Chapter Text
Scrapyard
The Autobots returned from their mission through the ground bridge, servos dusty and frames scratched, but triumphant. The smell of scorched metal and ozone lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of oil and rust that clung to the scrapyard like a second skin.
“Good job, everyone! You all can take a break,” Bumblebee ordered, transforming back to bot mode and heading to secure the captured Decepticon. His optics scanned the horizon automatically, the soft whir of servos giving him a sense of cautious control, even as the adrenaline from the mission still thrummed in his circuits.
“Lieutenant,” Fix-It called urgently, static buzzing across his screens. The urgency cut through the calm that had begun to settle over the yard like a blanket.
Bee turned. “What is it, Fix-It?”
“There is… an abnormal energy disturbance in the forest—the same direction Russell was last seen two hours ago. He has yet to return.”
“What!?” Denny’s voice cracked with panic, his human form rigid with worry. Bee steadied him with a servo, the pressure firm but gentle. Denny’s knuckles whitened against the metal of Bumblebee’s arm.
“Don’t worry, Denny. We’ll find him.” Bee’s tone was calm, authoritative, but a flicker of unease crossed his optics—a silent signal that the situation might be worse than it looked. “Team, move out. Split up, find Russell, and identify the disturbance. Report back.”
With a collective roar of servos and metal shifting, the Autobots thundered into the forest. Their steps crushed undergrowth, leaves snapping back into place like slaps as they pushed forward, scanners painting lines of threat through the dappled sunlight. Shadows stretched unnaturally between the trunks, warped by the strange energy radiating ahead.
As they neared the source, the air thickened. Unnatural winds spiraled in chaotic eddies, leaves and dust spinning in a miniature tornado around a glowing, pulsing vortex of light. The ground seemed to hum beneath their feet. Then, a scream tore through the chaos—human, high-pitched, pained, jagged with fear.
“Russell!” Jetstorm gasped, optic sensors widening as he pinpointed the boy’s form amidst the smoke and sparks.
They broke into the clearing together. Russell lay unconscious, small fires smoking around him. Cyan sparks flickered faintly across his fingers and arms, as if his body itself had become a conduit for raw energy. The smell of burnt grass mixed with the metallic tang of electricity, sharp and biting.
“Russell…” Strongarm whispered, her voice trembling despite her usual stoic composure.
Jetstorm carefully scooped him up. His optics scanned Russell’s vitals as they raced back to the Scrapyard. The RV’s interior doors clanged shut behind them as Russell was laid onto a makeshift bed.
“Scans show faint but stable vitals,” Fix-It confirmed, his voice tight with concern over the comms. “He is fine. Merely unconscious. But… the energy in his cells is unlike anything I’ve seen. Not Cybertronian. Not human.”
Denny clutched his son’s hand with trembling fingers. “Just… wake up, Russell…” His voice was soft, hoarse with worry, but carried the desperate hope only a parent could muster.
Russell’s chest rose and fell, a faint glow lingering under his skin like embers in a dying fire. He twitched slightly, as though straining against some unseen tether.
Outside, in the very clearing where the storm had raged, the air crackled. Lightning split the darkened clouds above. Unicron’s form manifested briefly in the void between energy bursts, massive and impossible, eyes like molten metal that watched Russell with neither malice nor cruelty—only curiosity and focus.
“You, Russell Clay, are my chosen champion for the oncoming Multiversal threat,” the deep voice reverberated, shaking the leaves and causing sparks to flicker across Russell’s skin. “Do you accept?”
Russell, trembling but alert, nodded slowly. “Yes… yes, I accept.” The words were barely audible over the static roar of lightning.
Without warning, a bolt of lightning—massive, jagged, a perfect white-blue spear—arced toward Russell. He didn’t flinch. The bolt struck him precisely where his body seemed to pulse with latent power, cyan sparks scattering like fireflies caught in a gale. The energy did not harm him, but instead coursed through his veins with a clarity that left him gasping and trembling.
The forest around him was ablaze with a miniature storm. Trees shivered, leaves blackened and fell like ash, and Unicron’s presence faded as the chaos ran wild. Russell’s body glowed brighter than ever before, small arcs of lightning dancing between his skin and the ground, a physical testament to the pact he had just sealed.
Russell’s Mindscape
And then, as if pulled by some unseen tether, Russell blinked into a white void. The world dissolved around him, leaving nothing but brightness. Memories of lightning, of Unicron’s immense presence, and of the impossible deal he had just struck flashed through his mind. Every detail burned itself into his consciousness—the roar of the storm, the heat of the energy, the sharp tang of fear and awe all intertwined.
A hum of energy, quieter, more human, materialised nearby. A figure coalesced—brown hair, emerald eyes, a boyish grin despite the ethereal environment.
“Sir? You okay?” Russell asked, voice cracking with uncertainty.
“Uh… thanks, kid,” the man said, laughing weakly. “Haven’t your parents taught you stranger danger?”
“They have,” Russell deadpanned, “but stranger danger doesn’t count when the stranger looks like he’s about to pass out.”
The man chuckled, a warmth threading through the void. “Fair. I’m Barry. Barry Allen. And I—well, I suppose you’re the kid I’m supposed to mentor.”
“Russell Clay. Where are we?” The void was silent except for their voices, yet it carried the weight of something immense, yet invisible.
Barry rubbed the back of his neck, awkward in the infinite white. “So… last I remember? About to go back in time. Save my mom. Then some Outer goddess—Darkwings—grabs me, says I gotta train her chosen champion. That’s probably you, kid. Multiversal threat incoming. Don’t panic.”
Russell blinked. “I have powers now?”
“Yup. Speed. Not jogging speed—break-physics speed. And yeah, you’ll probably electrocute yourself sometimes. Normal.” Barry’s voice carried a teasing warmth, attempting to ease the tension coiling in Russell’s chest.
A fissure of purple-gold energy split the void. Darkwings’ voice thundered, yet there was no malice—wamth. “Russell, my champion chosen by chaos, and Barry Allen, my borrowed speedster. Russell, you may project Barry into the physical world. Guide him, Barry. Do not fail.”
Barry mock-saluted, his figure flickering like static across the void. “Copy that! No failing. Or… minimal failing. We got this, kid.”
The void collapsed.
Mindscape Console
Barry’s consciousness stabilized before a console—futuristic, black chrome with glowing sigils and data streams weaving through the air. Through it, he could see Russell’s perspective: the scrapyard, the smoke from small fires, the faint glint of cyan sparks crawling over Russell’s unconscious form. He could sense Russell’s pulse, the energy signature still erratic but contained.
Barry floated over, hovering, his expression calm but focused. “Okay… kid, breathe. I can see you. I’ve got eyes on you. You’re going to be okay. You’re not alone.”
He reached out, touching the holographic interface. In a soft hum, it pulsed in response, showing the spikes and dips in Russell’s energy signature.
“His dad’s freaked out,” Barry muttered quietly, a small smile to himself. “But I’m here. I’ve got you. You don’t have to fight this alone.”
Russell’s fingers twitched, tiny sparks leaping as if responding to Barry’s reassurance. The boy’s chest rose and fell more steadily, the cyan glow fading to a gentle pulse, like embers breathing softly.
Barry leaned closer to the console, whispering. “I know it feels heavy, kid. But you’re stronger than you think. And you’re not in this by yourself. Ever.”
Back in the Scrapyard, the Autobots’ sensors picked up unusual fluctuations. Strongarm tilted her head. “Something isn’t right. The energy readings—they’re spiking, then vanishing. Where is it coming from?”
Bumblebee’s optics narrowed.
Fix-It’s monitors flickered with data streams. “The signature is… inconsistent.”
Denny’s eyes filled with worry again. “Is he… okay?” His voice was low, almost pleading.
Bee rested a servo on Denny’s shoulder. “He’s fine. Just… different now. We’ll keep him safe.”
Later,
Russell stirred. Cyan sparks still crawled faintly across his arms, but his breaths were calmer. Barry’s presence, projected through the console, shimmered beside him.
“Rough day, huh?” Barry asked, voice soft, almost brotherly.
Russell groaned. “More like… impossible week compressed into one night.”
Barry smirked. “First time I got this much power? I faceplanted into a wall. Twice. You? Way ahead of me already.”
Russell managed a weak smile. “Thanks… but… what if I mess this up? What if I can’t do it?”
Barry’s voice softened. “Hey. You will mess up. I still do. But you’ll learn. And you won’t be alone. That’s the point of having someone in your corner.”
Russell’s eyes grew heavy, the cyan sparks dimming to faint flickers. “Someone in my corner…”
Barry nodded, resolute, almost paternal. “Always.”
As Russell drifted into sleep, the Autobots, busy with other repairs and scans, remained unaware. The scrapyard was quiet, the storm long gone, leaving only the faint smell of ozone and burnt metal. Outside, the trees rustled softly in a calm wind. The boy, touched by lightning and destiny alike, slept. Safe. Resting. Protected.
Curtain falls.