Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tailgate was… scared. Which, wasn’t very different from usual behavior, but he was petrified-scared this time, not scared-scared. He couldn’t help but coil up on himself, bracing his body so tight he might even dent something. And he vented, at least he tried to, while trying not to barf at the horrendous smell of trash around him. Empty cubes of energon, used weapons still stained, now useless pieces of armor, and he hadn’t dared dig any deeper.

He wanted to get away, but the fear still pinned him down right where he was. He couldn’t possibly leave, no, not while there were guards patrolling around looking for the ‘mouse-monster’. Truly a fearsome monster. That was what he was reduced to.

But why was he even being hunted? Just because that medic had taken a look at him after he was hurt by an actual, big, scary five-tailed fox, and declared he had a transformation cog?

Which, well, was the truth! But Tailgate had never used it to hurt others. He barely knew how to use it himself. If it wasn’t for the strangling fear he’d probably have transformed and leapt away from Iacon by now. Off to… somewhere, where he’d be able to hide his ‘dangerous’ form for a few more megacycles.

Unfortunately, the strangling fear was keeping him very much choked, and he already knew he was going to stay here until nightfall.

Steps moving along the trash cans informed him someone was coming. He held his vents, made himself even smaller, hid his eyes under his visor and faced down, hoping the bright azure light of his panicked gaze wouldn’t betray him. If he looked battered enough already, would they stop? Or would take take it even harder on him because people loved to take it on those less fortunate?

He could focus on himself, feel like trash. Become one with it. He already smelled like it. He only had to believe it. Come on, feel like trash. Lay down and feel like…

“Guess what, more trash!” A figure shouted, raising the cover of the trash bin and not even caring to get a glance in. Which worked great, because Tailgate jolted so hard that even the medic who’d blinded himself would have seen him. “Really don’t know how I didn’t figure this out sooner.”

There was a grumble in reply, a low and snarling sound that shook Tailgate to his core with fear and the sudden need to go incredibly still. So still his spark might even stop beating. The first voice soon continued.

“Come on, Cyclonus. Cheer up! We’re in another town, aren’t we? Look at all this trash we can thrash today! Hah, got it?” The first voice continued, and Tailgate’s eyes widened as he heard the creature start to change things around. Was… was he looking for stuff in the trash bin? Was he going to be found by malevolent homeless people? Oh, great. His panic definitely wouldn’t let his spark fade out now. And they were looking for things to… to thrash. Or trash. But that wasn’t a verb. Oh, well, Tailgate was done anyway by now.

“Keep your voice low.” The snarling voice, Cyclonus if he was to have any guess, reprimanded. “We don’t want to be found.”

“Yeah, sure sorry. Hey, weren’t those at the gates guards, though? They looked like you.” The first voice replied, grabbing something really close to Tailgate and flinging it out of the trash bin. It bounced and broke even more with the sharp noise of glass cracking and shattering on the ground behind the mysterious figure. Tailgate braced himself, knowing he was going to be next. “So why don’t you, like, get in touch with them? Tell them you’re one of them? Then you can get that arm of yours fixed, we steal some energon, and back into the forest we go! Nice, easy, simple.”

“And dangerous.” Cyclonus replied with a curt snarl, followed by more waste being thrown. “These guards are clearly looking for monsters. And, you can’t be left unsupervised.”

“Oh come on, I’ve made strides at my pace! I don’t even cut everything into neat little strips because I can. Not bodies, anyway.” The other replied, with a distinct clicking sound Tailgate didn’t want to think about. It sounded like teeth snapping.

Oh great. He was with someone crazy enough to cut bodies into pieces and… and possibly eat them, Tailgate realized. He was going to be eaten by… it had to be monsters, at this point. He was this close to being found by a monster and whoever was terrifying enough to travel with him! Great, just great! He could feel his eyes swell under his visor, his gaze becoming shinier. Was that what it meant to see life flash before your eyes? Was it that literal?

The cutting monster kept shuffling around. Something touched Tailgate soon after. Not hands, or appendages, but two claws, made of no more than two fingers each, and one grim, spirited yellow eye trailed on the poor minibot from the opening of the trash bin.

He felt like he was going to cry.

“Huh… Cyclonus?” He kept going. “I think you might want to come here. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. And I do talk to corpses, but maybe we’re not there yet. Let’s… let’s just say I’ll be talking to a corpse soon enough. If you don’t come.”

A huff and several heavy steps later, two dark red eyes joined the singular yellow.

Tailgate was completely frozen on the spot by now. He was so stiff he might break and snap the moment they tried to get him out.

“Who are you?” Cyclonus asked, tone cutting just like the sharp edges of the twin horns that adorned his face.

“Please…” Tailgate only managed to squeak. “Please don’t kill me.”

“And so that’s how they found you? In the trash?” Ratchet asked, while his fingers danced on the arms of the knight seated in front of him. He touched something he shouldn’t have, a tendril that was very much misaligned, but the figure didn’t do so much as sharply vent.

“Yeah, I… yeah.” The small little minibot, seated on a few leaves in the middle of the forest and holding the small lamp Ratchet had entrusted him with, shrugged and coiled up on himself. “When folks in Iacon found I had a cog… it was like I had become Unicron.”

Ratchet hummed, and touched lightly the elbow of the dark and stiff figure in front of him. This time, a groan did escape. “This is really bad. How long have you been going without treatment?”

“Ever since he met me!” Another voice, almost scratchy, too exuberant, exclaimed. Their third companion, Ratchet remembered, even if his name kept escaping his tongue.

“So let me guess, you fought?” He continued questioning, starting to weld a few minor wounds together before diving into the big gash coated by dried energon. “How long ago was that?”

“Dunno, never been good with numbers.” The scratchy voice continued, and his rusty body shuffled to a more comfortable position with various creaks and shifts that didn’t really comfort Ratchet’s ears. He’d have to take a look, or a touch, at him before letting them go. “But it was… eh, a few complete moons before?”

“A few months ago, you mean.” Tailgate supplied. “You… wow, you’ve been living alone in the woods for this long?”

“We’ve been on the move.” The figure right under Ratchet explained, voice clipped and filled with static. Ratchet put more numbing agent on the wound, hoping it would solve the problem. Although his armor was very thick, it was hard to even get his fingers under the joints.

“Yeah, he kinda forced me to go with him.”

“After you blew my cover, you should be thankful I dragged you out of Rivets Field!” The one under him, Cyclonus finally, his brain had taken its time, spat. “You would have been dead otherwise.”

“Can say the same thing about you. You wouldn’t have gotten out of there alive without my fast thinking.”

“I can’t understand a thing you’re saying!” Tailgate lamented, in that shrill voice of his. Although, if Ratchet was to guess, he wasn’t really panicked anymore. Not like when he’d seen his light and thought him a ghost, at least. “Can’t you follow a linear narrative for once?”

With a loud click Cyclonus’ arm regained some of its basic functionality, and Ratchet would deem it a job somewhat well done. He didn’t really care about the story Tailgate had asked, he was just there to heal them, that’s what he had offered, but he supposed it never hurt to hear.

“I was a knight.” Cyclonus started, moving his arm in slow and easy movements. “Me and my platoon were investigating various caves around Rivets Field, looking for monsters to trounce. When we indeed found one. Talking to corpses.”

“Hey, I was giving them the story of my life!” The other one – Whirl, there it was, his name was Whirl. “And it’s really sad and tragic, just so you know.”

“Point is, we started fighting, he hit me so hard in the head it somehow triggered my transformation sequence and next thing I knew everyone was trying to kill me as well in a typhoon of screams and slashes.”

“That’s horrible!” Tailgate squeaked. Ratchet shared the sentiment, he’d always been disgusted by how hunters were taught first and foremost to never trust anybody, especially not their team. He felt his tanks revolt just thinking back to it.

“Don’t worry, squirt. It’s the normal life of a hunter!” Whirl replied, overly cheery voice hiding something in the way his tone fluctuated, but Ratchet was not sure what. “We got out of there by running fast enough anyway. Last thing they teach you to do as hunters, but first to do if you’re the prey.”

“… You were a hunter too?” The minibot asked again.

“Ah, kind of. Too long ago, anyway. Everything I ever got outta it was a forced manicure and half the doc’s eyes.” There was a noise, of something snapping, of claws snapping Ratchet realized. No, perhaps not claws.

“Want me to take a look at it?” He asked, head trailing gently towards the voice. There was silence for a while, something like a choked sound which quickly turned into a clipped laugh.

“No, doc. You can’t do anything about it. Don’t worry your pretty little hands on it. Been living with this for a lot longer than I did without.”

“Is that… is that why you only have one eye?” Tailgate asked again, and got immediately reprimanded by the ex-knight.

“What, afraid I’ll break him in half?” Whirl retorted maniacally, and Cyclonus moved with such speed and precision that Ratchet had barely the time to register the leaves shifting before a metal blade was unsheathed and probably pointed at Whirl’s throat, away from Ratchet. “Oi, chill out. I’m a spider, not a cannibal or whatever. I can’t extract energon from bigger mechanisms.”

“A… spider?” Tailgate asked, and honestly, he sounded more confused than scared at the moment. Very far away from the ‘panic button’ he’d known in Iacon. Actually, he’d never heard him so relaxed.

The affirmation was followed by several more clicks.

“Yeah. See these? I used to have hands. Heck, I used to create watches! Crazy, I know, keep your enthusiasm Cyclonus, but then people got a good look at me and realized I had a bit too many eyes and when they made me transform… bang! A bit too many hands too. Eight hands, eight eyes… they cut the extras away.”

There was only eerie silence. Ratchet himself didn’t know how to react. He’d always just worked with monoformers, that he knew of, and he’d never been asked to do… something like that. Remove hands and eyes. They required surgical precision, at least two experienced medics. He should know, he thought while rubbing his fingers together, and observing them through his blank eyes.

He should know.

“You should all see the look on your faces. Hah! Never heard of empurata before, I take.” Whirl boomed. And then, as if they’d been talking about the weather. “So, doc, is big knight with a big sword here cleared to go or what?”

Ratchet raised from his knelt position and walked to the voice. It was incredible how people didn’t even get out of his way now, when one glare would have cleared the whole way to the hospital not all that long ago. He grabbed the hand – no, no it was obviously a claw when it was between Ratchet’s fingers – and he began checking the ports on the wrist. As he’d thought, no medic did this job. This was the work of a butcher at best.

Which also meant getting his hands stripped would have hurt like hell.

Many of his wrist ports were jagged. Places where the electrical impulses to control fingers would be, just out in the open. There was no way this hadn’t hurt, and hadn’t continued to hurt over the years, as dirt and pathogens settled in the delicate machinery.

He never had wished so desperately Rung was still here. He’d studied psychiatry, he would have known what to say. He would have known what to do and maybe, with time, this weird figure would have realized he never should have coped with pain like this. With making jokes and laughing at the faces people made when he showed his trauma like an antique statuette.

“Doc, what are you doing? I told you my hands are fine.”

Hands. Those were not hands.

“Stay still so I can check you, or I’ll short you out.”

He began working on the obstructed ports, scraping dirt and mush and other dead plants from it.

“He- ouch! Hey! Look doc, everything that’s in me is beyond repair. Really, I’m a destruction magnet. Cyclonus almost tore me in half the first time we met, big deal.” The knight must have shot him a look, because Whirl replied by leaning more towards him. “Almost got him too, though.”

“Please don’t fight!” Tailgate squeaked.

Ratchet moved to Whirl’s other hand, shifting plating that once had been used to form knuckles and nails to cover the damaged ports. Not great, but better than nothing. Some part of him desperately wanted to check the eye too, but he wouldn’t be able to without letting delicate components out in the open.

“What about you, Tailgate?” He asked, almost mindlessly while his fingers went on autopilot. “How did you hide for so long?”

“I… uh.” The minibot replied, and his voice came from a bit farther away. “I was born like this, you know? But living in the forest alone is hard and soon everyone I knew was either killed or had run away. I stayed in hibernation for a long time.” Because of an absolute lack of food. Ratchet grimaced. “And then I managed to roll into Iacon one day. Become a hunter. And it was going for a while. It’s not like I didn’t pull my weight. Or, well, I tried at least.”

Tailgate hadn’t been one of the more stellar hunters. Not like Kup or Smokescreen anyway, but… he was right. He tried to do his part. Only to get haunted himself, because he could only transform.

Ratchet still didn’t feel like he could stomach it, but it fueled him these days, knowing he was helping people just live their lives.

While silently and hopelessly hoping he would come back.

“And then? How did they find you?”

“Forced medical examination.” He replied, meek. “Ambulon was checking my insides and… well. I think you can figure it out.”

Ratchet sighed. Yes, he’d been trained to make the same operation. Try to open a body and check if it was hurt on the inside, if any lines were clipped or still dented… and as a side note, make sure the patient did not have a cog. He couldn’t really blame Ambulon: Pharma had taught him to make things through, but he wondered whether it was the best use of a medic’s expertise.

“And so they hunted you.”

“Ambulon was… feeling a bit bad, I suppose. He let me have some advantage before he had to call security, but it was not enough.”

“Your legs are short.” Cyclonus interrupted. “You wouldn’t have made it far anyhow.”

“Ah yeah, because your legs served you so well when you were trying to escape your own comrades, did they?” Whirl rubbed in. Ratchet could feel the tension building up between the two, and quietly wondered how they hadn’t killed each other yet. But while saying that Whirl moved, messed up the combination of plates Ratchet was making, and that Ratchet didn’t like. He didn’t like patients messing up his work when he was still making it.

So Whirl found himself with his bottom down on the ground after a rather powerful push Ratchet had practiced a lot of times on heavier frames, using the motion of the body to seize his hands and keep working.

“Ow!” He yelped.

“I told you to stay still. If you don’t, I’ll have to push you down until you do. Do you want this to be over or not?”

He waited for a reaction from Whirl, but it didn’t really come. The figure just stopped, probably averted his gaze, and also terminated his continuous jittery movements. When Ratchet could finally concentrate and finish his work again, he was distracted by a light chuckle close to his right followed by the condescending light of the lamp swaying in time with it.

“Tailgate?” Asked Cyclonus.

“Ah, sorry. It’s just… yeah, I’ve been missing the doc. His… his demeanor.” The minibot explained, disguising his laugh as a cough. “I’m glad you managed to repair Cyclonus. His arm was killing him.”

Ratchet made a small nod in reply, but continued with a gruff face as always. “Unfortunately it’s not enough. You should find a real medic that can repair you, and actually, literally, take a look at you. I barely made sure your joint won’t pop back out.” He said, head tilting to the area Cyclonus was inhabiting.

“But…” Tailgate continued, with a soft noise which, considering the mech it was coming from, must have been fidgeting. “But nobody else will help us. We’re monsters. Couriers from other city-states have already spread the news that I’m one, and their wanted posters are everywhere. You’re the only one who dared help us.”

‘Dared’ help them. What a hunter-mind thought. The only difference between them was their cog. They could live in the same society as monoformers, heck Tailgate and probably hundreds more had proved that with their existence, everyone was just too blinded by the Council or other guilds to see that. After all, guilds had made their living off of hunting and murdering these ‘ferocious’ monsters.

Who ever would put ferocious and Tailgate in the same sentence, anyway? And to think the poor guy had been chased all around Iacon, finding solace only in hiding with garbage.

It sickened him.

He stepped away from Whirl. “I can’t be the only one, can I? If you ever find a psychologist who’s willing to take a look at you.” He said while pointing a finger. “Take that chance without a second thought. Primus knows you need it.”

The light swished, and Ratchet could picture Tailgate turning it around for it to have that effect. He put his open palm in the light’s direction and found the stick being put back in his hands soon enough, the light following.

“You believe in Primus too?” Cyclonus asked, with his baritone and cutting voice reduced to a soft hum. Ratchet scoffed.

“Of course not. I don’t believe in blind faith or luck. But, as long as you’re not exploiting your faith to make others live in an upside-down reality, do what you want.” He replied, shrugging. “Now follow me, I’ll get you to a hidden path which will take you over The Magnificence. Hunters rarely traverse through there, you’ll be hidden and you’ll get away from Iacon.”

“And… what about you?” Tailgate asked, jogging until Ratchet heard his footsteps trot by his side. “Don’t you want to come? There’s a great bounty on your head.”

“No, I’ll stay here.” He replied, not even bothering to look down. He wouldn’t have seen the minibot, anyway. “If others flee from Iacon like you did, I’ll help them. I’ll do my part and boycott the council this way.”

He touched the barks of the trees that surrounded the path, until he felt one of the other signs he’d carved himself, a triangle. It looked just like a mountain to his fingers. He pushed his light close to it.

“Follow these signs. They will take you to the top of the mountain, and then you’ll be able to get down. It can be quite a hard climb, but it shouldn’t prove too hard for you. A couple of days at maximum and you’ll be on the other side of the mountain, away from Iacon.”

Whirl brushed against him as he walked onto the path. Tailgate followed suit with a small ‘thank you’ that felt more like a whisper lost in the wind, and last but not least Cyclonus stopped right in front of him.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to help me.”

“You’re not the first monster I help, and you probably won’t be the last.” Ratchet replied, looking up. Perhaps a bit too much, he didn’t know how tall this one was. “Safe travels.”

Cyclous made a small noise like a nod.

“I hope Primus’ will favors you.”

Ratchet forced himself not to snort, or even worse openly laugh in his face. He kept it, somehow, although some might have gotten out of his control because the light almost flickered, as if he had moved the stick too fast.

“Yeah. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Chapter Text

Ratchet had gotten used to living in the forest, and alone. The most company he could ever hope for were the small mechanimals that roamed the forest looking for food, and plenty of those fled on sight. He wondered whether it was because the creature that populated this land before him was much more fierce.

He didn’t hate the veil of protection this cast on him, though. Nothing bigger than a turbofox regularly scurried from a tree to the other. So that was why he immediately noticed when the huge mech appeared.

His light had shone before the movement of the leaves even introduced him. It wasn’t night either, with the sun’s rays still caressing his plating. Still, the sparkly blue beacon was a sign for anyone wandering in the woods. What he did not anticipate was the creature knowing his name.

“Ratchet?”

The voice was a low baritone he’d heard before. Somewhere, in Iacon, probably, and as he turned he felt something big be entangled and lose itself in the leaves and branches and- with a sharp tug and various sticks falling to the ground, it was free. The movement reminded him very much of what Pharma had done, before…

Oh. Oh, now he got that. It was always the shoulders stopping people from navigating the forest. And he knew very well who had shoulders so broad and so high they would get caught up in the sequoias.

“Ultra Magnus.” He replied, once he felt the heavy steps stop. “What are you doing here?”

“I am making my way to Iacon.” He replied, normally, with his usual calm voice. At least Ratchet didn’t lose any layer of communication with him, considering Magnus had an expression that looked like a blank sheet most of the time. Probably all of the time.

“Iacon?” Ratchet questioned, looking up. And then even higher. He’d forgotten how tall Ultra Magnus was.

“I’m going to meet Orion. He’s asked for my help.”

“And you’re going to Iacon.”

“Yes. He lives there, does he not?”

“…You’re using the wrong paths, Magnus.” Ratchet said, shaking his head. “This isn’t the major road.”

“…I know where I am, Ratchet.”

There was a moment of absolute silence, only Ratchet’s cooling fans turning on after a bit, working on their lowest setting. They were the only sound he could hear.

“How do you even know these paths exist?” He asked, before he could think a second about what he was hearing.

Magnus’ body wasn’t making a singular noise. And Ratchet had spent years listening to bodies, trying to understand what was the problem, trying to get how to fix it. If a cooling system was sputtering, you’d hear it in the vents. If there was a problem around the brain module, getting closer would make you hear static coming from inside – heck, all appendages made their own noise when they were malfunctioning, and their gradual beautiful hum when they were working properly, muscles going in tandem and creating symphonies.

Even sparks, right after the moment of giving out, would give out their own swan song, and in Ratchet’s head, that was the moment when he knew he was in a final rush to save a patient, or rather had been.

But Magnus’ body, no matter how much he strained his hearing, didn’t make a single sound. If Ratchet hadn’t known any better, and hadn’t known how much ruckus that gigantic body could make while it was moving, he may have even believed Magnus wasn’t in front of him anymore.

“… So you’re not a monoformer, huh.” He said instead.

“It appears so, yes.” Was his reply. As if they had been talking about the weather. Of course.

“… So that was why you’d never let any medic check on you. Not even me.”

“It certainly was not a matter of mistrust in your skills, Ratchet.” He replied, and by all things good Ratchet could picture him smiling. Although he knew better. He’d never seen Ultra Magnus smile. He huffed, and motioned for Ultra Magnus to follow him.

“Do not fret, Ratchet. I know how to navigate these paths.”

“It’s not that I’m worrying about. If now I know your secret, you’re finally getting a general health check.”

“I’m afraid you will still be surprised. Really, there is no need for that.”

“Magnus…”

He turned around, gave Magnus his signature glare even if his eyes were hollow, and after no more than a few clicks he heard the general ruckus of that enormous body moving, following him. Good.

He led him to the old hut he had been showed as well. Still carved inside the wood, now with fresher leaves making a berth on the ground. If nobody was going to live here for the foreseeable future, why should he let a perfectly good shelter fall in misuse?

And, part of him said, if he was to come back here, he’d check in this place first. He’d be the very first person to meet the kid, and make sure he was safe. Of course, if… he ever did come back.

“You did not build this place yourself.” Magnus commented. Not as a question, but rather in a tone that demanded confirmation for his calculations. Ratchet turned around, and motioned him towards the berth of fresh leaves and buds he’d just almost tripped into.

“I didn’t. It was already like this when I found it. Now, come here and sit down.”

The body moved calmly, and then lowered itself on the berth. Ratchet grabbed a shoulder, the first thing he could think of leaning onto, and one he could very easily locate, and started the routine questions.

“Are you hurting anywhere?”

“No, Ratchet.”

“When was the last time you had your main systems checked?”

“A tenvorn ago.” He replied. “I did so before departing.”

Ratchet moved his hands down to the arms. They were very cold, stiff. Something wasn’t adding up. Ultra Magnus was best described by those words – cold and stiff, but never with a heart of stone. Just, overly obsessed with rules and protocols. But no body had the right to be this cold and this stiff. Only someone with a completely gray plating might even compare.

Something clicked.

He stood still, and Magnus wasn’t even venting.

“Magnus?”

“Yes?”

“Can you… vent, for me?”

He did so, and his engine had an old and battered sound. But then, after that, he was again completely silent. Motionless.

“Do you even-”

“I did say you’d be surprised.” Ultra Magnus interrupted him, and there was the sound of joints clicking and clanking inside his shoulder, and the sudden noise made Ratchet jump back. He could be reaching out to him, or what if someone had stolen Ultra Magnus’ body for-

The motion stopped. The body became as soundless as ever. Dead. Ratchet almost felt his insides revolt. Someone had killed Ultra Magnus at some point, and was now impersonating him down to the core.

“I do not mean you any harm, Ratchet.” He continued, calmly, and Ratchet took a moment to over-analyze that phrase. It had Magnus’ voice. It was obvious. It had his demeanor. It had his lexicon, his pronunciation, nothing short of perfect on every vowel and consonant. He couldn’t judge his way of moving, but it was there, inevitably. Even his step had been perfect. It only meant one possible thing. This had always been Ultra Magnus, and he’d just jumped away from him, like he was… like he was some monster that needed to be contained and might kill him.

When he thought about it, the mere idea that Ultra Magnus might want to kill him was ridiculous. If he’d wanted him dead, he’d long be so.

“I… I’m sorry I jumped back.” He quickly apologized, gathering his bearings.

“You are not the first, and you will not be the last. Many run away when they are confronted with a ghost.”

“A… a ghost?”

Ratchet had never believed in the occult. Heck, Ratchet had never believed in anything he couldn’t see or touch, and now he still lived partially by it. But he wasn’t prepared when there was some… sort of energy basically right in front of him, cold and yet warm, like a hot wind in a chilling winter day. The light vamped from his spot on the table.

“Indeed.” This time the voice came from right in front of him, not diving into Ultra Magus’ usual low. It still wasn’t a high voice, definitely, but it had more of a whispering connotation rather than the powerful metallic echo his voice was known for. Before Ratchet could think about it, while saying he wasn’t believing it, he shoved a hand forward, as if to catch the words.

What he caught for little more than a moment was instead the wind. Or rather, what he’d felt earlier. Something warming his fingertips and chilling his palm, but feeling so light he couldn’t even hope of keeping it. It was like trying to catch the wind.

“Ratchet.”

He stopped his hand, but he didn’t remove it. The feeling was still there, and it moved around, always staying in the same place.

“Ratchet. That would be my face.”

Oh.

Ratchet removed his hand, quite rapidly, and felt some of that wind following him, like water does when you get your fingers out of it. There was some sort of sound like a gurgle, but then it stopped.

He… was he touching a ghost right now?

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem. Plenty try it. Oh, there’s my mustache. Hold on, please.”

Inexplicably, Ratchet felt something flow down his hand and back away into… whatever was in front of him. A ghost. A ghost, he reminded himself.

“A ghost.”

“That would be me, yes.”

“So you are… the real Ultra Magnus? And, what is there is…” He moved a finger where the… body must still be, hopefully emotionless right now. It made sense. The ghost didn’t do so much as change a bit of the air temperature. “A vessel?”

“No, that would probably better be described as… an armor.” The ghost continued. “I chose it as a vessel, yes, but I was not the first to do so. So, that was called the Magnus Armor for this reason. Who wears it, or better who possesses it, becomes the Ultra Magnus.”

Not one, but a series of Magnus, Ratchet mused. It.. well, despite everything in hindsight it made sense – there were records of Ultra Magnus showing everywhere throughout history, and such a long earned experience was one of the reasons why Orion liked Ultra Magnus so much, but for it to indeed be not one mech, but more…

Ratchet couldn’t quite believe it. Except he could, because Ultra- the Magnus armor had always felt cold and by all means dead, and now there was a ghost in front of him who moved it because he was possessing it.

“And… you?” He asked, still trying to make sense of the situation. The ghost moved, the winds shifting with his body, and now he was rather tiny. If he was touching the ground, he wasn’t bigger than a minicon.

“Me?”

“Do… you have a name? Or just the…” He waved his hands frenetically, not even believing what he was going to say. “Possessor of the Magnus armor or-”

“Minimus.” He replied instead. “Minimus Ambus.”

Ah. That was much easier than Ratchet had intended. He looked down, hopefully to where the ghost was.

“So… ghost, huh? How did you die?”

“I didn’t.” Again, another thing that didn’t make sense.

“Yet I’m pretty sure ghosts are-”

“Your kind believes people with t-cogs are monsters.” He said, and it felt just like Ultra Magnus scolding one of his pupils, or whoever did something moderately stupid under his command. Ratchet knew because he used to pack the same tone more often than not. “So, what if they believe ghosts have to die to become such? I never died, and apparently never will. I was born like this, and immediately chased away of the place I was born in, because of how I looked. Because I wasn’t like them. Yet I’m still living, aren’t I?”

An eternal Magnus, Ratchet thought again. Then got back on track.

“Yes, you… you are right. So, how were there more… people, being Ultra Magnus before you? Was he even ever alive?”

“I believe he was not.” Minimus Ambus explained. “This armor shows all signs of having been built.”

Ratchet couldn’t stop himself from asking, rather loudly, “How?!”.

The calm wind turned to him once more.

“Other ghosts possessing other things. Making them move, pushing them around and scaring people so they would at least give us some piece. When one gets bored, the next one in line is found. You have to be able to act like a monoformer, act inconspicuously. If one is found, the life of Ultra Magnus will end, and then, me all of the others like me will be alone once again.”

Ratchet stilled.

They were monsters. If they were found, they will be hunted down. So, they created a mask, a fake vessel, only to share the lives of… of the others. Deep in thought, he curled his hand. He knew what it meant to be alone. He was by himself for so long he has lost count of the days.

He wanted to find other people, but all of the villagers from Iacon would try to hunt him down if he was seen. It only leaft monsters, but not all were friendly.

“You’re…” He replied, swallowing. “You’re right. I’m sorry I pried and I didn’t… I’m sorry in general.”

The wind disappeared, leaving no more than a silent echo. Then a metallic fragment moved, and soon enough, the hand from the Magnus armor was touching his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Before he managed to reply, he registered the coolant in his optics. So, apparently, just because he had shorted out his eyes it didn’t mean he couldn’t cry.

“I- I…” He said, hastily trying to dry them, wipe them away. “I guess I am just lonely.”

Why the words tumbled out of his mouth the way they did, he couldn’t even tell. He was trying to piece a few too many things together, and most of all, only now he noticed how much he missed people. He’d always been a rather social mech, all things considered. He had his patients, worked over time for all of them, to meet their needs, but also to meet them outside work, or with his friends, with Pharma, with Orion and now… now it just occurred to him he hasn’t seen anybody in moths, and maybe he didn’t invite Ultra Magnus in just because he had to make sure his body was okay.

He needed someone.

Magnus was never the type to give hugs, unfortunately. The hand on his shoulder was already kind of a big deal for him, he supposed.

“I know how that feels.” He said, and Ratchet knew how much that meant.

“Yeah, I… I’ll pull through. I’ll mange something.” He contiued.

“I… could send someone your way.” Ultra Magnus offered. Ratchet turned back to face him – the impossibly tall armor.

“… If the citizens of Iacon see me, they will hunt me down. I defied the council.”

“I know that. Orion told me all about your story. About how you fled.” He heard him nod. “But, believe it or not, there are quite the monsters living in Iacon, hiding their abilities. I don’t doubt some would be able to visit you. Orion himself asked me to keep an eye out for you, as the Council can’t seem to find you with their ‘all seeing-eyes’.”

That sounded incredible. But, would that mean…

“Orion knows of you?” He asked, eyes wide as he fully turned around.

“Has, for quite a while. He keeps my secret. So, I would trust him enough to reveal yours, when the two of us are alone, if you give me your permission.” He could feel Magnus’ gaze on him, the way he walked to get right back to his side. “He would be quite overjoyed to hear you are still living.”

“I bet he would.” Ratchet replied, before he could really make sense of it.

“Shall I tell him to come in here, then?”

Ratchet huffed.

“This place is too far for him to know how to come here. He’d attract attention, or get in dangerous waters with the council – I can’t do that to him.”

“I see. Then, I could bring him here when I make my way back from Iacon.” The other proposed. “Nobody would think Ultra Magnus is a monster, don’t you think? And, Orion would have the excuse to show me around. Would that be to your tastes?”

--

Ratchet waited. He waited, gathered a few things, rearrange the energon drops on the table, felt that everything was as cleaned as it was going to get, paced around, tried to hear steps coming from the paths, then fretted some more, because they both had changed, and what if they could not match each other anymore? What if Orion had changed and was now going to spill his position to the Council, or Ultra Magnus had lied and…

And, despite everything, how much did he not want to be alone anymore.

“Ratchet!” A voice, mingling with the wind and the movement of the leaves, bellowed from just outside. It wasn’t Ultra Magnus. It was warmer, it was friendlier. It was… Orion Pax’s.

He ran outside the door, almost hitting the frame of the opening of his shelter and… and…

Something, maybe for half a moment, flickered in all the dark black he’d been seeing for months. It looked like a sphere of light, compressing and expanding for half a moment before disappearing in the sea of black which had been blocking his optics for more time than he could remember. He rushed towards it.

And dove right into two arms, warm, sturdy, which had been ready to take him, or anything vaguely thrown at him. He recognized the metal pieces on the elbows, on the wrists, and on the hands as they latched him in a comfortable hold.

He couldn’t choke out his name, so he didn’t say it. But Orion was there. And he was so grateful for it.

Chapter Text

Ratchet felt the silvery leaves on his fingertips, as he caressed yet another plant of Energon drops. It looked like it was going to be yet one more successful harvest. In the last moths, or were those already years? He couldn’t quite tell, he’d started to try and plant a few Energon drops seeds. They were not quite inside the fruit, instead growing as tiny little spheres at the end of the leaves. It had taken quite the amount of trial and error, but he’d managed to grow his own little garden.

He loved to offer some of the fruits of his labor to his guests. Orion especially. He couldn’t see the curvature of his mouth anymore, but the slightly baritone voice would pitch higher than most when Ratchet smacked some home-grown energon drops into his hands.

Unfortunately, his visits had gotten rarer. He was afraid some people, namely the Council, would start to track him, and find where he was going some nights. They both had decided to play it safe and weren’t going to meet for the whole season.

Ratchet believed he would have been more hurt, more lonely, but he found himself quite growing to live with the quietness. Not really enjoying it per se, but it had become a calm occurrence. A charitable entity always following in his steps, never quite leaving him alone.

Well, maybe he was becoming crazy for thinking that, but he was also getting kind of old, if his aching joints were anything to go by.

And then there were the small animals. Smaller things would steer clear of the paths, probably because they had been inhabited by a scary creature, bigger than most and certainly more ferocious. But now he wasn’t here, having left an old medic to patrol the land, and so the paths had repopulated. Some birds had picked his energon drops one year, and he’d had to find a way to keep them away.

Turned out, he could lure them farther out with some other food – one that needed to be picked, sure, but less energetic than the Energon drops. Apparently shinier and brighter too, although he wouldn’t know that. He could only tell it was as big as his servo and jagged on all sides, but apparently a sought-out delicacy, as one bird had once even tried to directly pry it from his hand.

A fight had ensued soon after. Ratchet, of course, had been victorious.

He’d shouted a lot of insults at that bird. Like, a lot.

It’d better not show back.

He couldn’t quite tell whether those were regular animals or transformers. Perhaps what he’d always believed to be regular animals had never even existed. Just a bunch of transformers, living in the Iaconian forest.

Maybe he’d never even crack that mystery.

“Percy?”

One voice asked, coming from the far right. This one proved another dilemma. Ratchet couldn’t quite tell whether they were a monoformer or a transformer. Once or twice, a few monoformers had managed to find him. They’d observed him, whispering but not quite understanding how the sound traveled in the forest, so actually Ratchet had unwillingly overheard the conversation about him being a crazy old man living in the woods. He’d shouted at them too until they lost the paths again.

But since it had happened twice, it could happen again. This time he’d better take precautions.

“Oh pretty Percy?? My favorite spark-eater?”

Or… not, since they were shouting names of monsters right in the middle of the forest. The voice sounded too happy to be lost in a forest, perhaps looking for spark-eaters.

Some part of Ratchet wondered if he’d been dubbed a spark-eater. If this person was looking for him. It made him roll his eyes.

“Percy- there you…” The voice trailed off. “Huh. You’re not Percy. You must be the old man living in the woods.”

Ratchet turned to where the voice had been coming from. He narrowed his eyes.

“And you must be the stupid mech trying to find a spark-eater in the forest.”

The figure gasped, but it felt more like an actor playing a role on a stage than someone actually getting offended.

“Why, yes! That is exactly my name. I wonder if we have already met. That’s sarcasm, in case you couldn’t tell. My name is actually Brainstorm. I’m looking for my lovely spark-eater friend.”

“A spark-eater? Your friend? Last I checked those were either myths or something you wouldn’t learn to call a friend before they ate you.”

“Yet Percy is so well behaved. You’d have to really see him for yourself.”

“I am visually impaired.” Ratchet replied, in a huff. It was really awful to have people assume he could see simply because he had eyes.

“Oh.” The figure seemed to flinch in their ramblings. “Then you wouldn’t have seen him then.”

“I’m telling you, Storm for a Brain, I didn’t hear anyone come this way in months. You’re in the wrong part of the forest and it’s probably better that way.”

“Or not!” The figure thrilled, pure glee in his voice. Ratchet heard an excited bounce in their step as they glided past him. “There he is!”

Ratchet strained his hearing, but there was nothing for him to hear, especially not with the still bubbling excitement oozing from the other figure, chatting intently. By himself? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t hear a thing.

If this was actually another ghost-

No. It wasn’t actually completely silent. There was some slithering, a few mechanical arms sliding around. Then they stopped, and Ratchet finally heard some shuffling in front of him. Steps, hopefully.

“Greetings.” Another voice said, monotone and polite. “I would be Perceptor. I apologize for any inconveniences my…” He trailed off momentarily.

“Say it! Say it!”

“Lab partner.” He was interrupted by a whoop right in his ear, before clearing his throat and continuing. “May have caused. I’m sure he did something.”

“Except making me half-deaf too just now?” Ratchet complained, but he shrugged. “He found you before he could really mess something up.”

“For that I’m glad.” Perceptor agreed. Ratchet waved his stick around, his light, only to notice the light had been turned on. Faintly.

“Where are you heading?” The medic asked after a moment of silence. This was the most company he’d had in months. But at least one of them was a monster. There was a pretty big chance they may be injured, and Ratchet hated losing his sight the most because he couldn’t quite see any bleeding (although he could still smell energon loss) or declare how someone was feeling from their stance (although the rhythm of their steps sometimes made up for it). Alas, having just met this stranger, he couldn’t tell if they were both okay.

At least Brainstorm sounded very excited to be here, and probably alright. If he had so much energy to keep bouncing around…

“We’re heading… away.” Perceptor simply replied.

“So mysterious!” Brainstorm continued, jumping up. “In truth, we have no idea where we’re going. But, with me, it shouldn’t be a problem!”

“And why’s that?” The doctor queried.

“Because I turn into a genius, duh! I’m a transformer too, I just so happen to have the best alternative mode!”

“…What does that even mean?”

“He won’t tell anybody what he turns into.” Perceptor quickly explained. This guy was much more up Ratchet’s alley. “But he does have moments in which he’s exceptionally brilliant. I don’t doubt we’ll find a town to hide into.”

“So you’ve been discovered.” Ratchet continued. “What do you turn into?”

“I’m a spark-eater.”

Perceptor said it with so much nonchalance the doctor wondered whether he’d actually spoken from a moment. But no, despite Brainstorm’s excited shouting, his hearing was still pristine.

“A spark-eater?”

“Indeed.”

“…And you were hiding among monoformers?”

“For five years, ten months and one week. Alas, my time in the labs came to an end. I hadn’t even quite cracked time travel yet.”

The more he spoke about it, the more it sounded like an ingenious story. One made up, carefully crafted to lure him into a trap or something. What might that be, eating his spark? But that would mean him being a spark-eater would be true.

“How did you survive among humans if you’re a spark-eater?” He asked, confused.

“Ah-ha! Common misconception!” Brainstorm joined the conversation. “Spark-eaters don’t actually eat sparks, but they feed off the innermost energon found right besides one! And, in eating it, usually break the spark casing and cause the person to die.” He explained, matter-of-factly. Ratchet gave an involuntary shiver. But, it made sense.

“So I had built a machine that would enrich energon to make it feel like innermost energon. It was the most efficient solution. Unfortunately, the machine had to stay behind.”

Ratchet felt the slightest bit threatened.

“And so what?”

“What?”

“What will you do now that you don’t have the machine?” He humored the idea of running through the forest, mindlessly, trying to put distance between them. But, the light kept on pulsing, and it had yet to steer him wrong. It kept people who really meant harm away from him, and so far he had only attracted friends.

“We’ll build another, of course!” Brainstorm popped in once more. “I’m a genius, Percy is a bit less of a genius than me but the sentiment is there, we’ll make another before you can blink! We just gotta get to the next town, and some funds, and you have your stash of the enriched energon, right?”

“Of course.” Perceptor’s monotone voice replied. Ratchet heard him rummage through his own subspace, until he settled on something. It almost… tingled. And it made Ratchet’s nose scrunch in a familiar way.

“Enriched how?” He asked, beckoning the thing closer.

“Like the components of innermost energon.” He replied politely, putting it in Ratchet’s hand. Maybe he was a bit too trusting, but Ratchet also had to remember he was talking to a spark-eater, and somewhere on his person he was still wearing medical decals. If he hadn’t lost them. “There’s potassium, manganese…”

Ratchet felt the shape in his hands and decided it was a cube, carefully sealed. Considering color, he might have been able to tell what else was mixed in it. But that wasn’t an option, so he decided to turn the cube in his fingers, feeling the viscosity of the mixture. He couldn’t be sure, but he also had medic studies to back up his own theories.

“Copper and Argon, correct?”

“Exactly.” Perceptor answered. Ratchet held the cube a bit more, then lent it forward, to be taken once more. Something closer to Perceptor shuffled, his friend if he dared call him so, and soon it was taken from his hands.

Still, Ratchet remembered something familiar feeling just like it. He bent down, finding a plant, following the stem and then the leaves until his digits met a small energon drop. Perhaps a bit acerbic still, but for this much it would do. “Try this.”

“A…” Brainstorm examined, taking a step forward, something dangling from his side. “Nope, I’m out. I don’t know. What am I looking at?”

“A natural compound of energon. It appears these plants take the energon directly from the source, the core of our planet, and put it inside their fruits for safekeeping and as nutrients. Fascinating.”

“Energon drops.” Ratchet cut short. He liked being a surgeon and not a chemist for this very reason, thank you very much. Although the idea that a mech as knowledgeable as this Perceptor had been kicked out made him want to throw a very heavy wrench in the direction of said laboratory. “They smell and feel the same as that ration you brought up earlier. Try them.”

A hesitant hand picked the sphere from his, and after a moment of chewing and something akin to swallowing, Perceptor hummed.

“This is complying with my needs.” He replied, ever so polite. “I appreciate the gesture. This is valuable knowledge. I tried to make a machine that imitated something which already happened right beneath my feet. I should study this phenomenon further.”

“Why do you feel the need to test everything?” Brainstorm said, exasperated. “It works, isn’t it enough?”

“Despite the initial findings, there’s surely something we’ve missed. We don’t know the precise quantities of this compound. It will help me in a pinch, but I will have to look more into it.”

“So, a chemist?” Ratchet interrupted.

“Who, Percy?”

“No, although I enjoy all branches of science, I prefer engineering.” Ratchet hummed. An engineer which sounded, for once, as methodical and orthodox as one should be. He liked Wheeljack but he could do without the engineer’s weekly trips to the medbay.

“I see. From Iacon, too?”

“I stopped there for a while, but we’re on the move once more.”

“This way.” Ratchet said, moving. He turned around, felt the carvings on some of the tree barks and kept going.

“How long you’ve been here, crazy medic living in the woods?”

“I’m Ratchet.” He snapped, barely turning around. Not like he needed to see where he was going. “And it’s been a while, it’s the best I can say.”

“Why do you keep staying here?” Perceptor asked, politely. “People know you’ve been living here. Some are trying to get you for the council.”

“I know. Let them keep trying.” Ratchet snorted.

After a beat of silence, Brainstorm surged again:

“So you didn’t answer the question. Why are you staying here?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” Ratchet finally relented. “I’ll be waiting for him until he comes back.”

“Do you know he will?” Perceptor asked.

Ratchet thought about it. He didn’t really know it. He had no certainties, but something, and he was absolutely not naming it faith but for the first time it felt like it, told him to wait. To just keep holding on a little longer.

“He’ll be back. I’ll wait until he does.”

Brainstorm murmured something about time, but then miraculously shut up.

Until he spoke again, that is. Ratchet was right about to send them on their merry way when:

“Hey, Percy, since he’s… you know, couldn’t you lend him your other eye?”

Perceptor didn’t answer, so Ratchet simply replied with an eloquent:

“...What?”

Perceptor sighed.

“Brainstorm. I do not have an extra eye I can lend somebody.”

“I’d really like to know what you are talking about.”

“Well, like, a few people shorted out Percy’s eyes too.”

Ratchet jerked.

“So you’re blind?”

“Not exactly.” Perceptor shook his head. “But I suppose I could tell you. One of my eyes was…”

“Pried out of his eye socket.” Brainstorm finished. Ratchet stopped, turning around with the righteous fear he always wore when a patient was hiding their injuries.

This Perceptor was not his patient officially. But Ratchet was marking him as so now.

“Let me take a look at it. I’m a medic, I know what to do.”

That, and Pharma’s hands’ numbing agent would definitely help him endure the pain. Perceptor let him get closer, but he started calmly explaining his point of view:

“It is not as much of a hassle as it is for you. One of my eyes is indeed gone, hidden behind this lens.” There was a whirring motion and Ratchet directed his attentions there. It was true, it was hollow. The socket felt empty under his fingers, the optic receptor itself already cauterized, but stable. It had already started healing, forming a protective surface on the injured connector. Ratchet hummed.

“This does look as good as it can get. How do you deal with just one eye?”

There was another whir. This time slower, like a camera lens, one Orion once had showed Ratchet all proud. He still remembered his smile as he took his first photos.

“With this.” Ratchet tentatively raised his hand, his fingers, and found a large cylinder. He couldn’t really understand what it was, but it moved and was light, connected to the mech’s shoulder.

“What is this?” He asked, at a loss for words. He’d seen lots of things in his old life as a medic, mind you, but nothing as large as that.

“It’s a very peculiar lens!” Brainstorm chirped by his side, all proud as if he’d built the damned thing. “It lets him see really tiny things! Part of his analytical charm if you ask me.”

“Exactly.” Perceptor nodded. “It’s admittedly very useful in my line of work. And it helps with keeping my sight sound as well.”

“Did you build it yourself?”

“With some very needed help by yours truly!” Brainstorm bowed so theatrically Ratchet could feel it. He was probably a winged mech, because he felt some disturbance on his skin. The same as when Pharma felt strong emotions, and they traveled through his whole body.

“Yes. He was quite helpful with it.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that engineer’s tone had turned a little bit fond.

Ratchet shook his head. He let go of the long lens and sent them on their merry way.

But not until Brainstorm turned around again and shouted:

“So, who are you waiting for?”

Ratchet rolled his eyes at the overly friendly tone. Seemed it was just like this Brainstorm was.

“I don’t know his name.” He revealed, turning around to go back to his own little shelter. He couldn’t just tell them he kept calling him ‘kid’ in his mind. “A five-tailed fox.”

“What color??”

“Do you think I can tell?” He shouted back.

Perceptor murmured something to his companion.

“Thank you for your help, Ratchet. We’ll be sure to send him your way if we see him.” He continued.

Ratchet waved behind himself, and went back to follow his other paths.