Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before the war, the Syntaxicons were nothing more than simple clerks whose job was to correct the language in insurance claims and file them away. It was a simple life; it’s where the Syntaxicons had met and fallen in love. They enjoyed being the backbone of their company. How would their coworkers do their jobs if the reports they needed were all incorrectly formatted? It’s simple; they wouldn’t be able to since they wouldn’t have access to the information they needed. The Syntaxicons were never appreciated for their work, though. 

They had been constantly made fun of. Others would make cruel remarks about their jobs or about their alt-modes. What kind of Transformer would choose office supplies as an alt-mode? What a waste of a T-Cog. This treatment is why, when Megatron gave his speeches about every Transformer being equal, the Syntaxicons listened. He’d spoken about how only the content of one’s spark should matter. That all Transformers were equal. It’s all the Syntaxicons had ever wanted to hear.

When they joined the Decepticons, they were put into one of Shockwave’s experiments. That’s where they gained the name Syntaxicons. Shockwave wanted to figure out how to create a combiner without the use of the Enigma of Combination. They needed a group of people who were already close, since it made for a more stable combiner. Their combined form, Capslock, had not worked out, though. He simply did not follow orders.

So the Syntaxicons were reassigned to a more familiar role, which was doing the Decepticon’s reports. It had been easy at first. The Cause was small, but as it grew, their work became more demanding, and their department didn’t grow along with it. All that work was completely loaded onto the shoulders of merely 6 cons. They were given impossible deadlines and were not allowed to see any of the other Decepticons until they completed everything.  The problem was that there was no way they’d ever catch up, and even after many years in service to the Cause, they were still nowhere close. 

— 

CTRL was helping Backspace organize a datapad cart that was going to be filed away within the Decepticon Archives. As soon as he was done, he was dragged to the other side of the room in order to help Misclick and Typo access the terminal. CTRL was a computer monitor, while Misclick and Typo were the computer mouse and keyboard, respectively.

It took all three of them to reformat the reports correctly. Once that was done, they sent them over the Ellipses, who would print the data onto empty datapads. When Backspace came back from filing things away, he’d either put them on the cart for storage or shred the files as needed. If someone requested a file, Bracket would find it amongst the shelves and staple it together with any others, so that he could send them to the proper place. 

They had been doing this same routine for Solar-Cycles, maybe a Vorn or two. The Syntaxicons had no way to tell the time or date, and the reports they worked with didn’t have any indication either. Not that they had time to really wonder how long it had been since they started. Their time was usually filled with stressfully trying to complete all of the never-ending requests they received.

File this, fix that, send that to, get rid of, etc. They woke up early and went to recharge late, but they were always behind the demand. CTRL, as the head of the department, had made several requests to Shockwave for backup, but all he’d get in response was that it wasn’t logical. The stress was only bearable because they didn’t have the choice to crumble. If isolation was the punishment for being behind on deadlines, he didn’t want to know what it would be when they finally broke. 

It’s a miracle that their relationship has survived. There was not much downtime to kiss, say sweet nothings, or honestly just exist with each other without having work hanging over their helms. CTRL could see the light drain from his love's optics. He’d escape with them if he could. Though there’s nowhere to go. Cybertron is completely under Decepticon rule, and Shockwave has an iron grip over everything. It was an unfortunate situation; they’d all changed so much.

Ellipses had always been a quiet mech. It was because he was very shy, but he was so sweet when he did speak. Ellipses had such a pleasing voice. He never spoke anything that wasn’t insightful, or, when they were off work, so incredibly flattering they’d make CTRL blush. Now, Ellipses was silent instead; what had been a nervousness to talk was replaced with a lack of things to say. He was just hollow.

Backspace was a very particular mech. He had always strived to achieve perfection. It was how Backspace showed he cared about what he was doing. Backspace had always chosen the most thoughtful gifts and written the most beautiful poems. He didn’t have time for that now. His perfectionism became an obsession, and now Backspace was always anxious about making a single mistake.

Bracket was always a friendly mech. He loved people, and he loved making them happy. Bracket had kept a journal of things like their favorite colors, songs, or flavors, so he could randomly surprise them. That need to feel like he made people happy had become his only solace now. Bracket would need reassurance that the other Syntaxicons were happy with him.

Typo had always been a very trusting mech. Some might’ve even called him gullible. Typo would look at you with the most trusting optics, and he’d listen carefully to whatever you said to remember it for later. CTRL felt bad for Typo because Typo seemed to still believe that the Cause still had his best interest in mind after all the Syntaxicons had said so.

Misclick was always a dreamer. His helm was always somewhere else, imagining something up. A significant amount of said time was spent coming up with some cliche pick-up line to throw them off and make them blush. Misclick didn’t flirt anymore. He didn’t have time to imagine now. He was too focused on work.

CTRL would have to speak for himself. He’d noticed that what had been natural leadership skills turned into a need to be in control. The other Syntaxicons had complained a lot about him not listening to them anymore. It was a difficult situation. He loved them so much, but his only hope right now would be getting caught up. If they got caught up with the reports, they’d be allowed the time to spend with each other.

Though deep down in his spark, CTRL knew that it probably wouldn’t happen. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t happening. They’d be filing away reports until they died. The last thing they’d ever see would be each other and these blank walls. Maybe they’d all go crazy and have to be removed before then. He’d completely given up.

Chapter Text

The Autobot spies had gotten word of a secret weapon that Shockwave was developing. Well, he was always developing a weapon, but this one had piqued the spies’ interest. Ultra Magnus and the other Wreckers hadn’t been given much information other than the location they’d be breaching and the file name, EXW-SHW-008917-3A. With a name like that, he was glad that Blurr had super speed; otherwise, they’d never find it. 

The Wreckers were going to be sneaking into the Decepticon Archives, where they kept physical copies of every single file in their system. Since it included everything, it would be heavily guarded, but the archives themselves are automated with almost no cameras. If they could sneak past the guards, they’d have all the time in the world to find the file; they’d also been told to grab anything else that looked interesting.

Luckily, they did manage despite some of his subordinates' efforts. Arcee had incapacitated a guard, and they had to hide the body. A Decepticon had sneezed, and Hot Rod, the idiot, had said bless you. It was pure luck that they hadn’t been noticed. When they’d all gotten inside the archives, Ultra Magnus was surprised to immediately find an archivist frozen still with a cart full of datapads. 

The spies had said the archive was automated, but here he was staring at a petrified Decepticon. He was tan with colorful stripes. He had sharp teeth and yellow optics. The Archivists were boxy and disturbingly had a stomach window which showed their internal organs. Magnus was as surprised as the Con when, from the corner of his optics, he saw a rush of movement. He heard someone shout.

“Control!” There were more archivists. Ultra Magnus signaled to the Wreckers to go after them, and he took the Con in front of them as a prisoner. Said Con was still as stiff as a board.

“We have them, Magnus!”

Ultra Magnus joined them in an opening in the rows of shelves. There were a couple of terminals and 5 more Decepticons all huddled together. All of them were a similar color to the first one, tan with orange and yellow stripes. They were all kind of hiding behind what seemed to be their leader. The leader has a very boxy and bulky mech who had monitor screens on their chest and for a head. 

The one Magnus had taken prisoner finally did something, “Control!”

The leader, whom he now assumes is named Control, spoke, “What do you want with us?”

“We’re here for a file,”

“Is it common for you Autobots to hold 6 unarmed civilians at gunpoint?” 

“You are still loyal to the Decepticons and can easily call for backup,” Magnus turns to Blurr. “Start looking for the file,”

“What file are you looking for?”

“You can figure it out when you look for what’s missing after we leave,”

“I’d honestly rather just tell you where it is, so we can get back to work,”

“Wouldn’t that make you a traitor to your cause?”

“Like I care about the Cause, the punishment for helping you would be less than getting behind on work. You have no-,” 

Control was cut off by a hand on his shoulder from a taller mech behind him. He was similar to Control, in which he was very rectangular. The mech was very smooth and blank; he even had a face mask.

“Don’t. He might hear,”

Magnus spoke, “What would I not understand?”

Control glared at him, “That it’s not always pleasant to live under the Decepticons. Not that it matters much to you. You’re here for intel, and not a sob story,”

“If you need help, I might be able to offer some,”

“I don’t think you could give us the type of help we need,”

“You’ll never know unless you tell me,”

“When you leave, I want us to leave with you,” surprised murmurs came from all of the other archivists. 

Ultra Magnus was stunned. This was certainly not how he thought this mission would go, “You want to defect to the Autobots?”

“I want to defect, period. If I need to join the Autobots for it, then I’ll do it. As long as we get out of here,”

“What about your friends? How do they feel?” Magnus looked towards the others, who all nodded in agreement or gave a verbal agreement. “Well then, we’ll need a plan to get all 12 of us out,”

Control smiled, “I already have one. There’s a fire exit that doesn’t have any a patrols unit you get outside,”

“Why didn’t you do this before, then?”

“You need a gun, which I don’t have, for the outside, and they can tell when we leave because the whole system for calling files goes down. Speaking of which, we’re out of time,” Control turned to a bot with dark brown accents and silver pieces on his chest and two skirt panels. He had two claws on each arm for a servo. “Bracket, go help that blue bot find whatever file they need,” He turned to everyone else, “Go get any personal effects we’re leaving now and get Bracket’s things for them,”

Magnus spoke up, “Is there anything me and my Wreckers can do?”

“Well, you can help carry things, but first of all, you can let go of Backspace,”

Ultra Magnus only realized then that he still had his hostage. He immediately let go of Backspace, who rushed off to grab things. He and the rest of the Wreckers followed to help. They gathered up everything they could within their subspaces and met up with Blurr and Bracket in front of the first exit.

They all ran through the fire exit with Control leading. There was no doubt that the Decepticons would figure out their archive was empty soon. When they got to the door, they reorganized themselves so that each Wrecker was paired with one of the archivists. He was paired with Control, and both of them led the group as they tried to sneak into an entrance to the sewers.

Unfortunately, their luck from earlier had run out, and they did get spotted. Sneaking turned into running. The Wreckers stayed towards the back to give the archivists cover fire. Ultra Magnus ended up as the only injury of the group. He got shot through the leg and was dragged through the entrance by Springer. Springer and Control were the ones to help him limp towards the Autobot’s base.

The journey back to base was an incredibly informative one. He learned a lot of things about these new bots from Control. They were a combiner group called the Syntaxicons, and they were all mistreated by the Decepticons through isolation. He learned Control was actually CTRL, and the bot who stopped him from an outburst was named Ellipses. He also learned the names of the final two members of the group.

They were the smallest of the bunch. The one with a red visor and a bunch of keys on his arms was Typo, and the one with the tail and a scroll wheel was Misclick. Magnus has never seen a non-beastformer with a tail, but here was Misclick with his tail tucked while clinging to Ellipses.

Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure how exactly he’d explain all this to High Command, but at least he knew that Optimus would be happy that some Decepticons defected. And Magnus had been right; Optimus was thrilled to have them. They decided that Cybertron was not the best place for them due to some things they’d noticed about the Syntaxicons.

The only bot that ever really spoke was CTRL. The rest of them would look towards CTRL for decisions. Several of them were visibly anxious and clung to the other members of their gestalt. High Command decided that Earth was a lot calmer than Cybertron, and it would be a great place for them to recover from their mistreatment. They also decided that Magnus would join them on the Ark, so that he could also recover. As well as he'd be a familiar person for the Syntaxicons, since throwing them in with strangers would not help them.

Chapter Text

The Syntaxicons had been hesitant when they were told that they’d be going to Earth to live on the Ark, but they had been reassured that it was so they’d have somewhere quieter to adjust to living as Autobots. Ultra Magnus would be joining them for his own recovery due to his leg injury. When they first got to the Ark, it was night on Earth, and most of the bots were in recharge. They were glad that they weren’t made a spectacle. 

They’d given simple greetings to Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Jazz before they were all sent to recharge. They would meet the rest of the Autobots when they woke up. The Syntaxicons were grateful for this since they hadn’t gotten a chance to rest since they left the Decepticons. Unfortunately, they had to be split up into 3 different rooms since it was on such short notice, there wasn’t time to find a larger room fit for a combiner team.

While they went to berth, Ultra Magnus met up with high command. He explained more to them about what happened to the Syntaxicons. They had been isolated from social interactions and forced to work half to death. High Command decided the first step to the Syntaxicons recuperation would be rest. They are well overdue for a vacation, and they need time to recover from the mental toll it took on them.

When the Syntaxicons woke up, Optimus gave them a tour of the Ark and told them the plan for their integration into the Autobots. For now, they’d simply observe and get to know the other Autobots, but eventually they will be expected to take the Autobot oath and join the Cause. Though that’s in the future, currently, they can just relax. 

The bots were very excited to meet the new Autobots. They asked a lot of questions that the Syntaxicons were just not ready to answer. It was extremely overwhelming for them after being so used to only seeing each other. Some of them, like Backspace and Misclick, had to go back to their rooms to take breaks from socializing.

The Autobots were very loud and outgoing, and Backspace and Misclick prefer a quieter environment. Backspace had appreciated the chance to get back to writing, and Misclick enjoyed being able to read again. He’d gotten a few books from the Autobots after expressing his desire for more reading material. 

Some of them were making fast friends with the Autobots. Bracket had always enjoyed being in groups and was happy to finally be able to make new friends. Typo felt the same. He was very happy to be around people who were friendly and welcoming. 

Ellipses would follow around Typo, so that he didn’t get too far ahead of himself. Ellipses was still as quiet as he ever was. He seemed happy, though. CTRL found himself going back and forth between all of the members of his gestalt to make sure they were adjusting well. He, himself, got along fine with the Autobots, but he still mostly focused on his combiner team.

The Autobots were actually very surprised when they learned that they were all in a relationship and a combiner team. They didn’t know that the Decepticons could make a combiner without the Enigma. Some of the Autobots seemed unimpressed by the fact that none of them were fast cars, but any of them who actually voiced it would get a smack to the helm.

All of the Syntaxicons were enjoying being able to spend quality time with each other as a group. It was a nice vacation, but the longer it went on, the more they realized they needed something to do. They had worked for so long that several of them didn’t really have any hobbies outside of it, so they were just lying around bored. They ended up bringing this up to Ultra Magnus, who was surprised at the request.

“You want to go back to work?” The Syntaxicons all nodded. “Why? You worked for so long, and you want to end your hard-earned vacation early?”

CTRL spoke, “The problem is that we don’t have anything else to do. Please, we’re bored. Even if it’s just something small. I feel like I’m going crazy. I need something to look forward to. It’s a different type of monotony, but it’s still the same feeling,”

“If you were allowed to go back to work, what would you want to do?”

“We’ve always done paperwork. Making sure things were formatted properly and filed away correctly,”

“But that’s what you did in the Decepticon Archives. Why would you want to go back to that,”

“The work itself wasn’t the problem. It was how we were treated,”

“And you feel like if you were to work it would help you,”

“Yes,”

“Do the rest of you agree?” The rest of the Syntaxicons agreed. “Well, it’s your recovery. If you believe that it will help you, I’ll see what I can do. It’s ultimately up to High Command.”

Satisfied with that answer, the Syntaxicons left his office. When Ultra Magnus brought it up to High Command, they were resistant at first. They didn’t want the Syntaxicons to feel like they were forced to work for them, and some weren’t sure about letting newly deserted Decepticons so close to Autobot intel. 

Ultra Magnus assured them that they could help him with his work, and he’d watch them. He mostly handled field reports and didn’t go over any sensitive information. They also didn’t want all 6 of them immediately getting back into work, so he suggested it be for at least one day a week. Then they didn’t want all 6 of them there because he couldn’t watch all 6 of them if they were trying to sabotage the Autobots, so Magnus suggested that only one of the Syntaxicons help him at a time.

That plan satisfied High Command, and the Syntaxicons when Mangus told them about it. They honestly seemed very giddy to be able to work again. They thanked him a lot and promised to do well. The Syntaxicons were laughing and smiling when they left his office. It was the first time he’d seen the group so happy. Ultra Magnus was honestly excited to work with them. They’re the only bots he’d ever had ask him to do paperwork.

Chapter Text

Misclick had been terrified when they left the Decepticons, and even more scared when they got to the Ark. Some of the Autobots were a lot to handle. He would often get exhausted after socializing with them. He did make friends with some of the more introverted Autobots, who were a lot easier for Misclick to spend time with. 

Misclick got close with Beachcomber, whose energy matched his own. Beachcomber learned that Misclick liked to read and managed to get Misclick to admit that he was reading romances set in an office. To Misclick’s horror and delight, Beachcomber gifted him with some new romance books for his collection. He’d asked around for Misclick.

It made Misclick flush in embarrassment. Romance had been on his processor lately. It was just a small crush, but who wouldn’t have a crush on the mech? Ultra Magnus had come in like a knight in shining armor and saved them from the Decepticon Archives. He was so nice and patient with them as well.

He knew he’d gotten a crush after reading one of the new romances Beachcomber gave him. The reason he liked the office setting so much is that he would imagine one of the Syntaxicons in place of the love interest and himself as the main character. The difference was that this time, he imagined himself and Ultra Magnus. 

Apparently, his crush had escaped his own thoughts and through the gestalt bond to the other Syntaxicons because they would tease him about it. They all thought it was cute. They all would laugh whenever he tried to deny it. They were sitting down to eat their rations, and Typo kept poking at him, trying to get him to confess.

“You cannot deny it, Misclick. You have a crush on Magnus,”

“I do not . I can barely stand the 5 of you; I wouldn’t make it with 6,”

“I think you’re lying,” Typo leaned in close to Misclick, who was frowning. “Do you want to know how I know?”

“Sure. I want to know where you’re getting this false information from,”

“It’s your tail. It goes crazy every time you’re even in the same room as him,”

Misclick tucks in his tail and protests. “It does not,”

“It so does. You stare at him, probably thinking about kissing him,” Typo leans in for a kiss. Misclick closes his optics to prepare it, only to feel Typo scroll the wheel on his abdomen.

“Eek!” Misclick jumped out of his seat. The Syntaxicons all laughed. They all knew that his wheel was ticklish. Misclick huffed, “I’m leaving,”

“No, come back, Misclick. It was just some teasing,”

“I will not sit here and listen to your false accusations, and it’s about time for my shift anyway,”

Typo stifled a laugh. “I bet you’re excited to leave early for that. I wonder why?”

Misclick flushed and playfully hit Typo. “You'd better stop, or I’m leaving without giving any of you a kiss goodbye,” 

Scared to miss one of their favorite traditions, the Syntaxicons all gave apologies and promises to stop. Of course, even if they hadn’t, Misclick would’ve relented; he liked how they would all clamor over each other to be first. He gave them all a kiss on their derma and left, blushing like a fool. He’d have to take a moment to make the color on his cheeks go down before entering the office. 

Working with Ultra Magnus was wonderful. He was organized and efficient, not to mention kind. It felt the same as working with any of the other Syntaxicons, which was rare since most bots couldn’t keep up with them. At least one of them was doing work since Misclick would find himself accidentally staring at Magnus’s faceplate. 

Ultra Magnus definitely noticed that Mislick kept zoning out, but he never acknowledged it. Even when Magnus had to call Mislick’s designations multiple times. He probably thought that zoning out was just something Msilick did. If they had been with the Decepticons, Misclick would’ve been yelled at. He just hoped that Magnus didn’t put two and two together to realize Misclick was gawking at how handsome he was. Misclick kept trying to stop, but Magnus was just so wonderful. 

Though his staring could be excused, his tail could not. It would move based on his emotions. Misclick wishes he had more control over it, but it was as involuntary as blinking. It might’ve been fine if the plug at the end of his tail didn’t have a habit of knocking things over. Which is exactly what happened when he knocked over a glass on Ultra Magnus’s desk while talking to him.

Misclick’s face flushed in embarrassment, “Oh Primus, I’m so sorry, Magnus,”

“No, it’s ok, Misclick. It was an accident,” Magnus tried to reassure Misclick. “We’ll simply clean it up,”

“I still broke something,”

“I mean it, Misclick. It’s ok. I’m just glad you're happy,”

Misclick was confused, “What do you mean?”

“Your tail. When I first saw you, it was tucked, but every time I’ve seen you since, it’s been going side to side. I’m sorry if I assumed,”

“Oh, no, you’re right; that is what it means. I just hoped no one would notice,” 

“Why did you not want anyone to notice?”

“It’s an unconscious movement, and, well, this isn’t my first time breaking something,”

“Then I probably shouldn’t leave such breakable things on the edge of my desk. Let’s clean this up.”

After they cleaned up the glass, they simply went along with their day as usual. When Misclick got back to his habsuite, he screamed into his pillow. Backspace asked if he was ok, and Misclick responded that he was fine. Actually, he was more than fine; he was ecstatic.

Most people yelled at him whenever he broke things with his tail. They told him he needed more control or made fun of him for being clumsy. Ultra Magnus was the first bot outside of the Syntaxicons that had not blamed the involuntary movement on Misclick. Misclick was screwed. Not only did Magnus probably know he’d been glaring at him on purpose, Misclick was now completely and utterly in love.

Chapter Text

Coming to the Ark had been amazing for Bracket. One of the worst things about working for the Decepticons had been the inability to interact with anyone outside of his gestalt. Not that Bracket hated his gestalt; he loved them more than anything. It’s just when you know someone so well and spend all your time with them, you tend to run out of conversation ideas. It gets repetitive. 

The Autobots were all very new and, honestly, very interesting to talk to. It was fun getting to know everything about each of them. Bracket had made fast friends with Jazz, who introduced him to a lot of the crew. He just wishes that the other Syntaxicons were having as easy a time as he. He’d been trying to do what Jazz had done for him, for the other Syntaxicons, but it hadn’t been welcomed. He just wished they realized he was trying to help them. That’s exactly what he was trying to do when he went to see Backspace.

Now, the Syntaxicons didn’t have a reason to hide from each other since they were all in a relationship after all. If they weren’t on the Ark, they would’ve all asked to have one room, but since they couldn’t, they shared the codes to the habsuites amongst themselves. So it was normal when Bracket entered Backspace’s room without warning. What wasn’t normal was seeing Backspace and CTRL arguing with each other. Neither of them even turned to look at Bracket when he entered. 

CTRL was trying to speak in a hushed tone, “You cannot keep doing this, Backspace; it’s not healthy,”

“I don’t want to talk to strangers, CTRL,”

“They’ll always be strangers if you never make an attempt to meet them. They’re friendly enough. You could probably just sit out in the open, and one of them will come up to you,”

“I don’t see how any of this is your business, CTRL,”

“I’m the leader of his gestalt. It’s my job to worry about you,”

“That’s because you put yourself as leader,”

“And no one complained.” CTRL defended himself. 

Things started to get heated between CTRL and Backspace. Bracket couldn’t stand it when the other Syntaxicons fought. He honestly couldn’t stand it if they were anything less than happy. This is why he just cannot stand by when the Syntaxicons argue with each other. He just had to help mediate. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bracket got in between the two of them. “You two need to calm down,”

CTRL spoke, “Bracket, I love you, but you don’t need to worry yourself about this,”

“I do when you’re starting to raise your voices,”

“That’s true, we were, but we can solve this ourselves,”

Backspace agreed, “This whole thing is about me, and I don’t need two of you involved with this,”

Bracket decided to justify himself, “I’m not trying to pick a side, Backspace. I just didn’t want you two to start yelling at each other,”

“I still don’t see why you needed to insert yourself in this,”

“I’m trying to meditate. I always meditate, and you guys were arguing,”

“Yes, we were arguing. People who love each other will argue. It’s not necessarily a negative thing,”

“Necessarily,” Bracket emphasized. “I’m trying to help. Do you not like it when I try to help? Am I not being helpful?” 

“I- We-,” Backspace was exasperated and turned to CTRL, “CTRL, can you do this?”

“Yes,” CTRL turned to Bracket. “We always appreciate it when you help out with our problems, Bracket. I mean it, but you shouldn’t feel like it’s your responsibility,”

“I didn’t say that,”

“But you did; you said that you always meditate. You shouldn’t have to do that. Backspace and I are completely capable of figuring out our own problems. Now you have your shift with Ultra Magnus soon, right?”

“Yes,”

“Bracket, go to your shift, get your processor off of this, and I promise when you see us later everything is going to be completely solved,”

“But,”

“Bracket, you need to trust us, please,”

Bracket sighed and gave in. He wasn’t making any progress, and you cannot help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, and neither CTRL nor Backspace wanted it. Bracket still couldn’t help but worry, and worry he did. Bracket did go to help out with Magnus, but his processor just kept imagining CTRL and Backspace still arguing without him there.

Magnus came up to him near the end of their shift, “Bracket, may I ask you something?”

“Of course,”

“I’d like to spend some time with you after work. I want to talk to you about something,”

This made Bracket nervous, “Did I do anything wrong?”

“Oh, no, no. Everything is perfectly fine. It’s just not a work conversation, and it would be unprofessional to bring it up during our shift,”

“I understand.”

When their shift was over, he and Magnus went to get their rations from the cafeteria. They sat down in a quieter corner, and Bracket sat and waited for Magnus to say something. 

“Bracket, I wanted to know how your transition to the Autobots has been,”

“Oh!” Bracket hadn’t guessed this would be the topic. He smiled. “It’s been going great. I get along great with the Autobots. They’re all so nice,”

“But has today been any different?”

“What do you mean?” Now, Bracket was confused.

“Well,” Ultra Magnus scratched his neck. “It’s just that I noticed that you seemed to have something on your processor. You were clicking your claws together, and you always do so when you’re frustrated with paperwork. The difference was that this time you weren’t doing anything and still fidgeting,”

Bracket was taken aback. “I had no idea that I did that,”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up. You don’t have to say anything,”

“No, it’s just that I’m surprised,” Bracket paused. “There was something that happened, but you don’t need to feel like you need to lend an audial,”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t willing to listen,” Magus assured. 

“Thanks,”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Sure. Why not?” Bracket sighed. “I wanted to check in on Backspace, and I found him arguing with CTRL. I wanted to help meditate. They told me not to worry, and they’d figure it out themselves. The thing is that I did worry, which is why I was fidgeting,”

“What exactly were you worrying about?”

“I was worried that they’d continue to argue,”

“Do you not like it when they argue?”

“Oh course not. Who would? I hate it when any of the Syntaxicons are upset,”

“Does it always bother you when one of them is upset?”

“Yes, that’s why I try to mediate their arguments and check in on them,”

“Have you always done that?”

“No. I think it started when we joined the Decepticons,”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, as you know, we didn’t really have any downtime, so when any of us fought, it could last for a while since there was no time to make up. It affected our gestalt bond,”

“So that’s why you started to meditate? You didn’t want the gestalt bond to hurt,”

“Yes,”

“Well, Bracket, I think there’s something important you’ve missed,”

“And what’s that?”

“You aren’t with the Decepticons anymore,”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t limited by time anymore. You and your gestalt have tons of time to spend figuring out your problems,”

“I guess you’re right,’ Bracket was stunned. “I never realized,”

“You said you were trying to check in on Backspace. Why?”

“To see how his transition was going,”

“What about your transition? You focus so much on your gestalt members, you forgot yourself,”

“I was just trying to look after them,”

“I know. You care about them a lot, but they care about you as well. There are some things that they aren’t able to help you with. You have to help yourself, Bracket,” Magnus paused. He reached out and held one of Bracket’s claws. “You do a lot of things for the sake of the other Syntaxicons. Can you add your own recovery from the Decepticons to that list of things?”

“Yeah, I think I can,” Bracket looked at Magnus and smiled. “Thanks for this. I really needed it,”

“Any time,” Magnus smiled back and then stood up. “I won’t keep you any longer.” He waved and walked away.

Bracket didn’t spend much more time in the cafeteria. He said hello to a few of the Autobots he managed to befriend, but his processor was on his gestalt, so he left to see them. It turns out he had talked longer than he thought, and everyone else was recharging. Well, he thought everyone was recharging. 

When he snuck into his habsuite, he came across CTRL reading. Bracket was surprised. 

“You’re still up,”

“I wanted to talk to you,”

“Is it about the argument earlier?”

CTRL nodded. He got up from the berth and hugged Bracket. “Just for your information, Backspace and I did solve our differences,” CTRL kissed Bracket’s forehelm. “I’m sorry for kind of pushing you out of the room earlier,”

“I understand why,”

“You know, when we were in the Decepticons, it always bothered me that you had to get in on every little argument we had. You might not have noticed it, but I saw the toll it took on you. I just don’t want you to do that anymore,”

“I promise I’ll try, but it’s become sort of a force of habit,”
“Then I’ll be there to remind you,” They both looked at each other and kissed. Bracket then snuggled back into the hug.

CTRL smiled. “It’s late. We should probably recharge,”

“I don’t want to stop hugging. You’re warm,” whined Bracket.

“We can try to fit it in one berth together. You’ll have to recharge on top of me, though,”

“Deal.”

CTRL and Bracket took a bit, but they did find a comfortable position for both of them to fit on the berth. Bracket had his helm and was listening to CTRL’s spark. He thought back on the day, and mostly to Ultra Magnus. Bracket had not expected all that from Magnus. He didn’t realize that Magnus was the type of mech to notice such small things, but he was.

He noticed that Bracket was upset. He’d taken out some of his limited personal time to make sure that Bracket was ok, and Magnus had helped so much. He might not have been in his position with CTRL if it weren’t for Ultra Magnus. Bracket would tell you it was from the heat of CTRL’s chassis, but he felt his cheeks heat up as he fell into recharge with thoughts of Magnus.