessment of Bumblebee’s tactics is generous."

Your brain short-circuited.

"Wha—wait, what?"

Prowl's optics dimmed slightly in something that might have been exasperation. "Messy and scattered are accurate descriptors."

A snort of laughter escaped you and you blinked in surprise at it.

Did—did he just deadpan at you?

For half a second, your sheer confusion overrode the terror. Then his gaze sharpened again, and the fear slammed right back into place.

"You are a liability," Prowl stated bluntly as he turned back around.

Your blood ran cold.

"N-no, no, I’m not—"

"You have knowledge you should not possess," he continued, unmoved by your panic. "And despite your insistence on mere observational skills, the probability of coincidence in your deductions is not statistically feasible."

Your mouth went dry.

He knew. Maybe not the whole truth, not yet, but he knew there was more to this. And if he dug any deeper— The seatbelt moved around you and clicked in all on its own before the car, the Autobot, carefully pulled back on to the road.

Oh, you were so screwed.

Chapter Text

Your heart was hammering in your throat, and you fought to maintain control. You had to think fast, to buy yourself even a second of time. But the tension in the air, the precision with which Prowl observed you as he carefully drove off, was suffocating. Every breath felt like it might be your last.

"I—uh," you stammered, swallowing hard. "Look, I don’t know what you're talking about. I was just guessing. I don’t know anything about anything or...this Bee guy... or—"

Prowl didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze locked onto yours with such intensity that you could practically feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against you, dissecting every word, every movement and you fell silent under its weight.

"To have seen the usernames means you’ve likely seen the journal along with other things," he finally said, his voice colder than before, "and you’re aware of more than you should be. That's an issue."

The way he said issue felt like a loaded gun, just waiting to be fired.

You curled up the best you could in your seat, heart racing even faster now. The whole situation felt unreal. Only the painful digging of the seatbelt tearing into your skin seemed to remind you of just how real this was. “I’m just... a random person who made a good guess. Really."

His fingers drummed on the door again, but this time, it was a deliberate pattern, a methodical series of taps that resonated like a countdown in your head. Was he going to arrest you? Detain you? Worse?

But then, to your surprise, Prowl didn't escalate. Instead, he shifted the gears in his voice just slightly, making it sound more... neutral, if still intensely scrutinizing. "You don’t look like a random person. You’re too aware. Too perceptive for someone who claims to be clueless. After all,” he paused, eyes looking directly to yours through the rearview mirror, “you didn’t question how the belt was able to buckle itself around you."

The silence stretched out. You could almost hear the mental gears turning behind his optics. You knew he was processing, compiling, considering. And you were just sitting there, trying to hold onto the pieces of your composure, hoping you didn’t shatter right before his eyes, because he was right. You should have immediately panicked and thrown a ton of questions at him the second the seatbelt moved by itself, instead you had focused on him and deflecting his questions.

But then, as if to shift the entire balance of power, Prowl did something unexpected.

"Why don't we start again?" he suggested, voice still calm, but now with a cold undercurrent. "No more games. You know things you shouldn’t, and I don’t like that. But maybe, just maybe, we can work something out."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his approach. Was he giving you an out? Or was this just a tactic to put you on edge, to see how you'd respond? To trick you into thinking he was playing nice before offing you somewhere else.

"I—" you began, but you were cut off by the sound of a faint mechanical whirl from his car. The air around you seemed to grow denser, as if the vehicle itself was watching you, waiting for your next move.

Which in retrospect it probably was, you never did figure out how Cybertronians were able to see while in their alt forms. Was it through their mirrors? Their headlights? Were there tiny camera sensors all over that fed feedback to their processer? Could they even actually see at all in this form, or did they guess based on a bunch of other factors and sensors?

The questions swirled in your mind like an uncontrollable storm. But the one thing that stood out the most was the sharp, cold logic in Prowl’s voice. He was waiting for you to answer, to make the wrong move, to slip up. You were caught between trying to stay calm and trying to figure out how to avoid getting yourself even deeper into whatever strange web you had stumbled into.

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to gather your thoughts, weighing your next words carefully. You didn’t trust him—not by a long shot—but you couldn’t afford to make him think you were completely uncooperative either. The Autobots may have been toted around as the good guys, but that didn’t mean they were innocent, that they hadn’t committed their own crimes to achieve their goals. If Prowl truly thought you were any sort of danger to his faction, he’d off you in a heartbeat.

The sound of the car's mechanical hum only added to the eerie tension coursing through your veins.

"I didn’t mean to make anyone suspicious. I don’t want any trouble," you said quickly, deciding to be honest for a change. "I’m not some secret agent or... anything. I’m just a person who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t ask for any of this."

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Prowl’s optics flickered briefly as if contemplating your words. For a second, you thought maybe he was about to say something, but he didn’t. He just kept his gaze forward, his hands steady on the wheel. The faint hum of the engine was the only sound filling the car.

It was unnerving how little he reacted, so used to human emotions as you were. He wasn’t dismissing you, but he wasn’t accepting what you said either. He just existed; and that frightened you more than anything.

After what felt like an eternity, Prowl finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "I’m giving you one chance. I want to know everything you’ve seen. Everything you've figured out. If you want to avoid any further complications... start by being honest with me."

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat again. The weight of his words sank in, and you realized there was no way out but forward.

"I’ve... I’ve seen some usernames, the journal," you said quickly, "I didn’t realize how deep it all went. Honestly, I still don’t know everything. I’ve just... been getting these flashes of... things."

Prowl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. "Flashes," he repeated, his voice filled with careful curiosity. "What kind of flashes?"

You hesitated, unsure if you should have even brought it up. Despite your hairbrained plan to make the bots think you were some kind of seer, the further in you went the more uncertain you became. The flashes in question weren’t just memories anymore. You’d thought them over so many times that it almost felt like they had evolved. Pieces of information that appeared unbidden, like fragments of someone else's thoughts.

"I see things. Places. People. Sometimes it’s just... feelings," you muttered, trying to explain it without sounding completely insane. "I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like I'm seeing things from someone else’s perspective." The camera’s perspective perhaps, but a different perspective, nonetheless.

 “I’ve seen things – beings – who are like you. Sometimes they were just living out their lives best they can in a foreign place, sometimes they were fighting, and sometimes they,” you paused, taking a deep shuttering breath as the images flew by, “sometimes they were dying.”

Prowl was quiet for a long time, his optics scanning the road ahead as if processing your words. The tension in the car thickened, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you had just revealed too much, or if he was actually trying to figure out the puzzle you had stepped him into.

You sunk in on yourself in not-quite-pretended defeat, wrapping your arms around your knees and curling your head to lean against them, face towards the window as you watched the scenery go by. Houses spread out more

“I really don’t know how to explain it,” you muttered, breaking the silence first. “I think I’m just... seeing the echoes. The future, maybe? Or just... things that could happen.” You swallowed hard, glancing back at him. “Sometimes, it’s like a movie, playing in my head. Other times... it’s just feelings. Panic. Anxiety. Hope. Death. It’s all mixed up.”

Prowl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, pale skin going whiter as he absorbed your words. The car’s hum filled the silence again waiting for your next move.

“Are you telling me that you’ve been seeing the future?” Prowl’s tone was incredulous, his logic processor whirring to keep up with the information you provided. You knew that certain bots were what was called ‘outliers,’ they had abilities that the rest of their kind simply didn’t have. Skywarp with his teleportation, Blurr with his speed, Bluestreak’s aiming skills – all were outlier abilities that many bots coveted but usually came at some kind of cost.

There wasn’t a single bot who could see the future though, as far as you aware at least, with the exception of Optimus Prime. Vaguely you wondered if he even counted since it was through the Matrix that he was occasionally given glimpses rather than anything he himself possessed. Regardless, you doubted Prowl, as ‘logical’ as he was, would be willing to believe that some random human he found could have such an ability, when even his own highly advanced kind couldn’t.

Which was valid considering you couldn’t actually do so and simply had the foreknowledge due to being someone that enjoyed media about giant alien robots in your past life.

Foreknowledge that wasn’t helping considering Prowl wasn’t even supposed to be here – and no, you were not getting over that anytime soon.

“I’ve never seen you though,” you couldn’t help but admit into the quiet space.

“But you have seen someone who looks like me,” not quite a question, not quite a statement, but something in between. “And that’s why you were so frightened the moment you registered my form.”

“If there’s any truth to what I see then they’ll be on their way here soon if they aren’t already.” To be fair it was mostly the truth, you weren’t certain where exactly Barricade and Frenzy came across the information to hunt down Sam. They could be hacking in right now for all you knew. The only thing you were certain of was that when the weekend ends Sam will be presenting his project, getting Bumblebee and then starting off the whole procession that would climax in Mission City by the end of the week. 

Tears started to gather in your eyes as the weight of everything pressed down on you. You felt in no way shape or form, ready to deal with all of this. No matter how much you tried to prepare yourself, the reality of it was suffocating. You had knowledge you shouldn’t, tangled yourself into a war you didn’t belong in, and now you were sitting in an Autobot who was dissecting your every word, every movement, as if you were a puzzle he just couldn’t quite solve.

Prowl remained silent, but you could feel the intensity of his stare even without looking at him. The hum of his engine and the occasional crunch of the tires against the road were the only sounds filling the suffocating space between you.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, trying to keep your emotions in check. Breaking down again wouldn’t help. You needed to focus. Needed to figure out what to say next without giving away too much or painting a bigger target on your back. There would be time later, when you were safely in your bed, to mentally break and have a good cry.

Or so you hoped.

“Who?” You bit your lip at his question, worrying it between your teeth until you could taste the faintest bit of sharp copper, wondering how much you should let out.

"Barricade and Frenzy," you muttered, as if the words slipped out before you could stop them. “They’ll be coming. I think they’re already on their way.”

That was the real kicker, wasn’t it? You had braced yourself for the usual suspects—Optimus, Bumblebee, Ironhide, Jazz, maybe even Ratchet if things really spiralled out of control. But Prowl? He wasn’t part of the lineup you knew. Not in this version of events.

So, where the hell had he come from?

You curled tighter into yourself, mind racing even as you kept your expression schooled into something nervous but honest. This was dangerous. Every second you spent talking dug the hole deeper, but you couldn’t just stop now. Prowl was too sharp, too perceptive. He would pick you apart like a puzzle until he found all the missing pieces slotted nicely together.

And if he found the right ones?

You didn’t want to think about it.

Prowl’s silence stretched, his fingers tapping out that same slow rhythm against the door. It was calculated. Measured. A test to see how you’d react.

"You do understand," he finally said, voice low and edged with something unreadable, "that if you're telling the truth, you're a liability."

You forced yourself to meet his optics in the mirror, swallowing down the instinctive flare of fear. "And if I'm lying?"

His fingers stilled. "Then you’re something else entirely."

A shiver ran down your spine. There was no good answer to that statement, no version of this conversation where you simply walked away unscathed. Prowl was analysing every breath you took, every shift of your gaze, and you could tell he wasn’t convinced of anything yet.

Which meant you still had room to manoeuvre.

You exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension bleed into your posture. "Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t understand it myself. I just see things. Maybe it’s the future, maybe it’s just… echoes of something. But I swear, I’m not trying to cause trouble."

Another long pause. Then, unexpectedly, Prowl gave a small nod. "I know."

You blinked. "You…know?"

"I believe you—"

That was a lie.

"—for now."

That was the truth.

Your heart didn’t slow, but at least you weren’t being thrown out of the moving vehicle and turned into a pancake. Yet.

Prowl shifted gears slightly, his attention flicking back to the road. "But that means I need to make a report. If you are a genuine human outlier, then the others will want to know."

Your stomach dropped. "Wait—"

"It’s standard protocol."

Standard protocol, my ass. You knew what happened to potential threats. To unknown variables. If they didn’t deem you useful, they’d contain you. And if they couldn’t contain you—

No. You weren’t letting it get that far.

Think. Fast.

You forced a nervous chuckle, playing up the jittery, overwhelmed act. "I—look, I get that you have rules and whatever, but do you really think anyone’s gonna believe this? Some random human who can ‘see the future’? That sounds insane even to me, and I’m the one it’s happening to!"

Prowl didn’t react, but you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Besides," you pushed on, "if you report me, what happens next? Do I get locked up? Studied? Thrown into some dark hole because it’s ‘safer’ for me that way?" You shook your head. "I don’t want that, and I hope you don’t want that either."

A calculated risk.

Prowl valued logic above all else. If you could frame this as an inefficient course of action—something that would cause more problems than it solved—he might hesitate.

Seconds passed. Then, finally:

"The Autobots are not like that, you would be treated fairly."

You bit back a scream. The hell they weren’t, nobody in their thrice damned war was innocent. Even sweet bots like Bumblebee had probably committed more war crimes than there were humans on the planet in his lifetime, and that wasn’t including the Autobots who were actually deranged like Pharma or Nominus Prime. Hells bells Prowl himself was considered one of the most ruthless Autobots simply due to his tactical mind and using logic to do whatever it took to complete his goals.

It was why you were so bloody terrified right now, you were arguably sitting in one the most dangerous transformers, and he wasn’t even a Decepticon.

How messed up was that?

Prowl was staring at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics before his optics. His fingers tapped once more against the door panel, a habit you were quickly realizing was tied to his processing speed.

"You expect me to believe that?" His tone was sharp, controlled, but there was an underlying note of something else—uncertainty.

You licked your lips. "You asked me to be honest."

Prowl was quiet. His engine rumbled softly, almost thoughtfully, and the tension in the car felt like a wire pulled too tight.

"You said you've seen us fighting." His voice was deceptively mild. "Dying."

You hesitated. "Yeah."

"Have you seen a bot named Jazz?"

Your breath caught. He was testing you. Trying to pin down just how much you knew. The problem was that you did know. You knew what would happen to him if the timeline followed its original course.

You swallowed hard. "Yes."

Something shifted in Prowl’s expression. A minute twitch at the corner of his mouth, the barest narrowing of his optics. "How?"

"It’s not pretty," you admitted. "It’s like I said. Flashes. Sometimes it’s clear, sometimes it’s not. But..." You hesitated. "He doesn’t make it, Prowl."

His fingers stilled, then the brakes slammed short. A startled yelp left your mouth as the seatbelt did its job from launching you at the sudden stop. With a pained groan you gently rubbed at your collarbone, already knowing a bruise was forming.

If you were lucky, that’s all you would receive from this confrontation.

The air in the car felt suffocating, heavy with unspoken words. Prowl’s processor was undoubtedly running through every possible explanation, every potential scenario. He was a strategist, a tactician—he lived by probabilities. And you’d just thrown something at him that had no logical precedent.

"You’re lying." His voice was hard, every bit of his form from the false holoform to the belt slowly tightening around you was tense.

"I wish I was."

Silence stretched between you. Then, finally, Prowl spoke again, voice quieter this time. "Tell me what happens."

You exhaled shakily, your mind racing. Telling him the truth was dangerous. But lying outright? That could be worse. You knew, of course, that a large part of the fanbase had shipped Jazz and Prowl together based on their interactions with one another, believing them to be conjuxed without ever actually saying so.

Based on his reaction now, you weren’t so certain that it was a fans dream after all.

And so, carefully, you began to speak.

“At some point there will be a battle in Mission City, about twenty miles north of the Hoover Dam. Jazz…he leads a distraction against Megatron to protect something from his grasp.” You swallowed harshly, eyes closing as you try to picture and word out what happens while not giving to much away. If you wanted to play the seer game then you couldn’t be to overtly powerful, you had to know things without knowing too much. The images flashed through your mind; Megatron standing atop a tall building, Jazz climbing up cannons blazing while throwing taunts, “He gets several shots in before … before.”

“Before?” Prowl questioned gently, despite already guessing the answer.

“Before Megatron rips him in two-” Prowl’s engine revs harshly at your words, cutting off what you had been planning to say next, as he sped off harshly. A startled shriek left you, your legs drew back up, hands grasping the seatbelt tightly as if it could in any way help you despite being a part of the very being who was potentially threatening you.

You listened to the tires squeal against the pavement as the world outside flies by, using every bit of ounce of will power you have to continue breathing and not suffer from another mental break as you watched houses fade away until there was nothing but desert as far as the eye could see.

Oh gods, oh gods. You were going to die for speaking the truth.

Which you supposed was how it generally worked but gods damn it you wanted to live longer than this! You had so many things you wanted to accomplish in this new life, and you couldn’t do any of them if you were buried six feet under the sand dunes! You had to think –

“He dies a hero” you blurted out suddenly before promptly wanting to smack yourself upside the head. He was obviously upset about at the very least a good friend, if not his literal other half, dying. Why on Earth did you decide to push it in further? Before you could scramble to fix it, the belt was retracted, the door flung open and Prowl was turning in a tight harsh circle.

Your body was flung from his, landing harshly in the gritty sand before rolling to a stop, your bag slamming into you. You barely had time to scramble up, coughing the coarse grains from your lungs before the familiar sounds of a transformation echoed in your ears.

Once you would have killed to hear that sound in person.

Now, as 13 feet of pure angry robot alien slammed his fist on either side of your far smaller body, one of which flattened a boulder into dust with no issues, you could only wish the sound was once more locked to behind a screen.

“He shouldn’t have to die at all,” Prowl snarled in your face, bright blue optics dimming to an almost purple shade – and oh gods he was losing it. You nodded quickly in agreeance; in the hopes he would calm down.

“You’re right, of course.” You clutched your bag to your chest as you scooted back a bit from his bared dentae, eyes wide as your body shook from the terror coursing through your veins. “He shouldn’t have to die, no one should. But maybe we can save him?” You ventured out hesitantly.

His optics narrowed at you as he leaned in closer, servos digging large grooves into the sand in the process. “How?”

You swallowed, flinching minutely at the small grains scratching down your throat and heavily wished for a bottle of water.

“Jazz was alone when he took on Megatron,” you forced yourself to look directly into his optics, focusing on the all the gears and shifting parts that moved behind the glass making up his sight. “He doesn’t have to be alone this time. You weren’t anywhere in my visions at all, that means if what I’m seeing is the future, then things are already changing. You can still save him. As long as he lives, there’s always a chance to save him.”

At least from that fate, you thought to yourself. You weren’t quite dumb enough to speak that out loud though. One near death experience was already more than you wanted, thank you very much.

His optics clicked and whirled as they went off and then onlined again, a shuttering breath leaving him as he pulled back. “You are right, of course. Jazz is still alive and we are going to do everything we can to make sure it stays that way.”

You nodded aggressively before freezing, “uhm…we?”

“Oh yes,” He moved till he was kneeling on one knee, the other curled up beneath him as he poked you in the chest, eyes once more blazing blue as he smirked. “You are going to help me keep my idiot conjux alive little seer. If it’s the last thing you do.”

Later that night, as you collapsed on top of the covers of your bed still fully closed, you made a mental note to yourself to never mention Jazz’s potential death ever again.

It might actually just end up being the last thing you ever did.

Chapter Text

When you lived life the first time around, there had been a moment when your life had shattered beyond expectations and your mind had completely blanked out as it struggled to comprehend what was happening. You’d had several moments throughout both lives that had produced the same effect, though none had truly been as affective to your mind than when you had laid there dying in that movie theatre.

You considered now a very close second, however.

Bleary eyes blinked as you stood frozen in the open front door of your home. The scent of fresh fruit and incense carrying from behind as you took in the scenery before you. The soft breeze from outside carried along with it the all the familiar smells of flowers, sand, and the coming rain despite the bright sun steadily rising from the horizon. These were normal things to experience in your front yard.

What was not normal was the scent of not quite gasoline but still heavy in metals tang that filled the air nor was the shiny white and black car parked prettily on your non-existent but kind of still there driveway.

Stepping back inside you shut the door, rubbed your eyes, and then stepped back out once more. Yup, the car was still there.

Prowl.

Was parked, in your driveway.

What the actual hell.

Blinking again you sent a silent prayer up to whoever was looking out for all the little people for at least a small break. In fact you were positive that you couldn’t deal with this right now.

Up until now you had a perfect attendance streak at school and your first classes of the day were AP literature and AP history. You could totally skip those to go back to bed and suffer practically no consequences on the academic front. A small mention on blocked chakras and a severe headache will have Rowan and Sage commiserating on your pain and bring you a nice piping cup of tea with some crystals to help out.

A far better way to spend your morning than whatever the hell was going to happen if you continued out the front door.

Mind made up, you nodded decisively to yourself and turned around. Prowl could wait after all the panic attacks and mental breakage he wrought on your human form yesterday, you were going to sleep in.

Before the screen door shut fully as you turned Prowl’s headlights blared as much as possible, bright white light filling the darkened home through the windows. You wheeled back around with a startled jump as he revved forward, nearly slamming your face into the screen of the door as you gestured wildly at him to stop.

Note to self, Prowl was definitely a moody arse in the mornings.

But so were you.

With a sharp glare you marched to the edge of the porch, arms crossing tightly over your chest as you locked eyes with the smugly parked cop car.

“What,” you said flatly, voice still rough from sleep.

Prowl revved his engine, just slightly. Not enough to be aggressive, but enough to remind you that he could make this morning even more of a headache than it already was.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples. “No. Absolutely not. It is too early for this, and I refuse.”

Prowl flashed his headlights again, as if to say too bad.

You groaned. “Look, if this is about yesterday, I am not dealing with another existential crisis before breakfast. Especially when I have school to attend.” You jabbed a finger in his direction. “Go be ominous elsewhere.”

Silence.

And then, the passenger door unlocked with an audible click.

You squinted. “Yes, because that’s not ominous at all.”

The door didn’t move otherwise, but you could feel the expectation rolling off of him. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he wasn’t letting you avoid this.

With a dramatic sigh, you stomped down the steps, yanked the door open, and flopped into the seat, purposefully keeping your leg out so that he couldn’t close it without amputating, or at least seriously injuring you. To your sleep deprived mind, it was a risk you were willing to take. One that evidently paid off as he didn’t do more than slightly tap it to encourage you to move.

"Why are you here?" You muttered as his holoform flickered into place in the driver seat when you refused to move.

“I’m your guardian now,” Prowl said, his voice smooth as ever. “That means I’m taking you to school.”

A knot formed in your stomach, and you gave a low groan. "You can't just show up like this, Prowl. You’re a cop car! I get enough unwanted attention from my fellow teenagers to deal with this." You could already feel the awkward tension building, the sight of you stepping out of a police car at the school being far too conspicuous. There would be questions, so many questions.

“I don’t care what you think. I’m taking you, whether you like it or not. Get your leg in.”

You threw your hands up in frustration. "I’m not going to school in a cop car! Are you out of your mind?"

Prowl’s engine hummed lowly in response.

"You don't have a choice."

“The hell I don’t,” you snarled at him, turning to poke a finger in his chest and being pleasantly surprised at his brief startlement at your sudden aggression. It hadn’t been fully obvious, but the slight widening of his eyes and lips before they narrowed into a scowl at you were easy keys to tell. “You are suppose to be a robot in disguise,” and if it took everything in you not to sing those lyrics like the original theme song, well no one had to know but you, “taking a teenager who is known to not have any affiliation with the police and has a rather lack lustre social life in this type of car is not being in disguise! It’s like a glowing neon sign saying, ‘hey look at me, something is happening!’ So, no, you will not be taking me to school.”

Prowl stared at you, his expression unreadable but his holoform’s posture somehow managing to convey absolute, unyielding obstinance.

“You are being ridiculous,” he said flatly.

“Oh, I’M being ridiculous?” You threw your hands up. “You parked a freaking police car in my driveway like some sort of government agent here to drag me to a secret facility! Do you know what people are going to think if I get out of this thing in the school parking lot? They’ll think I’ve been arrested! Or worse, that I’m a narc!”

Prowl’s holoform raised an eyebrow. “Would that not dissuade any potential negative interactions from your peers?”

You gawked at him. “That would dissuade EVERY interaction from my peers! No one talks to the kid who gets dropped off by a cop! They’ll think I’m either an informant or a troubled youth, and both of those options suck, Prowl!”

His engine gave a soft hum of contemplation, but you could tell by the way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel that he wasn’t entirely convinced. “I fail to see how this is a pressing issue.”

“Of course you don’t,” you groaned, rubbing at your temples. “Okay, let’s compromise. You still want to play chauffeur? Fine. But you cannot take me to school looking like that.”

Prowl’s expression flickered into something dangerously close to amused. “And what, exactly, do you propose?”

You gestured vaguely at his alt-mode. “Change your alt-mode—get rid of the highway patrol stickers, take the lights off the top, anything to make you look like just a normal car.”

Prowl tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words. After a moment, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I will adjust my external appearance to remove identifying police markers. However, I will not be altering my alt-mode entirely. I need to maintain a level of operational readiness.”

You crossed your arms. “So, you’re still gonna look like a cop car, just less obviously?”

A flicker of approval passed through his expression. “Precisely.”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

Without answering you, the police decals faded away, leaving his exterior sleek and unmarked. The light bar on his roof retracted, shifting into his dashboard, now far less conspicuous but still very much there. To anyone who didn’t know better, he’d just look like a really nice, if slightly intimidating, black-and-white sports sedan.

You gave him a critical once-over before reluctantly nodding. “Alright. That’s better. Still not great, but better.”

Prowl’s holoform smirked ever so slightly. “Your approval is noted.”

You rolled your eyes and finally pulled your leg into the car, allowing the door to swing shut. “Fine. But I swear, if you pull some cop intimidation tactic to get me to school, I will start messing with your radio.”

The engine purred to life, the seatbelt locking into place automatically.

You narrowed your eyes. “I mean it. I will find the most cursed radio station possible.”

Prowl’s dashboard screen flickered to life, showing a list of pre-set stations. One of them you recognized as classical music. Another was…the police dispatch?

Your eyebrow twitched as he pulled off onto the road. It wasn’t that you disliked classical music, on the contrary, there were several pieces that you heavily enjoyed listening to – just not this early in the morning when you still felt on the urge of falling back asleep.

Unless he played Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture of course. That would wake even the dead.

“Oh, you’re no fun. At least play a good piece if you’re going to make me listen to this. Like Vivaldi or something.”

You watched the stereo knob turn until the familiar slow notes of Beethoven’s Tempest began playing.

As the scenery blurred past, you let your head thunk against the window. “I hate you.”

“I’m sure you do.” He replied placatingly.

You groaned, smacking your forehead a few times against the cool glass. “I do. I really do.”

Prowl’s engine gave a low, distinctly amused rumble. “Be that as it may, you will arrive at school safely and efficiently. That is what matters.”

You huffed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just… try not to make me look like I’m in witness protection, alright? And play a faster song! I’m ready to fall back asleep over here.”

“You said play a good piece, did you not?”

You shut your eyes and let out a long, suffering sigh as Prowl smoothly merged onto the highway with another amused rumble of his engine, already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment. Of all the bots you had to meet, why did it have to be Prowl?

______________

By the time you arrived at school, you were ready to simply hand yourself over to the Decepticons and be done with life. At least the coffee was nice.

Prowl had managed to find nothing but the slowest songs to play, occasionally interspersed by police chatter at just the right timings to have you jerking up in surprise before you fell back asleep. If you never heard Brahms or Schubert again it would be far to soon as far as you were concerned, and to think you used to like listening to Ava Maria.

You were quietly contemplating whether or not you could get away with ‘accidently’ scratching his pretty paint when you got out when he suddenly turned off the street into a little side shopping mall lined with stores. You blinked in sleepy confusion when he parked himself in front of a little storefront with a few tables placed neatly out front surrounded by a beautiful blue iron wrought gate. A quick glance up showed a sign proudly displaying ‘Starlight Café’ in bright curly font.

“What-”

“It is to my belief from research that a small amount of caffeine helps wake the body up for the day. This place, while few, has high ratings and is only a few minutes from your place of schooling.”

Another slow blink was your only answer to his response as the seatbelt released you and both doors popped opened. You did a double take as he casually got out and shut the driver door before walking over to your side. His holoform leaned on the passenger door and he held out a hand for you to grab (and no it most definitely wasn’t messing with your mind that he was leaning on himself).

Cautiously you reached out to grip what you had assumed was a projection of light, ready to pretend to grip it to haul yourself out, only to be met with not quite right feeling flesh. Your eyes widened and you withdrew your hand from his immediately at the feeling, not noticing his startled look, before reaching back out to grip it with both of yours. Turning it over this way and that you ran your fingers over his palm, taking in the soft – to soft – skin that held no texture of any sort. There were no wrinkles or lines embedded in, no pores or hard callouses formed that a man of his career should have. It’s as if his body was sculpted from something that only mimics flesh but doesn’t quite understand it.

It was amazing, if unnerving.

When your fingers brush against his knuckles, they bend just a little too fluidly, as if the joints aren't bound by tendons or bones, and you couldn’t help but stare in open fascination. Your fingers skim over the back of his hand, and you realize—he’s warm, but not in the way a human is. There's no subtle shift in temperature, no pulse beneath your touch. Just a steady, unnatural warmth, like the shell of a machine left running for hours, which you supposed wasn’t to far from the truth.

A cough interrupted your thoughts, and you glanced up to look at him, his eyes slightly widened but an eyebrow was raised at you. You felt your own eyes widen comically, face flushing as you drew back with a realization with what you were doing.

“Sorry,” you mumbled but he waved it off with a smirk. You had the vague feeling you weren’t going to be living this down any time soon as he reached out to grip your hand again and gently tugged on it. Your eyes couldn’t help but focus in now, as you followed the unsaid command to get up, on how even though his limbs moved, there was no muscle change. No subtle movements of his innards working to move his body this way and that, it just was.

You couldn’t help but contemplate on how that was possible as you followed his lead into the little café before you.

The moment you and Prowl step inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries envelops you like a comforting embrace. The café is softly lit, the glow of dim, star-shaped fairy lights strung across the ceiling casting a gentle radiance. The walls are a deep navy blue, speckled with tiny, glowing constellations that shift ever so slightly, an enchanting illusion created by hidden projection panels.

The counter stretches along one side of the café, polished dark wood with a sleek, metallic trim that gleams faintly under the lights. A glass display case showcases an array of pastries and desserts, their golden-brown crusts and delicate frostings illuminated invitingly. Behind the counter, an elaborate espresso machine hums softly, releasing bursts of steam as the barista prepares drinks with practiced ease.

Scattered throughout the space are round tables with smooth, obsidian-coloured surfaces that reflect the ambient light like the surface of a still pond at night. The chairs are plush but structured, their deep indigo cushions offering both comfort and support. A neon sign in elegant script near the back reads, "Stay as long as the stars shine."

To the right, a cozy corner features a bookshelf stocked with an eclectic mix of novels, old maps, and journals for customers to peruse. A cushioned bench runs along the wall beneath it, accompanied by low tables and extra seating for those who prefer a more intimate space to enjoy their drinks.

Despite its tranquil atmosphere, there's a quiet buzz of life—soft conversation, the clinking of ceramic mugs, the gentle rustle of turning pages. It's the kind of place that feels timeless, where even a Cybertronian like Prowl, ever watchful and alert, might find a moment of peace. Or, you supposed, where a reincarnated person with the fate of two worlds on the shoulders may be able to rest their worries for a bit.

The barista, a young woman with dark curls and a friendly smile, looked up from behind the counter as you both approached. "Good morning! What can I get started for you?"

Before you could open your mouth, Prowl smoothly responded, "A medium black coffee, no sugar."

You huffed, arms crossing. "That better be for you, because if you think I'm drinking straight black coffee, we're about to have problems." The barista giggled, already punching in the order.

“Anything else I can get for you today?”

You hummed, looking over the menu displayed behind her. It had been a while since you had any coffee, what with your parents in this world much preferring teas and juices. You couldn’t help but wonder whether or not this body would even like coffee since your tastebuds actually changed with this new form. You had never been so disappointed at finding out that your comfort food had changed as when you had your first mental breakdown. “I would like to try a small vanilla bean crème frappe please.”

"Alright, that'll be $8.68."

You instinctively reached for your wallet, but Prowl was already handing over a black card.

Your jaw dropped before hissing quietly, "Wait—what? Where did you even get money?"

Prowl accepted his card smoothly, pocketing it before replying, "I have my ways."

You narrowed your eyes. "That is not a real answer."

But he was already moving toward a table by the window, clearly done with the conversation. You followed, flopping into the seat across from him with a sigh.

"You are an absolute menace," you grumbled, resting your head against the cool tabletop.

"I believe you are the menace," he corrected. “I am not the one who needs refuelling at least three times a day,” he paused before throwing another smirk your way, “nor am I the one who molested another’s servo.” You groaned, resisting the urge to throw a sugar packet at him. You were definitely never living that down.

The worst part?

You weren't even actually mad, the wonders of coffee.

You hadn’t even received it yet and you were already in a better mood.

“Speaking of,” you muttered, flexing your fingers towards him. “That’s—How?”

Prowl exhaled, the kind of sigh that spoke of deep patience. “It’s called a Holomatter avatar and it’s a hard light projection. Advanced technology that allows us to form light molecules into a solid form to be able to better blend in with the local populace. We also have holograms that are simple light projections to make it look like something is there where it isn’t. Something I believe your kind have already managed to achieve.”

“You know,” you started as you fiddled with a sugar packet, “this would be significantly weirder if I hadn’t already adjusted to the whole ‘giant alien robots exist’ thing.”

Prowl tilted his head slightly. “Your adaptability is impressive. The human race is nothing if not adaptable.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m amazing. I’m also running on empty, so let’s save the praise for after I get caffeine in my system.”

Prowl didn’t reply, merely watching you with that unreadable expression of his. You tried not to let it unnerve you, but being under his scrutiny was… a lot.

A few minutes later, your coffee arrived, taking a sip you sighed in relief that you could still enjoy coffee in this life.

“Better?”

“Immeasurably.”

Prowl’s holoform leaned back in his chair, hands steepled as he regarded you. “Good. Now that you are more receptive, we have matters to discuss.”

You paused mid-sip, already re-regretting every decision that led to this moment. “Oh, great. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear before school.”

Prowl’s eyes flashed in amusement, “I am nothing if not efficient.”

You set your coffee down with a resigned sigh. “Alright, fine. What’s the crisis of the day?”

Prowl’s smirk faded into a more serious expression. “You have foreknowledge of my kind that you shouldn’t have, an ability many would covet, and on top of that there have been Decepticon sightings in the U.S.”

You groaned, letting your head thunk against the table. “Why am I not surprised?” Damn Barricade.

Prowl continued, unfazed. “Until the situation is assessed, you will have a guardian escorting you wherever you go. That includes myself and, if necessary, additional Autobot presence.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “You’re telling me I’m going to have a giant alien babysitter now?”

Prowl arched an eyebrow. “A guardian, or a protector if you prefer.” He corrected.

“A glorified babysitter is still a babysitter,” You groaned out, slamming your head against the table again. “I hate everything.”

“You will adjust,” he said smoothly. "I'm told your kind is good at that."

You shot him a look, then reached for your coffee. “You’re lucky this place makes good coffee, or I’d be making your life more difficult.”

Prowl’s holoform leaned forward just slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I don’t doubt that.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then, with a dramatic groan, you took a long sip of coffee, letting the caffeine and sugar seep into your bones. This was going to be a long week. You had a feeling you were going to be frequent visitors of this café for as long as you had to deal with the aft in front of you.

Chapter Text

A few minutes later, second coffee in hand, cold and comforting against your palm. You took a blissful sip, letting out a quiet hum of approval before side-eyeing Prowl. “Alright. This slightly makes up for the horror show of a morning you gave me.”

Prowl inclined his head. “Noted.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you took another long sip before sighing. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Take me to my doom.”

Prowl hummed in acknowledgment and led the way back to the car. As you climbed in, you glanced at him again, expression thoughtful.

“…Hey, if you can project a solid form, does that mean you can, like, pick stuff up?”

“Yes.”

“Carry things?”

“Yes.”

A slow grin spread across your face.

Prowl caught on immediately and narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Oh, yes. You are absolutely carrying my backpack from now on.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“You are capable of carrying your own belongings.”

“Not when I have an advanced alien hard-light babysitter, I mean, guardian.”

Prowl exhaled sharply through his nose as he pulled onto the street. “I regret this decision already.”

You took another sip of coffee, grinning. “Too late. You brought this upon yourself, buddy.”

Prowl didn’t respond, but the way his holoform’s fingers tapped irritably on the steering wheel told you that this was definitely going to be a long, long day for him.

You were looking forward to it.

______________

You knew it was going to be bad. You had mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable stares.

But somehow, it was still worse than you imagined.

The moment Prowl pulled into the school parking lot, heads turned. The sight of an expensive, intimidating, definitely-not-suspicious-at-all black-and-white car rolling into the student lot had people gawking.

You slouched lower in your seat. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

Prowl, completely indifferent to your suffering, smoothly pulled into a spot near the entrance, parking with the kind of obnoxiously perfect precision that made it impossible to pretend this was a casual drop-off.

Before you could even consider your escape route, the holoform leaned slightly toward you, and reached over to manually unlock the door—like he couldn’t just do it automatically.

You turned to gape at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“I am ensuring you do not linger,” he said plainly.

You threw your head back with a groan before begrudgingly stepping out. The second you did, you could feel the stares. You avoided eye contact with everyone, tightening your grip on your coffee as you speed-walked toward the entrance.

You barely made it three steps before a familiar voice called out—

“Yo! What the hell?”

You winced. Great. Just great. Turning, you were met with the wide-eyed expression of Miles and Sam. “What was that?!” Miles hissed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Why the hell did you just get dropped off in that fancy car!?” Sam hopped in, hands flailing back at Prowl as he turned to drive off, likely to do a perimeter check before finding somewhere, hopefully, inconspicuous to stay until school let out.

“Dude Sam, that isn’t just some fancy car, it’s a undercover cop ca-ack!” Miles cried out in surprised pain, hoping in place and cradling the foot you had just stomped on.

“Will you two shut up,” you hissed at them, pointing threateningly between the two of them with your coffee. “I have had one hell of a morning, and this coffee is the only thing keeping me sane right now. That,” waving your cup in the vague direction Prowl had left in, knowing very well he was still listening in to your conversation, “is not a cop car, he’s a …family friend,” you finally settled on praying to every higher power that he wouldn’t ask further questions.

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you have cop family friends?”

You took a long, long sip of your coffee. “Since now.”

“…You realize how suspicious that sounds.”

“I’m aware.”

Before he could pry further, the warning bell rang.

You exhaled sharply, relieved as you started toward the entrance. “C’mon, we’ll be late for Lit.”

Miles shot one last suspicious glance back toward the lot exit before falling into step beside you and Sam, and you tried very, very hard to ignore the feeling of Prowl’s optics watching until you disappeared inside.

______________

If you thought you were going to have a normal day even after that start, you were delusional.

The morning passed in a blurry haze of pretending to pay attention, half-heartedly taking notes, and trying desperately to ignore the occasional glances Miles shot you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

The rumours spread fast.

By the time lunch rolled around, everyone had heard Miles shout that you had been dropped off by a cop. Some thought you got arrested. Others thought you were in some kind of witness protection program.

One particularly dramatic sophomore claimed you were an undercover agent sent to bust a high school drug ring. You didn’t even know how to begin fixing this.

So, naturally, you didn’t.

You just kept your head down, drank what was left of your coffee, and prayed for the day to be over.

Little did you know, your real problem wasn’t the rumours.

It was what came after school ended.

The last period of the day dragged on painfully slow, but finally, the bell rang, signalling your freedom. You shoved your books into your bag and booked it for the exit with Miles and Sam before anyone could try to interrogate you any further.

But as soon as you stepped outside, your stomach dropped.

Prowl was waiting.

Not just in vehicle mode.

No, that would makes easy.

He was standing there in full holoform, arms crossed, looking as perfectly put-together as ever as he leaned against himself casually. Severe eyes scanning over the crowd disinterested until they narrowed in on your form, tight shoulders easing slightly before a harsh frown twisted his features.

He had been relieved to see you but was angry about something. Everyone was staring and Prowl was both relieved and angry.

Why was he relieved and angry?

You froze mid-step. The crowd around you slowed, students murmuring as they caught sight of the mysterious "cop" you had supposedly been dropped off by. Someone bumped into Miles, who audibly gasped as he stopped behind you. Sam’s jaw dropped.

You clenched your jaw and stormed forward, shoving past the whispering students. "What the hell are you doing?" you hissed under your breath, glaring up at Prowl.

His expression remained perfectly neutral beyond that tight frown. "You failed to answer my check-in messages." You blinked.

Oh.

You blinked once more.

Oh, you were so dead.

Your phone had been buried in your bag all day, and with the chaos of the morning, you hadn’t even thought to check it.

You swallowed hard. "I was in class," you whispered harshly. "Y’know, learning? The thing I’m here for? You’d think you’d be happy I wasn’t on my phone like some obsessed twitterer.”

Prowl opened his mouth to retort but Sam, who you hadn’t even notice following you, had beat him to it, "Wait… he was the one who dropped you off?

A fresh wave of whispers started amongst the gathering crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on.
"Who is that guy?"
"Is he really a cop? He looks too young."
"Or maybe too hot to be a cop—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. This was an absolute disaster.

"Just— everyone just get in the damn car," you muttered. "We are not having this conversation in front of the entire school."

Without waiting for his response, you marched toward the car, fully expecting Prowl and your boys to follow. Thankfully, they did. You barely registered Miles and Sam’s dumbfounded stares as you opened the back door before climbing into the passenger seat without hesitation. The second Prowl's holoform sat in though you threw him a harsh glare which he returned and the doors locked the second Sam scrambled through behind Miles, you groaned and dropped your head against the headrest.

"That was so unnecessary."

Prowl didn't seem to care. "Your failure to communicate was unnecessary."

You shot him a side-eye glare. "You literally heard everything I said to Miles and Sam. Don’t act like you weren’t eavesdropping, and it’s not like you warned me that you would be texting throughout the day!"

There was a pause. Then—

"Irrelevant."

You groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over your face ignoring Sam and Miles verbose explosion over the fact that your conversation had been ease dropped on. Your head turned back towards Prowl, one eye half opening to look at his holoform, “I’m going to need another coffee to deal with this.”

“You’ve already had two today, my research has led me to believe that to much coffee is bad for the human body, especially one still growing.”

“Not enough coffee is also bad,” you retorted, “as in, if I don’t get another cup someone is going to die by my hand but whether it will be myself or someone else has yet to be determined. Although it’s very quickly becoming someones else if the two yahoos in the back don’t shut up and give my headache a break. Sam. Miles.” You snarled at them, throwing a glare over the back of the seat.

At seeing the look in your eyes, they both immediately shot up straight, hands placed perfectly in their laps and mouths shut. They had been the unfortunate victims of your harsh migraines over the years and though they always waved off your apologies, it didn’t deter from the fact that you were a raging monster when your head ached and had them well trained in behaving during such times.

Now if only they would listen that well to you the other eighty percent of the time.

Turning back around you caught the slightest smirk on Prowl’s face, an amused gleam in his eye, no doubt at you reprimanding your two boys.

“That includes you too mister. You’re also in trouble for causing this headache in the first place.”

“As likely as that is, I highly doubt you’ll actually do anything.”

“Oh?” You questioned with a sly grin. He threw you a suddenly weary look at you, Sam and Miles wide eyes flowing between the two of you like ping pong balls, mouths opening wide in horror at Prowl’s jab.

The poor Autobot really had no idea who he was challenging. Miles and Sam, clearly invested in your unfolding battle, barely dared to breathe as they waited for your next move.

You let the silence stretch, basking in the moment before leaning back in your seat and lazily reaching for the nearest door panel. With a casual flick of your fingers, you ran your nail along the seam where the leather met the plastic interior, just soft enough to tease but just hard enough to produce a slightly scratchy sound, barely noticeable to the human ear if the car wasn’t silent beyond the soft purr of the engine. Or if you weren’t the car itself that was.

Prowl’s holoform tensed immediately.

“What are you doing,” he asked, voice flat but tinged with something cautious.

You shrugged, keeping your expression perfectly neutral. “Nothing.”

Except you weren’t fooling anyone. Not Miles, who slapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter, not Sam who bit his lip still wary of this stranger but finding amusement in not being the target, and definitely not Prowl whose bodies, car and holoform, tensed the second your nail had made contact and had yet to relax.

You briefly wondered if Sam and Miles had noticed a difference in the way the car held itself as it moved down the street, or how the seats seemed to have straightened up just a little bit, made themselves slightly harder than any leather seat had any right to be.

You dragged your nail along the seam again, keratin just barely making contact with the fibreglass.

Prowl’s optics narrowed.

“You are attempting to be irritating.”

“Me?” You gasped, feigning offense. “I would never.”

Prowl inhaled sharply through his nose, his holoform’s fingers tightening around the steering wheel. He had yet to realize that by acknowledging your antics, he had already lost.

Sam and Miles, sensing something truly magnificent was about to unfold, stayed perfectly still.

So, naturally, you upped the ante.

With a casual stretch, you nudged the window button, watching as it lowered open slightly. Then you slowly pushed it closed. Open. Closed. Open again.

Click. Click. Click.

“Stop that.”

“Oh? This?” Click. Click. “Why?”

“It is unnecessary.”

You gasped again, placing a hand over your chest. “Unnecessary? Oh, I’m sorry, you see we were learning about human behaviour today in science! This is actually a very important ritual called ‘being annoying for karmic purposes.’ It’s a very delicate art—”

Click.

“—and you should be honoured to witness it firsthand.”

Miles was practically vibrating, seconds away from passing out from lack of air, Sam had buried his face in his hands.

Prowl was silent. Too silent. Clearly he was used to the antics of the younger bots, and possibly his conjux himself.

So, you went for the kill.

Lifting your hands, you pretended to stretch and reached up, most definitely not deliberately nudging the overhead mirror. Just a tiny, tiny adjustment. Barely even noticeable— but this was Prowl.

And Prowl noticed.

“That was aligned perfectly,” he stated, voice eerily calm.

You nudged it again.

Prowl exhaled sharply, a clipped, mechanical sound that wasn’t quite a sigh but carried the energy of one. The most he could do in the presence of two humans who weren’t in the know.

For a moment, you could see him wrestling with himself. He could adjust the mirror back. He could fix whatever petty chaos you inflicted.

But the second he did, he’d be playing into your hands.

You leaned back smugly, “I did warn you earlier, that I could make your life more difficult.”

Prowl was quiet for exactly three seconds.

Then, without a word, he adjusted the air conditioning.

The temperature dropped instantly.

You choked on your inhale. Miles and Sam yelped as a gust of cold air blasted from the vents into their faces.

“Oh, you absolute bastard—”

You reached for the AC control to cranked it back down — only for Prowl to lock it back in place.

You locked eyes, a silent battle of wills unfolding as the car idled in the parking lot.

Miles, still recovering from laughing too hard, wiped a tear from his eye. “I—I don’t know what I expected, but this? This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Sam groaned. “Please just get us to the damn coffee shop before I freeze to death.”

You crossed your arms. “Not until he admits he was in the wrong.”

“I will do no such thing,” Prowl responded evenly.

Miles grinned. “Dude, just admit it. You were wrong, you got played. Easy words to say, though they may seem hard.”

“I did not ‘get played.’”

Sam snorted. “You absolutely got played.”

You smirked. “Give up, Prowl. You’ve already lost.”

Prowl’s holoform was unreadable for a moment. Then—so subtly you almost didn’t notice—his lips curled upward.

Not a smirk. Not a frown. Something dangerously close to amusement.

You found you didn’t like that look on him.

“…You will find I am very patient, and I do not lose,” he said smoothly, “Let us see if you can say the same.”

You blinked.

And then he reached forward, and the radio clicked on.

And it wasn’t classical, or the dispatch, or even regular top hits channel.

It was country music.

Loud.

Painfully loud country music. You hadn’t even noticed he had swerved the volume knob up on its own at the same time, having paid to much attention the holoform hand’s movements trying to anticipate what he was doing.

Miles and Sam screeched in surprise.

You screeched louder, hands clasping over your ears.

“YOU MONSTER—What happened to protecting your charge??”

Prowl said nothing, simply merging into traffic as if he hadn’t just declared all-out war.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

______________

The café still smelled like renewed hopes and old dreams realized, and it wasn’t crowded despite the hour. You sat across from Sam and Miles, trying not to feel like you were under a spotlight. Prowl sat stiffly by you, arms crossed, scanning the room like a secret service agent in a cheap diner, rather than the almost relaxed and peaceful look he had had this morning in the very same place. His uptight presence alone was already raising eyebrows.

Miles leaned forward, stirring his milkshake lazily with his straw. "Alright, spill it. Who is this guy? And don’t give me that ‘family friend’ crap again, because no offense, dude"—he glanced at Prowl—"but you’ve got undercover cop written all over you."

You hesitated, eyes darting to Prowl. They hadn’t exactly had time to come up with a solid cover story. "He’s my older cousin," you blurted out. "Uh, college student. Overprotective parents. Strict upbringing, didn’t really get along with my free-thinking ones. You know how it is, and he has cop written all over him because he works security at his campus. His side of the family firmly believes in the whole hard work from a young age thing, so he’s been one since you were what 17? 18?" You turned to Prowl and gave him a raised eyebrow, one that you hoped said ‘play along and maybe I’ll play nice too.’

“…19,” he said slowly. “I had enough allowance saved to allow for a year without work.”

“And I suppose it does work rather well with that criminal justice major of yours, huh?”  

Sam gave Prowl a slow once-over as he nodded stiffly in response. "Huh. Didn’t even know you had other family."

Prowl’s expression didn’t change. "Our families are estranged, practically strangers really."

Miles narrowed his eyes. "That’s exactly what an undercover cop would say."

You kicked Miles under the table. "Drop it."

"Fine, whatever." Miles slumped back in his chair. "Anyway, how’re you guys doing on your history projects, because I’m already stuck with only half the work done."

You seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. "Oh, I’m nearly finished myself,” you were in no way shape or form such considering it had been one thing after the other since it’d been announced. You sincerely hoped it wasn’t due tomorrow, otherwise you were about to pull an all-nighter and attempting to save the world really shouldn’t be done on limited sleep. Not to mention you were an absolute nightmare to deal with sleep deprived. “It’s kind of interesting, and how I met Pro-Prospero here." You prayed they didn’t notice the slip, “Yes, weird name, get over it. Anyway I think Sam’s project is more interesting. He has the actual heirlooms, including a journal, from his however many greats grandfather who was one of the first to explore the arctic.” You shot Prowl a pointed look. "Pretty valuable too if I’m right. Sam tried to auction it despite the fact it clearly belongs in a museum if he doesn’t want to keep his family heritage."

Prowl didn't react outwardly, but you could see the slightest flicker of recognition in his otherwise unreadable face.

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. History's so exciting and I’m an idiot for not respecting my heritage, I get it Nova." He made a dismissive gesture before sighing dramatically. "I mean, I guess it is cool. But the real important part, is if I get an A, my dad said he’d help me get a car."

You took a sip of your drink, giving Prowl another sidelong glance. That part was important. If Prowl was putting pieces together, then he’d realize what that meant. Sam’s history project meant he had found the owner of the pieces he had been trying to find, and car situation could bring another Autobot into the mix naturally—Bumblebee.

Prowl hummed slightly, processing the information. "A vehicle is useful for transportation," he said, almost mechanically.

Miles snorted. "Wow, real deep analysis there, bud. I mean, you’re right, but you’re missing the big picture. A car means picking up babes, and in Sam’s case, this specific one, Mi-ugh!" He cut off as Sam elbowed him in the gut.

Sam huffed in, but his focus was back on you. "Anyways, speaking of ancient history, thanks for making me take down those listings, jerk."

You stuck your tongue out at him, ignoring Prowl’s quiet chiding about childishness before Miles asked about the listings.

Sam responded in kind to you by also sticking his tongue out before answering. "Yeah, the junk my great-great-grandpa left behind. Nova’s right, some of it is kind of neat, but I guess no one’s gonna buy a dead guy’s glasses, so it’s not like it really matters, but don’t think I didn’t see those bids on the journal, bub."

Your drink suddenly tasted bitter, your grip tightening around the cup. Next to you, Prowl had gone utterly still.

"Glasses?" Prowl asked, tone deceptively mild.

Sam nodded, completely unaware of the shift in atmosphere. "Yeah, old pair. Scratched to hell, but they’ve got this weird little engraving on them, so I thought that might give them a chance. Some weird shape that reminds me of the motherboards Miles messes with or something."

You froze.

Prowl’s posture shifted—only slightly, but enough for you to recognize the change. He was locking onto something, tension coiling in his frame like a loaded spring.

Prowl’s voice was calm, too calm. "…Engraving?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a lead blanket.

Oh, shit.

You had forgotten it had been the glasses, not the journal, that had set off the search for Sam.

Chapter Text

The urge to slam your head against the table was strong. You couldn’t believe you had forgotten about the glasses. How could you have forgotten about one of the most important main story plot points?

Your forehead’s only saving grace was that you were opposite Sam and Miles, both of whom would be confused by the sudden aggression on your part. You loved how sweet they could be, but you also wanted to keep them out of this mess as long as possible. 

You were almost certain tomorrow was the day of the project, the sole reason being that you hadn’t been able to work on it. Which meant Bumblebee would soon come into the picture and only a few days later you would all be fighting for your lives in Mission City. 

If you all survived as planned, you were at least happy for the two-year reprieve before the next major movie event. 

That is, you thought quietly side-eyeing Prowl as he occasionally joined the conversation, as long as this world actually followed the plot line. If you were incredibly lucky then Prowl would be the only change, and you could continue with your plan. 

Somehow you doubted you would be so lucky. 

Zoning back into the conversation you tried to enjoy what little childhood and free you had left with your boys, before the Autobots fully came and tore it all away for good. 

———————

You’ve been awfully quiet,” Prowl commented after dropping off Sam, lingering as you both watched him traisp through the yard (you could already hear Ron’s tirade) and through the door. With a final wave and smile you watched the teen slip inside and Prowl start to pull away, “We have not known one another long, but seem…solen, almost defeated since the cafe.” 

You choked out a laugh, fighting back tears, “I suppose that isn’t far from the truth,” you admitted. 

“I recognize that our relationship is new, and in general I am not one that bots seek out to talk to, however, I am willing to listen if you are willing to share.” 

You stared in stunned surprise at the dashboard, then your lips started wobbling, your hands coming up to cover your eyes as loud wails left you. You barely felt it as Prowl swerved in surprise, quickly righting himself before he hit someone, barely registered as his lights flashed and he sped off to some unknown destination. 

Large hands wrapped themselves around you, one tangling in your hair and the other rubbing your back as they gently brought you into a hug. In the back of your mind, you flinched at feeling the cloth on his chest hold that same not quite right feeling, but leaned into his hold regardless, just happy to someone at partially in the know and on your side. 

Over your sobbing you could just barely hear Prowl murmuring over you, likely some kind of ‘it’ll all okay’ nonsense before your brain focused on the soft but alien notes playing in the background. The music was familiar in the fact that it was similar to the way classical music sounded, if classical music had been technofied and overlaid several times over that is. 

As your brain focused on the music, you slowly calmed down, until you eventually left with heaving gasps and light sniffling. 

It was as Prowl took his hand from your back and tilted your head back, asking if you had let it all out that you realized. 

“Y-you,” you stuttered out, “that pretty music was you singing.”

A light flush covered his face at your words as he nodded, “Whenever Jazz felt down about the war, he would ask me to sing. The first time I did it, the only thing that came to mind was an old Praxian lullaby for sparkling,” a small smile grew on his face as his eyes softened, “I had been so embarrassed at the time, but he never laughed. Just laid his helm against me and asked for it again. When you broke down it was the first thing I could think to do.”

A watery smile broke out at the image. A much younger Prowl and Jazz, with less scars and trauma, but still there for one another. You couldn’t help but briefly wonder if they had been conjuxes yet at that point. 

“We’ll save him,” you said suddenly, determination lacing your voice even as it still quivered from your crying. Prowl simply blinked at your words, confusion clouding his eyes. “Jazz, Sam, Ratchet and the others. We’ll save them all.” 

“Everyone that we can,” Prowl nodded before he paused, head tilting to the side, “What do you mean by Sam, Ratchet, and the others?” 

 ‘Gods above and below,’ you thought before slamming your head against the holoform’s chest causing a small oof noise to leave Prowl, ‘you really needed to learn to hold your tongue.’ Your mind flittered quickly over different responses you could give him, anything to throw him off but not get you into trouble later.  

“You’re in a war,” you finally settled on saying, “casualties happen when there are wars. It’s a fact of life; it’s also why I broke down earlier. That time in the cafe? That will be one of the last times I see Sam before he’s dragged into your people’s war and eventually… eventually he’s killed for it. Because as much of a selfish dumbass he can be, Sam is stupidly loyal, and he stays loyal to you and your kind to the point that other humans hunt him down for it and my best friend is killed before he even hits thirty. 

Because you guys brought your war here, millions of humans will die simply for happening to be in the same area of a battle. Because you brought your war here, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Ironhide? They all die, betrayed and hunted like animals by humans and bots alike.” 

Prowl’s mouth opened and closed a few times during your tirade, before finally closing his eyes and tipping his head back slightly, “It’s not much, but I am sorry for dragging your world into our war.” 

“You’re right,” you piped up, “It’s not much, but it’s a start.” You placed your hand on his and gave him a watery smile. He gave a small one in return before you took a shuddering breath and pulled away. “Right then, that’s enough of that. We’ll have time for breakdowns later. Now we have to go home so I can work on this stupid project that’s due tomorrow because I refuse to get anything less than an A and have Sam of all people show me up. Then we are going to discuss what exactly we are going to do about everything, okay?” 

“Okay,” he nodded, “I would prefer to discuss things first, but I recognize the need to hold up appearances.” 

 “Oh sure, now when then entire school isn’t watching is when you want to uphold appearances,” you grumbled playfully at him as you settled back into your seat properly, arms crossed. Prowl’s only response was a slight smirk as he drove off. “Wait,” you said suddenly, “did you do that on purpose???” A light hum was all you got before an explosion of expletives left your mouth, both human and Cybertronian, much to his delighted horror. 

“Oh, and Prowl?” You called out once you calmed down, another hum was your answer, “Thank you…for everything.” 

“Don’t mention it,” he murmured with a light flush across his face. It made you wonder with a sad thought, just how often Prowl was actually thanked for anything he had done. 

——————-

Five hours and three crash outs later you had a passable project that would meet Mr. Graham’s standards even if it didn’t meet your own. You fully, and justifiably, blamed the very Autobot you were sneaking out to meet. Well, you called it sneaking out, in reality you had simply told your parents you wanted to destress by doing some soul searching under the moonlight. 

They weren’t exactly the hardest beings to convince of anything, and in a way, you weren’t lying. You had no doubt you would be doing some soul searching for patience by the end of the night in order to deal with Prowl. 

Speaking of, as the screen door shut, you could see him. Prowl sat nice and pretty as usual, parked in that semi-there driveway that should you survive the week, you might actually clean up and make more drivable. 

Maybe. 

If you didn’t strangle one another first that is. And while you understood that Cybertronians didn’t actually need to breathe, you were determined to find something that was similar. Perhaps crimping one of his lines? No, that actually ran the risk of killing him, not to mention it would be an absolute pain to have to smuggle yourself under his plating just to get even close to the lines. 

Climbing in when he opened the door you couldn’t help the first words out of your mouth, “Hey, what’s your guys equivalent to threatening to throttle someone?”  

Judging by the sudden stactity suck-in noise he made, you were certain that he would have choked had he been drinking. Which made you pause as he stuttered and ranted out demands of questions on why you wanted to know. “Curiosity, mostly,” was your answer. “Just like I’m curious about your fuel intake. I know enough from my visions that you guys require some kind of blue substance as your food source.” 

“Energon,” Prowl dipped low on his front tires before rising up again in some form of a car nod. “It’s a special mineral that grows in very few places due to its volatile nature. The slightest wrong movement and you could blow up not only yourself but the entire mineshaft that you’re harvesting from. It was a highly dangerous job back on Cybertron, one that should have been highly coveted since they were providing the source of everyone’s lives and yet… the miners were considered one of the lowest classes.” 

You nodded at the information. Technically you had already known that, in recent continuities Megatron himself often started off as a miner before becoming a gladiator, then a rebel leader for a better future, before finally becoming the war tyrant that he was known as today. 

In the back of your mind though, you had always wondered, who would D-16 be today if they hadn’t lived in such a functionalist system? 

Would he have stayed a miner willingly? Become a poet? A politician? A healer? A teacher? 

Megatron could have been anyone, and his own society had taken it away before he had the chance to choose. It was … a rather sobering thought, especially considering the nearing dystopian world humanity was hurtling itself towards. How long, you wondered, until you lived in your very own version of The Hunger Games or The Handmaiden Tale? 

You hoped it never truly came to that. That maybe, just maybe, the contact with these ancient beings who had been through so much because of such ways could dissuade humanity from following in their footsteps. 

But first, you had to make sure your bot was taken care of. 

“And this Energon, you have some right? You’re not going to starve on me?” 

“While I do not possess Energon at this moment, you need not worry for my health. While less than pleasant tasting, petroleum and gasoline is enough to keep us going.” A sigh of relief left you at his words. While Prowl made you terrified and annoyed (somehow all at once) that didn’t mean you wanted him to die. 

“Good,’ you said, “I’m glad I won’t have to drive your corpse off my lawn at any point.” 

A low rumble left him, “As am I.” 

Light briefly flickered through the windows, cutting off any chance of a reply you had, as another car pulled up and shut off their power. Even with the headlights turned off, the moon provided more than enough light for you to make out the build of a sports car. 

A very dirty, but also very yellow, sports car. 

“Bumblebee,” you breathed out in awe. His side mirrors spun as he playfully revved at Prowl. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee…that’s me, yep!” A delighted laugh left you at the chorus of voices that spilled out of Prowl’s radio and you happily waved at Bumblebee through the window. 

A long suffering sigh left Prowl before introducing the two of you. “Nova, this is Bumblebee, our youngest scout. He was assigned to check out Earth before our arrival. Bumblebee, this is Nova, our new little seer and human advisor.” 

“Hello!…Cassandra…my star,” played out the radio in different clips. You couldn’t help the snort that left you at hearing the name Cassandra. While a nice reference to the seer bit, you hoped you never suffered the fate that befell her in the myths. 

“Hello to you too Bumblebee, it’s a pleasure to meet you too.” A whistle-like noise played, that you presumed was a happy noise, before Prowl let out another, shorter this time though, annoyed sigh. 

“Alright Mr. grump bot, we’ll cut to the chase. What do we know so far?” Both bots seemed to straighten up, the air growing tense enough that you were tempted to open a window, but you knew sound carried and you weren’t fool enough to risk aiding any potential eavesdroppers. 

“You were right about someone coming. Approximately 27 hours ago an U.S Army base stationed in Qatar was attacked and their information was infiltrated until one of the generals managed to hard cut the line. Reports of a helicopter that had been shot down 18 weeks ago had landed at said base only five minutes prior to the attack. The Decepticons have many fliers under their leadership so it’s impossible to be certain of who it was without more evidence -“ 

“Blackout and Scorponok,” you cut in before wincing, an apology slipping through for interrupting him. 

Prowl waved it off, “You’re certain? There was no evidence of a second Cybertronian but a military helicopter would fit Blackout’s style.” 

 “Blackout was retrofitted to be able to carry Scorponok on his back I believe. In the chaos of attacking the base he let Scorponok out. The little bugger will track down a surviving army unit that escaped the base. Assuming I saw the same attack that it,” you tacked on, “The U.S has many bases stationed in just as many foreign desserts. The one I saw might be different, might not even happen at all now that we know to look for it.” You were almost certain they were one and the same. 

First Blackout attacks the base searching for information before being foiled, lets out Scorponok then fucks off somewhere else for the majority of the screen time, until Starscream call for reinforcements for the final battle that is. Then Scorponok attacks the surviving group leaving behind a piece of his tail, Barricade and Frenzy attack the place to gather more information, leading them to project Iceman and eventually to Sam. 

“Two days,” You had two days before all hell broke loose. Tomorrow Sam would present and get Bumblebee as a job well done present, and the day after he would be attacked by Barricade. 

“Three, two, one….What does it all mean?” Came through the radio, breaking your concentration. With a soft but sad smile you relayed what little information you could about the movie's events surrounding Blackout and Barricade.

”Tomorrow is when our history project is due, Sam will squeak by with just a high enough grade that his father will buy him a car. Bumblebee,” you turned towards the camarro who straightened up higher onto his wheels at you attention, “you have to be to be the car that Sam buys. Otherwise he’ll be vulnerable to Barricade or any other Decepticons they decide to send for him.” 

“You…got it!…boss.” 

“Prowl, in a few days time Barricade and Frenzy will attempt to attack, you have to be ready to head them off so Bumblebee can get Sam and anyone else who’s with him to safety. And, since I already know you’re going to relay all this to Prime if you aren’t already, make sure they come prepared for a fight when they land. Things are going to move fast when they arrive. They’ll get maybe a few hours tops of down time before the ball starts rolling and doesn’t stop.” 

Prowl hesitated, probably uncertain on how to respond to what he thought was a sixteen year old human commanding him. Whatever hangups he had though, he shook them off pretty quickly, “Understood.” 

“If we’re lucky we’ll get through this with as few casualties as possible.” You ran a gentle hand over Prowl’s dashboard, a silent reminder that you would do your best to keep Jazz alive. He didn’t reply but he didn’t have to. The seat you were sitting in conformed to you in a mimic of a hug. 

It was all you needed. 

——————-

The loud beeping filling your room was quickly silenced by your hand slamming down onto the alarm clock. With a wince you withdrew your hand and apologized to the tiny machine that was only doing its job. Knowing your luck the damned thing would turn into a Cybertronian in the future and come after you with minuscule bullets. 

Better safe than sorry in this case. 

With a groan you slowly rolled out of bed, whining at the loss of your soft knitted quit and squishy mattress as your feet hit the cold hardwood floor. A curse at Prowl left your mouth as you slowly descended upon your room to get ready for the day. 

You were pretty certain the lake party happened the same day Bumblebee was bought, but you couldn’t be certain as you never really paid attention to all the happenings that the other students planned, so you picked out a grey tank top and a floor length, light brown skirt that shimmered whenever you twisted slightly in the light. It was pretty, but such a pain to get into and out of vehicles with, or sitting down in general really. 

Totally worth it for the rad Romani feeling though. 

Grabbing your bag you double checked you had everything for the day before walking out the front door. As you expected it took a minute to pull up all the excess fabric into the passenger seat of Prowl’s form (of which you studiously ignored his holoform’s raised eyebrow as you struggled to grab it all) but soon enough you were zooming off towards the holy land known as the Starlight Cafe. You did have the foresight to order a chamomile peppermint tea rather than a coffee today though. 

You did not want to know what coffee would do to your nerves right now. 

You had a plan, you reminded yourself, and worse comes to worse your bots were amazing improvisers. 

Except Jazz will die, your traitorous brain whispers. Ironhide, Ratchet, Optimus Prime himself eventually dies. 

Sam will die.

You let out a shuddering breath and took a sip of your tea, ignoring both Prowl’s concerned look and the scalding heat of your tea. Definitely fresh. 

Today was the day Sam would inadvertently be drawn into the Transformers world and you were so nervous something would go wrong. What if he doesn’t get that A? What if he does get the A but Ron takes him to a different lot? Gets a different car that most definitely wasn’t Bumblebee? What if, what if, what if.

You shook your head in hopes of dissuading the thoughts from continuing. You could think what if thoughts all day but it wouldn’t actually do anything other than drive you insane. You knew that logically. Didn’t make it any easier to put it into practice though. 

You startled at the sudden pressure on your shoulder. A quick glance over showed that Prowl’s holoform had leaned over the console, sharp eyes taking in every detail of your face in concern. “I’m okay, just nerves.” He hummed lightly in response, letting you go but gave one last lingering look. 

“If you’re certain,” left his mouth before your door swung open, “we are here.” 

With a deep breath you maneuvered to get out but paused when Prowl called your name, “And Nova?” You turned back to him with a questioning look. “Kick their afts, little auto human.” 

You blinked at him in surprise, mouth opened slightly in shock before a smile lit up your face. 

“Aye aye commander!” With that you turned to leave once more, Prowl’s words circling and blocking out any of the negative ones your brain could come up with. Back straight and head held high you greeted Sam and Miles happily. They stared at you with wide eyes before following your form into the building. You were ready to storm both the school and this world’s plot. 

It was amazing, you thought, what a few words could do to someone’s mental state. 

——————

 Wow, was the only word that could run through your head as you watched Sam fumble through his project like he was auctioning off some prized historical item. Although, those were usually done with class, perhaps a greasy used car salesman, desperate to earn a buck and trick some unsuspecting poor soul of their money was a more apt description. 

You still couldn’t believe that he manages to talk Mr. Graham into an A-, so perhaps the car salesman was something he should look into as a career path. Then again a politician's path could work just as well. They lied and sold people falsehoods all the time. As you watched him get granted a B right before the bell rang and then scramble to talk his way into a higher grade, you thought a politician's job would be good for him indeed. He came from a high end family, never got into any real trouble, could talk his way into and out of anything, and always managed to stay up to date on all the popular kids gossip and hangouts. Maybe you would mention it at one point. 

Then again, as he profusely thanked Mr.Graham for the higher grade, you weren’t certain you trusted Sam with politics. Maybe you would talk to him about the eventual Autobots liaison position? That required good people and talking skills without having him potentially get eaten alive by all the old rust buckets on the counsels about laws. 

Walking calmly after Sam as he whooped and ran out, you bid the teacher farewell. Miles joined and you both watched with amusement as Sam collided with a group of students leaving their own classroom late. A snort of laughter left you as you came up to the group of teens tangled together, Sam apologizing profusely as he got up, ready to bolt off again until you grabbed the back of his collar as he took off. 

Sam let out a strangled gasp as the shirt choked him, “Now Sam, the car will still be there if you wait ten minutes. Slow your roll and help fix your mess.” 

“Yes Nova.”

With a critical eye you watched as he helped the group up, apologizing once more to them. You nodded your head at Miles and then to the other side of Sam. He gave a nod of his own in return before sliding up beside your friend. Together you caged him in so that he couldn’t rush off and run anyone else over. 

Or knowing your luck, run straight into a pole.  

Sam was so jumpy that the second you had a clear shot to Ron’s car you couldn’t help but say, “Okay, go on boy!” The glare he shot you over his shoulder said that he heard you but he obviously wanted that new car to care since he simply continued running down the stairs. 

Looking over the parking lot you managed to spot Prowls form in the sea of cars. You gave him a nod before getting into Ron’s backseat. A quick flash of headlights was your response. 

The plan was a go. 

Miles waved off Ron’s offer of being dropped off, stating a computer science club meeting he wanted to attend but he would see us later, before you were off. 

The closer you got to the car lot the harder your heart would pound until it seemed like it would pump itself out of you like a chest burster. Sam’s excited squeal, sorry yell, cut through your thoughts and nerves. A quick glance outside showed a Cadillac lot filled with high-end cars, including the Porsche that Jazz would take the form of. 

“No, no no no no. No way you’re getting me a Porsche!” 

“You’re right,” Ron cut in with a laugh, quite pleased with himself and his little joke, “you’re not getting a Porsche.” 

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Sam asked affronted as he dropped back into his seat with a huff. 

“I thought it was funny,” you piped in with a smirk.

“Shut up Nova,” was his brilliant responseas you pulled into the dilapidated parking lot of ‘Bolivia’s Finest Quality Used Cars,’ but you were no longer paying attention to him. Nor the older black gentleman who walked up to greet you three as you got out of the car. 

No, your attention was on the sleek yellow camaro that was silent pulling up behind the distracted adults to park in between a yellow beetle (apparently placed in the movie as an homage to the G1 cartoon Bulmblebee. As cool as the bayverse Bee was, you almost wished they had kept to his cute beetle design) and the gas pump. 

You grabbed Sam’s hand, ignoring Bobby’s sales pitch of how they were practically family now and of ‘the car choosing the driver (Harry Potter much?) to instead drag Sam over to the cars where Bumblebee waited patiently. It was always so easy to forget that Bumble was actually a war hardened scout who was the best in his field, until moments like this happened, where he’ll sit still and pretty like he was just another car waiting for a human to command it. No hint of the playful autobot in sight, or any sign of life at all really. 

You felt more than saw Sam’s awe at seeing the Camaro form, knew that he had his heart set on it even as Bobby lost his mind trying to figure out where it had come from. Watched as Sam reverently ran his fingers over the steering wheel and eventually uncover the autobot symbol. 

This was it. This was the fateful meeting that changed the course of the war. You almost wanted to cry at seeing it in person. 

Until Bobby’s ugly mug popped into view that was. You didn’t really have anything against Bobby, but had always held little patience when dealing with salespeople. You understood it was their literal job and what they were being paid for, but some of them were just so pushy that it tended to turn you off from shopping in general. And Bobby? He was definitely one of those pushy ones, you thought to yourself with a huff as you watched him and Ron barter over the car price until it became obvious that Ron was the more stubborn of the two and he kicked Sam out of Bumblebee. 

“But you said the car chooses its driver!” Sam cried out in protest. 

“Yeah it does, but this car chose someone with a cheap father. Now come on kid and look at this beauty here-“

As Bobby tried to sell Sam and Ron on the beatle by getting in and showing off its features, you subtly tapped on Bumblebee’s hood. 

His passenger door popped open and slammed into the beatle with enough force that Bobby almost fell out the other side. You watched Bobby with a smirk on your face as he scrambled out and tried to save face by saying the dings could come right out. With your limited knowledge of cars, you couldn’t argue that he was wrong. Dings and dents could come right out with the right tools, which meant upping the ante. 

Bumblebee also seemed to know of this, or at least he hadn’t liked that his warning had been ignored, as a sudden beeping noise started filling his cab, increasing in pitch and speed until suddenly every item of glass on the lot was shattering. 

All four of you yelped in surprise before you ducked to hide under Bumblebee’s bumper to escape the falling shards. Bumblebee rose up on his tires a little, allowing you more room of which you happily used to scoot further under his protection. His door quickly shut again and he turned his radio off as he waited patiently for you to move out from under him once it was safe, before sinking down on his tires again, once more appearing like a regular car.

”Thank you,” you murmured into his grill before leaving a light peck. With a groan you pulled yourself up using his hood for balance, him carefully raising up to follow your movement until you were perfectly standing on your own two feet again and he once more sunk down.   

You watched as Bobby tentatively peeked his head out from behind the beatle before calling out, “4k! Just get that damn car off my lot!” 

Another smirk appeared on your face as you leaned against Bumblebee before holding your hand out to his side mirror. The mirror bent back just enough to bump your hand before going back to its original position, “Good job Bumbles. Dramatic but good.” 

His side mirrors wiggled happily before stilling once more as Sam rushed over to check out and gush about his new car, Ron trailing after a mumbling (and potentially traumatized) Bobby to finalize all of the details. All in all the scene played out almost exactly like the movie and you tried to bask in the glow of a job well done. After all, there was plenty of time later for your mind to devolve into doom and gloom territory, for now you wanted to enjoy your best friend getting his first car. 

Especially when it was a Camaro. 

Your first car had been nowhere near as fancy. Then again your first car also hadn’t been an alien life form from outer space either. Possessed by a demon perhaps with all of its tantrums but definitely not Cybertronian. 

Talk about main characters getting all of the luck. 

Chapter Text

You weren’t a hundred percent certain what possessed you to get into the car when Sam was the one behind the wheel, but as you hurdled down the streets with the music blaring, you could only thank the fact you trusted Bumblebee to keep you from dying in a crash. 

“Samuel Witwicky if you get a speeding ticket or crash this car while I’m in it I will strangle you.” 

“Lighten up Nova! It’s not like I’m doing a hundred in a residential area.” 

“No, just eighty on a highway in a car you’ve never driven before and therefore don’t know it’s break time?” Or whether the breaks worked at all really since no one actually bothered to check under Bumblebee’s hood for any potential problems. Granted this wasn’t actually a car but Sam didn’t know that yet, did he? 

He blinked before nodding to concede you had a point, his foot slowly hitting the break and mumbling under his breath at you. You flipped him and then Bumblebee off as the radio suddenly changed stations and started playing a song about a mean woman. 

“Don’t think I won’t trade you in for parts to make a new scout!” You hissed at Bumblebee under your own breath, knowing damn well his audibles would pick up even the lowest of whispers from you as you kicked your foot out while pretending to stretch, “he needs to learn to drive properly.” 

Bumblebee made a sad warbling sound that could have been easily mistaken for the engine but made sure Sam stuck to the speed limit, making sputtering noises or forcing his gear shift and gas pedal to stick whenever Sam tried to sneak going faster. 

“See Nova? You made the Beast sad,” Sam tittered at you playfully. 

“The Beast?”

“It’s what I’m thinking of naming this beauty once I get him cleaned up - hey! Don’t laugh!” 

Even with his words you couldn’t help the laugh that left you at hearing the name, especially when you pictured Bumblebee’s face at being called that. 

“Yeah. You’re not naming anything ‘the Beast’ while I’m around.” 

“Oh yeah? And what would you name him since you’re so clever?” 

“Bumblebee,” you said automatically, “He’s black and yellow and his engine purrs sound like bees buzzing. Plus he’s a small car that packs a powerful punch given his horsepower.” 

“Bumblebee,” Sam repeated, mulling the name around his tongue as he pulled off onto an exit. Stopping at a light he looked around the cab thoughtfully, “I suppose that’ll do, for now .” Sam speak for ‘I like it but am too manly to admit it.’ 

“Sure Sam, whatever you say.” You placate him with a roll of your eyes, “Where are we going anyways? You just sped off once you got the keys.” 

“My place, I want to get dressed up for the lake party tonight.”

“Dude it’s a teen party at a lake , shouldn’t you be dressing down ,” you teased gently. Sam threw a look your way and you held your hands up in surrender. 

“Anyways I’m going to change clothes, we’re going to pick up Miles from that club of his and then we’re going to schmooze it up with the popular kids, and if I’m lucky Mikaela will be there and actually notice me.” 

“And that, that right there is why you get bullied.” 

“What? A man can’t want a specific girl to notice him?”

“More like no one says schmooze it up anymore, Sam. Well, no one but old people and the uncool kids.” 

“Shut it Nova, I don’t see you part of the popular gang either.” 

“Yeah, because I have a brain, besides I think I’ll keep talking. Torturing you is a fun pastime.” 

And if the radio suddenly spat out staticky laughter, Sam certainly didn’t hear it over his defeated groan. 

———————

If you hadn’t already been aware that a party was going to be held at the lake, the blaring music and loud laughter were obvious clues. Pulling up you noticed Prowl’s form already parked nearby. Considering Sam would have no problem kicking Miles out later so he could chat up Mikaela, you were pretty happy to have a backup escape option if needed. 

Although since you had no real interest in any of the others here, and with Sam and Miles going to be chatting up girls and pretending to be way cooler than they actually were, you might actually, voluntarily, spend your time with Prowl instead. He would certainly have more interesting conversations ready for you than whatever dribble the teens here were going to offer you. 

Harsh? Yes, but you also had spent several years with these teens and the only one that had any semblance of a decent character was Mikaela Banes and a few of her girlfriends. None of which you were really interested in talking to when a literal shapeshifting alien was the other option. When Mikaela was brought in on the secret in the future, then you would be more than happy to talk about cars and mechanics with her. 

For now, though you’d rather avoid the talks of shopping adventures, football games, and trash talking teachers to instead indulge in learning more about your favourite bots, science and perhaps more planning. You swore it was like some unseen force guided them to be the most generic people possible. 

Okay… so maybe you were a bit of a geek who needed to let loose a little. 

In your defence though, if the human characters had even half the character depth of even a fraction of Prowl’s personality, you wouldn’t consider talking with them a chore when you could be talking about literal aliens and saving the world. Who wouldn’t choose that over simple school talk you heard in hallways almost every day of the week? 

The music thumped louder as you pulled into a gravelly space at the edge of the crowd. Teens were already splashing around in the water, someone was tossing a football back and forth, and a small bonfire had been lit, crackling as the sun started to dip below the treeline.

“Alright,” Sam said as he turned the car off and looked himself over in the rearview mirror, “how do I look?”

“Like a guy hoping very hard to pretend he’s not nervous.” You smirked, popping your door open. “Fix your collar, and maybe Mikaela won’t mistake you for a mall mannequin.”

“Ha ha. Hilarious.” Sam adjusted his collar anyway and smoothed his hair, glancing toward the party like a soldier about to march into battle. You watched Trent throw a football back towards his friends before calling them over to watch the spectacle that was Sam pulling up with an actual car. You raised an eyebrow in Trent’s direction, a sharp smile appearing on your lips that even with the distance could be seen by the jock. Trent immediately turned away, cowed by your presence.

For now.

Bumblebee clicked and chirped softly, a reassuring sound only you would recognize as a subtle ‘you’ve got this.’ It earned the scout a small pat on the hood from you before you stepped away.

“You coming?” Sam asked as Miles jogged towards the coolers holding what you assumed to be drinks.

You waved him off. “Nah, I see a cop I’d rather spend my time with.”

Sam blinked. “Wait, what?”

But you were already gone, headed towards Prowl, who’s holoform was now leaning casually against the side of his alt-mode once he noticed you coming towards him—disguised perfectly as a nondescript cruiser nestled in the shadows provided by a nearby gazebo, far enough from the party to remain inconspicuous but close enough to intervene if necessary.

“You are aware you’re drawing just as much attention lurking like that, right?” you teased, leaning against the front bumper beside him.

“I am observing,” Prowl answered flatly, “Some of these adolescent humans are already engaging in reckless behaviour. It’s a wonder this society of yours hasn’t collapsed.”

You snorted. “We’re resilient, in our own stupid way.”

He didn’t argue, though his optics flickered in amusement. “You chose to join me, instead of your fellows. Why?”

You shrugged, folding your arms. “Figured you’d be less painful to talk to than high schoolers trying to one-up each other over cheap beer and thrills.”

“That sounds… primitive.”

“That’s because it is.”

For a moment, you both simply observed. Sam had already dragged over Miles, who was juggling sodas while trying not to trip over someone’s lawn chair. Mikaela was on the far side of the bonfire, talking with one of her girlfriends, and Sam looked like he was psyching himself up to approach her.

“Any news I should be aware of?” You asked as you climbed to sit on his hood. Prowl shot you a dirty glare as you made yourself comfortable but made no move to remove you.  

“Two hours ago, an Air Force one flight leaving from Frankfurt, Germany to Washington D.C had to make an emergency landing in Cleveland, Ohio due to an intruder on board hacking the national system and leaving behind a virus at the same time. The virus has luckily since been destroyed by me, but the intruder got away and several of the workers are dead. Killed, according to the records, by weirdly made shurikens from a material they’ve never seen before.”

“Cybertronian metal I presume?” 

“You presume correctly. My guess is Frenzy snuck on board while the plane was still in Germany, and someone happened to discover them while they were infiltrating. Just like you said they would.”     

“Which means most likely my vision of Barricade picking them up and currently making his way here is also likely to be accurate, isn’t it?” 

Prowl’s voice was grim. “Yes. Which is why you and the boy must remain close. Until the others arrive, it is my responsibility to ensure the information does not leave our control and that no harm comes to either of you.”

You glanced over at Sam. He had just finally worked up the nerve to talk to Mikaela—only to be blocked off by Trent pulling her away to drink. 

“Guess I better start learning how to properly babysit,” you muttered.

Prowl tilted his head towards your boys. “You already have.”

You let out a short laugh. “Thanks, Prowl. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Humour is a coping mechanism for discomfort,” he noted, ever the stoic observer.

“Yeah, and sarcasm is mine.” You grinned sideways at him. “You’ll learn.”

You sat on Prowl’s hood for a while longer, watching the teenagers laugh and dance beneath the growing dusk. The lake shimmered with reflections of firelight and neon glowsticks, and while it was far from your idea of a fun time, it had its moments. A firework shot up from somewhere near the shoreline—unauthorized and loud—causing Prowl to stiffen beneath you.

You patted his roof. “Just a firework, officer.”

“That is not an excuse for endangering others,” he muttered. “There are open flames, alcohol, and inadequate adult supervision.”

You smirked. “You sound like a PTA meeting.”

“I am sounding reasonable,” he said, but didn’t move to intervene. You knew he was only staying back because it wasn’t an actual threat. Yet.

The laughter carried on, and you caught sight of Sam again—he was standing awkwardly with a red plastic cup, eyes creepily laser-focused on Mikaela as she chatted animatedly with another girl. Miles had wandered off, possibly in one of the trees or finding someone equally unlucky in love to commiserate with.

“Are you recording audio?” you asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“You catching anything useful?”

Prowl’s eyes flickered towards you briefly before looking back. “Only that your friends are not the most graceful conversationalist.”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

The two of you fell into a silence that was… oddly comfortable. For an alien war tactician in disguise as a cop car, Prowl made a pretty solid conversational partner when he wasn’t lecturing. You leaned back against his windshield, watching the stars begin to poke through the darkening sky.

“Do you think the others will make it soon?” you asked softly.

“I believe so,” he replied. “The scout was preparing to send the signal of our location tonight. Optimus and the rest of his team are likely already en-route and will be here tomorrow night at the latest.”

That made your stomach twist with nerves. You’d thought about this moment for so long, anticipated it, prepared for it—but now that it was here? The thought of Megatron still frozen somewhere deep below Hoover Dam made you uneasy. And worse… the thought of how soon he might no longer be.

You rubbed your arms in hopes of fighting against the mental chill. Prowl noticed.

“Are you cold?”

“Just thinking.”

“Thinking does not lower body temperature.”

“No, I suppose it’s generally when you stop thinking that tends to do that.” You laughed, but it was thin.

Prowl didn’t respond with another witty remark like usual. Instead, he shifted his weight slightly, drawing your attention to the subtle tension in his frame.

“Something’s bothering you.”

“I do not like unknowns,” he admitted. “And too many pieces of this situation remain unclear.”

You could relate. You were walking a delicate tightrope—knowing too much for a normal human, not knowing enough to feel secure.

“Sam knows something is up,” you said finally. “He’s not dumb. Bumble’s going to have a hell of a time sneaking out tonight without getting caught.”

“He will succeed.”

You frowned, eyes following Sam as he attempted to talk to Mikaela again. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Prowl didn’t comment, already knowing where your thoughts were.

Down by the water, the party began to mellow. Someone turned the music down a bit, the crowd gathering closer to the bonfire. Sam was laughing at something Mikaela said—and you had to admit, despite his nerves, he looked like he was actually having fun.

“You should join them,” Prowl said suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Tired of me already?”

“I merely observe that you appear… distant. Detached.”

You hesitated. “I just—It’s hard to care about any of this when I know what’s coming. Besides, I’m not really a people person.”

Prowl gave a soft mechanical hum. “Still, you are young. You must allow yourself moments of… living.”

Was that actual encouragement from the resident rule-stickler?

“My moments of living are reserved for hobbies and people I actually enjoy.” You stretched to lay out, fully prepared to relax and potentially even nap on Prowl.

That is of course until Trent seemed to grow bold at the fact you were off on the sidelines, and finally confronted Sam. A groan left your mouth as you realized you potentially had to play mediator. To be fair one hadn’t been needed in the movie, but you were also certain Trent hadn’t had anything to drink yet at that point either, and from this distance you had no idea if he had been sticking to soda this entire time.

“Speaking of babysitting, I see potential trouble,” You slid off the hood, stretching your arms above your head. “If I come back smelling like smoke and beer because some idiot spilled on me, I’m blaming you.”

“I will offer no sympathies.”

“Good thing I wasn’t expecting any.”

You made your way toward the bonfire, offering a little wave to Sam as you passed and another sharp grin at Trent. Sam waved back, looking surprised to see you, but genuinely glad as Trent quickly backed up towards his cronies again, hooking a possessive arm around Mikaela. With a wink at Sam’s dumbfounded look, you snagged a soda from the cooler and parked yourself at the edge of the firelight, just close enough to observe but hopefully not be dragged into anyone’s drama.

Although to be fair the only drama that really seemed to be happening was the argument that was now going on between Mikaela and Trent as she pushed his arm away from her and appeared to be laying into him. Mentally you cheered the girl on, she deserved far better than a crappy boyfriend who was only with her for her looks and treated her that way too. 

From the corner of your eye you noticed Sam as he too watched Mikaela tear into Trent before storming off, grabbing her bag on her way out. “I’m going to drive her home tonight.” Sam stated, his eyes never leaving Mikaela’s form.

“First off, learn to blink and stop staring like a creep Sam, I taught you better than that. Second off, did you forget you brought me and Miles here? How exactly are you expecting to fit four people in your car when we barely fit.”

Sam turned wideeyed at you as if he had forgotten your existence. The urge to smack him upside the head and knock the teenage hormones into place was strong but you held your hand. Your couldn’t control the twitching of your eyebrow however. 

“Nova, your majesty, best friend of my life,” your twitching eyebrow raised as you sighed, already certain on where this was going, “Your cousin is here right? You can ask him to take you home please and let me try and sweep Mikaela off of her feet?” 

“And Miles?” 

“Lives five minutes from here and, as you say, has a working pair of legs.” 

You griped the bridge of your nose and sighed, “You will owe me big time for this,” Sam nodded enthusiastically as he started backing away from you. 

“Yes, of course. Whatever you want!” He promised before turning to run towards Bumblebee.

“Where have I heard that before,” you muttered to yourself before you called out to him, “And Sam?” He paused getting into the car to look back at you, “Good luck getting the girl.” He grinned at you before hopping in and starting up the camaro. The engine roared to life with a small puff of smoke before Sam was taking off in the direction Mikaela had been walking. 

You watched him go with amusement dancing through your veins before turning an eye over the party to try and hunt down Miles to let him know the change of plans. You found him hanging upside down from a tree branch as he tried chatting up a couple girls underneath him. With a fond roll of your eyes, you wandered over to let him know his ride had left without him. 

His indignant reaction had been expected and justifiably deserved since he hadn’t been consulted on this, but he waved you off when you offered to have ‘Prospero’ take him home, well aware that he didn’t live far from here and still wanting to stick around. 

People had started to settle into their groups—those still playing in the water, others sitting in too-small lawn chairs with their cups and their teenage bravado fading with the sun. Laughter still rang out, and someone started playing a guitar off-key near the fire, but the chaos had dulled to a dull roar as you walked back over to where Prowl was, climbing in when he silently offered by opening his passenger door. 

“I see your friend has abandoned you to chase after a girl.” He said as you settled in.

You allowed a ghost of a smile to curl your lips. “He’s got guts, I’ll give him that.”

Prowl didn’t respond right away, but you caught the subtle hum in his engine—amusement, maybe. Or something close to it.

“Statistically, determination does play a large role in success,” he said after a beat.

You snorted. “And you’re full of stats. Must be fun at parties.”

“I do not generally attend parties,” he said, perfectly deadpan.

“Shocker.” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “Still, I think you’d be the life of one of these parties. ‘Hi, I’m Prowl. Did you know that statistically, fifteen percent of bonfires result in property damage?’”

“Seventeen point eight,” he corrected instantly.

“Of course you know the decimal.” You grinned at him.

Silence fell again—this time easier. More natural. It was a weird sort of calm, this in-between moment where nothing had quite gone wrong yet, but everything was preparing to. You could feel the shift in the air. Like the moment right before lightning struck and thunder cracked.

The radio in Prowl’s dash clicked softly. Then again—barely noticeable to anyone else. You tensed, waiting for Prowl to also have to abandon you to go do some kind of police duty, as a voice spat out words that meant nothing to you. 

“A check in,” Prowl informed you after he responded to the voice, “nothing more.” 

Down below, the fire cracked louder as someone tossed more logs onto it. The music changed again—something slower this time, romantic in a cheesy high-school-movie kind of way. You rolled your eyes but watched as people coupled up to enjoy themselves. Peaceful… for now.

But not for long. And you were ready.

Or at least, you’d hoped you were.

Chapter Text

The sky was burning.

Not Earth’s sky— at least you didn’t think it was. There were no stars here. No moon. Only a churning wash of black smoke, lit from beneath by rivers of molten metal and dying Energon. The ground cracked and hissed beneath your feet, every step uncertain. Buildings loomed like the ribcages of dead titans, half-swallowed by flame and shadow.

Youran.

Ash clung to your skin, clumped in your hair. Something was in your arms— someone , broken and small and unfamiliar but oh so loved—but when you looked down, your hands were blurry. Still, the weight remained as you rushed on.

“—Nova!”

The voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Prowl .

You spun, heart lurching. He was nearby—he had to be. That voice wasn’t calm and calculated like usual. It was raw , cracked with pain and panic. You ran toward it, pedes skidding across scorched metal, eyes burning from the smoke.

“Prowl!” you called, but your voice came out wrong. Echoed. Metallic. Not yours.

A shape appeared in the distance. A familiar silhouette. Strong. Tall.

Optimus.

Relief bloomed in your chest—but something was off . He stood too still. His optics, once a comforting blue, burned a deep purple. Not bright. Not pure. Just— wrong . Like light stolen by something ancient and cruel.

He turned his head slightly, unnerving gaze fixed on you.

“There you are,” he said, heavy pedes following after your form as you back away slowly.

The words didn’t sound like his voice. They echoed from beneath it, a deeper resonance like something inside him was speaking through him.

Then the ground split. Fire and steel swallowed you whole.

You bolted upright with a sharp gasp, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted out .

The room around you spun, ceiling lights blurring into a haze. Your chest heaved. The dream clung like oil under your skin—Optimus’s voice, Prowl’s scream , the heat of a world dying.

A sharp ringing of the phone jolted you the rest of the way back into reality. You stared at your cell for a moment before it broke out ringing again, Sam’s name flashing across the screen. 

You picked it up warily, the last remnants of the nightmare clinging to your mind like wisps of smoke, “Hell-”

“ HEY! Hey—what the hell! Get back here!” Sam’s voice, shrill with panic, rang up from the speaker. There was a scuffle of footsteps, then the roar of an engine—Bumblebee’s.

You lurched to your feet, stumbling to your closest to grab a pair of shoes, trying to understand Sam as he continued yelling something incoherent about grand theft auto.

Right, you had forgotten in your sleepy haze that Bumblebee was leaving tonight to send out the signal and that he would get followed by Sam thinking someone was stealing his car. 

You blinked, dazed, still trying to shake off the dream, but that cold weight lingered. A whisper in the back of your skull. You turned towards the window, heart still thudding too loud. Prowl was here, parked underneath a tree nearby and clearly not in any pain or panic.

And Optimus was still... Optimus. Right? 

You shook your head. Of course Optimus would still be himself. It was likely a nightmare dredged up by your mind due to all the stress and anxiety you were under. 

Of which was not being helped by Sam’s continuous yelling in your ear. 

The urge to just hang up the phone and go back to sleep was strong, but then figments of that dream would flash through your mind, Optimus’s cold voice and Prowl’s scream ringing through your ears. You shook your head, grabbed your bag and ran out the front door towards Prowl. 

By the time you were opening the door, Prowl had already awoken and pulled forward, swerving in a half loop and throwing his passenger door open so that you could dive in without a second thought before rushing off down the street. 

“What’s wrong?” Prowl’s calm voice cut through your streaming thoughts, providing an anchor for your mind to latch onto that wasn’t burning ash or screaming. 

You waved your phone, Sam’s voice still screeching about his car being stolen and that he was on pursuit. Vaguely you wondered if he intended to call you or if he thought he was talking to the police. Either way, you just wiggled the phone by Prowl’s radio, “Bumblebee is apparently going for a joyride,” was the dry words that left your tired brain.

A deep sigh left Prowl before a screeching sound of tires burning rubber reached your ears and he sped off down the roads. The headache that was forming in your mind was very thankful that he kept his lights and sirens off as he raced off towards what you presumed was were Bumblebee was going to summon the Autobots. 

The cool hum of Prowl’s systems and the now familiar sterile scent of his interior helped ease some of the lingering dread, though the image of Optimus’s glowing purple optics still floated behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

You leaned back against the seat, one hand clutched tight around the seatbelt strap, the other still holding your buzzing phone. Sam had gone quiet on the other end—finally—but whether that was because he’d hung up or because he was out of breath from chasing Bumblebee, you couldn’t tell.

Prowl’s voice broke the silence again, level but tinged with concern. “Are you alright?”

You hesitated. The dream clung too close for comfort, like a warning whispered from some place far beyond your comprehension. But that was stupid and likely just your brain still reeling from the anxiety produced by the fear of what felt real at the time. 

“I—” You swallowed. “Yeah. Just a nightmare.” There was a pause. You weren’t sure if he believed you. Hell, you didn’t believe you. “I’m fine,” you repeated, softer.

Prowl didn’t press. He never really did since the first time you met.

Instead, he adjusted his heading. “I’ll intercept Bumblebee’s route before the satellite transmission begins. If Sam’s still following, doubtful considering the scout’s top speeds, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get himself injured.”

You nodded numbly, staring out the windshield as dark suburban streets passed by in a blur. A flash of yellow ahead caught your eye—Bumblebee, weaving effortlessly through the empty backstreets. A tiny figure on a bike flailed in the distance behind him.

“Oh my gods,” you muttered. “He’s actually keeping up.”

Prowl huffed, low and amused. “Barely. He’s going to trip on a pothole at this rate.”

“Should I film it?”

“Only if you plan to share it later.”

You let out a laugh—weak, but real—and leaned forward, watching Bumblebee’s taillights vanish up ahead. That gnawing feeling hadn’t left, but at least now it had company. Something solid. Something real.

For now, that would have to be enough.

“Wait,” you suddenly realized, “Bumblebee could have easily snuck out and returned without waking up Sam, and even now he could easily lose him, do the mission, and then reappear as if the carjacker decided he wasn’t worth it and left…Prowl,” your eyes narrowed at the radio, “what is going on?” 

You had never really thought about it before. The scene in the movie was something you had thought had been placed as a funny haha moment and a way for sector seven to be introduced naturally since someone ranting about their car turning into a giant robot would definitely tick off a few sensors. 

Now that you were living in the moment however? 

You wanted to know what the hell Bumblebee thought he was doing. 

He may have been disguised as an old camaro, but it was just that, a disguise. He could easily have snuck off without ever alerting anyone, instead, as you rethought over the scene, he had almost purposefully seemed to have waited for Sam to wake up and follow him. To chase after him and see him transform, to see him send the signal to team prime. 

Was it a game in the scout’s eyes? Something to do in his boredom of waiting? Or did he have a different reason for dragging Sam halfway across town and inadvertently getting him arrested?

Prowl was silent for a moment, “I don’t know,” he quietly admitted. “Bumblebee, despite being out best scout, has long been someone who does his own thing, rarely listening to anyone who isn’t Optimus Prime and even then he’ll still swing plans his own way. A mission like this should have taken a groon, two at most, and he should have been able to do it completely undetected. The fact that he hasn’t…I’m not sure what’s going on in that processor of his.”

Prowl’s admission settled like lead in your stomach. Not because he didn’t know—because Prowl didn’t know. The strategist. The planner. The one who always had a contingency buried under ten layers of logic and numbers. If he was uncertain…

The dream pulsed again in the back of your mind. You rubbed your eyes hard, trying to push the image of purple optics from your vision. “Something’s not right,” you murmured.

Prowl was quiet. You could hear the gears shift under the hood as he subtly adjusted his speed, sensors likely stretched to max range. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Ahead, Bumblebee slowed—just barely. Enough for Prowl to catch up without needing to go full pursuit. You would think a clearing would open up ahead, part of the rural stretch outside town—quiet, dark, and far from prying human eyes.

Instead Bumblebee slammed into a closed gate leading to what you thought was an old junkyard, or perhaps a train station fallen into disrepair considering the whistling you heard in the distance as Prowl swerved inbetween the coming train and Sam, forcing the teenager to come to a quick stop, flipping over his bike in the process, or risk bowling into the car in front of him. 

You quickly scrambled out of the car to check on Sam, ignoring his angry screeches about how he could have been hit with that crazy driving as your eyes moved over his form, making sure not a single part of him was truly harmed. Once you were satisfied that he was okay, you quickly balled up his shirt in your fists and slammed him into Prowl’s form, mentally reminding yourself to apologize later, as you snarled in Sam’s face. 

“ Samuel James Witwicky , what the actual hell were you thinking! Do you have any sense of intelligence or self preservation in that brain of yours!” His eyes were wide as he stared down at you startled, his mouth opening to respond before you cut him off, “Don’t bother, because clearly the answer is no! Someone steals your car and your first response is to chase after them?! What if they had decided to run you over? What if someone else had run you over during the chase? What if they had a weapon and you were seriously hurt? You could have been killed!” 

Sam sputtered, still flattened against Prowl’s door, his limbs stiff with shock and a little bit of terror. “I—I thought—Bumblebee’s my car ! I paid for him! I didn’t think—!”

“No, Sam, that’s the problem!” you snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest for emphasis. “You didn’t think! This isn’t a damn movie or video game! You don’t get extra lives if you die doing something stupid! ”

Sam opened his mouth again, probably to argue something petty, but you stepped back and pointed a finger toward the crumpled bike,then the train that was still passing before finally landing on his scraped hands and torn jeans. “Look at you! You almost broke your neck! What were you gonna do if Prowl and I hadn’t been here to stop you, huh? Throw your bike at the train? You are so lucky we came after you.” 

The last sentence came out before you could stop it, and Sam blinked at you, confused. “Wait… who’s Prowl?”

You cursed silently. Behind Sam, Prowl muttered something in Cybertronian that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience. 

You really couldn’t blame him if it was. 

Thinking fast you took a step out of his book, “Prowl is what Prospero named his car. I stole it to chase after your dumbass because you decided that instead of calling the police to let them know you were carjacked and then patiently waiting for them, you decided to wake me up screeching like a banshee as you chased after it yourself!”

“Uhm well,” Sam stuttered, “I did call the police first, but they weren’t very helpful since it was going to take a bit for them to even get to the house much less go searching and wait you stole your cousin’s car?”  

“You did?” ‘Well scrap,’ was your first thought. Followed quickly by you needing to get the hell out of there before you got arrested alongside Sam. 

Especially since Prowl was technically a police cruiser that was most definitely not registered to you. 

You were not going to jail over the perceived grand theft auto of a police car. You didn’t know how many years that was worth and you weren’t interested in finding out. “Okay,” you started, “first we’re going to get into the car and leave. Then we’re going to go to your house where we can calmly tell the police that we only chased it a little bit in your panic before heading back home to let the professionals deal with it, because Sam, we’re trespassing and -” 

That’s when the light started.

A thin beam, pale and unnatural, shot upward from Bumblebee’s chassis from where he was balancing on a tower and disappeared into the sky, flickering against the low-hanging clouds. You leaned forward, breath caught in your throat.

‘He’s sending the signal, you thought, cringing as Sam whirled to see where the sudden light was coming from. A whimper tore from his throat as he got a good glimpse at Bumblebee in full robot form, his attention only on the sky as he sent what you assumed were coordinates to your general location for the prime team to follow. 

“Is that-” 

“Sam,” you interrupted, “get in the damn car.”

“Getting in the car,” he immediately scrambled into the passenger seat, and you were happy he didn’t question how you came tumbling out of that very seat if you were the one driving initially. Rushing to the other side you couldn’t help but murmur before opening the door, “Prowl, let Bumblebee know his ass is going to be scrap once I’m through with him.” 

The door opening before you could fully grasp the handle was the only response you received, not that you were really expecting a verbal one with Sam here. The moment the doors were closed, Prowl peeled away from the junkyard entrance like a ghost, headlights dimmed, sirens silent, the smooth hum of his engine barely noticeable over your thudding pulse as you pretended to drive him.

Sam made a strange keening noise, burying his face in his hands. “… What the hell? What the actual hell Nova! That was my car! Only it wasn't a car anymore!”

“ Sam, ” you hissed, trying not to shake from the adrenaline crash, “Can we have a crash out when I’m not driving!?”

“But—what the hell was that back there?! It transformed! It climbed ! I saw it!”

“Sam,” you tried once more, “now is not the time for this conversation. We’re going to get you home, talk to the police and your parents about how your car was stolen and you acted in a moment of panic in chasing but lost track of it, and then you’re going to pretend that that sight was a hallucination caused by stress, energy drinks, and possible early-onset heatstroke and mention none of it to anyone. Capiche?”

Sam looked like he wanted to argue. He opened his mouth, saw your face, glanced at the car you had supposedly jacked from your cousin, and wisely shut it again.

“Yeah. Yeah okay. Stress and heatstroke. Got it.” 

You were so turning Bumblebee into scrap for inducing this headache. 

—--------------

Prowl waited until you’d swung into your seat and slammed the door before pulling out in a smooth, sharp turn, tires whispering against the cracked concrete away from Sam’s house and the migraine-inducing problem Bumblebee had caused. The moment you were safely moving, he muttered, voice low and strained, “That was nearly a disaster.”

“You’re telling me,” you groaned, pressing your palms against your face. “Bumblebee better have had a damn good reason for pulling that stunt.”

“I suspect he did,” Prowl said after a beat. “But if he doesn’t? He may find himself reassigned to cleaning duty for the next ten vorns.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You’d actually do that?”

“You underestimate how petty I can be.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then—

“I heard that!” A random voice crackled over Prowl’s radio, distorted slightly but unmistakably Bumblebee. 

You sat bolt upright. “ You’re here?! ”

“No,” the scout replied, clearly smug as ever. “Hijacked… prowling… signal. Chill.”

“Chill. Chill!? You could have gotten Sam killed, ” you snapped. “Or arrested. Or both! What in the name of everything holy and unholy were you thinking ?!”

An ad for glasses started playing cheerily, and you stared at the radio in disbelief. 

“You put, my best friend’s life at risk, for some bloody glasses you could have just asked me to grab for you!?” 

There was a pause before a clipped static noise played in what you assumed was his version of an ‘ah’ noise. You slapped your forehead, and judging by the deep sigh from Prowl he would be gripping the bridge of his nose if he weren’t in alternate form. 

“You reckless, oversized RC car!” You suddenly snarled, Prowl swerving slightly in surprise at your sudden outburst. “When I get my hands on you, you dafted autobot there won’t even be enough left to make a bloody hard drive! You’ve got all that advanced tech in your head, and that was your plan? I’ve seen toaster ovens with better thinking skills than you! If I wanted dramatics, I’d go to Broadway. Not watch you commit vehicular homicide with style.”

Prowl’s vents hissed a suppressed laugh.

“You couldn’t just sneak out like a normal alien robot on a secret mission, could you? Nooo, you had to play Fast and the Furious with a hormonal teenager glued to your rear bumper!”

Bumblebee chirped indignantly through his radio, but you cut him off with your words, a savage glare and jab of your finger accompanying them even if he couldn’t see.

“Don’t you dare beep at me. You knew Sam would follow you. You let him see on purpose. And for what, huh? Dramatic flair? Boredom? Were you not built to include common sense?”

The radio crackled again, something vaguely apologetic—but you weren’t done.

“You’re supposed to be the scout ! The stealth guy! But somehow, you managed to do the exact opposite of stealth! And in case you forgot, we’re trying to avoid drawing attention from a group of trigger-happy decepticons and government agents who both think waterboarding is foreplay!”

“I trusted you to take care of him,” your voice suddenly broke as you did your best to hold back tears of rage at the very idea of Sam being hurt, “And you used that trust to practically throw him into danger on the first night-”

Large hands pulled you into a hug, cutting off your rant, and you squirmed to throw them off, but they held tight. Prowl’s holoform had formed and was holding you close, one of his hands wrapping into your hair and softly running through it. “I think he gets it,” he muttered into your ear, “calm yourself, little one, before you say something you truly regret. Bumblebee messed up, now we figure out what to do next.” 

It was only now you heard soft warbling coming through the radio and you let out a defeated sigh, “You screw around like this again,” you warned, voice low and dangerous, “and I swear to Primus, I’ll figure out how to replace your radio with nothing but Whitney Houston.”

Silence followed your declaration before panicked beeping suddenly came through. You figured he must have googled her. 

You sat back in your seat, head and heart pounding, adrenaline slowly burning out as you let the rage go. 

“Okay,” you breathed out, “Sam’s not going to follow the whole ‘pretend nothing happened’ thing for long. In fact, I’m betting it’ll only last for the night before he decides to ambush me about it. So, here are a few options on what we can do-” 

And with any luck, things will actually go to plan for once. 

Somehow, you doubted it, but a person could dream.

Chapter Text

You so needed a cup of coffee to deal with this.

That was the only coherent thought in your brain as you leaned against the side of Sam Witwicky’s garage, arms crossed, eyes burning from lack of sleep. Morning sunlight slanted through the thin trees of the neighbourhood, casting a warm golden haze over the suburban street, but it did absolutely nothing to soothe the deep pit of unease curling in your stomach.

You’d been through a lot of weird in your two lives—falling through dimensions, meeting alien robots, realizing your existence was somehow tied to a war between ancient sentient machines because some otherworldly being asked (while you were dying !) and you were dumb enough to accept—but being stuck in a teenager's backyard a little after sunrise while waiting for a sentient yellow Camaro to swing by as you tried to convince Sam that “no his car was not secretly some advance robot from Japan or something to spy on the U.S” was definitely in the top five of your list.

“But then how else do you explain the fact my car changed into a giant robot!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands up. 

‘Maybe because your car isn’t actually a car but a shapeshifting alien lifeform,’ was your first thought but for once you actually managed to keep your mouth shut. Now if you could just remember to do that around the bots you would be golden. 

“Sam we don’t know what we saw last night. We don’t even know if that was your car! It was like three in the morning, we were both, scratch that, still are sleep deprived and for all we know that train station was abandoned due to a gas leak! Even if there actually was -” you cut off when you saw a flash from the corner of your eye and Sam’s body straightened up, eyes wide and mouth open and you turned to get a better look.  

A sleek yellow shape had rounded the corner at the end of the block, cruising far too smoothly for anything that looked that rundown. The way it moved made the hairs on your arms stand up despite knowing that he would never do you harm.

“Speak of the devil,” you muttered, straightening.

The Camaro pulled into the driveway and eased to a stop with a soft hiss of brakes. No flashy transformation this time. Just silence—and the faint crackle of a radio tuning in.

"Wake up everybody, no more sleeping in bed. No more backward thinking, time for thinking ahead. The world has changed so very much from what it used to be!" 

You felt your eye twitch at the lyrics, but a soft smile tugged at your lips. Regardless, the world has changed so very much indeed. 

The doors popped open in a silent invitation, and you started to move forward, only to pause as you heard Sam say, “Nope,” before he turned and fled, grabbing his mom’s bike on the way for a faster retreat. 

You both stared after him in stunned amazement that he had actually left you behind to deal with what he thought was a possessed car before you popped the wheels on your sneakers, taking off after him. “Sam!” you shouted, bolting after him as he pedalled furiously down the sidewalk like a man fleeing in a horror movie.

The Camaro revved once, a sharp vrrm of exasperation, before pulling out smoothly and falling into pace behind you both—because, of course, Bumblebee wasn’t going to just sit back and wait politely.

“Sam, you absolute gremlin ! Get back here!” you hissed as you quickly caught up, grabbing the handlebars of the bike and causing both of you to wipe out. 

“ You get in the demon car if you’re so chill about it!” Sam shouted, trying to wrestle the bike from your grip. “It’s clearly trying to lure us into some kind of—of robotic deathtrap!”

Bee responded by blasting static-laced audio from his radio, "Why you gotta be so ruuude—don’t you know I’m human toooo—?"

That earned a very annoyed glare from the elderly woman watering her garden across the street. You couldn’t help it. You burst out laughing, feeling what little bit of your sanity that was left be released with it.

“I promise you, Sam, if he were going to kill us, he’d have done it already. He literally let us go last night, remember? He could’ve chased after us, stepped on us, even. Squished us like ants.”

“Yeah, after showing us its creepy robo-skeleton—what if it’s biding its time? Like a velociraptor!”

“…He’s a Camaro.”

“And Velociraptors were actually two feet tall, maybe demons look like muscle cars, you don’t know !”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

With a dramatic groan, you gave the bike one last shove, sending Sam wobbling into the curb, and marched up to Bee, slapping the hood. “Open the door, Bee. Before I commit a felony in broad daylight.”

Bumblebee chirped and swung the driver's door open in response.

“Wait, wait, wait—you’re seriously getting in?! In that thing ?! I was kidding!”

“Yes, Sam. Because, unlike you, I’m not going to run from a potential threat who could easily take us down but is graciously allowing us to act however we wish and actually has better music taste than you do. ” You shot him a glare and got ready to climb in when Sam shook his head and took off on the bike again, heading towards downtown, shouting over his shoulder about how you needed mental help. 

“Excuse me!?” you shouted back at him, closing the door and bolting after him again. “How dare you! Get back here and say that to my face you dweeb!”

You chased Sam through three intersections, two red lights, and a very angry dog-walking jogger who shouted something about “reckless teenagers” as you zipped by on your wheelies. You were so over this morning, and you still hadn’t gotten your coffee.

Sam rounded a corner into a narrow, paved shopping strip, weaving wildly between the outdoor café tables and shopgoers. You were only a few yards behind him, yelling his name and gaining fast, but the moment of comedic karma came swiftly—he skidded too hard on the bike, tried to turn too sharply—

—and absolutely ate pavement right in front of a smoothie shop.

“Sam?!” Mikaela’s voice cut through the air in surprise. She sat at one of the patio tables, half-lidded gaze widening in concern. Her friends paused mid-sip, looking between her and the groaning heap of limbs and bike parts now sprawled dramatically on the sidewalk.

Sam groaned, shot up, and immediately started untangling himself, waving wildly. “No time—NO time to explain—robot car, possibly demonic, chasing me, I gotta go!”

Mikaela blinked. “What?”

And then he was off again, hopping awkwardly back on the bike and pedalling like a madman as if his life depended on it.

You barreled into view a few seconds later, panting slightly but not slowing. “Move, hot girl!” you shouted breathlessly as you zoomed by, skating around the tables like a chaotic roller disco reject. “He’s gonna get himself killed!”

Mikaela stared after the both of you, blinked once, then pushed back her chair, grabbed her electric scooter parked next to the curb, and without a word to her stunned friends, took off after you.

Because curiosity was one hell of a drug, you supposed.

Sam, unaware of his growing convoy, sped into the nearest parking garage. He ditched the bike near the entrance and bolted up a ramp, ducking between columns and parked cars in a pitiful attempt to lose whoever or whatever was following him.

You followed the squeal of tires and panicked footsteps until you caught sight of him again—and Mikaela just a short distance behind you now, catching up quick.

“Sam!” you shouted, voice echoing through the concrete structure.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he shouted back—and immediately turned a corner —directly into the side of a parked police cruiser.

There was a loud thud , followed by a high-pitched yelp of pain and embarrassment as Sam bounced off the door and hit the ground for the second time that morning.

You slowed just enough to catch your breath, hands on your knees. Mikaela pulled up beside you, staring at Sam’s limp form.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “Is he dead?”

“He can’t die,” you wheezed. “Not before I kill him myself.”

Then you looked up and froze.

Your eyes landed on the black-and-white police cruiser, perfectly pristine, parked just a little too neatly in the dim light of the garage. 

“Prowl,” you breathed out in relief, “Thank the gods you’re he-”

The lights on top of the cruiser flickered to life, cutting you off, then flashed red and blue in rapid pulses.

But the cop inside didn’t get out. The engine revved low and threatening, and the vehicle shifted slightly on its wheels, like it was stretching.

The air grew heavier, and the hair on the back of your neck rose.

A deep, mechanical growl came from the engine compartment.

Sam sat up, blinking at the car. “Wait, you’re a cop ! Thank god! Officer, you gotta help me, I’ve had the worst day ever. I was followed here on my mother’s bike by that Camaro back there, which is technically my car, but I’m not driving it, and my best friend has gone insane .” 

As Sam went on, you got a better look at the car before you, the shape of it was almost exactly like Prowl’s form and the person hidden inside by shadows held that same not-quite-right stance of a person who didn’t really know how to be human. You jumped slightly as Sam’s hand smacked down on the hood, as he got more desperate in explaining himself, when it finally clicked in your head. 

Sam’s hand had smacked down on a black hood, not a white one—a black hood with a very familiar silver logo imprinted on the centre. That wasn’t Prowl.

Fuck your life.

You lunged forward and grabbed Sam’s arm, yanking him behind you right as the car revved forward aggressively at him. “No, no no no , that is NOT a cop. This is NOT a thank-god moment, Sam, this is a bad bot moment!”

Mikaela’s brows shot up. “Wait—what?”

You didn’t have the time or mental capacity to explain.

The cruiser growled again—and then it moved.

Right before your eyes, metal twisted and warped with a screech of hydraulics. The car folded in on itself, panels shifting as the monstrous frame of a Decepticon agent rose from the asphalt like a waking nightmare. Red optics locked onto you, and his voice rumbled from somewhere deep in his chassis.

“Are you username: LadiesMan217?”

Sam shrieked, Mikaela whimpered in fright, and you could only stare in terror at the bot in front of you. Barricade had finally arrived, and he was terrifying to face in person.

He took one heavy step toward you all, his hydraulics whining, optics gleaming like twin spotlights of doom. Sam backpedalled so fast he nearly tripped over his own legs again, grabbing the back of your shirt like it would somehow protect him. Mikaela, bless her, looked like she was seconds from trying to square up with a twenty-foot alien robot using nothing but sass and the corner of her scooter.

“ Are you username: Ladies Man 217 ?”

You were just about to grab them both and run—somewhere, anywhere —when a familiar engine roared to life outside the garage.

You whipped your head toward the sound, your heart catching in your throat.

A loud metallic crash shattered the tension, followed by a screeching of tires and the unmistakable yellow blur of Bumblebee as he launched through the lowered wooden barricade at the entrance like an action movie stunt double.

Sawdust and wood exploded outward. Bumblebee hit the ground mid-transformation—half-car, half-bot—slamming shoulder-first into Barricade and sending him flying across the garage with a resounding metal-on-metal crash. The Decepticon slammed into a concrete support pillar, sparks flying as he hit the ground in a twisted heap of limbs and snarling fury.

“WHOA,” Sam shouted, stumbling backwards with wide eyes. “WHAT THE—”

Bee skidded to a stop, shifting back into Camaro mode with a flourish. His passenger door flung open with a ding! like a cheerful invitation.

“Get in!” you screamed, dragging Sam by the arm. Mikaela was already moving, grabbing her bag from her scooter and hauling it along like a champ as the three of you dove into the car. You barely got the door shut before Bee’s tires screeched against the pavement and you were flung back against the seat.

The Camaro tore out of the garage, engine screaming, rocketing down the ramp with breakneck speed.

Behind you, metal clanged as Barricade pulled himself up with a guttural snarl, his optics burning bright with rage.

But then, another sound cut through the chaos.

Sleek, sharp, and so familiar.

A white-and-black vehicle whipped into the garage from the opposite end, lights flashing—only these ones didn’t install rivets of terror through your being, instead, they brought with them the sweet relief of knowing everything was going to be okay.

“Prowl!” you gasped, pressing a hand to the window just as he shot past Bee like a missile, his polished form hugging the corner with perfect control. A split second later, he transformed mid-drift, going from cruiser to sleek, blade-edged enforcer bot in a blur of motion.

The impact was loud and echoed throughout the garage. .

Prowl slammed into Barricade with ferocity, the force of it rippling through the structure as the two metal titans locked together in a tangle of snarling, whirling limbs. Barricade lunged with claws out, but Prowl twisted, grabbing his arm and slamming him through the concrete floor with practised ease.

You could just barely see them through Bee’s rearview as you sped away—two combatants, evenly matched, locked in a deadly waltz of violence and vengeance.

“…Was that a good cop car at least?” Mikaela asked faintly, voice a little shrill.

“The best one,” you muttered, heart still racing as you stared out the back window. “That’s Prowl. He doesn’t miss.”

“Wait, Prowl ? Your cousin’s ca—why are there so many demon cars?! ” Sam lamented, throwing his hands up as much as he could in the limited space.

Neither you nor Bee answered—but his radio clicked on softly with a deep, amused tone.

“You ain't seen nothin' yet…”

—------------

“Wow,” Mikaela breathed from the back, eyes wide but gleaming. “That was insane. That was so cool —but insane. I mean, that car transformed? It tried to attack us, but that was amazing! Will we be okay? The first one seemed pretty nasty, and I know, uh, Mr Bot, sir, that you kept him from touching us, which thank you by the way, but we’re going to be fine, right?”

Bee made a triumphant honk through his horn, his radio clicking on to a cocky, “You can’t touch this.”

You laughed, breathless, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. “This is Bumblebee. He’s dramatic like that.”

Sam twisted in his seat to look at you. “What do you mean, this is Bumblebee?! You say that like you know it. Like—like this is normal for you!”

You left out a sigh, ”I… it kind of is at this point. I wanted to keep you out of it. To keep you and Miles safe but you just had to chase after him last night and then have another freakout this morning, which I admit is valid, but Sam , he’s not going to hurt us. I mean, he just technically put his life at risk to keep us safe. Is that really so hard to believe that he’s okay?” 

“Yes!” he screeched. “Because sane people don’t say that! That’s not a normal sentence!”

Bee blared a rude honk in agreement and then played a clip from Ghostbusters : “Back off, man. I’m a scientist.”

“You’re a scout, not a scientist,” was your immediate response.

“Scout!?” Sam’s voice had risen in pitch as his brain desperately tried to keep up with what was happening, “That implies he’s just the foreman and there’s others coming.”

“That’s because there is.” A few moments followed your declaration.

“I’m going to throw up,” Sam muttered, looking pale. 

You rubbed your temples. “Look. I’ll explain everything when we get somewhere safe. Somewhere not crawling with Decepticons.”

“Decepti- what ?”

“You’ll want to remember that word,” Mikaela muttered, watching the world blur past her through the side window. “Feels like it’s gonna come up a lot.”

Bee took a sharp turn, and the three of you lurched with it, gripping the seats.

“I swear to god if this car has ejector seats or a flamethrower I’m walking back home,” Sam muttered.

“ Walking ?” You gave him a look. “You tried to out-bike this car and failed. Twice. Sit still and let him save your butt.”

Bee whirred in smug agreement.

The Camaro finally began to slow as you reached the outskirts of town, pulling off the road onto a tucked-away, tree-lined side trail that led to what looked like an old, abandoned gas station. The moment the engine cut off, silence fell like a blanket, heavy with leftover adrenaline.

Mikaela was the first to speak again, her voice hoarse. “So, uh, anyone else feel like their worldview just got suplexed?”

You reached over, patting her shoulder solemnly. “Welcome to the club. We’ve got tinfoil hats and trauma.”

Mikaela barked a startled laugh. “And apparently giant car bodyguards.”

Bee’s radio flickered again, softer this time. “I’ll be there for you... Like you want me to . ”

You smiled and leaned back in the seat, finally letting the exhaustion hit you full force. “You know what? Forget coffee. I want a nap. A decade-long nap. Preferably one without car chases and fighting robots, and the only thing I have to worry about is whether or not my mattress is comfortable enough.”

“You say that like it’s gonna get less crazy from here,” Mikaela said dryly, but there was a note of excitement behind her words, too. 

“Well,” Sam cut in, “I mean, we lost that other bot, right? We’re safe now?” 

You groaned as you heard the sound of tires squealing in the distance and sirens blaring, “Why? Why did you say something?” you lamented as Bumblebee peeled out of the lot, passing by Barricade as he raced by.

Chapter Text

I'm alive and I haven't forgotten about this fic I promise!

Fun fact: I recently hurt my wrist, and even typing out this short message hurts, but hopefully, it'll heal quickly, and I can get back to the writing business before long!

With that in mind, I hope you are doing well and will continue to be patient with me. Once I can get the next chapter out, I'll delete this A/N.

Chapter Text

There are moments in one’s life where time slows, and the world narrows. And every decision carves itself into the shape of fate. There are also moments in life where everything hits the fan at once, where running isn’t an option, when the fight finds you, whether you’re ready for it or not. 

Somehow, as the sound of blaring sirens and the screeching of tires from underneath, this felt like both of those kinds of moments at once. Your nails gripped the leather of Bumblebee’s seat, digging in like you had claws attached to prey in an effort to stay calm, at least a little bit sane. 

And, as the scout took a sharp corner a little too fast, also an attempt to not be launched out of their seat. 

The city blurred past in fractured snapshots—streetlights bending, neon streaks slicing the night, pedestrians barely catching a glimpse before diving out of the way. Somewhere behind them, the howl of an engine and the screech of metal on concrete screamed a promise: Barricade wasn’t giving up.

Mikaela cursed from the back seat, clutching her armrest with one hand while trying to secure her bag with the other. Her knuckles were pale, her breath sharp, but her eyes—those stayed locked on the side mirror, watching their pursuer close in.

“This is insane,” she muttered. “This is completely—”

A loud crash behind them cut her off. You didn’t need to look to know what it meant. Barricade was tearing through everything in his path to reach you.

“Is there a plan for when he catches up?” You asked, half-shouting over the noise.

Bumblebee’s engine revved louder in response, and his radio cut on, skipping through snippets of static before landing on a distorted voice growling, “Hold on to your butts.”

Not reassuring.

Still, you braced yourself tighter, eyes darting toward the window just in time to see the city dissolve into the outskirts. Industrial shadows began to creep across the streets—concrete warehouses, rusted fences, forgotten tracks weaving like veins into the dark.

“Are we—?” Mikaela started, squinting out the side window. “Wait. Is this a train yard?”

Bumblebee didn’t answer. He just surged forward.

The scout veered through the broken gates of the yard, metal snapping like dry bones under his tires. Dust and debris kicked up as you tore through the abandoned train depot, winding between rusted locomotives and stacks of forgotten freight.

Barricade followed.

The roar of his engine shook the tracks, his frame barrelling through debris like a freight train on fire, sirens howling like a predator declaring victory before the kill. It all happened so fast and yet in terrifying, heart-pounding detail: Bumblebee skidded into a sideways drift, transforming mid-motion as you, Sam, and Mikaela were flung from the cabin with surprising care, then launched himself toward the Decepticon in a blur of yellow and black.

“We’ve gotta move, now!” Mikaela yelled, already scrambling for cover behind one of the cargo crates.

But then came the clatter.

A metallic skitter, like claws on metal, and moving fast. You didn’t even get a full second to process before Frenzy came lunging out from the shadows, blades flashing, and his body twitching with his fast movements.

“You shouldn’t have run, little humans!” he shrieked in a garbled mess of English and Cybertronian. He landed between you and the other teens, and your heart launched into your throat.

“Get back!” you shouted, shoving Sam out of the way just as Frenzy’s blade whipped past your face.

Adrenaline took over. You weren’t a soldier, weren’t trained for this, but that didn’t matter. You ducked low, swinging the nearest thing you could grab—an old steel pipe. It clanged against his chassis, barely denting it, but it knocked him off-balance just enough.

Mikaela, gods bless her, came in swinging a circular blade like her life depended on it, which, to be fair, it probably did, considering Frenzy could not care less for human life. Frenzy screeched, trying to slice at her with his talons—but you tackled him before he could. The two of you rolled in a storm of metal limbs and profanity. He was faster, meaner, and even stronger despite his small size. 

But you had adrenaline and stubbornness on your side.

And sometimes that was all that was needed, as your hands managed to find a grip around his helm and pulled. 

It didn’t happen all at once, like the movies showed. There was the sounds of clinks and groans of metal being stretched and forced to go somewhere it didn’t want before being followed by the sickening sounds of wires snapping and Frenzy’s panicked and pained wails. His small arms frantically cutting into you as frantic pleas left his voice box, before with a pop followed by the sizzling sounds of electricity escaping Frenzy’s head was in your hands, his body left twitching before falling to the ground lifeless. You stared into the small helm in your hands, body shaking as your action finally caught up with you as the optics started to dim and shutter closed with a whimper. Oh gods.

Had you just killed someone?

Logically, you had known that eventually, it was incredibly likely that someone’s death would be on your hands. It was nearly impossible to insert yourself, purposefully, into a war and come out with no kill count. You hadn’t thought it would be this soon though, or that it would be Frenzy of all bots. You had always found him, and his cassette siblings, rather entertaining, always knowing it was going to be a good episode when they showed up, no matter the continuity. It was likely that they were even your favourites, out of all the bots.  

And now the death of one of their own was on your hands. 

You cradled the helm close to your chest, hunching over it with a pained whimper of your own. Apologies and pleas of your own falling from your lips as tears started to form in your eyes. 

A shadow fell over your form, but you didn’t look up, still focused on the prone form in your hands. The weight of his helm in your hands, the twitching of your muscles, the sting of Frenzy’s blade across your skin—it all blended into a fog you couldn’t shake.

“Nova!” Mikaela’s voice snapped through the ringing in your ears. “Hey, Nova, we have to go. That crazy cop bot is still here!”

You lifted your head, vision blurring further. Behind her, the sounds of metal colliding echoed across the yard—Bumblebee, holding his own, but barely. Sparks flew in the distance like falling stars. Your heart ached. This wasn’t over.

“I—he—” Your mouth was dry. You looked down again. Frenzy’s head was still warm in your palms, faint blue light flickering in his optics like a dying fire. You couldn’t let the others see. Not yet. Not this.

You moved like someone else had taken control of your body. With trembling fingers, you caressed the head of the helm before solemnly wrapping it up in the scarf tied to your waist.

“…You okay?” Mikaela asked, breathless.

“No,” you admitted, voice hollow. There was nothing about you or this situation that was okay. Gently placing the wrapped helm in your skirt pocket, and boy, were you glad you had modified it to have larger than normal pockets, you forced yourself up, ignoring Mikaela’s attempt to help you. Unfortunately, she had been right, you were still in danger as long as Barricade was around to fight. 

There would be time to mourn later, both for Frenzie and your innocence. 

You forced your legs to work beneath you, body aching in protest. Every movement made you feel more like the human child that you were masquerading as than ever as you staggered up and placed yourself in between Mikaela and the two bots slumming it out not too far off. 

From across the yard, a horrible sound rang out: a crunch of steel on steel, followed by a pained mechanical roar. Your head whipped toward the noise just in time to see Bumblebee thrown hard against the side of a rusted train car, denting it like paper. He hit the ground with a screech of grinding joints and groaning metal. Loud and furious beeps spilling from him that made you almost certain he was cursing both the situation and Barricade, all in one. 

Barricade loomed like a predator ready for its kill, red optics blazing with anger. His claws scraped across the ground as he stalked toward Bumblebee’s form, struggling to get up.

“Bee!” You shouted, starting forward, but Sam caught you in his arms, Mikaela taking point in front to block your way forward even as you struggled to try and help the scout. Where the hell was Prowl?

“We can’t do anything,” Sam hissed, teeth gritted. “Not against that.”

Logically, you knew that Bee probably didn’t actually need the help. He certainly hadn’t in the movie, having easily taken Barricade out of the fight long enough that he didn’t show up again till the final battle. And yet Prowl existed, Barricade looked far more beat up than before because of Prowl existing, and Frenzie was already dead, by your own hands nonetheless. 

What else would be different from your meddling? 

Who else was going to die? Who else’s lives were going to be on your hands by the time this ended for you? Would it be Mikaela’s? Sam’s? Bumblebee’s? Ratchet’s? All of humanity? 

Would it be yours?

A flash of light tore through the air. It streaked past so fast you barely registered it before it slammed into the side of a shipping container just behind Barricade. The blast rocked the entire yard, an explosive burst of blue-white energy that sent shrapnel flying and lit up the shadows in a stuttering burst of brilliance.

Barricade recoiled with a guttural snarl, optics flicking to the side, just in time for another shot to hiss by, this one grazing his shoulder armour and leaving a sizzling scar in its wake.

“What the hell?!” Sam ducked instinctively, forcing your body down as well, throwing a hand over both of your heads.

You staggered back a step into him, blinking against the sudden glare and swirling lines that now lived in your vision. Racing thoughts were silenced in an instant, burned away like fog under a rising sun, as a familiar shape dropped from a storage container above.

Sleek lines, clean paint, and eyes like twin searchlights, Prowl landed between the Decepticon,  Bumblebee, and you with a forceful, ground-shaking thud that echoed across the yard. His movements were surgical, every joint snapping into place like a well-oiled machine designed for nothing but precision.

You had never been happier to have someone on your side.

“Barricade.” Prowl’s voice rang out sharp and lethal, devoid of emotion and colder for it. “Stand down, and you will be treated fairly as you’re taken in.”

The Decepticon faltered for the first time, the pieces on his back that weren’t quite doorwings flickering in uncertainty. 

Prowl raised his weapon again, not that he needed to. The damage had already been done. His stance alone was enough to make the next shot feel inevitable if Barricade chose wrong.

A long beat passed, your heart pounding in your ears like thunder.

Then, with a guttural growl and one final rev of protest, Barricade spun on his wheels, transformed in a screech of shifting metal, and peeled off into the distance, disappearing between the darkened buildings and slipping into the shadows.

Only once the rumble of his engine had faded for a few moments did Prowl turn, his optics running over Bumblebee’s form as the younger bot struggled to his pedes. You hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath until Prowl turned to face you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, optics scanning over the three of you quickly, lingering just a moment longer on your side. 

Sam nodded mutely, Mikaela answered with a tight, “Yeah.”

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth opened but no sound came out so you simply nodded instead. Prowl's gaze narrowed slightly at this, not in suspicion, but in something softer. Observation and worry. He saw the cuts, the trembling, the way your hand hadn’t moved from your pocket, but he didn’t say anything about it. “Then we move,” he said instead, “Prime and the rest of the team will be entering the atmosphere within moments. We must leave to meet them at the rendezvous point.”

Behind him, Bumblebee pushed himself upright with a groan and a stream of static-laced curses. The scout’s optics flicked over to you as he limped forward, concern flashing briefly across his faceplates, but he didn’t comment either. No one did.

That somehow made it worse. To be fair, you weren’t even certain Bumblebee and Sam had seen what you had done. It was possible only Mikaela, who had seen the aftermath if not the act itself, was in the know of Frenzy’s demise at your hands. 

You walked towards Prowl without thinking, boots crunching on broken glass and stone. Sam stuck close, Mikaela hovering beside him. You trailed in front of them both, your hand glued to the pocket where Frenzy’s helm rested, tucked away like a secret that might burn through your side if you weren’t careful.

Later.

You would deal with this later.

There would be plenty of time for the fallout, for the guilt, for the mourning, but not now. Now, all you could do was keep moving, or at least that’s what you kept repeating to yourself, like some messed-up version of a daily affirmation. 

Sam broke the silence first.

“What the hell just happened?” His voice cracked, uneven, as if he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “Who are you? That cop car, robot, thing , he knew me. He was looking for me. ”

You flinched, your entire body curling in on itself slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Prowl’s optics narrow slightly as he stayed focused on you. Bumblebee’s radio cut in, saving you from having to talk. “ Don’t worry, partner …we’ll explain everything.”

Sam blinked at the different voices that played out to make the sentence, “I…that. Can you talk properly, please???”

“ XM satellite radio, a hundred and thirty digital channels of non-stop, commercial-free music, news, and entertainment. "

“I think he can only talk through the stereo,” Mikaela chimed in as she came up close behind him, slim fingers gripping the back of his shirt as she stared up in awe at the two Cybertronians before you. 

A cacophony of applause started playing, Bee gesturing wildly at Mikaela with a nod and clapps of his own, as Prowl nodded solemnly. “The girl is right. He was injured in action and we’ve yet to repair it.” Prowl’s optics flicked toward Sam again, face unreadable in that polished, stoic way of his. “That… was a Decepticon. One of many. He was after you, Sam Witwicky, because of something you possess, something that my team also desires. And if they get it before us, then the demise of your race may very well follow.”

Sam paled, his breath catching. “Something I… what?”

“You asked what’s happening,” Prowl continued, voice even. “The short answer is: you’ve been pulled into a war. One that started long before your kind knew how to shape fire.”

“That’s not an answer —”

“No,” Prowl cut in, “I suppose it’s not. But Optimus Prime is en route. He will explain more, far better than I can. He has always been quite apt in storytelling.”

Sam looked between him and Bumblebee, then to you, his eyes scanning your posture, your silence. You could feel it, his confusion, his unease, coiling tighter with every second.

“And how do I know we can trust you?” he asked. “What if you’re just better at hiding it? What if you’re playing the long game?”

“A fair question,” Prowl said, inclining his helm slightly. “You don’t know, so don’t trust me.” He turned his gaze to you, optics dimming just a touch. Concern, perhaps, but you were pretty certain that that was just wishful thinking on your part.“Trust your closest friend. The one who hasn’t steered you wrong yet.”

You flinched. The words hit like a blunt-force trauma to the chest. You didn’t feel like anyone’s protector anymore, didn’t feel worthy of anyone’s trust, especially not after what you’d just done. Your fingers curled tighter in your pocket. Frenzy’s helm was heavy against your thigh, a ghost made of metal and silence. You didn’t look at Sam, couldn’t look at him, even as you felt his eyes turn to you. Had to suppress the urge not to scream that you wanted no one to even look at you, much less trust your energon-stained hands. 

The eyes didn’t leave you, taking a deep breath you forced your emotions down as far as you could, which was to say, not very far at all, but it was just enough for you to get the words out, “I know you’re angry and confused, but we shouldn’t linger here when Barricade could come back at any moment with friends.”

Sam’s eyes widened at the implication of more of the Decepticons coming back here, to hunt you down until he could give them what they wanted.

Prowl nodded at your words and collapsed into his alt form, followed quickly by Bumblebee, both leaving a door open for you all to pile in. Sam tried to drag you into Bumblebee’s car, his probable anger at you hiding things being overridden by the friend card you still help,d but you quickly shook him off, turning towards Prowl when he called out your name, “Nova, a word?” 

Sam tensed at the low voice, his entire body ready to leap into action to keep you safe. “It’s alright,” you said quickly, gently pulling your wrist from Sam’s grip. You forced a small smile, one that probably looked more like a grimace. “Go with Bee and Mikaela. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“But—”

“I’ll catch up,” you said, and when Sam hesitated, Mikaela laid a hand on his arm, guiding him back toward Bumblebee. She looked back once, her brows tight with worry, but didn’t push it. You gave her a slight nod. Then they were gone, sliding into Bee’s cabin as the door shut behind them with a hiss of hydraulics.

You turned to Prowl and, without another word, you climbed into his cabin and settled into the seat, fingers curling around the last physical piece of your first kill. Prowl's interior was spotless as usual, the soft hum of his systems like a heartbeat under your feet.

“Are you—”

“I need to go back down that hill,” you cut in before Prowl could speak the now forbidden words. You were most definitely not okay, possibly never would be again, and if you heard the full sentence, you would have a massive meltdown. A massive meltdown that needed to wait until you could have at least a couple of days to yourself, because breaking down now meant losing what little control you had. Meant acknowledging that you had become a killer. Meant that you were now firmly a part of their war, with no escape. 

It means that you are truly one of them now, even if your body were made of flesh rather than metal. 

Your breath stuttered, even as you tried to force it to be even, steady as the systems that worked in the body that was surrounding and blocking you from the outside world. You already had two breakdowns in Prowl’s body, you refused to have another this night. “There’s… I…” Prowl waited patiently for you to try to find the words, slowly making his way towards the area you had indicated, even as Bumblebee zoomed off like he was still in a high-speed chase scene. The engine rumbled, smooth and sure, and as the darkened yard fell away behind you, you watched out the window, down the hill and towards the place you had left a little body behind. “It doesn’t feel right to leave him there…” You finally managed to get out. 

The hill sloped down into a crater of hot sand and twisted metal. Prowl approached down slowly, his tires whispering over the hard-packed ground as he guided his way between busted metal pieces and shattered glass. He stopped just beside the small building Mikaela had managed to find the saw, close to where the scuffle had taken place. The light of his headlights fell gently across the scarred stretch of ground only broken by the numerous footpaths you and the others had taken in order to defend yourselves, illuminating the spot where Frenzy's body still lay, dismembered and unnervingly still, the soft glimmer of dying energy fading from his frame entirely.

Prowl’s engine cut off. A few moments passed in silence. Then his cabin door clicked open.

You didn’t move at first. Your hand hovered near the handle, knuckles white with the pressure you applied, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Your eyes fixed on the scene below. It felt wrong to move. Like setting foot back in that place would confirm that it had really happened, even though you knew that it had. That the growing puddle of blue energon, the scratch marks on the ground, the eerie hush, it wasn’t just some hallucination conjured by panic.

You forced yourself to move.

Sliding out of Prowl’s cabin, your boots crunched lightly against the scattered debris as you descended the short walk to where Frenzy’s body lay fallen. Prowl transformed behind you in near silence, the faint whir of shifting plates and clicking joints rising and fading like a mechanical breath. He remained still, a silent guardian with optics low, letting you have this moment.

Your feet carried you forward until you stood once more before the little corpse you had made. Frenzy’s twitching had long stopped. The jagged angles of his limbs were frozen mid-scramble. Without his helm, the exposed wires of his neck sparked faintly, like dying nerves.

Your stomach turned, but you knelt beside him anyway.

Not because you knew what to do, not that you were certain there was an even right way to do this, but because standing felt like pretending you hadn’t done it.

The wind tugged gently at your clothes as you reached out with slow, deliberate fingers. Frenzy’s body was cooling now, the heat draining with the last of his movements. You shifted the limbs carefully, reverently, gathering what remained and moving the pieces like he was some oversized doll you were laying to rest. 

There was a grim gentleness to your movements, as if by treating what remained of him with care, you could make up for the fact that you had torn him apart.

Prowl still hadn’t moved. The light from his optics washed over you, unwavering.

“I didn’t want to,” you murmured, almost too quietly for even yourself to hear. “I didn’t want this.”

There was no response.

You pressed your hand to the scarf-wrapped helm in your pocket. The weight of it was grounding and unbearable all at once. When you stood again, your knees ached, your hands were shaking, and your chest felt carved open. You didn’t cry, not yet, not here, even though there was hardly a better place to do so, but the tears sat heavy behind your eyes instead, waiting for a better time.

Prowl finally stepped forward. Quiet, steady, his tone carefully measured. “He was a Decepticon.”

You didn’t answer at first, then: “I know that.”

“He would not have spared nor mourned you.”

“I know that too.”

A long beat passed between you. You kept your eyes forward, Prowl kept his eyes on you. “You didn’t hesitate,” he said at last, his voice neutral, unreadable. “Your action may very well have saved you and your friend’s lives, on top of who knows how many others.”

You let out a hollow laugh, sharp and cracked verging on hysteria. “Yeah, I’m sure it did.”

Prowl didn’t say anything else, just reached up and grabbed at something just out of your vision before dangling a large cloth by your side, large enough to wrap around you five times over and more than big enough to wrap the body of the tiny cassette bot below you. 

He hadn’t deserved to die like that, you thought, grabbing the cloth Prowl had somehow produced from nowhere for you to wrap the still sparking body up in. You hadn’t meant to become a killer, but in war, in life , intentions didn’t matter, not really, only action, only consequence.

And you were learning far too fast what those consequences felt like.

The cloth smelled vaguely of oil and was soft, too soft, for the jagged, warped edges of Frenzy’s mangled frame. You wrapped him gently anyway, murmuring one last, voiceless apology as static danced over your skin. The tiny limbs that had once clawed at you now hung limp. One last twitch, and then nothing, even though the wires at his neck kept sparking on occasion.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes again, and this time you didn’t wipe them away, let them fall. Let the guilt settle in your chest like lead; you wouldn’t shove it down, not this. He might’ve been a Decepticon, might’ve tried to kill you, but he was still a life. And life, regardless of allegiance, deserved more than to be forgotten.

Prowl didn’t speak. Just stood beside you in his root form, silent as a sentry, gaze distant and unreadable. When you turned to him, clutching the shrouded form like something sacred, he reached out with careful hands.

A compartment in his chest opened, a storage chamber in his chassis lined with secure shielding. Right. You had forgotten subspacing was a thing. 

Wordlessly, you offered up Frenzy’s body. Prowl accepted it like it was something delicate, something that mattered, which was something you appreciated. He placed it within the chamber with a reverence you hadn’t expected, sealed the compartment with a soft whir of locking servos, and then looked down at you. No judgment, not even pity, just quiet understanding. A soldier who had seen far too many first kills to mistake the look in your eyes for anything else. You said nothing more, and neither did he. It was something you appreciated, considering you felt like one hairline fracture away from shattering completely. 

When he shifted back into his alt-form and opened the door for you again, you climbed inside without hesitation. The door hissed shut, cocooning you in cold metal and low engine hums. This time, you didn’t press your face to the glass. Didn’t look out at the dark yard you were leaving behind. Instead, you sat in silence, facing forward with your hand over the pocket that still held Frenzy’s helm.

Later, you’d have to explain what happened.

Later, you’d have time to really cry.

Later, you might even have to face the rest of the cassette siblings and their carrier.

But not now. Now, you rode in silence inside a machine who, for all his logic and harsh precision, let you grieve the innocence you no longer held.

Chapter Text

The stars looked different now.

Not because the sky had changed—but because you had.

They blinked overhead, cold and uncaring, as Prowl cruised down the empty stretch of highway, his headlights slicing through the darkness in steady sweeps. Somewhere beyond the clouds, Optimus Prime and the others were cutting through Earth’s atmosphere. Somewhere ahead, Bumblebee had peeled off to reroute Sam and Mikaela back to the rendezvous point. But here, in the silent interior of Prowl’s alt-form, you finally spoke the thought that had been rotting in your chest since you wrapped Frenzy’s body in that soft cloth.

“…Do Cybertronians have funeral rites?”

There was a long pause before he answered, as if the question required accessing something long buried.

“Yes,” Prowl said eventually. “Though they are many versions depending on frame type, the city you came from, the class you were apart of, whether or not you came from Cybertron or a colony, and many are not in the way you would recognize. We do not bury, for the most part. We return to the Well of All Sparks—either through reclamation or, in wartime, through controlled detonation and memory preservation.”

You blinked. “So, basically… cremation with a backup drive?”

“Crude,” he replied, “but not entirely inaccurate.”

“I want to do something for him,” you said quietly. “He deserved more than being ripped apart in a train yard and tossed into a subspace pocket like a spare part.”

Prowl was silent again, but this time you felt the change in his hum. Slower. Reflective.

“There is a ritual, often used by soundbots and their cassettes, like Soundwave, called Final Tone, ” he said. “An offering of frequency. You tune a harmonic pulse to the Spark signature of the fallen. It’s… personal. Most can’t replicate it without shared code or forged bonds.”

Your hand drifted to your pocket where Frenzy’s helm rested. “Could you do it?”

“I could attempt it,” he replied. “But Soundwave, as his carrier, would be best. If your goal is to honor him… then I suspect you may need to forge your own version of the rite. Cybertronian mourning is not built for organics.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Figured.”

Just ahead, a roar echoed off the asphalt, and in the distance, a streak of yellow shot across the overpass like a missile on wheels.

You squinted. “Was that—?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied dryly. “That would be Bumblebee.”

You both watched as he drifted across the road with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no regard for traffic laws or basic physics, pivoted on two wheels with theatrical flair, and slowed just long enough to scan a brand new 2007 Camaro driving by before peeling out again, shiny, sleek, and radiating smugness.

He blasted past you a second later in his upgraded alt-mode, thumping a snippet of Daft Punk’s “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger” through his new sound system like he was announcing his own evolution.

You stared after him. “Did he really just…”

“Abandon your companions to get a makeover? Yes,” Prowl confirmed flatly.

“…Gods, I love him,” you muttered, half-laughing in spite of yourself, Prowl didn’t comment—probably out of secondhand embarrassment.

And just like that, something shifted.

Not the grief, that was still there. It always would be.

But it didn’t feel like it was drowning you anymore.

Just riding shotgun.

—-----------------------------------------------

When Prowl finally rolled to a complete stop, a little behind Bumblebee, you had found yourself looking out at hill, a large ditch being the only thing between the five of you and it. 

Then the sky cracked open.

Your breath caught as four burning trails sliced through the atmosphere like gods descending in fury. Heat shimmered off the road as Prowl came to a stop at the overlook above the old freeway tunnel. You stared through the windshield as three of the meteor trails vanished over the horizon, but one came screaming down nearby—too fast, too low.

It hit like a small nuke.

The shockwave rattled Prowl’s frame, dust and gravel flying into the air like a thrown veil. In the crater below, something moved.

You and Prowl stared together, his engine idling, headlights catching something silver in the hollow of the earth.

A sphere, gleaming and writhing.

Metal flowed across its surface like liquid mercury, globs peeling off then snapping back on as though gravity itself had reversed. A hiss, then a crack like ice fracturing—and the sphere bloomed open.

Legs unfolded, arms appeared, a curved helm rose last. The silhouette was jagged and alien, towering over the crater like a rising colossus.

“That's one of yours?” you asked, breathless.

“Yes,” Prowl said as you withheld a squeal as his alt-mode started unfolding with you still inside, until you were left cradled carefully in his hands as he stood straight in attention. “And I know who it is.” If you hadn’t already known the storyline, his sudden change made it kind of obvious.

Optimus Prime had finally arrived.

A horn blasted in the distance, an eighteen-wheeler roaring down the highway, headed straight for the scene.

You squinted, recognizing the shape. A blue-and-red Peterbilt with a faded gleam, like old war paint.

The protoform’s optics turned to scan it, and in the space between heartbeats, its frame reshaped. Plates twisted, parts shifted, and by the time the truck screeched past and cleared the road, there were two identical trucks, though one looked far newer than the one driving away. 

Then, the newly scanned Peterbilt rumbled to life.

Its engine growled with low, deliberate power as it rolled down the hill toward the still-smoking crater. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, movement. From three directions, engines roared to life.

Headlights blazed against the dark like war-born stars as three massive alt-forms tore across the landscape. Gravel scattered in their wake as they converged, flanking the crater, locking into formation around you, Prowl, Bumblebee, and the others like a closing jaw. It wasn’t a welcome.

It was a perimeter.

And you knew, deep in your bones, what it meant.

The Autobots had arrived.

As the truck slowed to a stop only a few inches in front of you, you could help but swallow harshly in fear at what you would see as he started unfolding before your eyes. You watched in awe at what was once seemingly a regular peterbilt semi rapidly transforms, metal shifting and rearranging itself to produce a powerful figure standing before you. Instead of watching the full transformation though, your eyes stayed locked on where his helm would appear and waited impatiently for his optics to reveal themselves.

Would they be that terrifying shade of purple from your nightmare, dead and unnatural feeling or would they be – 

Blue. Clear, bright, and clearly weighed down by the weight of his world blue . 

You’d never been so happy to see that colour before as Optimus got down on one knee and leaned down before you humans, “您是Samuel James Witwicky吗？您是“发现号”帆船船长Archibald Amundsen Witwicky的后裔吗?” And speaking Chinese? You blinked once in surprise, then once more as he repeated it. 

“Was that Chinese?” Mikaela leaned over to whisper. You could only nod in a stupor, mind racing on what to say. Prowl and Bumblebee spoke in English, why didn’t Prime?

“Uhhhh…你好，我们不会说中文，我们说英语.” Thank you chinese donghua for giving you the basic knowledge of how to say, “I don’t speak your language”. Or at least you hoped that’s what you said, learning any language was hard but Mandarin felt especially difficult given its tonal parts that could easily change the word to something completely different. Not to mention it had been literal years since you had access to any of them considering the time era of 2007. Give it a few years though and you’d once again be binging on anime and donghua like there was no tomorrow in your freetime. Assuming you lived that long of course. 

Optimis’s optics cycled, crinkling upwards slightly as he smiled before trying again. “Are you Samuel James Witwicky? Descendant of Archibald Amundsen Witwicky, captain of the sailing vessel ‘Discovery’?” 

“He knows your name,” Mikaela breathed out in shock, “Why does he know your name?”

Sam ignored Mikaela and nodded slowly, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. 

“My name is Optimus Prime, we are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron.”

“But you can call us Autobots for short,” Ratchet cut in.

“Autobots..” Sam repeated in a stupor. 

“Unfortunately there are no translations for our individual nomenclatures.”

“No-nomen-what?”

“Nomenclatures,” you answered, “It’s the naming system.” A flush overtook face as Optimus’s optics looked over to you briefly, the bright blues cycling as they eyed you with the slightest helm tilt. 

“Yes, we have selected from your vocabulary to approximate our behavioural temperaments.”

“My first lieutenant, designation Jazz,” Optimus introduced the silver bot who gleamed even under the dark sky as he did a backflip just for kicks. 

“What’s crackin’ little bitches,” Jazz greeted, waving a servo at you three, “This seems like a cool place to kick it, don’cha think Prowler?” Prowl rolled his optics in response but you could see there was the tiniest smile forming on his lips. 

“Wha– where did he learn to talk like that?” Sam stuttered out in disbelief. 

“We assimilated Earth’s languages through the World Wide Web.” Optimus replied, optics cycling before continuing on, “My third lieutenant, designation Prowl.” 

“Call me anything but, and I will not hesitate to shoot you.” You rolled your eyes at Prowl’s declaration before leaning over and whispering, 

“Don’t worry, he’s a big softy.” 

Prowl gave you a side glance that could've frozen lava. “I heard that.”

You gave him an unapologetic grin. “I know.”

A soft huff of static left his vents, barely a sound, but if you listened closely, maybe just maybe, it sounded suspiciously like a sigh of fond exasperation.

Before Sam could question the dynamic between you and the towering enforcer, Optimus gestured again toward the remaining two figures stepping forward from the shadows.

“This is Ironhide, our weapons specialist.”

The black mech loomed, optics glowing beneath heavy plating. His frame radiated menace in a way that made you instinctively tense, and made Sam physically step back as his arms turned into cannons, directed at the lot of you.

“You feelin’ lucky, punk?” Ironhide rumbled, voice like the barrel of the cannons he was wielding.

Sam blinked. “Did… Did he just quote Dirty Harry at me?”

Mikaela looked equally concerned and impressed. “You just arrived, how many action movies have you seen?”

“Too many clearly,” Ratchet muttered.

“Our medical officer, chief emissary to the High Council of Ancients: Ratchet.” A beam shot out of Ratchet’s wrist, scanning all three of you from top to bottom. What should have been just a blast of light particles that felt like nothing, instead felt like a million tiny pricks traveling where the light touched, not enough to truly hurt but just enough feeling to it that it left your body shivering. 

“Salutations, females: you are both healthily commencing the fifth state of puberty, though your trine leader is further ahead. Sam Witwicky, you are still in the fourth, but progressing nicely.”

“Okay, thanks for that, good to know …” Sam muttered, face flushing and eyes darting to look anywhere but

“The female’s name is Mikaela Banes.” 

“Understood, Mikaela,” Ratchet nodded his helm towards her, “Banes,” his helm turned towards you in a similar nod and you had to fight back a laugh. 

“Not quite,” you chuckled. “Her full name is Mikaela Banes, and I’m not a female though I can understand the confusion.” The blue optics cycled as his mouth dropped open slightly before closing it again, and you felt the beam hit again, optics narrowing as he likely got the exact same results again. Taking pity on the old bot, you could practically see the gears running in his helm as he tried to figure out why he was getting those results, you explained, “It’s not widely talked about at the moment, but humans hold several genders that they identify as regardless of what their bodies physically are. I identify as none of them, I simply am. Generally use they/them pronouns but I answer to all.” 

“I see…” Ratchet said slowly. “Fascinating. We too are not defined by physical sexual dimorphism. Our frames are engineered for function, not identity. But our Sparks develop personality inclinations. Among us, we recognize mechs, femmes, and those who walk between or neither.”

“Like nonbinary?” you asked, curiosity tinting your tone.

Ratchet’s eyes darkened slightly as they cycled before brightening again and he nodded. “The closest equivalent, yes. Though terminology varies between factions and regions of Cybertron. One of the few things the Functionalists didn’t erase.” 

Mikaela perked up. “Wait, so your gender expression is soul-based, not hardware-based?”

Ratchet tilted his head toward her, visibly intrigued. “Precisely. Most protoforms emerge neutral until their Sparks stabilise. Designations follow spark-logic, not structural differences.”

“That’s… actually kind of beautiful,” Mikaela murmured, eyes bright with the kind of curiosity only true gearheads had. “And wait—what you said about frame design—how does that work for like, medics versus warriors? Are the internals modular? Do you have different functions you can adapt to, but others cannot?”

A spark of something animated flared in Ratchet’s optics. “Indeed. My systems can hold four trauma kits, two plasma welders, and a molecular re-sequencer, everything else must go in my subspace. Would you like to see a blueprint schematic?”

Before Mikaela could scream yes, Optimus cleared his throat with a deep, bassy hum.

“We will have time for deeper exchange soon,” he said, gentle but firm. “But for now, we must focus, of course you know your guardian, Bumblebee.” Optimus cut in, waving his servo towards the dancing yellow bot who looked like he was practicing shadow boxing. 

“Bumblebee…” Sam muttered, “Wait, your name is actually Bumblebee, and you’re my guardian?” Bee nodded with a happy little whirl sound accompanying it. 

“His vocal processor was damaged in battle at Tyger Pax,” Ratchet cut in swinging an arm forward, pointing it towards Bumblebee's throat where a red lazer came out and scanned the area. Bumblebee hunched over and started making hacking sounds, one of his servos coming up to rub at his throat when the scanning stopped. He threw a dirty look towards Ratchet, moving to hide behind you humans, as if your tiny forms could save him from Ratchet’s medical skills. “I’m still working on fixing it.”

Spotting your form closest to him, Bumblebee gave an excited beep to get your attention, waving you closer as he kneeled before you. When you were standing right before him, he reached a servo into a hidden compartment in his chassis and pulled out — a bouquet? 

Your mouth opened in surprise as you gently took the flowers from his servo and observed them, turning them this way and that under your gaze. Tall thick stems spread out in a cupping shape, surrounding a delicate cluster of flowers.

Blue hyacinths.

You blinked, unsure if your sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on you. But no, resting in your hands was a carefully gathered bundle, the blue petals still damp with dew, like they’d been picked just moments before even though you knew that wasn’t possible.

The blooms were cool and fragrant, soft against your fingertips. Bee chirped, a quiet, apologetic sound that didn’t need words to say: I’m sorry for last night.

A breath hitched in your chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the absolute whiplash of your last twenty four hours, but the gesture hit harder than expected.

"...You sap," you whispered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "You're lucky I'm weak for flower language."

Bee gave a proud little beep, then cued up a song on his radio that you didn’t know, something gentle and hopeful, like morning sun through an open window.

You tucked the flowers carefully into your elbow to hold. Maybe you’d press them later. Maybe you’d dry them out and keep them forever.

Because you couldn’t remember the last time someone had said sorry to you like that .

And then the moment was ruined as Jazz cooed over ‘their baby scout having a crush,’ and Sam had a conniption behind you of his demon car liking his best friend. 

“Prowl, Mikaela,” was all you said in response before a loud clang and a couple of yelps suddenly filled the area. You didn’t have to turn around to know Jazz had been hit upside the helm by his conjunx for you, nor that Sam had likely also been smacked. 

You turned back to see Jazz no longer on the car, but on his knees beside Prowl, visibly pouting as he rubbed the back of his helm. Sam was in a similar position, if being knocked face first to the ground moaning in pain was similar to being on your knees after being hit upside the head. For such a slim girl she could really pack a punch. Which, you supposed, made sense given her mechanic background. 

Jazz groaned dramatically, rubbing his helm with exaggerated flair. “You all got violent reflexes, ” he whined. “All I said was the baby scout’s got a little crush—ain’t nothin’ wrong with some appreciation!”

“That’s not the problem,” you muttered, glaring down at Sam, who was still groaning on the asphalt. “You decided to embarrass him, and this idiot decided to have a meltdown about it.”

“Hey!” Sam protested from the ground. “It’s weird! That’s—I don’t even—you’re not even my —I mean—we’re not—but you’re still—!”

“Kid,” Ironhide rumbled, clearly exasperated, “you’re making it weirder. ”

Optimus raised one hand in a calming gesture, though his optics flicked toward the distant horizon. “We’re losing cycles sitting here,” he said. “We must acquire the Allspark immediately, before the Decepticons gain control of it.”

“I agree,” Prowl added, stepping forward again. “The longer we delay, the higher the probability of enemy intercept.”

“Uh, yea about that.” Sam interrupted, and several pairs of blue optics focused on him. “Who exactly are the Decepticons?”

“Once,” Optimus started, “Myself and another Cybertronian, by the name of Megatron, were brothers. Twin sons among the dynasty of the Primes, but greed twisted him. Turned his once grand and noble ambitions dark and a perverse mirror of what they once were. He now works as a servant of evil, turning his armies that once protected my people against us. For their betrayal we gave them the names… Decepticons.” 

Optimus’s blue optics brightened immensely as light projected from them onto the ground beneath your feet. You stifled a yelp as it seemed the very ground started to break away from beneath your feet and you moved to stand on the pieces still left out of instinct. Rivers of what you could only assume was lava or molten metal burned bright red in deep caverns splitting the land into jagged pieces. 

Scattered amongst the land there were pieces of fallen Cybertronians littering the landscape, some still clinging to life even as the massive form of Megatron stomped his foot down on a mechanoid trying to crawl away. You couldn’t help but wince as he drove a spear straight through the bot’s spark, effectively ending them for good as he let out a conquering roar and the image faded away. 

Yeah, you really didn’t want that guy escaping ice containment.

“The war has nearly extinguished our race,” Optimus continued solemnly. “Those who survived and did not heed to his call were forced to flee for their lives. In trying to save my race, I sent the Allspark, our lifegiver, out into space, to keep its power from Megatron’s and his master’s clutches. In doing so, I also helped end our race, for without it, there is no new life that will come to my kind.

“Megatron was able to follow the cube’s signal to a far and distant planet though, despite my best efforts. When landing on Earth he succumbed to the ice at the far north of your planet.”

“...the Ice Man.” Sam muttered and flushed when both you and Mikaela turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “What! I pay attention sometimes! Grandpa’s stories were really interesting when you’re a kid!”  

“Yes,” Optimus interrupted before you could devolve into arguing, “your grandfather accidentally triggered his navigational systems which holds coordinates to the cube’s location here on Earth. The beam from its projection likely blinded him and implanted the coordinates onto his glasses.” 

“Okay,” Sam cut in, “that’s all well and great but how exactly do you know all this?” 

Optimus’s optics cycled before he answered with a stoic, “Ebay.” 

“What, no, wait– that actually makes sense. That other bot, the one those two fought off, he mentioned my eBay page too.” Sam turned to you, “Is that why you had me take the page down? Did you know this was going to happen!?” 

 Ah, you had forgotten he could be quite perceptive at times and you winced as he thrust a finger with a raised eyebrow that clearly said, ‘well?’ 

“I…yes. Do you remember when we were kids and I used to tell you stories about giant metal beings?” You waved a hand towards the towering Cybertronians surrounding you. “Turns out what I was seeing was actually…” Time to double down on this, you supposed; “the future. I was seeing the future as it played out even as a kid and I didn’t realize it until you posted the auction for your grandfather’s things.” Your eyes closed as you waited for the inevitable explosion that was going to come from him.

“I see…” Sam started and your body tensed, “why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me? Did…did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked at the end and your eyes flew open, hands frantically waving as you tried to shake away the notion. 

“What? No! I’ve always trusted you, you’re my best friend! I never told you because well how do you even explain that without sounding crazy!” 

“So you’ve just…Even I know that’s not healthy, why would you think that was a good idea. I might’ve thought you crazy at first but I would've came around eventually. You didn’t have to deal with this on your own.” 

“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “How do you even start that conversation? ‘Hey Sam, remember those stories I used to tell? Turns out I was having visions from who knows when in the future.’ I trust you Sam, really I do, but you’re not thinking of how insane it sounds because you have living proof in front of you now so you’re focusing on the hurt instead. And I get that, really. I kept it from you because I thought if I said it outloud, you would think I was crazy or I would shatter everything. That nothing would go right and we’d all die .”

Silence stretched between you at the admission. 

Then, softly Sam’s voice came, “I’m not mad at you for knowing, not really. I’m mad you didn’t let me be there for you. We’ve been friends since we were like six weeks. You don’t get to push me out, robot apocalypse or not.” 

That got a choked laugh out of you, “Okay, fair. That’s fair.” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt this rather touching moment,” Optimus chimed in, and he did look rather regretful with his furrowed brows and frowning derma, “but we need to get those glasses.”

“Right, glasses.” You said quickly, wiping away the gathering tears and taking a step back toward Prowl. “Let’s move then. Sam, you and Mikaela take Bee since he knows the way. I’ll ride with Prowl.”

Jazz perked up. “Aww, come on, newbie, ride with me. Gotta break in you weird little humans sometime.”

“They’re not weird,” Prowl replied without hesitation, transforming fluidly back into his alt-mode with practised efficiency. “And they’re my charge.”

Jazz let out a mock gasp . “ Yours? Whoa-ho, territorial , aren’t we? Don’t tell me you’ve already called dibs!”

Prowl’s engine revved like a warning growl. “You will walk.”

“Hey now, that’s uncalled for,” Jazz chuckled, then turned toward you. “But for real, you ever want to see what real speed feels like, my passenger seat’s open.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, cracking a grin as you slid into Prowl’s cab. “But I like riding shotgun with someone who doesn't launch off cliffs for fun.”

“I only did that once ,” Jazz called after you. His optics cycled, “Wait, how did you know that!?” 

“I didn’t,” you replied, “but thanks for confirming it.” 

With Bumblebee leading the way, your convoy peeled away from the overlook in a blur of headlights and tire squeals, engines and your laughter howling as the team raced down the empty highway toward Sam’s house; Jazz sputtering in stutters at getting one upped by a human behind you.