Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Primus, was space boring. 

Aboard the Xantium, a small but functional ship built for deep space travel more so than combat, Hot Rod stares into endless space with a droning gaze. 

How many vorns has it been? A good, long few, he knew, since he and a small group of the few Autobots that remained hijacked the ship during the final groons of Cybertron and shot off into deep space. 

The first few cycles were depressing, but they were nothing compared to the long passage of time afterwards. 

In the initial wake of their home planet dying, they were all depressed. Hot Rod often found Hound holed away in the ship’s archives staring sorrowfully at the holoimage of Cybertron, and First Aid in the med bay hunched over datapads to distract his mind. He was always working, even if there wasn’t a bot on board that didn’t need his magical servos working on something. Even if everyone aboard the Xantium was fully functioning, he’d always found excuses to check them up, or upgrade their protocols. When Hot Rod got tired and refused the fifth time it happened within a deca-cycle, the medic made it a problem for everyone, and he was on the berth again, getting checked over without a hint of complaint.

They’d drifted for stellar cycles when their energon reserves were getting too low for comfort, and Jazz ordered they focus the extra energon towards their deep space scanners. One desperate attempt to find an energon-rich planet to harvest from, stock up their stores, and begin drifting once again.

They’d found one, thank Primus, and touched down without a hitch. The crew celebrated, the air the lightest it had been since Cybertron went dark. Hot Rod’s engines vibrated when he raced down the hull ramp and touched down on the foreign surface. While the others harvested energon, he’d planted a custom holo-flag he’d made to display his grinning face, and declared the planet “Hotimus Rodimus-1”.

Jazz grinned without repentance when he made Hot Rod harvest energon until his pistons threatened to collapse.

That was the last time he used his flag of declaration.

They spent a little over a deca-cycle on that planet, finding chains of energon and digging them up to store aboard the ship. The planet didn’t have any locals that the Xantium’s archives brought up, nor their life signal scanners.

They’d assumed it was a blessing from Primus.

Until it wasn’t.

Just when their stores were halfway full, and they were in the middle of harvesting energon and rolling it in carts aboard the ship, the Decepticons attacked from nowhere. Red Alert hadn’t even picked up any entering vessels on the scanners. 

They’d been waiting for them. Lying in wait for the perfect time to strike.

Nightbird took down Hoist and Hound before either of them were able to turn around at Jazz’s warning.

Barricade came barreling in, and sliced Brawn in two from his midsection when he and Aquafend were focused on taking down Nightbird. 

When Aquafend had finally put an energon blast in her helm, he engaged with Barricade, only to be double-sided by the Seeker, Ramjet, raining fire down on them from the skies.

First Aid tried to drag Nautica, who’d gotten her entire leg strut shot off during Ramjet’s air attacks, back towards the Xantium, when Astrotrain landed before them, readying a shot.

Hot Rod engaged him alongside Jazz, Mirage and Trailbreaker. They held him and the Cons off as long as they could with the scrambled forces they had in their small crew, and they held well. They’d managed to nick Ramjet’s wing when he dove down (a huge mistake on his part) and send him crashing into an energon crystal that exploded upon impact, thankfully isolated enough that the explosion didn’t destroy them all in the process. 

Barricade was cut down by the twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, before the latter was taken by surprise from behind by Bonecrusher. Sunstreaker went berserk with grief, which…ultimately ended up being his own demise.

Just as they had a chance, and Astrotrain was battered down brutally, Blitzwing, the second Triple-Changer, made his appearance, and just like that; shot Trailbreaker through the spark chamber, offlining him immediately. 

Mirage was grabbed by both of them, from helm and pedes, and Hot Rod watched as the Triple-Changers pulled him in opposite directions, and tore him apart from the middle.

Red Alert forced them back onto the Xantium, and had already activated the ship's take-off procedures. As the hull’s ramp closed, he saw the Security Director push a discarded cart of energon towards Astrotrain and Blitzwing and shoot it, taking him and the Triple-Changers together in the explosion.

When the Xantium landed on Hotimus Rodimus-1, it had a crew of thirteen bots.

When it left, it had only three.

Nautica bled out from her injuries without a proper medic on board, with First Aid having fallen to Bonecrusher like the twins when he’d tried to go back into the field to recover Aquafend. Hot Rod watched her offline on the medical berth. 

Two remained.

He gazed out into the endless abyss of space in the silent, still ship, with nothing but the distant buzz of systems active keeping him from going insane. As he had for eons, at this point.

The control panel before him let out a noise, startling the mech.

It hadn’t beeped in vorns. 

He gazed down, optics wide as a single blue light blinked urgently at him, before shooting up to project a holoimage. 

It was…a planet?

…With coordinates.

“This is Optimus Prime.” 

Hot Rod startled up from his seat immediately, leaning forwards and slamming both servos down on the panel to stare incredulously at the screen. Optimus? Prime? He was still alive and kicking? Well, of course he was still alive and kicking- he was Optimus Prime. But this- this was- 

Holy scrap!

“To all surviving Autobots who hear this message, I ask you to join me in a remote corner of the galaxy, on a small planet, rich with energon.”

He scoffed out a disbelieving laugh. This was the rust stick on top! With only Hot Rod around, the energon they’d gathered that filled up half the stores was enough to last him alone, so he hadn’t needed to go into emergency stasis to preserve it. Whatever was left powered the systems, but even he noticed the stores were getting too low again for his own comfort for the next vorns of unknowing space travel.

And Hot Rod wasn’t about to risk it on another energon-rich planet. Not again. Not alone.

If Optimus Prime was on an energon-rich planet, things were about to look up for the Autobots again!

“I have reason to believe this world will soon become a new target of Decepticon conquest. Our team is small but strong. Join me at these coordinates so that we might plan our resistance. Safe journeys.”

The message ended, but the coordinates remained up. Hot Rod punched them into the Xantium’s navigation system with vigor, and heard the ship’s engines roar to life for the first time in several vorns, burning energon as it began its course to this Earth the archives brought up upon registering the coordinates.

Hot Rod turned and left the bridge, spark thrumming in his chassis.

He stepped into the medical bay kliks later, and approached a single stasis pod that rested under the lights. Nautica’s corpse was resting in the corner, covered with a metal mesh blanket so he…he couldn’t look at her. Not until he could give her a proper burial, at least.

He kept his optics on the mech inside the stasis pod. His injuries had been severe, his systems shutting down, and in a panic after just losing Nautica, Hot Rod shoved him into the stasis pod and prayed to Primus for the best.

The last two mechs aboard the Xantium.

Hot Rod pressed his servo to the glass, staring into the visor of his commanding officer with a pursed, grim look of determination.

“Don’t worry, sir,” he said. “You’ll be alright. Optimus has called.”

Jazz did not twitch, but for a brief moment, Hot Rod could swear the light of his visor turned a vague shade brighter.

Chapter Text

You really wished you’d taken up that job offer in West Virginia. 

You’d thought moving to Nevada would be nice. Hey! Welcome to Nevada, USA! Land of rocks and mesas and casinos and fun! 

The only good thing about it was Las Vegas.

And you were not close to Las Vegas.

Standing in front of your one-story, two bedroom, one bathroom house in the middle of Nevada, USA, you truly felt scammed. 

You worked at a bakery. A small, local Canadian business up in Ontario. And it was a good bakery! Nice people, good management, brilliant hours and somewhat good pay for a local business — but when they’d been offered a building in America to start expanding the business, your boss had leapt at the opportunity. To get the name spread across one country was one thing, but two? Two would be brilliant. Especially if it was two of the biggest countries in the world.

But someone needed to be the responsible employee and move across the border to maintain the shop. Someone trustworthy, who the boss knew could make it work. 

Unfortunately for you, you’d taken a business course in college. 

You’d taken it because you hadn’t known what the hell you wanted to do in life, and it seemed a good all-rounder degree to have under your resume to get a job to at least keep you steady. Want a job as a cashier? Here! Want to be an Uber driver? Here! 

Uber drivers only really needed a car to do their work, probably, but still. Your point was made.

Thankfully, your boss had been kind enough to help pay for your living arrangements. You were thankful you didn’t have to shack up in a nearby homeless shelter until you could rent an apartment, because when you learned Jasper, Nevada didn’t have a single apartment building, that hope went down the drain until your boss came through with the practical goddamn holy chalice of a lease for a house. 

You were expected to pay half of the rent, of course, and would pay fully for all your own expenses. But in this economy? It was still a massive fucking steal.

As you unpacked, spreading the contents of your suitcase and duffle bag across the largest bedroom and fluffing a pillow and blanket to sleep on tonight (the truck would be two days behind with the rest of your furniture), you opened the window to let in some fresh American air. You’d flown ahead, not willing to spend a total 33 hours on the road in a cramped bus or run down rental car that ran the risk of going over a bump too fast and stranding you in the middle of nowhere. That left you with minimal options for the next two days until the rest of your belongings came. 

Jasper was quiet. And for a town literally in the middle of nowhere, it made sense. No one blared any horns, and there were seldom any ambulances speeding around to get to someone hurt every half hour. You doubted both the police station and hospital here were bustling with activity, unlike the city you grew up in.

From city to small town, you felt like a mix of the girl and boy from Don’t Stop Believin’. 

After your makeshift bed (a blanket on the ground, a pillow, and a throw blanket on top) was made, and you’d unpacked your toiletries in the bathroom down the hall, your stomach growled with a need for food. Apparently the airport food from three hours ago had finally burnt out.

You sigh, grabbing your wallet from where you’d placed it on the kitchen counter and opening to see what you had to spare. A few twenty dollar American bills, a tenner, three fives and eight one dollar bills. 

God, it was gonna be weird not using coins for the one and two dollar.

Your card was explicitly holding money for the bakery, your half of rent and that was it. The rest would be for groceries until your next payment came in.

You went out into the American sun, locking your door behind you with the key the landlord gave you upon your arrival into town. Your house didn’t have wifi yet, but you’d place an order for a router and buy a subscription to T-Mobile or something soon. Nothing too expensive, since it would just be you using it. 

As you walked down the street, you could see the main road just a few blocks down, bustling with traffic. A fast food chain location rested at the corner, with flickering letters. It was no McDonalds, but it’d do whenever you craved takeout, which would be for a while as you settled in.

The convenience store was barely a seven minute walk from your house, sticking to the sidewalks and not taking any secret shortcuts you’d yet to mark out. The bell above the door rang upon your arrival, and the cashier raised their gaze to you curiously, before confusion flashed when they hadn’t recognized you.

You’d figured, in a town like Jasper, it was one of those places where everybody knew everybody. You could go to school with the kid who you babysit, or walk into a store and chat it up with a former classmate or something. So your presence, new and alien, would probably kick up a fuss of gossip amongst the residents of the town.

You smile politely, nonetheless, as you pass and scour the aisles of the store. In the end, you grabbed some instant noodles, two bags of chips, a small can of coffee grounds, plastic utensils, and a bag of Coca Cola gummies to suck on. You walk up to the cashier to check it all in, placing each item on the surface while the cashier scans them, the price climbing upwards with every item.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” the cashier finally opens up to blurt. She immediately winced with regret at her approach.

Your lips pull into a smile nonetheless as you watch her put the items away into a plastic bag. “I’m new to town,” you say blatantly. “I’m managing the new bakery.”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s you? We’ve been wondering for months about what they were doing with that old abandoned plot when they started building again!” She gasped.

You dig out your cash when the summarized price comes up to $15.43, handing her the twenty. She checked it in, and began gathering up your change. “Yeah. It’s a small business. This is our second location, actually. I came down from Canada to jump off our first American branch location.”

The cashier’s eyebrows rose way up, her brown eyes flicking to you as she curled her hand around the few bills and coins in your change, handing it to you. “Wow, so you’re far from home,” she said amusedly. 

You grin. “Guess I am.” You take the change, shoving it away in your wallet and tucking that in the back pocket of your jeans. You take the bag by the handles, sliding it off the counter as the cashier leaned onto it by her elbows, flashing you a welcoming smile.

“Well, allow me to probably be the first to welcome you to Jasper. It’s quiet, but it’s home,” she spoke promptly. “As home as it can get in the middle of nowhere, after all.”

You startle out a laugh, and she grins. The cashier straightened, going back behind the register and sparing you a smiling glance. “Name’s Evaline, but everybody just calls me Linny. See you around..?” Her eyebrows lift, awaiting your name.

You give it warmly, with a grin that matched the one Evaline sent you when you’d laughed. “I’ll hopefully see you around?”

“Hopefully,” mused Evaline.

You waved her goodbye, exiting the store with a pep in your step at your very first local interaction. And it had gone admirably! Considering you, that was a good first impression. Much better than the ones you usually give. 

You head towards the intersection to cross the road. Traffic lights were mainly along the main road, and the two block perimeter around it. The rest were all stop signs, so the drivers of Jasper had to look when driving. 

The walk back to your empty, extremely humbled abode was peaceful, and mainly consisted of you scanning the residential area you resided in. The houses lining the street were all fairly well-maintained, with trimmed lawns and some even with flowers along the fronts of their porch. Meanwhile, your lawn was unkempt and growing weeds. You cringed internally. That’d need to take up a portion of your time to get rid of, for sure. You didn’t want to seem lazy or arrogant to the town, especially since small town populations both A) Were closer knit than a city community and B) Always known to be insufferable gossips. 

You didn’t want that topic to be the unkempt, crude newcomer. 

You reached your house in a matter of minutes and unlocked the door, shutting it behind you and kicking off your shoes at the door. Unpacking your snacks along your barren kitchen to make up for the little food, silverware and dishes you possessed, you freeze upon the realization — you didn’t have your coffee brewer yet.

Coffee grounds bought for nothing.

“Joy,” you grunted. 

Sighing, you shoved the small container into a random cupboard you’d just now assigned to be for snacks, tucking away the bags of chips alongside it. The instant ramen you could make, as you’d packed a small, transportable water kettle in your suitcase. You returned to your bedroom to dig haphazardly through your belongings to find it before returning to the kitchen to unfold the boiler, fill it up, and plug it in. You flick on the switch, and hear the distant hiss of the heat turning on. 

As you wait, your phone rings.

No wifi, but thank god for a signal so your phone plan could pick up calls.

You pick it up, and press the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hi!” Your boss exclaims into your ear. “Settle in yet?”

You cast a look across the barren house, and though your boss could not see your dry expression, it was well enough flavouring your tone. “As settled in as I could be.”

She chuckles, and you pace the length of your kitchen as she talks. “I’ve already sent the starting ingredients as well as copies of our recipes your way. It should be there before Thursday. I’ll forward you my emails towards potential advertisements and out-of-town events once the bakery is stable and your wifi is up at the new house. I would just focus on settling in and maybe finding at least one or two people to hire for the time being. You won’t be too busy there starting off, so you’ll have the time to train them. Just make sure you get someone who can decorate with icing, though.”

“Yes, boss woman,” you nod. “You can trust me to pull this off without a hitch for you. I’ll see about setting my laptop up once I order in a router to design and print some flyers for around town.”

“Wow. Old fashioning this, are we?” mused your boss.

You smirk. “With all due respect, Miranda, you sent me to a town in the middle of nowhere with the downtown area literally lasting two blocks. You can stand at one end of the main road and look straight down it and see the end of town.”

Miranda laughs. “I’ll take that,” she said. “I just wanted to call and notify you about the ingredients, but also check in. Nothing suspicious?”

“Unless you count the unkempt lawn and my furniture-less home, no,” you say amusedly. “I’ll settle in just fine. My adapting skills are why you hired me, remember?”

“No. I hired you for your pretty face. Why did you think otherwise?”

You deadpan. “Wow. Okay. Bye, Miranda. Thanks for the compliment. Or insult. I can’t decide.” Your boss cackles in your ear until you hang up. With a sigh, you place your phone on the countertop just as the portable kettle clicked, your water boiled. You peel apart an instant ramen container and sprinkle the seasoning inside of it before pouring the water. Snatching a plastic fork from the pack you’d gotten from the store, you meander into your room and set the cup down on the floor, letting it settle. 

Your lunch/dinner is had right there, sipping up noodles as you gaze blankly at the wall.

Your schedule would be fairly simple. Settle in, set up the bakery, and get hired help.

Simple enough, right?

God, you wished the rest of life could be like that.

Your time would be fairly open, when you weren’t holed up in your home and you weren’t walking around advertising the future bakery to the locals of Jasper, Nevada, you’d have the free time to do whatever you please. Explore the area- though you doubted there were many tourist sites in Nevada, save for Las Vegas, which was way down from where you were in the state.

Damn Miranda for picking a horrible spot for your first secondary location.

You sighed, sipping up the broth to savor what you could. When you were done, you wandered back out to the kitchen, only to pause when you realized- you also didn’t have a garbage can.

You groan, slamming the empty cup onto the counter. The plastic fork inside of it jostled. 

“Fuck me,” you growl. 

Time to head out to buy that, too. Alongside garbage bags. 

Only you didn’t want to return to Nevada’s scorching sun, yet, and let out a high-pitched whine, conflicted.

You know what? Nobody else was going to come into this house for- months, probably. Maybe even never. No one was gonna know if you left out empty containers for a few days.

Someone knocked on the door, and you just knew some higher power had it out for you like a bitch ass motherfucker.

You open the door with a curious frown. Before you stood a woman, probably a decade older than you, with black hair and dark blue eyes in nurse scrubs with a beige cardigan overtop it. She smiled warmly at you, shifting where she stood, and only then did you notice she was holding something in her arms. 

“Hello!” She greeted. “I’m June Darby. I live across the street. Linny mentioned you just moved in?” 

Jeez, did word really spread that quickly in this town? You knew small towns were built different, but like this? You’d moved in, like, two hours ago!!

“Uh, yeah,” you said with little class. You winced at your own awkward tone.

June Darby doesn’t take it personally. She instead continued to smile at you. “I wanted to welcome you to town. These are some leftovers of my pasta sauce from last night! It’s pretty famous around here,” she winked as she handed you the container. 

You take it, of course. You don’t want to be rude. You examine the container, curiously, before meeting June’s gaze and wincing apologetically. “I…don’t have any pots or pans, yet.”

 “Ah,” she, too, winced. “That’s…my bad. Then would you like me to heat it up at my place?” She glanced over her shoulder at her house across the road. It was quaint, like your own; one story, with a garage. Except June at least had a car parked in it. 

You hesitate, and it seemed June read your thoughts, because she smiled knowingly, if a bit teasingly, too. “I won’t lock you away in my basement, if you’re worried about that.”

Once again, you wince apologetically. “I grew up in a city,” was your only excuse.

June nodded as if it were fair. “That’s alright. I’ll give you a small town tip; we don’t kidnap here. It’s a norm to invite someone in, be it for dinner or even just a talk. You’ll get multiple offers in the near future-” her eyes glinted mischievously, “-just a fair warning in advance.”

Your lips tug into a begrudged but amused smile. “Thanks. I, uh…guess I can? There aren’t really chairs and a table here to sit down and talk at yet,” you turn an embarrassed glance at your empty house.

June doesn’t judge. In fact, the barren state of your home makes her more eager to invite you into her own. “That’s alright. My son is at work right now, so he won’t be back for another few hours.” She stepped back, allowing you room to squeeze your shoes on and step outside the house, locking it behind you. You dutifully follow June across the street, albeit still with a remainder of hesitance. You weren’t unfamiliar with small towns. Your grandparents owned a ranch in the Ontario countryside and a cabin in British Columbia, and they were always close with the five or six neighbours they had. You’d often spend dinners at their friend’s house, or have a combined family dinner in your grandparents’ house.

June opens the door, stepping inside and then aside for you. “Don’t mind the mess too much. I’ve been meaning to clean,” she said sheepishly.

You step inside and look around, mesmerized. It wasn’t messy, per say. There were shelves of books and old CDs lining the walls, a small tv sitting across a two-person couch (three if you squeezed), and a numerous amount of photographs either hanging or being propped up around the living room you first entered into. 

It wasn’t messy, you noted off-handedly to yourself.

It was a place that was lived in.  

Made into a home. 

“It’s lovely,” you compliment softly. June stares at you for a moment, and whatever she found on your face made her soften considerably, as if a small weight had been lifted. 

“Thank you.”

You sit awkwardly at the small, rounded dining room table, watching June cook up a pot of spaghetti noodles while the sauce heated up in the microwave. You watch, curiously, as the local nurse busied herself around. 

From what you’d gathered, both via the photographs around her home and June herself, she was a single mom. Her husband ran out on her and her son, Jack, when he was just six years old. A shitty start to a child and mother’s life. It was just her and Jack, now. June worked herself ragged at the hospital, but she didn’t hate her job. When she spoke about it, it was with passion and fervor. Being a nurse, helping people- it was what she wanted to do.

Jack was fifteen, apparently. Sixteen in two-and-a-half months. He’d already gotten his first job at Jasper’s only fast food place, K.O. Burger. One of few social spots in town, June mentioned off-handedly. You put that knowledge away for later use. Hopefully for advertising the bakery.

You were amazed at the kindness of the woman before you as she dished out a plate of hot spaghetti for each of you and set yours down in front of you, before settling across from you. 

“Th- Thank you,” you stammered. You were at a loss for words for the gesture you wouldn’t have offered you if you were in June’s position.

June only smiled, like this was a regular thing. “It’s my pleasure.” 

You’d offered her your name, belatedly, you realized with shame and embarrassment, but June only laughed at your apology afterwards and waved you off. “Don’t worry about it,” was her only response. 

You had your first real meal in twenty-four hours, and it hit you right in all the good spots.

Afterwards, when you were both done and warm and content, June made to reach for your plate, but you were quick to pull it out of her reach and stand, smiling. “Let me handle this part, at least.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t…” June frowned, and rose out of her seat to argue further, but you shushed her and picked up her plate, moving around the nurse and towards the sink. 

“June, you just gave me a free homemade meal. Me, a stranger . Let me at least do this.”

She huffed, obviously in disagreement, but you’d already turned on the hot water and poured dish soap onto the sponge, so it was far too late for her to argue further. You watched over your shoulder as June sat back in her chair, indignant. “Fine,” she sighed. 

You grin to yourself at the small victory.

Washing was all June could allow you to do, though, as she had managed to sneak up behind you and take the first washed plate from your hands and begin wiping it down with a drying cloth. When you looked at her, aghast, she merely returned that triumphant grin you had thought you’d hidden from her.

“Let me at least do this,” she mocked you.

You huff, mostly amused. “Fine.”

When your early dinner was cleaned up and put away in her cupboards, June invited you to a brief story session on her couch, where you’d traded a few more little facts about one another when the door opened, and someone kicked off their shoes.

“Mom, I’m home!” Her boy, Jack, called. You both looked over your shoulders at the boy, who looked up and froze upon the sight of you both on the couch. 

You smile, getting up and brushing invisible dust off your lap. “Well, that’s time. Thank you for having me again, June,” you said. 

June followed you up, smiling and following you to the door. “It was no problem. Jack, this is our new neighbour.” She gestured to you, and Jack’s mouth fell open in a small gape. “They’re opening up the new bakery in town.”

“That’s you?” He blurted. June shot him a narrowed look, and the teenage boy winced. “Sorry. Uh, nice to meet you. I’m Jack,” he said.

“Gathered that,” you smirk. Jack reaches out a hand, and you shake it politely. The boy smiled, and stepped out of your way. Sunset was touching down on Jasper, Nevada, now. You stepped out onto the porch, and June stood in the doorway. Jack peered over her shoulder at you.

You smile. “Thanks for today. I’ll see you around?”

June echoed your expression warmly. “Of course you will. Small town,” she winked. You laughed. “See you around.”

You raise a hand in a wave, and turn and leave. The Darby’s door shuts behind you as you’re walking down their driveway, and you return to your home just fifteen seconds after. 

Your home is still barren, and after seeing the Darby’s place, the difference is stark and makes your stomach twist in an uncomfortable manner. 

You sighed. Best just to focus on getting to bed now so you can head into a place with free wifi early tomorrow to order your wifi router. 

That night, you lay in bed and stare aimlessly up at your bedroom ceiling. The house would take time to settle into. Your AC worked, and kept you cool in Nevada’s surrounding heat. Your throw blanket barely covered your toes, so you tucked them in underneath it and curled up, seeking warmth naturally.

Something flashed from the side of your vision, and curious, you rolled over in a shuffle of blankets to look out the window high above you, your angle permitting you a high up view of the night sky. Distantly, among the stars that littered the sky, one appeared brighter than the rest. 

You hum, curious, and turn back around and shut your eyes.

The distant rumble that trembled the ground beneath you hardly woke you from your heavy, jet-lagged slumber.

Chapter Text

“Optimus.” 

Optimus Prime walked up to Ratchet’s shoulder upon the medic’s urgent calling. Upon the largest of their screens, an urgent red light came flashing on the monitor, beeping persistently.

“What is it, Ratchet?” inquired Optimus with narrowed optics on the shape.

“An unidentified Cybertronian aircraft is coming into Earth’s orbit,” reported the medic as he frantically typed away. “I am unable to hail them. Their outward communications system might be fried.” 

Behind him, the Autobots rallied around the screen. 

“Is it an Autobot signal?” Arcee inquired hopefully. 

“What part of “unidentified” do you not understand?” snapped Ratchet.

Arcee rolled her optics. Cliffjumper smirked as he crossed his hands over his chassis beside her. “Ease up, Doc Bot. You gotta give us some intel, here.”

“I am gathering as much information as I can,” Ratchet informed them briskly after shooting Cliffjumper an ice-cold glare. “But the ship is, by all means, cut-off from any outwards, and maybe even inwards, communication! Either way, it is coming in fast. I suspect it will make landfall within twelve groons.”

Optimus frowned. “Can you predict the ship’s location? Even a hypothesized guess, old friend?” He inquired.

Ratchet sighed. “I can try. Judging by the trajectory and speed, combined with Earth’s gravitational pull…I suspect it won’t be too far from here,” he said with a grim set to his intake. “Which, if they are, in fact, Autobots, will be good for us. If I am wrong, however…”

“You mean if they’re ‘Cons,” growled Bulkhead. He smashed his servos together, fired up. “We’ll be there to stop ‘em from setting one pede on the ground!”

“Bulkhead provides a sound point,” Optimus spoke up sagely. “Be they Decepticons or Autobots, we shall be there to greet them, be it with open arms or, in the worst case scenario, hostile intent.” He turned around, meeting the optics of his few but mighty Autobots. “Autobots, prepare for Ratchet’s predicted groundbridge coordinates. Whether they are allies or enemies, we shall be waiting for them.”

*   *   *   *   *

Hot Rod groaned when the Xantium finally landed on Earth, albeit roughly. He’d buckled in, but the amount of turbulence the planet had made even him feel woozy. And Cybertronians barely got “woozy”! 

Upon entering the atmosphere, his HUD was sent a package on the general Autobot comm frequency. Primus, how he missed having access to that! It was a general package, and when he saw no visible viruses, opened it up to find terabytes on Earth’s locals, the “humans”, and their atmosphere, languages, mannerisms and more.

Hot Rod froze when the ship sent him a notice. Five Autobot signatures, right outside the hull’s main hanger door.

He raced down, tires squealing around tight corners, before he transformed beside the control panel along the wall, the hull’s door before him. 

His spark spun in his chassis. What would happen? Would they shoot him? No! No, they probably wouldn’t. Optimus Prime was with them, most likely. And he wouldn’t let them kill Hot Rod! 

Right?

Primus, don’t let me offline, he sent a weak prayer before pushing the lever. With a loud, echoing groan, the hull door began to lower. Hot Rod stayed along the edge, partially hiding behind the corner in case blaster fire greeted him. 

Hot, humid air hit him right in the faceplate first. He winced. Wow, the data package wasn’t lying about Earth’s drastic and varying climates! 

The hull door lowered onto Earth soil with a loud CLANG!, and Hot Rod peeked out. 

At the very edge stood a bot. Tall, built like a tank, with broad shoulders and red armour, with a blue helm and a battle mask engaged. 

Optimus Prime. 

Hot Rod beamed, stepping out with his servos up. “Hey!” He greeted.

The whine of a blaster powering up made him flinch and stop mid-step. At his sides, four bots lined up, each holding a blaster or two, except a big mech had transformed his servo into some sorta wrecking club. 

His optics grazed over them, wary and hesitant, before…

“Holy scrap!” Hot Rod gaped. “Bee!?” 

The yellow and black bot had both blasters pointed his way with narrowed eyes that quickly widened and grew, recognizing his voice immediately. His blasters faltered, and he tilted his helm.

:: Roddy? ::

“BUMBLEBEE!!!” Hot Rod practically screamed, and ran down the hull door, skidding at the steeper end before he leapt off it and jumped at Bumblebee, who whirred in shock as Hot Rod tossed himself at the scout. They fell to the ground in a heap of metal as Hot Rod clung for dear life to Bumblebee, laughing with all the relief in the universe.

Bumblebee was here.

Bumblebee was alive!

The heat of a blaster nuzzle warmed the side of his helm. Hot Rod froze.

“Stop right there,” a growling, guarded feminine voice commanded. 

Hot Rod shuttered his optics at Bee, who stared up at him with shock and awe. 

“Arcee, stand back,” a low and rumbling voice commanded. The heat left, and Hot Rod relaxed with a vented sigh of relief. “Step away from Bumblebee, soldier.” 

“Uhh- oh, scrap! Right, sure,” Hot Rod blurted. He scrambled off Bumblebee and back to a stand, offering his servo to his old pal. “Sorry, Bee. But y’know! It’s been…” he sent him a tilted, weak and sorta nervous smile.

:: Forever. :: Bumblebee agreed with a nod of the helm as he took Hot Rod’s servo and got up. 

Hot Rod beamed, letting go of Bumblebee’s servo with an assured squeeze that he was real, before he took another step back and turned to look at the Autobots. 

Wow, Optimus Prime really was all they said he was and more. 

Hot Rod gaped up at the legendary leader of the Autobots as he stared down at Hot Rod with narrowed optics. He could see the edges of suspicion and curiosity in his leader’s gaze. “What is your designation, soldier?” 

Hot Rod jolted out of his awe, and saluted. “Uh- Hot Rod, sir! Autobot warrior,” he knocked against the Autobot sigil branded proudly on his chassis. “It’s a- Primus, it’s such a pleasure.”

Optimus Prime gazed at him, dressing Hot Rod down to his circuits before he turned to look at Bumblebee, who hadn’t stopped gazing at Hot Rod in awe. “Bumblebee, can you vouch for him?”

Bumblebee startled, and turned his awed gaze back to Prime. :: Of course! Hot Rod and I were born in the same cohort! :: The scout beamed. :: He’s been with me through thick and thin, Optimus. I’d know him anywhere from his paint job alone. ::

“Hey!” squawked Hot Rod in offense. Bumblebee looked back at him, only whistling cheerfully in return. Hot Rod grinned back. “You’ve always been jealous.”

Optimus Prime took the scout’s words into due consideration, and that just- it awed Hot Rod. The fact that Bumblebee was so trusted by Optimus Prime sent a pulse of pride through his spark. 

He finally levelled Hot Rod with a kinder look. “We apologize for our suspicions, Hot Rod. We are Team Prime, and have resided on Earth the past few years seeking refuge amongst the humans whilst battling Decepticon High Command. We are few, but strong,” he gestured to the Autobots behind him. “And we would be honoured to welcome you to our ranks.”

Hot Rod rocked back and forth on his pedes. “Holy scrap, really!? A chance to be a part of Team Prime? Of course! I’m in!” He agreed eagerly. Remembering the ship behind him, Hot Rod winced and cast the Xantium a grim look. “But, uh…I should tell you. I’m just about the only one to come…”

Bumblebee buzzed worriedly, levelling him with a concerned look. Hot Rod looked back at him and shook his helm gravely. “Something for later, Bee. But right now- Optimus Prime, sir,” he gazed up at Prime, who stared down at Hot Rod in acknowledgment. “There’s someone you need to see.” 

“Who?” inquired Prime. 

Hot Rod turned back to the Xantium, spark clenching tight in his chassis. “...The only other member of the Xantium.”

Optimus Prime sobered immediately, and the next time he spoke, Hot Rod had to suppress a shiver at the darkened, somber timbre of his voice. “Take us.”

He nodded and led the way. 

As they walked, Team Prime looked around the abandoned halls of the Xantium, constantly checking corners and peering into open rooms. As they walked, Hot Rod distracted himself by giving Optimus Prime the report of the ship’s status. “She’s not built for battle, but ultimately, that’s probably what kept me online for so long. She doesn’t require extra energon for weapons systems, and the stores- they’re low, but it’s something. I’ve managed to hold on for a while now on rations.” 

Optimus Prime strided beside him, optics trained on Hot Rod diligently. He bowed his helm. “I see…” he rumbled. 

Hot Rod turned the corner into the med bay, stopping at the entrance. The bots stopped behind him, and Hot Rod turned, optics lingering on the stasis pod at the centre of the room before they drifted to Optimus Prime, who gazed at it curiously. “He’s there. I…I couldn’t treat him, so he’s been in stasis for vorns, now. You should- yeah,” he lowered his helm.

Optimus Prime advanced towards the pod in heavy, even strides. Bumblebee came up to his side, watching Prime walk curiously before he looked at Hod Rod. The warrior only smiled grimly at the scout, patting his back. “Primus, is it really good to see ya, Bee.”

Bumblebee softened, optics brightening. :: You, too, Roddy. ::

Optimus stuttered to a halt beside the stasis pod, sucking in a sharp in-vent of air. Team Prime stiffened around Hot Rod, who only kept his optics solemnly on Optimus Prime’s back strut while he transformed a blaster back into a servo and pressed it against the glass of the stasis pod. 

“My old friend…” mourned the Prime solemnly. 

He turned back to the rest of them, his noble optics heavy as they rested on Hot Rod, who stiffened guiltily beneath the Prime’s gaze. 

He could’ve done more for Jazz. He’d thought about it for the longest time when gazing out into endless space. Hot Rod scoured First Aid’s datapads for stellar cycles after the ambush, researching and memorizing all he could to try and help, but he wasn’t built into the medical caste. 

He was a warrior build, first and foremost. He wasn’t meant to fix. He was meant to shoot.

He was useless to help anybody when it really mattered.

Hot Rod stared at his pedes in shame as Prime’s weighted footsteps came back their way, stopping in front of him. He stiffened from helm to pede, awaiting the criticism. The “You could’ve done better”, however instead of that, a warm and heavy servo rested strongly on his pauldron and squeezed assuringly.

Hot Rod’s optics shot up at Prime’s, and the red and blue mech disengaged his battle mask to smile gratefully at him. “Thank you, Hot Rod, for returning a dear friend to me. And for returning a strong soldier to the Autobot cause.” 

Hot Rod sucked in a startled vent, optics enlarging. “B- But I didn’t- He’s-”

“Alive,” Optimus Prime interrupted with a bow of his helm. “And that is the greatest state you could have returned Jazz to us in.”

:: Jazz!? :: Bumblebee exclaimed cheerfully. 

“He’s alive?” said the small and lithe blue femme, Arcee.

Optimus Prime nodded. “In heavy stasis, which is why we should not hesitate any longer. Ratchet,” he lifted his gaze somewhere above them, “open the-”

The Xantium shook harshly around them, causing Hot Rod to stumble into Bumblebee, who caught and steadied the both of them. 

“What in the Pit was that?” The rounded green mech demanded.

Optimus Prime went sober and quiet, before his optics sharpened. Hot Rod had a sinking feeling his second visit to an energon-rich planet wasn’t going to go as easily as he’d hoped, now. 

“The Decepticons have come,” their leader growled. 

Yeah. He jinxed it.

“Well, then, let’s blow ‘em sky high!” The green mech roared, slamming his servo and weapon together. 

“Bulkhead,” Optimus Prime coolly addressed the mech, “we will need your brute strength to carry Jazz towards the groundbridge. The rest of us will hold off Decepticon forces and ensure you are covered.”

Bulkhead nodded, grim, and bolted past them to get to the stasis pod. Hot Rod watched him transform his servo back to grasp each end of the pod, cradling it heavily in his servos with a grunt. He turned back to them, nodding. “Ready when you are, Optimus.” 

Optimus Prime looked back at Hot Rod. “Hot Rod, is there any way we can spare the Xantium’s energon stores?” 

Hot Rod let out a thoughtful noise, when another tremor reminded him to hurry the frag up . “Okay, okay. Uh, well- Red Alert mentioned something about that once, I think? Primus, it was a long time ago, though…” he cursed himself for zoning out at those security meetings. 

“Any day now, kid!” snapped Arcee as another tremor rumbled around them.

“OKAYOKAY!” Hot Rod clasped his helm tightly, offlining his optics to think . “I mean- I- I think he mentioned something about an emergency drainage procedure? Tubes that the stores can dump the processed energon into? It transfers it into a hidden vessel. Small. Like an escape pod but- but for energon? It’ll launch it wherever the Pit it wants, but I can probably track it? I spent a while downloading some of the Xantium’s codes just to fill up some space. I should have it…” he tapped his bitarlueus, and one of his screens came up. Hot Rod skimmed through it frantically- yes! Frag yes! He did! He had it! “I do! Okay, I got it! But,” he turned off the screen and looked regretfully at Optimus Prime, “...it’s processed energon only. We’d be losing about eight-tenths of whatever the store’s have left if the ‘Cons take the ship.”

“You do not need to worry about that, Hot Rod,” Optimus Prime said gravely. He walked past them, heading for the control room. “I will handle it.”

“Wow,” Hot Rod watched him go in amazement. “He really does give you the chills.” He’d be gushing if they weren’t in the middle of a peril.

“Alright, we need to move it!” barked Arcee, garnering their attention in nano-kliks. “Cliff, you’re with me. We’re covering Bulkhead while he brings the pod to the groundbridge. Ratchet, we’ll send you the go-to when we’re ready,” she spoke into Team Prime’s comms. “Bumblebee, stick with Hot Rod. Help him get as much energon off this ship as you can.” 

Bumblebee nodded affirmatively. Hot Rod frowned. “We’re abandoning the ship like that?” He’d grown begrudgingly attached to the Xantium, being its only remaining online crew member for the past couple vorns.

Arcee and the red mech, Cliffjumper had begun running back towards the main hull with Bulkhead when she stopped and turned to stare heatedly at the warrior. “Lose the things you can afford to lose,” she said. “That’s rule No.1 in war, kid. Remember it.”

Hot Rod watched the three Autobots run, frowning as he fixed Bumblebee with a confused look. “I thought rule No.1 was “Never let the enemy have the spoils"?"  

Bumblebee shrugged. :: Either way, we need to get moving. ::

“Right!” Hot Rod startled into motion. “Follow me, Bee!” He transformed, engines roaring as he blitzed down the Xantium’s halls towards the energon stores. He heard Bumblebee’s foreign new engine rumbling shortly behind him.

The doors to the stores slid open upon their arrival, and Hot Rod transformed, sliding on his pedes along the floor. The energon stores were filled with carts. Over half of them were now empty, with about a third of the initial stores from what the crew had managed to get from Hotimus Rodimus-1 before the ambush now what was left.

Of that third, two-tenths would be saved.

Not a lot of energon. 

Hot Rod worked the control panel, digits flying across the board frantically as he pushed and pulled at levers. “UGH! I hate machines!” He whined.

Bumblebee hovered over his shoulder, watching him closely, before he made an acknowledging noise and reached around Hot Rod to push a button. :: Try that one! ::

Hot Rod slapped his servo away. “Ey! No touchie. This is my joint, Bee. Deal with it,” he said. Bumblebee glared at him. 

:: Well, someone got mean over the years! ::

“Hush! I’m working my magic, here. Wow - that data pack really does work!” He hummed off-handedly in awe whilst pushing on the button Bumblebee wanted to. The glass containers of processed energon hissed, bubbling as they drained away into the pipes, heading for the escape pod. Hot Rod whooped with glee, slapping Bumblebee’s shoulder. The scout beeped victoriously. “HAH! Just like old times, eh, Bee?”

Bumblebee chirped. :: Just like old times. :: He echoed fondly.

Hot Rod grinned, squeezing his shoulder. Wow. This really was happening. It had been so long since he’d talked, genuinely talked with a bot, it still all felt surreal! 

Around them, the walls cracked and tremored, disrupting their reunion. Bumblebee tapped a digit to the side of his helm, buzzing with inquiry. Whatever response he got made his optics sharpen. He looked at Hot Rod. 

:: Starscream’s leading the attack. We don’t have much time. Optimus is starting a self-destruct protocol that’ll initiate within the breem. We need to get going. Stat. ::

Hot Rod stiffened, and nodded. “Let’s scram,” he agreed. The two of them transform, and Bumblebee takes the charge this time. Hot Rod takes the bits of time he had as they sped through the halls of the collapsing Xantium to examine his old friend's Earth-based vehicle form. It was somewhat similar to a Cybertronian vehicle, though less sleek, with more glass and space inside, and more…primitive-looking, he’d say? Still a striking paint job, like he knew Bumblebee to always uphold.

Just as they were within view of the hull, Hot Rod screeched to a daunting halt. 

Nautica. 

Bumblebee braked not far from him. :: Hot Rod? ::

Hot Rod pushed on the gas, his tires screeching in protest as he took a hard 180° and pushed his engines to the max, bolting back towards the med bay. “Keep going! I’ll be right behind you!” He shouted. 

:: Hot Rod, the place is coming down! We gotta GO! ::

“Give me a klik!”

:: HOT ROD!!! ::

The Xantium was rumbling all around him, his tires vibrating and even bumping off the floor as he sped into the med bay and transformed again. Nautica was there, still covered in a metal mesh blanket in the darkened corner of the room. Hot Rod picked her up, cradling the greyed frame of his friend with a regretful curve in his faceplate. “Sorry, Nautica. I wasn’t gonna leave you here,” he murmured firmly to her. “I’m giving you that proper burial.”

“Hot Rod!” He startled at the urgent tone of Optimus Prime, and whipped around to find the Autobot leader there, in the doorway. His optics flittered down to the still form in Hot Rod’s servos, before flying back up to his face. “We must leave. Now!” 

The orders of a Prime were absolute. They were impossible to deny. Your very spark was urged to believe in their words and actions and that it was what was right, which is why Hot Rod’s limbs were moving before he’d even urged them to. Optimus Prime transformed into an Earth-based truck, his sleeper turned towards the warrior. “Get on!”

Hot Rod leapt for the back portion of the truck, and clutched Nautica close with one arm while the other gripped onto the top of the red cabin desperately. As soon as his digits gained a grip, Optimus Prime was accelerating through the collapsing halls. Hot Rod ducked down to avoid the flames and falling rubble around them.

They practically flew out the hull, landing on Earth’s soil roughly. Seekers fired down around them, but ahead, Team Prime held the groundbridge steady. At the sight of Optimus Prime and Hot Rod coming in hot, Arcee shot one last blast before jumping into the portal and shouting, “Move, move!” 

His bitarlueus buzzed, almost too faint for Hot Rod to feel. 

It was the notice. The pod had been launched. 

The thought was far off in his processor as he heard the Xantium explode behind them in a fiery roar. The heat brushed against his metals for a nano-klik as Optimus Prime sped through the swirling green vortex, before it was gone. 

He screeched to a stop, and where they’d once resided in a dark desert, they were now inside of a human rock of sorts. Hot Rod stumbled off of Optimus Prime, taking several steps back to allow the Autobot leader to transform. He cast a brief, somewhat awed and somewhat disappointed glance around the area (“This is where Team Prime holds their operations!” alongside “This is where Team Prime holds their operations?”). 

“What the Pit was that!?” Arcee exploded towards him. Hot Rod startled, and stared down at the femme as she glared heatedly at him. “What was so important you had to risk both yours and Optimus’ sparks going back? Huh? That was a dangerously close call!”

“Arcee,” Optimus Prime admonished the femme gently. She held her glare towards the warrior.

Bumblebee stepped up to his side, optics pinched. :: I agree. You had me worried, Roddy. Why’d you go back? ::

Hot Rod pursed his intake, servo squeezing the weak metal he held. He shifted Nautica’s corpse so that he carried her in both servos once more, before he removed the metal mesh to reveal the greyed corpse of his friend. 

The air in the room stilled in a nano-klik.

Hot Rod’s faceplate was pinched as he gazed guiltily at Nautica’s offline optics. “I…couldn’t leave her. Not there. Not like this,” he muttered. 

The area was deathly quiet, but Hot Rod was aware of Bumblebee squeezing his shoulder assuredly. Someone stepped up to him. Hot Rod looked up, meeting the stiff gaze of an orange and white mech, who stared solemnly down at Nautica’s frame. “Nautica…” the mech sighed. 

“You knew her, Ratchet?” Bulkhead inquired gently from behind the medic.

Ratchet nodded. “She was a xenocultural specialist on Cybertron. The sweetest femme you’d ever meet,” he rumbled. He held out his servos. “Give her to me,” he said stiffly.

Hot Rod hesitated, when Optimus Prime spoke up. “We shall give her a proper burial here on Earth,” he assured. Hot Rod cast him a wary look, but the Prime’s gaze was earnest. Hot Rod faltered. “Trust Ratchet to take care of her.” 

After a klik, he nodded, and handed Nautica off to the medic. He eyed Hot Rod a tad suspiciously, though mostly checked him over for injuries, too, Hot Rod guessed, and turned and walked down a hall further into the base. His footsteps echoed long after he’d left.

Hot Rod vented a sigh. 

Someone clapped a servo to his other shoulder, jostling him. His optics widened, and he looked to his right. The big green mech, Bulkhead, frowned sympathetically at Hot Rod. “Sorry for your loss, kid. It’s happened to all of us.”

Hot Rod nodded. “Uh- yeah. Yeah, thanks…” he forced a weak smile. “I appreciate it.”

Bulkhead nodded, and took a step back as Optimus Prime walked up to them. Hot Rod straightened, gazing up at the Prime expectantly. Here was the admonishment for being careless…

“Hot Rod, your choice to go back was noble and brave, but reckless,” said Prime. “You must understand that every spark is cherished in this time of the war. We do not wish to lose any more Autobots. Not if we cannot help it.”

Hot Rod bowed his helm, guilty and shameful. “I’m sorry, Prime, sir. It- It won’t happen again,” he assured.

A heavy, warm servo sat against his shoulder. Hot Rod looked up, and Optimus Prime’s expression hardly changed, though his tone took on a gentler take. “So long as you are a part of our team, Hot Rod, you must understand that the threats we face will never cease, and the risks will always be high, but that does not mean we cannot tread carefully to ensure no more sparks are lost to this millennia-long war.”

Hot Rod stiffened beneath the servo grounding him. “You- You really still want me on your team?” He asked with awe. 

The Prime smiled, just barely. “We would be honoured to have you, Hot Rod,” he rumbled.

He grinned, beaming at Optimus Prime. “Are you kidding me? Of course!” He exclaimed. “Team Prime! Team Prime!” Hot Rod turned to Bumblebee, reaching out and shaking his old friend, who beeped amusedly. He looked back at the Prime, optics bright. “I’d be honoured, sir!” 

Optimus nodded, and removed his servo to take a step back. He regarded Hot Rod warmly. “Then, welcome to Earth, Hot Rod.”

Hot Rod whooped with celebration, knocking himself against Bumblebee, who pushed back against him. Bulkhead guffawed, slapping a large servo to Hot Rod’s back that had him stumbling forwards, threatening to fall face-flat on the floor had Bumblebee not grabbed his arm to save his tailpipe. 

“Welcome to the club, newbie!” cheered Bulkhead. 

Cliffjumper stepped up to him, grinning and punching Hot Rod in the shoulder in camaraderie. “Finally got a new asset. It’s been getting predictable around here!” 

Hot Rod grinned up at the both of them, before his eyes caught Arcee a few paces behind Cliffjumper, watching him with an unreadable gaze. He sheepishly met her optics, and rubbed the back of his helm. “I, uh…I’m sorry for- y’know, being careless and…all that,” he apologized.

Arcee said nothing, only shuttering her optics and striding up to him. Hot Rod’s spark skipped a pulse in anticipation as he stared wearily at the lithe femme. Eventually, she punched him in the same spot Cliffjumper had, except harder. Hot Rod winced as she smirked up at him. 

“At least I won’t be the one that’ll have to watch your aft out there. That job belongs to Bumblebee,” she stated.

Bumblebee whined. :: Aw, man! :: 

Hot Rod whipped around to face him, scowling. “Hey! You’ve been watching my aft since we were sparklings!” He squawked in offense. The scout didn’t retort, and only beeped at him. Hot Rod scoffed.

Arcee smiled. “He’ll get you settled in, I’m sure. With your similar tastes, I trust Bee to get you a fitting Earth-based vehicle.”

Hot Rod screeched to a stop, and fixed Arcee with a horrified look. 

“I have to change my model!?”

“Oh, brother…” The femme rolled her optics.

Definitely a job for Bumblebee.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since you’ve moved to Jasper, Nevada. 

Your house now looked somewhat liveable. Your living room now hosted your couch and coffee table, and your tv had been hooked up to the wall. The sleek flat screen was your prized possession. Your kitchen had a microwave, finally, as well as a toaster and coffee brewer. Your silverware and pots and pans had been sent along, and you’d bought fresh china plates from Jasper’s small generals store. No doubt you probably had a matching set with half the town. Your bedroom now had a bed, a double you could spread out over and relax in, and sat underneath the window. Your dresser had been a struggle, but with the mover’s help, you’d squeezed it through the doorway, and it rested opposite your bed. 

Your router came in the day after, and you finally had four bars to cherish and catch up on all your work. For the remainder of the week, you seldom left the house unless it was to snag some fast food from K.O. Burger when you were feeling takeout, or walk around the blocks surrounding your house whilst listening to music as you gained your steps and brainstormed potential advertising for the bakery.

Speaking of, your supplies had come in right on time, as your boss predicted. The bakery itself was set along the end of the main road of town, as one of the last buildings along the north end of the road. You’d set up an ‘OPENING SOON’ sign in front of the lawn, and whenever you were out about town, garnered inquiries towards its opening date by the locals.

June Darby had been a blessing by giving you tips in advance on the differences between cityfolk and small town folks.

The denizens of Jasper, Nevada were basically one massive, unrelated, jumbo mess of a family. They were chain-linked together by an invisible force or something, with the way they all knew everything about everyone. That’s what made you the hottest topic in town, apparently. And what made it impossible to go for a stroll without being pulled over by a neighbour, friend of a neighbour or just someone you didn’t know inquiring things about your life. 

You were foreign towards such a close-knit community, and as such, way out of line with what to do.

Which is where the Darby’s came in.

June had essentially given you a crash course on your first day in town and the days following, and was your tutor on small town traditions and how Jasper just did things. She informed you who had petty little rivalries with whom, who it was okay to ask about certain topics to, and who wasn’t (“Never ask Ms. Willingham about her ex-husband. The last time someone did…let’s just say you never want that woman near a sharp object. Yes, even a pencil. Especially a pencil." ).

A week since you moved to Jasper, Nevada, and you were doing fairly well. 

Linny greets you with a beaming smile as you enter the store to grab a cold drink for the hot day. She was chatting it up with Mr. Garcia, who ran the only local automobile store in town. The older Spanish man’s eyes flickered to you, and he waved wordlessly. You returned the gesture as you pass them towards the coolers along the back wall. 

You opened a door, reaching in and grabbing a Sprite before walking back down the aisle for the register. You paused for a moment, glancing at an Airhead bar. 

You shrug and take it. It was the mystery flavour you so adored. 

Mr. Garcia had left by the time you wandered up to the register and placed your two items on it. Linny punched them in, gaze flashing your way alongside a smile. “Settling in alright?” She asked. 

You grinned. “As well as I can be,” you returned. “It’s been nice. You guys are the nicest folks I’ve met in…” you punched out a breath, “... years. Wow.”

“Wow indeed,” Linny grinned. Your total comes up on the register, and you wordlessly hand her a five dollar bill. She punches something in and pops open the register, tucking away your bill to begin gathering up your change. “But yeah, Jasper’s just like that, I guess. I’ve lived here my whole life. I don’t know any differently.”

She hands you your change, and as you shoved it away in your wallet, you glanced up at her. “My advice?” Linny stared at you curiously. “Never go to the city. I’m sorry, but it’d eat you alive.”

She spat out an incredulous laugh, shaking her head at you. “No offense taken..?”

You grinned unapologetically and take the bottle and candy bar. You shoved the latter in your pocket, and keep the bottle in hand to start sipping on your way home. “No problem. See you around!” You bid the sweet girl goodbye as you leave.

“Bye!” 

You uncapped the Sprite as you began walking across the small parking lot to the crossing intersection. The convenience store was placed on a corner beside the residential area, so it didn’t get much traffic. No more than five cars drove on the road most of the time, and you hadn’t heard any tires rolling up the cement, so as you take a long swig of the cold beverage and moan reverently with relief as chilling liquid refreshed you against the burning sun, you cross the road. 

Something honks its horn at you. Hard. You lower the Sprite bottle with a confused frown and look down the road to see a flaming red car plowing it towards you and screeching on its brakes, the sound making your eardrums ring.

You freeze. Sorta like that instant-death response when you see it coming right for you. You can’t run from it, can’t hide from it in time. You were doomed. Why move at all? 

You just couldn't believe this was how you were gonna go. Miranda was going to be so pissed you died before opening up the bakery. Good bit of money went down that drain.

Maybe it was just your luck, or maybe some higher power actually felt bad for you, because the front fender just barely knocked against your weak, wobbling knees to cause you to fall down before it stopped completely. Your Sprite bottle goes rolling away from you as your palms hit the rough road, harsh cement scraping against sensitive skin and making you wince.

Your ears roar, your heart thundering in your ribcage. Holy shit you almost just died. Another, quieter but nonetheless urgent series of honks come towards you, and just barely, you see a yellow muscle car pull up beside the- holy shit was this a Lamborghini!?

Who the hell was driving a Lambo like that in Jasper, Nevada!?

Someone else rolls up to you, and distantly, you hear a car door slam before someone’s knelt before you. “Are you alright?”

The depth of the voice, the way it rumbled and sent some sort of echo reverberating inside of you, shocks you out of your- well, shock. Your eyes drifted from the fender just inches from your face towards the man kneeling at your side. He was probably in his late thirties, you’d take a wild guess, wearing a red flannel shirt and blue jeans. A grey bandana was tied around his neck, but for some reason the colour scheme just fit. Especially with his raven black hair and the piercing blue eyes that seemed to almost stare right through you.

Remembering you had a mouth that can speak words, you open it finally. “I- I- yeah,” you stammer out breathlessly. “‘M- ‘M okay.”

The man’s eyes flicker across your face before falling down your body and landing on your hands. As if sensing they’d been hurt, he grimaced regretfully and stood, offering you a hand. “Please, allow me to help you up,” he said. 

You take it, poorly hiding the wince as his fingers delicately brush beside the sensitive skin around your injuries. He helps you stand, and when you do, you decide to turn over your palm and wince at the state of your hands. “Not as bad as it could’ve been, at least,” you joked lamely.

The man frowned as if it was his fault you were almost the victim of a potential hit and run. “I apologize. Your life was almost…” he trailed off, like the realization was too hard to speak aloud. 

Someone slapped the hood of the Lamborghini, startling you. You look over, not even registering that someone else was there with you. You hadn’t exactly heard another car door open and close.

It was a boy. Younger than you- probably around Jack’s age, if you had to take a guess. Maybe even a year or two older, with blonde hair and round blue eyes that glared harshly at the sleek hood of the luxury car. His outfit was very… themed. It was obvious he favoured bees- or just the colours yellow and black. They went with him, either way.

He wore a mask that covered his mouth, but he wasn’t even trying to speak as he just wordlessly glared at the car itself, and not through the driver side window. 

“We were teaching our new compatriot about the rules of driving along civilian roads,” the older man’s deep, rumbling voice called your attention back to him, “but he is… overzealous, in most departments. He did not yet seem to understand that a stop sign meant stop, ” the man turned a lecturing side eye towards the Lamborghini. 

You could swear the car sunk a bit lower on its tires under his gaze.

You cleared your throat. This was way too weird for you, and honestly? You were still in shock about having almost died. In Jasper. After only having been here for a week. “It’s fine, I guess?” you stammered. “I’ll be alright, and stuff. Just- yeah…keep a closer eye on your friend?” You shoot the Lamborghini a startled glance. You still can’t believe a car like that was in an area like this. You hadn’t even seen one when you lived in the city!

The man nodded, turning his heavy gaze back towards you, checking you over again just in case with a worried purse to his lips. You smile, a bit too weakly and forced for your liking, but you smile still. “It’s just my hands. And all they need is a quick clean and bandage and I’ll be fine. As long as I’m the last person to almost die via Lambo in town, we’re right as rain, uh…sorry, sir- what’s your name?” You asked. You felt rude for not asking earlier- even though you were probably justified after just having a near-death experience.

The man paused, almost thoughtful, if a bit shocked you’d asked. After a moment, his expression quickly schooled itself. “...Orion,” he said politely. 

You give him your name in return, and Orion smiles, small but warm. “Thank you for your forgiveness and understanding. I am regretful you were the victim of his recklessness, however, the fact that you have come out unharmed is relieving.”

“Uh, yeah.” You didn’t even wanna delve into his formal speech patterns. Maybe he was part of a LARPing group or something. “It’s no problem, Orion, really. Stay safe, the three of you,” you flicker your eyes to the boy and Lambo. “I need to get home- work to do. You get it. Uh, I’ll see you around?”

Orion nodded. “Perhaps. Until then.” 

You pick up your fallen Sprite bottle as you go, and try not to look too eager to just get away from that intersection.

You also try to resist the itching urge of eyes burning into the back of your neck.

Once you were back at your house, you puffed out a relieved breath and threw the bottle in the recycle bin after draining whatever was left of your wasted drink. Well, so much for the two bucks you'd spent on it.

You cleaned and bandaged your hands in your bathroom with a fair bit of struggle, but your patch-up job was adequate enough for someone who didn’t go to medical school. 

For the remainder of your Monday, you shuffled through your lengthy emails forwarded and sent by your boss, trying to get your mind off that weird Lamborghini and the driver’s friends. They hadn’t seemed…odd, per say. Just- not the kind of people you’d imagine seeing in a town like Jasper. 

Especially with cars like those.

After a while, you sighed and closed your laptop, rubbing at your eyes to try and mitigate a coming migraine from how long you’d been staring at your screen. Strangers you probably wouldn’t see again shouldn’t be giving you such a headache, but here you were. Maybe it was the new setting. It was causing you to feel a bit more…curious? God, you were already turning into a small town citizen.

Let’s just hope I never see that Lambo coming my way again, you grumble as you head out to your kitchen to begin dinner.

*   *   *   *   *

Arcee and Cliffjumper strolled into the silo just as three vehicles roll in. The yellow muscle car with black racing stripes shifted into Bumblebee first, who chirped in greeting to them as he met them halfway. The red and blue big rig shifted next, growing into the towering Optimus Prime. 

Arcee noted the disappointed, firm set to his intake and frowned curiously. “What’s up with Optimus?” She asked Bee. 

:: Well… :: The scout had begun to explain when the red Lamborghini with a flame decal shifted, and Hot Rod stood tall before the Autobot leader, who stared at him disapprovingly.

“Hot Rod,” Optimus began gravely, and the silo fell silent, “you do not seem to recognize the severity of your transgressions.”

Hot Rod vented a sigh, hunching up into himself beneath the Prime’s weighted gaze. “Isn’t it a human rule to look both ways before crossing the road?” He spoke up indignantly. “I didn’t see that fleshie holding up to that rule!” He exclaimed.

Optimus’ optics sharpened. “You forget yourself, soldier,” he said with a downward tone of severity. Hot Rod flinched. “While we take refuge on this planet, we live as titans to the human population. Our strength outnumbers theirs drastically in every way. The human government has gifted us sanctuary,” he rumbled, “so it is in respect to them and the humans we protect that we follow their laws. You have disregarded one of those laws today, and as such, risked the life of an innocent.”

Arcee’s optics widened. The new guy did what? “That idiot,” she grumbled and pressed a servo to her faceplate. 

Hot Rod was, by all means, brash and overzealous. A kid who shot first and asked questions later, with little thought towards the consequences of his own actions. 

He was energetic, which refreshed Bumblebee and Cliffjumper’s own exuberant personalities, and made the silo a bit of a brighter place, but the kid could get on your nerves after long enough to border on annoying. Though perhaps that only pertained to Arcee and Ratchet.

He wasn’t accustomed to following orders — at least orders from anyone other than Optimus. Which, to Arcee, was problematic. What if Optimus was busy on another mission and it was her who had to bark off orders? Or Ratchet? The kid wouldn’t listen, and put them in jeopardy. Like he had on the Xantium.

Granted, after revealing the origins of his insubordination, was swiftly forgiven and they’d moved on, but it set off a pattern that Arcee noticed.

He had a good sense of right and wrong. A strong moral compass, not unlike Optimus’, but handled it far worse than their righteous leader. No, Hot Rod didn’t think about what was right and wrong. He just knew what was right and wrong in his optics.

And that could be dangerous. For himself and the team.

“It was just this once!” blurted the Autobot warrior. “Optimus Prime, sir, I swear on my spark. I won’t go near a fleshie again!” 

The term caused Optimus’ faceplate to pinch, uncomfortable calling the humans that. But he did not comment on his own discomfort. “It is not me who you need convince, Hot Rod,” he assured coolly. “But should you continue to demonstrate reckless behavior as you did today, and disregard the wellbeing of the humans, I will be forced to ensure a due punishment. Are we understood?”

Hot Rod practically wilted beneath Optimus’ gaze. “...Yes, sir,” he murmured. 

Optimus nodded, and walked their way. As he strided their way, Arcee nodded to him, and their leader returned the gesture silently. After he’d gone, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee approached the warrior.

“He gave you The Talk, huh?” inquired Cliffjumper with a smirk.

Hot Rod raised his head, faceplate pinched with confusion. “The what?”

“The “respect the humans” speech,” said her partner wryly. “He gave it to me when I got distracted on patrol one time and almost hit the bumper of this little old human lady in a Beetle since she was going so below the speed limit.” 

Hot Rod sank with visible relief that he wasn’t the only one to get that speech. “Really?”

Bumblebee patted his shoulder assuredly. :: It takes time to get used to it! Earth is really amazing, and the humans are nice, but Optimus is right to order we act with caution around them. They are letting us take refuge here- even if most of them don’t know it. ::

“Yeah,” Hot Rod groaned, rubbing the back of his helm, “I guess… Ugh! It’s just so weird driving around organic things.” 

Cliffjumper grinned. “They grow on you,” he said simply.

Hot Rod rolled his optics. “Yeah, right. Maybe for you guys,” he began to walk away with a loud sigh. “Let’s just hope I never see that human coming my way again. I don’t want my metals getting smudged.”

Arcee watched him go wryly, hearing Cliffjumper and Bumblebee come up beside her. She crossed her arms over her chassis. “Alright, who’s gonna be the one to break it to Xenophobic over there when Agent Fowler comes in screaming and shouting to the hill tops?” 

“I say we let the guy surprise the kid,” said Cliff mischievously. “I wanna see the look on his face when he does.”

Bumblebee beeped in agreement.

*   *   *   *   *

The days following your near death experience felt… shifted. You didn’t know how. It was like a sixth sense, like you’d suddenly gained your own Spidey Sense after touching a Lambo for the first time. Because you couldn’t shake the undeniable feeling that something changed. Or that something was about to change in your life. Something big? Something small? You didn’t know. But something was going to change. 

You spent your days focusing on the bakery, as was your main purpose in moving to Jasper, Nevada. You filled your days with baking to stock up the freezers with baked goods. You made batch after batch of muffins, cookie sleeves, tarts and pies and more. You were thankful your boss had sent such an abundance of starting ingredients, because you went through them like an all-consuming black hole. 

You spent your lunch at K.O. Burger, scrolling through your laptop as you awaited your order. The advertisement and hiring posters were all thoroughly checked over and approved by you and your boss before being printed in the town’s public library. You just had to pin them all up, or hand them out whenever you could. 

“Here’s your Number 5,” someone said as they sat your tray beside your laptop. You look up, eyes flashing in recognition towards your waiter. You smiled. 

“Thanks, Jack!” You grin, shutting your laptop and tucking it away in your bag. You slid your tray further along your table in front of you before looking up at the teenage boy again. “I didn’t know you worked Sundays.”

Jack smiled, shrugging off-handedly. “Doing some light overtime. I’m saving up for a new bike,” he explained. 

You rip the paper covering from your straw and stab it into your pop. “What, you mean you aren’t satisfied with your current striking model?” You ask sarcastically. 

Jack grinned, sheepish. You were well aware of how much he brought up getting his own motorcycle one day to June, who in return brought it up constantly to you in order to complain or state her worries over Jack riding a motorcycle. The accidents some riders got into on them were severe. You couldn’t blame her.

“Jack! We need you back at the drive-thru!” Yasmin, a cashier, called from behind the register. 

Jack startled softly, and looked over his shoulder. “Coming!” He called back. He looked back at you and winced apologetically. “Sorry. Talk later?”

“Sure. See you around,” you nodded. Jack smiled and waved goodbye. You watch him slip back around the counter and focus on your meal, your stomach rumbling its demands that you feed it soon. 

Later on, after you’d sufficed to put up a few posters in the town’s City Hall and library to start getting the word around, you walk home with music in your ears, your phone tucked away in your back pocket. By now you were sure there were going to be no thieves hanging around Jasper that would steal from you, for they’d probably be identified immediately and shamed by the entire town’s population. You still locked your door whenever you left. That was a notion your body had ingrained in it that you doubt would ever go away. You had been beyond startled when June said she seldom locked her door when leaving, and even left the garage open often. The nurse was amused by your surprise, and explained that her ex-husband was from the city, too, and hadn’t understood not needing to lock your door. Which made sense. In most places, you were getting robbed if you didn't lock your door.

Jasper wasn’t most places, you quickly learned. 

As you turned off the main street, a trio of cars rolled past you. All three were identical, with dark purple paints and sleek, sharp metal edges. They were…well, disconcerting could be one word to describe them. Creepy, unsettling, and evil-looking could be more. Like they were being driven by the bad guys in a spy or superhero movie or something. 

You watched them drive by with a curious glance, but the tinted windows made it impossible to see who was driving inside of them.

Just like that Lamborghini. 

They disappeared when they turned the corner of the block. You frowned, thoughtful. What would cars like that be doing that had them in Jasper? First the Lambo, then this? 

The cars that frequented the town were strange. And you didn’t know why you seemed to be the only one to really see them as the peculiar occurrence they were.

*   *   *   *   *

You’d quickly learn that there was a reason those strange cars were hanging around town. Why you were almost hit by a Lamborghini with a striking flame decal, why you couldn’t see the drivers of some of the cars, why Orion had acted so strange.

You’d quickly find it all out. 

Find out about their millennia-long war, and the grave threat that was posed to your planet. 

You’d realize it all soon. 

*   *   *   *   *

Your only applicant was a girl. A fellow newcomer, much like yourself, who had only been in Jasper a month before you’d moved in.

Miko Nakadai. 

“I don’t want this job,” she said outright to you during her interview. She crossed her arms over her chest, defiant and opposing, and stared at you. “My host parents want me to work. They think it’ll be worth my time. They just don’t want me home as much,” she huffed.

You stared at her, her blank resume in your hand. She hadn’t put any effort at all into it, but she was your only applicant. And you needed the hands. 

“...How much do you like breaking things?” You ask blatantly. You had bags of peanuts you needed crushed daily, and beating dough into submission for the dog treats you needed to get to work on but held off because god you hated beating dough into submission, and oh-so much more things that required acts of aggression you just never had the heart for. You could get angry, it wasn’t like you were incapable of it, but it just made you exhausted. And you had far more tasks to do than be angry and beat things up.

Miko’s eyes light up, then, and a spark is lit. It festers and burns with wicked eagerness. She leaned forwards in her seat, grinning. “Go on,” she says. 

You get your first paid employee.

Miko’s as destructive as you’d gained from her interview. You set her upon all the more physical labours of running a bakery while you kept her far away from the walk-in stove and focused on decorating cookies, taking inventory and slowly watching the stock rise with items. 

With Miko around, working four hours every day, the bakery began to feel a bit more like a bakery. A working establishment. You weren’t alone to run it anymore. As you both worked, Miko played heavy rock music overhead, and you watched her rock out as she had the time of her life smashing away at the ingredients that needed to be crushed with a quaint smile on your lips. 

She was a sweet girl- sure, with some concerning destructive capabilities, but sweet nonetheless. And it always helped to have one more friendly face that was happy to see you.

*   *   *   *   *

The bakery opened three weeks after you first moved to Jasper, Nevada. With Miko in the back, thoroughly trained and trusted not to break the kitchen, you man the cash register as the eager denizens of Jasper, Nevada flood your small bakery and get a taste of your baked goods. Jack brings his boss and crew from K.O. Burger. You get a reluctant approval from the fast food manager, who welcomes you to Jasper’s food business.

You set out tables and chairs, and the place quickly becomes the fourth biggest social spot in Jasper.

Life is good. 

The strange cars leave the front of your mind, for a time.

Your first event is two towns over. It’s a stand at a market for a week, so you’d temporarily shut down the bakery and paid Miko for the week off (your young employee cheered at the cash and gave you a squeezing hug goodbye) as you rented a van, stocked up on all the baked goods you’d need to sample out for the week, and drove out of Jasper for the first time since arriving there a month prior.

As you drive, you see, distantly, three identical cars spread out along the two-lane road, tailing a familiar red luxury car with a flame decal. The four strangest cars in Jasper. Heading your way. As they approach steadily, your anxiety slowly swells when you realize they aren’t getting out of your way. The Lambo blitzed by you, and you swerved slightly, before gazing ahead at the dark purple cars that continued storming your way. You pressed down on your horn in a frantic, last minute warning, before turning off the road and braking hard. 

Your van squealed to a stop, and you caught a stuttered breath. What the fuck was with these cars and not respecting the rules of the road!? 

You turn your upper body to look at the boxes of goods you’d packed delicately with Miko, and breathe a sigh of relief when none of them had flipped over. 

“Thank god…” you sighed.

Your eyes drift out the back window, where, on the highway behind you now, the purple cars slowed to a stop, before they started again and did a steady turn towards…you. 

“Oh shit-” 

You prayed these guys weren’t government agents or something and were about to arrest you. You didn’t need that for the bakery right now. The identical vehicles stop on the edge of the road, practically glaring at your van, and you-

You watch, horrified, as they shift. Metal lifts and lowers and turns and flips over and spreads apart and ohmygod there were now three identical metal giants stomping towards you.

“Oh my god!” You whip back around in your seat, tugging frantically at your seatbelt whilst your fingers fumbled at your side to try and find the unbuckle button. “Come on, come on!” 

 Loud, thundering footsteps grow closer and closer, and right as you press the button with a relieved breath, they stop. And so do you. 

You hear nothing but the distant rumble of the rented van’s engine and your panicked, stuttered breathing.

This can’t be happening. 

That is your only thought in the silence before two large hands break through the driver and passenger windows, and fingers bigger than your entire forearm grip the roof of your car. You scream, high and fearful, as you cover your face from broken glass. Tearing metal sounds all around you, and suddenly, you feel heat and sunlight on your head and arms. 

You lower your arms, looking up with wide, owlish eyes as three faceless robots stare down at you. One tilts their head. You gaze up at them with a strangled gasp. They’re standing in a triangle at the back and sides of your van. You're trapped. Unless you wanted to leap through the windshield and get glass all stuck in your skull. And you didn’t. You didn’t want that at all.

The one that tore off your roof, you suspected, began to reach one large metal hand down towards you. You covered your face and screamed again, with a fleetingly hopeless prayer that someone was out in the middle of nowhere to stop them from killing you. 

“Hey! Decepticreeps!” A voice, loud and fiery, shouted.

The three monsters stop, and straighten up to look behind them. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut. Because this was it. This was the end. You were done for. Dead. Dead and gone. The bakery would shut down. You’d be on the front page news of Jasper. Or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe nobody would even realize you’re dead until-

Metal clashed with metal, and all of a sudden, a shadow passed by overhead. 

You look up just as one of the gigantic robotic monsters is flying over your car, and crashes down in a heap of metal ahead. You flinched, staring at it confusingly, before the two at the sides of your van had run behind you towards something. The source of that voice. 

You twisted yourself in your seat, peering to get a good look at whatever the hell was happening.

“Oh my god,” you muttered shakingly in awe and choking fear at the sight before you.

Another robot, this one with bright red metals and a flame decal on its chest, grabbed one of the purple robots and threw it into its identical teammate. They both went crashing down. The red one glared at them, before it was hit in the shoulder by a light. And whatever the light was, it made the red robot wince and draw back, gazing at something behind you.

You twisted back around. The third purple robot had gotten up and recovered. It shot something out of its hand. Bullets? Light bullets?

What in the fucking Star Wars!?

Whatever red light-bullets it shot was returned in blue by the red robot, who charged at it in quick, thundering strides. It stepped over the entirety of your small van in one step, and threw itself into the purple bot by the waist, tackling it to the ground. You watched the red one struggle for a moment, before it shot the purple bot in the head. Its metal limbs went still. 

The red robot got up with an exhausted sigh. Two separate engines roared behind you. You turned around, and watched as the two robots that had fallen into an unconscious heap transformed back into cars and gunned it, disappearing even as the red robot shot after them.

“Cowards,” you heard the red robot scoff when the two purple vehicles drove far out of firing range.

You turned back around in your seat. Wide, unblinking eyes stared up at the red robot, which glared at where the two purple cars drove away, before its bright blue eyes flickered down to you, raised again, then did a double take, as if it had forgotten you were there.

For a long minute, you two stare at one another, equally horrified at the sight of the other. 

Finally, the red robot sighed. 

“I’m so fragged.” It — he — groaned, dragging a large metal hand down his face.

Chapter Text

Hot Rod drove into the silo, spark pulsing anxiously in his chassis. Ratchet was at the monitors, furiously typing away as he cursed out the humans’ primitive technology. Bumblebee was just walking into the hanger with Optimus Prime, most likely about to head out to scout for a potential energon mine, and lit up upon sight of him. 

:: Hot Rod! :: beeped his friend.

Hot Rod transformed, adamantly refusing to look at anyone as he tried to slip past them to his quarters and hide away for a long time. “Hey, Bee. Sir, Prime, sir. Uh. Good to see you. Looking spiffy as always. Very Prime-like. I’ll just be-” And he’d almost made it when Arcee, Bulkhead and Cliffjumper blocked his way, walking into the hanger.

Bulkhead grinned at him. “Hey, rookie! You okay? You’re lookin’ a little blue there,” he joked. But the observation seemed accurate, because Arcee narrowed her optics at Hot Rod’s face suspiciously. 

“Uh, nope! No, uh,” Hot Rod chuckled nervously while his optics flitted around the room, “I’m all good! Totally. Just a bit sweaty from the drive, y’know? Getting used to the temperatures and all, still… You know how it is!”

“Sure, bud,” Cliff’s expression flicked with confusion. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“Never better!” Hot Rod exclaimed a bit more forcibly than he meant to. He squeezed past Cliffjumper and Bulkhead, patting the former’s shoulder. “Just tired. Tired and sweaty! Think I’ll cool off in my room and-”

“Hold.”

He froze, faceplate scrunching with dismay as Arcee called for him. He slowly turned back to the blue femme, who squinted up at him. “Something happened,” she stated aloud.

Her words caught the attention of Team Prime, who turned away from their tasks or conversations to look at him.

Hot Rod wilted on the inside.

He was so fragged…

“I don’t- I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered. Hot Rod cleared his intake. “...uh, sir. Ma’am. Sir ma’am.”

Arcee placed her servos on her hips. “Hot Rod…” she growled. 

Hot Rod adamantly looked away from her too-intense stare. 

The others walked up to them, and Prime looked curiously at Hot Rod. “Hot Rod, is there something you wish to confess?” He asked.

Hot Rod winced regretfully. No way could he lie to a Prime… “It- Primus,” he sank visibly with a sigh. The warrior hung his head. “...Something may have happened on patrol,” he admitted timidly. 

Prime straightened up in attention, all business and concern. “What happened?” 

“Just some patrolling Con’s, nothing big!” He assured the team, waving his servos. “They were chasing me down, but this engine isn’t just a pretty thing to look at,” he knocked proudly on his chassis. 

“Oh, Primus,” Arcee rolled her optics with a scoffing mutter.

“My horsepower’s no joke! I was outrunning them just fine, but then…” he trailed off. Should he tell them this part..? They wouldn’t exactly be…ecstatic. 

“Hot Rod,” Ratchet growled with slowly narrowing, threatening optics, “if you do not get to the point soon…”

“Fine, fine!” groaned Hot Rod. He threw up his servos, before dropping them with a clang against his metals. “They got distracted and went after a, uh…a human.” Team Prime startled in shock, and Hot Rod winced again. “I didn’t let them kill them! I handled one of ‘em, but the other two got away. Just, the human, they, uh……..maaaayyy have seen it all?”

“FOR PRIMUS’ SAKE!!!” Ratchet exploded, startling the team. He whipped around to face Optimus, who looked down at the medic in return. “I knew he would mess something up from the beginning! The moment you told me he almost ran over a human, I knew he was a security risk! Now look at where we are! We’ve been discovered!!!” 

“Calm down, old friend,” urged Optimus Prime gently. Ratchet continued to fume as the Prime turned his gaze seriously to Hot Rod. “Hot Rod, what did you do with the human afterwards?” 

“Uh…” Was this a trick question? “I just kinda- sent them on their way? Their roof was torn off, but the car wasn’t exactly broken. They just drove off…”

He trailed off at the team’s aghast, dumbfounded looks. Hot Rod looked between them. “...What?”

“Let me hit him,” growled Arcee. Cliffjumper grabbed her small shoulders, reeling her in gently.

“Easy, girl.” 

Optimus vented a heavy sigh, shuttering his optics as he thought deeply. Bumblebee stepped up to Hot Rod and whacked his chassis harshly, swearing and cursing him out in a vehement sequence of whistles and chirrups. Hot Rod winced. “What!?”

“What do you not understand about the term “robots in disguise”?” Ratchet said pointedly to him. “The humans don’t know we are here for a reason! But not only did you allow a civilian to discover us, you just- just sent them on their way?! Humans are known for spreading tales about events like this!” hissed the medic. “Do you have no idea what you’ve done!?”

Hot Rod cleared his intake. “...Maybe they won’t?” He tried hopefully. At Ratchet’s fuming look, he winced back. “Listen! Listen! Who’s gonna believe them? I mean- they have no proof! Sure, their car roof got torn off, but nobody’s gonna link that to “giant alien robots”! They’ll be called crazy or something. We’ll be fine!” He assured them with a breezy wave of the servo. 

“Newbie,” Bulkhead rumbled with a shaking helm, “don’t get too optimistic. Fowler’s gonna blow a gasket when he finds out.”

Hot Rod recalled the human agent. Some sort of liaison of the human government that let them take refuge here on Earth. He was unpleasant enough on a regular basis, so the thought of him being, by the human terms, pissed, made Hot Rod wince. “Uhhh…I’m sorry?”

“Well, you better be!” scoffed Ratchet as he threw up his servos and walked back towards his screens. “It’s aaallll lightening up now that you’re sorry!”

Optimus Prime sighed, and the remaining bots looked up at him, Hot Rod more anxiously than the others. “We…shall work with this. I will contact Agent Fowler and explain the situation to him. He shall track down the human so we can explain our situation to them. I fear, now that the Decepticons have associated them with us,” his expression grew grave, “that the human’s life will be at stake.”

Hot Rod flinched, sinking visibly. He hung his helm, intake pursed. “...I’m so sorry, Prime,” he murmured. “I really am. I- I didn’t mean to mess up like this.”

“It will be alright, Hot Rod,” assured Prime. Hot Rod looked up at the red and blue bot, who nodded reassuringly. “You are not accountable for the actions of the Decepticons. It was them who put the human’s life at stake. Had you not been there, an innocent life would have been lost.”

Hot Rod frowned. He had seen the human swerve off-road whilst honking at the Vehicons, but continued on driving, because what was one human to make him stop and turn around and risk his tailpipe? He figured the Vehicons wouldn’t shoot at them, anyways. But he’d been wrong. When he’d looked out his side view mirrors and saw them transform and surround the van, Hot Rod debated on continuing to make a break for it. Better than to let them discover the base, right?

But when he heard the human scream, he couldn’t…he just couldn’t be the reason more lives were lost. Hot Rod had done the sharpest one-eighty of his life and sped back around for the ‘Cons. He wouldn’t let them kill an innocent.

He saved them, but he couldn’t shake it. That intense thought for a brief moment to leave the human to die. It wasn’t like he cared much for the local population. They were small and fragile, and one had gotten him in trouble, but…at the end of the day, they were all innocent. And he’d- he’d almost been selfish enough to let one die for him. Because of him.

Hot Rod sank underneath Optimus’ gaze, and his optics flickered to the floor. He nodded weakly. “...Sure, Prime.”

Optimus Prime lingered, before he turned and left. Bulkhead, Arcee and Cliffjumper followed him. Hot Rod looked up as Bee came up to his side, and patted his shoulder this time instead of hitting him. Hot Rod stared wryly at him. “What, not mad at me anymore?” He asked.

:: Oh, I’m still mad. :: His friend beeped cheerfully as he turned Hot Rod around and began to pull him down the hall towards their quarters. :: But Optimus is right. It was an accident, and you can’t be at fault for the ‘Cons and who they decide to target. ::

“I just…” Hot Rod sighed, “...Bee, I almost left that human to die. And I’m- I’m ashamed of it…” he admitted. If there was anyone who’d understand him, it’d be Bumblebee.

The scout whirred in understanding. :: You’ve had a rough time adjusting, Hot Rod. I know you don’t see the humans as anything worth protecting yet, but you still saved one today. You went back and you stopped the ‘Cons! That was mature of you! ::

“I’m always mature,” grumbled Hot Rod pettily.

Bumblebee fixed him with a look, optics displaying his dry expression. :: …Uh-huh. ::

“Don’t “uh-huh” me!” Hot Rod pushed his side against Bee’s in retaliation. The scout chirped, pushing back. Hot Rod reluctantly felt himself smile. “Thanks, Bee.”

Bumblebee patted his shoulder twice definitively. :: No problem, buddy. ::

They turned down the hall towards their recharge rooms, and as Hot Rod neared his, he relaxed under Bumblebee’s touch. It would all be fine. The human was probably going to sign one of those NDAs Fowler’s people did and live on with their life.

Hot Rod wouldn’t have to see them again.

*   *   *   *   *

You barely slept all week.

Whatever had happened on your drive to the event, it left you somewhat disassociated and- dare you say displaced from the reality around you?

Because- robots.

Just. Robots.

Robots that turned into cars.

The entire week had you on edge, but you didn’t let it bleed into your work as you handed out sweets at the market with a beaming smile as if you hadn’t almost died getting there and were only saved by a massive robot that also almost killed you a few weeks prior.

Your stay in the neighboring town was filled with paranoia. Every car driving past you you side-eyed hard, and you stayed as far away from parking lots as you could. You felt crazy, but- but you couldn’t fucking help it! 

You’d never look at cars the same way ever again.

Once the market event was wrapped up, and you’d only a few muffins left over to snack on on the way back to Jasper, you drove back glancing at all your mirrors whenever a car temporarily tailed you, before you relaxed when they’d evidently turned away. Because of course not every car was secretly a twenty foot fucking robot looking to squish you like an ant underneath their giant metal boot. But you can’t exactly help but be paranoid after your second close encounter with the Grim Reaper because of transforming cars within the month. 

Of course the first time you leave your country this happens. 

God you missed Canada.

“What.” Was all Mr. Garcia, the rent-a-car shop owner whom you’d rented the van from, had to say when he set eyes on the roofless van. “...Just- what.”

You refrain as hard as you can from digging your fingers into your eyes with how much you're digging your palms into them already, pressing until you see stars to try and distract from the pounding headache tickling the edges of your temples. “...I’ll pay for the repairs,” was all you could say in response. 

“...Sure.” Mr. Garcia murmured while his eyes remained glued to the top of the van, probably trying to deduct how the fuck that happened.  

You wished you could tell him without setting yourself up for a trip to the nearest psych ward.

You walk the rest of the way back to your house. The farthest anyone has to walk in Jasper is forty minutes to get from the farthest edge of town to the other, and you’re already passing the familiar convenience store marking the seven-minute stamp from your house. The van repairs would limit your budget for three-ish months, but you could make do without extra groceries. If it got bad, you felt you could rely on June and her unyielding good heart to send you over a bit of leftovers from whatever dinners she cooked up for her and Jack.

As you turn the familiar corner onto your street, you freeze, gazing ahead of you. Horror slammed into your gut, dropping your stomach down the goddamn Grand Canyon.

That fucking Lamborghini.

It was there. Parked smack dab in front of your house. The thing from your nightmares, awake and asleep. When it sees you, it flashes its headlights in greeting, acknowledgement, or just a basic demand to get the fuck over here.  

As your mouth emits a high-pitched noise of terror, you slowly turn right on your heel and begin just- walking away.

Because there was no way in hell you were walking right into Christine.

The car honks after you, short and impatient, but the sound only speeds up your walk. You hear the crunch of gravel, and look over your shoulder and ohgoditwasfollowingyou-

You were literally being chased by a car. A car without a driver. A car you now knew could turn into a twenty-foot robot.

The Lambo slowly began to speed up, and so did you. You head for the main street, because no way would it risk revealing itself to an entire small town. Unless it didn’t care about collateral damage. Oh god were you dooming the people of Jasper by leading a death car smack dab into the heart of their town??? 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- is all you could chant in your mind as you fall into a light jog, then a full out run as the Lamborghini still rolls after you. And you know it can catch up in less than five seconds because it was a fucking Lamborghini Aventador so it was OBVIOUSLY making a game of this!! 

You catch it at a red light, sprinting across the intersection as one of the only few traffic lights in Jasper flashes its red stop light, and the Lambo is forced to brake behind the line if it didn’t want a car chase. And judging by the way it wasn’t transforming into the twenty foot monster robot you knew it could turn into, it was only after you.

And that was both a relief and a crushing, dreadful realization because it was only after you.

You leap into an alley between two two-story buildings, and catch your breath as you lean against a dumpster. You kept your eyes on the road, waiting for the Lambo to drive by and ensure you were safe to book it back to your house and call 911 or the FBI or whatever government could stop this thing from possibly cleaning up any loose ends, since it probably didn’t want to risk its existence being a national announcement. Not like you’d snitch anyways, even if you wanted to. 

1) You just weren’t a snitch. Okay? You were loyal to the bitter end. And 2) No sane news outlet would even believe you. You’d be locked up in a mental hospital before it got the chance to squish you beneath its massive metal foot. 

Just as you’d begun steadying your breath, shoulders slowly loosening up and relaxing since you hadn’t seen the Lamborghini rolling by in a good minute, you assumed yourself free.

“Hey.”

The scream you scrumpt could be in the horror movie Hall of Fame. You whipped around, and faced the very cursed Lamborghini you’d been running from, parked right there in the alley with you. 

You stumble back, still screaming a horror movie scream, and ready to book it back to your house now that it was no longer blocking your path there. The Lamborghini rocked a foot forwards on its wheels. 

“WAITWAITWAIT!!! STOP SCREAMING, STOP SCREAMING!” It — he — yelped frantically at you. “I’M NOT GONNA KILL YOU!!!” 

You continue to stumble backwards, the car slowly rolling with you to keep up with you. If you could just book it- “YOU GUYS DON’T HAVE THE BEST TRACK RECORD!” You screamed back. 

“HEY! I killed the bots trying to kill you!!! That’s gotta say something!” He said indignantly. “Just- hey what are you- DON’T RUN!!! ” 

You froze like a deer in headlights, having whipped around to sprint out of the alley when he’d shouted for you to freeze. You turned back around, face pale and drawn. Slowly, shakingly, you swallow down your next horrified scream. The next time you spoke, your voice took a total one-eighty and went into a brittle whisper. “...Please tell me I’m not about to get abducted by a possessed robot car.”

“Wh-” the Lambo reared back on its wheels in confusion, “-possessed? NO! I’m not possessed! I’m 100% me!” 

“Who the fuck even are you!?” Your whisper became a touch more loud and frantic as you stressed heavily. What the hell was even going on?

“SHH!! SHHHH!!!” The car hushed you at your upped volume, jolting a bit forwards. You jolt backwards in return. It stills. “Don’t scream. Please. I don’t wanna get in trouble for attracting human attention again. Look- name’s Hot Rod, okay? And I’m not gonna hurt you! I saved you the other day, in case you forgot.”

You frowned at “Hot Rod” (and really, what kind of name even was that??). “Yeah, after three more of you tried to kill me!” You pressed on that fact. Because it was a pretty big one to you.

“Those purple bots weren’t with me!” Hot Rod assured you indignantly. “I’m an Autobot. See the insignia?” He rolled an inch forwards, and for some reason that caused the sunlight of this clear blue day to glint off the emblem on its hood that you hadn’t really noticed before, because you’d been too busy focusing on the giant robot chasing you down/having a Star-Wars-meets-Pacific-Rim battle over your van. It was square-like, with lines breaking apart numerous shapes to form something of a face. The red logo gleamed at you, catching your eye. 

You stared suspiciously at it, prepared for it to jump out and bite you or something. “...Why are you telling me this?” You demanded with a wavering voice. “Are you gonna tell me to keep my trap shut because nobody’s supposed to know about you?”

“Well-” Hot Rod stammered, “-that’s usually how it’s supposed to go, right? I haven’t digested much human media, but- well…I’m here to pick you up.” As if on cue, the passenger side door opened, inviting you into the death trap of a car. “The boss wanted to talk with you and…well, since I’m your first and only somewhat friendly interaction with us, I was sent to get you. Believe me, though, I really didn’t want to.”

Oh, yeah, that was supposed to convince you to hop on into a death machine. “Wait a minute- there are more of you!?” You stressed, resisting the urge to pull out your hair from the roots. Because of course there were more monster robots on Earth that had titan-like battles outside of Jasper, Nevada. What the fuck was your life even??

“Duh!” scoffed Hot Rod. “You think I’d be on this rock alone? No offense,” he said the last part off-handedly.

You glared at the front fender of the Lambo. “I wish I could say “none taken”,” you grit out.

Hot Rod sighed, loud and whiny. “Look- please? If I don’t come back with you, I’ll be in deep scrap. And if it isn’t me then it’ll be the big boss, or worst of all, Fowler ”

“Fowler?” You repeated with furrowed brows. That sounded like a human name.

“Yeah. Our government liaison. Mean old human, that guy. Always yelling. Grinds on the audials, if ya know what I mean.”

You fell silent, your mind doing mental gymnastics. Your government was keeping these guys’ existence under lock and key?? Well, you shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t even your government. Not at heart, at least. It was the American government. Still a government. And while they weren’t the most…trustworthy, you doubt they’d allow monster robots to walk — or drive — freely on their soil without being sure they weren’t a national and global threat.

After a minute, you looked back up at the Lambo. “Is this Fowler with your boss?” You asked. 

“Yeah, they usually handle these types of situations together. Well- not these exact types of situations. You’re our first, that I know of. Y’know, a human civilian to discover us.”

“And whose fault is that?” You narrowed your eyes accusingly. 

The Lambo rolled an inch forwards. You flinched, but didn’t take a step back for distance. If he noticed, Hot Rod didn’t let it show. Not that he could, as a car. “Hey, it was the Cons that went to get ya! Just-” he sighed, “-please get in? If we don’t get back soon Ratch’ll weld my intake to my aft and I don’t want that.”

Your head swam with all the foreign words he was casually spitting in your direction. Autobots? Cons? Intake? Aft?? What the fuck???  

You frowned suspiciously at the Lambo. “...If you kill me, I swear to god-” 

“What, and get your bodily fluids all over my sweet interior? No thanks,” scoffed Hot Rod with an eager undertone at your easing acceptance. He waved his passenger door at you. “So?”

You stared at the Lambo for a time, debating, genuinely debating it. These guys were allowed here by the American government, so it checked out a little bit of trust in you, and made you ponder a bit more about their intentions. Obviously, if they were working with the government instead of against it, that was good…not good enough to ease your worries about being locked up or killed, but- well, it did something.

“...You promise you won’t kill me?” 

“Cross my spark, fleshie!” chirped Hot Rod

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, that migraine that had been annoying you fluctuating rapidly from the ups and downs of this entire completely shot-out-of-shit interaction you were having with a talking car. But then again- this talking car hadn’t done more than chase you down and almost run you over…and you admit- he did save you against those other three (now two) robots looking to snatch you from your rented van and probably squeeze the life out of you with their bare hands.

Maybe… 

God, you were about to make the most important decision of your life, and for some reason, it wasn’t as hard as you’d make it out to be. 

“Fine,” you sighed and dropped your hand. “I’ll go with.”

“Yes!! ” Hot Rod rolled forwards triumphantly, and you stepped aside. He aligned his passenger side door with you, and you stared at the hot rod red leather seat. With a defeated, hopeless sigh, you slipped into the cabin. The door shuts for you. 

Hot Rod rolled out of the alley and into traffic, taking the quickest way out of town to begin smoothly riding down a two-lane highway into the sizzling desert area surrounding Jasper in under five minutes. You kept your knees glued together and your hands clasped so tight on your lap they began to sweat. But it was a small, miniscule discomfort compared to what you felt as a whole. Your eyes constantly flicked around the sleek cabin in paranoia, searching for something. 

“...So,” you began awkwardly, “you’re a talking car.”

Hot Rod let out a noise that sounded something like a snort, and the horn on his steering wheel lit up a vibrant red when he did. It caught your eye, so you stuck them there. “I’m not just a talking car. I’m an alien! Thought you’d gather that by now,” he said.

“An alien.” You said blankly. A talking car was somewhat easier to believe than that, for some reason. 

“Yeah. Came from space and everything. In a spaceship, of course,” Hot Rod went on. 

“Of course.”

“Yeah…it blew up. Crazy epic battle, of course- but sucked. I was on that ship for a-while, ” sighed Hot Rod. “Probably longer than you’ve been alive. How old are you again? Never got it.” He asked casually.

You stared dubiously at the steering wheel. “Twenty-three??” You squeaked. 

“Oh. Yeah. Definitely longer than you’ve been alive,” Hot Rod snorted. “God, probably longer than your human progenitors have been alive- what with all your short life spans.”

“Human whu-hah??” 

Hot Rod turned left onto another deserted road. He was quiet for a minute before speaking up again. “Your grandparents.” He remedied, and you quickly surmised he had been looking up the term. 

You let out a slightly strained but thoughtful noise, registering briefly that this alien robot you sat in — had SCREAMED at — was probably older than your entire family line. Maybe even older than the entirety of humanity, but that seemed a stretch……right?

“Y’know, you’re taking this a lot better now,” Hot Rod noted. “You’re not screaming your tiny little head off at me anymore.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut to try and mitigate that migraine that kept coming back. “Believe me, I am dissociating so hard from this right now. I’ll probably come back into awareness in thirty minutes and start screaming and flipping out again,” you informed him as a little forewarning. You couldn’t exactly predict what would happen thirty minutes from now because you could never predict this entire situation as a whole to begin with. You were still reeling from your almost-death occurrence that the very car you sat in had been associated with twice now.

Hot Rod let out a thoughtful noise. “Good to know. We’re coming up to the base now. Just a little warning, though; it’s always a bit disconcerting the first time you enter through the front door,” he informed you. 

You frowned at his notice, and looked straight ahead. You couldn’t see any base. You were in the middle of nowhere! A solid half hour out of Jasper already. All there was around you was desert and rocks- like the giant mesa smack dab ahead of you that Hot Rod was speeding up towards.

……..wait a minute-

“OHMYGOD I KNEW YOU WERE GONNA KILL ME-!!!” You screeched whilst reaching for the door to manually open it and throw yourself out. But just as your fingers were inches from the handle, the lock clicked and you made the terrifying realization he’d fucking trapped you.

“I’m not going to kill you!!” Hot Rod stressed with exasperation in his disembodied voice. “Just- watch!” You’re forced to look ahead because there isn’t much you can do now, trapped inside Hot Rod’s cabin. The solid rock wall of the mesa grew closer, and just as his tires jumped off the road…

Your mouth fell open as the wall split away into a metal passage that curved into what you now realized was an empty mesa. 

A secret fucking base.

You couldn’t believe it.

Hot Rod curved smoothly, and what was once a large metal corridor spread into a large room in the carved out mesa that had ceilings you couldn’t even see from within his cabin. You peered anxiously out of Hot Rod’s windows, and though the interior was something you should be amazing at, it would have to catch your interest later.

Because an abundance of large coloured shapes caught your eye, and you’d realized Hot Rod was right. He wasn’t alone. On the passenger side, you were privy to seeing the cinema-sized monitors an orange and white robot stood at, who slowly turned a disgusted side-eye to you when you caught his eye.

You hoped that negative reaction wouldn’t end up with you squished under his foot like the bug you felt you were right now. 

As Hot Rod rolled to a stop, your eyes drifted up to a raised platform with a dingy metal staircase that led up to it. Standing just beyond the railing was the only other human in the room; a dark-skinned man with an unbuttoned suit jacket, with his arms crossed over his chest as he pinned you with a suspicious, calculating look. 

The military man, your brain distantly registered. Fowler.

“Alright, fleshie, here’s your stop,” Hot Rod said amicably as he unlocked and opened up the passenger door. You step out, gazing around the silo in awe, your previous sense of dread a distant memory. 

You took slow, tilting and uneven steps towards the metal staircase up to Fowler. Behind you, Hot Rod made a noise- several noises in fact, all mechanical and alien-sounding, and when you turned around, gone was the sleek Lamborghini Aventador with a striking flame decal and custom spoiler, and there was the twenty-foot robot you remembered from that nightmare of a day last week. 

You stumbled back with a gasp, gazing up at the robot before you with enlarged eyes. Hot Rod looked down at you, electric blue eyes — the very same from that day — whirring, growing and shrinking before he saluted you loosely. “Human,” he bid you and turned to leave.

“Pause right there, you,” ordered a voice from behind you. You whipped around to face the white and orange robot who’d sent you the hard side-eye. It hadn’t even looked away from the monitors, but you knew it — he — was addressing Hot Rod, who froze and turned back to the other robot.

“Aw, c’mon, Ratch,” Hot Rod whined. “I brought ‘em here! My job’s done!” 

“Ratch” looked away from his screens long enough to send Hot Rod an ice-cold stare that had even you shivering from your place way down below. “Optimus wants you around for the discussions. You’re the human’s only friendly face, regrettably,” he added the last word in a grumble that he probably didn’t realize you could hear. After all, you doubted quiet was even a concept for these titans. At least, not around you.

“Actually, I think my only friendly face is that guy,” you pointed up to Fowler on the platform. The military agent startled and stared down at you like you were crazy, but still pretty understandable for that statement. Which you were.

Ratch didn’t bless you with an answer, and went back to his monitors without another word. Wow. Okay. Rude. You silently scoffed in his direction before continuing your way to the rickety metal staircase. As you marched your way up, Hot Rod crossed his arms over his chest, where the headlights of his car form were, and looked away with an unintelligible grumble. 

You stepped up to the platform, where Fowler greeted you with an even stare and an outstretched palm. “Special Agent William Fowler,” he greeted. You shook his hand and gave him your name in return, though you were sure he already knew it. The guy probably looked you up in some CIA database or some shit. “Government liaison to the Autobots. I’m here because you pose a significant security risk.”

You raised a singular, dry eyebrow at the man. “Oh, I’m the security risk?” You drawled. You cast a significant look across the room — mainly the two twenty-foot war machines casually standing around you. You looked back at Fowler. “No offense, sir…but I really think I’m the least threatening person here.”

Fowler sighed, and broke apart the handshake. “Look, kid. You don’t understand what you stumbled into here-”

“Let me guess; Star Wars fused with Pacific Rim? Are they in some sort of galactic war? And what? They’re taking refuge on this planet to fight back against the forces of robot evil?” You snort dryly.

Fowler stared at you.

Your face dropped.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I am afraid we are not,” spoke a deep, sonorous, suspiciously familiar voice.

You looked past Fowler, where a bot even taller than both Ratch and Hot Rod strided in. Your mouth dropped. It was- He was- There weren’t words. 

The robot before you looked like something out of an expensive CGI movie. From the gleaming red, blue and silver metals, from his broad shoulders and strong chest that slimmed into a sinfully thin waist, the robot before you was just- he was so terrifyingly beautiful. 

The robot stepped up to the platform that lifted you and Fowler a solid twenty-ish feet off the ground, and still he towered a whole ten feet more above you both. He gazed down at you with the same electric blue eyes Hot Rod had, though different. They had a familiar way of seeing through you that reminded you all too much of…

Your mouth dropped further open, recalling the blue and red big rig that had pulled up beside who you now knew to be Hot Rod the day he'd almost run you over. “Orion? ” 

Orion’s silver metal faceplate softened and warmed at the name. He smiled down at you. “While it is nice to see you once again, I am afraid I must clear up a slight misconception,” he said genially. “My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.”

Okay- wow. So the guy that helped you get up from the road after almost getting run over by his teammate wasn’t even human, but the robot leader of a galactic robot faction in their galactic robot war. You rubbed at your temples, trying to process it all. It wasn’t too hard…you were hearing what they were saying, but your little primitive human brain was having a little bit of a hard time computing it all.

“...Okay. I’m- I’m processing,” you stated aloud calmly. Fowler and Orio- Optimus stared patiently at you. Eventually, you levelled the massive metal god before you with an unsettled gaze. “You’re actually fighting in a galactic war?” 

Optimus nodded. “Of a sort. We hail from a planet many lightyears away from your own; Cybertron. Millions of years ago, we were a peaceful people, until the Decepticons rose under the banner of Megatron, a ruthless warrior, and we were plunged into war,” he explained grievously. 

“Decepticons, Autobots, what- I don’t- You guys are using so many terms I’m having a hard time keeping up with,” you stammered. “First off- what even is an Autobot?” 

“Us.” Optimus spread one arm out, gesturing to Hot Rod and Ratch, the latter of whom glanced at you with narrowed electric blue eyes. “Autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron. Autobots, for short,” he informed you lightly. You nodded along slowly. Okay…it was coming together a bit. You were still surprised you weren’t freaking out hard right now- maybe it’d catch up to you soon. “We seek a peaceful end to this millenia-long war. A way Autobots and Decepticons can once again live peacefully under one banner, united as one.”

“And I’m guessing- just a small theory- that it isn’t exactly working out,” you grimaced. “If you’re still fighting, that is.”

Optimus bowed his head, solemn. “I am afraid not. Megatron refuses to see peace as an option. Instead, he sees fit that the only way to end this war is for us to kneel before him,” he, too, grimaced as you had, “and that is not an end I can permit. For myself and my Autobots.” 

“Okay…and you’re hiding on Earth now? Why?”

“Because the war took a toll on our planet,” explained Optimus with a barely-there undertone of pure grief. “The constant fighting over energon, our very life fuel, eventually caused it to grow sparse. And eventually…stop flowing throughout our planet. We were forced to retreat to other energon-rich planets. Earth is one such planet.” 

Your nose scrunched with confusion. “How? I’ve never seen any rock called energon in a mineral book in high school or college.”

“Before the war began on Cybertron, certain bots saw fit to hide away stashes of their energon stores. Your planet has a variety of ancient, hidden deposits unknown to humankind,” Optimus informed you. “Even now, we continue to dig up more deposits as we continue to take refuge on this planet.”

You forced yourself to move up your hands so you could shove them into your back jeans pockets, trying to hide that constant tremble they’d had since you spotted Hot Rod parked outside of your house. You sighed. “Okay…and just how long exactly have you been on Earth?” You asked.

“A short time,” said Optimus. “It has been seven Earth years since our ship first landed.”

You nodded. “Right…and the American government- you guys signed off on this?” You looked at Fowler. “You willingly said “Let’s let giant alien robots live in our country” and left it at that?” You asked. 

Fowler frowned and tilted his head at you. “...Well- yeah. Why? What about it?” 

“Nothing,” you shrugged and looked away. “Just wouldn’t put it past you to probably find a way to dissect them or something.” 

“What- We would do no such thing!” Fowler squawked, enraged. You looked back at the military man to see him fuming at you.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve been a first-hand witness to their tech. It’s almost as advanced as what you’d see in Star Wars. I wouldn’t put it past them to have lightsabers, at this point!” You paused and turned slowly towards Optimus, looking up at him. “...Do you guys have lightsabers?”

Optimus was quiet for a moment, his gaze far off, and you registered it as the same response Hot Rod had when he was looking up the common term for a grandparent. He met your gaze again. “No.”

“Darn,” you scuffed your shoe against the floor and cast your gaze downwards. “Would’ve loved to see one…” 

“Look, kid,” Fowler grabbed your shoulder and forced you to look at him. He measured you with a grave look. “This isn’t a joke! These bots are a matter of national and global security. Nobody can know about them. You need to realize that.”

You scowled at the man, shoving his hand off of you. “Hey, I get that, okay? More than enough. I’ve already almost died twice, and both times have one very striking coincidental similarity,” you pointed accusingly at Hot Rod whilst glaring up at Fowler.

“Wh- hey!!” The robot squawked from the corner of your eye. 

“I’m reacting the best way I can right now. You’re lucky I’m not freaking out more, and frankly, I don’t even know how I’m not! I swear to god, sir, if you ask me to react any better after I was forced into discovering the biggest secret in the world other than whatever the fuck is inside of Area 51, I will do the opposite. I will react way worse! I’m coping. This is how I cope. Because I just discovered aliens existed. And transform into cars. Do you know how paranoid I’ve been the last week!?” You stressed. “WAY stressed!!! I can’t even look at cars the same because I think the Uber I call up now will suddenly transform into a twenty-foot robot and step on me!” 

“Please,” Optimus spoke up pleadingly. You cast your eyes back up to him. The red and blue robot raised a large metal hand in a placating gesture. “I offer you my sincerest apologies for the hardships you have endured at our own transgressions. It is not my wish for you to feel afraid,” he said with earnest.

You levelled him — barely, since he stood a solid ten feet above you even whilst you were elevated — with a blank, wry stare. “Optimus Prime, sir…no offense, but it’s- it’s a bit too late for that,” you said as gently as you could.

Optimus’ hand lowered, and he sunk down like a wilted flower, or a child after they’d been scolded. Your heart did a weird, pained twist, like it was scolding you for somehow scolding him, and you grimaced gently. “It’s not your fault. It’s just- how it is.”

“I understand,” he sighed. Optimus straightened again, his expression forming into a promising one. “I swear on my spark to ensure your safety and good health from here on out.”

“Prime,” Fowler held up a hand to stop him as he turned his eyes back to you, “that’s nice, but not needed. This is a human security matter. It’s time I take this into my hands. God only knows you bots have done enough,” he scoffed. 

Behind him, Optimus wilted again, frowning disappointedly. You frowned in offense, but before you could open your mouth, Fowler blocked your view of the bot and stared down at you. “An NDA will be sent to your house alongside a small contingent of special agents and a lawyer. They’ll be making sure you sign it,” he said formally, with a threatening undertone. “And you will be signing it.”

You frowned up at him. “And if those Decepticon guys happen to come after me again?” You challenged and crossed your arms over your chest. “Because I’m taking a gander that they don’t like having unfinished business.”

Fowler narrowed his eyes. “I’ll assign a temporary guard to keep watch over you. If nothing happens for a month, I’ll call him back in and you can call yourself forgotten by the Decepticons. And then you can return to running that little bakery you just opened up,” he said pointedly.

You grimaced. You knew Fowler would’ve known stuff about you, especially your occupation, but it had your stomach twisting with worry. What if he knew who you interacted with? June? Jack? Linny? Miko?? You wouldn’t put it past the American government to use your connections to their advantage if you didn’t do as you were told. 

But you were just a baker. You couldn’t exactly say “no” to the government of America. Not when they can probably kick you out of their borders since you don’t have your citizenship yet. Then Miranda’s investment in the American branch would go down the drain, and you’d probably be fired, your life ruined.

You grit your teeth together. “Fine,” you ground out. You turned and walked back to the stairway. “But if those evil robots find me again, I’ll sue!” You barked threateningly at the agent. You carefully walked back down the staircase that definitely needed supports, and walked out onto the main floor again. 

Hot Rod watched you walk, before he looked at Optimus. “Can I go now?” He asked eagerly. “Bee wanted to go on patrol with me.”

Optimus, whose eyes had followed you, flicked to Hot Rod thoughtfully. He shut his eyes and tilted his head downwards. “Actually, Hot Rod, I would feel better if you escorted them home,” he said politely. “Until Agent Fowler can send over his security team, the Decepticons may strike again.”

“AWW!!” came Hot Rod’s agonized whine.

“Prime, that is highly unlikely,” sighed Fowler. “The Cons have been quiet for four years now. The only other signs of activity from them since have been when your newbie’s spaceship crashed down, and the patrols around the area following it trying to sniff you out. They wouldn’t risk it over a non-essential civilian.”

With his back turned to you, you had no worry about Fowler seeing you flip him the hard bird.

“Even so, Agent Fowler,” Optimus turned to the human, “it would ease my conscience nonetheless to make sure they make it home alright.”

Fowler grumbled something under his breath and threw up his hands. It seemed like he was familiar with starting an argument with Optimus and often giving up on winning it. “Fine! Just keep it stealthy, though with Hot Shot over there and his paint job, I doubt my wish’ll come true,” he scoffed.

Hot Rod let out an offended noise. You watched him fold his arms across his chest. “Uh, it’s Hot Rod,” he snarked.

Fowler rolled his eyes simply and cast you one last look. He pointed sternly. “I mean it, kid. Keep your trap shut until the NDA is signed,” he growled.

“Whatever,” you snipped. Fowler shot you a narrowed side-eye as he turned and left. You scowled at his back until he walked into what appeared to be an elevator. Once the doors shut, Hot Rod let out an annoyed sigh.

“Hate that guy,” he grumbled.

“We actually agree for once,” you huffed. Hot Rod raised what looked like his eyebrows to you, mouth twitching into something of a smile before he schooled himself and cleared his throat a bit too loudly. You wordlessly watched him fold into himself, metal plates shifting around and parts dipping in until the Lamborghini started its engines and rolled towards you. Hot Rod opened his passenger side seat on the other side of him, flashing his headlights. 

“Alright. Get in, fleshie. Sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to my pal Bee!” 

You sighed and resigned yourself, walking around the front of the Lambo towards the door. Just as you were about to dip in, you looked over the roof of the luxury car at Optimus, who watched from his place beside the platform. At your gaze, he dipped his head an inch, silently waiting for whatever question you had coming. 

“If this war is really still going on…” you began, but paused with pursed lips. Optimus’ gaze never faltered, ever patient, and you sighed and went on, “...If it cost you your home world- what’s to say it won’t cost me mine?”

Optimus visibly faltered, then, as if he had never considered that possibility. His troubled gaze fell slightly towards the floor. You watched him for a minute, even as Hot Rod rocked impatiently on his wheels and Ratch slowly turned to stare aghast at you for your words. Then, the red and blue bot met your gaze again, steely and sincere with promise.

“Because I refuse to allow it,” Optimus Prime said.

You sighed- not out of disappointment. You weren’t looking for an answer you’d liked to hear. You just needed to hear something about it from the leader of the Autobots, the robot aliens trying to protect your planet. You needed to hear his thoughts, so you could judge on your own just how fucked your world was. 

“This war of yours has already lasted millions of years," you said, surprisingly calm and steady. You looked back up at Optimus. “...What’s to stop it from lasting for five million more? Or ten million? You can’t determine the end of a war, Optimus,” you advised him. The Autobot leader seemed to be taking your words in with a heavy weight and regard. “All you can do is take the measures to end it yourself. And I don’t want my home world to be another piece of collateral just because you’re not feeling up to stopping a tyrant by putting a bullet in his heart.”

Optimus startled visibly, and you took that as your cue to dip into Hot Rod’s cabin. The door shut behind you, and you didn't bother with the seatbelt as he put himself into drive and sped off down the entrance of the mesa. 

As the empty rock grew smaller behind you through the side-view mirror, the cabin is all but silent. You and Hot Rod don’t speak. You weren’t exactly friendly like that. Sure, he saved your life, but he’d also almost killed you before that, so it canceled out. You’d trusted him enough not to kidnap you in the alley, and he’d explained himself and made himself appear to be a non-threat to you- but it was obvious he didn’t exactly like humans touching him and his interior, and saw that dealing with them was a menial task he somehow was above. The thought didn’t really comfort you.

You rolled back into Jasper not long after, and you’d realized cheaply that it probably hadn’t been more than an hour and twenty-five minutes since you’d gotten back into town from your trip, were chased down by Hot Rod, and taken to the Autobots’ base.

He stopped in front of your house, but you didn’t get out right away. Instead, you stared down at your distantly trembling hands cupped in your lap, flitting in and out of awareness.

“Hey.” Hot Rod’s voice startles you, and you look up at the steering wheel. “That was, uh…pretty cool, back there. Not many people can unsettle Optimus Prime,” he complimented. 

You stared wryly at him. “Complimenting me now? Surprising,” you drawled.

Hot Rod scoffed lightly. “Puh-lease! I’m not always a douche.”

“You’re right. Just 90% of the time,” you smirked at the dashboard.

“Well isn’t someone’s glass half-full...”

Your smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Y’know, for someone who doesn’t care much for humans, your slang is pretty accurate,” you noted. 

“All Autobots are sent a data package about your planet upon entry,” informed Hot Rod primly. “No doubt the Doc compiled it up. I know the basics; everything about your climate, atmosphere, cultures and languages. The slang is something I picked up all on my own, though.” 

You raised an eyebrow at the steering wheel. “How?”

“Bee and I like to go to drive-in theatres sometimes,” beamed Hot Rod. 

The thought of these twenty-foot titans with the capacity to level your cities spending an evening parked at a drive-in watching Toy Story or something causes you to break out into a fit of laughter. “Oh my god,” you rubbed at your burning, exhausted eyes. “That’s- That’s actually awesome. I’d like to say I’d love to go with you some time, but I doubt we’ll be seeing each other again,” you admitted. 

“Yeah…” If you knew any better, Hot Rod was sounding a bit disappointed, “...probably for the best, though. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’d- no offense to you guys and your cause- but I’d rather fly across the globe to keep out of your company. Getting intertwined with a galactic robot war isn’t really on my checklist for “Things I Want To Do Before I’m 30”.”

Hot Rod snorted, and opened his door for you. You recognized the sign to leave as it was. “Fair enough. Not like you’ll be seeing me again. Well- maybe around the area, but don’t worry. I like to go out of my way not to frequent town,” he said.

“I’m relieved,” you drawled sarcastically. You stepped out of the car, taking a few steps back so the door could shut behind you. Standing on your unkempt lawn (god you needed to buy a lawnmower soon), you stared at the Lambo for a minute. It still slightly unsettled you, not seeing a driver and knowing what it — what he — could turn into in a matter of seconds. But Hot Rod hadn’t proven himself willing to hurt you purposefully, so you were willing to force your disconcerted, anxious thoughts aside. “Keep doing you, Hot Rod. And do me a favour?” 

Hot Rod didn’t move or say anything, but you could somewhat feel that he was listening. You smiled weakly. “Keep an eye on your boss for me. I think my words threw him in for a loop. And I- I didn’t mean to, but-” you grimaced regretfully, “...I can’t help but worry for my planet. My home. Y’know? And I’m not going to discredit him. The fact that he’s still fighting even though it’s been millions of years is a test to his will alone, but…if it doesn’t end soon, who knows what planet could be next. And I’m really hoping to keep mine.”

The Lambo was silent- thoughtful even. “...Yeah, I can understand that. You aren’t wrong for wanting your home safe. That’s what I fought to protect, but…” he sighed heavily, “...we all know how that story went. But I’ll do my best not to repeat the same mistake twice. And I know Optimus will, too. He cares for this planet, whether we like it or not. He won’t wanna see it destroyed like Cybertron. Keep that in mind, ‘kay?” He rolled down his window so you could see the flashing steering wheel. It brought about a note of sincerity to your conversation. “I ain’t gonna stop fighting until old Megatron is in a cell or in the smelting pit. I owe it to everyone I lost that, at the very least.”

You nodded, sending him a thankful smile. “Goodbye, Hot Rod.”

Hot Rod rolled up his window. “Later, human,” he said. 

You watched him pull away from the curb and drive off, waiting until he turned the corner of your street to turn and walk up to your front door. 

It never struck you all that these guys must have lost already. World War 2 cost millions of lives to be lost, and it lasted only six years. The thought of fighting non-stop for millions - your will would have broken. And you saw their base. You knew it just from a look around- these guys on Earth were probably the last Autobots in existence. To think of that, at the most, probably four bots were left of what was once an entire planet of them…your stomach twisted at the sick realization. 

You unlocked your front door, and walked in with shaking knees. As you kicked off your shoes limply, you just- processed. 

Hot Rod had seen loss, Optimus had seen loss — losses you couldn’t even imagine. You felt horrible for demanding they end this war soon, as if that wasn’t what they’d been trying to do for longer than the human race has even been alive. And you, someone who’d by a fluke got dragged into their existence, had sauntered in, demanded they end it, and leave. 

You stumbled into your bedroom and collapsed on your bed, face shoved into your pillows. You lay there, silent and still, and just- just cried.

What the fuck even was your life?

Chapter Text

Fowler’s friends came knocking on your door sooner than you’d realize. 

And by sooner, you meant the very same day. 

Gathered around your little round dining room table with three chairs for the five agents that needed to be there to discuss the contents of your NDA, the lawyer explained everything helpfully, and answered the few questions that you had. Your bloodshot eyes from your little sobbing sesh beforehand were still very present, but the agents didn’t mention it, to your blissful relief. They probably assumed it was a regular response to all the stress you’d been under the past week, finally letting loose after the day’s events.

After they were gone, you were left with a guard, just as Fowler had promised.

You stared at the stone-faced soldier in your kitchen, silence clouded between the two of you as it had been since the lawyers and other special agents left.

After a beat, you awkwardly cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s your name?”

“Lieutenant William Lennox of the U.S. Army Rangers,” the soldier answered with cool professionalism.

You nodded. “So, uh…” you glanced around your kitchen, searching for something to bring up to Lennox, before looking back at him, “...Lennox. Wanna…I mean- do you just have to be somewhere around the house, like, 24/7?”

“I’ll be stationed in a disguised vehicle two houses down,” Lennox answered swiftly. “I was ordered to remain a stealthed security officer for the next month by Special Agent Fowler.” 

“Right, that guy,” your nose scrunched up naturally at the recollection of the man. If Lennox was either amused or offended by your reaction to his superior officer’s name, he didn’t react differently either way. He was like a statue. A big, very strong fleshy statue in your kitchen. “Well, uh…want some spaghetti before you start stalking me?”

Lennox looked at you, eyebrow twitching just slightly with confusion. 

You grinned. “It’s a June Darby speciality?”

You weren’t able to get Lennox to eat some early dinner with you before he left to stalk your house from afar. For the next two weeks, you’d see glimpses of one dull, grey non-conspicuous vehicle constantly popping up in your life, and always knew it to be Lennox, watching you from afar. From when you left your home to go to the bakery, to even your quick runs to the convenience store. He flitted in and out of your life, never interacting directly with you, but always hovering nearby.

“Dude, are you being stalked?” Miko asked you directly one day at work. 

You were scooping cookie dough together, and though the girl complained about the menial, boring task, it was a good time to talk a bit more. She loved using the time to rant about the latest limbo she had going on with her host parents, or about a boy at school who liked to dirt on the other kids, namely one Jack Darby. The topic made you frown, and you debated bringing it up with June- but it wasn’t your place. You were still just a newcomer. You had only been in Jasper at this point for a month and a half.

“No? Why do you ask?” You frowned curiously at her.

“I keep seeing that car with a dude in it outside the bakery whenever I walk in, now. Gives me the creeps!” She shuddered. 

Ah. Lennox. You smiled. “No, Miko. I’m not being stalked. If anything, he’s probably scoping out the bakery. Probably a rival baker or something,” you said it as a light jest. A little poke at the professional stalker Fowler had sent you.

“What!?” squawked Miko. Her expression hardened. “Well, let me give him a piece of my mind! Nobody messes with Miko Nakadai’s bakery!” She began to get up, but you quickly reeled the girl back down. You were getting good at it, as her boss and a baking mentor. 

“Settle,” you laughed. Miko huffed, but threw herself back into her seat. You both went back to scooping the dough. These cookies had to be baked and packaged, anyways. You were already running low. Turns out, being the only bakery in a town was really profitable, even if it was a small place like Jasper. The bank you were bringing in was surprising even Miranda. “First off, it’s my bakery. You’re an employee.”

“The only employee,” retorted Miko.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yes. Alright. My only employee, but still. If someone’s trying to compete with us, then it just means we’re that good. Right?” 

Miko paused, thinking about it. As she did, you went on. “Exactly. And I doubt they’re posing any real threat to us. Just leave them be, and they’ll either leave eventually or confront us.” And you were confident about the former, as it had been two weeks since Fowler assigned Lennox to you due to yours and Optimus Prime’s own paranoia. But no Decepticon guys had come after you since your almost-crash three weeks ago. There were two weeks left, and if they were as uneventful as the last two were, Lennox would disappear and you’d never see him, Fowler, or the Autobots ever again.

For the better, you reminded yourself.

“Alright,” Miko sighed. “Fine. I guess you’re right. But if he does confront us, can I-?” She began eagerly.

“No.” You weren’t about to let a fifteen-year old get arrested for assaulting a man. Especially an undercover U.S. soldier.

“But-”

“No.”

“Man…” 

 *   *   *   *   *

On your way to work the next morning, you purposefully stop beside Lennox’s car. Bending down, you rapped your knuckles on the glass to gain his attention, but you knew you already had it the minute you stepped outside your door.

The window rolled down, and the lieutenant peered at you. “Is something wrong?” He asked urgently.

Without a word, you reached in and set down a wrapped sandwich. “I hope you like tuna, mayo and celery.”

Lennox blinked from behind his sunglasses at the sandwich, looking as if it was gonna bite him. He looked up at you, and you just smiled wryly at him. “I never see you take a break, so here. If you’re gonna stalk me, might as well have a full stomach while doing it.”

“I’m not stalking you,” sighed Lennox exasperatedly. “It’s official-”

“-Official military orders, yeah, yeah, I know,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m teasing. Just- eat.”

“I have granola bars and water bottles-” You scrunched your nose in disgust, and Lennox stammered wordlessly, before coming back, “-I grab food once you turn in for the night-” 

“Lennox.” You spoke over him sharply. Lennox shut his mouth audibly. You pointed at the sandwich. “Food. Eat. Have a good day.” You stood up and continued down the sidewalk for work. You don’t see the car follow you until you’re a block ahead of it. 

*   *   *   *   *

When you returned home later that evening and sauntered into your kitchen, tossing your keys on the table, you paused when you noticed a Chinese takeout box with a sticky note on top of it sitting on your counter. 

You walked up to it, tearing the sticky note from the box with a scrutinizing look. 

‘Thank you for the sandwich.’

It was plain, simple and straightforward. Much too like the soldier watching you from down the street. 

You opened the box, and the steam and smell that hit your nose was heavenly. 

“Lennox, you son of a bitch,” you murmured whilst looking down at the steaming fried rice before you. “You’ve been holding out on me…”

You never decided to ask how the fuck he got into your house.

*   *   *   *   *

“So, you got any family?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Don’t you have stalking to do?”

An exasperated sigh comes from the man beside you. “The one I’m supposedly stalking is sitting right in front of me, and I still have them within my sights. By all means, I’m still doing my job.”

“Right,” you smirk. “You’re just chowing down to K.O. Burger with the person you're stalking.”

Lennox sends you a wry look as you bite down into your chicken burger. You were parked in front of the fast food restaurant — after your shift, obviously. You weren’t about to spend job hours making nice with your government stalker (who still adamantly denied his stalking — but you were breaking him slowly). You had just over one week left until you were in the clear, from the government and Autobots alike. 

You couldn’t help but hope your life would return to its normalcy — as normal as it could get after seeing the things you have. 

“Anyways, answer my question,” you pressed. “Any family?”

Lennox sighed, shaking around his fries. It was a wonder you were able to get the man to drive you here — Lennox was all work and seldom play, but you’d manipulated his headstrong morals and his all-business attitude to take you around in a non-transforming car. All it took was an innocent hint that being in the same car was still technically watching over you, and Lennox was submitting with a reluctant sigh to take you out for some unofficial bonding time between stalker and victim. 

“Alright,” he grumbled. You grinned eagerly, shuffling up in the passenger seat. The lieutenant turned his head to you with a wry lift to his lips. “I grew up in a normal household. Mom and Dad. Dad left, Mom took care of me until I was eighteen. I enlisted in the military, came home after a couple tours, reunited with my high school sweetheart, and we got married,” he explained deftly. You watched in awe at his quick yet informative tell of his entire life. “I got deployed again after the honeymoon, found out she was pregnant, and now, we have a three-year old girl. That answer your question?” He raised his eyebrows lightly at you.

You grin. “I never took you for a family man,” was all you could comment.

Lennox turned his gaze back to his fries with a reluctant, one-sided smile. “Yeah? Well, honestly, neither did I. Went through all the anxieties of a future dad when Sarah told me she was pregnant — thought, with my old man having run out on me, I might do the same to my kid,” he grinned to himself. “Ahh…Sarah threatened to skin me alive if I ever did that,” he murmured fondly. “Kept me from bolting, and had me strapped in until after our little girl was born. When I first saw her on that satellite call- it- well, let’s just say I was in it ‘til the end.”

You hummed, unsure of what to say, so you bit into the last of your chicken burger instead and finished it off. After you were done, you took a sip of your Sprite and finally, finally knew what to say to all of that.

You looked at Lennox. “That’s nice.”

The lieutenant snorted, his reluctant smile spreading as you watched his shoulders tremble and the smallest sound of snickering come from him. You beamed. “Did I make you laugh?” You asked, astonished. 

Lennox paused, then cleared his throat and schooled his expression, sitting ramrod straight in the driver’s seat. “No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said evenly.

You snorted and shook your head. “You bullshit me, Lennox,” you commented.

You both finished the rest of your junk food, and Lennox drove you to your house, parking two houses down from it. You nodded goodbye, and the lieutenant returned your gesture formally.

One more week.

*   *   *   *   *

That last week blitzed by before you could realize it, and on your last Sunday under surveillance, Agent Fowler personally came to your house with Lennox standing formally behind him on your porch.

“Fowler,” you greeted him breezily at the door. 

Fowler was surprisingly civil as he nodded at you. “I just wanted to stop by personally to make sure everything went smoothly the past month,” he said. “No ‘Con activity?”

You shook your head. “Nope. But I’m sure Lieutenant Lennox can tell you that and more himself,” you nodded over his shoulder at the soldier.

Fowler hummed, eyeing you thoughtfully. You met his gaze evenly. The agent spoke up, “Are you satisfied? No more paranoia about getting ‘napped by the ‘Cons?” He asked. 

“Dunno,” you shrug. “I’ll still never look at cars the same- but I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you, Agent Fowler.” You thanked him earnestly, adding onto it with a smile.

Fowler startled, blinking owlishly at you. He cleared his throat and nodded shortly. “Of course. If you need anything more, call this number.” He flicked out a black business card from nowhere, and you stared down at it in surprise. You took it, examining the single line of numbers presented to you in white on a matte black background. Very formal. Veerrryy special agent-like. 

You looked back up at the two military men. “Thanks for everything. The both of you,” you said.

Fowler and Lennox nodded, the latter stepping aside as Fowler turned and walked down to the sleek black car parked on the curb in front of your house. Lennox strayed behind, glancing back at you uncertainly.

You’d- well, you knew each other. You weren’t exactly friends, but you and Lennox had become friendly enough to want a bit of a personal goodbye. You smiled. “Tell Sarah she’s cool for threatening to skin you,” you said casually.

Lennox grinned. “The next time I see her, I will. Stay safe,” he bowed his head and turned. You walked behind him to Fowler’s car, and watched the lieutenant dip into the passenger seat. Fowler rolled down the tinted window in the driver’s seat, peering up at you as you stopped at the edge of your lawn that you still needed to mow. 

“Have a good life, kid. And remember-”

“Trap; shut,” you made a zipping motion to emphasize and threw away the invisible key. Fowler stared wryly up at you, but nodded and rolled the window back up. The car started, and you watched it roll down your humble little street, before turning left at the corner. 

And that was that.

You were done. 

Your hands tucked into your pants pockets, you sighed. That was…surprisingly uneventful. One would expect a life-changing turn, an event that turned your world upside down and threw you smack dab into an intergalactic robot war, but you…you were free. You were set to return to your normal life, run your normal bakery, with your normal friends in normal old Jasper, Nevada. 

No more Autobots, no more Decepticons…

No more. 

You dipped your chin, frowning as…something akin to disappointment brewed in your stomach. It wasn’t like you wanted to get sucked into their deadly titan battles in their deadly robot war, okay? You definitely wanted to stay hundreds of miles away from that- but for this to end…like this? Just a “see you later” after these giant robots upturned the way in which you perceived life as you knew it?

Okay- fine, yes, you were disappointed. But you’d get over it. You were a grown adult. Those robots could go on with their life, and you could go on with yours.

It was better like this.

You began to turn back to your house, when a car turned around the very corner Fowler and Lennox had disappeared around, heading your way. 

You squinted to get a better look at it, and- 

Your heart froze, seeing that familiar model, and that familiar colour scheme.

Them.

The single dark purple car was coming right for you, and you were frozen, your breath picking up as it inched closer. All sleek and sharp edges, the Decepticon came right up to you, silent and still.

“No,” you whispered dreadfully to it. Wow. Words. You actually had the courage to speak those. Maybe not much- but words.

You whipped back around for your house, because your phone! You needed your phone so you could call Fowler back here immediately and get the military and the Autobots- just- help!! You needed help!!!

You ran back up your lawn, stumbling over the overgrown weeds and GOD you needed to hire someone to do this for you if you weren’t going to yourself because this was ridiculous!!

The familiar alien sounds of what you registered from when Hot Rod transformed alerted you enough to what the Decepticon was doing behind you. You were so close to your door when a black mass moved in front of you and wrapped itself around you.

Oh my god.

Oh my god was the only thing coursing through your mind as you felt yourself be drawn back from your house, and the familiar sounds of transforming and- and you were inside of it. Oh god you were tucked away inside of the trunk of a Decepticon. 

An actual death machine that can and will kill you. Because this thing wasn’t Hot Rod. It would squish you without a second thought.

You heard its engine rumble to life, and you were on the move. You were being kidnapped. Kidnapped. By robots.

You rattled with fear in the cramped trunk, trying not to imagine these very walls closing in around you and squishing you the second the Decepticon transformed. 

You could only react in the only way you knew how.

“What the fuck!?” You exploded, kicking at the interior of the trunk. “The second my protection leaves you come after me? Did you plan this!?” The Decepticon doesn’t answer. You doubt it can even talk. You grimace — a bit in fear, and a bit in anger. “...Oh my god, you did plan this,” you whispered.

The car around you is still silent. You kick the interior again, feeling the road suddenly become bumpy and uneven- you were on one of the highways leading out of Jasper.

Out of Jasper. 

You grit your teeth and force yourself to just keep on kicking it, keep on annoying it. “What do you want from me? I’m just a bystander! Okay? You guys picked a fight with me, first! In case you forgot! Unless- you’re not one of the guys that tore off my van roof… fuck! You all look the same!!!”

The car braked suddenly, slamming you into the harsh interior of the trunk. Your nose hits smack dab into the hard surface, and you cry out in pain. Your hand flung up to it, pinching it with a pained hiss. “Son of a-” you muttered. You pried your hand away a second later, and were relieved not to find any blood. Good. Just a bitch ass ache, then.

You fix the only thing you could with a glare — the wall. “Where are you taking me? I have nothing valuable to give you! Okay?! The only thing I can give you is a discount! Or- like- free baked goods for life! But you don’t even eat human food!”

Once again, you’re not blessed with a response by the Decepticon. Your heart slams harder in your ribcage, a constant pounding against your bones as you clench your shaking fingers into a shaking fist. You give up on trying to get this thing to talk, and instead shut your eyes to try and not focus on your very present kidnapping.

You were on your own, you realized. No phone, no surveillance — so no military, and no Autobots.

You were screwed, you realized with a doomed sob crawling up your throat alongside twisted bile. God, you were gonna throw up in here and there was nothing you could do- 

…Wait a minute.

You were gonna throw up.

Despite the unadulterated glee you were feeling now, recognizing your potential escape, you forced that feeling of illness to climb up and up, forcing yourself to heave. You felt the car falter, sensing your gagging, before you let it fucking rip.

You throw up, aiming it all over the trunk’s interior. Around you, the car panicked and swerved, before eventually, you felt weightless as it transformed, spitting you out on the ground. You rolled several times against the harsh concrete of the highway road, feeling it scrape up the skin of your elbows and knees. You stopped, gasping for air because during the twenty seconds of your throwing-up and rolling escape, you hadn’t breathed. 

You reluctantly pushed yourself up, hearing the Decepticon ahead jump around in rumbling footsteps, trying to shake out your inner fluids. Despite yourself, you grinned. Serves the bastard right. 

You stand on shaking legs, gazing ahead of the empty back way highway — one of the ones Hot Rod took to the Autobot base. There were several around Jasper, and you were briefly thankful this one wasn’t in the general vicinity of their base because fuck it would be bad if they got discovered…but then that relief was washed away under the dread that you weren’t in the general vicinity of their base and fuck it was bad because you’d been discovered, and needed a way out.

Ahead on the highway, the Decepticon shook its metal limbs wildly, static hissing from whatever hidden mouth it had. If it even had a mouth. It barely looked like it had eyes, either. Just a slim red visor that blinked frantically.

Another Decepticon was beside it, hands hovering around its comrade and not knowing what the fuck to do. And you were temporarily confused- because when did that one get here?! You were barely safe running from one of them, but two!?

Oh, how fucked you truly were. 

But you couldn’t stay still and dread your seemingly inevitable death- because you had a way out. They were distracted! You could book it to the nearest cover which…wasn’t much considering you were in the middle of a desert- but then your eyes caught on something close by on the horizon.

Hills of metal trash, cars stacked on top of each other…a junkyard. 

Not perfect, but it wasn’t nothing, either. And you were willing to grasp onto anything you could right now. 

You bolted for the junkyard, the vibrations of the panicking Decepticon lessening with the more distance you gained. Once you were about three-quarters of the way there, your weak lungs finally gave out, and you stuttered to a stop with a strangled gasp. For a few seconds, you stood, hunched over and gasping, trying to catch your breath. You really weren’t built for cardio, even though running is all you’ve ever had to do with these guys. 

God you needed a workout in a non-deadly situation for once.

You looked over your shoulder to check back on the status of your captors, one of whom seemed to have finally stopped jumping around, and now, their red visors scanned the horizons.

Looking for you.

The second Decepticon finds you first, doing a double take before you see its distant figure lock onto you. It pointed silently in your direction, and the first (whose trunk you were well-acquainted with) snapped their head your way.

“Shit.” 

As soon as you saw their metal bodies fold down into two identical cars, you stood straight and bolted the rest of the way into the junkyard. You would reach it first, but when you looked over your shoulder and saw them lessening the distance between you, you wouldn’t have much time to hide. And hiding was all you could do.

You ran through mountains of metal junk and scrap, head shooting in a thousand different directions in far less as many seconds whilst you desperately searched for a good hiding spot. One that concealed you, but also didn’t give you thousands of tiny cuts that you’d need to get a god awful amount of tetanus shots for. You looked at certain dips in the hills of junkyard scap, things that you could tuck away in, if the threat of one overly-weighted step from these bots that’d cause you to be crushed under hundreds of pounds of metal wasn’t clear as day.

You zigzagged around, zipping from place to place, your breaths short and uneven. You heard the sound of engines grow closer, and knew your timetable was shortening fast.

Hide.

Just- hide.

You were a master at hide-and-seek in your childhood, when you spent your summers at your grandparents’ farm in the Canadian countryside. Your grandfather taught you all the best tracking and camouflage skills he learned as a soldier in the army.

Use natural cover to enhance your concealment. 

Minimize your movements.

Avoid reflective accessories. 

And when in broad daylight; stick to the shadows.

It would be harder for these creeps to discover you if you were in the dark- probably. You didn’t know. Could they see in the dark? You wouldn’t be surprised if they had thermal vision or something!

You turn the corner around another mountain of scrapyard metal, and find yourself face to face with a space, wide and round, blocked off by the piles of garbage around you, with cars. Rusted and old, varying from old school buses to little Volkswagen Beetles.

Cover. 

Endless cover. 

You were gonna be hiding from cars…beneath other cars.

Oh, the irony. It’d kill you if you weren’t already about to be murdered.

When you realized all was quiet, and that the sound of car engines had disappeared, your heart dropped into your stomach. They were here.

Your time was up. You just had to pick a car and hope. 

You ran through the rows of old cars, looking for the best one to hide under. Ones that weren’t too big or too small- just right. Call you fucking Goldilocks but it was the best thing for you right now. The most inconspicuous vehicles that could be considered the last thing they’d check.

Your eyes drifted over an old and rusted Lamborghini Countach. How it ended up abandoned and left to rot in a junkyard outside of Jasper, Nevada was beyond you. Its striking red paint had grown faded and dull over time without care, turning into an ugly and dusted brick red. The spoiler on the back reminded you far too much of…well, it didn’t matter. 

For some reason, it was your choice.

You lowered yourself onto your belly and pulled yourself beneath the undercarriage of the car. The parts brushed against your back, not pressing in, but close enough that if you tensed or raised yourself, they would. But you were staying flat on the ground, and strained your neck to look around you as you waited with bated breath for the Decepticons to eventually come to your area.

If they found you- what would they do to you? They easily could have squished you back at your home, and left you a smear on your lawn for your neighbours to see…but they’d taken you instead. Not consensually like Hot Rod had- definitely not. They needed you for something. Alive. But you felt, with a twinge of anxiety, that their intentions weren’t as simple and good as the Autobots’ were. They wouldn’t just ask you to be hush-hush and send you on your way. Would they take you to their leader, too? Who was their leader again?

Right…

Megatron.

Fuck. You suppressed a shiver. Whoever the guy was, he was a galactic tyrant. A warmonger, who’d already cost his own people their own planet in his warpath. And if his minions were about to take you to him, you were glad you threw up when you did. Never let them take you to a second location.

You wondered how long it would be before someone realized you’d gone missing. Obviously, the Autobots were out of the question. Unless some civilian happened to see them on the highway, or worse, in front of your house, and alerted whatever Decepticon scanner they might have in their little hidden base somewhere in this desert. You doubted Fowler and Lennox saw them. They had well turned the corner and left by the time your kidnapping vehicle came around a half-minute later. You doubted they even saw the car coming your way. 

So, no one was coming. All you could do was hold out for as long as you could, stranded in this abandoned junkyard in the middle of nowhere, and either wait for your inevitable death, or have some grand stroke of luck that these million-year-old robots got impatient and just decided to leave you well enough alone.

The latter didn’t seem possible. These guys…they seemed too determined to take you to give up.

So, wait for death it was to be. Great.

Your lingering nausea curled anxiously in your stomach, threatening to purge again. You touched your forehead to the earthly floor, smelling the dirt and rocks and old metal around you as you took deep breaths in through your nose, and out through your mouth, in a fleeing attempt to stop them from hearing you heave and splutter. In and out. In and out. Until the nausea fades into the background, and you’re calm once more. 

Well, as calm as you could be in this scenario.

It only took thirty minutes before the distant metallic thump of footsteps grew near enough for your breath to halt in your lungs, your entire body jumping with every step that shook the ground you lay on. You pressed yourself flat on the ground, angling your head so you could peer out through the varying heights of undercarriages in front of you, trying to get a visual on just when the Decepticons stumbled upon your last line of defense. Because the second they flipped your car over and saw you, it was over for good. Unless you happened to throw up again. But you weren’t sure if they’d be so squeamish a second time. And you don’t even know how- but they’d probably find a way to gag you to keep that from happening.

As it turned out, however, you didn’t need to see much to tell when the giant robots of death stumbled upon your little hiding spot. The two great shadows that fell across the first rows of cars were enough. You sucked in a trembling breath, curling your fingers into the dirt to ground yourself, even if the tiny pebbles and dirt flecks irritated the skin beneath your fingernails. 

They were here.

This was the worst part. Watching as their two shadows moved apart, spreading out to cover more ground. Each footstep, so loud it was all you could hear other than the roaring white noise in your ears, sent your heart through another painful spike. You wouldn’t be surprised if you died of a heart attack first before they got to you.

It would be more merciful of whatever higher power was looking down at you, for sure.

The first vehicle to be flipped over was the bus. You knew from the loud noise of impact that shook the ground hard. It happened to the right of you, but you couldn’t see anything past the various tires blocking your diagonal point of view. It only took a second for the Decepticon to verify you weren’t there to continue its search.

Another car, to your left. The VW Beetle. It was flipped over so hard you could see it was entirely upside down, now.

Another, to your right. An old Honda Odyssey. 

Your left. The Ford Sierra.

Slowly, they worked their way around the perimeter of the abandoned car lot. You could tell that was their game plan, to slowly work their way in. You had a brief moment of visceral relief knowing the Lamborghini Countach rested somewhere in the middle of the lot, but it was quickly squashed once again. Because though you weren’t going to die right away, you were just drawing it out at this point. 

That was both depressing and horrifyingly amusing. Because something ugly and petty deep inside you sang “Fuck these evil robots, I’m making them search underneath every single goddamn car before they’re allowed to squash me like a bug” like it was the goddamn Bohemian Rhapsody.

Maybe it was the shock, though you weren’t really feeling any of that. Perhaps you just had a fucked up sense of self when in an imminent death scenario. Yeah, that seemed a more likely scenario, knowing you.

The minutes dragged on, long and pressing, a never ending suffocation on all ends as you were forced to slowly listen as the two Decepticons scoured closer and closer to your hiding spot. You lost track eventually. It felt like hours, when it had probably just been fifteen minutes since they’d started seeking.

How long had it been since you’d been kidnapped? It felt like forever ago- but it must’ve been no less than forty-five minutes to an hour. 

Not enough time for someone to notice.

Definitely not enough time for help to come. 

No, you really were all out of options. You couldn’t run, and sooner or later, your hiding spot would be found. 

Unlike when Hot Rod almost ran you over, you did not freeze in terror realizing you had nowhere to go.

Instead, you forced yourself to remain calm and silent, as your demise grew ever closer. 

Instead, you thought about your life. While you still had one.

You had a pretty normal life, all things considered. You grew up in Canada, and spent summers and holidays in British Columbia with your grandparents. They had a large cabin in Fort St. James, right beside Stuart Lake. They’d built it from scratch together after their youngest daughter, your mother, had moved out. It had become a secondary childhood home to you. You had an entire room designated to you, filled with belongings from your stays over the years. 

You wished you could’ve said goodbye properly. The last time you saw them was, what, four years ago? The summer before you started college. And all you’d given them was a hug and a kiss and a quick “Love you, talk to you later” because you’d been in a rush to get to the airport. 

Now, they would probably never know that you’d died, alone and afraid, squished by robot aliens. Fowler would never give anyone the true story. Your death would be a lie. Probably something simple and quick, as the government liked it. A plausible front that you’d killed yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised. They’d never believe it. Your grandparents knew you better than your own parents. But their suspicions would fall on deaf ears. 

They’d be alone to mourn their youngest grandchild, who would have probably not even been given a proper funeral. Closed casket. To not show them the smear you’d become. If there was even going to be anything left of you. 

You went to school, graduated, took a year-off to gather up your savings, and went to college. Got a business degree. You didn’t know what you wanted to be, after all. You graduated among the average grades. You never excelled in anything. You had a talent for the trumpet as a kid in the school band, but that was that.

You lived an average life. Nothing ever big or important. You had never contributed to society. But you’d lived.

You’d lived and…and now you were going to die. 

And that was that.

Your life didn’t flash before you like you’d expected. You had to summarize it in words, and whatever brief memories you had to remember. The smell of firewood, the sight of your grandma crocheting in her rocking chair by the large glass windows overlooking the lake behind the house, June’s dinner during your first day in town, opening up the bakery, hiring Miko, meeting the Autobots.

The ground trembled as two metal feet stepped down in the aisle beside the Lamborghini Countach. You shut your eyes, placing a shaking hand over your mouth to cover up the stifled whimpers coming from your mouth. 

An average life, flared into salience in the last two months by that damn Lamborghini that crashed down from the heavens and into your life. 

You heard the grating sound of metal on metal, just beside you, and could already tell that sharp metal fingers had curled around the undercarriage of your car. 

This was it. 

…Except it wasn’t.

With your eyes squeezed shut while you witnessed your final moments, you could only hear in a brief flash of confusion when your car wasn’t flipped over, and blaster fire sounded overhead. You pried your eyes open, looking to your right, where the Decepticon was, only to find its prone form laying deathly still a few feet away. 

Your eyebrows curved, pinching together with confusion. What…?

Rumbling, metallic footsteps came up on your left, and you sucked in a high-pitched, choked breath. You’d almost completely forgotten for a brief moment that there were two when the Lamborghini Countach was lifted up from the left, and one shadow was replaced by another. Larger, more dominating. 

You ducked your head, shaking like a leaf in the wind from head to toe as you sobbed. Here it was. Your death. Your demise. Bye-bye, life. It was boring, but fun.

“Well, well. Ain’t this a sight for sore optics!” 

That voice, so viscerally familiar, had you pausing. Your harsh trembling drains away, and you push yourself onto your back, holding yourself up with your elbows to stare at the robotic being before you with wide, wet eyes. 

Hot rod red, buffed to shine in the sunlight, glinted and glittered so much you could see the tiny sparkles in the paint. The yellow spoiler on the back lowered downwards and lifted upwards, hidden partially behind blocky red shoulders. Your eyes drifted down, caught on the red insignia that rested in the middle of the flame decal that spread outwards, its face solemn and serious. Eventually, though, after you took in all the rest, your eyes finally drifted back up, meeting electric blue eyes that grew and brightened when you made eye contact.

Your mouth fell open. “Y- You..?”

Hot Rod grinned, shit-eating and proud, but oh-so familiar. “How ya been, fleshie? Been a minute.”

Chapter Text

Hot Rod returned to base after dropping off the human. By the time he rolled back into the silo, Bumblebee was already there waiting in his alt mode. The flashy yellow and black speedster flashed his headlights and honked twice in greeting to Hot Rod. 

“Bee! My pal, how you’ve been missed!” Hot Rod beamed as he did a U-turn around the scout, before pulling up to his left. They were side-by-side, evenly lined up. 

Bumblebee chirped amusedly at him. :: It’s only been an hour, Roddy, :: he mused.

Hot Rod was still getting used to these human terms, but since Bumblebee, whom he was around the most, used them like it was second nature, he was getting a handle on them fast. Even if he still preferred the Cybertronian terms.

“And that’s an hour too long, my good scout!” Hot Rod sniffed. In his cabin, his steering wheel twittered from side-to-side impatiently. “C’mon! You ready to ride? I’ve been going the speed limit all day. I need to get some oil pumpin’!” 

“And you would do well to keep under the speed limit,” Ratchet called pointedly over his shoulder from the monitors. The rickety old medic didn’t even turn to face them. “Do well not to draw attention to yourselves. Well,” he finally turned to eye their alt modes with irritation, an unimpressed curve to his intake, “as little as you can, with those alt modes.”

“Sorry, Ratch,” Hot Rod called cheerfully. “These beauties were made to be looked at. Specifically this piece of hot slag.” He revved his engines, shaking his tail end at Ratchet. 

The old medic rolled his optics, grumbling to himself as he turned back around. Hot Rod briefly caught “...a piece of something all right. A piece of vain fragging scra-” before he dutifully ignored the rusty old mech who didn’t have any sense of fashion, and turned his attention towards Bumblebee, who called out to the orange and white medic.

:: We’ll be safe! :: He promised before speeding off. Hot Rod sped after him, turning in the curved corridor before they were on the empty highway. 

Hot Rod snorted as they drove away from base. “Aft-kisser,” he mocked in a mutter. 

Bumblebee’s brakes squealed as he brake-checked Hot Rod in retaliation, who swerved around him whilst honking in affront. The speedster caught up five nano-kliks later, practically preening with smug satisfaction. :: You were saying? ::

“Yeah, yeah,” scoffed Hot Rod. “Less talking and more speeding, Bee! Show me your record so I can beat it already!” 

:: You sure? :: teased the scout. 

Hot Rod huffed, impatient. “C’mon! Don’t keep a mech waiting—” 

Before he was even done talking, Bumblebee went from 30 to 100 mph in five nano-kilks, blitzing down the road and leaving Hot Rod in his dust- literally. Hot Rod spluttered as the dirt flecked his paint job. 

“Dude!!! Not the paint!” He squawked to Bumblebee over their comms now that the scout was a yellow blur on the road ahead. 

All he received was a teasing chirp in response, and Hot Rod revved his engines. “Fine. Play it like that, Bee. Get ready to see some real speed!” He declared, then pressed on his engine. It roared to life, burning and vibrating deep within him as Hot Rod sped up. He steadily caught up to Bumblebee as they raced down the seemingly endless road. It was no racing track from Velocitron, but on this rock? It was the best they could work with. 

Hot Rod caught up to the scout a klik later, nose-to-nose as they dipped in and out of first place in their imaginary race. Hot Rod pressed further on his engine, feeling it burn as his speedometer needle pushed into the red. Down the road was a mile marker, and wordlessly, the two speedsters designated that as their finish line.

Bumblebee sped up, matching him as they both fought for first. Hot Rod couldn’t deny the sensation glowing all throughout his systems, from his pistons to his processor. Racing always gave him that victorious buzz. He hadn’t gone nose-to-nose like this with Bumblebee since before Tyger Pax. It was their last race in Iacon, as they made a game out of who could finish patrol first. Bumblebee won, but only because a minibot had stumbled in Hot Rod’s way and he was forced to brake and swerve around them, effectively losing him the race.

After that, Bee had been transferred to the front lines, while Hot Rod remained in Iacon with Jazz and the others.

The rest…well, the rest was history.

Bumblebee, the fragger, pulled out some last-minute push of speed and horsepower, for he pushed ahead of Hot Rod right before the mile marker, and then they were both slowing to a stop from their highs, pulled over on the abandoned back highway outside of Jasper, Nevada.

Hot Rod, despite not needing to breathe oxygen, sounded exhausted and rung-out as he regarded Bumblebee narrowly. “You sneaky little piece of scrap,” he scoffed.

Bumblebee chirred and beeped with laughter, paint glowing in the face of his victory. :: It’s like I always tell you, Roddy! You’ll never beat me! :: 

“Hah! Don’t get cocky!” snipped Hot Rod in a sniffy tone. “You’re just lucky. You don’t have as much muscle as I do. All short and tiny as you are,” he teased.

Bumblebee honked at him, and Hot Rod laughed. As they waited for their engines to cool back down to a reasonable temperature, overcharged from their friendly competition, Hot Rod felt his oldest friend’s curious regard.

:: So…how’d it go? ::

Hot Rod didn’t need to question what he meant to know. “The human? Well enough.” He said off-handedly, brisk and indifferent. “Had a whole freak out, but agreed to come along. You should’ve seen them, Bee,” he snorted. “Humans are so tiny, but Primus can they be loud! It was pretty annoying to be second-guessed at every turn, but they were just too funny sometimes. You should’ve seen the snark they gave Fowler!”

:: Really now? :: Bumblebee’s tone subtly egged him along.

“Oh, yeah,” snickered Hot Rod. “The look on his face was priceless. Prime seemed to like them well enough. I know he’s soft for organics, but I could tell he trusted them. Fowler, though…that guy can’t trust anyone as far as he can throw him. And he isn’t very strong. Plus I don’t give two pieces of scrap about his opinion. The human’s got fire, despite how small and easily scared they were. I love their spirit, gotta admit it.”

:: Sounds like you really enjoyed their company, :: mused Bumblebee. 

Hot Rod faltered. “Wait- what?” But the scout had already sped off again, this time at a far more leisurely pace. Hot Rod caught up to him quickly, driving side-by-side with Bumblebee. “Woah, woah! You don’t get to drop that on me and speed off!” He squawked. Bumblebee chirruped with laughter. “Let’s get one thing straight; I’m glad I won’t have to see that little organic again! I should be worried about taking down ol’ High Command, not picking them up from school or whatever!”

:: They’re a human adult, Roddy. They don’t go to school. ::

“Well- whatever it is they do! Look, the point of the matter is; I’m on the frontlines of the war, now. I’m fighting beside Optimus Prime! I’m way too important to be looking after one of them little fleshies,” Hot Rod complained.

Bumblebee kept pace with him, and Hot Rod didn’t need his sensors to tell him the scout was watching him silently. He groaned. “You got something to say, Bumblebee?” 

Bumblebee was quiet for a klik. :: …No. :: He said, voice full of levity and pondering. :: Just…thinking. ::

“Well, don’t be shy,” edged Hot Rod. He shifted closer to Bumblebee. “Share with the class.”

The scout let out an abrupt, distorted noise that could be translated to a human snort. :: It’s nothing, Roddy. Tell me more about that human! ::

Hot Rod hummed, regarding Bumblebee with scrutiny before focusing ahead of them, into the endless sandy terrain. “Yeah, sure, why not! This human’s real odd, Bee. Let me tell you. The noises they can emit are so weird- funny! But weird. When they saw me they…”

And they patrolled the rest of the way, with Hot Rod never running out of words to try and explain the strange entity that human was to him. They were so distrustful of him and all he did, but they risked the possibility of being offlined (which Hot Rod would never do to them!) on a whim because Hot Rod just promised he wouldn’t do it. Were all humans like that? Willing to give a chance to a sentient car just ‘cause? If so, he might be curious to meet more- but he’d had his full share of humans for a-while. 

Besides, it wasn’t like he’d be seeing that human again. They were probably never going to stumble upon one another ever again. For real, this time.

And as Hot Rod and Bumblebee eventually drove back to base, and Ratchet took one look at them before demanding they take a solvent shower in the wash racks, he felt oddly…subdued? That might be the word for it. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. 

:: Roddy? :: Bumblebee asked as they stepped into the wash racks, regarding him with curious optics.

Hot Rod shook himself out of whatever was clogging up his processor, and gave his friend a winning smile. “Waiting up for me, Bee? I know. I get it. My paint is a marvel to look at after a good wash of solvent,” he brushed some dust off his chassis primly. 

Bumblebee rolled his optics, and Hot Rod grinned. 

Yeah, best not to worry ‘bout it. 

He was fine where he was.

*   *   *   *   *

The human’s month of surveillance ended today- not like Hot Rod was keeping track or anything! He’d just happened to have walked into the control room after coming out of recharge to see Optimus hovering at Ratchet’s side, on a call with Fowler at the terminal, and guessed.

“Is it that day, already?” Hot Rod beamed as he walked up to them. Ratchet ex-vented loudly, his shoulders slouching at his arrival. Optimus welcomed the young warrior with a gentle nod. “You meeting up with our human, Fowler?”

Fowler let out an ex-vent — a sigh (See! He was learning!) — similar to Ratchet’s. Hot Rod grinned. “Turning the corner now. I’ll take Lennox’s report and say goodbye to the kid for good. There’s been no ‘Con activity the entire month, Prime. They’re fine,” he said dryly. “I’m sure that loosens your pistons, or whatever.”

Prime didn’t relax — he never did — but his posture loosened the smallest bit. “It does, Agent Fowler. I thank you for your cooperation, and for being patient in relieving us of our worries.”

“Just his,” piped in Ratchet shortly. 

Prime sent the medic a gently admonishing look. Ratchet rolled his optics with a begrudging mutter Hot Rod couldn’t catch. Optimus looked back up at the monitors. “If it is possible, Agent Fowler, I would like to call one last time after you leave to ensure everything went fine for the human. Merely to wrap matters up, if you would.”

The distant sound of Fowler’s car engine cut off, suggesting he’d parked. The human sighed irritably. “Sure, Prime. I’ll give you a call,” and he hung up without another word.

Hot Rod’s optics flickered between Optimus and the blank monitor. “Sooo…” He piped up, and the Prime turned to look down at him curiously. Hot Rod raised his optical ridges. “I’m guessing that’s that? They’re in the clear?” He asked. 

Something softened in Optimus. He nodded at Hot Rod. “Yes, Hot Rod,” he said. “They seemed to have come out alright. And I have no doubt they will ensure our secret is kept.” 

Hot Rod nodded, rocking back and forth on his pedes. “Nice! Nice. And the ‘Cons? They won’t be lookin’ out for them, will they?” 

Optimus seemed to soften further, and Hot Rod frowned in confusion. What? What was he saying?? “Yes, Hot Rod. They will be fine,” he assured and placed a heavy servo on his pauldron. Prime gave it a gentle squeeze, before moving past Hot Rod, who shifted to the side to let him go. 

He frowned. “He’s acting weird,” he said aloud. Hot Rod looked towards Ratchet, who stayed by the monitors. “He is acting weird, right?”

The medic waved at him dismissively from over his shoulder, muttering a distracted “Yes, yes, whatever…” to him.

Hot Rod rolled his optics. Never trust the old mech to hold his attention on something for long. 

Arcee strolled into the room then, and Hot Rod immediately took notice of how a certain red mech wasn’t hovering by her side like he always was. 

“Where’s Cliffjumper, Arcee?” He asked curiously. 

Arcee walked up to him, rolling one shoulder. “Lobbing with Bumblebee and Bulkhead in the training room. You wanna join them?” She flickered a cursory look up and down his frame, before meeting his optics with a raised optical ridge. 

Hot Rod turned around, glancing back at the monitors. No word from Fowler yet. He frowned thoughtfully and turned back to Arcee, smiling sheepishly. “Nah. Gonna wait around here for a bit. Plus, Bulkhead throws too hard. I don’t wanna miss a catch and scratch up my paint.” He brushed his digits carefully over his chassis, beaming proudly at the flames streaking across it. Best leave it unblemished for as long as he could. They didn’t exactly have quality buffers on hand.

Arcee rolled her optics, scowling and fixing him with a dryly unimpressed look. “Why am I not surprised?” She drawled.

Hot Rod beamed innocently when the monitors beeped. He eagerly turned around as Ratchet answered the call. “Yes, Agent Fowler?” The medic spoke up.

“Is Prime there?” Fowler asked.

Already, Hot Rod heard the telltale heavy footsteps of Optimus as he brushed past Arcee and Hot Rod, standing beside Ratchet at the screens. “I am here, Agent Fowler. Did it go smoothly?” Prime asked.

“I’ll be actually happy to admit that it did. Lennox and I are driving out of town now. The kid’ll be fine. They promised to keep their trap shut. And if they don’t, they’ll be facing the government’s top lawyers in court,” reported Fowler. 

Prime frowned. “I doubt they will, Agent Fowler. The human was genuine with their intent. They do not seem the type to share our secret,” he confessed honestly. And Hot Rod found he agreed. The fleshie was many things- a snitch? Nah. Didn’t have the spark.

“Well, either way, it doesn’t matter,” said Fowler dismissively. “We won’t be coming face-to-face with them again, so don’t-”

“Sir.” An unfamiliar voice cut across the call from Fowler’s end, sharp and alert. Hot Rod peered curiously at the screen. 

Fowler made a surprised noise. “What is it, Lennox?” He asked.

“That car…” Lennox murmured, sounding observant and suspicious. “It matches Vehicon alt mode descriptions.”

All at once, Prime stiffened, alongside Hot Rod and, no doubt, Arcee, who had stepped up beside him to listen in on the call. Hot Rod took an extra step forward. “‘Cons!?”

“Hold on,” urged Fowler calmly. “We’ll make a U-turn at the next intersection and go back. Maybe it’s nothing.” 

“Agent Fowler,” began Prime seriously, “if there is even a chance a Decepticon has decided to come for the human immediately after their surveillance timeline has ended, I urge you not to waste any time. Please, return to their home.” 

Fowler sighed, loud and exasperated. “Prime, it’s been a month of radio silence. And before that, it’s all been coincidences linking the ‘Cons to Jasper. They’ve been silent for years before your buddy’s spaceship crashed down and got them all riled up. All it’s been so far are scouting parties looking for your pal Hot Shot–”

“Hot Rod!” squawked the flame-streaked Autobot from behind Prime.

“ –but nothing purposeful. Besides, what use could they have for the kid? They’re only linked to you bots by accident. And even then, it isn’t by much! Kidnapping or killing ‘em hardly seems in the books for the ‘Cons.”

Optimus’ face was grave as he stared at Fowler’s icon on the large monitor. “Agent Fowler, you do not know the Decepticons as well as we do. They care little about whether a potential ally is important to us or not. If they suspect a connection to us, they will take advantage.” He rumbled a heavy sigh, hanging his helm and clenching his servos at his side. “This…is my fault. I should have taken the proper precautions.”

“You did,” said Fowler sternly. “We did, Prime. Look, I’m turning back onto their street now. Lennox’ll knock on their door and see they’re fine and dandy, and we’ll all mosey along our separate paths.”

“...Agent Fowler,” Lennox spoke up grimly, his voice tight and sharp. “There are tire tracks on the road and imprints on the lawn. Big ones.” 

The air in the silo was stiff as the call went quiet from Fowler’s end. Eventually, the human growled out a frustrated noise. “...Well, son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Prime. We do, in fact, have a situation.”

Prime stiffened from helm to pedes. He raised a digit to the panel, staring gravely at the monitor. “We are on the way, Agent Fowler,” he said and hung up the call. 

Ratchet turned as Optimus walked away. “Don’t tell me you’re going after them,” the medic said incredulously. 

“Old friend, you know I cannot condone a single human casualty. Most especially an innocent one,” said Prime grievously. “This is my fault to begin with. I should have foreseen this…”

“Optimus, you didn’t know,” sighed Ratchet. “We cannot predict what those monsters do!” 

“That is right,” Optimus paused at the entrance to the silo. He turned partially, facing them with a grave look on his faceplate. “But we can take the necessary actions to stop them. And that is what we must do. Arcee, Hot Rod,” he regarded them. The two bots straightened to their full height. “I will need you with me. The Decepticons will not hesitate to put the human’s life at stake. And they will need a friendly face,” he levelled Hot Rod with a sincerely knowing look.

Hot Rod stiffened. He wasn’t gonna lie- he was pissed beyond the Pit. He spent a month waiting for the day he could finally stop worrying about that sensitive little human, and the ‘Cons chose the nano-klik Fowler and his human friends stop looking over them to strike? And now, that little human was probably in one of their trunks freaking out. Because he knows they’re freaking out right now. Pit, they flipped out in Hot Rod’s comfortable leather-clad cabin! A dingy Decepticon trunk would be way, way worse. 

He stepped forwards, clenching a servo and knocking it against the insignia on this chassis. “You got it, Prime. I can’t wait to knock it to those ‘Cons,” he huffed. 

Optimus nodded and initiated his transformation sequence, folding down into the semi-truck. Hot Rod and Arcee quickly followed, flanking him.

“Roll out!” He ordered.

*   *   *   *   *

“I see them up ahead,” Arcee reported in a hushed whisper over the comms. “Two Vehicons. Seems like they’re checking out a junkyard for the human. They must’ve found a way to escape and run here.”

Hot Rod beamed. “HAH! Of course they did! They’re clever like that,” he sang.

Prime drove beside him, the two of them driving towards the junkyard Arcee had driven ahead to. Fowler and Lennox tracked the tire tracks to a random highway outside of Jasper. When the Autobots arrived on the scene, they checked them out. Near the end of them, the tracks swerved wildly, as if in a panic, before stopping. Arcee found small traces of the human’s blood a couple of feet beside where the tracks abruptly ended, and then scouted ahead when their foot tracks trekked through the desert for an abandoned old junkyard a kilometer away from the road.

Hot Rod couldn’t admit to the way his tanks churned anxiously, seeing a bit of the human so casually left behind. He tried not to think about how roughed up they might be after the ‘Cons. He’d barely stopped them from stomping on the fleshie the first time they’d come face-to-face, in a scene similar to this. If these were the same Vehicons, he’d be surprised. They weren’t exactly known to hold grudges. 

Then again, it’d be hard to tell. Those guys were all so identical. They blurred together eventually.

Him and Prime braked to a stop outside of the junkyard before transforming into their bipedal forms. Fowler and Lennox were left behind to clean up the mess left on the highway. Something about “throw up” ...Hot Rod shivered when the agent explained it came from inside the human version of tanks. 

The tall hills of metal garbage left behind by humans to rust was a bit creepy, if he had to admit it. They were almost as tall as Optimus, for Pits sake! But they provided good cover for their bipedal modes, he was loath to admit.

They trekked through the junkyard until they turned a corner and saw Arcee’s small back peeking out into an opening filled with old, rusted cars. Hot Rod shivered. The monstrosity.

Hearing their silent approach, the lithe femme glanced over her shoulder and pointed into the clearing. Optimus and Hot Rod peered into it, and he glowered at the sight of the two ‘Cons flipping over cars and peering beneath each of them. 

Hot Rod watched at one Vehicon bent down beside an old Lamborghini, rusted and worn but somewhat resembling Hot Rod- if Hot Rod were old and decrepit and like Ratchet. And Primus if that wasn’t a scary thought to process. 

When he caught a glimpse of a small, shivering form in the low undercarriage of the car, he couldn’t help it- Hot Rod leapt at the ‘Con. 

He transformed his servo into his blaster, shooting two consecutive shots. One caught the Vehicon in the shoulder, making it stumble back and away from the car, and the second hit it square in the chassis. It fell in a heap of metal limps. 

“Fragging-!” He briefly heard Arcee curse from behind him, before blue energon blasts flew over his shoulders and helm, barraging the second Vehicon, who was quick to fall down like his partner. 

Hot Rod didn’t waste any time, taking steady, totally patient strides towards the untouched Lamborghini and bending down. He wrapped a servo beneath it and gently tugged the car up. 

You’re there. Trembling and pathetically small, but relatively untouched. 

He smiles. 

“Well, well. Ain’t this a sight for sore optics!” 

Hot Rod watches you pause and slowly lift your head, before catching sight of him and rolling onto your elbows. Your utter, immaculate awe and relief upon seeing him makes Hot Rod grin despite himself. Your optics were wet with human liquids that streak down your face, but your reaction is too hilarious for Hot Rod to be worrying. Even if his tanks were currently squeezed so tight in a plethora of complicated, mixing emotions that he thought they might creak and bend.

“Y- You..?” The human blubbered out. 

Hot Rod’s grin brightened, his optics glinting with happiness. His tanks unclenched. “How ya been, fleshie? Been a minute.”

“HOT ROD!?” You exploded at last. Yup. There’s the volume he missed.

Hot Rod pushed the old car onto its side fully, propping it up against the one beside it and hovering his servo over it to make sure it wouldn’t tip back over onto you. When assured it wouldn’t, he held out an offering servo. “See, this is what happens when you talk to strangers. Strangers with a far less striking paint job.” 

Your laugh is wet like your optics, but full of delight. “You vain piece of shit,” you murmured.

Hot Rod made a noise of disgust, drawing back.”Agh, c’mon! Do you have to ruin this by bringing your disgusting human feces into the conversation?” He whined. You don’t say a word, instead surging forwards to grasp onto his servo and shove your face into it, honest to Primus cuddling his servo. Hot Rod forces himself to stay deathly still and not flinch back in surprise and risk hurting you. “Aw, Primus- really? Don’t get your human liquids in between my plates! I don’t want it to rust,” he complained.

“Sorry,” you choked out and stepped back. Hot Rod watched you carefully. You didn’t seem hurt in any way. Just dirty and all slobbery with human lubricants and stuff. “Sorry, Hot Rod. I just-” you beamed up at him, “...I missed you.”

Hot Rod froze, stuck staring down at your tear-stricken face that looked so happy staring at him. It caused something deep in his chassis to clench. He pursed his intake, shifting through so many emotions he had to force himself to speak again, to not seem caught off-guard. He wasn’t gonna give you the privilege of doing that to him.

“Yeah, well-” he stammered. Scrap, “-I, uh…y’know, I’ve obviously had a better month than you,” you laughed, and Hot Rod found himself grinning, “but…yeah, it’s- it’s nice seeing your fleshy little face again, fleshie.”

You smirked, a wry turn to your lips. “Why, I dare say it sounds like you actually missed me.”

Hot Rod spluttered, and stood up to place his servos on his hips and look away from you with a puff of hot air from his intake, his spoiler fluttering. “I did not!” He scoffed. “If anything, you missed me. Can’t go a month after going on this sweet ride before getting withdrawals and looking at other cars, can’t you?” He sniffed derisively. 

You laughed again. “Sure, Hot Rod,” you snorted. “Whatever keeps you preening.”

Hot Rod rolled his optics, before remembering- right! Prime and Arcee!

“Scrap-” he muttered and turned around. Arcee had her servos on her hips, watching him dryly. When he looked at her, she raised a single optical ridge. Optimus, in the meanwhile, seemed glad to just be observing. He had that same soft, thoughtful look on his face from the silo. “P- Prime! Arcee. Sorry. Got uh,” he chuckled nervously, “got carried away.”

“No, really? You?” Arcee drawled. “I can’t believe it.” 

Hot Rod grinned sheepishly. He turned back to you, your optics hesitant as they sized up Arcee. And sure, she was smaller than Hot Rod, and way smaller than Optimus, but she towered over you nonetheless. He bent down onto a knee, and offered you his servo hesitantly again. “Wanna- Want me to introduce you?” He asked hopefully.

Your human optics flickered to him, to Arcee, to Optimus, back to Arcee, and finally back to him. Your lips pursed, your expression thoughtful yet stricken. 

Hot Rod smiled. “Hey, don’t worry,” he assured. “I got you, fleshie.”

Whatever had you hesitating collapsed in a nano-klik after his words. Pride bloomed in Hot Rod’s spark when you looked back up to him, searching, before nodding. “‘Kay,” you murmur and climb onto his servo. 

Hot Rod cups his other one around you, slowly, delicately, lifting you up and bringing you close so you couldn’t fall. You trembled, but gripped onto his digits hard. Not hard enough that it hurt, but tight enough so his sensors picked it up the slightest bit.

He turned back to Arcee and Optimus, beaming. “You know Optimus Prime, of course,” you nod from your place peeking at them from over his servo. “Well, this is Arcee. Second-in-command of Team Prime. Probably the most reliable member, if I’m being honest. Well, second to Optimus and Yours Truly, of course.”

Arcee fixed him with a sardonic look. “Thanks for the introduction,” she muttered. Hot Rod beamed at her as the femme stepped up, peering at you kindly. Her intake twitched up into a rare smile. “Name’s Arcee. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances, though,” she admitted.

You snorted. “Yeah, they definitely could be better.” Arcee’s optics lit up with humour and she stepped back. You looked up at Optimus grimly. “They waited until after Fowler and Lennox left to take me,” you said. “They knew.”  

Optimus inclined his helm in repentance. “I know. It was Agent Fowler and Captain Lennox who told us of your kidnapping. I…am terribly sorry for what was conflicted unto you. You did not deserve the hardships you have been put through at our expense.”

You sighed. “Optimus, I don’t- I don’t blame you guys. Not entirely, anyways,” Optimus sank down lower into himself, and you hastily followed up with, “but these guys- they were never gonna leave me alone. And it’s not your fault they’re like that. If you’re feeling guilty, just-” you sucked in a breath, “...please, keep me safe. I- I don’t wanna go through this again. I actually thought I might-”

“I know,” Optimus gently interceded. And he never interrupted anyone.

Hot Rod grimaced and subtly held you a bit closer to his metals. You could’ve died today, because they all weren’t careful enough. That thought, that what-if, stuck to the forefront of his processor like a message. A warning.

“We were careless before, but I swear on my spark never to overlook such possibilities ever again,” promised Prime earnestly. “If you would feel comfortable, I would appreciate it if you could return to our base with us, so that we may discuss future options.”

You grimaced, curling your hand a bit tighter around Hot Rod’s digit. “And Fowler?” You asked, distaste on your tongue for the man’s name. Hot Rod agreed with it.

Optimus had that determined gleam in his optics, though, the one that ensured the Autobots lasted throughout millions of years of warfare without giving an inch to the Decepticons, so perhaps Fowler may not pose as much of an issue as you all thought. “I shall handle our human liaison. For now, you are our priority. Your safety takes utmost importance.”

You visibly relaxed in his servos and looked up at Hot Rod. He grinned down at you. You soon matched his smile with a wobbly but assured one of your own.

“Yeah,” you exhaled. You looked back at Prime, who watched you softly. “That sounds amazing, honestly.”

Optimus smiled, small but beyond brilliance, and inclined his helm. “You humble me with your trust,” he said. 

You laugh, a tad nervously. “Optimus, if anything, you all humble me with everything.”

Arcee snorted and levelled Hot Rod with a knowing gaze. “I see why you’re attached,” was all she said before folding down into a motorcycle. You leaned over Hot Rod’s servos to gape down at her with a mixed reaction of disturbed awe. 

Hot Rod scoffed. “I am not attached!” He said, affronted. The motorcycle honked twice at him before driving off, winding through the garbage piles. Hot Rod followed on foot, and Optimus took the rear, guarding their human cargo. As they walked, you stared up at him.

“You really came for me?” You asked softly.

Hot Rod met your gaze, tilting his helm. Yeah? Why wouldn’t he? “I mean, duh?” He said. “You needed me. Obviously. Who doesn't?”

Your fleshy little face softens with amused and something fond. You patted his digit. “Yeah, whatever, Hot Rod,” you murmur. After a moment, your lips flickered up into a smile. “...Thanks.”

Hot Rod’s strides never faltered, but he paused vocally. He restarted his voice box, his optics flittering to the side. “Like I said; duh. ‘M not gonna leave you for dead! No matter how weird you are,” he muttered. 

You fell silent, and eventually, almost sadly, turned your gaze back ahead of them. 

Hot Rod cleared his voice box and muttered, just barely for you to hear and full of sheepish requite, “...No problem, though. Really.”

You don’t look at him again, but your tiny little hand squeezes his digit. It’s enough of a response between the two of you.

Together, you leave the junkyard, and Hot Rod places you delicately in his passenger seat as you, him, Prime and Arcee drive back to the silo.

Together.

Chapter Text

It’s been a month since you’ve seen the Autobots’ secret base in an emptied out mesa in the simmering desert outside of Jasper, Nevada. When you first came here, your hands couldn’t stop trembling. You’d been brought here to talk secrets. To be told “Don’t snitch and don’t die” and be sent back to your house to sign an NDA from Fowler and his friends. 

A month later and you’re back. Your hands still have a distinct, unending tremble to them as they settle in your lap, but this time it isn’t because of the Autobots. If anything, they lessened your tremoring form. 

Namely, Hot Rod did. 

You were settled on the metal mezzanine, back uncomfortably propped up against a cement wall. Hot Rod had been standing at the edge of the platform since your return to the base. Optimus and Arcee had left to gather their team and discuss options. Hot Rod didn’t exactly insist upon it, but he never made to follow his fellow alien robots. No one argued. They let him stay.

You were glad. 

An hour ago, you were hiding beneath the undercarriage of an old car in a junkyard from evil robots that threatened to take your life, and death felt imminent for you.

Two hours before that, you were at your home, comfortable and at peace and thinking; this was it. You wouldn’t have to see them again after today.

Yeah. So, that was a load of bull.

“Hey,” Hot Rod’s voice called out to you. You raised your head, meeting electric blue eyes that glowed curiously at you. “You doing okay? Seem shaken.”

You fixed him with a look. Hot Rod winced. “...Right. My bad.” 

You snorted. “It’s fine,” you looked back at your hands and distract yourself by intertwining your fingers with each other and squeezing gently. “Just- thinking. It’s been a day. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Hot Rod shrugged. 

“Yeah,” your lips curled up into a reluctant smile. “Is your boss almost done thinking up a course of action? Because today may be my one day off of the week from the bakery, but I still have work to do, and I don’t want people thinking I’m missing, because that’ll cause a whole other set of problems and-”

“Hey, fleshie,” you meet Hot Rod’s gaze again, and he sends you a bright grin, “you're stressing. You humans don’t have as much of an EM field as us, but it’s intense enough that it’s affecting me. Calm it down a few notches,” he lowers his hand. 

You frowned, curious. “What do you mean by that?” You asked.

“I mean calm the frag down? I’m not exactly being vague.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes. “About EM fields.”

“Oohhh!” Hot Rod’s eyes brighten in recognition. “Cybertronians have a different magnetic field than you organics, kinda sorta. And we can signal emotions with it between other Cybertronians,” he answered simply.

“You’re empathic?!” You exclaimed, surging forwards from your sitting position on the floor.

Hot Rod made a high-pitched noise, tilting his head from side-to-side. “Ehhhh…sorta but sorta not? It’s hard to explain to primitive brains.” 

“Wow. Thanks.” 

“No offense!” Hot Rod added with an entirely unapologetic grin. God you hated but appreciated him and his slightly xenophobic tendencies. It was the bit of strange normalcy you needed right now. ”But it’s the truth. You don’t have fields like us, so you can’t read and understand them like us. Anyways, it’s an old tradition. Went out of fashion way early in the war to have your field all out there. The Doc could probably tell you loads about it. He’s ancient like that.”

Yeah, the Doc that was constantly looking at you like you were a rodent that he wanted to exterminate or at the very least throw out but his soft-hearted boss kept around because it was fluffy and cute in an ugly way.

Your mouth twists with unease thinking of who was probably the Good Doctor among the two battling sides. “Yeah…can you just tell me more instead?” You looked back at Hot Rod hopefully.

Hot Rod sighed. “I told you, I’m bad at explaining these things! I would bring out a bunch of drawings, but the only data pads we have Ratchet uses for all his medical stuff. And your paper is so weak and thin. Totally not good drawing tools!”

You rolled your eyes. Right. You should know better than to rely on Hot Rod to tell you about anything other than his paint job or striking automobile model.

Your conversation about Cybertronians and their weird empathic-not-empathic abilities was cut short, both unluckily and thankfully, as Optimus returned. Though this time, with more than just Arcee.

You watched them filter in, varying in size and form, but still so big they could tower over your humble home. One was about two robot heads taller than Arcee, and red with tiny silver bull horns. Another was Hot Rod’s height, if just slightly under it, and yellow and black all over with round electric blue eyes that whirred at you curiously. You had little doubt this was “Bee”, the bot Hot Rod mentioned so much. The next was as tall as Optimus but even bigger in the width department. All round but solid metal. You had no doubt they were the tank of the team.

Bee skipped over to you and Hot Rod, just barely able to peak over the mezzanine to stare at you. Unlike the others, he didn’t have a mouth. A mouth guard covered it, but you could see faint lines in the metal that were probably the Cybertronian equivalent of battle scars peeking out from beneath it. And when he spoke, it was in a series of chirps and buzzes and other alien noises you couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Bee! I want you to meet that fleshie I told you about!” Hot Rod beamed and gestured to you.

You stared at him incredulously. “You talked about me?” 

Huh. You were quite flattered, honestly. You didn’t think Hot Rod cared enough to tell his friends about the little human he kept running into- or almost running over.

Hot Rod waved a dismissive metal hand. “Ehhh, more complained than anything, really,” he said. 

You frowned, and Bumblebee let out a series of chirps. You didn’t know if it was directed towards you or not, but your face still scrunched in confusion. “I- I’m sorry, what?” 

Bee chirped again. You sent Hot Rod a hopeless look. He probably took pity on you, because he looked back at Bee. “They can’t understand NeoCybex, Bee. Especially the bleepy bloopy form you use,” he pressed a finger to his friend’s chest with a grin.

Bee slapped it away, rolling his eyes at Hot Rod. He bleeped something, and Hot Rod gasped.

“The profanity!! Not in front of the organic, Bumblebee.”

“Bumblebee’s your name?” You looked at the yellow bot, who beeped something that sounded affirmative, and added to it by nodding. Your shoulders loosened and relaxed. Communicating was tough, but not out of the question. “Nice to meet you.” 

Bumblebee rocked back and forth on his heels, singing in chirps and beeps as he nudged Hot Rod. The flame-streaked bot groaned.

“Ugh. Great. Now you’ve gotten him all attached and soft for organics,” he complained.

You found yourself grinning again. You sent Hot Rod a teasing look. “Good. Maybe I’ll catch a ride home with him, then. At least he won’t complain about germs.” 

“It’s a perfectly reasonable complaint!” 

“Uh-huh,” you rolled your eyes exasperatedly.

“Is this that squishy you almost ran over, Hot Rod?” The red bot with bull horns strided up to the mezzanine, a grin playing on pliant metal lips. He was half a robot head taller than Hot Rod, who was a quarter of one taller than Bumblebee. 

Hot Rod’s eyes flickered at him as he walked up. “I- Look it was one time!” He complained whilst tossing up his hands. 

The red bot smirked, nudging him, then gazed at you with glowing blue eyes. “I hear the ‘Con’s gave you trouble. Must’ve sucked.” 

“Uh- yeah, that’s…one word for it,” you spilled awkwardly. You tucked your hands away beneath your butt to try and hide their trembling, surrounded by titans as you were. 

The Autobots had proven they weren’t willing or wanting to kill you, not like the Decepticons. And their colourful variety made them seem much less scary than their enemies, who, so long as you knew, were all covered in dark purple and midnight black armour with emotionless red visors, giving a very scary-alien look to the small uncanny valley effect the Autobots gave you.

You preferred their electric blue optics to blood red ones. But that didn’t mean being beholden in them made your heart race any less. Not when one misstep, or a hand gesture gone too far, could squash or swat you like a bug. And there. Life gone. 

The bull-horned bot didn’t seem to take notice of your anxious action. And if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Instead he nodded, that hearty, friendly grin never leaving his face. And it did some to help your nerves. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Been caught by those pieces of junk more than I care to admit. You’re lucky you escaped. It ain’t a fun time being in their prison cells. ‘M sure their stinky lookin’ trunks aren’t much better,” he joked. 

Your lips flickered up into a semblance of a nervous smile. It wobbled and strained, and dropped quickly. You could barely blink properly right now. Your body still felt so disconnected.

When given your silence, the red bot tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Name’s Cliffjumper. My partner says you two have already met.” He glanced over his shoulder at Arcee, who was watching the interaction beside Optimus, Ratch and the bulky green robot whose name you didn’t know yet. 

The blue motorcycle raised a sleek metal eyebrow at you two. Cliffjumper looked back at you with a teasing smirk. “She acts all tough, but deep in that frigid spark of hers, she’s a big softy. Pick her some of those wildflowers this rock has laying around and you have her spark for life,” he advised you in a stage whisper. 

Your grin was a little less hard to keep up this time as you gazed up at Cliffjumper. “Yeah, alright,” you murmur. “Thanks, Cliffjumper.”

Cliffjumper winked before sauntering back over to Arcee, who muttered to him, “I’m not frigid,” in an indignant tone. Cliffjumper laughed as he patted her shoulder as if to console her from herself. The motorcycle batted his hand away with a scowl that was soft around the edges.

“Please. If we might discuss today’s events,” Optimus spoke up. It was an immediate effect, the way his words grabbed the attention of the entire room in an instant. Even yours. You felt floored by the absolute power his voice seemed to have, no matter how gentle it was when spoken.

Well, it seemed you were finally getting told what the hell was going to happen. You shift forwards, removing your hands from underneath you, and use them to prop yourself up into a stand. Your knees still felt wobbly, but you strided evenly towards the old metal railing along the edge of the mezzanine and used that to help you stand properly. You looked up at Optimus. 

“What’s going to happen?” You demanded, straight to the point.

Optimus met your gaze evenly- as evenly as he could for a robot the size of a three-story building. “I have discussed the situation at hand extensively with my team. However, before we make a decision, I would prefer your input,” he inclined his head to you respectfully. “After all, you have been a key member in recent events.”

Yeah, “key member in recent events” being the unlucky fleshbag that was cursed with being in the middle of these bot-on-bot encounters ever since Hot Rod almost ran you over. And oh, how long ago that felt to you now.

You nod. “Alright,” you said with a sigh. “Hit me.”

Optimus blinked, startling back. “I would never.” His voice was aghast, definitely having been caught off-guard, and sounded disgusted and horrified by even the thought of what you’d said. 

You stammered. “I- No- That’s-” you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, “Optimus it’s- it’s a turn of phrase. It means “Tell me what you know”. I’m not telling you to hit me. You’d swat me like a fly,” you explained.

Optimus still seemed overly perturbed by your words, though his expression bloomed with realization and understanding at the newfound knowledge. “Ah, I see…” He murmured thoughtfully to himself. “Human terms. I had never considered- my apologies,” he looked back at you. 

You shook your head, your lips quirking up in a naturally fond way at the alien leader’s coy idiosyncrasies. “It’s fine. Just,” you made a rolling gesture with your hand, “go on. What’s the course of action?”

“Ah, right.” Like a snap, Optimus came back to himself. He straightened, his confounded expression closing off into serious intent. Back was the leader of the Autobots. “We have made the observation that, since you made first contact with Hot Rod in his bipedal mode five weeks ago, the Decepticons have made the assumption that the Autobots have decided to take on human companions. Outside of your military and government, as Agent Fowler is.”

“Except Fowler’s like one of those work friends,” the big green one piped in. “We never see him outside of official business. He’s basically never around. And when he is, he just pops in and out of the base. The ‘Cons probably don’t even know he exists,” he explained. 

Optimus nodded. “Precisely. Thank you, Bulkhead,” he looked back at you whilst Bulkhead grinned. “If we are correct in assuming they now presume you a friend of ours, it would stand to reason they may think you a vulnerability to us, as well. An easy target, so to say.”

“Huh,” you hummed. Your lips pursed in begrudging agreement. You couldn’t even blame him for essentially insinuating that you’re useless — because you were! What were you against twenty foot tall robots? A smear on the ground, that was what. You couldn’t do anything if they decided to come after you, which, after today’s accident, seemed even more plausible than it had before. “I see your point. So, what do we do? What’s the game plan? Am I getting relocated? Because if so, let me tell you, my boss will kill me if I abandon the bakery like that —”

Optimus shook his head at you. “No. We do not ask that of you. Though Agent Fowler may deem it a plausible solution, today’s events have put into perspective that, no matter what we may try to do to prevent it, the Decepticons will not cease in their efforts to take you in order to gain leverage against us.”

You grimaced. So, you were screwed no matter what? Joy. It was going to be a doozy living out the rest of your life in fear of giant robots that turned into cars constantly coming after you. Bye-bye, peace of mind. It was nice when the most horrific thing in your life was The Human Centipede movie. Y’know, before Hot Rod and his stupid vibrant flame decal chucked himself into your life and effectively squatted down and shit on it.

“Okay…” you murmured, surprisingly calm despite it all. Perhaps you were still in shock from the earlier events — ironically enough, as you had been last time you were at the base. You had little to no doubt you’d be crying in your bed tonight after Fowler drops you off or something. “So- what, I gotta run and hide no matter what? Or keep getting kidnapped like some damsel in distress?” Your nose scrunched with distaste. “Because, Optimus, I have to tell you — not the life I imagined for myself.”

Optimus’ eyes were remorseful yet reassuring as he gazed down at you. “You may proceed to live your life as you have been. I do not wish to uproot your peace due to my own ignorance towards your safety. However — if it is your wish for things to remain as they are — I suggest an addition to your daily life. A security measure,” he said.

You tilted your head up at the alien leader, confusion in your brow. “A security measure? Isn’t that what I just had going on?” You couldn’t blame Lennox for not being around constantly to prevent this. He had other duties, a family, he couldn’t just be your guard. And besides, even if the Decepticons came at you regardless of his supervision, what was Lennox against them? He was more useful than you with his military background — but in the end, he was just one human against twenty foot death machines.

“A permanent one,” confirmed Optimus. 

“Permanent? Like, 24/7? Who even has the time for that? Fowler’s people —”

“He doesn’t mean Fowler’s people, squishy,” Cliffjumper interrupted with a grin. You turn a curious look his way. The bull-horned Autobot shrugged a pauldron at the others in the room, jutting his chin at them. “He means one of us.”

You frowned immediately. “But- but you’re fighting in a war!” You blurted.

“Well, duh. That was obvious enough,” Hot Rod rolled his eyes expressively.

You shot him a sidelong glare, before raising Optimus with a far kinder yet equally insisting look. “Optimus, I appreciate the gesture. The thought is enough, but you’re fighting a war. You can’t spare any soldiers in that. Especially if this is all you’ve got left going for you,” you gestured to the bots in the room. 

“They raise a point,” Arcee spoke up. Optimus turned so you could see the small motorcycle standing beside Ratch and Bulkhead, shoulders stiff as she cast a flickering look to Optimus. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but- we’re short enough on bots. Can we risk losing even one?” She asked with earnest curiosity. 

Optimus rumbled thoughtfully, a low noise from his chest that had something squirming in yours. “You may very well be right, Arcee,” he began, and you deflated with relief, “but I also cannot risk the loss of even one human life. If that means straining our resources, so be it.”

Your hopes crumbled down the drain again. You weren’t worth the fuss for this kinda crap!! “Optimus,” you spoke up again hastily, “Arcee is right. You can’t risk this. Especially not for someone like me. It’s like you said; I’m a vulnerability. I’ll only end up dragging you guys down! You need to focus your efforts on survival and winning this war, not- not babysitting!”

That was a bit derogatory to use on yourself, a grown adult, but it was the only thing you could come up with to try and talk Optimus out of his decision. 

The Autobot leader turned back to you, frowning in confusion. “I do not understand- do you not wish to be protected?” He asked with genuine dubiety.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. How do you explain this to the leader of a foreign, alien war faction without angering him or his subordinates? There was no book on this shit! “Look- I’m not saying I want my life put in danger, Optimus. Okay? I would very much like the opposite of that- but you can’t afford to spare any soldiers! And you can’t very well expect me to spend my days 24/7 in here to be watched over. I have a life. A job. People I need to converse with, responsibilities — you don’t have the resources, and I don’t have the time. It just- it isn’t doable. I’m sure Fowler can-”

“Fowler can’t be trusted to keep you safe!!” Hot Rod blurted out unexpectedly. You startled and turned to look at him. The flame-painted Autobot glared at you with abnormally bright eyes. “We tried that last time, but look where it ended up! You were almost killed! Ain’t no way am I letting that guy make any decisions towards your safety!” He declared with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of defiance.

“That is not your prerogative to make, soldier,” Optimus rumbled. Hot Rod flinched softly, but stayed in his defiant stance. The Autobot leader gazed at him for a long moment, before something softened in his eyes. “However, I agree with your perspective. The past has shown us that entrusting Agent Fowler with your safety has proven futile. Which is why I intend to take matters into my own hands,” he turned back to you. You stared up at his earnest eyes, which pleaded quietly with you. “I cannot allow an innocent human life to perish due to our war. As such, it is my responsibility to ensure your safety from here on. Which is why I must persist that one of my Autobots guard you.”

Your mouth moved in complicated ways, frustration bubbling in your stomach and up into your chest. But staring into Optimus’ eyes, which silently urged you so politely to hear him out, to listen to his reasoning, to chance it, had you faltering. 

Even Hot Rod, careless Hot Rod who seemed to not give a damn about your fate, was standing his ground. No Fowler. He failed once already to keep you safe, and you were forced to agree — you couldn’t argue with the facts. Not when they were glaring at you so clearly.

But you hated being the reason the Autobots might lose a soldier. Someone they might need out there in the field, whenever they’re battling these Decepticons away from human eyes. What if they got overwhelmed? And they needed that one extra gun but they were too busy making sure you, useless you, wasn’t being squashed like a bug by the Decepticons? What if they lost the war because of that? You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself, and you knew the Autobot guarding you wouldn’t, either. Not when they could’ve helped their friends. Helped your world.  

You or your world? You valued your life, but even that was a sadly easy choice to make. 

As if sensing your thoughts and doubts, Optimus’ eyes softened. “May I?” He asked suddenly. 

You blinked, gazing at him in confusion, but nod nonetheless. Of all the bots here, you were most confident in Hot Rod and Optimus not killing you.

Optimus’ eyes lit up upon your agreement, and he lifted a metal hand upon the mezzanine, flattening it so his palm lay open for you to step on. You stared at it in astonished disbelief. He- He wanted you to climb onto it?

You’d done it today, just an hour ago with Hot Rod, but- but that was Hot Rod!!! This was-

Seeing Optimus’ patiently hopeful expression, you softened.

This was…not as different as you wanted to think. 

You sighed and climbed on. Optimus raised you slowly, drawing you close to his chest. You pressed a hand to his windshield to steady yourself, even though Optimus had a sturdy hand. One that made you feel truly safe and protected, like nothing could touch you. And for some reason, you didn’t doubt that he’d let nothing cause him to drop you.

You were safe. 

You peered up at Optimus, who gazed back at you gently. You must look like a kitten to him, but as humans did with kittens, Optimus’ gaze seemed adoring and soft — as soft as it could be with his constantly pensive, hard-to-read expressions. 

“I know you worry, but do not fret. We Autobots are few but strong. We have lasted this long in our war. You do not pose a burden to us, no matter what you may think. It was never my wish to uproot your life like this,” he explained apologetically, “but I hope you understand that it is my wish now that you are not forced to abandon all that you know for our sake. If anything, your safety would cause me peace of mind. And I know I am not the only one.”

If he meant Arcee and the other bots, you guessed they cared more than you had presumed for a human life they'd just met. Hot Rod…he skipped around and acted like he didn’t care, and his dismissive words sometimes added to that, but you could tell from his outburst — he cared, too. He wanted you safe, as well.

How could you say no to these faces? The ones that have saved your life three times in as many months. Although whether the first time counted you weren’t sure. After all, it was Hot Rod that had accidentally almost killed you that time.

You sighed shakily, flattening your palm against Optimus’ windshield. “It’s just…I hate- I don’t want to be the reason something might go wrong, because one of you is too busy making sure I don’t get killed,” you admitted in a pitifully small voice. “I don’t want it all to blow sky high for you guys because you’re missing one set of hands you might really need.”

“THANK you!” Ratch blurted out, startling you. You shifted in Optimus’ palm, who turned you with him to look at the medic, who’d tossed up his hands as if he was thankful someone had finally said it. Whether he cared whether or not it was you, you didn’t focus on. 

“Ratchet,” Optimus rumbled in gentle warning. 

Ratch — Ratch-et? — sighed aloud, fixing Optimus with an exasperated look. “Optimus, I have kept my peace, even though I strongly object to this. The human is a security risk! As much as — if not more than — that preening cockatoo over there!” He pointed accusingly beyond you to Hot Rod, who bristled and slapped an offended hand over the Autobot insignia on his chest.

“Hey!!!” He gasped. Hot Rod turned to Bumblebee curiously. “...Wait, what’s a cockatoo, again?”

Oh, dear sweet Hot Rod. 

Optimus frowned, gentle but reprimanding like the rest of his exterior. “A security risk would be leaving them be at the mercy of the Decepticons without the proper protective measures. They were taken in broad daylight in the middle of a civilian neighbourhood. In front of their very home,” rumbled the Autobot leader in a serious tone. One that vibrates all throughout you when pressed so closely to his metals. You shuddered briefly. “A risk I cannot afford to oversee again. No matter the cost.”

“Even if that cost is the life of one of our own, Optimus?” Ratchet vocalized desperately. The silo went quiet. “We have been lucky thus far, but how long until that luck runs out?”

Even Optimus fell thoughtfully quiet at his words. You couldn’t help but send Ratchet a thankful look. The Autobot medic’s eyes flickered to you in the palm of his leader’s hands briefly and narrowed, a thoughtful but judgemental scrutiny in his gaze, before he looked back at Optimus.

Welp. Better than a death glare, amiright?

Eventually, Optimus raised his head and met Ratchet’s gaze once again. “Then we shall deal with the situation when it arises,” he declared. Ratchet deflated with a quiet groan, as did you. “But for now, the human’s protection takes priority above all else. Which is why I must press upon the matter that we assign you a guardian,” he looked back down at you. 

You met his gaze conflictingly. The guy was an immovable object. You could only disdain the fact that you were not an unstoppable force to combat against him. No matter how much you argued, Optimus wouldn’t budge. He was determined to see this through, to make sure you didn’t go through what you did in that junk yard again. 

Your heart swelled with conflicting emotions. Relief and dismay and affection and exasperation, all one fucked-up concoction squeezing your heart for all its juices. 

You weren’t winning this fight- then again, you never stood a chance in the first place, probably. So why keep fighting? When it’d ended up with you getting to keep your life?

In his palm, you deflated. 

“Fine,” you finally acquiesced. “You get to keep me.”

From above you, Optimus did the closest thing to beaming. And by that, he lifted his helm as his optics shone a bit brighter, growing a bit softer with remnants of joy and relief as the ends of his metal lips curled with the barest hints of a smile. 

“Thank you, my friend,” he rumbled. “You do me a great favour by permitting this.”

“Yeah, well,” you rolled your eyes fondly, “you’ve kinda been saving my life left, right and centre. This is the least I can do.” You frowned curiously, then, and looked up at him. “Who’ll be my designated human-sitter?”

If you didn’t know any better, Optimus’ expression grew the slightest bit cheeky.  

“I think, given your familiar history with one another, Hot Rod will make a fine candidate,” he turned you both towards the flame-streaked warrior. 

Hot Rod stared blankly at the two of you, eyes flicking back and forth, back and forth, before they cycled wide as he jumped backwards. “Wait a klik- WHAT!? ME??? But- But why!?” He exclaimed.

Optimus bowed his head. “As I have stated, Hot Rod; you are our most familiar face to them. I am sure they are most comfortable with you than they are any of the rest of us,” he looked back at you. “Am I correct?”

You stared at Hot Rod, contemplation glittering in your eyes. Well, he wasn’t wrong. Hot Rod was your first contact- in both automobile and bipedal modes. You’d only ever been inside his cabin safely, and while his paint job was over-the-top — not to mention his vanity about it — and would be a pain in the ass to keep under the radar within Jasper…

…he came to save you. Both times. You could trust your life with him when it counted. You had a history — however short it was — and that- it counted, to you. Every bit mattered. Because if you were going to entrust your life and security to a twenty-foot tall robot with the ability to stomp you beneath their heel or squeeze the living life out of you, you needed to know they’d keep you safe.

And you knew Hot Rod would. 

He always kept you safe.

“Yeah,” you murmured aloud with a small nod. You met Optimus’ patient gaze. “Yeah…I’d be alright with Hot Rod.”

“Now, wait just a klik!” Hot Rod blurted. You both looked at him again. Hot Rod crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t I get a say about what I want and don’t wanna do? I mean- what if I don’t wanna be a guard dog? Hm?” He sniffed defiantly. “What then?”

You couldn’t hold back the look of hurt that flashed across your face that Hot Rod might not want to look after you. Like he saw your time together as a burden, something he was forced to go through. 

“You don’t wanna…?” You whispered, your voice carrying across the quiet silo.

Hot Rod froze up, his eyes seemingly glitching out and twitching as he stared at you. A moment later, he grumbled something unintelligible to your ears and lowered his arms. He cast his gaze to the side as he, almost embarrassingly so, said in a loud mutter, “...Yeah. Sure. I’ll do it.”

You beamed at him, smiling happily. “Thank you, Hot Rod,” you said.

Hot Rod stiffened up before vocally clearing his throat. Something clicked on nearby that you could just faintly hear — fans? Whatever his reaction, it garnered an overall amused reaction from the fellow bots in the silo, who smirked and even nudged the red and yellow Autobot around.

“Then it is decided,” declared Optimus. He moved you carefully from his chest, and settled you back on the mezzanine. You stepped a wobbling foot off his hand, smiling thankfully up at the alien leader, who regarded you kindly. “Hot Rod, you shall be tasked with ensuring our human companion’s safety. Keep them under careful watch, and report in any Decepticon sightings you may come across. In the case we must call for desperate measures when on the field, you will be called in. However, only as emergency backup.”

Hot Rod saluted the big rig. “Yes, sir!” He exclaimed. You looked at Hot Rod, who met your gaze thoughtfully for a moment, before he sent you an easy grin alongside a friendly wink.

You grinned back.

Optimus turned back to you. “Will this suffice?” He asked. 

You nodded up at him. “Really, Optimus, this is more than enough. Thank you,” you smiled.

He bowed his head to you, before turning and walking off. As if his departure was some sort of release from the meeting, the Autobots came to crowd around the edge of the mezzanine. You watched them with confused amusement. Your shaking had, sometime during that conversation, died out completely. Your heart still raced unnaturally fast in your chest around them and their bright blue eyes, but you- you weren’t as scared. 

“This is so cool!” Bulkhead beamed. “A human companion! Never had one of those before!” He grinned at you and knocked a large fist against his round metal torso. The sound reverberated throughout the room. “Name’s Bulkhead. Nice to finally meet ya!”

You smiled back, returning your name to Bulkhead. He reminded you of a bear with a panda’s personality. All big and intimidating on the outside, but a sweetheart on the inside. Bumblebee poked his head up and chirped and whirred at you.

Confusion knit in your brow for only a brief second before Cliffjumper gave you a translation. “‘Bee says that he doesn’t mind switching jobs with Hot Rod if you ever get tired of him talking about his paint job,” he said with a smirk.

“HEY!!” Hot Rod’s voice arose from behind the mountain that was Bulkhead. Your newly-designated guardian shoved himself through the crowd of bots, placing himself in between you and the others. “Okay, no sabotaging my new job! You’re all just jealous,” he sniffed.

“Of curbside duty? I dunno,” Cliffjumper said cheekily. “I think I like my free time speedin’ around.”

Hot Rod deflated the slightest bit at that revelation. Arcee smacked the back of her hand against Cliffjumper’s chest scoldingly. “Don’t say that,” she admonished him. The blue motorcycle looked at you and Hot Rod reassuringly. “With your proclivity for winding up around ‘Cons, I’m pretty sure Hot Rod’ll have more action than us. All we do nowadays is scouting for energon mines and patrolling the area to stretch our wheels. Not as grand as Cliff’ makes it sound,” she said wryly.

“Man, do I miss when the ‘Cons were active!” Bulkhead spoke with nostalgia. “Can’t believe I’m saying it, but I miss kickin’ their tailpipes,” he grinned.

Arcee rolled her eyes. “Well, unlike you, I’m not too eager to be shot at again.” 

“Aw, ‘Cee, don’t be like that,” Cliffjumper nudged her. “You know you miss sharpening up them sharpshooter talents of yours.”

Arcee looked up at him with a mischievous light to her eyes. “...Keep this up, and maybe I’ll start using you as target practice,” she threatened with a smirk. 

Cliffjumper barked out a laugh, and watching them — truly watching these titans interact like regular humans was both disconcerting and comforting to you. It made you realize you’d been found by the right side, and you couldn’t be more grateful for that. You were, as far as you were concerned, in the right hands. The best you could hope for when caught in the middle of an intergalactic robot war.

The Autobot’s would take care of you. You were pretty sure, now.

“So, what’re your guys’ stories?” You asked, finding curiosity bubble up from within you.

The Autobots circling you looked at you in sync, electric blue eyes locking on your within nanoseconds. It caused you to become the slightest bit anxious, being the object of their sights, but you stomped on the urge to shift and wiggle uncomfortably beneath their gazes. “How’d you end up here?”

“Well, Arcee and I came together,” Cliffjumper spoke up and nudged Arcee. The blue bot fixed him with a wry stare. “Got caught by the ‘Cons back on empty ol’ Cybertron and stopped a plot to ambush Team Prime here on Earth after Shockwave and Starscream managed to get a top-secret message from Prime from our processors — our minds, in human terms. Broke their space bridge, and Arcee here made the finest shot of a lifetime and blinded that one-eyed ‘Con! And then we hijacked our way to this rock!” He grinned. “Pretty epic, amiright?”

You smiled begrudgingly. Cliffjumper’s energy and easy charisma and humour made you relax a bit easier, and unwire and loosen up where you were subconsciously stiff. “Yeah. Sounds cool,” you agreed. You frowned, tracking back to his story. “Who’s Starscream and Shockwave?”

Cliffjumper’s eyes lit up a tad brighter. “Ooh, they’re some of the big guns of Decepticon High Command. Starscream’s Megatron’s second-in-command, and his Air Commander on top of it. When you’re a noble from Vos, though, kinda expected,” he shrugged a pauldron. 

You raised an eyebrow. “So, he’s a nepo-baby?” You asked dryly. Your stomach gave an odd, uneased twist, however, realizing that the Decepticons had a whole chain of command you’d yet to be familiar with. Bots more dangerous than the ones that have come after you. They were probably just foot soldiers, and yet they’d been so close to successfully killing you multiple times. Stumbling across a commander or lieutenant of the Decepticons would surely end in your gruesome demise, and maybe not even Hot Rod could save you from that.

The questions would be answered in due time, though, either by Hot Rod or the other Autobots, if you could find time to come back under the excuse of not separating Hot Rod from his friends — which, you wouldn’t mind doing at all because you weren’t cruel. He wasn’t going to stay locked up in your unused garage or something. You definitely didn’t wanna piss him off, even if Hot Rod wasn’t a threat to you.

Cliffjumper paused, his optics growing distant in that way they did when the Autobots were probably googling a term you used. After a second, he grinned, wide and brilliant, and laughed. “HAH! Oh, yeah, that’s Screamer, alright. Definitely one of them nepo-babies you guys have,” he cackled.

You smiled weakly, before curiosity tugged your lips into a frown again. “And Shockwave? Who’s he?”

“Megatron’s Chief Scientist,” it was Arcee to answer you this time. She was much more grim with her explanation than her exuberant partner. “Emotionless, logic-driven, and dangerous above all else. You definitely don’t wanna cross his path — human or Autobot. No one’s safe from that creep.”

Cliffjumper draped an arm across her small shoulders, shaking her gently as he fixed you with an easy grin. “Buuut, you won’t have to! In the state Arcee left him inside of that spacebridge, ain’t no way that one-eyed freak is still alive. It’s impossible you’ll ever see him. Screamer, though- he’s an active threat on this planet. But all bark and little to no bite,” he waved a hand dismissively. “And he won’t give you a second glance. If anything, his optics’ll go right over you and go straight to Hot Rod over here in the case he lowers his pride enough to stumble into Jasper.”

Hot Rod puffed out his chest proudly while you tilted your head at Cliffjumper. “Optics?”

“Our eyes,” Bulkhead tapped a large metal finger to his soft, puppy-like eyes — optics.  

You made a thoughtful noise. “Hot Rod mentioned intakes and afts and- and something about scrap and being fragged…is that all just alien lingo?” You asked. 

Hot Rod made a high-pitched noise of embarrassment as Cliffjumper and Bulkhead guffawed with laughter, and Bumblebee chirped in a pattern that reminisced laughing to you. Arcee, with only a small upward tilt to her pliant metal lips, is the one to calmly and professionally answer you. “Yeah, basically. Intakes are our mouths,” she tapped a finger to her moving mou — intake, “afts are…the formal term is tailpipe,” she amended as Cliffjumper and Bulkhead dissolved into fits of chuckles and giggles from their once boisterous laughter that echoed across the stone and metal chamber, “and that’s basically our rear ends. The others are swear words. Ones I don’t think you need to learn at the present moment. I’m sure Hot Rod can teach you loads about them, though. Kid’s an expert at spitting expletives. 

Her tone was distinctly teasing, and feeling bad you accidentally put Hot Rod at the mercy of his team’s teasing and pestering, step in to lift some burden off his shoulders. “That’s cool. We have time, of course. Hot Rod’s a good explainer —” when it’s about his paint job, “ — so I have every confidence he’ll keep me up to speed with your guys’ culture. I’m sure I can teach him a few things, too,” you level your guardian with a smile.

Hot Rod’s optics found your eyes, and transitioned from surprise to relief to gratitude. You winked discreetly at the flame-streaked bot, who beamed back at you.

“If you have enough leisure time to converse with our new charge-” a pointed voice spoke up from a small distance away from the mezzanine. You turned to see Ratchet standing with his back to you at some very large green monitors. On the main one, the entire globe stared back at you. An alien-like marker pinpointed a certain spot somewhere in eastern Europe. “-then perhaps you have enough time to check out potential energon deposits.”

Cliffjumper deflated. “Aw, c’mon, Doc. Let us have some time to get to know the human! They’re the first fun one we’ve come across,” he complained.

Ratchet did not spare them a glance as he wordlessly marched over to a terminal by a round metal tunnel beside the main entrance to the silo. One you hadn’t noticed yet. It had large metal rings circling it, and a metal walkway beneath it. It was big enough for multiple Autobots to walk down it at once. Even from afar, you could tell it dwarfed you multiple times over.

The medic pulled down on a lever, and all of a sudden, a whirlwind of blue and green energies swirled to life from the metal rings, the powering-up sound filling your ears, roaring and foreign and pure alien. You winced back at the bright light.

The sound died out into a neutral background noise eventually, and Ratchet looked at the Autobots. “March,” he ordered in a no-nonsense tone.

Bulkhead and Cliffjumper both grumbled begrudgingly, the latter turning to you as the others began walking over to the portal. “Let’s continue where we left off soon, squishy,” he flicked a friendly salute your way and walked over to the portal.

You glanced at Hot Rod, who stepped up to your side to watch the others go. “What is that?” You asked with a jut of the chin towards the swirling blue-green miasma. 

“A groundbridge,” answered your new guardian. 

“What’s that?”

“It lets us go anywhere on your planet,” he looked at you with a teasing smirk. “You didn’t think our operations were strictly American, did you, fleshie?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “How’d that go with the world governments?” You asked instead of giving him the satisfaction of teasing you. “Do they know about you guys, too?”

Hot Rod shrugged one pauldron off-handedly. “Dunno. Team Prime handled the politics way before I came along. I’m the rookie,” he said the term with a soft grimace. “But I’m guessing they gotta know. Otherwise we’d be getting a lot more resistance — and not just from the ‘Cons.”

You nodded, and together, you two watched Cliffjumper, Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee disappear in the swirl of energies. Once they were gone, the portal circled away, and Ratchet went back to his workstation without a second glance your way. But even you could see the frigid set to his shoulders.

He didn’t like that he’d been overruled with your stay.

You felt bad — you, too, didn’t like bothering the Autobots when they were struggling in a war. But when faced with Optimus’ insistence, paired with that pure hopeful and pleading look in his optics that made him look like a dog when you were offering a bone to him but not giving it to him yet because he’d been bad or something. It made your insides twist uncomfortably to disappoint Optimus for some reason — it was like his master weapon was guilt…and he wasn’t even weaponizing it. He just subconsciously sets it upon you when you say “no”.

But, regretfully, you couldn’t focus on Ratchet’s organic issue. Not when you had your own issues — and one major solution to them after everything that happened today involved your bed.

You turned to Hot Rod, hopeful and silently pleading. “Mind if we go back to my place? I’m tired after- y’know,” you finished lamely.

Hot Rod startled into action, optics going wide and bright as he nodded, as if eager to test out his new job. “Yeah! Sure! ‘Course!” He blurted and transformed. You watched him fold down into the Lamborghini, which opened its passenger door to you in invitation. You smiled fondly at the familiar car and walked carefully down the unsteady staircase for the mezzanine. You made your way to the passenger side and ducked into the cabin, eager to return to your own home and clean yourself from the grime that was all over you. 

You winced as you sat your dirt-crusted butt on Hot Rod’s fine leather seats. “I’m sorry- I’m a mess. I can clean you up after I shower, if you’re comfortable with it.”

Hot Rod made a dismissive noise. “Eh. Not really your fault you’re a dirty, disgusting mess right now,” his voice came casually from all around you. Like before, you focused your eyes on the flashing Autobot insignia on his steering wheel as he talked. “Buuut, I’m not opposed to you cleaning up your own messes. Just be careful! My interior is sensitive,” he said warningly.

Your lips twitched into a soft smile as Hot Rod’s engine rolled over, starting to life smooth as butter, and he began to pull out of the silo. The drive back to your place, like before, was silent except for the smooth rumble of Hot Rod’s engines, topped with the distant crackling of rocks beneath his wheels. 

The sun was beginning to set, and it was only then you’d realized just how much time had passed. Fowler had come to pick up Lennox at around 4PM today. Your following kidnapping, rescue, and then the ending talk with the Autobots must have happened within the last four hours or so. Something in your chest churned at the realization.

How much your life had changed in those four hours.

Within them, normalcy was completely uprooted, shoved into a shredder, and spat back out again in bits and pieces. You would never again feel safe in your own home, your own community, after the day’s events. Not at the realization that the Decepticons probably knew where you lived now. Had known where you lived, for they’d taken you minutes after Lennox and Fowler had left.

They’d been waiting. Lying in wait for the perfect time to strike.

You shuddered, grasping your elbows and hugging yourself close, curling into yourself in Hot Rod’s passenger seat.

The Autobot remained quiet, but had probably translated your physical reaction to being cold, for a few seconds later, you felt the leather beneath you warm up to a comfortable degree. While you weren’t cold, and most likely still just in shock, you relaxed, leaning into the heat that seeped into your skin from the seats with a content smile on your lips.

“Thanks, Hot Rod,” you murmured quietly as Hot Rod drove past your bakery on the very end of Main Street, entering town.

The Lambo is quiet around you, your only sound still his buzzing engines and rolling tires. It isn’t until he turns onto your familiar street and pulls up to the curb out front of your house he speaks. 

“It’s nothin’,” he murmured back in a strangely gentle voice. 

You smiled at the steering wheel before you sat up in your seat. You reached to open the door when you paused. You eyed your unkempt front lawn. Specifically the large spots of flattened grass.

Footsteps. Where the Decepticons — 

No. Nope. Definitely not.

You cleared your throat a bit too loudly for your tastes. “Why’d you pull onto the curb?” You asked the steering wheel, trying to go for nonchalance and failing terribly.

Even though his vehicular form didn’t have optics, you felt Hot Rod’s curious regard. “Because this is where I’m staying..?” He said uncertainly.

You fixed the Autobot insignia with a look. “You are not staying on my curb if you’re gonna be guarding me. I’m not leaving you in the searing Nevada heat. And it gets surprisingly cold at night, too.”

“Oh. Right. Your weird atmosphere,” came his distasteful tone in response.

You snorted. “Pull into the driveway. I’ll open my garage for you.”

“But how will I watch over you?”

“The Decepticons won’t be breaking into my house,” you said dryly. “They’re far too big. And you’d hear them. And whenever I leave the house, I’ll take you with me. But your paint job is a bit too flashy to just be hovering outside my home 24/7. Believe it or not, but flame decals like yours catch eyes. Eyes I wanna avoid. You’re a robot in disguise, aren’t you?” You asked him.

Hot Rod hummed. “Huh. Guess you’re right there.”

“Exactly. Rest up in my garage. Do you get cramped if you’re a car for too long?”

“Sorta. Nothing I can’t handle, of course! But if I don’t want my pistons to end up like Ratchet’s in a couple million years, I’ll wanna exercise ‘em. Can your garage fit me?”

“No,” you snorted. “But I can take you into the desert early tomorrow before I go to work. We can walk around, maybe find a place with shade.”

“In Nevada?” Hot Rod said dryly.

You grinned. “That’s why we’ll look, Hot Rod. Y’know, like a little adventure? A mission,” you decided to put it. And in doing that…

“A mission?” The eagerness in his voice confirmed your suspicions. Already, you were finding ways to gently nudge Hot Rod into agreeing with your plans. Good. If you two were gonna be spending the next how-long together, you’d need to find a way to work together and come to conclusions. With his tendencies (or at least the ones you knew of), light manipulation might come to your aid.

“Yeah. A mission. So? Are we in agreement?” You raised an eyebrow at the steering wheel. 

Hot Rod revved his engine, reversing onto the street before driving up your driveway and braking just in front of your garage. “Pit yeah, I’m in! I’m so in!” He exclaimed.

Boom. There it is.

You pat the dashboard with the cleaner of your two hands, before reaching for the door. “Alright. It’s a deal.” The passenger opened for you, and you lowered your hand and ducked out. Glancing back into the cabin, you winced at the dirt left on the seat. You ducked the upper half of your body back in, brushing most of it onto your driveway. Until tomorrow, the rest would have to wait. 

“There,” you murmured contently as you stepped away. The door shut in front of you, and after you’d opened up your garage and discreetly looked around before waving Hot Rod in, you shut it after him. Your once empty, unused garage which you never thought you’d put anything in now had a shiny new sports car in it. One that could transform into a twenty-foot robot and shoot light bullets out if his alien blasters. Because he was an alien. From space. Fighting in an alien war. That came from space.

Because — and this was becoming a normal sentence for you — what the fuck even was your life?

Standing at the inside door to the garage, which connected to your living room, you took a minute to sweep your gaze over Hot Rod. 

Never, in a million years, did you think he’d end up your designated guardian. Watching over you. You two had been at odds, sure, on more occasions than one. He had almost killed you during your first (unofficial) meeting, in the far away past of two months ago. And after tossing you into a week-long state of paranoia after saving your life on the side of that back-end highway outside of Jasper, had proceeded to chase you down and literally take you to his leader. With your consent — unlike the Decepticons — but still.

Somehow, despite the fact that you two had some weird kinda relationship going on, you couldn’t imagine entrusting anyone else with your safety. Not even Fowler, a fellow human.

No, you felt safest with Hot Rod so near. And you didn’t feel like opening whatever can of worms might be involved in that until you were way more ordinary about your situation. Because as far as you knew, you were the only one in your situation. You doubted any other human would ever be in your shoes. 

“You gonna be okay?” Hot Rod’s curious, innocent question startled you gently back to reality. Oh. You were still staring.

Flushing, you lowered your head shyly and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Hot Rod. I’ll be fine. Thank you,” you said for the nth time that day.

“Man, you really must be shaken up. You’ve been so grateful to me. It’s a weird look on you, fleshie,” he teased. You could hear a strange lilt to his voice, however small it was.

You probably would’ve retorted something smartass-y to him, like the way you two did with each other. But after today, after everything, you were just too tired. So you levelled him with a serious, earnest gaze. “I’m serious,” you murmured. “Thank you. For coming after me, for saving me — I’d be dead without you. I dunno how I’ll ever repay you, but…thank you anyways. Just- thank you.”

Hot Rod fell into a bewildered silence, you could tell. You didn’t want to embarrass him by forcing him to respond to your thanks, so you turned for your door. “I’m heading to bed. G’night, Hot Rod. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called softly over your shoulder as you pulled the door open and stepped through it.

“...Yeah. Night,” came the small return from Hot Rod as your door shut behind you. 

You smiled to yourself tiredly as you kicked your shoes off by the garage door instead of your front and stumbled into your bedroom. There was your phone, plugged in on your bedside drawer. You silently condemned the device for not being with you when you needed it, even though it was your fault you’d forgotten it when bidding goodbye to Lennox and Fowler.

You threw yourself onto your bed, not caring that you were now getting your sheets dirty, just as you had Hot Rod’s seat, and just- cried.

You cried and you sobbed into your pillows, messy now with dirt and tears as your sorrow finally broke that dam you’d been holding up for four hours, now. It was a tsunami of grief, relief, and pure unadulterated fear, realizing you had almost lost your life today. How you had literally reviewed your entire life in all its dull normalcy because you believed in your inevitable end.

After calming down, you rolled onto your back. When your tears had dried up, you stared blankly at your ceiling. You condemned yourself for being so vulnerable, you condemned the Decepticons for kidnapping you and striking the fear of God into you over and over again, you condemned Fowler for not being able to protect you, and you even condemned Hot Rod for putting you in this mess to begin with.

Then you sent a mental apology to him, for condemning him. Because he didn’t want this as much as you did. He and you were accidentally forced together by pure coincidence and bullshit because some higher power had it out for the both of you. But you both would have to make do. You’d work with what you got, no matter how shitty the deal. 

Luckily, you were optimistic to a fault sometimes. You had some faith that things might look up for you both, if all goes well.

Eventually, you did manage to get up and shower, letting the hot water soothe your aching body. Once the dirt and grime and small bits of blood that there was was all washed off, you were able to examine the bruises and light scrapes the Decepticons had left littering your body.

Thanks, you assholes, you sent to whatever afterlife they were probably in.

You scrubbed your skull and body thoroughly, before turning off the shower head and stepping out to wrap yourself in a towel. You dried off and put on some fresh pyjamas you’d placed on the counter before hopping in, and opted to air dry your hair, as you usually did. 

Wandering back into your bedroom right around 9PM, you realized you couldn’t wash your blankets and sheets until tomorrow. So, as you did with Hot Rod’s passenger seat, you brushed away the dirt until you were satisfied you could sleep comfortably, and slipped into bed after your long, long, no good, very bad day.

Your eyes fluttered shut, heavy with exhaustion. It wasn’t long before you were out like a light.

Chapter Text

“Can’t we go somewhere else? Namely somewhere without sand?”

“Uh…” you cast a significant glance around the simmering desert that stretched for miles around you both, “...no.”

Hot Rod whined. “It’s getting all gritty in my pedes! Do you know how hard it is to clean it up?”

“No, Hot Rod, I don’t,” you sent him a patronizing look. “Care to tell me all about it?”

He rolled his optics, letting out a sound reminiscent of a snort. “Fine, whatever. Don’t listen to my completely valid health complaints,” he scoffed. 

“I think you mean cosmetic,” you grinned. “You did agree to this little mission of ours last night.”

“Yeah, yeah. Obviously when I was still distracted, probably,” he muttered petulantly. “Didn’t know what I was getting into. So dumb…”

You laughed, stepping onto a rock that slowly elevated you upwards. You walked up the long sandstone, where it continued to a higher point that ended on a slightly pointed edge about fifteen-ish feet away, and might even put you at hip-level with the Autobot striding at your side. 

That morning, you felt like you’d woken up from a fever dream. Sure, your body still echoed with the dull, throbbing echoes of pain, but in your sleep-muddled haze, you chalked it up to taking a harsh tumble after seeing off Fowler and Lennox.

Surely you hadn’t actually gotten kidnapped by evil robots, right? Hahahaha- 

Your brief sequence in your ideal reality was shattered horribly when you’d been locking your door to go to work, and had gotten halfway down your driveway when loud, blaring, affronted honking came muffled from your garage, halting you in your steps. 

The realization had hit you, followed by disbelief and quickly succeeded by horror — because it had happened! You’d been kidnapped! By robots! And you’d almost died and-

You’d promised yourself you weren’t gonna throw up, and instead focused on the events afterwards. 

The base. 

The Autobots.

Hot Rod.

He was your guardian now. Officially and, as far as you both knew, permanently. Unless Optimus Prime decided to reassign him. But recalling the alien leader’s insistence upon his guardianship over you, you doubted that’d be possible.

You’d hurriedly thrown open your garage door and slammed it back down behind you before Hot Rod could loudly complain at how you’d almost forgotten him for the entire neighbourhood to hear. 

You apologized profusely to your new guardian, and explained that you still hadn’t fully processed what had happened to you yet. It would take a few more days to fully set in, but to appease Hot Rod’s unyielding ego, you thanked him profusely for reminding you of your trauma.

…Okay. While you hadn’t added in that last part about your trauma like your biting sarcastic side begged you to, the rest was true. And worked. For Hot Rod practically preened under your praise and gratitude, and opened his passenger side door to you and urged you in so you both could go out into the desert so he could stretch his limbs as promised. 

You were meant to go into work today…but it was a Monday. Miko would be at school, and you didn’t open until 12 PM. You only ever got there early to prep the store, but you could squeeze it if you had to. Besides, school days meant you didn’t get many customers until halfway through the afternoon. So you’d acquiesced to go through with your promise.

Which led you to the present, where Hot Rod maintained his strides to match yours; a surprising feat by any metal titan’s standards. 

“Relax. If you’re comfortable, I’ll hose you down after work and make you all shiny and new. And I’ll also get that seat of yours cleaned off, as promised,” you said.

Hot Rod let out a huff of hot air from his intake. “You’d better. Sand is so uncomfortable to have all up in my gears.”

“Awww, poor Hot Rod,” you simpered with a pout, amused glimmering in your eyes, “I feel so bad for you. You poor, poor creature with the ability to transform into a luxury car, shoot light bullets, and have the capacity to dominate and lead worlds if you wanted to.”

Hot Rod grinned. “I could do that,” he pondered playfully. He shrugged a pauldron. “But leading is so not my style. That’s a Prime’s job. And I am definitely not a Prime. Nah, I prefer my freedom. Scouting and warrior-ing is where I belong,” he sang. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you began as you slowed your steps climbing up the sandstone, “but what exactly does a Prime do? And how does one of you become them? Are you born one? Or is it, like, the ultimate job promotion or what?”

“In a sense,” snorted Hot Rod jokingly. He shook his head. “But no. It’s way more than that. Prime’s are holy. They lead the people in a divine sense. Only someone chosen by Primus can be one.”

“Primus?”

He nodded. “Our god. Our creator — creator-god is the summarized term. Primus was the first of us. Of anything. He existed before any other life in the cosmos and made the first Cybertronians — the Thirteen Primes,” he answered as you both stride slowly together. You listened intently, struck with awe as you were told about this godly race’s own god. The more you learned about Cybertronians, the smaller you felt. “He’s actually our planet, y’know.”

“Wait — he’s what?” You blanched at your guardian.

Hot Rod grinned at your reaction. “Y’know how we Cybertronians transform?” You nod. “Well, Primus transformed himself into Cybertron. The entire surface we lived on, the cities and colonies — it was all a piece of him. His shell. And his spark was the very thing that pumped life into our planet.”

“That’s insane,” you gaped up at him. “You lived on your god? That must feel so weird!”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Not really. Kinda slips your processor, kinda doesn’t,” he said dismissively.

How the fuck does that slip your mind? You thought incredulously to the robot. You would never stop thinking about it if you knew a god rested at your planet’s core.

Thank god all you had deep down there was smoldering hot minerals and shit.

“Alright…” you speak again slowly, “so your god picks someone to be a Prime? Like Jesus and his disciples?”

Hot Rod went thoughtfully quiet, and you allowed him the time to search up the term. Already it was a familiar action between you and the Autobots. His optics brightened, and he stared back down at you in amazement. “That’s a pretty solid connection, fleshie, I can’t lie! Wow. That actually surprised me,” he mused.

“What? Because I actually understood and made a connection to something with my primitive human brain?” You fixed him with a sardonic look.

Hot Rod grinned down at you, shuttering one of his optics in a wink. “Your words, not mine.”

“Jackass,” you scoffed. Hot Rod laughed as you continued to slowly scale the rock. “So, I was right? A Prime- they communicate with Primus, learn his teachings, and go out and spread his wisdom to the people? Like the Twelve Apostles?”

“Ironically, yeah,” he shrugged. “Except in the beginning, it was the Thirteen Primes for my people. There have been Primes since, but before Optimus, not for a few million years. If you want the deets, ask Ratchet and the older bots. I always fell asleep trying to read history datapads,” Hot Rod grinned unapologetically. “But I still know Optimus is a great Prime. One of the best anyone’s ever seen. Even an old mech like the Doc! And he’s been around since, like, ever,” he snorted. “He traversed into Cybertron’s core looking for the Matrix, and came out with it smack dab in his chassis,” he rapped metal knuckles against his chest and spared you a look. 

“He was chosen by Primus. That’s why I know I’m fighting the good fight. It’s why I’ve never once doubted what I’m fightin’ for. Why none of us ever have. Optimus is the best of us. He makes it all, the millions of years of fighting…he makes it all seem worth it.”

“Wow,” you murmur in awe as you come up to the pointed, raised end of the sandstone rock. You stop, and Hot Rod pulls up around it to stand before you. You were right. Raised a solid ten feet off the ground, you came up to Hot Rod’s mid-section. He stared down at you, electric blue optics bright with curiosity and amusement at your simple reaction to learning about alien legends and gods and — wow Optimus was practically a Pope to these guys wasn’t he? Holy shit! “Guess uh…religion’s universal after all.”

Hot Rod’s metal lip plates curved into a brilliant smile. “Guess so,” he shrugged again and looked past you. You followed his gaze, and saw the little pinprick that was Jasper far in the distance behind you. When you looked back at him, your guardian was already watching you. “I think I’ve stretched enough. You said you gotta be somewhere?”

You were beyond thankful Hot Rod understood the importance of jobs to human adults — or even if he didn’t, he understood the importance of it to you. And his reminder made your chest flush with warmth. You smiled up at him. “Yeah. You ready to head back?” 

Hot Rod didn’t respond in lieu of grinning cheekily at you and wordlessly transforming, folding back down into the Lamborghini Aventador, which gleamed in the morning sun. You (reluctantly,) admired his paint job, before fixing the car with a wry look from your place above him, now. And Jesus if that wasn’t a first since you’d met.

“Really? Not even gonna help me down?”

You didn’t even need to see his face to know it had dropped wherever it rested in his alt mode.

“Oh slag-”

*   *   *   *   *

You punched in the fifty handed to you into the register, before handing Mr. Garcia his change and smiling thankfully at him. “Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Garcia!” You beamed.

Mr. Garcia smiled respectfully back, taking his two large boxes of baked goods from the counter. “Thank you. My niece and her friends will adore these treats for her birthday slumber party,” he said demurely.

“You flatter me, Mr. Garcia,” you scoff with a wave of the hand. 

The rent-a-car shop owner grinned cheekily at you beneath his dark, combed beard before pushing out the door. Left alone behind the counter, you glanced at the new watch you’d bought yourself for long hours at work. It was one of those days, of course. The entire day had felt subdued, and the hours stretched on too long for your liking. After the mass amounts of adrenaline you’d experienced yesterday, what with your near-death experiences and dangerous then peaceful interactions with the foreign alien robots that inhabited the land outside of this small, nowhere town…

Honestly, you were surprising yourself with how put-together you were about this whole thing.

Sparing a glance at the flame-streaked Lamborghini parked near the back of your small lot, though, you had an inkling that Hot Rod and his flamboyant aura that seemed to be a beacon in your life certainly helped quite a bit.

You spared a content smile at the car, before reminding yourself to check the time. Once again, you glanced at your watch, this time making sure to read the tiny stick arrows and where they pointed. 

3:59 PM

Ah.

That meant…

The door of the bakery was pushed open in a loud SLAM!, however you hardly startled at the noise at this point in your career. You watched your young employee burst into the main lobby, pink buns bobbing up and down as she vented loudly. Her hazel eyes locked in on you immediately, like a missile to a target.

“DUDE!” Miko exclaimed. “There’s a Lambo in the parking lot!”

You smiled indulgently, gazing down at the register as you moved cash around, organizing it carefully, as you so liked it. “Yes, Miko, I know,” you said. “Thank you for coming in on time, by the way.”

But then again, every school day she had arrived at about the same time. Seldom early and never late. You were proud of the girl’s attendance. You knew through the gossip chain (aka June as Jack’s mother) that she didn’t give the school the same stellar attendance she did you. The fact that she prized her time at work and with you made you feel like you’d done a good job making her feel comfortable in the bakery, as you had felt in the one back home. It filled your chest up with a warm, gooey feeling.

“A Lambo!” She exclaimed once more. Miko came up to the register and slapped both hands on the counter, gaping up at you. “Is it a customer’s? Is it ours? Please tell me it’s ours,” she begged. 

You laughed, pushing the register back in and finally fixing your employee with an amused look. The teenage girl stared up at you with hopeful, curious eyes. And while you weren’t going to lie to her face and say Hot Rod wasn’t your new sleek ride, you weren’t exactly gonna tell her about the fact that the sports car watching your little humble bakery was actually a twenty-foot tall alien robot warrior fighting in an intergalactic space war that was currently happening right on your very planet, in the shadows hidden from human eyes.

Miko didn’t need to be faced with the dangers you’ve been exposed to as a “companion” to the Autobots. She just needed to live a regular, safe life, and you’d be happy and content. 

Also, you’d signed that NDA.

“How about you wash up and get on an apron and a hair net,” you ruffled her multi-coloured head of hair, and the teenage girl squawked indignantly and swatted your hand away, “and if you do all the jobs I need you to do before clocking out I’ll tell you.”

Miko gasped. “So you do know!” She exclaimed.

You grinned, winking conspiratorially. “Sooner you’re done, sooner you’ll know.”

In the month and a half since you hired Miko, you’d never seen her book it so fast to get ready and start working. Watching the young girl scramble around, you chuckled to yourself.

Thank you, Hot Rod.

*   *   *   *   *

“So?” Miko pestered you as you both put away the most recently packaged batch of cookie sleeves in the freezer to be used later. 

Your chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies were surprisingly popular. And as you grew ever nearer to the holidays, you’d already sent a quick message to your boss when the front was empty and Miko was busy working the back to send you the recipe for the bakery’s ginger crinkle cookies. You just knew you’d be mass-producing those. Small towns were always proven to be holiday fanatics. Just guessing the profit you may bring in during the next two months leading up to Christmas would have your boss salivating from the mouth. 

Not even the main location in the city up in Canada was bringing in as much profit as you had been here in Jasper. Your boss was constantly complimenting you and your efforts for every stellar report you emailed her every other week since you’d opened up the business. 

Things were going well, money-wise. Whether it was due to your managing skills or the lucky location your boss was offered, it hardly mattered when your small business was flourishing. And you knew if things continued to be great in Jasper, your boss may look towards opening up a third location somewhere else eventually. 

You doubted you’d be transferred to start a third location. And even if you’d been asked to, you would have to turn it down.

Now, with Hot Rod watching you and your ties to the Autobots, you were chained to Jasper — not entirely in a way that you disliked, though. You didn’t mind keeping to the town you’d started growing familiar in. You’d made friends — human and alien. It was a privilege and trust you wouldn't abuse. Not even Miranda could pry you away from the safe metal grasp of your guardian.

“Helloooo?” Miko’s voice drew you away again. You stared down at the girl, who now blocked your path with both hands on her hips. Her hair net and apron had already been discarded. Right- you were closing up for the night. It was just past 6PM, now. “Anybody home?”

You snorted, pulling the one hand she was now waving in your face back down. “Sorry, Miko. I got distracted. What were you saying?”

Miko scrutinized you for barely a second before she swung an arm out in a grand gesture towards the front of the bakery. “The fancy schmancy car parked out front all day? You promised me you’d tell!” She whined. 

Ooohh, right. You did say that, didn’t you?

“Alright,” you sighed as you tugged off your hair net and combed your hair into a more tame state. After you’d untied your apron and tossed it into the steadily filling washer alongside the other dirty fabrics of the bakery, you nodded at the door. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

“I knew it!! It is ours!!!” Miko shrieked with delight as she jogged up to you, eagerly keeping pace as you held open the front door for her. The overhead chime is white noise at this point as Miko leaped into the parking lot, already darting right for the flame-streaked Lamborghini in the back corner. 

“Mine,” you corrected politely. You watched her skip up to Hot Rod with an indulgent smile. 

Miko’s hazel eyes roved over the Lamborghini, bright with awe and hankering curiosity. She walked all around its sides, front and back. “Dude, this is, like, the sickest car ever. I’ve only ever seen fancy ones in Tokyo, back when I went with my parents to their business meetings. But none of those cars looked like this!” She gasped. “This thing is fire!” 

Before Hot Rod could blow his own cover by saying “Literally” in that preening, smug disembodied voice as you knew he would, you stepped up to the front fender and smiled at Miko. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” you rolled your eyes amusedly. You cast a glance at the car, then at Miko, who stood expectantly at the passenger side door as she stared at you, before you froze on the inside and cursed.

“Uh-” you spoke again awkwardly, “y’know- Miko? I forgot to lock up the shop,” you dug out your keys, and they jingled and clinked together awkwardly from the movement. You tossed the teenager them. “Can you lock up for me while I get the car started?”

Miko caught the keys and immediately began strolling back down to the bakery. “Sure, dude! If it has heated seats, I so want mine heated!”

You laughed with a sharp edge of nervousness as you watched her leave. Once she was out of hearing range, you whipped back around to face Hot Rod with a grimace. “Okay, I didn’t think this through,” you said blatantly.

“Don’t tell me you actually think I’m gonna let another fleshie touch my interior,” snarked Hot Rod immediately. “You’re bad enough already!”

You kicked his front fender in gentle retribution, frowning down at the gleaming Autobot insignia on the hood. “Listen- Miko’s a good kid. She won’t touch your interior if I ask her not to. But she’s only fifteen and it’s already getting dark out and-” you sucked in a quick, sharp breath, “...listen. Jasper isn’t dangerous — unless you’re an Autobot or me — but…letting a fifteen-year-old walk home alone when her host house is a solid half hour walk away is still something I shouldn’t allow to happen. Something we shouldn’t allow.”

“Uh, since when were we a “we” ?”

“Since you agreed to become my guardian,” you snapped. Hot Rod fell silent. You sent him a pleading look, seeing through his windshield. “Look! It’ll be ten minutes. Maybe even less. Okay? And the minute she’s in her house I’ll climb into the passenger seat and you can drive me home. But please, Hot Rod. For ten minutes, I’m asking you to trust me to drive you-”

“”Drive me”!? ” Hot Rod squawked indignantly. “Pits no! Do you know how personal that is for us? No. Of course you don’t. Ugh,” he let out a scoffing whine. “Look, human-”

“I have a name!” You hissed. 

“-human,” Hot Rod pressed, and you snapped your mouth shut with an audible jaw grind, “I’d basically be handing you control of me. No one controls me. Get it? That is, like, so inappropriate to do!”

“Who would even know about it?”

“I WOULD!!!” He whispered harshly to you. You shushed him, still, as you cast a nervous glance over your shoulder. Miko had just shut off the bakery lights within and shut the door behind her, jabbing the keys into the locks and beginning to lock up

You turned back around, placing both hands on Hot Rod’s hood and leaning in, eyebrows upturned in a desperate plea. “This is a new thing for both of us, okay, Hot Rod? You think I want to drive a sentient car? No! But I can’t leave Miko to walk home alone! I’m her boss! It’s my job to take care of her!”

“This is Jasper,” Hot Rod stressed. “The most boring town in the middle of nowhere. There’s no danger here!”

You fixed him with a greatly exasperated look, letting the silence do all the work for you.

Hot Rod winced beneath your hands. “Scrap. Right…”

“Look,” you sighed and rolled your eyes, leaning a bit further down, “if you do this for me- this one teeny, tiny favour, I’ll make it up to you,” you bargained.

“There is nothing you can say that’ll make me-”

“I’ll buff you,” you blurted out. Hot Rod went still beneath your fingertips. “And polish. And wax. And we can set up daily visits to your base so you can see your friends. Every day. Better than walking around the desert, right?” You raised an eyebrow at the Autobot insignia on his hood. 

Hot Rod was silent upon the arrival of the sound of gravel crunching beneath Miko’s feet as she skipped back up to you, beaming. You turned around to face her, forcing an Oscar-winning smile at the girl. 

“All done!” chirped Miko. She tossed you back the keys and cast a look around you at the Lamborghini. “So, we ready to go?”

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Uuhhh…yes?” You said unsurely. Hot Rod never gave you his answer. 

Miko gave you a weird look at your uncertain answer, so you quickly amended yourself. “Yes. Yes, we are. We are ready. Get on over to the front seat.”

“Sweet!” She grinned and ran around to the passenger side. You walked up to the driver’s side door, running your hand along the rim as you stared down at the locked door with pursed lips, giving the handle a gentle squeeze. 

Please…

The locks snapped up with an audible click, and your entire body relaxed, though you tried to hide your obvious relief from Miko. You opened the door, waiting until Miko dipped inside the cabin to lean close to the top of the door and whisper into its metal a gratified, “...Thank you.”

You dipped into the cabin, shutting the door in quick succession to Miko, making sure not to slam. If Hot Rod was trusting you with what was essentially his body, you would be gentle. Tender, if you wanted to push the fancy words.

Blissfully, Hot Rod didn’t have an ignition switch. You were unsure if it came with the model (as you’ve never been in a car as high-class as Hot Rod’s alt mode before) or if it was by design. After all, sentient cars didn’t need a switch to turn on. 

A single orange-lit rimmed button blending in with the black interior was your guiding light to starting up Hot Rod. You pushed the button, and Hot Rod’s engines rumbled to life.

Miko cast her eyes around the cabin, vibrating with joy. “This is the coolest thing ever,” she complimented. “This is the fanciest car I’ve ever been in before!”

You cast her a weak half-smile, heart jittering nervously in your ribcage as you hesitated to put your hands on the steering wheel. You were barely getting over your nerves of being in the passenger seat of a living being. Now, you were about to touch the part of his you stared at whenever Hot Rod spoke in his alt mode. It was so unnervingly disturbing, it had you feeling off-kilter. 

All of a sudden, the engine revved impatiently, even though your feet weren’t touching either pedals. Miko couldn’t tell, though. It was a perfect way to discreetly tell you “I’m letting you do this so be quick and efficient about it”.

You obliged Hot Rod, resting your feet lightly against the gas and brake pedals and putting one hand on the steering wheel, while the other gingerly gripped the transmission shifter. You pulled Hot Rod into drive, swallowing your anxiety down your dry throat. “Alright, Miko. Ready?”

Miko rocked back and forth in the passenger seat, already buckled in. “Heck yeah, dude! I am so ready to rev it!” She beamed. Wordlessly, the teenager reached up to the dashboard and pressed the heated seats button. You stiffened at the action, watching it anxiously. Your eyes flickered to the Autobot insignia on the steering wheel. The logo remained solemn and quiet.

You pulled out of the parking lot, driving carefully down the road. Miko chattered on through your stiff silence, missing it entirely as she poured out compliments about the car’s interior, before eventually delving back into her past with stories of similar sports cars she saw in Tokyo with her parents. 

Hot Rod remained…abnormally obedient the entire time. 

It set you on edge.

Because Hot Rod, in the little time that you knew him, was never obedient without putting up a fight. 

“So, what’s that?” Miko asked abruptly, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Huh?” Your eyes flickered to her before going back to the road.

“That weird…symbol thingy on the steering wheel. I saw it on the hood, too.”

You should’ve won a Nobel Prize for the way you didn’t outwardly freak out at her answer. Heart thundering in your chest, you glanced at the orange-red insignia whilst pulling onto Miko’s street. 

“Custom job,” you answered simply.

Miko grinned. “Cool.”

You smiled exasperatedly back, braking gently to a stop in front of Miko’s host house. The girl opened the door and stepped out of the cabin wordlessly, shutting it behind her. She walked around the front of the Lambo and stopped beside your door. You rolled the window down, staring at your employee curiously. “What’s up?”

Miko’s hazel eyes flickered across your face, searching. You kept your expression professionally poker, your customer service training coming in handy right about now. After a couple stretching seconds of silence, she smiled vibrantly at you and straightened. 

“Nothing!” chirped Miko. “Just wanted to say thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow!” She walked up her lawn without a care in the world, stopping in front of the door to turn back around and wave to you, before she opened it and slid inside the warm comfort of her own home.

“Off,” the Autobot insignia flashed at you immediately.

You looked at it, startling. “Huh?” You blubbered.

The back of the seat straightened impatiently, jolting your body a bit forwards in an action reminiscent of a push. “Off the driver’s seat,” Hot Rod emphasized.

“Oh, shit!” You cursed. Immediately, you unbuckled and rolled over to the passenger seat. As soon as your butt pressed against the leather, Hot Rod burst into motion, speeding down the street. You cursed against, scrambling for the seatbelt. It slithered across your chest and clicked into place by itself, the rough material itching irritably into the skin of your neck as it pressed uncomfortably tight against you. “Hot Rod, slow down! We’re in the residential zone!”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve thought of that before getting your grubby hands all over me!” Hot Rod complained right back.

You glared at the steering wheel. “I’ll make it up to you! God, do you have to be like this?”

“Like what?” sniped Hot Rod petulantly.

“That! Like that!” You flailed a hand at the steering wheel. “You let me drive you, and now you’re acting like I didn’t give you a choice!”

“You barely did!” Hot Rod complained. “I couldn’t exactly refuse you with the human girl right there! I’d blow my cover!”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry the timeline was short. But I had good reasons. And it was only this once!” You assured him, “Just- slow down, please.” Your voice took a sharp, desperate edge. 

The high speeds reminded you a bit too much of your highway adventure in the trunk of a Decepticon. And you just- you didn’t want to think about yesterday much, still.

Hot Rod stayed quiet, but slowed down after the next stop sign. You steadily relaxed into the seat, blowing a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“No problem,” came Hot Rod’s short, odd-toned response from all around you.

It was nearing the end of sunset by the time you came back to your house. Nearing the holiday season, however, that was to be expected. It was mid-October right now, so the days had begun getting shorter, the nights longer. 

But it was still rather early. You usually didn’t go to bed until near midnight.

Which is why as Hot Rod slowed as he rolled up to your driveway, you lifted an inquiring look to his dashboard. “It’s still early,” you blurted. “We don’t have to go home, yet.”

Hot Rod stopped in the middle of your street, which was thankfully empty. No cars were coming up or down it yet. “What d’you mean?” He asked, genuine confusion in his disembodied voice. 

You slanted the steering wheel a grin. “Out for a visit to the base?”

The interior seemed to brighten upon your words. “Really?” Hot Rod’s eagerness was apparent without facial expressions to help him.

You chuckled, your previous argument fading away into the back of your mind. “Really,” you said.

“Well, why didn’t you say so sooner?” Hot Rod exclaimed, revving his engines and speeding up — not as bad as before, but enough to showcase his excitement and eagerness at your offer. You settled into the leather of the passenger seat.

The drive to the base is new but familiar already, with a set route to-and-from your house already in place. Already you spotted familiar landmarks — like the turtle-shaped rock after the city limit sign, and the three bushes lined horizontally five minutes after. And eventually, that familiar, inconspicuous mesa at the end of the road approaches. You stared up at it through the windshield; the dark, imposing mountain of rock probably something to fear.

Strangely, you aren’t as afraid as you should be.

Because you know, now, not to panic when Hot Rod’s tires bump off the cement onto the red sand. You know not to panic as the mesa encroaches just ahead of you, because you know now, as its walls split apart into the familiar tunnel curving into darkness, that this mesa wasn’t a threat.

It was safety. 

Hot Rod honks his horn eagerly as he enters the silo. The main room is packed. Optimus isn’t around, but Arcee, Cliffjumper, Bumblebee and Bulkhead all are. And Ratchet, at the monitors. 

You were hesitantly starting to wonder if that was his usual station. The only time you’d seen him apart from it was the group-wide discussion you all had regarding your future guardianship. And he’d been quick to retreat back to it like everything might collapse in on itself if he wasn’t stationed there. 

Hot Rod pulls up in a semi-circle turn, his driver side facing the Autobots. The passenger door opens for you by itself. You flick the dashboard a grateful glance, even though you knew it was because Hot Rod didn’t enjoy others touching his interior more than was required to keep appearances up with.

You step out of the cabin, and turn your upper body to face the Autobots looking down at you curiously with a nervous smile. “Hey, guys.”

“Squishy!” Cliffjumper beamed. “Nice seein’ ya so soon!’

You find you grin a little easier when faced with the red Autobot’s exuberant charisma and easygoing mannerisms. “What can I say?” You stepped a few paces back from Hot Rod, giving him room to transform. Watching your guardian fold up from sleek Lambo to dominating alien robot still made your heart stutter and freeze in your chest for a moment, before returning to normal. “Hot Rod missed you guys.”

“Wh- hey!” Hot Rod snapped his head down to you, frowning. You grinned back unrepentantly. Your guardian rolled his optics with a scoff and turned back to the others with one hand on his hip. “That isn’t true. It was their idea to come back.”

“Right. You just agreed easily because we get along so well,” you chirped up from your place on the ground sarcastically. 

Hot Rod seemed ignorant to your tone (by choice or not, you didn’t know) as he nodded along. “Yes. Exactly that.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as heavy footsteps approached. You looked up as Bumblebee strided towards you, before squatting down in front of you so you were more at eye-level with him. His large, round electric blue optics reminded you of a doe’s eye shape; innocent and wondrous and young. He and Hot Rod were familiar with one another, best friends in the most blatant of terms, and Hot Rod always referred to the others as “old” (as if he wasn’t millions of years old himself), so you wondered — were him and Bumblebee the youngest of this small group of alien soldiers? If so, how young in their terms were they?

The question egged at the front of your mind, emphasized by all the times you recalled Hot Rod acting very much like a child — or a teenager, at most. And Bumblebee’s exuberant, joy-filled bloops and bleeps only sharpened your worries. 

How young had they been when this war of theirs broke out?

“Bee’s asking how your day went,” Hot Rod translated dryly from his place hovering at Bumblebee’s side. Hands on the curves of his hips, he gazed down at the both of you with an inscrutable look in his optics.

“Ah,” you made a noise of acknowledgement. You looked back at Bumblebee and smiled warmly. “It was good! Thanks. Hot Rod and I went for a walk and talked a bit about your guys’ culture and stuff. It was enlightening, to say the least,” you laughed.

“Oh, Primus,” Arcee rolled her optics. “What exactly did you guys talk about?” She sent a narrowed look Hot Rod’s way. Your guardian caught sight of it, and immediately raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Woah, woah!” He spluttered. “Nothing like what you’re thinking!”

Arcee’s optics narrowed suspiciously further. Taking pity on Hot Rod, despite your earlier argument, you sent her a small smile. “Primus, actually,” you said. 

Hearing their deity’s name spill from your human lips, the entire team looked at you with surprised, near shocked looks. Ratchet, most of all. Like it was impossible for a primitive little insect-human to understand anything of their religion. 

“You talked religion,” Arcee began in a plain, disbelieving tone, “with Hot Rod?”

Hot Rod sniffed derisively, pretending to brush off some dirt from his paint. “I happen to know quite a bit about Primus and the Primacy despite my origins, thank you very much.”

His last few words caused you to send Hot Rod a curious look, before Bulkhead chuckled and crossed his bulky metal arms over his rounded, sturdy chest — chassis. “Betcha only researched ‘cause of Optimus, fan boy,” he teased.

Hot Rod gasped in a scandalized manner, slapping a hand over the Autobot emblem on his chest. “Ex-cuse you, Bulkhead! I am a history connoisseur, I’ll have you know. Ask me anything!”

“Uh-huh,” drawled Bulkhead. “Tell us anything ‘bout the Quintesson Occupation Era.”

Hot Rod went deathly silent, though that very silence rang loud in the silo. Everyone (sans Ratchet) gazed expectantly at the flame-streaked Autobot. After a solid thirty seconds of silence, he huffed out a puff of hot air from his intake.

“Frag off, Bulkhead…” he muttered petulantly as he crossed his arms over his chassis.

Bulkhead and Cliffjumper guffawed with laughter, whilst Bumblebee chirped amusedly and Arcee smiled indulgently. You, too, softened up and snickered at your guardian’s expense. These warm moments of camaraderie set to ease your mind from its earlier tensions.

Here, surrounded by giant titans that went out of their way to save you and your insignificant, short (in their optics) life, thoughts of your kidnapping were disregarded.

Because no harm would come to you here.

The Autobots would make sure of it.

Bumblebee looked back down at you, tilting his head as he sounded a long, inquiring line of chirps and boops. Despite the fact that you both know you couldn’t understand him, Bumblebee still made to include you, to talk to you. The thought put into it warmed something in you.

“Bee asks what you guys talked about.” Arcee informed you diligently, Hot Rod still too busy pouting over his embarrassment. 

You nodded and pointed at the mezzanine, glancing at Bumblebee as you did. “Mind if we talk up there? Makes me feel less small,” you admitted sheepishly. 

Bumblebee nodded eagerly, and reached out both hands to cup them together into a platform. He offered a quicker mode of transportation to you with an inquiring beep.

And while you appreciated the gesture, the only bots’ hands you’ve been in have been Hot Rod and Optimus Prime — the two shown to be most capable with your safety. While you didn’t debunk Bumblebee’s kindness, and knew he was probably one of the most harmless (as harmless as giant metal titans could get) of the bunch, your chest still gave a sharp twinge of anxiety at the thought of being lifted up so casually, when one false step could end up with you a splatter on the ground.

“I’m good,” you said quickly. You levelled Bumblebee with a grateful smile. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the thought, but I can walk up there just fine.”

Bumblebee didn’t take your rejection to heart, instead nodding and rising up into a stand. You walked over to the dingy metal staircase leading up the side of the mezzanine, and was fondly amused to see Bumblebee and Hot Rod keeping pace behind you. 

You climbed up, your knees gaining a dull ache from it as you stood on the mezzanine, and cast a look around you. There weren't any sitting places around at all — none human-sized, that is. You saw giant metal platforms in the shape of a bed in the back corner of the main room, something akin, most likely, to a med bay. But sized for the Autobots, of course. But for now, you’d have to stand. 

You walked up to the railing, where Bumblebee and Hot Rod hovered closest, while Arcee, Cliffjumper and Bulkhead lingered just behind them. All five Autobots stared at you with intrigued electric blue optics.

“Alright, I got some questions,” you said first and foremost. 

Cliffjumper grinned. “Ask away, squishy.”

You nodded. “Alright. First: how the hell can your god be your planet?” You asked incredulously.

Amusement spread across the faces of the Autobots before you. Bulkhead snickered. “Just the way it is, I guess?” The green bot shrugged a massive pauldron.

Arcee shot him a wry look, before looking up at you. “How much do you know about our anatomy?” She asked you seriously.

You frowned, thinking about it. You’d only come to know a few terms for certain aspects of their bodies. Terms such as optics, chassis, intake, aft…not really much, in general.

Knowing that, you sent her a slightly embarrassed look. “Not much, sorry.”

Arcee’s intake curled upwards. “Don’t be. You’re new to this. We all are,” she said breezily. And the dismissal of your ignorance, patient and non-judgmental as it was, soothed the anxiety and embarrassment you felt. “We have something. In our chassis,” she rapped her metal knuckles smoothly against her breastplates. “It’s called a spark.”

“A spark?” You cocked your head to the side, listening raptly.

Arcee nodded. “To put it simply; it’s us. What gave us life. What sparked us into existence. An energy so pure and singular to a Cybertronian, and individual to each and every one of us, that it’s sacred,” she answered.

Your eyes lit up. “You mean like a soul?”

Arcee tilted her head curiously to one side, and you hastened to answer her unspoken question so she and the Autobot’s didn’t go through the trouble of googling the term. “It’s- you can’t see it. In a human. I mean- I don’t think so, at least. But it’s like- our innermost energy, I guess? Our non-physical self. It’s a whole big thing in religion and psychology and theology and stuff; whether humans have souls, and what they mean and do for us. And it’s individual, never the same, and everyone has one,” you explained.

Arcee made a considerate noise. “I guess that’s a somewhat appropriate analogy. But- all Cybertronians have sparks. Even Primus, the first of us. And when he transformed his outer shell into Cybertron, it was his spark that flooded life into the planet. And it was his spark that birthed the first Cybertronians; the Thirteen.”

Your brain immediately latched onto the familiar term from earlier that day. “The Thirteen Primes?”

Arcee’s optics brightened for a moment, surprised, most likely, about your (however basic) knowledge towards the matter. She smiled warmly. “Yeah.”

Hot Rod grinned, practically preening with pride as he turned to the other Autobots. “See? Told ya guys! I’m an excellent teacher,” he boomed proudly.

“Yeah, you’re stellar,” snorted Bulkhead dryly.

Hot Rod, however, much like when faced with your sarcasm, either deliberately ignored his tone or just hadn’t caught it. The flame-streaked Autobot beamed at his comrade. “Thank you, Bulkhead.”

As he turned back to you, Bulkhead animatedly rolled his optics, and you hid a snicker terribly behind your hand. Hot Rod levelled you with a curious quirk of a black metal eyebrow. You quickly schooled your impression into one of pure innocence.

Hot Rod squinted suspiciously at you a moment longer, before Arcee spoke up and broke his scrutiny. “Is that all you guys talked about?”

“Just about,” you shrugged and leaned up against the railing of the mezzanine. When it creaked ominously, you swiftly backed away. Nope. Weren’t doing that. “I’m still new to, well…all of this,” you gestured to the space around you, “but I’m sure I’ll have the time to learn more. If you guys are open to it, of course.”

Cliffjumper nodded. “We’ll gladly answer what we can. But this little exchange has to go both ways, squishy,” he gestured a large metal servo between the two of you.

You raised an eyebrow at the bull-horned bot. “How so?”

He grinned. “Just a lil’ “you scratch my back strut, I scratch yours”, kinda deal. We tell you ‘bout Cybertron, and you tell us about Earth.”

“You mean what little stuff you don’t already know?” You snorted sardonically.

“Deal’s a deal.”

You scoffed a small, amused laugh. Cliffjumper’s grin widened. “Alright, sure. Since you told me about Primus, what do you wanna know about Earth?”

Cliffjumper and Bumblebee shared a bright-eyed look between each other. You had a brief moment to wonder if whatever they were about to ask you had been something they’ve been dying to learn about, and just never had the inside source before now, when they both leaned in past Arcee and Hot Rod to stare at you with eager optics.

“So, what’s the big deal with this…Gangnam Style?”

Oh, you were so fucked.

Chapter Text

Two months ago, if you were told you would be cozying it up with the Lamborghini who’d almost run you over and his giant robot pals (because he, too, was a giant robot) you would have spit out your drink into the person’s face and doubled over, cackling so hard you would’ve gained hardcore cramps that would have menstrual cycle cramps wincing back in pain.

Then again, two months ago, you didn’t experience the things you had in the present.

Who knew how much times could change in such a short span of time?

Boy, what an almost-car crash, almost-death, almost-kidnapping, almost-death (again) and then being unofficially adopted by the very metal titans that had been factors (good and bad) in all those situations could do for one human whose entire life could be summed up into “Average and Uneventful”.

Two weeks had since gone by since your placement under Hot Rod’s watch. Your guardian (as you had come to teasingly call him) took his assignment as seriously as he could — which was to say, not at all.

“What’re you doing?”

You sat, ass flat, on the cold concrete ground of your garage. The door was open, giving you a wide view of your driveway and street, and a source of natural light to help you see better for the task currently at hand. 

“I’m fixing up this old lawn mower I bought from the town’s Used Stuffs store. It was the cheapest I could get,” you answered the Lamborghini behind you.

Your guardian, in all his wisdom gained from his multi-million year lifespan, followed up with,

“But why?”

You cranked the screwdriver deep in the old machine’s parts. The chill of your garage combated against the simmering heat of the outdoors, causing a conflicting temperature along your exposed arms. Oil and grease stained your forearms and elbows from the past hour spent wiping down the metal, and then your subsequent rummaging through it to fix up all that was wrong with the old relic of a lawn mower.

“Because,” you sighed as you leaned a bit forwards, trying to get a good angle to see inside the lawn mower, “my lawn is a safety hazard. And I should’ve mowed it a long time ago, but procrastinated because I was too busy opening and running a bakery — or running for my life from evil robots that turned into cars.”

Hot Rod made a considerate noise. “...Alright. I’ll give you points for that.”

You snorted.

“I probably would’ve gotten taken by those Vehicons or whatever you call them either way, but when I was running back up my lawn to get to my house and my phone, the weeds kept getting caught on my feet and slowing me down. And if it happens again,” you hid a grimace, although Hot Rod couldn’t see it, while pulling your arm back and dropping the screwdriver beside you, “I kinda wanna be able to retreat up my own lawn a bit faster for safety, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t gotta worry about ‘Cons driving up all casual to your place anymore!” Hot Rod said assuredly over your shoulder. “I mean, c’mon. You really think they’ll try anything with me here?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re definitely a force to be reckoned with, alright,” you muttered. You squinted down at the lawn mower. You definitely didn’t know a thing about fixing much machinery, but you’d helped your grandpa enough over the summers in the garden to know the ins-and-outs of a lawn mower, at the very least. If it didn’t start after this, you had a pretty good idea on what might be the problem…

“I know! We don’t really get many weapons upgrades nowadays. Ratchet’s good, but he’s nothing compared to Ironhide.”

You stood up, casting a briefly distracted look over your shoulder at him. “Ironhide?”

“Yeah. The Autobots’ weapons specialist. Tough old mech. And I mean real tough. He’s been kicking Con aft since before the Autobots even formed! He’s good at all things that blast, slash and boom. He made sure the Autobots never lacked in weaponry. Cooked up loads of stuff with Perceptor, the old madman. And some other mech. Wheelsnack or somethin’. Even without the both of them, though, Ratchet’s managed to give us some alright things to take on the ‘Con’s with!”

You hesitated. “What…” you purse your lips, slightly preparing to dismay the answer you may get for your question, “uh…what happened to him? Ironhide.”

The Lamborghini fell quiet, and you swiftly grimaced and winced at your tactlessness. “Sorry, Hot Rod. Ignore that question,” you turned back to the lawn mower. You bent over it, readying to pull back the string to start it up at last.

You yanked back the string, and below you, the lawn mower buzzed and rumbled in short intervals. You gave it a few more pulls before the machinery spluttered and died. You groaned faintly. You may need to end up checking the spark plug. It seemed to be the last possible problem here.

“You’re fine,” Hot Rod awkwardly spoke up. You startled and turned to him. “Just, uh…well- okay. After Cybertron fell, the rest of the Autobots kinda just split up and went to the stars. I dunno where most of them went, and where they are now. It’s been eons, and I’ve only recently found Prime and the others. We dunno who’s left and who is, uh…you know.”

Who's alive or dead.

You frowned, growing solemn. “I’m sorry, Hot Rod,” you murmured.

Hot Rod spat out an easygoing laugh. “Don’t you worry your squishy little brain about it! Everyone’s probably fine. It takes more than a couple ‘Cons to take down Ironhide, that’s for sure. The old mech could probably take on Megatron and stand his ground the longest- second to Prime, of course. He’s the only one who can take on Megatron and actually win,” he said, his voice taking on an awed tone.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask-” you went back down onto your knees to take out the spark plug and examine it. It was dirty, with the smallest bit of rust. You wondered if you could clean it and tighten it — it was worth a shot, at the very least, “-Optimus and Megatron…what’s the story between them? Other than mortal enemies and leaders of the two war factions in your intergalactic space war.”

Hot Rod hummed. “The story between Prime and Megatron? I doubt I even know that,” he admitted. “All I know is that they’ve been butting helms for millions of years now. If you want any juicy or intimate details, ask the Doc; he knows Prime the best. Been buddies since before the war, I heard. Or, better yet, ask Optimus himself! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He likes you,” he chirped casually.

You grimaced, not even wanting to begin explaining all the reasons that might go wrong. Optimus was fine. You seemed pretty civil with the alien leader. He definitely was soft towards you, the same way he appeared to be for all things tiny and organic and cute. Ratchet was another thing entirely- even going within a twenty-foot perimeter of the “Good” Doctor had you at risk of being swatted like a little bug, or exterminated like some rat with god only knows what robot medical tools Ratchet had on hand.

Asking either about whatever juicy details Megatron played in their personal lives before their brutal war that destroyed their planet and nearly all of their people was a terrible idea. The furthest Optimus would go would be to frown in disappointed sadness at you and deny your offer (a bad enough hit to the heart, being faced with Optimus Prime’s disapproval), but Ratchet would exterminate you for even daring to delve deeper into his best friend’s private life with the war-mongering maniac that ruined all their lives and probably killed their friends.

“Thanks but no thanks,” was all you could sigh out to Hot Rod in response. “I’m good.”

“Eh, suit yourself,” said Hot Rod. Though a car, you could hear the shrug in his voice.

You reached over to grab a washcloth sitting just off to the side, wiping down the spark plug carefully. “Speaking of the others, though- what time did you wanna visit today?” You asked.

It was one of the few times you’d been given the green light by your boss to take the day off and close the bakery for a day. Relax and do some chores, or spend a day in bed, before continuing on your task to manage the only bakery in Jasper.

Miko, surprisingly, had been disappointed that you’d decided to give her the day off, stating that she wanted another drive in your “fresh new ride”.

For Hot Rod’s own comfort, you’d politely denied her. Though you didn’t tell her the real reason why you couldn’t permit another ride in your new Lamborghini so soon was because it was actually sentient and a robotic alien from space fighting a galactic war. You were barely just given permission to ride in Hot Rod, and that was only through necessity. 

If you let a human child in and force yourself into his driver seat again, you didn’t doubt Hot Rod wouldn’t think twice about throwing secrecy and his disguise out the window in order to kick you both out and leave you both in his dust.

“Anytime you wanna.” Hot Rod answered, reminding you of your present conversation. You glanced at him from over your shoulder. “I’m kinda supposed to go anywhere you go, y’know. It’s in the job description.”

“Did we ever even get a job description for this line of work?” You snorted bemusedly.

You could hear the grin in Hot Rod’s voice as he said, “I dunno ‘bout you, but I’m kinda making things up as I go.”

“Ah, the Hot Rod motto,” you mused. “Of course.”

“What’s a motto?” Hot Rod asked.

You turned to him, stopping in your cleaning ministrations to stare down the headlights of the luxury car. You grinned, sharp and wicked. “Nothing. What’s a-motto with you?”

Silence filled the garage, and you maintained your grin even as your shoulders trembled with barely-contained laughter. Snickers slipped past your teeth. All the while, Hot Rod remained deathly silent, which only furthered your amusement.

Eventually, your guardian spoke up, his voice short and pointed, “I’m done talking to you.”

“Aw, c’mon,” you laughed aloud. “Don’t be like that, Hot Rod! We’re bonding! This is how humans bond. Don’t you robot aliens do the same?”

Hot Rod sniffed derisively. “We Cybertronians have far more complicated social mannerisms than you organics. That was just pathetic,” he said.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You don’t know The Lion King? I thought you did drive-in movie nights with Bumblebee!” 

“We do!” said Hot Rod indignantly. “Just haven’t gone in a while. Disney movie night is some time in December, I think. 'Bee keeps pressing me about it, but I dunno if I got the time now.”

You frowned, eyebrows drawing together slowly. Though your gut already twisted with apprehension, predicting the answer, you asked the question on your mind nonetheless to confirm it, “What do you mean? Why can’t you?”

“Well…y’know,” murmured Hot Rod awkwardly, “I got you to take care of now.”

Your frown deepened. “Hot Rod, you know you don’t have to look after me all the time, right? You can take a night off to spend a few hours with your friends,” you said softly.

Sure, while thinking about being faced with about a couple hours alone without your only means of protection, and the dreaded, over-thinking thought that the second Hot Rod left you’d be abducted once more by the Decepticons and thoroughly squashed underfoot, your own guilt outweighed it.

These past weeks you’d been so focused on your own safety, you’d barely taken Hot Rod’s wants and needs into account above your visits to the base where he could see his friends and stretch his legs. You felt selfish for it, thinking you could be giving him more freedom. Should be giving him more freedom. He was his own person, after all. His entire existence didn’t file down to just being your protector.

“I know that!” Hot Rod huffed. “Just- Optimus Prime gave me this job. I gotta give it my all! I can’t half-aft it. I’m either all-in, or I’m all-out. You need me to protect you!” He said. “I can’t risk your life for some time with ‘Bee. It’s not right.”

“I’d be in my home,” you reminded him. “I’d have my phone. I could call Fowler if anything happened.”

“Fowler isn’t enough!” Your guardian argued back. “He’s nothin’ against the ‘Cons! You need an Autobot to protect you. I’m the best bet you’ve got!”

“You can’t just be tied to me 24/7, though! Think about yourself, Hot Rod,” you said exasperatedly.

“Myself doesn’t matter,” said Hot Rod dismissively. You drew back slightly. “You need me, so you got me. Fowler can’t fight the ‘Cons like I can. He can’t even fight a turbo-fox like I can.”

You sighed. “Hot Rod, it’d be a few hours. You’d be spending it with your best friend. And I’d, in all likelihood, just order take-out and be passed out in my bed by the time you get back,” you reasoned calmly. Like an adult. Because you forgot that, despite Hot Rod being older than your entire bloodline, you had to be the adult between the two of you. You. A twenty-three year old human compared to a multi-million year old advanced alien robot. “I’ll keep the doors locked and everything.” As if that could stop twenty-foot titans, but it was the thought that counted.

If Hot Rod was about to say anything in retaliation, he was quickly quieted by the sound of someone walking up your driveway. You quickly turned around, continuing to clean the spark plug in your hands. Jack walked up to you, smiling awkwardly as he held a large tupperware container in both hands.

“Jack!” You greeted amicably, smiling as you forced yourself to set aside your current argument with the very car behind you. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Jack’s eyes lingered in awe at the luxury sports car right behind you before flickering up to you. “Uh, Mom wanted me to bring you some homemade cinnamon rolls. She got a recipe off the internet and wanted to try it out,” he gestured with the tupperware container, which you could now see was, in fact, filled with about four large cinnamon rolls.

You found yourself grinning at June Darby’s unyielding good heart. “Thanks, Jack. You can bring ‘em inside if you feel comfortable. If not, just over there’s fine,” you nodded to the right wall of the garage.

Jack nodded and began strolling over to the door which connected to the house, and as he walked by, you watched amusedly as his eyes naturally found their way back to the gleaming hot rod red Lamborghini and stuck there all the way to the door. He even glanced over his shoulder to look at it while distractedly balancing the container in one hand as the other pulled the heavy door open.

You waited until he’d gone inside to tuck away the container in your kitchen to look at Hot Rod and point at him sternly. “We finish when he’s gone.”

Hot Rod didn’t deign you with an answer before Jack had returned. You flicked an exasperated look at the car’s dramatics, before sending the teenage boy before you a smile. “So how’ve you been, Jack? I know I haven’t exactly visited much,” you said sheepishly. “Sorry for that.”

While you’d been caught up in all your near-death experiences and discovering Earth’s greatest secret the past couple weeks, you hadn’t visited the Darby’s as much as you did. And you couldn’t exactly tell them the exact reason why, either. You felt guilty, but in the end, their ignorance equaled their safety from the Decepticons.

Jack’s eyes once again found themselves trailing over Hot Rod’s model before dragging, almost forcibly, back onto you. His expression was slacked with blank confusion, before he startled, catching up to your words and managing a response to them. “Oh! Oh, no. It’s nothing. Mom was worried but- it’s Mom,” he shrugged uselessly.

You smiled fondly. “Don’t I know it,” you said.

June Darby was made to be a mother. You knew that from the very first day you met her, when you’d first arrived in Jasper. Since you’d befriended the woman across the street, she had since enforced the universal rule that, now that June Darby had you in her sights, you were to take her unconditional support without complaint. Your only guilt was that you couldn’t do much for her except offer her free sweets from the bakery, which she still somehow managed to coerce you into letting her pay for.

“So, uh…” Jack spoke up, and you looked at him. The young boy’s gaze had, yet again, fallen to Hot Rod and stuck. “That uh- is that your new car?”

You turned a look at the Lambo, something wry and exasperated in your expression as you responded, “Yeah. You could say that.”

“Awesome,” whispered Jack. You turned back to find his eyes bright with awe.

You laughed. “I’m guessing you’re awestruck?” You asked. 

“Well- it’s just-” Jack stammered, and gestured uselessly to the Lambo, “it’s a Lamborghini,” he stressed. “It’s- It’s amazing!”

Oh lord, you could already predict the inflation to Hot Rod’s already massive ego towards his car form. Suppressing a roll of your eyes, you stared wryly at Jack. “Yes. It is. Quite fascinating, I know,” you drawled.

“Can I-” his eyes flickered uncertainly to you, “-can I touch it?”

“No,” you said immediately. When Jack drew back, surprised and disappointed at your immediate denial, you inwardly winced and tried to remedy your words gently. “Just…it was a gift from my boss, and she really only wanted it to be used for the bakery. But you can…look?” You tested with an uncertain glance back at Hot Rod, who remained quiet and still. You looked back at Jack. “Yeah. Sure. Looking is good. Just no touching.”

Jack nodded eagerly and approached the Lambo. You watched from afar as he circled it, eyes bright with interest and unadulterated awe, regarding the vehicle before him with reverence. “This is awesome,” he said. “I mean- I didn’t believe that new girl when she was bragging in school about her boss’ luxury car, because, well- this is Jasper. But- I mean- just- wow.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the small mention of Miko. “My trusty employee, alright. Keeping company secrets with utmost efficiency,” you joked wryly.

Jack snorted. “This? A secret? You couldn’t hide this if you tried,” he said.

“Yeah. Secrecy kinda went out the door with the paint job.”

“Everyone in town is talking about it,” blurted Jack. You froze. “It’s, like, the latest hot topic we’ve heard at K.O. Burger. Talking about you and your new luxury car, even though you’ve only just opened up the bakery. There’s rumours, y’know?”

“Really?” You kept your voice professionally steady. Helped when you worked in customer service and sales. “What kind?”

Jack shrugged, his back turned to you as he came around the front of the car. He ran his eyes across the Autobot emblem on the hood. “Stuff that you got a sugar daddy up in Canada. Or that you’re secretly a billionaire, or the kid of one at least, and your parents gave you it as a gift for going out on your own. Or that you’re secretly some agent and this car has some secret weapon enhancements to face off against the forces of evil or something,” he shrugged. “Useless stuff.”

You relaxed, deliberately ignoring that last rumour spreading around Jasper that hit a little too close to home except for the fact that you weren’t an agent, and that was, in truth, Fowler. But Jack didn’t need to know about any of that.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Well, at least they’re creative.”

Jack turned to you with a smile. “Yeah. If they knew you, though, they’d know none of it is true,” he said. “You’re the most average person I know. Nothing that crazy happens to you.”

If only you knew, you thought as you sent the young boy a slightly forced smile. “God, I wish,” you snorted. “Me? Fighting against the forces of evil with my car? Hilarious.”

Jack laughed aloud, and you followed, even if the sound was strained to your own ears. 

Oh god, if only you knew.

“I gotta admit, though,” Jack looked back at the Lambo, “it’s a sick ride. How can you even afford it?” He asked.

You shrugged, clearing your throat gently to try and keep it neutral. “I told you; it was a gift from my own boss. I didn’t pay for anything. The only thing it is costing me is my patience,” you sent Hot Rod a narrowed glance.

Jack looked back at you curiously, and you looked at him with as neutral a stare as you could conjure. The young boy’s eyebrows furrowed just slightly, before smoothening out as he gave an awkward shrug.

“Anyways, Mom just wanted me to drop these by. I’ll let you get back to- are you fixing up a lawn mower?” He asked when his eyes finally caught the rusted piece of crap just beside you.

Remembering your original task, you grabbed your cleaning cloth and continued wiping down the spark plug still held in your hand. “Oh. Yeah. My lawn’s kinda become a safety hazard. And while I think the current rumours about me are…something,” you tilted your head to one side, “I think I’d prefer it to rumours about my unkempt lawn. I’d like to squash that potential rumour before it even happens.”

“Actually, I think there was already one about that, now that I think about it,” Jack spoke up thoughtfully.

You frowned, curious. “Really? What was it?”

Jack shrugged. “Something about giants. Ms. Willingham saw huge footprints in the grass a couple weeks ago when walking her dog. She told Mrs. Berling, the school librarian, since they’re old friends. Then Mrs. Berling told her husband, Mr. Berling, who likes to talk when watching football games at the town bar. It spread from there,” he looked at you. “Is that true?”

You wished you could answer, if it hadn’t felt like the air had been pulled from your very lungs.

Someone saw?

They saw the giant footprints the Decepticons left on your lawn when they- when you’d been-

And the town- they-

What would happen if they found out? If they knew? About the Decepticons? The giant titans roaming around the area? The evil ones that took you in front of your very home, and the few good ones hiding out in an emptied-out mesa in the desert outside Jasper trying to keep your world from falling to ruin?

They were a secret for a reason. Hot Rod told you politics were included. And you knew it must’ve had something to do with the present day’s political climate. After all, if the world found out a super advanced robotic alien species was living on your planet and fighting a galactic war on your very shores, millions — no, billions — would panic, and global unrest would be at an all-time high.

What would the population of Earth do? What would they want to be done with the Autobots? With their technology, advanced beyond anything Earth’s scientists and technicians could possibly dream of, they’d shout their demands. Share the Autobots’ technology, or better yet, give themselves up for experimentation. Would the world governments still be on the Autobots' side then? Or would they try to appease the people, and go after the Autobots? The good guys. Your good guys. The good guys who saved your life and continued to protect you even though you were some small, insignificant thing that only complicated things further for them in the midst of their war.

Would they go after them? Bumblebee? Arcee? Optimus? Cliffjumper? Bulkhead? Hot Rod?

God, what would they do to them? You’d seen the movies. What the government did to aliens in their secret labs. 

Dissection.

Sick bile twisted in your stomach and threatened to climb up your throat at the thought — the image — of Hot Rod, welded to a table, human scientists around him. Masked, emotionless. Talking statistics and the “possibilities of new technology” as giant drills came down from above, roaring to life. Digging into metal, tearing apart- and Hot Rod- your friend guardian-

There was a large crackle of radio somewhere in the darkness.

“So when you’re near me, darling, can’t you hear me? SOS!”

You startled back with a choked gasp, finding air once again. Your chest shook and rattled with each loud, gasping breath, thankfully drowned out by the blaring song coming from the Lamborghini’s stereo. Jack had startled around at its volume, facing the car as you hastily ran your hands up and down your frame, touching your shoulders, elbows, thighs and squeezing, forcing your eyes to take in your surroundings.

Your garage. You were in your garage. You were covered in oil and dirt, because you were fixing up a lawn mower. Hot Rod was here. Jack was here. No Decepticons. 

You were safe.

You puffed out a relaxing breath, sagging with relief. As soon as you had managed to compose yourself, the stereo music ended abruptly, and ABBA’s “SOS” was cut off.

Jack turned to you, face scrunched with confusion. “Is your stereo broken?”

Giving your throat a moment to catch up to you, you nodded. And soon after you cleared your throat. “Yeah. I’ve, uh, been having issues. I’ll look into it once I’ve finished mowing my lawn,” you gestured lamely to the piece of junk lawn mower beside you. “You should probably get back.”

“Oh,” he startled briefly into action. “Oh! Right. I’m sorry, I-”

You waved him off, forcing a half-smile at the boy. “Don’t you worry about it. Tell June I’m grateful for the baked goods. I’ll bring over some of my own soon. Promise,” you said.

Jack nodded, sparing you a brief smile as his eyes flickered curiously back to the Lambo. You waved goodbye as he walked back down your driveway. You waited until he’d stepped through his front door to turn back to Hot Rod, biting down on your bottom lip to try and suppress the emotion threatening to overwhelm you.

“Thank you for the save.”

Hot Rod was quiet, almost contemplative, for a moment, before he finally spoke up, his voice taking a softer yet more casual edge, “Don’t worry about it. Kinda in the job description, if you know what I mean.”

You spat out a weak laugh at the callback to your prior conversation. You dragged a hand down your face, taking a few more deep breaths just to make sure you were alright. “I dunno what happened. I’m sorry. I just- I spiralled or something, after Jack said that. And I don’t even know why,” you chuckled, the noise strained. “I might finally be losing it.”

“...Then, do you want a distraction?” Hot Rod offered up hopefully.

You dropped your hand to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean- well, we were talking-”

“Arguing.”

“-talking,” emphasized Hot Rod, and you chuckled weakly again, “about my movie nights with ‘Bee and leaving you behind before that fleshie came by-”

“Jack.”

“-and when you were talking, I had a thought.”

“Shocker.”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!?” He exploded. Your laughter came more freely this time, and Hot Rod huffed exasperatedly. “Anyways- why don’t we compromise? Keep you with me while I go on my movie nights with ‘Bee.”

You frowned, both in surprise and in contemplation. “Wait- are you suggesting bringing me with you? I thought your movie nights with Bumblebee were intimate,” you said.

“Not intimate,” corrected Hot Rod, “just personal. And you’re kinda-sorta personal now, too. Not to mention you mentioned wanting to see us at a drive-in theatre.”

You paused. “You remember that?” You asked him with genuine surprise. That was after you’d first been brought to the Autobot base, and seen Hot Rod and Optimus as they were in their true forms for the very first time. It was also when you chewed out Optimus, you awkwardly realized. You might need to mend that the next time you saw him.

“Of course I do,” Hot Rod said simply. “I’m not just a pretty thing to look at-”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Oh dear god-”

“-I’m smart, too! Not Ratchet smart, but smart in my own right! And considerate.”

“I’m sure you are, Hot Rod,” you mused. “But your time with Bumblebee should be spent between just the two of you. I don’t think he’d like-”

“He wants you to come.”

You stopped, blinking profusely at the Lamborghini. You opened and closed your mouth wordlessly. Eventually, words did come out. “And…how do you know that?” You asked.

“I texted him,” said Hot Rod. “He’s blowing me up with emojis now. Okay- yeah, he’s really ecstatic about you coming. Jeez…”

“You can just text Bumblebee?” You gaped openly at him. “You can talk to him whenever you want?”

“Yeah.” If Hot Rod were bipedal right now, he’d have shrugged a pauldron. “We can communicate with anyone with an Autobot signal from anywhere on the planet. So long as they have it on and stuff.”

“Wh- But-” you stammered. “You’ve been sulking in the garage and acting all put-out whenever we couldn’t visit the base!”

In the past two weeks, while you’d tried your best to keep Hot Rod happy by visiting the empty mesa, sometimes schedules conflicted. Two days away from Halloween, now, and two months away from Christmas, you were getting busy in the bakery. You had to stay longer to package more seasonal boxes, letting Miko leave early while it was still bright out. And often, after finally locking up the bakery and collapsing into Hot Rod’s passenger seat, you didn’t have the energy for the drive to the base. And you especially didn’t have the energy to chat it up with alien robots eager to learn more about Earth culture through their new pet human instead of just googling the terms and such. 

So you’d politely ask Hot Rod to take you home. Just for a night of rest. And every night that occurred, your guardian would pout and visibly show his disappointment, even without a face. And the very next day, only cheer up once you would agree to visit the base and see the Autobots.

Finding out he was probably just texting his pals the entire time he guilt-tripped you for locking him in the garage while you rested your aching back sparked some irritation you felt was rightfully deserved.

“Yeah. Funny, right?” snickered Hot Rod. You felt yourself about willing to dump old, sludged oil on his hood in revenge. “Anyways, Bee wants you to come. I think it’s the best option for you to come, too. I’m being surprisingly reasonable here, I think! So why don’t you just agree and come along?”

You sighed, long and loud. How had your life come to this? With alien robots that turned into cars metaphorically twisting your arm into joining them in their drive-in theatre movie night in the middle of the Nevada desert?

Then again, at this point, you just about knew better than to question your situation. It would only complicate things more. And you had far too many things to deal with, as is.

“Fine,” you threw your hands up. Before Hot Rod could voice his victory with triumph, you held up a stern pointer finger. “But! We go once I cut the lawn. I can-not hold off on this any longer, I swear to god.”

“Yeah, sure whatever,” said Hot Rod flippantly. “Just hurry. 'Bee says he’ll be on his way once he’s done scouting Japan.”

You stared blankly at the Lamborghini, which didn’t really do anything back at you.

Eventually, you hung your head and shook it with a sigh. 

Yeah, no. You were totally done asking questions, at this point.

*   *   *   *   *

“Look at it,” you sniffed, wiping a proud tear from your eye, “it’s beautiful.”

After two and a half long months, you’d done it. This was a bigger accomplishment than opening the bakery. Then surviving certain death! This was just about your biggest accomplishment in the entirety of your life. You should call up your parents. Or grandparents (crap, you should probably get around to that anyways- thinking about them when you thought you were about to die certainly opened your eyes to the fact that you needed to call them again). Or, better yet, the goddamn President of the United States of America. He should give you a Medal of Honor. A fucking crown, for what you’ve done here today.

Standing in front of your house, you gazed at the cut green lawn with your hands clasped over your heart like a doting mother saying goodbye to their kid on their first day of school.

Behind you, Hot Rod sighed, loud and exasperated. “Yeah, we get it, it’s cool. Can we hurry along now? The movie starts in half a groon!”

You ignored him, smiling tearfully at the neat and even lawn. No more weeds or long grass to tangle around your legs as you run for your life. No more ugly ass front lawn that looked like Pepe the Muppet compared to the neat and tidy ones all along your street.

“It’s just- it’s too beautiful. I can’t look away.”

“Primus,” Hot Rod groaned.

Bumblebee, parked on the other side of you, beeped enthusiastically.

“'Bee, don’t encourage them! They’re gonna start slobbering or something soon if they don’t stop,” complained your guardian.

“Bumblebee,” you once again pointedly ignored Hot Rod, “whatever you said; thank you.”

A series of chirps and beeps and whirrs followed, and your smile grew. You sighed a relieved breath, clapping your hands together finitely before dropping them to your sides. You grinned. “Alright. I can admire it later tonight. We should probably go.” You turned to the Lamborghini, which immediately opened its passenger door for you upon your words.

“Finally!”

You laughed as you climbed into Hot Rod’s cabin. The door shut for you, and with Bumblebee leading the way, the two cars pulled away from the curb and drove down the street. As you left, you glanced into the side-view mirror to keep a lingering, admiring eye on your handiwork, and smiled warmly when your house finally seemed to fit in with the rest of your neighbourhood.

As you drove out of Jasper, you relaxed into Hot Rod’s passenger seat. Already, it was becoming yet another familiar spot in your new life with the Autobots. A small source of comfort, even if you felt like the entire cabin was going to bite you should you move the slightest bit your first time inside your guardian.

Distractedly, you lightly brushed your fingers along the hot rod red and matte black leather of the passenger seat — which you were quickly coming to think of as your seat within Hot Rod’s alt mode — and found yourself suddenly thoughtful. “Can you believe it’s only been two weeks?” You asked.

“Huh?” Hot Rod hummed, the insignia on the steering wheel flashing.

You lifted your gaze from the seat to the steering wheel. “Since you became my guardian. Feels like it’s been longer,” you commented.

“Oh,” Hot Rod said thoughtfully. He fell quiet, and you patiently waited to see if he’d say more, kicking your feet lightly across the floor mat. Hot Rod cleared his throat. “Well, don’t forget that weird limbo we got into in the beginning.”

“Oh yeah,” you grinned at the dashboard. “When you almost ran me over, then saved me from the bad guys that almost ran me over-”

“Okay you don’t have to-”

“-and then you chased me down after I had the most paranoid week of my life, cornered me in an alley-”

“-okay, hey, you got into that alley all by yourself-!”

“-and then took me to your secret base where I met your alien leader, took me home, left me alone for a month, and then when I was…” you trailed off for a moment, smile straining, before you skipped over the next part, “...well, you saved me, took me back to your secret base, and now…here we are.” 

You cast a glance around the cabin. “Hard to believe that was two months ago,” you noted.

“I guess so,” Hot Rod said flippantly. “Time kinda becomes minuscule when you’ve lived as long as we have. You sorta stop focusing on it after the first hundred vorns.”

The casual reminder that your guardian — who you often had to coddle and baby to when it came to his immature emotions — was, once again, older than your family line caused your chest to sway with slight unease and whiplash. You huffed out a weak laugh. “Glad to know I’m barely a speck of dirt on your lifespan.”

“I wouldn’t say dirt,” tutted Hot Rod. “More…..cosmic dust.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

The drive continued for twenty more minutes before you finally began to see signs of civilization again. And civilization came in the form of tents propped up in the Nevada desert, cars littering the long span of sand and rock. With the sun beginning to set already, the days getting shorter and nights longer, torches had been lit to lighten the space surrounding one large screen.

Young men and women gathered in small to medium groups around several cars. Bulky red trucks and dark blue vans. You even saw a pink motorcycle, and thought briefly of Arcee, if her highlights were her main colour — and wouldn’t she hate that.

As Bumblebee and Hot Rod pulled into the space, and you saw packages of beers, pops and waters varying on the vehicle trunks facing the large cinema screen, you couldn’t help but be slightly awed, if not curious. “How’d you find this place?”

As you looked out the window, you heard a small crackle of static, before Bumblebee’s familiar boops and beeps and other extraterrestrial linguistic noises filled the cabin. Surprised, you looked back at the stereo, which was lit up with an orange-ish light.

“'Bee and I found it on one of our more neighbourly patrols,” Hot Rod translated. “‘Bout three weeks after I came to this rock.”

So two weeks after your first encounter with Hot Rod, Optimus and Bumblebee, your mind supplied for you when aligning timelines.

You quickly thought back on that- the timeline, and frowned. “Wait- you came to Earth two months ago?”

“Two and a half, yeah. Why?”

Because that was how long you’d been in Jasper — you would’ve said, but chose not to. Instead, you let the information simmer in your mind for later. Perhaps it was just coincidence that had you and Hot Rod both arriving to Jasper the very same day. Surely — SURELY — it wasn’t that higher power you always thought had it out for you. Surely it was pure chance. It couldn’t be fate. Because you refused to believe in fate.

Then again, you had once refused to believe in aliens.

But you wouldn’t let… whatever this was ruin your potential bonding time with Bumblebee and Hot Rod. The two cars pulled into two vacant spots side-by-side amidst the other cars. The only difference from them and the other cars wasn’t, surprisingly, the fact that they could secretly transform themselves into twenty-foot tall sentient alien robots.

It was that, of the hundred or so cars parked in this little area in the middle of the desert, they all had their trunks facing the screen for the comfortable viewing of their passengers.

All of them, except your two idiot cars.

You groaned, hunching forwards in your seat and curling your hands around your eyes.

Fuck me, you cursed. What did I do to deserve this.

“Hot Rod,” you said as patiently as you could, despite the urge to grab and shake your guardian’s giant metal face — if he had one right now, “have you done this every time you and Bumblebee visit here?”

“Uuuuhhhh…” you suppressed the raging urge to bang your forehead repeatedly against the dash at Hot Rod’s guileless tone, “...yeah?”

Oh my fucking god.

“Hot Rod,” you sweetened your tone that one might use on a kindergartener when trying to politely correct something they’d done wrong by explaining it in simple terms, “do you notice how every other car has their trunk facing the screen?”

“Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh…” you actually debated clawing your own eyes out, and then scrambling your own brains with how fried they were slowly getting throughout this conversation, “....yes?”

“And do you notice how you and Bumblebee are the only two cars facing the screen with their headlights?”

“...Oh.”

There it was.

You kept on going, just because you were pissed and petty enough. “You see, if you continued to do that, Hot Rod, someone might look a little too closely into it-”

“Okay, okay, I get it-!”

“-and ask questions about the only two cars without passengers facing the screen with their fronts instead of their back. And you see, Hot Rod, that is how you say goodbye to being robots-in-disguise, and instead become robots-who-are-extremely-easy-to-tell-apart,” you finished in a sickly sweet tone.

The cabin was quiet as you stared plainly at the steering wheel. Eventually, a long-suffering sigh gusted through. Inwardly, you smirked. “Are you done now?” Hot Rod asked, embarrassment coating his words.

Your inward smirk sprouted into an outward one, lips curling. “Yes. Only because I’m about to rectify your little oversight and reinforce your secret identity. Your welcome, by the way,” you said pointedly as you reached for the handle.

The door opened for you before you even had to touch it. Hot Rod’s suspicious voice came from all around you, “What are you planning on doing?”

You stepped out of the cabin before ducking back in to smirk sweetly at the dashboard. “Something you might not enjoy, but will appreciate because I’m saving your aft from a potential shout-fest from the Good Doctor, and a guilt-trip from Optimus,” you said. You pat the hood of the Lamborghini twice definitively. “I’ll be back in five.”

You walked between the hot rod red Lamborghini and yellow and black muscle car — an Urbana 500, you realized belatedly  — and as you strided away to a vendor at the back of the lot, you heard the smallest noise of what sounded like Bumblebee’s robotic snickering. There was a loud BANG! as Hot Rod’s passenger side door knocked itself into the muscle car’s driver’s side door, causing a few eyes to linger briefly before flickering away, and soon, was followed by the hissed buzzing from the yellow and black Autobot, who was without doubt cursing your guardian out in whatever alien language he spoke.

You sighed aloud in groaning dismay as you slipped between the rows of cars. How the Autobots have remained a secret for seven years was beyond you.

At the back of the lot was a couple of food trucks, and one tent dedicated to selling extra blankets. You passed the trucks, heading straight for it. At the front of the tent, standing in front of a foldable table with blankets hanging off the edge, just short enough so that they didn’t brush against the dirt floor beneath you, was an older man. Probably in his forties, with graying hair that was short and wiry, thinner on the ends and slightly thicker on the top. He wore a Hawaiian tee that sagged over him, popping out briefly to show the slight bulk of his stomach, and different-patterned Hawaiian shorts and flip-flops.

“Hello!” He greeted you with a smile, grey scruff lining his jaw and surrounding his mouth, and slightly yellowed teeth. “Wantin’ a blanket?”

You nodded wordlessly, already pulling out your wallet as your eyes rove across your options. There were the blankets on the table, fluffy and patterned, and other ones hanging on racks behind the man. They varied in size and shape, between heavy and light, and even texture. Some were quilts, others throw blankets, and others big enough to fit on your double mattress back home. They even varied in design. Some had simple plaid patterns, while others showed movie posters from Star Wars or Harry Potter or Marvel. Others had pop culture and studio-specific characters, too. You saw a Mickey Mouse one hanging beside a Star Wars movie poster blanket, and a Kermit the Frog beside a Shakira one.

In the end, the blanket didn’t really matter. You just needed something comfortable, and preferably warm and heavy in case it got too cool out for you.

“I’ll, uh, take that one,” you nodded to a Studio Ghibli blanket behind the vendor. He looked behind him, eyes catching it and he nodded.

“Alright. That’ll be twenty bucks,” he grunted. You watched the man pull down the blanket carefully, folding it in his arms as you pulled out your two tens. The both of you traded items, with you gathering the blanket awkwardly in your arms as you handed the money over. The man glanced over it before nodding at you.

You nodded back. “Thank you,” you said.

“Ain’t nothing,” the man said. “Enjoy the movie.”

“Will do!” You called over your shoulder as you walked towards the food trucks. As you did, you shuffled your wallet around in your hands with the blanket, eventually maneuvering them both so one wrapped around your shoulders, draping over you, and the other was gripped tightly in your free hand while the other clutched the blanket up at your collar.

You managed to get a serving of fries, popcorn chicken and a pop before hastily making your way back to Hot Rod and Bumblebee. 

It wasn’t hard to find them. They stuck out like the goddamn sun.

“The movie’s almost starting!” Hot Rod hissed as you shuffled between the two closely-parked cars. “What’d you even get?”

“A blanket,” you answered simply.

“For what?”

“For this.”

You set your food and drink on the ground before unwrapping the blanket from around your shoulders. Without another word, you draped it across Hot Rod’s hood. The sight of Calcifer from Howl’s Moving Castle on your own flame-branded guardian made you snicker. 

“Really?” Hot Rod deadpanned. “You couldn’t have done this to — oh I don’t know — somebot who would actually enjoy having a human cuddle it up on his hood?”

Beside him, Bumblebee chirped.

“Oh, shut up, ‘Bee.”

“Bumblebee isn’t my guardian,” you retorted. “In case you forgot; this is in the job description.” You grinned.

Hot Rod grumbled, the sound in-tune with his own rumbling engine. “Stupid…dumb…” he muttered bitterly, “...how dare you use my own words against me…”

Ignoring him, you bent down to grab your food and drink, carefully balancing it on his roof before propping yourself up on your guardian. You shuffled up, getting comfortable as the sun had all but gone, leaving the large screen before you easy to see as the movie began. 

The studio introductions played, and as they did, you got settled. 

“Relax,” you muttered to Hot Rod as you shuffled your food to rest on your lap. “I’m doing this because you were stupid enough to not even attempt to blend in with your surroundings. Which — considering you can turn into just about any car you want — is extremely confounding. I’m doing you a favour right now. You just need to suck it up,” you huffed.

“I won’t suck anything-” Hot Rod began to splutter.

“You’re gonna miss the movie if you keep complaining.” You interrupted him as you leaned back, propping your back against the windshield. “Just relax, Hot Rod. I’ve been riding in your cabin for weeks now. What movie even is this, anyways?”

Just as the words left your mouth, the Star Wars theme started playing as the iconic yellow and black opening screen was presented before you.

You spat out a laugh so loud that many of the others around you shushed you harshly.

*   *   *   *   *

By the time A New Hope had ended, you’d long since finished your food, and had curled the blanket around you, Hot Rod’s rumbling engine seeping heat into your bones where you lay. The distant buzz, coupled with the right amount of warmth against the frigid Nevada night air, had you drifting off shortly after Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa (soon-to-be-revealed Skywalker in two more movies), Chewbacca and the droids, R2-D2 and C-3PO, met up with the Rebel Alliance.

You yourself hadn’t realized the movie had ended until you felt a distant jostling feeling come from your arm, which moved gently beneath someone’s hand.

“Don’t be gentle like that, ‘Bee,” Hot Rod’s voice scolded faintly from somewhere behind you, “ya gotta shake harder! Really shake ‘em.”

A moment of hesitance, and your arm shook again, harder. Annoyed, you let out a loud, irritated grumbling noise and turned away from the annoyance. The hand drew away, and you heard a small, robotic whine.

“Ugh- don’t make me snap my hood to get them up!” Hot Rod complained. “C’mon, it’s already late enough. We gotta get back.”

There was a faint, mechanical sigh, before you felt two arms, bigger than your own, slither beneath you and lift you up. Cocooned in your blanket, you merely hummed at the feeling of being moved. In the background, a car door clicked open, before you were dipped into a room seeping with warmth and the faint smell of leather.

The car door shut again, and from all around you, a soft sigh gusted through the cabin. “Really? Ya just had to go and pass out on me?” Hot Rod muttered. “How the hell are you supposed to get me into your garage like this? Let alone yourself into your own bed?”

“Mmm…” you hummed contently, curling against the seat. Faintly, you felt the leather heat up beneath the blockade of your blanket. “Base,” you murmured.

Yes. The base was close. Probably closer than Jasper. And easier to get into it. You just wanted to sleep already, so it seemed the easiest option. You’d be awake before work tomorrow, anyway.

“What was that?”

“Base,” you repeated. “T’ke me t’th’base.”

There was a thoughtful noise. “...Really?”

You hummed and nodded against the seat.

“...Huh,” came the same thoughtful noise. “I never thought you’d- y’know what? I’m not complaining. It’s been forever since I slept in my own berth.” And then there was movement. Smooth turns and bumps on a long road. But the motion barely bothered you. You instead curled deeper into your seat. Your very warm seat, as sleep licked at the edges of your mind again, begging to reclaim you.

Just as you’d begun drifting, the space around you slowed, before stopping. Your sleep-addled brain had merely a moment to register it in a moment of hesitance, before you felt all that was around you shift.

You made a slurred noise of surprise, but it was quickly, gently, shushed as you were cupped in two — faintly familiar — metal hands. 

Servos, your brain faintly registered.

“Don’t wake up,” Hot Rod whispered to you, his breath gusting against your face. You smelled new paint and something else — something alien. “Go back to bed, squishy. I’m just setting you down. Dooonn’t wake uuuup……please?”

Faintly, in the background, was a soft chortling sound. Though it was distorted — strange. You tried to place a finger on it when Hot Rod did it for you by turning his head away to scold the noise, “Oh, shut up, Bumblebee. I’m being a good guardian, here!”

Bumblebee beeped somewhere far away from yet so very nearby you.

Hot Rod scoffed. “Fine. Next time, I’m taking them with me. Just them. Not you.”

A series of offended whirrs and buzzes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Cradled like something delicate in hands — servos — that had the capacity to squeeze the living life out of you if they wanted to, you were gently lowered in your cocoon onto a cold concrete surface. Your blanket was big enough to wrap around your body and keep it from touching the harsh surface, but when the back of your head slowly fell back against it, you moaned faintly in discomfort.

“Are they supposed to make that sound?” Hot Rod distantly asked someone away from you. His voice was white noise at this point, and slowly, a heavy warmth weighed down your eyelids, and soon, your own mind. Eventually, you slowly began fading again.

“ — think they’re gonna be okay? What do you know, Bee? You don’t even have a human budd —”

“ — eep beep boop chirp.”

“Oh, what do you know! Y’know what, they’ll be fine. I’m going to my ber —”

“ — loop bleep whirr bop chirr be —”

“Night night, squishy. See ya tomorrow…and thanks. For coming. And…I hope you’ll join us again. I guess. Yeah… Okay. Bye.”

Chapter Text

When you woke up, your first thought was, ‘This isn’t my bed.’

And then it registered; this isn’t my bed.

Your eyes shot open, and immediately, you were greeted by the long expanse of stone and metal above you. An endless ceiling. 

You recognized the Autobot base immediately, which ceased your immediate concerns. You fell back with a sigh, but was quick to wince when the back of your head thunked against something cold and hard. You turned your head, straining to see what was beneath you, and found a rough grey floor beneath you.

Really? Whoever brought you here didn’t even have the audacity to bring you a bed? Some cushions?

You groaned, shifting your body as it echoed with the distant aches of sleeping on an uncomfortably hard surface. Yet another lesson to teach the Autobots, you supposed. You had made a deal with Cliffjumper to tell them what you could on humans. How they’re supposed to sleep could be your next topic, as their resident one.

You turned over, squirming to stretch, when you found your arms and legs constricted. Frowning, you looked down. You were cocooned in your blanket from last night. You could tell by the distant flame print of Calcifer from Howl’s Moving Castle. The sight of flames made you soften and smile faintly, putting them together with safety and don’t-freak-out-not-in-danger.

Once assured you were safe, and Hot Rod or Bumblebee had no doubt placed you here because you’d been too tired last night to make it home and came here instead, you cast a look around the silo. Already it was becoming a familiar place. As common a place for you to be as the bakery or your home. You had been brought here firstly to speak about the terms of secrecy regarding the Autobots’ secret, and the second time because it was a safe place to calm down and talk about options and plans pertaining to your safety when the first one failed so spectacularly. Which is when you gained Hot Rod as a constant presence in your daily life.

Now, you visited here almost every day. As much as you could the last few weeks. It rejuvenated Hot Rod, and it was the least you could do for him after tying him to you for the near future.

Distant, heavy footsteps caught your ear. You looked towards the large hallway leading deeper into the base. You had yet to go in there. You preferred your visits to remain here in the silo, with the entrance close by and the other bots able to spread about rather than crowd around you.

From the hallway, a large, towering figure stepped into the silo. Your eyes caught onto the gleaming red chest and pointed blue helm, and you breathed a small sigh of relief to see Optimus being the first to enter the room and not Ratchet.

Actually, thinking of the cranky old doctor- you were surprised not to see him at the giant monitors Optimus was now walking towards. From what you gathered, Ratchet was always there, if not in the small medical bay near the back of the room. It felt as though the medic thought all their operations might crumble to the ground should he not be stationed there.

You struggled into a sitting position, keeping your arms tucked in the warmth of the blanket. The silo was uncomfortably cold, and you’d only been wearing jeans, a tank top and a light cardigan when going to the movies with Hot Rod and Bee last night. You didn’t want to feel the chill of the air yet.

“Optimus,” you called out. The Autobot leader stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you. You offered him up a weak smile. “Uh- hello.”

Optimus nodded briefly, striding your way. “Hello. It is unusual to see you at this hour of the human solar cycle,” he pointed out curiously.

It only took a second of mental math to find out he meant “you’re never here too early. Something up?”. You smiled. “Hot Rod and Bumblebee took me with them to the movi- I mean- on their patrol!” You stammered, unsure if their movie night was a secret or not. Oh god did you just screw them over?

Optimus came to a stop in front of the mezzanine, his expression warming minutely. “Ah, you mean their occasional trips to the drive-in theatre approximately twenty-five miles from here?”

You froze, face falling. And your dread must have been telling, for Optimus’ gaze gained the slightest hint of amusement. “Yes, I know of it. Our fellow team members, as well. Though Ratchet remains blissfully unawares. It is the others’ hope to keep it so,” he explained.

Immediately, you relaxed, punching out a faintly amused chuckle yourself. “Just the others? You sure you aren’t scared of the havoc your guy might wreck if he found out?” You asked wryly.

“Ratchet can be quite the character,” Optimus rumbled fondly, “but it is what makes him a competent Chief Medical Officer for Team Prime.”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered to yourself. “He’s something, alright.” A guy who wanted to squish you beneath his foot. Or use a tool to do it- he probably didn’t want your insides tainting him.

Optimus fell silent, and you winced at your poor tact. You glanced up at the Autobot leader. “I- sorry. It’s just- he’s…”

Optimus shook his blue helm, holding up a large servo. “Please, you do not need to explain,” he sighed. “Ratchet has been…frustrated at our current predicament since we were first stranded here. Earth is not his most ideal place of refuge. The lack of materials and energon have also been…daunting on our medic, to say the least. He feels a heavy weight of responsibility towards our continued good health. After all, there…aren’t many of us left to take care of.”

“It isn’t your fault,” you spoke up softly. You stared up at him with a frown when Optimus appeared doubtful. “Optimus, I- I know I said things before, but…that was when I didn’t really know. About the full extent of your war. And what it’s cost you. All of you. You’ve all suffered losses I can’t even imagine and I waltzed on in here and ignorantly demanded things of you as if you haven’t been trying for the last couple million years and I-” you sighed, “...I’m sorry.”

Optimus gazed down at you for a long moment, electric blue optics flickering across your face. He eventually shuttered his optics. “You did not offend me, if that is what you think you have done,” he said.

“But I...”

Optimus shook his head gently, and you trailed off. “Please. You have every right to hold great concern for your planet. I have brought violence to its doorstep, and for that, I apologize,” he rumbled deeply. “For years, it did not yet cross my mind what the inhabitants of this planet may think about our war. While it is one thing to hear from your world’s governments, the word of the people is far more powerful.” His optics glittered in a certain way you couldn’t put a finger on, yet it entranced you. “Our worlds have something in common there, I find.”

You purse your lips, shuffling so you could clutch the blanket a little tighter to your form, uncertain. “I still shouldn’t have assumed- I mean, you’ve led armies. I know next to nothing compared to you,” you scoffed softly. “And I just demanded you end your war like that… It was arrogant of me. And I just- I want you to know I wasn’t angry at you. You’ve got enough on your shoulders already, and you’ve been more than accommodating of me. I’m beyond grateful for all you’ve done, Optimus. And I’m sorry for what I said.”

Optimus hummed thoughtfully before he gazed down at you. “If my forgiveness is what you need, you have it,” he said. You immediately felt your shoulders droop with a relieved sigh. He continued, “But I must also stress that you did not anger me with your words. Disturbed, yes. But only because you offered me insight as a local of this planet, which I had been too ignorant to ask for. I, too, assumed more than I should have,” he reasoned. “Which makes me just as guilty as you make yourself to be.”

You faltered. Well, damn. He kinda had you there. “But-” you stammered hopelessly, “Optimus, that isn’t the same…”

He raised a dark metal eyebrow kindly at you. “Is it not?”

Wordlessly, your mouth flailed as you tried — and failed — to find words.

Optimus warmed with something akin to amusement. “I appreciated your insight and opinions. As an inhabitant of this planet we Autobots now call home, you know much more of it than us. I took your words as counsel, and have since mulled over them with great respect.” Deep, almost sorrowful resignation crossed his metal features. Suddenly, though his optics were trained on you, you felt they had gone somewhere far, far away from here.

“I…have held onto the hope that, maybe, Megatron’s spark may change should the right time come. That he may cast aside his lust for vengeance against a system long gone, and see that we can start anew. As one people. Not one above the other. That this horrid war need not end with one of us perishing at the hand of the other. It has already cost us our home — is that not enough to open our eyes? To see the damage as it is and stop before we destroy ourselves from the inside? To save what little we can? Together.”

He sighed, the sound shuddering through his entire frame. You stared sadly up at the alien leader, who could not appear more human to you as he was right now. Because right now, you didn’t see a massive titan that could be considered a weapon of mass destruction — a danger to your planet and your people.

You saw a man. A tired man. Who had the weight of something beyond heavy on his shoulders, and people he wanted to take care of throughout it.

In a way, that did not make him much different than you.

You loosened the blanket around you enough so that it was more a cloak than a cocoon. In even strides, you approached the edge of the mezzanine. Optimus watched you with an air of curiosity amidst his ancient sadness and regret. 

Once close enough, you wiggled one arm out from under your blanket and leaned forwards, stretching enough to place your hand gently on Optimus’ windshield. The bot leaned into it just slightly, optics brightening with awe.

“You’re strong, Optimus,” you murmured. “Stronger than I could ever hope to be. And not in the physical sense. You’ve carried the weight of a war for millions of years, hoping for a good ending for your people. You’ve looked out for them all this time, and you’ve…you’ve seen them die one-by-one,” you forced out.

Optimus’ optics shuttered close, and you hastily went on, “You’re good. I knew it from when I first saw you; you’re good. And kind. And noble. But you can’t- you just can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” you stressed sorrowfully. “Not at the cost of your own people. Your own planet. My planet. There’s a point where you have to accept, no matter how hard it is, that you’ve done all you could for that person. And if they still don’t accept your help, your love, you have to be forced to give up on helping them. Because they don’t want it. They want to keep falling. And at that point- it isn’t your responsibility to catch them. It’s your job to focus on the people who do want your help. Who need it. And that’s your team. That’s Ratchet, Cliffjumper, Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Hot Rod.”

You stared up at him earnestly. “So at some point, you need to make a choice, Optimus; Megatron? Or your team? Which one do you help? Which one do you think wants your help the most?”

Optimus gave a troubled frown, something stricken in his gaze. His optics flickered to the side thoughtfully before they landed back on you again.

“...Can I not hope to help them all?”

You smiled wryly. “I can see where you got your name,” you joked lamely. Optimus continued to stare patiently at you. You sighed. “That optimism- it’s good. But at some point, there’s a line between optimism and naivety. And that’s when you need to step back and think- not about what’s best for everyone, but about what’s best for you and your people.” When his expression pinched, you knowingly gazed up at him. “It’s okay to be selfish every once and awhile, Optimus.”

“No, I am afraid it cannot be,” he shook his head gently. “I am a Prime. And as a Prime, my duty is to my people. All of them. Including the Decepticons. They are my people. And I must do what is best for all of them. Not myself.”

“Optimus, your people are killing one another,” you pointed out. “I don’t know Megatron. I don’t pretend to. But from what I know, he’s the one who is fuelling the murder of your own kind. So that’s when it comes down to a point; one bot? Or the lives of what remains for your people?” You murmured. 

“Because he won’t stop, Optimus. You need to realize that before it’s too late.”

Optimus sighed, turning his head away. You retracted your hand, guilt bubbling up as you realized you’d done it once again. You’d stepped too far. Assumed too much. It wasn’t your place to lecture the Autobot leader, to talk to him about his war and his people- and yet you kept doing it. Like an arrogant, pesky little organic.

“...You are wise,” is what Optimus says next, in a tone warmed around the edges. “Wiser, I think, than those around you have given you credit for. Myself included.”

You startled back, staring aghast at him. “Wh- god, no! I’m the furthest thing,” you spluttered out with a nervous laugh. “I got a business degree in college, Optimus. I know next to nothing about everything except for that and baking.”

“Knowledge does not equate to wisdom,” chimed Optimus sagely. “You have offered me insight and wisdom as an inhabitant of this planet who has only recently been thrust into an entirely different world than those around you. You have been put through a great deal of distress due to my team and I, yet you have managed to remain strong despite it.”

You doubted what you’d been doing could be called “remaining strong”. If anything, you found yourself on the verge of breaking down or admitting yourself into a mental ward the first few times you’d run into the ancient titans called Cybertronians taking refuge on your planet. You were surprised at yourself for taking it all as well as you had. And even now, you’d fallen into your new daily life with Hot Rod far easier than one might expect.

You supposed it was in the nature of humans to adapt and evolve. Much like it was in the nature of Cybertronians to transform and blend in.

Still, you found yourself giving credit to your guardian. “Hot Rod makes it all a bit easier, if you can believe it,” you said with a tiny smile.

The ends of Optimus’ intake seemed to curve just slightly upwards. He lowered his helm to regard you, amusement glowing in his optics. “I can,” he rumbled.

Your smile grew, and it was only then you realized how fully relaxed you were to be in Optimus’ presence. Despite being the tallest, and by all means strongest of all the Autobots, you were just about as comfortable with him as you were with Hot Rod or Cliffjumper.

For some reason, red seemed to be a colour you were drawn to with the Autobots.

“Hot Rod is most fortunate to have you by his side.”

You snorted. “If anything, I’m fortunate to have him. At least with Hot Rod around, I have some form of defense against those Decepticon guys.”

“Hot Rod is a promising young soldier,” said Optimus neutrally.

You caught the ‘but’, and raised an eyebrow up at the big rig bot. “But..?”

Optimus huffed gently with amusement, the warm air wafting down onto you and rustling your hair. “However, he is often overzealous, as you gathered from your very first interaction with him.”

Oh yeah. The almost hit-and-run where you’d first seen your guardian’s sleek car model, alongside Bumblebee and Optimus’. “...Huh.”

“Though, it is quite obvious to see he puts your wellbeing above that of the mission.”

You startled back at his words, embarrassed heat flushing your cheeks. Suddenly too nervous to meet the Autobot leader’s optics, you cast your eyes down to the floor. “Well…I mean, my wellbeing kind of is his mission, now, y’know.”

Optimus hummed, something knowing in his gaze. “Even before becoming your guardian, he still showcased his concern for your safety. You saw it for yourself, did you not?”

Briefly, you recalled all too clearly the long talk you had with the Autobots after being saved from the Decepticons, and Hot Rod’s adamant stance against having Fowler take care of your protection again after it failed so spectacularly last time.

You made a thoughtful noise. Had he been worrying about you the entire month you were under surveillance with Lennox and Fowler? Hot Rod? Your Hot Rod?

“Well, well, if it ain’t my favourite huma- Prime!?”

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, you thought wryly as Optimus stepped to the side so you both could look over at your guardian by the hallway leading deeper into the silo. He was frozen in his tracks, optics cycled wide at his leader.

You snorted, tucking your arms back into the warmth of your blanket and curling it tighter around your shoulders to heat them up quicker, the revealed skin of your arms now chilled by the air of the silo. “Hey, Hot Rod,” you greeted amicably. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Hot Rod still gaped worriedly, apparently horrified to have been caught sneaking his new organic charge into the base for the night.

If you didn’t want to get caught, don’t leave me out in the open, dumbass, you groused. On the cold, hard ground, too.

“Good morning, Hot Rod.” Optimus rumbled as he inclined his helm at the flame-streaked Autobot, who seemed to come out of his stupor at the sonorous voice.

“Uh- good morning, Prime- sir, Prime,” stammered Hot Rod as he stumbled over to the pair of you. You tried (and failed) to hide your amusement at how embarrassed he was to be caught. “This is- well, you see, Prime-sir, I- we were at the human's house when, suddenly, this, uh…rat! Yes! A rat. It, uh, appeared and we had to call those pest control humans who take care of that stuff. Extremists-”

“Exterminators,” you corrected him with a grin curling at your lips.

“-yeah! Those guys! Anyways, they needed a place to stay, so I offered them the base for the time being- but, I mean- turns out the problem’s already fixed! So I was actually just about to take them back-” he rapidly word-vomited whilst gesturing with his servos.

As he ranted, spilling out a poor excuse of a lie for your presence overnight at the Autobot base, you and Optimus subtly turned to one another. 

He raised a dark metal eyebrow at you inquiringly, and amused, you merely shook your head. Let him talk a bit more.

“So it was really just a fluke, bringing ‘em here. Won’t happen again! Because I know how touchy the Doc is with organics. Me, too. But I mean- they’re cool. They are cool, right? I mean- they could stay over again? If rats infested their home again, obviously! Pft-!! Like there was any other reason, amiri-”

“Hot Rod,” Optimus finally interrupted him. Hot Rod’s metal jaw clicked audibly as he quieted immediately. You snorted into your blanket-covered hand. “I am well aware that you and Bumblebee took our human companion to the drive-in theatre close by.”

Hot Rod groaned, throwing up his servos. “UGH! 'Bee always snitches!” He whined.

“Oh, relax,” you snickered. “Optimus is leagues better than Ratchet catching me, let’s be honest.”

Horror dimmed your guardian’s optics, and you watched his armour rattle with a full-body shiver. “Primus, it’d be like having a resurrected Unicron come after me…” he muttered to himself.

You had the briefest moments of confusion (Unicorns? What??), before Optimus spoke up once again, “I have no qualms against our companion staying here. In fact,” he looked at you, optics going a vague shade brighter, “I believe our chat was most enlightening.”

Astonished, you looked up at him. “Really?” You stammered. “I just- I keep assuming and overstepping so I thought…”

Optimus shook his helm gently. “You have enlightened me on many matters. I am grateful for your continued wisdom,” he said amicably. “I would look forward to speaking on matters in the future, should you feel up to it. I will not continue to take up your time, however. Hot Rod,” he said to your guardian before turning and striding back towards the monitors — his original destination, if you recalled. Before you’d pulled him aside to chat.

For some reason, talking with Optimus had you rejuvenated, despite only waking up a short while ago. Hot Rod saluted his boss as he passed, before slinking over to you and leaning up close to the mezzanine. “So, what’d you guys talk about?” He asked hushedly.

You took the time to gaze at the small details of Hot Rod’s metals. The thin lines of metal scars one could not fix from his face. Though his paint was perfect and buffed to always shine, not a scratch in sight, the grey metal of his face showed the years of warfare your guardian had gone through. Matched with his young exuberance, it caused something worried and sickened to twist deep in your stomach.

“Nothing, Hot Rod,” you murmured before even realizing you’d responded to him. You faintly startled, gaze darting to his optics, which shone a bit too bright for your fresh eyes so early in the morning. You winced, squinting at him to lessen the strain. “Just stuff. I apologized for last time, and then we just got to talking about my entire, y’know…” you swiped a pointer finger between the two of you, “...situation.”

Hot Rod’s mouth dropped open in a silent ‘ah’ sound. “You’re still hung up about that? It’s Prime. He doesn’t begrudge anyone about anything — especially humans,” he said wryly.

“I can still know that and worry, you know,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s just how I am. Like how you are with your paint job.”

Hot Rod reeled back, slapping an offended servo over the Autobot insignia on his chest. “Hey! What did my paint job ever do to you?”

“Other than the fact that it’s the flashiest of your robot bunch and catches the eye of everyone in town on a daily basis, making it virtually impossible not to be noticed now?” You fluttered your eyelashes in mock innocence. “Nothing. Why? Why do you ask?”

Hot Rod scoffed. “It’s called having flair.”

“To me, it’s called vanity.”

“Yeah, well, you have no fashion sense!”

“Says the peacock of the two of us.”

“I am not a- what’s a peacock?”

You just about rolled your eyes to the back of your skull. “A bird, Hot Rod. You can use Google for this!” You stressed. “You literally have a massive database in your brain, don’t you?”

“Uh, it’s our processor, actually,” sniffed Hot Rod petulantly. “And I’ll have you know it was one of the best Cybertron had to offer. And I have far more important things to take up processor room than some dumb Earth bird.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged, peering up at him narrowly.

“Like battle protocols, memory databytes, weapons systems, navigation systems, climate protocols, and a dozen other fragging things!” Hot Rod listed. “Not to mention the new guardian protocols Ratchet downloaded a couple weeks ago.”

You paused in your back-and-forth with your guardian to suddenly stare curiously at him. “‘Guardian protocols’?” You asked. “What are those?”

Hot Rod rolled a shoulder. “Dunno. You’ll have to get the deets from him. But from what he told me, it’s supposed to help me keep you safe. Gives me a constant update on your vitals.”

“My what!?” You shrieked.

Hot Rod grinned, like your volume amused him. “Yeah! It tells me all about your heart rate, blood pressure…things like that. Medical stuff. I’ve got a scanner on you constantly, now! Cool, right?”

You clutched the blanket tight to your frame, stomach swirling uncomfortably at the newfound information. You took a step back from Hot Rod, a fruitless attempt to get away from the scanner’s reach. Hot Rod’s expression dropped slightly. 

“You don’t think that’s — oh, I don’t know — extremely invasive!?” You screeched. “Why the hell do you need to know about my body constantly? When did you even get a scan on my vitals? And why couldn’t I feel it? Matter of fact, where the hell was my consent during all this, Hot Rod!? That’s extremely important in the human medical world!” You stressed.

“Woah, woah!” Hot Rod gently soothed you, gesturing calmly with his servos. “I didn’t know you’d get all worked up over this.”

“How can you tell? Are my vitals a telltale sign of my stress!?” You said, sharp and biting.

“Actually, I don’t even need to read your vitals to see that,” Hot Rod said flimsily. When your face went red with anger, he quickly backtracked. “W- Well, we have vastly differing opinions on medical treatment…different species and- and all! And- And Ratchet said it would be okay-”

“What the hell does Ratchet know about human medicine and laws!?” You shrieked. “He’s as bad as you when it comes to your xenophobia!”

“Wh- hey!!” He squawked, indignant. “I like to say I’ve been getting better when it comes to you oily little fleshies!”

You scowled. “I’ll give you a minute or two to look back on what you just said, Hot Rod.”

Hot Rod fell quiet, optics sliding off to the side as he thought back on his words. You huffed to yourself as he did, turning around and pacing the mezzanine. 

He shook back to himself, floundering. “I- okay…you know what? Point for that,” he muttered. “But you gotta admit! I’m way better than before!”

“That still doesn’t take away that you complain every day about what I am. To my face! And I know it’s just you, Hot Rod. It’s who you are. And I’ve honestly grown begrudgingly fond of your comments about organic species because of how predictable they are, but why the hell do you stick yourself to me, anyways? If you don’t like humans, let Optimus assign me another guardian!” You threw out a hand in the general direction of Optimus, who was watching your argument with worried optics. “By all means, Hot Rod; free yourself from this ‘oily little fleshie’!”

Hot Rod huffed, crossing his arms over his headlights. “It’s not like that!” He insisted. “Okay? It’s not all humans! You’re okay enough. I can tolerate you!”

“Exactly,” you said. “You tolerate me. Hot Rod, I don’t want to chain you to me for the next how-long if you don’t want it!”

“But I do want it!”

“You sure as hell don’t show it!”

“I’m with you every day! Protecting you from ‘Cons! I’ve saved your life! How in the Pits am I not showing it!? You’re just ungrateful!” He huffed, turning away from you.

You stared at him incredulously. “Oh, I’m ungrateful?”

“Yeah! You are!” retorted Hot Rod in a childishly petulant tone.

“I’m not the one who makes crabby comments about the other’s species and spies on their confidential medical readings!”

“Oh! Au contraire, my fleshy comrade, because while you don’t make crabby comments on my species, you sure as the Pit make it obvious you still don’t trust us! After we — after I — saved your life countless times! So yeah! Ungrateful is what you are!”

You gaped at Hot Rod. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

“You’re still scared of us!” Hot Rod turned back to you, frowning. You reeled back in shock, but apparently he mistook it for fear, for your guardian pointed accusingly at you. “There! Right there! You just did it!” He said victoriously.

“That was not what you think it was,” you scoffed. “And get your finger out of my face!”

“It’s a digit,” sneered Hot Rod. Your face turned a deeper red.

“Please, perhaps we should just —” Optimus tried to gently speak up.

“NO!!!” You and Hot Rod both looked at the Autobot leader, who dropped his servo with a shocked look plastered across his face. You both looked back at the other, glaring frustratedly.

“Then get your digit out of my face,” you growled. Hot Rod, with a smug look on his face, did as you asked. “I’m not scared of you, okay? But you need to understand that you are twenty feet tall, Hot Rod. And you’re one of the shortest among you! Arcee is, like, fifteen feet and she can easily stomp on me and kill me whenever she wants to!”

“But she wouldn’t!”

“But she can,” you stressed. “I know she wouldn’t. I know none of you would! But it’s a possibility. It — one misstep and I could be a goner, Hot Rod! And something in my little evolved animal brain knows that and thinks ‘fear them’! I can’t just stop that part of my brain from thinking! I can’t delete a fraction of it for more storage like you can! It’s a part of me. And I hate that it makes me look at you guys sometimes and feel uneasy. Because you’re my friends, now. And you wouldn’t hurt me. But you could. That’s something neither of us can help,” you explained.

Hot Rod fell mulishly quiet, intake curved down into a troubled frown as he took in your words. Slightly out of breath, you panted and tried to calm down your racing heart from the blown-up fight you’d just had with Hot Rod. Boy had that escalated pretty quickly.

Before your guardian could try and say something back, a noise on the monitors alerted you, and you glanced over to Optimus, who turned away from you both to type rapidly. The global map came up, you could see from your place on the mezzanine. A blinking blue pulse radiated from somewhere up in Canada, your home country.

“A recently uncovered energon deposit,” rumbled Optimus. He looked back at you. “I will go to investigate. Hot Rod?”

You looked back at your guardian, who still stared at the space slightly off from you with a troubled, conflicted look. At Optimus’ call, he shook out of whatever daze he was in and straightened up, looking at his leader.

“Y- Yeah?” He stammered.

Optimus stared at him contemplatively. “...I would like you to remain here and guard the base. Should I have need for backup, I will need you to alert one of the others.”

Hot Rod took a step forwards, opening his intake to say something, probably press that he could help, because he was here right now, before he hesitated and stepped back. His optics flicked to you sadly.

You pursed your lips, anger and frustration still simmering beneath your skin from your fight, but you were an adult. The more mature between the two of you, despite Hot Rod’s millions of years of experience, no doubt.

Sighing, you looked at Optimus, who’d made his way over to the groundbridge terminal and pulled down the lever, the green and blue and purple miasma swirling to life in a show of alien power and technology.

“Optimus,” you called. He looked at you. You sucked in a deep breath. “...Take Hot Rod with you. I’ll be fine here until the others come in.”

Optimus blinked, the only show of surprise he gave. From the corner of your eye, you saw Hot Rod be far more obvious with his shock. “Are you quite sure?” rumbled Optimus inquiringly.

You nodded. “He needs it. And I’m safe here. I don’t think I’m at risk of getting kidnapped by the Decepticons again.”

Also, you needed time to cool off. The both of you, before you came back to…whatever this was, with cooler heads.

Optimus remained thoughtfully quiet, pondering your choice. At your assured gaze, he inclined his head. “Very well. Hot Rod,” he beckoned.

“S- Seriously?” stuttered Hot Rod. “I get to go back out on the field?”

The ends of Optimus’ intake curved minutely upward. “Our friend sounds a solid point. You do not need to protect them whilst they are in the safety of the base. And should the Decepticons already be waiting, I may need an extra pair of hands.”

“SWEET!!!!” Hot Rod practically squealed, hurrying over to the groundbridge. “I’ll scout ahead!” He called and sprinted for the portal. Clouded by his excitement, or perhaps angry at you himself for your fight, he hadn’t deigned to say goodbye to you.

Optimus watched him disappear, a pursed set to his intake as he checked back with you. You walked over to the edge of the mezzanine, holding your blanket close to your body. At his soundless worry, you offered the red and blue bot a reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. He…needs the fresh air. Just-” you sucked in a sharp, vulnerable breath, “...take care of him for me?”

Optimus’ optics glowed brightly with something indecipherable as he regarded you softly. The shine of promise, though, wasn’t hard to miss.

“I shall, my friend,” he inclined his helm gratefully. “And thank you, once again, for your wisdom.”

You smiled wobbly at him. “Anytime. See you soon.”

Optimus nodded, before you watched him turn and stride out the groundbridge portal. As though his exit were a power off switch, you watched it fade away.

Alone in the silo, you finally let out a shaking breath.

*   *   *   *   *

Your morning thoroughly ruined by deeply emotional talks, both good and bad, you waited alone in the silo for either Hot Rod and Optimus to return, or for the other Autobots to eventually come into the silo so you could ask to hitch a ride to work.

Ratchet was the first — or third — one to come in. He startled at the sight of you, kicking your legs off the edge of the mezzanine while staring at the monitors to watch time pass. It wasn’t like you could play games or watch tv, after all.

“Hwhat are you doing here!?” He gasped, clutching at his chest like the sight of you gave him a heart attack.

You kinda wished it did.

“Waiting, obviously,” you said instead with a half-hearted shrug. Your blanket was wrapped around you like a soft taco, this time around, still keeping you warm from the distinct chill of the silo.

“Who in Primus’ name even let you in!?”

“Uh,” your gaze flickered to the side incredulously before flying back to him, “Hot Rod and Bumblebee?”

Ratchet rolled his optics, trudging over to the monitors whilst grumbling under his breath, no doubt cursing out your guardian and his partner-in-crime for your being here so early. You watched him carefully. The guy was volatile on a good day. And alone with him, no other Autobots to reaffirm to their medic “Humans are friends, not something to squish.”, you couldn’t help but prefer to stay on your high perch and keep your eyes on him for any sudden moves.

Ratchet typed something up on the monitors, and you watched him draw back at whatever it was he saw. “Wait a minute…who opened the groundbridge?” He asked you accusingly, as if you were the one to open it when the terminal was over ten feet tall.

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny. “Optimus got an energon reading. He took Hot Rod with him to check it out,” you answered sharply.

“Hot Rod? That overzealous little scraphead?” Ratchet said incredulously. He turned back to the monitors, typing frantically and no doubt trying to communicate with Optimus and Hot Rod. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yes. Hot Rod’s a good warrior,” you said heatedly, uncharacteristically protective over Hot Rod despite your fight. Matter of fact… “Why did you install guardian protocols into him without telling me?”

Ratchet snorted. “Well, I doubt it was any of your business,” he snipped. 

You scowled. “It is my business when it comes to my guardian and my vitals. Humans are cagey about those being just passed around without their consent, you know! Well, you actually wouldn’t know, would you?” You sassed right back. Game meets game, bitch.

Ratchet paused, turning his helm your way to narrow his optics at your tone. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means you have no right to make medical judgements on my behalf if you don’t even know a thing about human medicine and medical laws!” You finally barked sharply, temper rising.

Rolling his optics, Ratchet turned away. “Is that what this is about?” He snorted. “Cybertronian technology is far superior to yours in every way. I do not need to lower myself to research your primitive medicine.”

“You do if I’m your responsibility!”

“You are most definitely not my responsibility,” scoffed Ratchet.

You glared at the medic, scowling. “I became your responsibility the second Optimus took me in under your guys’ protection. Or does your boss’ word not matter to you?” You snarked.

Ratchet bristled, whipping your way to glare back at you. “That is Optimus Prime, to you. And I take his word more seriously than most,” he hissed. “You know nothing, so do us both a favour and keep quiet. ”

As he turned back towards his screen, you felt a swell of pettiness and dumb bravery flare within you and called back to him, “So long as you do us all a favour and take the pipe out of your aft!”

Ratchet went deathly still, and you knew only a brief moment of panic that you’d actually just sealed your fate with your words when Cliffjumper and Arcee strided into the silo. Ratchet cast them a glance, and with a low grumble under his mouth, went back to his work. You let out a relieved breath, the tension seeping from your shoulders as the pair caught sight of you and immediately strided over.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our favourite human!” Cliffjumper beamed. You smiled back in greeting. “It’s unusual to see you here so early. Not a bad thing, though! It’s refreshin’ seeing ya first thing in the morning!” He shuttered an optic in a playful wink.

You chuckled weakly, turning your attention away from Ratchet fully and focusing on the bull-horned Autobot and his two-wheeler partner. “Hot Rod invited me to his and Bee’s movie night. I ended up passing out, so they brought me here for the night,” you answered.

Cliffjumper’s optics lit up. “Really? They don’t even let me join them,” he noted with a snort.

You looked up at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Cliffjumper shrugged a pauldron. “‘Bee and Hot Rod are close. They’re the youngest of us. Came from the same cohort on Cybertron. The last real one before the war started and we started making cold-forged bots to help our numbers. They went through the Academy and boot camp and just about everything together before ‘Bee went to the front lines. Then they were separated for a long time. Long even for us. Now they’re together again, and they’re havin’ fun together. Bonding and stuff. They don’t like anything or any-one intruding on their alone time.” He looked down at you with a curious type of scrutiny, as if he were sizing you up. “So for them to invite you to join them…pretty big step. For both of ‘em. Shows they really like you.”

Recalling your most recent fight with Hot Rod that very morning, you grew bitter. You cast your eyes to the ground, scuffing your shoe against the concrete floor whilst clutching the Calcifer blanket a little bit closer to your body. “...Yeah, I dunno about that,” you muttered.

Cliffjumper and Arcee shared a look, and you hastily cleared your throat, about to switch the subject when the monitors rang with a gentle alarm. You cast your gaze to them alongside Arcee and Cliffjumper, watching from afar as Ratchet picked up what you assumed to be a call.

“This is Ratchet,” the medic said tersely.

“Ratchet, this is Optimus Prime,” returned the Autobot leader. “Our scanners picked up a recently uncovered energon deposit and we scouted ahead for it. Agent Fowler had the humans evacuated shortly before our arrival. Hot Rod and I are currently gathering up supplies as we speak.”

“Good news is,” Hot Rod’s voice popped up on his own comm, voice light and cheery, “there’s a scrap ton!”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “Yes, yes. Good for you, Hot Rod,” he sighed exasperatedly.

“Thanks, Doc! Anyways, bad news is that because there’s so much energon we gotta mine, I won’t be able to return soon enough to take my human to work. Can you take ‘em?”

The medic scoffed, reeling back in pure affront. “I most certainly think not!” He spluttered. “I am not some- some delivery driver!”

You rolled your eyes. Great. So you were without a way to work. You’d call Miko, except the Autobot base had no bars nor signal in order to protect them from being discovered. So you were screwed, and a shitty boss on top of that.

“I’ll take ‘em,” Cliffjumper spoke up. You all looked at him. He grinned, shrugging a pauldron. “I don’t mind having our little squishy companion ride in my sweet leather seats. Might be a nice experience!”

Hot Rod snorted. “Depends on the human,” he quipped under his breath, probably not meaning for it to be caught.

You fumed, glaring at the monitors — or what you could see on them — before turning to Cliffjumper with a haughty huff. “You know what, Cliffjumper? I’ll take you up on that offer. At least you’ll be a decent ride, unlike someone,” you said aloud.

“I-” your guardian stammered, panicked, “w- wait! You’re listening in!?”

Ignoring him, you made your way down the stairs, pulling up your blanket so you didn’t trip on it and fall down the rest of the flight of stairs and land flat on your face. “Let’s get going now while we still can, Cliffjumper. We can even go to a car wash if we have time!” You said, once again making your words overly loud so that a certain ungrateful guardian heard every word.

Cliffjumper, grinning as he realized your petty revenge plan, pumped his servo with bright optics. “Free car wash? Sweet!” He folded down into a sleek red vintage Dodge Challenger, his bull horns turning out to be a custom hood ornament. You looked his alt mode up and down, nodding approvingly. Cliffjumper would’ve been a far more discreet car to have in your garage than Hot Rod.

“C’mon, squishy friend of mine! Let’s get cruisin’!” cheered Cliffjumper as he opened up his driver side door — honestly surprising you.

“I get to ride in the driver seat?” You said, your own voice faint with surprise.

“‘Course! You won’t be driving, obviously. But I don't mind you behind my wheel.”

On the monitors, Hot Rod had gone uncharacteristically quiet, but your own hurt and anger from your ongoing fight made you not want to focus on him right now. Instead, you grinned brightly and jogged for the open door. Sliding into the driver seat, you hovered your hands over the wheel, wanting to smooth them across it but holding back. “Can I..?” You asked with an uncertain glance at the Autobot insignia over the horn.

“What’s mine is yours,” joked Cliffjumper. “Feel away. I’m a sweet ride, I know.”

You laughed, smoothening your hands up and down the wheel, feeling yourself in Cliffjumper’s cabin. While you associated Hot Rod’s with luxury yet safety, Cliffjumper’s reminded you of home, when your grandfather used to take you on your driving lessons in his own old Dodge Challenger.

The driver side door shut for you, and Cliffjumper started his own engines with a rumble. “We’re heading out. See ya guys later!” He bid goodbye to the others. 

You rolled down the window — another faint moment of surprise when Cliffjumper didn’t berate you and kick you out of the front seat like Hot Rod would’ve — and grinned up at Arcee, who smiled back down at you and Cliffjumper fondly.

“Bye!” You chirped, excitement brimming over every one of your nerves.

Arcee saluted you with a whip of her servo. “See you soon,” she said.

You settled back into Cliffjumper’s seat as he didn’t bother rolling the window back up and instead rolled right on out for the tunnel, heading for the front entrance/exit to the base.

You were instantly glad he didn’t choose to roll the window up, for the second you hit the road, the wind blew around you, refreshing your face and blowing through your hair. Smiling, you gazed out the window into the new sunny day, feeling peaceful and at home.

“So, now that the others aren’t listening, what’re you and Hot Rod fighting about?” Cliffjumper spoke up.

You jolted, sitting up in the seat and turning your wide-eyed gaze to the steering wheel. “I- I…huh?” Was all you could say unintelligently.

Cliffjumper laughed. “C’mon, squishy. I’m many things, but dense ain’t one of ‘em. You said it yourself that he took you on his bonding trip with ‘Bee, right? So it couldn’t have been then. Sounded like you guys had a fun time. Was it this morning?”

You gaped at the flashing Autobot insignia. “H- How did you-??”

Were you really that easy to read!?

“Told ya; I’m not dense. I can read the room. So can Arcee. But I’m the one between us that got an opening to confront you about it. So? Spill.”

You frowned, glancing away. “...It’s personal,” you muttered. “It’s dumb, it’s- it isn’t dumb. But it’s personal.”

Cliffjumper hummed, easy as the breeze. “Alright. You don’t gotta tell me, then. But a little piece of advice from a ten-million-year-old robot?” You looked back at the wheel. “Always helps to have an ear to lean on.”

Unwittingly, your lips twitched up into a soft smile. “It’s a shoulder to lean on, Cliff’,” you corrected.

“...Oh,” came the befuddled response. You snorted, even giggling a little bit beneath your hand. “Well, my point still stands. You need someone to help, even give you an outside opinion; I’m right here. And we got about twenty minutes before we reach your cozy little bakery. Or my promised car wash.”

You settled back against the seat, blanket pooling around your waist as you folded your arms over your chest. You thought about it, contemplating Cliffjumper’s offer. You trusted him not to snitch — at least to anyone other than Arcee, who was locked up tighter than a bank vault — and he was a decent enough guy…robot.

With a sigh, you inclined your head. “Alright,” you acquiesced. “You want the beans? You got the beans.”

“Yes,” hissed Cliffjumper victoriously. You smiled at the steering wheel.

“It’s just…we had a fight about him knowing my personal vitals and not telling me. Some humans are sensitive about that kind of info about their bodies,” you informed him, “and that kinda fell to some pent-up feelings about our own feelings on the others’...race.” You ended with a hesitant eye towards the steering wheel, awaiting Cliffjumper’s reaction.

Thankfully, his reaction seemed to be nothing but sincere curiosity. “What d’you mean by that? If you wanna answer.”

You relaxed minutely. “Just- Hot Rod’s a bit…iffy on organics and them touching him and…them in general, really. Which I’m sure you know about —”

Cliffjumper snorted. “Oh, do I,” he said delightfully.

“— and he pointed out my own fear about ending up…accidentally underfoot and- and I told him it isn’t something I can help. Unlike how he can help his immature dislike for organics. And I told him that if it bothered him so much, I could just ask Optimus to assign me another guardian. But then he told me he didn’t want that, but then I don’t know what he wants because he never tells me! He’s nice and a genuinely decent guy — bot — but then he’s derisive and complains about humans as if I’m not right there. Me. A human. And it’s just-” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “...it’s complicated. And we need to talk it out. But then Hot Rod gets all snippy again. And I’m supposed to be the adult of us. Me! The person who is, like, a millisecond old compared to you guys! But when he gets snippy, I can’t help but wanna get snippy back!”

You fell back into the seat hopelessly. “Maybe we just aren’t as compatible as we thought. Maybe we aren’t meant to be guardian and…companion. Whatever I am,” you threw your hands up and they fell back down to your thighs with a slap of contact.

Cliffjumper was contemplatively quiet, and eventually, you raised an eyebrow at his wheel. “So? Thoughts? Because I’m blanking here.”

“...You want my honest thoughts?” He asked.

“Please.”

“I think you’re both a bunch’a scrapheads,” said Cliffjumper plainly. You gaped at him. “Sit and talk with the guy if you can. And have a long, long talk on both your views until you both compromise and see some sense about the other.”

“But Hot Rod doesn’t see sense!” You stressed incredulously.

Cliffjumper sighed, something solemn and heavy in that mechanical exhale. You glanced at the Autobot insignia as it began to blink at you as he talked, “He does. He just has a hard time with it. Hot Rod’s been through stuff. Stuff we’ve all been through, but…the kid’s young. Too young to be seein’ all this, in my opinion. No matter how much he craves the fight, the brutality of it…it catches up to you, eventually,” he murmured gravely.

Your eyebrows pinched together. Keeping your gaze on the steering wheel, you rolled up the window for complete silence except for the faint crackle of wheels over gravel on the long, expansive highway before you.

There was something in there. A story about your guardian you didn’t yet know about. Something that defined him, no doubt. But something that was equally tragic.

“What happened, Cliffjumper,” you demanded more than asked, voice soft yet stern.

Cliffjumper was hesitantly quiet. “...It ain’t really my place, squishy, you gotta understand...”

Your frown deepened. “If it involves Hot Rod, it involves me at some point. That’s part of being guardian and companion,” you said.

“Wasn’t it you who was doubting whether or not you and Hot Rod should remain guardian and companion?” Cliffjumper returned immediately, nothing harsh or judgemental in his tone, but it was still just as stern and abrasive.

You bit your tongue for that one. You sighed through your nostrils, feeling them flare as you calmed yourself. Yeah, he had a point. “...Alright. Fine. Fair enough. Sure, I’ll do what you said to do. Thanks, Cliff’,” you said tersely as you pointedly looked out the window from then on.

The cabin was heavy with silence as the miles passed by and you grew closer to Jasper, Nevada. Judging by the placement of the sun, it was somewhere around 10 or 11 in the morning. You wondered what time you woke up, but no doubt knew it to be fairly early.

“...Hot Rod had a crew before Team Prime,” Cliffjumper spoke up with regret thick in his disembodied voice. You perked up in interest and looked back at the steering wheel. The Autobot insignia flashed at you, solemn and heavy with grief. “They were some of the last Autobots stationed in Iacon, and in the final hours of Cybertron, they fled on a ship called the Xantium alongside the rest of the remaining Autobots, when we spread out across the universe. For a couple hundred years they were fine, until their energon reserves ran low. Jazz, third-in-command of the Autobots, was the captain of their crew. Ordered them to find energon-rich planets to stock up.”

The sun heated up the skin of your arm faintly, and to block it from getting uncomfortable in the heat, you tucked it away underneath the blanket pooling around your waist.

“And they found one, alright. Stocked up about half their stores. Thought everything was going to be fine, and they could keep on cruisin’ through deep space. But then…” Cliffjumper sighed, the sound weary and sad, “...’Cons hit. A surprise attack. Caught ‘em all off-guard,”

“Hot Rod lost all of his crew except for two. Watched Nautica bleed out on the medical table after they fled the planet by the skin of their pedes. All he was left with was ol’ Jazz, left in critical condition by the bastards,” Cliffjumper growled, the first time you’d heard him anywhere near angry, and it left you unsettled, “so Hot Rod was alone. Drifting through deep space by himself for millennia. He got a message from Prime, same as ‘Cee and myself, and got to Earth just a short while ago. Y’know. Rest of the story is history. But Hot Rod’s…the kid never forgave himself for what happened,” he finished gravely.

You felt…floored. Horror and sorrow and sympathy for Hot Rod flooding you all at once, alongside guilt and shame at your own arrogance surrounding a personal part of his life. Something you shouldn’t have pressed into in the first place, and should have known better than to do, and yet you’d done it nonetheless. Just like with Optimus.

Swallowing thickly, your throat dry and sticky, you cast a flickering but thankful look to the insignia. “...Thank you, Cliff’,” you murmured softly.

“Just helping out, squishy,” Cliffjumper’s voice returned with artificial levity. “Just, uh- use what I told you to help understand Hot Rod better, ‘kay? Kid’s young and he’s been through more scrap than he should’ve, but he’s got heart, in the end. He cares about you,” you opened your mouth to say differently but Cliffjumper didn’t give you an opening, “and I know he doesn’t really show it, but he does. Can you trust me on that?”

The question was more loaded than you wished, but your answer was all the same. “Yes,” you sighed.

“Great!” Cliffjumper exclaimed as he pulled into the empty parking lot of your quaint little bakery on the edge of town. Apparently time had flown by faster than you’d thought, because you hadn’t even seen Jasper getting closer until you were already here.

You let out a noise of surprise. “That was quick,” you noted aloud.

“What can I say? I’m a good conversationalist,” quipped Cliffjumper. The driver side door opened for you by itself, courtesy of Cliffjumper, and as you maneuvered your blanket around and slipped one foot out the door, he spoke to you again, this time a tone graver, “And squishy?”

“Yeah?” You glanced back at the wheel.

“...Hot Rod’s like one of those little brothers you guys got here to me. I’m kinda a role model for the kid, ‘sides the big guy, of course. Red and all. Plus I got a rep of my own to look up to, but- he’s good. Rough around the edges, maybe, but I think he’s one of the best of us. Or will be one day.”

Despite yourself, you snorted wryly and raised an amused eyebrow at the Autobot insignia. “You sure we know the same Hot Rod?” You joked, trying to lighten the mood and failing terribly. You’d be a god awful comedian.

Some levity returned to Cliffjumper’s voice, however. “Hot Rod’s like an onion, I find. He’s got a buncha layers to him. Peels specific ones for specific people. I think he’s willing to peel them all for you, if you give him the time and patience. And the support, most of all,” he advised.

You softened, heart warming at Cliffjumper’s words. You flickered a small smile at the steering wheel, gripping the handle of the door in one hand and the door frame with the other. “I’ll try my best to give them all to him, Cliff’. Thanks,” you said. “For everything.”

You slid out of the car, stepping away so the door could shut behind you. You turned back, watching the window roll down so you could look at the flashing steering wheel.

“Like I said, pal; just helping out,” said Cliffjumper fondly. “I’ll see ya around. No doubt Hot Rod’ll be done by the time your shift ends. So my suggestion?” You tilted your head curiously. “Talk with him as soon as you can. With Hot Rod, drawing it out and dancing around each other only makes it worse. But just know he cares about your opinion of him- more than you know.”

With that, you watched the vintage Dodge Challenger roll out of your parking lot and head back where you both had just come from, back in the direction of the Autobot base. Chewing anxiously at your bottom lip, tears spiking your eyes now after being left alone at long last after your long and exhausting morning, filled with ups and down, you unlocked the front door to the building and stepped inside, heading for the bathroom to at least have a minor breakdown before going about with your day — your own personal talent, at this point.